Page 3 of Bewitched & Bewildered (Witches of Starbrook #1)

Chapter 3

Juniper

“Tell me when to stop.” Laurel holds our late mother’s tarot deck, shuffling with expertise.

It’s a deck I know better than any other—we all do. It was our first divination tool. The cards are from the 70s, and they’re perfectly worn down. Years of use make them bendy enough to make shuffling a dream. I know the imagery by memory.

Laurel does, too.

I don’t trust my baby sister with many things, but this is one of them. Her intense eyes are glued to mine, and I know she’s taking this seriously.

I’ve been unemployed for two weeks. Fourteen and a half days of lounging around the frozen house and wishing I had the money to install central heating. Fourteen days of having only Laurel, my equally unemployed sister, to keep me company.

How unbelievably low I have fallen. Laurel is allowed to be unemployed. She’s taking a break from school, and she’s still a baby.

What’s my excuse ?

Maple tells me I can take as long as I need. Rowan, our second youngest, says nothing, but her silence speaks volumes.

Enough is enough. It’s time to get back to work.

This tarot reading will be the start of that… I hope.

“Stop!” I say.

Our mother taught us to wait until we feel a tingling and pulling. Once it comes, the deck has the answers we’re looking for. I tend to feel it like a gut instinct.

Laurel stops and slams the thick deck onto the coffee table.

“You’re here for a money reading, right?” she asks.

I nod, on the edge of my seat. “I want to know what to focus on next. If there’s a specific job or any guidance you have, I suppose.”

Going to Laurel for advice may sound silly, but she’s one of the best tarot readers in the family. This includes our vast extended family. I would have gone to my mother before her passing, but Laurel is a good second choice.

She is still deciding which form of magic she wants to pursue, but I know she’ll be a great divinatory witch if she chooses that path.

My sisters each have a specialty—every witch does. Maple is, fittingly, a kitchen witch. She made a career of it, though her jobs rarely let her charm the food. Aspen is a love witch. Rowan is a cosmic witch and an expert in astrology.

As for me, I whip up a mean potion, but I haven’t been focusing on my potion-making lately. I can’t remember the last time I brewed something more complicated than a cold remedy.

Laurel cuts the deck into three piles and picks the top cards from each .

“This,” she says, flipping over one card, “is where you’re coming from. It’s what you’re leaving behind.”

The ace of cups in reverse. I tilt my head to the side, trying to understand the card. It’s the worst thing I can do. Laurel is the reader, and I’m supposed to trust her interpretation, not come up with one of my own.

Witches make for the worst kind of reading client.

Laurel flips the next card. “This is where you are now. Three of cups.” She lifts a brow. “Very fitting.”

“I suppose…”

“And this!” She flips the last card with gusto, brandishing it in the air before she slams it on the table. “Is where you’re supposed to go. It’s your next step.”

“The six of cups? No way.”

“Hush. You’re not the reader. I am.” She inhales and inspects the cards. “These are all cups cards. That’s interesting…”

“Is it?”

“That means it’s a matter of the heart, not money.”

I roll my eyes. Matters of the heart are not a priority right now—and they haven’t been for… well, for about a year.

“You better find a way to make it about money,” I say.

She quietly inspects the cards. Several moments later, she slams her hand on the table. “I got it.”

“Go on.”

“The ace of cups in reverse is where you were.”

“You already said that.”

She continues. “You were following paths that weren’t emotionally fulfilling. It drained your energy. That was a bad thing. It kept you from doing what mattered.”

Laurel is vibrant as she reads the cards, the words coming a mile a minute. Our late mother approached divination differently. She was quiet, and she let the cards whisper to her. Laurel lets them speak through her. She’s a ball of energy, and the words flow from her without thought or care.

She slaps her hand against the middle card.

“The three of cups is where you are, and—duh—it’s you partying with your sisters. You’re filling that cup up and reconnecting to what matters.”

“Which is…?”

“Family.”

“But I’ve always been connected to you.”

I do everything for my sisters. Every job, every shift, everything . Even before my mother passed, my family was always in the back of my mind. It’s why Aspen distancing herself from us makes no sense to me…

But she’s happy. That’s all I care about.

“Not like that,” she says. Her expression becomes severe. “You’re supposed to be connecting to the fun of sisterhood and witchery.”

“I don’t see how that will bring me money.”

This is why I don’t specialize in tarot. It’s fun, but it rarely has constructive advice. I should have gone to Rowan and checked on my transits. There must be something happening in the stars.

“You’re focusing on the wrong things.” She points at the final card—the six of cups. “Someone from your past will return. They will come to you with an offer, and you will”—her lips press together—“try to refuse, but to refuse is to deny your desires. It will not work.”

My heart races. “ What ? I know that’s one potential way to read the card, but…”

The image on the six of cups is a man and a woman exchanging a pot of flowers. It tends to be a romantic card, but this is a money reading. I need her to find another interpretation.

