Page 10 of Spellbound & Speechless (Witches of Starbrook #2)

Aspen

Finally, it’s my night off, and the house is quiet, with everyone else still working hard. Maple is cooking, Juniper is managing, and Laurel has her tarot readings. Even Rowan is nowhere to be seen.

It’s just me, and before long, I realize I like it. I need it. Going from spending years living alone in a tiny apartment to living in a house full of my noisy sisters is… well, it’s different. Different isn’t always bad, but it takes time to adjust.

This may be the first proper self-care day I’ve had since moving back.

I take a long, hot shower and waltz through the house in my silkiest robe.

There are a few chores I could focus on—dishes in the sink and boxes that need unpacking.

More importantly, though, I need to paint my toenails.

That takes precedence over everything else.

I settle onto the couch and lean forward, propping my foot on the coffee table. “Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty…” I roll the polish between my hands. “Bless me. Ground me.”

A simple prayer for a simple task. As a glamour witch, everything I do to care for myself is an act of devotion to my goddess. The polish is warm to the touch and glowing from within—a sign my prayer has been heard and granted.

I hum along to my music as I swipe the baby pink color over my trimmed nails, focusing intently on painting the little area. As far as my self-care treatments go, this isn’t exactly glamorous, but I haven’t found a manicurist in Starbrook.

I dry my toes with my handheld fan.

As wonderful as it’s been to connect with my sisters again, I always wanted to live in New York. I wanted to be a part of the fashion industry. That was my life journey, my life's purpose.

Or so I thought. I no longer feel so confident about it.

Working as a server is as soul-crushing as the fashion industry, but I won’t be at the tavern forever. I will live my dreams, even if they look different from how they once did.

A floorboard creaks. My head turns as my mini fan clatters to the floor, still whirring.

The old house is drafty, even after the effort my sisters put into renovating the place. It must be nothing. I duck my head and begin working on the next foot.

CREAK…

There it is again. I set the polish on the table.

“Timber?”

The dog pads into the room, answering as quickly as usual.

“Erie?” I call next, waiting.

My dove doesn’t answer my call. How peculiar. A witch’s familiar should always come when they call…

Unless there is danger.

The polish knocks over as I stand, pink pigment spilling onto the weathered wooden floor .

“Reveal yourself!” My voice shakes.

The energy in the room trembles, and slowly, a creature creeps from a shadow in the room. No, not a creature, but a person—a witch. The corrupt witch from the bar.

This time, I don’t scream at the sight of her expired face. The sound catches in the back of my throat, but I won’t let it break free. This witch cannot have my fear. Not again.

She isn’t here for me. My family is powerful, but I am useless.

Laurel has raw, untapped magic that has yet to be defined.

Juniper has the hands of a potion maker—charmed hands that can create and channel energy with little effort.

Rowan carries celestial magic, one of the most ancient practices, only known to a few living witches.

Maple may be a simple kitchen witch, but even she is more useful than I am.

“How did you get in here?” I ask.

She tilts her head to the side. “Through the front door, of course.”

Goddess. Did I forget to lock it? That’s just like me. As hopeless as ever.

I lift my chin higher. “And what do you want with me?”

The dark veins in her forehead pulse as stolen magic ripples through her body. “Can’t you put the pieces together?”

I shake my head.

“Too dense for even that, I see.” She steps closer. Her clawed nails run along my cheeks, scraping my soft skin.

I whimper.

“You carry the magic of beauty, youth, and charm. That is what a witch like me needs.” She leans closer.

The rot of stolen magic hits my nostrils. I recoil from her touch. “How do you know stealing my magic won’t make you uglier? That’s how it’s worked for you so far, right? ”

She is ugly. I’m not the type to call anyone ugly, but a witch who steals magic and life is ugly inside and out.

Robbing the magic of a paranormal being is the same as stealing someone’s soul.

My magic connects me to my goddess, and this witch threatens to rip it apart, to steal the gift of beauty Aphrodite gave me.

The corrupt witch smiles a slow, evil smile. “That is a risk I am willing to take. You see, not everyone elevates beauty as you do. There are more important things, and far more powerful ways to use your gifts. You are afraid to use them, aren’t you?”

My breaths come out in pants as I back away, desperate to get far from her grasping fingers. “You’re lying. You want to use me to trap my sisters.”

I can’t let that happen, but I can’t do anything about it. All I can do is run, and I do, flying through the house as fast as I can.

“Help!” I yell, hoping to be loud enough that the neighbors can hear.

She blocks the front door, but if I can reach the attic… to the kitchen… somewhere with magical supplies.

I can live through this. I can save my sisters. I have to try.