Witch For Hire (Witch For Hire 1)

There’s a universe of things left unsaid with that sentence. Clouds overhead blot out the sun momentarily. A chill travels down my spine. I can sense the impending arrival of something wicked.

“What do you need me to do?” I ask.

“Prepare.” I nod my head and stand straighter. I see the approval in her face. “Good. Now let’s go to the sunroom. Everyone is waiting for us.”

I follow her back the way we came.

The smell of boiled potatoes, corn, and crawfish make my stomach rumble as we approach the sunroom. The space is crowded with familiar faces: Tante Heloise, my mom, Tante Odette, and my cousins, Vit, Aimee, and Fel. Uncle Louis and Uncle Andre man two large pots. We step inside, and I run for my mother. Jacinth Esçhete has been my rock from day one. Not being able to see her frequently has put a strain on us both.

“Looks like the prodigal daughter has returned.” The icy voice holds nothing but contempt and ill will.

“Hi, Tante Odette.”

“You think you can come in and pick up where you left off? It’s not that easy, girl. Things have changed.”

“And yet not,” I say, unwilling to censor my response. If she wants to come out the gate swinging, she’ll be disappointed to find I’m all grown up and done taking her shit.

“I’ve never been one to beat around the bush. So, I’m not going to start now. We’ve all got to figure out our place in this world. She had to leave to do that. I won’t let it be held against her when I did the very same thing. What matters now is she’s here. The time for unification is at hand.” Her stern voice sliced through the discord like a knife through hot butter.

A boom of thunder shook the earth as clouds blot out the sun. The wind blows in, and lightning streaks across the gray sky. The power Mémé wields with a mere thought is awe-inspiring.

“So I will it.” Her voice is genderless as it echoes.

“So mote it be,” we reply. The matter is closed. The queen has ruled.

***

It’s surreal being outside the shop after all this time. It hasn’t changed. The black sign boasts the name ‘Esçhete’s Boutique’ in bold, swirling black lettering. ‘Teas, Herbal Remedies, and More’ appear in a smaller font below. We’ve always been more discrete. Mémé says announcing we’re magic wielders is tacky, and like begging fakes and frauds to come. This is the first line of defense in weeding out the exact sort we don’t want. She’s stayed stringent about keeping things unchanged.

The historical business has stood the test of time, surviving flooding, hurricanes, and the erosion that comes with time itself.

The gray brick building could’ve been transported from the 1890s when it was originally built, once we moved from the basement of our homestead into town. The high windows, trimmed in white wood with their black storm shutters stand tall on either side of the entrance, like soldiers guarding precious cargo.

The thick wooden door with its slate glass panes is older than me. The upkeep has been meticulous, but no real changes have occurred. I get the feeling it has to do with the power in the original warding laid along with the foundation.

“I used to ask my maman why we never moved forward and modernized. She told me there’s a comfort in things that never change. I didn’t understand until I saw the first ancient visitor. When you live long enough in a constantly changing world, there’s a special bond with a place that is exactly as you remembered it.”

“Was she catering to them, even then? Our truce wasn’t even fully formed yet.”

“We Esçhetes are long-term planners. We see what’s to come and act accordingly.”

I nod my head. Seers often act in a manner that seems erratic to others. While we haven’t had a new one in this generation, they were once a prominent part of our history.

“Come, let’s see how much you remember.”

I trail behind her as she opens the shop door. Mémé is only here two days a week, so we find Mondays and Wednesdays are among our busiest. The fact that I’m booked on those dates solidly for over a month hasn’t escaped me. I’m earning my forgiveness with hard work and sweat, under her eagle eyes.

The wards tingle as we walk through them. I’m struck mute with an overwhelming sense of homecoming. I blink back the tears as acceptance, love, and belonging hammer into me. This is my church. Where the impossible is possible, signs reveal themselves, and mysteries lie waiting to be solved. How did I ever walk away from this?

“You have too much work to do to let the guilt eat at you. We need that fire you got inside that lead you away from this place when everyone told you not to go. Remember all those lessons you learned out there on your own.”

The words are a salve to the wound reopened. I’m building new bridges. It’s a painfully slow, back-breaking task, but I’ve always been up for a challenge. She flips the light switch and the electricity hums as things begin to slowly come to life, illuminating the familiar space. I inhale the unique smell. The spicy sweet blend of herbs never quite fades from this place.

My internal instincts send out a silent alarm as a power rushes toward us. Tensing, I set aside the stone mortar and pestle to free my hands.

“Mémé, do we have any meetings scheduled today?”

“None that were planned, but we’ve never been formal around these parts.”