Thorn to Die

If I knew a hex to strike someone mute, I would’ve used it on myself that very moment. Momma Tula had finally managed to wander downstairs from her cave and all we’d done was freak her out and chase her away. What a wonderful daughter I was.

“Well, the peonies aren’t going to weed themselves,” Grammy Jo said with a shrug. She pulled on the stained gardening gloves and straightened her hat. “Ladies, I imagine you have to get back to work.”

Raven and Blythe both hopped up, their faces red. Without the hardware store open, the people of Uriville might revolt. And Blythe had a wedding coming up this weekend. They both had better things they could be doing.

I followed Grammy Jo out the back door and onto the patio. A disorganized display of wildflowers and vines, separated by the random pot of flowers, surrounded us. It was as if nature had taken over the backyard and was knocking on our door.

Grammy Jo knelt at the nearest pot, her hat shielding her face from view. “Yes, child? Don’t you also have someplace to be?”

Yes, and Butch would probably have some harsh words for me when I returned. But this was a million times more important than painting some snotty little kid.

“Listen to me, Grammy. This morning, Allen White came to my shop for his medicine. I gave him that vial of potion you told me to stir in his tea.”

She nodded. “Yes, I remember. I may be older than dirt, but I’m not senile, you know.”

I shook my head. “Yes, but remember what happened to your potion last night? It melted the cauldron and nearly destroyed the kitchen.”

She looked up from her flowers and squinted. “What’s your point, child?”

A lump was beginning to grow in my throat. I swallowed it down with as much effort as I could muster. “It’s just…you know, kind of worrying me. The police said Allen White died of poisoning. You don’t think…?”

The words were too hard to say aloud. Did she think that she’d killed Allen White? Did my fiery and stubborn Grammy Jo accidently send me out this morning with a potion fit to kill a healthy old man? I hoped the look in my eyes said enough.

“Are you suggesting that my potion did this?” She dropped a trowel and stood to face me. “Is that what you think?”

I shrugged. It sounded so much worse when she said it.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve made that potion a million times. A pinch of Artemisia, the eye of a stinging horsefly, the tears of a mother goat, and a few shakes of wormwood. Boil over low heat and under a pale moon. Stir clockwise 13 times. It wasn’t that.”

A huge wave of relief swept over me. I knew we couldn’t have killed that old man. The idea was absurd. A tiny bit of shame caused my cheeks to burn, and I stared at the ground.

“Well, now, wait…”

My gaze swept back up to Grammy Jo as she pondered for a moment.

“Was it stir 13 or 14 times? Maybe the latter. Oh, it doesn’t matter. That couldn’t have killed him.”

I chuckled nervously and buried my hands in my pockets. Phew…

“At least,” Granny added with a tilt of her head. “I don’t think it would kill anyone.”

Chapter 7

The acrid scent of paint was usually enough to pull me from my worries, but not this morning. While I sat in my shop, waiting for a new round of tourists to enter the park, it did nothing for my nerves. The clean, fresh surface of a blank canvas wasn’t enough either. As my sketching pencil swirled and moved over the unsullied material, seemingly on its own, I became lost in my own thoughts.

By the time I’d left work yesterday evening, the entirety of Uriville knew about Allen White’s untimely demise. You couldn’t even walk into Ray’s Grocery without overhearing someone gossiping about it. I’d taken the opportunity to head to bed early. After my conversation with Grammy Jo, a migraine had decided to engrain itself into my cranium.

Which brought me back to the present and a new day of mind-numbing work. It was exactly what I needed to get over this feeling that something bad was about to happen.

“Just give it a few days,” I told Kat as he rummaged about the corners of the shop for some forgotten scrap of food. “Give it a few days and the fuss will die down. Maybe the cops made a mistake. It could’ve been a heart attack, for all we know. Grammy Jo and I had nothing to do with it.”

Not even Kat was fooled by the false bravado in my voice.

The magic in my fingers began to crescendo into an all-out frenzy. My hand swept back and forth, despite my protests, and a picture began to form before me on the canvas. I’d been sensitive to weird vibes before, but nothing like this.

At the Academy, I’d drawn my roommate’s breakup with her boyfriend as it was happening. The emotions had been so strong, it’d carried into my art and onto the canvas. Safe to say, when she saw it later that day, it hadn’t lasted long. My roommate had been a fire witch. If it wasn’t for the extinguisher I’d purchased for kitchen mishaps, the canvas would’ve caught our whole dorm room on fire. No more showing off my special gift – even to fellow witches.

This time, the urge grew even stronger to bring the vibrations on the air to life in my art. It was as if my arm had been attached to someone else. I couldn’t have stopped