“What Ziploc bag?”I ask.
“You know there’s thirteen thousand dollars in my checking account, which means you went to the bank, which means Talky Tina probably gave you access to my entire life and you opened the safe-deposit box and poked through that bag full of goodies. So what called to you?”
My hand goes to the tiny leather dictionary in my pocket, and I pull it out and show it to her. “I wouldn’t say it called to me, but I love words. And books.”
“What do you thinkcalled tomeans, you ornery child?” Her eyes focus on the leather cover. “Lord, I want to bite that. This bird body is wired to destroy things.” She ruffles her feathers and steps away. “Has anything interesting happened with that little book, since you stuck it in your pocket?”
I hate how knowing she sounds, and I hate that she’s right. “I may have consulted it a few times when I was trying to make my decision.”
She shakes herself excitedly. “Yes! Good. And how’d that go?”
I sigh. “The dictionary is biased. It probably accepts bribes.”
“Ha!” she cackles. “Let me guess—every word you saw suggested you should stay here.”
“You think you know everything,” I grouse.
“Around here, maybe I do know everything. Ever think about that, smarty-pants?”
I hold up the dictionary and unsnap the cover. “MagicWebsterin my palm, should I lock up Grammy and have some calm?”
I close my eyes, flip to a page, and put down my finger. And frown.
“What’s the word?”
I don’t want to say it.
“Well?”
“It sayslisten.”
“I could’ve told you something like that was gonna happen,” she gloats.
“So what does it mean—is this a magic book?”
“Only whenyouuse it. Wouldn’t do a thing for me.” She struts around, full of energy now. “Okay, so I told you about knacks. Just like some normal folks are good at math and some are good with animals and some can sing like angels, most witches have a special skill. That’s your knack. All the stuff in that bag—it was chosen for a reason. It can help identify your area of expertise. Been in the family pretty much forever.”
I think back to how random it all was and begin to make connections. A dog whistle. A lipstick. A teaspoon. So someone who’s good with animals, someone with charisma or acting ability or beauty skills, a baker or chef.
And I chose a book.
“So this dictionary is magic, or I have magic with all books?”
“Stop. Think back. Was there anything in your past life you couldn’t explain?”
I roll my eyes. “Mawmaw, my life is not past. I’m still living it. I haven’t decided if I’m going back or not.”
“Your life in Alabama, before you knew about witchcraft. Was there anything that you were drawn to, something that just brought you comfort and joy?”
When it dawns on me, it feels annoyingly obvious.
“Yes, yes, I’ve always loved books. But that’s not rare—”
“But when things were hard or you needed answers, you were drawn to books, right? And sometimes you found the answers you needed?”
I stand and stomp over to the nearest window, thinking about the five-hundred-dollar Georgia lottery scratcher in my library book. “You don’t have to be smug just because you know more than I do.” I pull on the cord to raise the blinds, but they don’t budge, so I yank hard until they rip free and fall to the ground like a dying accordion. “I’m sick of everything here being pee-pee yellow.”
“Does that mean you’re staying? You can decorate however you like.”
