Chapter Two
10 years old
“When I fall in love, he’ll be strong. Protective.” I set my intentions as I cleanse the inside of my spell jar with clover like Gram taught me. The white smoke swirls in the bottle and drifts out slowly. Armed with a small spoon and funnel, I begin my spell. I add in pink sea salt first. “He’ll be tough. Big. Scary. Have tattoos. And he’ll only have eyes for me.” I add in my collection of herbs and petals. The small scroll of paper with my initials along with a tiny heart charm are the last to go in. I prick the tip of my finger with a lancet. Gram would tan my back side if she knew I was dabbling in blood magic, but I’m careful. She taught me well. Drops of my blood soak into the paper and coat the ingredients of my spell, binding it to me. Using a pink crayon and a lighter I seal the jar. The pink wax drips over the cork and down the sides. Lastly, I set the small glass jar under the glow of the full moon. Then I rip up the picture I cut out of the yearbook of Logan Smith and burn the scraps.
Boys are stupid jerks.
I hope I never see him ever again.
I know what kids at school say about me.
That I’m weird.
I’m creepy.
That I’m a witch.
I don’t need them to like me.
I like me and that’s what counts.
**
Present day
“Today’s the day,”Gram’s premonition replays in my head.
“Today’s the day,” I mock to myself. My Gram...I love her. I do, but she’s bat shit crazy. Always muttering nonsense about this, that, and the other. Her favorite pastime is telling others when they will meet their true love. Fancies herself as a matchmaker. Says she has the sight.
Some folks around here call her a fortune teller or a witch. Most don’t believe in a lot of that hocus pocus, but you’ll never hear anyone say it to my Gram’s face. She makes a living off telling other people what they want to hear. There’s nothing magic about telling fortunes. It’s all in knowing how to read people and asking the right questions. They will tell you all you need to know to give them a reading. She says people don’t really want the truth. The truth would scare them. Give them smoke and mirrors and tell them what they want to hear.
Our life isn’t as magical as the movies or books. Though if I had to pick one to represent Gram and me, I’d go with ‘Practical Magic’. I smile at the thought of midnight margaritas.
The sound of a motorcycle cutting off in front of the store grabs my attention. I glance past the window display and see a man clad in denim and leather throwing a leg over a Harley. The first thought to cross my mind is damn. Damn he’s tall. I get a good eyeful of him and turn my attention back to restocking the newest batch of our pheromone enhancing perfume that keeps flying off the shelves. I guess the secret is out that a dab or two on the neck and wrists will drive a man wild. Good thing too. Business hasn’t been the greatest as of late.
Personally, I don’t believe in love potions, but Gram says a little confidence never hurts when it comes to matters of the heart. I wouldn’t know. I’m happily single. Most of the girls I graduated with are married and having babies or halfway there. No thanks. There’s nothing wrong with their choices. I’m not ready for any of the responsibility myself. I love my freedom. I do what I want when I want. I don’t answer to anyone, except maybe my Gram.
The doorbell chimes.
“I’ll be with you in a minute.”
I place the last box on the shelf and come around behind the big biker, wondering what brings him here. He’s a Royal Bastard. Guess he is a member of the motorcycle club I see riding all over the city. What the hell is he doing here of all places?
I go up on the tips of my toes. “Can I help you?” I get a good whiff of his scent. A touch of sandalwood overshadowed by the smell of leather, smoke, and good ol’ Mother Nature.
The man turns to face me, and I rock back on the balls of my feet. He’s even taller up close. So handsome it defies the laws of nature. Dark hair that’s long and wavy on top with an all-around fade buzzed to the scalp. A strong jawline etched with his trim facial hair.
He fingers the tiger’s blood stone that hangs around my neck. It was my mothers, and I always wear it. It’s meant to give confidence. Wearing her charm keeps her memory close even though I was only seven when she passed. Gram did a remembrance spell, so I’d never forget the sound of her voice.
I learn his road name is Sandman by reading the patch on the front of his leather vest. He’s sexy, and I immediately hate that I am so attracted to him. His green eyes meet my blues and a heaviness swirls in my gut. A meeting of souls. The caged bird inside my heart takes flight and soars as he stares at me. I throw up a mental wall to block him out. A man like him is the last thing I need to invite into my life. I have bigger problems to worry about.
“Today’s the day,”Gram’s omen echoes. No way. Not today. Not this guy. He’s pure sin personified. Trouble with a capital T. Scratch that. He’s TROUBLE. All caps.
“Looking for a Ouija board. You sell that shit here?”
Shit?
It’s one thing for people not to believe, but it’s another for some asshole to refer to the practice that has been in my family for generations as shit.
“This isn’t a novelty shop.” People shouldn’t play games with the dead whether they are a nonbeliever or not. To add insult to injury he starts tossing money on my counter like he can swoop in here and buy whatever he wants. There are things money can’t buy.
I spout some bullshit at him in Latin getting a thrill when his eyes widen. They never respect us unless we teach them to fear us. He mutters, “bitch,” and stomps out the door.
Good riddance.
Jerk.
Dickhead.
“Bianca,” Gram crows, and I know I’m about to get it. I brace and give her my attention. “I know I raised you better than to treat a customer that way.” Gram’s blue eyes that match my own in color darken and narrow on me, making me feel two foot tall instead of barely five.
“That guy was a dick.”
“Mind your tongue, young lady.”