“She’ll be here in a little while,” I continue as I add the yellow flowers to my basket. “We’ll have a nice visit with her before we open the shop for the day.”
Nera shuffles his big feet in excitement, and I lean over to plant a kiss on his cheek.
“I know, Breena’s your favorite—besides me, of course.” I kiss him again. “Right?”
Nera nuzzles my shoulder.
“I thought so. Come on. We have to get these into the oven to dry.”
I already preheated the oven, so I gently lay the blooms on their trays and slide them onto the racks, then pour myself another mug of coffee, stir in the creamer, and head for the bedroom to dress for the day.
I’m partial to greens and orange and pull a flowy orange dress from the closet. Customers expect to see the witch of the house dressing the part, and it’s lucky for them that I enjoy feminine clothes with an edgy, mystical look to them.
I tease my long, red hair into a braid, weave twine with bells into it for fun and cleansing, and then slide my feet into my shoes, just as I hear Breena’s voice call out for me.
Nera immediately abandons me for her, and I smile as I follow him out to the kitchen.
“Good morning,” I say with a laugh as Nera rubs himself against Breena, almost knocking her over.
“Hi,” she says and scratches Nera’s side until I think he might lie down in sheer happiness. “And good morning to you, sweet boy. I brought you a goody. Yes, I did.”
Breena comes over at least twice a week to stock up on things for her practice and leaves behind gifts in exchange. We worked out this barter system years ago.
There are three of us first cousins, all girls, and of the three of us, Breena is the brightest. The innocent one. She is the epitome of a hearth witch, always at the ready to take care of us all. She makes her wares out of love as well as plants, fibers, and elbow grease.
“I’m trying out a new syrup,” Breena informs me and pulls a tall bottle from her bag, setting it on the counter. “It has honeysuckle. I think you’ll like it. And for my favorite boy, I made peanut butter treats.”
Nera whimpers in excitement and sits with the manners of a gentleman as he waits for his biscuit.
“He has you wrapped around his huge paw,” I inform her dryly and take a sip of my coffee. “Need some caffeine?”
“Yes, please,” she says happily and boosts herself onto the stool by the kitchen island. She gazes around the room and then smiles at me.
“What?”
“I never know what to expect when I come in here,” she says with a shrug. “Some days, you have roses or sunflowers hanging upside down to dry. Other times, you have herbs in the oven.”
“Like today.”
Breena nods, sips her coffee, and then wrinkles her nose and reaches for my sugar bowl. She ladles in two teaspoons and then sets the spoon to stirring clockwise—without using her hands.
I smile and wonder what her stirring deasil is meant to bring to her.
“I’ve always loved your kitchen,” she continues with a sigh and rests her chin on her hand. “It’s warm, and it smells good.”
“How’s the ivy seedling I sent home with you last week?”
Her smile falls, and she looks down into her coffee.
“Breena.”
“You’re the green witch,” she reminds me. “And you know that I’m hopeless when it comes to plants. I can knit you a sweater or bake you a pie, but I can’t keep green things alive.”
“Bring it over. I’ll save it,” I reply and lean against the counter. “You’re the one who said you’d like a plant for your mantel. Ivy is practically impossible to kill.”
“Well, if you ever need to have some offed, I’m your girl,” she says. “I have a question.”
“Shoot.”
“Have you been dreaming?”
I meet her eyes and sigh. “You know that I always dream.”
“I know, but I don’t. Not that I can ever remember,” Breena replies with an answering sigh. “But I have been. I don’t remember everything, only bits and pieces, but they terrify me, Lucy. I don’t know what is scaring me, exactly, but I wake up shaking, frightened, and so cold that it takes thirty minutes in a hot shower to warm up.”
“You don’t remember anything specific about the dreams?” I ask as I hurry around the island to wrap my arms around my cousin and hold her close.
“I hear laughter,” she whispers against my shoulder. “But the kind that turns your bones to ice.”
“Yeah.” I sigh and brush my fingers through her faerie-blond hair. “I hear it, too.”
Nera’s head comes up off the bed he’s been curled up on. He tilts it to the side and whines, his eyes pinned to the door.
“Is someone here?” Breena asks. I hate that I can hear fear in her voice.
“I wasn’t expecting her so soon.” I rub circles on Breena’s back and watch the entryway, knowing exactly who’s arrived.
I knew she would come, eventually.
“Who?”
But before I can answer, a quick knock sounds on the door, and Lorelei comes through it with a bright smile on her gorgeous face.
“Surprise.”
“Oh, my goddess!” Breena jumps up and rushes to tackle-hug our cousin. “You’re here! You haven’t come home in…I don’t even know how long.”
“Three years,” I finish for her and smile at Lorelei over Breena’s shoulder. The air pulses around us the way it always does when the three of us are together.
We are the daughters of daughters, witches who can trace our lineage back to the beginning of recorded history here in our little part of Massachusetts. Long before the witch trials that killed people who weren’t witches at all.
“Hi,” Lorelei says, uncertainty weighing in those gorgeous green eyes.
“Welcome,” I reply and wrap my arms around them both, holding on tightly. I had no idea until this moment how badly I needed this, the power of the three of us together.
“How long are you here?” Breena asks. “A week? Two?”
“Maybe forever,” Lorelei replies, surprising us both.
“What happened to teaching folklore at that fancy university in California?” I ask, taking in Lorelei’s jeans and simple white T-shirt. “Are you wearing Nikes?”
“They’re comfortable,” she says with a shrug. “If I wear my dresses and cloaks in LA, I get funny looks.”
“You’re a folklore professor from Salem,” Breena points out. “I don’t think it would be weird at all. But you always had an ass for denim.”
“Thanks.” Lorelei grins and turns to show off said ass. “I’ve been doing a lot of lunges.”
“Nice,” Breena says with a nod. “They’re working. I’ve been trying to build my arm muscles for kneading bread and all the cast iron lifting I do.”
“Good idea,” Lorelei says. “I’ve missed your bread so much.”
“As much as I love this conversation about fitness, perhaps we could discuss what brings Lorelei home after she said, repeatedly, that she’d pretty much never come home to stay.”