Just the four of us bickering like we always have. Not that we bicker about jars of pee, but there’s a first time for everything. Hopefully not literally jars of pee, though.
“I’m glad you’re home, Hazel,” I tell her. “We’re going to figure this out.”
“How dangerous is the spell?” Posey asks, leaning over the book. “It says we need blood.”
Hazel makes an annoyed noise. “Yeah. Like a drop of blood. Relax. No one’s slicing their palm open.”
“It also says we need a crowing cock who cannot crow.” Posey looks down her nose at her.
“Where the hell are we supposed to get that?” Rose asks. “What does that even mean.
“It’s a rooster,” Hazel says. “They crow all the time.”
“They crow at dawn,” Rose says. “Have you been around a lot of chickens?”
“Have you?” Posey asks Hazel.
“Yeah, actually. I stayed on a farm in Virginia for a while. Helped with chores.” Hazel rolls her eyes. “Those roosters can be mean. And they absolutely crow all day.”
“Then why did you put that one on my list?” Rose demands. “And how am I supposed to keep it from crowing? I don’t have the faintest clue where to get a rooster.”
“I guess you’ll have to get creative,” Hazel tells her sweetly. “Also, it probably just means a picture of one. Or a statue. These spells are like shit recipes from the two centuries ago.” She wiggles her hand. “You have to interpret them.”
“Interpret this,” Rose says, gesturing rudely.
“I’m going to check on lunch,” I say, leaving the three of them to continue bickering. It doesn’t take me long to slip into the old familiar kitchen, their heightened argument still bouncing off the walls behind me.
Caleb gives me a curious look as I walk in. He’s arranging cookies and brownies I baked last week onto a plate, along with chocolates from my shop. Sandwiches are already made, chips lined up beside them, tea steeping.
I steal a chocolate and pop it in my mouth. “You freaking out?” I ask.
“No, not at all.” His eyebrow quirks. “Why would I be freaking out? You have it handled.” A soft smile tugs the corners of his mouth up. “I’m not scared of you. I think you’re incredible, always have. This is just more proof of it.”
He starts to walk past me with the tray.
I stare at the sandwiches. “Wow. You made those fast.”
“Not rocket science,” he says. “Just peanut butter and jelly. I haven’t gotten the water ready yet, if you want to help.” He kisses my temple.
“Sure.” I find the big glass pitcher my grandmother loved and fill it with ice water, a companionable silence between us. It’s peaceful, a whole system reset after my sister’s arguments. I load up another tray with cups and fruit, along with things for our familiars: birdseed treats for Fig, extra fruit for the Snowball, and dog treats for Gunner.
They’d be pissed if we forgot him.
Then I take a deep breath, steel myself, and follow Caleb back into the living room—and nearly bump into his back when he stops short. He stares at the floor with a strange expression.
“What’s wrong?” I nudge him, because he looks slightly shell-shocked.
“I spilled some tea on the floor,” Caleb tells me.
“That’s fine,” I say. “Seriously, don’t worry about it.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” he says. “The house sucked it up like it never happened.”
Oh. I purse my lips, familiar dread settling in my belly before it dawns on me that he already knows our secret. I blow out a breath and smile, tension in my shoulders easing. “Yeah. Ever wonder why we didn’t invite you over much when we were kids?”
He lets out a low chuckle. “The house is...” he trails off.
“Yeah. It’s magic,” I finish. “Grandma and all the Romantic witches before her charmed it. Some of the spells don’t work as well anymore. But the cleaning spells and sand charms absolutely do. It’s one of my favorite things about living here. The sand just disappears.”
