The door crashes open. Margie stands in the threshold, seething. Lit from behind, her fingers form the shape of horns, stabbing toward the ground as she spits a curse.
I’ve never seen anyone look more like a witch.
As she registers who I am, her expression ices over, lips curling. “Why are you here?”
I can’t appear weak. I shove to my feet, flick imaginary dust from my sleeve, and step toward the door. “I could ask you the same.” Shouldering past her, I breeze inside, and with atsk, I study the amulet she made. “Oh, Margie. I thought you were so God-fearing. But this looks like witchcraft.”
She casts a quick look around, hissing, “Say such things, and you’ll regret it.”
My bravado cracks as reality hits me. I can’t underestimate any of this. If Donag can make me travel through time, who knows what Margie could do.
Just as I’m about to bow to her power, Margie lifts her chin and declares, “Everyone kens real witches cannae cast spells on even-numbered days.”
I blink. Right.
Margie is as much a witch as I was in seventh grade, back when I bought my first Tarot deck and tried to hex my geometry teacher.
But…she might know things she doesn’t even realize she knows.
“You misunderstand me.” I pivot fast, sweetening my tone. “I find this fascinating. Are you casting a spell?”
She glares. “I ken naught about spells.”
“Then what is this?” I act extra admiring as I study her amulet.
She gives a reluctant shrug. “’Tis only a simple charm. To throw off a charm.”
“A charm to throw off a charm?”
She looks at me like I’m an idiot. “Aye, a counter-charm.”
“You must be very powerful.” I manage not to roll my eyes.
But I can tell she’s softening.
I lower my voice to a whisper, trying to sound as awed as possible. “What is the charm you’re fighting?”
With a toss of her hair over her shoulder, she says, “My sister has her eye on the lad I fancy, if you must know. The chit thinks she can steal him away. She set a charm on me.”
“No.” I look appropriately aghast, and it’s not much of a stretch. I mean, is she planning to kill her sister over a boy?
Her mouth curls into a feline smile. “Aye, she did. But I set a counter-charm. To cancel her charm.”
Cancel, not kill. I let out a small breath of relief. She’s not a total sociopath. “That’s very smart of you.” I nod appreciatively. I need her to open up to me, tell me what she knows and who taught her. “Is your sister a witch?”
She recoils. “No.”
“Then how do you know she cast a charm?”
She points to a small constellation of pimples on her forehead. “The spots. She sent them.”
“Your sister made you break out?”
“Must have done.” She crosses her arms. “I’ve been applying the poultice, but it’s nae working. That’s how I ken it’s a curse at work.”
I have to ask. “What’s in your poultice?”
“Piss. And a bit of bread.”
