The Price Guide to the Occult(18)
I don’t want my mom to hurt you, too.
Savvy nodded and stared wistfully at the book on the counter. “Do you think your mom would have given me a discount? What with me being your best friend and all?”
“For that she’d probably charge you double.” Nor pushed a few dollar bills at Savvy. “I think we need caffeine,” she said. “My treat?”
“Okay,” Savvy said. “But you’re buying me breakfast, too.”
“What about that cinnamon bun you just ate?” Nor asked.
“That was just a snack.” Savvy gave Nor a small smile before leaving the shop. Somehow it made Nor feel even worse.
Why did I say that about her mom? Nor thought. She balled her hand into a fist until her nails bit into her palm. Nor remembered watching her grandmother try to help Savvy’s mom. Judd’s hands had been covered in tiny quills and with wisps of Lisbet Dawson’s blond hair, but whatever had made her ill had been far stronger than Judd’s magic.
Once the store had quieted down a little, Nor opened her mother’s book to the Resurrection Spell. From what Nor had heard, it brought people back from the dead, but what they came back as could hardly be called human. They were more like nightmares walking around in some loved one’s skin. Nor shuddered to imagine what Savvy’s mom might look like if she were brought back: the color leeched from her hair and skin, her eyes dead and cold, her tongue black.
Nor quickly shut the book. If Fern really could cast the Resurrection Spell, she doubted that whoever requested it knew what they were getting.
Over the next few weeks, the success of The Price Guide to the Occult expanded at terrifying speed. The YouTuber’s endorsement was followed by rave reviews and talk show appearances. Everywhere Nor looked, it seemed, there was her mother, the beautiful woman who could make wishes come true. All the reviewers, the guest bloggers, and everyone who sent in the required fee for a desired spell confirmed that Fern Blackburn was the real deal. The Price Guide to the Occult working miracles was the only thing anyone wanted to talk about.
On the evening of Halloween, Nor marched down Meandering Lane after her shift at the Witching Hour. The street was filled with trick-or-treaters. Parents with strollers raced after tiny goblins and ghouls, pirates and princesses. The kids filled their tote bags with pumpkin cookies from the Sweet and Savory Bakery, popcorn balls from the Willowbark General Store, and chocolate bars from the co-op. Strangely, a large bowl of sour candies had been left outside Theo’s mechanic shop. Savvy, the self-proclaimed Queen of Halloween who had spent three weeks constructing a papier-maché head for her sea horse costume last year, was nowhere to be seen.
The cold October air felt crisp in Nor’s lungs. The sun had already set. If Judd were out, the porch light would be on. The light was off, which meant, for the first time in days, Judd was at home. Lately, the number of late-night phone calls that drew Judd out for hours at a time had increased; it sometimes seemed as though Nor and Apothia lived alone in that great tower. It was difficult not to feel Judd’s absence; she was a woman who took up a great deal of space.
Judd was taking Fern’s ascent to fame as well as expected, which meant she was not taking it well at all. She had gotten particularly irate after reading a glowing blog post about The Price Guide to the Occult, and now the keys on Apothia’s laptop looked like broken teeth. After that, Apothia had put a ban on any mention of Fern or the book.
Though an argument between Judd and Fern wasn’t anything Nor wanted to witness personally, she was certain that should it come to that, her mother would be no match for the Giantess. At least that was what she kept telling herself.
Besides noticing the porch light, Nor saw a familiar turquoise Vespa in the driveway, a matching helmet resting on the seat. She could hear Bijou and Antiquity barking inside the house, but it wasn’t the dogs that greeted her at the door. It was Savvy. Her lilac hair extensions hung sleekly down one shoulder; the color made for a pretty contrast to her reddish-brown skin.
“What are you doing here?” Nor asked. “You know I don’t celebrate Halloween.”
“Which is why we’re not celebrating Halloween.” Savvy smiled that conspiratorial smile of hers and moved to the side.
The dining room had been completely transformed. A rich tapestry covered the table. Each place had been set with Apothia’s fine china, delicately painted with dragons and songbirds and tiny teahouses. There were goblets edged in rose gold, white pumpkins, and tiny bouquets of marigolds and chrysanthemums and gerbera daisies. Fairy lights swung gently from the ceiling, and the light from dozens of candles danced across the walls.
“You have Savannah to thank for all this,” Apothia said, nodding toward Savvy. “It was her idea.”
“Think of it as a way of making up for all those birthdays you haven’t let us celebrate,” Savvy scolded. “All those missed birthday cakes. Such a damn shame.”
Having never gotten accustomed to celebrating her birthdays — Fern wasn’t really the type of mother for balloons and birthday cake — Nor had been planning on spending the evening of her seventeenth birthday doing what she did every year. Absolutely nothing.
“Turning seventeen isn’t that big a deal,” Nor said.
“Well, we won’t be able to throw you a party next year,” Savvy said. “You’ll be eighteen, so you’ll be too busy voting. And buying cigarettes. And going to jail after committing a felony.”