The drawers range in size from small to large and have hand-painted labels. Flowers and herbs in one section, feathers and claws in another, stones and crystals in yet another. I can’t help myself. I have to pull open every drawer, run my fingers through rivers of petals and shifting sands of spices and bins of tiny seeds that I am fairly certain are not actually the eyes of newts.
If this is what being a witch is, I am very much onboard.
Why didn’t Maggie show me this?
If she wanted me to stay, this cabinet would’ve helped turn the tide.
I have never been so enamored of an object in my entire life except an actual card catalog I once saw for sale at an antiques shop back in Cumberville. Even in our Podunk town it was so expensive I couldn’t afford a single drawer.
As I methodically peruse the magical offerings on hand, I keep an eye out for that grimoire. There could be no more fitting resting place for a book of magic spells than a cabinet of magic ingredients. But even when I get to the bigger cubbies, I don’t find a single book. Folded fabric, perfectly clean animal skulls, and even some ornamental (I hope) knives, but no book. I press places on the interior walls, hoping to find a secret door or drawer, but the cabinet does not relent.
It goes all the way down to the floor, so I fetch a stool and look on top, but all I find there are jugs of water like the one in the bathroom.
Water from the falls, I suppose.
“Knock, knock,” Hunter calls, and I gently close the closet door and hurry into the kitchen to find him standing on the stairs, just outside the raggedly cut doorway. I’m pretty sure he couldn’t see from here to there, but I don’t mention the cabinet. I’m not even sure why. It feels special and personal, and at least for a while, I want to keep it all to myself, treasure it like a kid with a shiny new doll who doesn’t want to share.
“What’s up?”
He points at the cage. “Where’s Doris?”
And it’s funny, but I feel guilty for admitting what happened.
Like I’m her owner instead of her granddaughter.
It’s not that I’m negligent; she has a fully functional human brain and has chosen to put herself in grave danger all by herself and against my wishes. But I can’t tell him that.
“I don’t know. She flew out the door the other night. I couldn’t catch her. I’ve been calling for her, but…” I trail off.
And admit the truth.
Or some of it.
“I’m really worried about her.”
He steps closer to the cage and looks inside like she might inexplicably be hiding within. “I don’t know much about birds, but we could make some signs? You certainly have plenty of window space. This is the kind of town where handmade signs still work. And you should use the Chamber group text. Obviously, if anyone notices a pink pigeon flying around, they’re going to tell somebody. And we could call the police and animal control. I’m so sorry.” He pauses. “I know we’re not supposed to talk about it, but is she your familiar?”
He’s still standing on the stairs like a vampire waiting for an invitation. I motion him up, but I’m not sure how to answer.
Isshe my familiar?
Yes.
And also very much no.
For a moment, I ignore the question and fill in the silence with hospitality.
“You’ve got to be thirsty. Want some water? Or a Diet Coke? I was going to make some sweet tea, but I haven’t yet. It’s on my to-do list. My very long to-do list.”
“Water’s fine.” He sits on a kitchen stool in that way handsome men have, one leg on the ground and one hooked on the footrest. I put ice in a glass and run water from the tap, and as he drinks, I enjoy watching his Adam’s apple bob like some hunk from a soda commercial.
“I don’t know much about witchy things, but I can hear her talking in my mind,” I finally say, opting for a little bit more of the truth. “If that’s what a familiar is.”
He cocks his head. “That’s weird, then, that she would fly away. Familiars are generally bonded to you. They want to be near you.”
I stare at the door and think about how she bounced and splatted across the parking lot, desperate to escape my manyquestions. “I guess she didn’t like what I had to say. We were arguing. But she doesn’t know how to survive on her own. She—”
I stop myself before I can say too much.
