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“I’m going to give you time to cool off from this mind-numbingly, ridiculous conversation.”

Alice stood there, alone, in the cold, damp wine cellar.

Knockson the basement door brought Alice back to the present. Alice didn’t know if those knocks were new or if she had blocked them out the entire time she laid on the floor. The room and all her prized objects came back into view. She sat up, rotating her arm to restore feeling. She snapped her fingers, and the basement door flung open.

Guinevere flew into the living room. The end of its broom handle was cracked and hung limp by a small bit of still connected wood from where Hugo had snapped it over his knee.

“What did he do to you?” Alice asked.

Not Hugo. It was Sylvia. She did it. Not Hugo.

Guinevere hung in the air. It focused on Alice and then on the wooden stake on the ground. It lingered there as if it was examining the instrument and piecing together what happened. It focused backon Alice. Guinevere moved toward her and nestled against her chest and side of her head, leaning in as if to give her a hug.

Alice wrapped her arms around the wounded broomstick. A tear fell down her face. “Thank you. It’ll be okay. It’s okay.”

They held their embrace for a moment.

Alice continued, “Let me heal you.”

The broomstick pulled back so Alice had a clear view of the damage. She moved the cracked piece back into position. She cupped her hands around the broom handle, squeezing tightly. She leaned in, breathing into her hands. She called forth the power of her magick with the language of the arcane.

She let go.

Guinevere pulled back, with the handle now straight. A scar remained where the cracks had once carved through the ash handle.

“Sorry, I can’t do anything about the scars. But in full honesty, it makes you look like a badass. A badass, vampire killing broomstick.”

Guinevere leaned into Alice once more before pulling back.

Alice stood. Her eyes caught the black broomcorn with streaks of purple and red sitting on top of her memory shelf. She moved over to the book case, blindly searching around behind the broomcorn until it made contact with the object. A black, velvet box. She pulled it down.

Her eyes lingered on the diminutive box she held in her hands. She flipped it over and over, examining every inch. She knew what was inside, yet she hesitated, knowing it would be the last gift Hugo gave her.

Her hands trembled as she moved her thumbs to the seams. She took a deep breath and gently slid her thumb up. The soft creaking of the hinge added to the suspense in the air. As the lid lifted, Alice’s eyes twinkled at the illustrious item held within the box. A slight smile, once thought to be lost forever, returned to her face.

Nestled in the black, velvety cushion was a ring of absolute perfection. It was a thin, onyx band with a purple amethyst crystal in the shape of a heart. It glimmered and glistened with an etherealelegance as if it was carved by the powers of the arcane. With a gentle tug, she freed the delicate ring from the soft bed inside the box, then placed the black box onto the memory shelf.

Alice held the ring in her hand, twisting and turning to examine every bit of the surface. She raised her left hand and hovered it over her ring finger. She paused. Her heart beat against her chest. She breathed deeply to soothe her nerves.

“I’ll marry you, Hugo Dodds,” Alice whispered as if to a ghost standing in front of her.

She placed the ring on her finger with tender care. She twisted the ring around a few times—mimicking the gesture Hugo had done following his loss—before placing it in an upright position. She tapped the amethyst crystal with the tip of her finger.

Alice focused on the memory shelf. The black box of her engagement ring rested next to the wooden box holding Hugo’s wedding ring. Her eyes drifted to the various other mementos from her family’s past. The pictures of long-gone family members.

The cracked picture of her great-great grandparents—the cowboy and the witch. No doubt the spell was in the picture, hidden and safe within her witch’s hat. Her relatives, acting out of a sense of duty, did what was necessary to safeguard the spell.

She recalled the vivid details passed down from her grandmother about how her great-great grandparents valiantly protected a small western town from an ominous shadow wizard in search of the spell. They were successful in their duties, fulfilling their charge with unwavering determination.

Alice's eyes landed on the photo of herself in a loving embrace with her grandmother, Bee. She was the next to shoulder the burden. Her grandmother fulfilled her duty, ensuring the spell remained hidden without a trace. And now, the burden was placed on Alice.

There was no escape from her destiny. The days of hiding were over. In order to fulfil her duty and honor her family legacy, she must rid the world of the vampire menace known as Sylvia Savino.

She breathed in, releasing the tension held deep within her soul.Alice lifted her head with a renewed sense of purpose. She squinted; her eyes narrowed in concentration on the hickory broomstick resting on top of the bookcase.

Her smile vanished, replaced by a resolute expression conveying her unwavering determination. A brilliant idea flickered into existence in her mind, like a flame dancing in the darkness. Galahad, her horse-dog, left her with one last parting gift.

“I know what I must do. Please. Please be with me. Protect me,” she whispered. “Especially you, Hugo.”