Page 37 of Spellbound & Speechless (Witches of Starbrook #2)

Aspen

“Aspen? Come here, will you?”

I jump at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. I’ve been tiptoeing around my home all morning, and it’s not her fault. There’s only one person to blame, and lucky for us, the corrupt witch isn’t anywhere near the house.

She disappeared. Again.

Mac’s mother peers at me from her spot by the fireplace. The pillows and blankets on the couch let me know she slept there. My stomach sinks.

“You could have slept in my bed,” I blurt out before she can say anything else. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know they would make you sleep on the couch.”

She grunts. “Don’t worry about me. I slept fine.”

“Oh.” My shoulders drop. “Good. That’s good.”

“Now tell me…” She watches me with a steely expression, like she’s seeing right through me. “Where did Mac go?”

“Oh.” I play with the hem of my dress. “He’s visiting the other werewolves, I think. He does that from time to time. They’ re nice people.”

“Ah…” There’s a shift in the older woman, but I don’t know her well enough to decipher what it means.

She may be my mother-in-law, but we’re still strangers, and I have to fix that.

I force myself to perk up. “Would you like some tea? I can brew something up!”

“That would be fine.”

Fine . It’s not the exuberant reaction I’m hoping for, but it’s better than a rejection. I set a kettle on top of the roaring woodstove and bustled about, finding two matching teacups for us.

“Today seems like a black tea sort of day,” I mumble. “Caffeinated to wake us up and spiced to keep us warm. What do you think? A little cinnamon?”

I watch her from the corner of my eye, desperate for her acceptance.

She grunts again.

I’ll have to start taking the sound as a good sign. Otherwise, I’ll go crazy. I hover near the woodstove as I wait for the kettle to whistle.

“I’ve been meaning to bring this up, but… what should I call you?” I ask hesitantly.

Surely I shouldn’t call her Mom… right?

“Edith is fine.”

I smile softly. “Is that your name? It’s pretty.”

“It suits me fine enough.” She shrugs. “You don’t need to keep me company, you know. I’m used to living alone.”

My smile drops. “You truly live all by yourself? What about Mac?”

“Always traveling. He spends a lot of time searching for the witch.” There’s a brief flash of pride behind her eyes, and then it’s gone. “The corrupt witch, I mean to say. I have nothing against witches like you. ”

I laugh nervously. “That’s good to know.”

“In fact.” She sits up straighter and adjusts the blanket on her lap. “I would like to spend more time with you while I’m here. Mac probably told you how I feel about mates, but?—”

“He didn’t.” My brows crinkle. “Not really.”

“Ah… but you know I lost my mate, don’t you?”

I nod. The kettle whistles, and I turn away to pour our tea. Having my back to her seems to make it easier for Edith to open up.

“I didn’t always handle the loss as gracefully as I could have.” She sighs. “Losing a mate feels like losing—well, it’s more than losing an arm. It’s losing your heart. I didn’t want Mac to go through that.”

I wince and set the teacups on the coffee table. “I can only imagine the pain.”

“I hope you only have to imagine it, but if something happens to Mac… you will know. You will feel it.”

“No one can blame you for being cautious.” I sit on the rocking chair next to the couch and smile warmly. “It must have been a shock to learn Mac and his mate were… well, that we are…”

Married. We’re married , even if that feels so rocky right now. I can’t get the words out.

“Yes. It was,” she says. “But you’re a good person. Your family is. I’m getting older, and it puts me at ease to know Mac will have someone to keep him company when I’m gone.”

Mist forms over my eyes. “He’ll have a lot of people. We all care about him. Even Ozan.”

“The large man from yesterday?”

I nod weakly. She doesn’t have the best first impression of Ozan, I imagine .

“Huh. I don’t hold what he said against him. People say things in the heat of battle.”

What do I know about battle? Nothing. And Edith already knows how useless I am; she saw me cowering while everyone else fought.

“I guess they do.” I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. “I’m sorry about your mate.”

She touches her chest absentmindedly. “Sorry makes people slow down. We need to speed up. Don’t be sorry—be angry. Get revenge.”

My eyes widen.

Her lips quirk up into a smile, similar to the playful one I’ve seen Mac wear. “Oh, you really are a soft witch. You’re nothing like the corrupt one.”

“Thank you!” I laugh nervously. That’s supposed to be a compliment, right?

“I hope you can stay soft.” She looks off into the distance. “Something tells me the battles aren’t over yet.”

We sit there for a while. Even though our time together is filled with silence and sorrow, I find comfort in sitting with my mother-in-law on a gloomy morning like this.

There’s tension around the Hawthorne house, and not the kind I like. There is nothing flirty and sensual about it.

The sun is down, and Juniper is still nowhere to be seen. She’s hiding at Ozan’s apartment, but I miss my sister and worry about her. We all worry.

Maple is the only one who is still acting like her old self. I find her in the kitchen in the evening, kneading a loaf of bread and humming. To most people, she would look like the embodiment of happiness, but I know better.

She’s stress baking; the strained smile she flashes me confirms it. There’s nothing to do about our stress, or about getting Maple to lean on me for support. Everyone thinks Juniper is the hardest nut to crack, but it’s Maple. She may be sweet, but no one should underestimate her stubbornness.

She brushes her hands on her apron, removing some of the flour. “Are you okay? I don’t want to admit it, but I’ve been worried sick.”

I smile softly. “You’re allowed to admit it. Like, I’m sure we’re all worried.”

“You’re right. It would be kinda weird if we weren’t, huh?”

“Yeah.” I hesitate. “Have you heard from Juniper?”

