Nancy had turned into a robot version of herself, right before Cassie’s eyes. Cassie had a book in her bike basket that could grow words while you weren’t looking. Hannigan thought she was unseemly. Minotaurs were looking up the movie times forDr. Weird and the Way of Whatever the Fuckdown the street.
It had been a hell of a morning. And a yesterday. And a week before that.
Yet,thiswas the thing she was flustered over? It seemed absurd—even as she felt the answer to it pressing against the panicking part of her.You’re not used to the idea of Seth like that, but youaregetting used to the supernatural stuff,a voice inside her wanted to say. And though she tried to bat it away, she knew it was right. She could feel it slowly settling over her. A kind of calm, and an understanding that what had happened to Nancy was nothing to worry about. It was normal. It was natural. Like breathing.
Whereas everything with Seth?
Well, that wasn’t. It felt reckless and raw. Too full of seventy different weird emotions.
And it made her want to steer clear. To change the subject. “Oh gosh, not at all. I guess I’m just enjoying being back in town,” she tried. Then for good measure, she added, “Especially when lovely people send me fruit baskets.”
Which seemed to please Nancy.
Her dimples deepened; those bright eyes sparked.
And thank god, the topic was now something else entirely.
“I’m so glad you liked it. I wasn’t really sure if that was the right thing, you know. In fact, I almost sent donuts, or muffins, or books. But I wondered what the first two might imply, and the third one—well, I couldn’t remember if you even liked to read allthat much. I know it was always you and Seth and movies,” Nancy said, all in a way Cassie recalled very well. That sweet overspill of honesty, the chirping, chattering manner that had often overwhelmed her in high school.
She’d be pondering at least three different subjects Nancy had raised, while Nancy was off on the next one. Or worse: looking at Cassie sadly, because it seemed that Cassie didn’t want to respond. Even though she did. She always had.
It was the reason she made herself respond now.
“Oh no, I do like books. In fact, I was thinking of buying some while I’m here,” she said, and didn’t think twice about it. There wasn’t even a twinge ofyou don’t have much money to spare. Because the second she had the afterthought, the little witchy voice in the back of her head responded,you never have to worry about that again.
And she knew it was telling the truth.
She could already feel the outlines of several money-making potions taking shape in her mind. And okay, some of them were risky and difficult. They might draw attention. But if she was careful, as she suspected Gram had been with her weird coins and such, they would keep her fed.
Not to mention in reading material.
“Well, you have to let me recommend some stuff. I just got a selection of these old creepy ghost stories, and a bunch of vampire-type things. You like horror, right? I think I might have the perfect book, actually,” Nancy babbled away, and then she was off again, bustling around her store, gathering this volume and that—though never going near that glowing shelf, Cassie noticed.
So Cassie went to it herself.
Once Nancy was in the back, rummaging around and calling out questions, she looked over the shelf feverishly. And confirmed that its contents were almost all guidebooks.Healing Your Inner Horbeast,she saw, sat alongside something calledGoblin Etiquette. Then another one about growing magical vegetables. But it was the last book on the shelf that really caught her eye.Werewolfery for Beginners, she read, and snatched it up.
She didn’t get any further, however. Nancy came charging back to her in a great flurry of dropped books and fluttering pages and curly hair—god, the girl had so much curly hair. Cassie often thought her own dark waves were a bushy, messy disaster. But she had nothing on Nancy. Nancy was an explosion in a hair factory.
Yet somehow, it only made her prettier.
She practically glowed herself, as she busily used brown paper and twine to wrap the books Cassie said yes to. And said glow only disappeared when she got to the werewolf guide. The one Cassie had slipped onto the stack, hoping Nancy’s blank look wouldn’t come back.
But it did.
Her whole face changed. Even thoughshe didn’t actually stop what she was doing. She still rang it up, still wrapped it with the others, still accepted money and said thank you. Then it was done, and she was Nancy again. Nancy, who saidstop by again soon,and waved cheerily as Cassie left.
As if it were that easy to slip into and out of worlds, that you couldn’t even see.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Cassie pedaled back home, bags hanging off both arms and crammed into the bike basket. Every one of them so full of ingredients she couldn’t quite remember what she had—until she started unloading them on the kitchen table. And even then she didn’t take much of an inventory. She couldn’t, because seeing all the spices and herbs and vegetables and grains immediately set her brain on fire.
Like they had at the market. Like they hadbeforeshe’d gone to the market.
Only it was so much stronger now. She barely had to think before she began yanking out pans and pots and setting all the burners going. High heat for some, less for others—and yet more, she knew, could go in her Gram’s old microwave. Because as it turned out, things like cauldrons and campfires weren’t necessary.
The right temperature and the right ingredients and the right sitting time were what mattered. Alongside a few other things, like stirring direction, and the temperament you had when making whatever it was. If you were too angry for a calming potion, it might spoil. Too calm for a rage inducer and you could get milk.
