Page 102 of Hexed & Hazy

“Mercury, wandering star of communication and intellect, will you⁠—”

But I never get the words out.

Stars fill my eyes, and before I can suck in a grounding breath, I topple over.

The candle, so bright moments before, goes out.

The room fades.

So do I.

I wake up with my sisters surrounding me: Juniper and Laurel.

As comforting as Maple’s presence would be, I’m grateful that two are missing. It’s embarrassing to be here, worn out and unable to do the simplest of spells. Juniper’s expression is calm, with only the slight pinch of her brows giving away her concern, and Laurel is…

She’s freaking out, naturally.

“Oh, my gods!” Laurel presses a hand to my forehead. Her cheeks are red, and tears cling to her eyelashes. I should have known she would be this dramatic. “You’re all clammy. Are you sick? Again?”

I sit up and press my lips together, but my sisters urge me back onto the floor. At least they were kind enough to prop a pillow under my head.

“I was trying to cast a spell,” I mutter. “And it… didn’t go right.”

I know what happened. One of the first warnings our mother gave when teaching us spellcraft was to ensure you had the energy to cast. And I, for whatever reason, do not. Maybe the others are right—that I’ve been burning myself out. That’s all I know how to do.

“You could have asked for help,” Juniper says. “I know I’m useless at spell work, but Ozan would have been happy to⁠—”

“I don’t need him,” I snap.

Juniper flinches, and I instantly feel terrible. They’re trying to help. I’m pushing everyone away, even though a part of me knows I need them. I don’t want to need them. Or anyone.

Why does that no longer feel okay?

“It kind of seems like you do.” Laurel stands up, crossing her arms and popping her hip. “Or at least that you need someone. Some kind of help. You know better than this.”

I duck my head and close my eyes as guilt rushes to me in the form of a stomachache. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Juniper.”

“It’s fine,” Juniper says. “Don’t worry about my feelings. I know burnout when I see it, all right?”

“I’m not⁠—”

“Don’t. Stop trying to convince me and start figuring out what you’re going to do to change this because this… It’s unacceptable. It’s unsafe. I may not have the power to ban you from doing magic, but I sure as hell wish I did.”

No one has that power, but when I was small and overusing magic, my mother would convince me to cut back. I can tell Juniper wants to do the same, that she’s fighting not to treat me like a child.

“I know,” I whisper.

Lying down while they’re crowded around me is humiliating. Enough so that I’d love to perish.

“It seems like you were doing a spell for… intellect?” Laurel squints at the items. Blue is typically used for such spells; it’s not a bad guess. “You don’t need that.”

“It was for focus.” I clear my throat. “I’ve had trouble finishing all of my work tasks lately, and I thought this would help.”

“The gods are telling you to adjust your focus rather than trying to boost it,” Juniper says. “What was it you said when I opened the tavern? That you would take on fewer clients.”

“Yes. I said that.” Years ago. I squeeze my eyes hard enough that I hope I can disappear. “That isn’t what happened?”

They won’t understand. Juniper was once hardworking, but something changed after our mother died. She adjusted her priorities, learned to focus on what mattered. Now, she’s successful even though she has a life outside of work—a balance I’ve failed at, considering that I’m single. Again.