“I have… thank the goddess.” Maple sighs and rubs her cheek, trailing flour over her rosy skin. “She texted me, and she’s alive.”

“I guess that’s all we can ask for.”

“I’m serious.” She frowns and steps forward. “I want to know how you’re doing, Aspen. That… that thing was attacking you yesterday. She wanted you. And it was your wedding! It’s terrible.”

I smile wryly, thinking of the strange mood it’s putting Mac in. If not for his moodiness, I would be doing much better.

“It was an eventful ending,” I say, “and you know I’ve always loved a bit of drama.”

“Aspen.” Even Maple can’t manage a smile. Not anymore. “There’s no way you’re okay after everything you went through.”

“You know what’s weird?” I look up at the ceiling, surprised to find myself fighting off tears. “I’m not upset about the wedding being ruined. I have my mate, and that’s enough for me. Do you know what hurts right now?”

“What is it?” She asks, squeezing my shoulder. “It’s okay, honey. Tell me everything. Get it all out.”

“I’m finally feeling comfortable in the family again.” I sniffle, and the tears pour. “It’s like… like I’m part of something bigger, and… I want to be part of it.”

“No more running away?”

I shake my head. “Exactly. But yesterday? That made me feel like I can’t be, because Mac can’t be. He’s my family now, too. It’s not his fault Juniper was hurt. What Ozan said was so… so …”

“I know. Ozan knows, too.”

“But it hurt,” I say. “It didn’t just hurt Mac; it hurt me.”

“You and Mac are both our family—but so is Ozan. Family fights sometimes. We have misunderstandings. We say things we don’t mean, especially when stressed, like Ozan was. Like we all were.”

“That’s the part of family I don’t want.”

Maple smiles her warmest smile, but it doesn’t fit the following words. “That’s too bad, sweetie. Life isn’t a berry basket. You can’t pluck out the juiciest ones and eat ‘em.”

I blink, somewhere between fighting laughter and pushing back tears. “I think the metaphor is getting lost.”

“We have to work through the hard parts together.” She chuckles. “That’s what I’m trying to say.”

I nod, wiping my tears on the back of my hands. “I know… really , I know.”

“What can we do to make you feel you’re part of this?” She fixes me with a serious stare, more somber than I’ve ever seen. “Or to feel more like yourself?”

“I… it’s silly. ”

“It’s not. Or maybe it is—but I like silly. You can like it, too.”

I make a sound between a laugh and a sob.

“Anything,” Maple says firmly. “You name it.”

Maple and I pore over the grimoire, staring at a well-known page: our great aunt’s potion recipe for a hair color change. It’s the same recipe I’ve used to keep my hair blonde, but now I’m going back to my roots—literally.

We have Maple’s untouched hair as a reference point.

I shine a light on her hair, and the copper color glistens under the light of my phone. “A little more gold fleck, I think.”

“Good idea.”

I know. It’s what everyone is expecting of me. I go through a minor crisis and suddenly dye my hair. How typical. I’m like every other woman, and I take great pride in it.

Besides, I’m a glamour witch. Nothing else should be expected of me.

When I moved to New York all those years ago, the first thing I did was dye my hair blonde.

It was a small way of separating me from my family.

Now, I need a change. Some of my sisters still dye their hair other colors, but this feels like I’m accepting myself—and my family.

I’m letting myself back in, and Maple is happy to help.

I drop a few flecks of gold into the potion, and the color changes. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s nearly perfect.”

“It may not match my roots to a T, but it’s a start. Progress is better than perfection. ”

“Mhm!”

“Bottle it up for me, please?”

“You got it!” Maple bottles the potion and turns her back to me, returning to the kitchen. “Meet me at the sink.”

My fingers brush against the grimoire.

The windows are shut, but a wind blows through the room, and a chill runs up my spine.

I shut the grimoire and step back. It opens itself.

“What on Gaia…” My brows furrow.

The pages flip wildly, rifling through, as though it’s looking for something… or maybe it’s showing me something. The thick book opens to a page.

My heart stops.

We’ve all read this book for decades. It’s what taught us magic. Of course, it’s impossible to memorize every page, but…

This one is new. There isn’t a single tea stain, wrinkle, or crease. It’s brand new.

The face of the corrupt witch is in the pages of our old family book, even though we never saw her there. It’s the very witch we’ve been fighting.

“Maple!” I call. “Come! Quick!”

She’s back before I can panic, with a wild look in her eye. “What is it? What happened?”

“The grimoire!” I swallow thickly. “It’s trying to tell us something.”

Maple peers over my shoulder, and fresh words appear on the page. I’ve never seen anything like this. I’ve watched my mother make entries in the pages herself, but to see the book making a spell…

It’s her. Our mother’s spirit is tampering with the book.

Neither of us says it aloud, but Maple and I must be on the same page. The wind rushes through the room again, and I know it’s Mom. Her free spirit. Her caring nature. A hint of her lavender perfume hits my nose.

I close my eyes, blinking back tears.

“How to banish a corrupt witch,” Maple murmurs. “This is new. You didn’t…?”

“No. I didn’t. Of course, I didn’t. I wouldn’t know the first thing about writing a spell like this.”

“Oh, my.”

The spell claims to strip corrupt magic and force the witch to the underworld, back to the demon from whom they gained their powers. It’s precisely what we need. Even Mac doesn’t know how to get rid of the corrupt witches, but…

We do. And now, we can.

“Has the grimoire always done this?” I ask.

“No,” she breathes. “Never. Someone on the other side is looking out for us.”