‘Tell me, does it feel like a fairytale now?’ she asked.
‘No,’ I replied, so timid I was barely able to hear myself. ‘It feels very real.’
My grandmother directed the vines up the walls like she was leading an orchestra. Clouds crashed with thunder and every bough of every painted tree trembled.
‘And what do we call a woman whose abilities exceed natural expectations?’ she asked, sweeping the clouds away and summoning the sun. ‘A woman who sees things others cannot. Can perform acts others might consider impossible. What name is she given, Emily?’
‘When you said my dad left because he didn’t agree with your beliefs …’ I murmured.
It suddenly was all so obvious. Power and strength rolled off her and somehow, into me, an unexpected pulse of something rushing through my veins and stealing my words away.
‘Go on, you can say it,’ she encouraged when I faltered. ‘You’ll feel better when you do.’
‘You’re a witch,’ I said.
‘Yes, I am,’ Catherine replied. ‘And so are you.’
Chapter Sixteen
‘I must say, it’s a relief.’
With impossible grace, Catherine moved from the loveseat to her preferred armchair, her posture noticeably looser than usual. ‘Doesn’t it feel good to have everything out in the open at last?’
‘I haven’t made it to “good” just yet,’ I replied, still reeling as all the puzzle pieces my mind had stored in different pockets, slotted themselves into place to form a very clear picture.
‘Take all the time you need,’ she said. ‘I wanted to tell you everything the moment we met but I had to be sure the blessing was alive in you. That’s what we call our magic, what it has always been called. The blessing had to develop in its own time and now we know for sure. Emily, you’re one of us.’
‘I’m a witch,’ I said, trying out the impossible statement for the first time.
‘That’s right.’ She laughed lightly as though I’d just declared myself a Libra or a Swiftie or any other normal thing.
‘And you’re a witch too?’
‘Surely am.’
‘Is that where you go in the mornings? To hang out with your coven?’
This time her laughter was much louder.
‘Oh, honey, I wish. Most days I’m out there arguing with tedious little men over tedious little things. There is no coven, it’s just us. Things are not as they used to be but I do believe that’s all about to change.’
Before I could ask one of the thousands of follow-up questions that were tripping off my tongue, the door flew open and Ashley entered carrying her usual tray, her usual iced tea.
‘Are you a witch?’ I asked bluntly when she set the tray down on the coffee table. My aunt looked up at me, her green eyes as hard as flint.
‘No, I’m not a witch. I already told you, I’m a caretaker.’
The silver sugar bowl clattered onto the marble top of the table and without waiting for a response from me or Catherine, she strode out the room, slamming the door behind her.
‘The blessing passes from grandmother to granddaughter,’ Catherine explained, the glasses on the table still rattling with the force of Ashley’s exit. ‘This demands a great sacrifice from the middle generation. The sons and daughters of witches, their mothers and the fathers, are not blessed with magic. Their sacred calling is the duty to nurture and care for we Bell witches.’
I’m a caretaker.
No wonder she hadn’t exactly rolled out the welcome wagon. Catherine was a witch, I was a witch, Ashley made the tea. Not exactly a good deal.
‘This morning, in the library,’ I said, eyeing a plate of cookies beside the tea. ‘I almost choked and Ashley just watched, she didn’t try to help or anything. That’s her idea of taking care of me?’
‘Your aunt was quite keen to discover whether or not our magic was with you,’ Catherine replied with a disappointed eyeroll. ‘I suspect that may have been her way of hurrying things along. Moments of crisis can expedite access to our abilities.’
