“Wow, your parents really made use of this space,” Ari said.
“Yeah, they did. While I was growing up, the attic was pretty much beams and wood and insulation. But about ten years ago, my father got the renovation bug and my mother told me they were going to ‘optimize’ their use of the house. They must have redone the attic at that point, because I know that with the last set of renovations, they focused on the downstairs and their master bath.”
I looked around, suddenly feeling melancholy. There were signs of my mother everywhere—in the silk flowers that graced the sideboard, in the delicate lace curtains on the windows, in the protection charms that hung on the walls. I wondered if my father had ever felt the urge to join her up here. He thought he was from a weak magical line, but since he actually had a strong witchblood heritage, I wondered if he had ever felt compelled to work with magic. Given he had no clue that Rowan Firesong—the strongest and oldest witch in town—was his mother, I doubted that he had ever been to the Aseer.
“What are you thinking about?” Ari asked.
“The fact that Rowan Firesong is my grandmother,” I said. “I wonder whether my father ever questioned his lineage. He had to feel the energy my mother worked with—it was in his blood. So why didn’t he ever question his roots?”
“Maybe he did, but he never told you,” Ari said, looking around. “Where do you want to start?”
“I guess the craft cabinets. I’m about as handy with a needle and thread as I am with a chain saw. Which is to say, Stand back, the woman is dangerous.” I sighed, opening the first cabinet. There were stacks of neatly folded fabric remnants and yardage. While some of it was pretty, I knew I’d never use most of it. There was also a pile of empty charm bags. Those I would keep. I decided that I could probably sew a straight line, so I would keep the stack of precut squares that sat next to the bags. Everything else, except for the thread and basic sewing tools, went into one of the garbage bags.
“What about the yarn? This is good quality and might come in handy for knot magic,” Ari said, holding up one of the skeins.
I shrugged. “Yes, but I don’t need two shelves of it. Keep one of each of the basic colors—and two of black, red, and white. The rest can go. I’ll keep all the embroidery thread, that can be used in so many charms. But the patterns can go. I’ll never sew a dress, my mother was skinnier than I was, and I don’t entertain any desire to turn into Suzy Seamstress any time soon.”
We moved on to the next cabinet. I kept the modeling clay, but opted to get rid of the papier-mâché strips. I kept all of the blank wooden plaques and paints—they looked like fun and I liked to paint at times—and the sketchbooks. I also kept the rotary tool, and a wood burner and the glue guns.
“I guess I’m keeping more than I thought,” I said. “I can see a use for a number of these things.”
“I can too, and you can always get rid of them later, if you find you don’t use them.” Ari carried the bag of material and other goodies I was donating over to the stairway and dropped it down to the floor below. “All right, the storage side. That will take more time, given there are a number of trunks and boxes there.”
I grimaced. “Right. We may have to ask Killian to come carry things down if they’re too heavy. Okay, let’s dive in.”
The storage area contained at least ten trunks and several pieces of furniture. I eyed the two standing lamps that were in front of the boxes. Neither was my style, and I picked up one.
“These go. Both of them.”
We carried them over to an empty area in the large room and set them to one side. There were also several chairs and a small table. The table was one of those with a built-in chessboard and drawers that held the pieces. And the drawers had beautiful silver pieces inside. I smiled.
“This was my father’s. He and I used to play every weekend. I want to find a place for it downstairs.”
“I remember that—you used to rope me into playing with you. I never told you how much I hated the game because I knew you loved it,” Ari said.
I stared at her. “Why didn’t you say anything? I loved playing but I never wanted to rope you into doing something you didn’t like!”
“You just seemed so geeked out about it. But I’ll play backgammon with you any day!”
“You’ve met your match. I used to play backgammon with my dorm neighbor every evening while we got stoned,” I said, snickering. “I’m a whiz.”
“You’re a whiz at just about everything,” Ari said. “I always envied your brain.”
“And I envied your ability to climb a rope. Good grief, remember old lady Krump? She hated me because I just couldn’t do what the other girls could. I could barely get up on the balance beam, let alone do a flip on it.” I rubbed the top of the chessboard. It was inlaid marble into the oak. “But chess… My father taught me to play when I was five. Every Sunday morning, Mom would make waffles and bacon and sausages…and we would sit and play while we ate. She would paint while we did that. It’s one memory I’ll never let go of.” I drifted off, thinking about my parents. “I’m one of the lucky ones, you know. I had a good childhood. I’ll treasure that always.”
Ari gave me a quick hug and let out a sigh. “I’m sorry, I know you miss them.”
“I do,” I said. “I hope they know how much I wish they were still here.”
They had died in a car crash not yet a year ago, and I still couldn’t get used to the idea that they were both gone. It had been so sudden. The frantic call from my aunt Teran at nine p.m. that my parents were in the hospital, to me speeding up the freeway, praying to every god who would listen that I’d get to the hospital in time and in one piece, to arriving at eleven p.m., only to find my mother crashing just as I got there.
The doctors worked on her frantically as I sat in the hall, numb, unable to speak. She had died before I could say good-bye. My father had already been pronounced brain-dead and I had to make the decision to let him go. That had been one of the hardest things I had ever had to do.
And all through it, my then-husband kept texting me, asking where to find his good shirt, and why hadn’t I asked the maid to clean under the bed—there were dust bunnies there, and had I had the chance to look over the divorce papers and…ya know…sign them yet? That was when I first started getting my voice back—when I texted back that I was done being his servant, he could sweep the fucking floor himself, and I’d sign them when I signed them.
Your mother knows how you feel and remember, she is here with us. She watches over you as best as she can. She knows you loved her and your father, Esmara said.
Esmara was one of the Ladies, my ancestors on my mother’s side—all strong witch women who came back to guard and guide those of us who were alive. Esmara had been my great-aunt, and she was my personal guardian. My aunt Teran was watched over by Prue, one of Esmara’s sisters. I suddenly wondered if my mother had talked to the Ladies while she was alive. It only made sense.
Esmara, who among you watched over my mother?
I did. And so I watch over you, as well.
Tell my mother I miss her. Do you know if my father is still around?