“It’s the only way,” she says. “Not in general, obviously, but in this reading. That’s your message from the gods. You’re supposed to focus on your connections right now. Be open-minded and live with an open heart.”

Laurel’s readings are usually spot on, even if she delivers them in obscure ways. She missed the mark this time, but I don’t want to say so. The last thing I want is to stifle her passion.

“And your money advice is…?” I ask.

“Don’t worry about money. Focus on reconnecting to joy. Find your inner child, and keep an open heart. Have fun! Meet new people!”

“Great.” I force a smile. “Thanks.”

“Juni.” I’m about to stand, but her hand on mine keeps me in place. When Laurel looks at me, it feels like she’s looking through me. “Don’t write my advice off. This is what mom would have wanted.”

My throat is dry when I swallow.

None of my sisters bring up our mother. We haven’t spoken about her since the funeral. Laurel is the exception. She’s the only one who knows how to talk about her; I certainly don’t.

My stomach drops. Even with her green hair, she looks the most like our mother. Her eyes have the same shape, and her hands move like Mom’s when she shuffles those cards.

But she’s not my mother—or even close. Laurel is my baby sister, and she’s never had a real job. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.

“Thanks,” I say. “I’m going to town for the morning.”

And no matter what Laurel says—I’m looking for a job. I won’t be looking for love, fun, or any other concepts she’s trying to shove down my throat. No one will pay me to have a good time.

I need something to force me to my feet, carry me to my room, and help me pick an outfit for my job-hunting excursion. This reading is what does it. I’m determined to prove those stupid cards wrong.

It’s another nippy day. I change into a dark maxi skirt, a matching top, and plenty of outerwear to keep me warm. A coat and even a hat. It’s too much for autumn, but I’ll be walking around outside. I’m bundled by the time I’m out the door.

There’s a determined look on my face as I amble through the cobbled streets of Starbrook. The buildings are older and rustic. While some have been renovated, most look like they’re from another time. Some are gothic, while others are like quaint cottages.

On the walk to town, I pass dozens of houses, and I know everyone who inhabits them.

Driving is an option, but I want to make the best of the snowless weather. You would think being raised in the Northeast means I can handle the cold, but I can’t. Out of my sisters, I’ve always been the most ill-equipped for the winter chill.

There’s an old brown house in the middle of the town square. That’s where we hold our town meetings. The flower shop is cute and pastel, with gold lettering. There are even a few apartments, but none rise too high, leaving the gray sky in view. The leaves are rustling colors of orange, yellow, and purple.

Even though it’s getting colder, it’s the best time of the year.

You can find everything you need in our downtown: groceries, records, beer, and ice cream. Well, the ice cream shop is closed for the season, but you can find the rest.

Everything except witch supplies.

I stop in front of my mother’s old shop. Hawthorne Apothecary.

My mother opened this shop when I was still a toddler and ran it for her entire life. It was my second home, and it still feels like it, no matter how long I avoid going in. My heart clenches.

This shop is mine now, and I don’t know what to do with it. I expected her to give it to us all— or perhaps Rowan. Her day job as an accountant would make her a good fit to run a business. Instead, she gave it to me, and heartbreak caused me to shut it down.

It’s been closed for a year now. Seeing the old sign is enough to break my heart.

My stomach drops. I turn ahead and continue along the path. I have to move on. I can’t keep looking back.

It’s hard when I’ve lived in the same place for most of my life.

I’ve already worked at many of these shops, whether a high school job or one of my many temporary jobs. The ice cream shop? It’s closed until spring, and I already worked there. The bakery? It’s not my style; I’ll leave that to Maple. The grocery store? I already worked there—and quit after two weeks. Stocking fruit isn’t as glamorous as it looks.

Working in Starbrook isn’t realistic. I have too much history with everyone, and there hasn’t been a new shop in years…

Times change, and sometimes you don’t notice. It’s tough to observe changes when you’re busy wallowing in your room for two weeks .

Something catches my eye. It’s an old building, but the sign is brand new.

When did this happen? I had heard about the pharmacy closing, but I didn’t know someone had already replaced it.

I stand in front of the quaint shop.

It takes a moment for the sight to sink in. A sign in front boasts a grand opening. It takes one peek through the window to see what’s inside.

Walls of jarred herbs, herb bundles hanging from the ceiling, big crystals, straw brooms…

Oh no. Oh no, no, no…

The world spins.

My earliest memories are in my mother’s shop. I remember running home to her, crying, after someone bullied me on the bus. She wrapped me up in her arms, whispered soothing words in my ear, and sat me down with a cup of peppermint and chamomile tea.

“Add honey,” she would say. “It makes everyone treat you with more sweetness.”

I don’t know how true it is, but it seemed to help every single time. Whoever runs this new shop can’t be as good as her—they can’t do it like her.

Neither can I. That’s the problem.

Hawthorne Apothecary has always been the only witch supply store in town. Now, someone new has come to take my memories from me.

Lapin Apothecary

My fists clench. There’s a whooshing and ringing in my ears. I can’t let this happen. They can’t replace her like this.