Teen Witch’s Survival Guide: Chapter 6
- Teen Witch’s Survival Guide: Chapter 1
- Teen Witch’s Survival Guide: Chapter 2
- Teen Witch’s Survival Guide: Chapter 3
- Teen Witch’s Survival Guide: Chapter 4
- Teen Witch’s Survival Guide: Chapter 5
- Teen Witch’s Survival Guide: Chapter 6
- Teen Witch’s Survival Guide: Chapter 7
- Teen Witch’s Survival Guide: Chapter 8
- Teen Witch’s Survival Guide: Chapter 9
I walk home, holding my potion tightly. It glows blue in the afternoon sun. The concoction is one of illusion. If you give it to someone, they’ll see whatever you choose.
There’s a burning taper in the kitchen window.
Seeing it makes me stop. I haven’t lit a candle in days. I don’t need them anymore to find my way in the dark. Nevertheless, I sense a glimmer of hope along with a trace of dread.
I tuck the elixir into my bag and step through the door.
“Hello?” I call.
A shuffling sound and Quince appears from the kitchen.
“Lean!” he calls.
“Quince!” I run to hug him, dropping my satchel and forgetting all about the potion.
He lifts me off the ground and spins me around, and places me back on my feet.
“How is my precious baby sister doing?” He asks, messing up the locks on my head.
“I’m not a child,” I say, hurrying away to fix my hair.
“Yes, you are.” My other brother, Jacob, teases.
“Boys, don’t pick on your sister.” My dad yells.
“Yeah,” I declare, folding my arms.
Dad hugs me, and I stop feeling tense. They’re home.
“Sorry our last mission took so long. We’ll go to the market tomorrow morning.”
I nod and follow him to the kitchen. For the first time in months, it smells like a real, warm meal.
The table is already set when I sit down. My dad gives me a cup of water.
A barely audible clink catches my attention, and I turn to spot Quince holding my bag.
He frowns down at the bottle that is in plain view.
“What’s this?”
My throat tingles, and a chill covers me. The room blurs, except for Quince, who stands out in sharp, fearful color.
“It’s a drink they were selling at the market. A friend gave this to me.”
“You have a pal?” Jacob asks in his usual judgmental tone.
“Jacob,” Dad warns.
“Yes, I’ve got a friend, you jerk.”
He raises an eyebrow, and I stick my tongue out at him.
Quince pops the cork off the bottle and sips it.
Fear hits me hard again.
“Everything’s perfectly normal,” I state, focusing on what I want. The liquid moves, then comes to a stop.
Quince’s eyes glaze over as he parrots, “Everything’s normal.”
“That’s blueberry,” I say out loud to everyone. An experiment, to test the ability of the potion.
He takes another drink and agrees, setting the bottle down in my bag again.
“Who’s your friend?” Dad asks.
I try to think of something to tell them.
“Her name’s Hawthorn, and she likes flowers,” I mention, even though it’s too much. They’ll figure out the witchcraft, I just know it.
“You hate flowers,” Jacob says instead.
“No, I don’t.”
“Remember when I made you a flower crown, and you cried for two hours?” Quince asks.
“I was six!”
“I think it’s nice you’re hanging out with someone your own age.” Dad remarks, then pauses. “She is your age, right?”
“Yes, Dad.”
He gets up to fetch dinner, and I let out a breath. It’s time to hear the story of their latest hunt.
***
My bed seems softer somehow. Safer. Something about them being in the house makes it home.
“Quince, look at this,” I overhear from the hallway.
“What?”
“The hole in the wall,” Jacob says sharply.
I had forgotten about the dream. The knife.
“I don’t see a hole,” Quince replies.
“How? It’s right there.”
“Then patch it if it bothers you.”
“Where did it come from?”
“Your imagination?”
I wonder when the elixir will wear off. My chest tightens.
Jacob sighs in that loud way he does.
“Perhaps you should get some sleep.”
“Maybe.”
The footsteps retreat, and I pull the blankets higher.
Editor: Lucy Cafiero
