I still remember the way my sisters’ eyes glowed. The deeper, uncanny timbre of their voices as we recited whatever spell it was that locked the ward into place to keep Silverlight Shore safe.
“Ivy,” Hazel says softly. “We’re all here now. We can’t change the past. We can’t change ourselves.”
“All we can do is try to move forward.” I hold my hand out.
Caleb takes it without a second thought. It’s warm and dry and feels infinitely steadier than the trembling place it occupied on my knee a moment ago. He squeezes my hand briefly.
I make myself open the envelope.
Yellowed with age, a simple piece of notebook paper unfolds from inside.
“It’s from Grandma,” I say, recognizing her handwriting instantly.
Grandma’s handwriting will always be etched into my memory — countless grocery lists I helped her write, little notessaying she had to work late but there was casserole in the fridge and how long to heat it up.
Directions for cooking all the recipes she taught us over the years, written on yellowed and stained index cards in her swooping penmanship.
Just the simple act of seeing that handwriting makes me feel like she’s in the room with us again.
“I wish you were here, Grandma,” I say out loud. My sisters murmur their agreement, waiting for me to go on. My shoulders heave as I take a deep breath and begin to read.
“My sweet girls — Hazel, Posey, Rose, and Ivy.
If you found this picture, that means you’ve called forth the basement in a time of need. I’m sorry I didn’t show this to you before now, but the memory of that day is so painful for so many reasons. Most of all watching your parents drive away from you. Most of you were too young to understand what it was. But Ivy girl, I know that you did. Your mother took this picture to show me the proof of what was happening. She was supposed to be in town with Nonna and me, handing out the bread we made the night before as part of our thanks for the volunteers boarding up the shops and streets of Silverlight Shore before that awful storm. You girls were up to something that night. We didn’t figure out what until your mother showed me this picture. I tried my best to keep your magic under control. I bound parts of it. I didn’t think any magic was worth the pain of seeing the disapproval on the woman who created you. But I couldn’t control it. I wasn’t strong enough.”
My voice breaks, and a tear drops onto the lined notebook paper, smudging the decades-old ink. I take another breath. My sisters are quiet. Their familiars are too. Caleb’s presence is steady behind my shoulder. No one urges me to continue.
“She took this picture to show me what you four were up to — to prove that none of the bindings I’d done were strong enough to keep you from discovering exactly what you could do.
The night we were baking bread, the four of you discovered a spell book. A spell book with strong protection spells. They weren’t spells I could ever work on my own. But as you’ve seen in the basement, I’ve collected spell books, parchments, and scrolls full of information — recipes and potions I hoped to one day work with alongside the four of you. I think working that spell so young did something to the four of you. I’ve wished for a long time there was someone else I could ask. But as much as I know about witchcraft, there’s so much more I don’t. Your mother found you deep in an incantation you discovered in one of my spell books. It was designed to prevent harm from coming to a place and the people you loved. The four of you worked that spell in such a way and made pacts with the guardians of the East, West, North, and South…”
Something has been scratched out.
I peer at the words, trying to make them out, but it’s no use.
“I don’t know what she said here,” I tell my sisters. “There’s a whole few lines scratched out.” I flip the paper over, to where the letter continues and draw a deep breath.
Hazel’s trembling slightly. I can’t tell if it’s fear, anticipation, or excitement.
I swallow and continue.
“If you’re reading this note, it means that this picture is relevant again and the ward you created that night needs to be repaired or reworked. I don’t know what pact you made with the guardians. The four of you were too traumatized to ever tell me. As time passed, I decided it would be easier if I didn’t bring up those horrible memories again. I don’t know how to help you with whatever problem you’re facing now. If I could,I would tell you how to fix it. But trust that you’ll know what to do. If you could do it when you were small children, you can do it now as grown women. I love you all so very much and am so proud of you.
Love always,
Grandma.”
I fold the letter back up and slip it into the envelope.
I wipe my arm across my eyes.
“Well,” I say, my voice cracking, “thank God I didn’t put on any makeup.”
“Yeah,” Posey says with a watery laugh. “You’d look like a raccoon right now.”
“I think raccoons are cute,” Hazel argues.
“We know they’re your favorite,” Rose tells her. “Lil trash panda weirdo.”
