Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 92996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
The girls all nodded.
“Did anyone in your family die in Salem?” Hailey asked me.
I squinted at her. “No witches died in Salem, only innocent people. You can look that up.”
“Yes, but members of the Corey family were killed.”
I had heard this particular question my whole life. “It’s a common surname,” I assured her. “But really, if those people had attacked real witches, don’t you think there would have been a completely different outcome?”
“Yes,” Cass agreed. “But back then, all the things you do, like making witch’s ladders and spell bottles and even mixing tea and crafting wreaths could have gotten you thrown in prison.”
“Certainly, yes.” I didn’t add that if crazed, intolerant bigots had come for me on my land, they would have never left.
“So when people tell you they’re witches, do you just believe them?” Delia wanted to know.
“Of course.”
When I met new people and they told me they were a witch, I always treated them as such. Because really, if you felt magic move inside you, who was I to judge? Everyone got to have their own journey. What I didn’t like were the people who said they were witches merely to make a buck. The people who put tap water in small glass bottles with cork stoppers, added ribbon and glitter and sold it as moon water, those were the people who drew my ire. Fake magical items, from wands to scrying mirrors to heating amethyst to pawn it off as citrine, pissed me off.
“So I could say blessed be to you,” Cass said, distracting me, which was good. Getting mad at people selling fakes would make me rabid. It wasn’t a good use of my energy.
“You certainly could,” I told her.
“There are different meanings of candle flames, aren’t there?” Skylar inquired. “Like how high or low it is.”
“There are. And there are excellent graphics on Pinterest about that.”
“Really?”
“There are,” Delia assented. “I just like to check with Xan on anything I’m not sure about because I don’t want to do it wrong.”
“For the most part, nothing you do will be wrong if you follow your intuition,” I promised them.
“But you said for the most part. What did you mean?” Jewel asked.
“Like, I understood that you were getting a Ouija board to try out.”
They all nodded.
“Well, I myself would not because for one, you never know whom you’re speaking to, which takes catfishing to a whole new level of scary, and second, you never want to summon something you can’t banish—which is a good general rule.”
Cass winced. If I hadn’t been looking at her, I would have missed it.
“Something happen?”
“I don’t know,” she replied hesitantly. “We talked to something…we think…and then we left to get snacks, and when we came back, it was different.”
“What was different?” I asked, knowing that the chances that they had spoken to something through the veil were decidedly small. Contrary to what most people thought, spirits were not anxiously waiting on the opposite side of the veil to chat. It was not like in the movies. Ghosts, on the whole, preferred to be left in peace.
They were all suddenly quiet.
“I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”
“The thing moved,” Delia told me.
“What thing?”
“The piece that’s supposed to.”
“The planchette?”
“Is that the name of it?” Skylar was staring at me.
I nodded.
“Yeah. It was in one spot, and now it’s on the other side of the board.”
“That could be anything.”
“But we had it in a safe place.”
“Define that.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You said it was in a safe place. I have no idea what that means.”
“It’s on a flat surface, so it shouldn’t have moved.”
But how easy was it to bump a board without noticing? “Okay, so when you left to get snacks, did you close it out?”
“Close it out?” Cass appeared confused.
“Did you say goodbye?”
They all shook their heads.
“I see. May I ask where and when you did this?”
“Today, in the basement,” Delia answered me.
“Your basement?”
“No. The basement here.”
“Oh,” I said, trying not to grimace. Of course the board moved; they were lucky it hadn’t been flung across the room and into a wall, which would have scared the crap out of them. “Let’s have a look, shall we?”
Lots of nodding.
I returned to Danesha and told her I would be right back. Following them, we went through the art history area where the unsafe wood fireplace was that was supposedly going to be replaced before winter this year. I wasn’t holding my breath. Then we started down the spiral staircase to the basement, where the historical archives were, along with all the music—vinyl albums, eight track and cassette tapes, and now new sound booths where anything could be listened to. The microfiche vaults were there, as well as maps, monographs, and all the journals, magazines, and newspapers the library kept on file.
On the opposite side of the room was a door normally kept locked but that you could check out a key for, which would then give you access to a set of old, steep stone steps that led to the smaller second basement. Flanking the stairs was ancient brick that countless people had put their hands on as they descended to make sure they didn’t take a tumble. Between the wear and tear on the stairs and the erosion of the walls, the entire entrance was a lawsuit waiting to happen. Mr. Samuels believed, as did all the head librarians before him, that because the key needed to be checked out and a waiver signed and witnessed, they were protecting themselves from liability. I didn’t think so, and when I took Lorne down there one day, he concurred.