55 | MAGIC

The scent of spices burn my nose, giving me a fluttery mental image of something I’ve never seen before. Something luminescent and old. A shiver creeps along my skin, the hairs on my body standing at attention and every cell in my body itching to take a few steps away from the heady smell. Everything from cinnamon to mint, to anise and clove - I can smell so many spices - and things I don’t know the name of - but all herby or spice-like. The sensory overload takes a few seconds to dissipate enough for me to actually see the woman in front of me. And when I do I have to fight the urge to rub my eyes and look again.

Standing on the welcome mat is an old woman in a long, canary yellow parka with a knitted cheveron patterned scarf around her neck and a large handbag that could be considered a small duffle tucked under one arm. Age has her shoulders slightly hunched, silvery grey hair tied up in a tight bun at the base of her skull, striking violet-grey eyes sharp despite her age. Her olive, tanned skin speaks of sunny days and warm weather - a spattering of sunspots coat what I can see of her face under the scarf.

“*Buenos dias*,” The older woman greets me with a thick, Spanish accent. I stare at the supernatural, my senses going nuts at her strange scent and the accompanying shimmer of energy rising from every pore of her skin. She’s almost as strong as Eyre, but not as reckless, if her wise eyes and confident walk are anything to go by. “Scarlett, I assume?” She asks me in perfect English when I don’t move from the doorway to allow her into the house. My head bobs, despite my hesitation to let this lady anywhere near my mom. “I’m a friend of your *mamá’s*.” She tells me, her bright violet-grey eyes never once leaving mine as she speaks. The truth of her words strikes through my ears and resonates in me. Still I don’t move.

“What are you?” I ask her instead of replying. I give myself a mental pat on the back for the calm tone of my voice despite the literal quaking I’m doing inside.

“I believe your mama referred to me as a ‘botanist’,” The woman makes air quotes and rolls her eyes. “But I know you know that was a lie.” She gives me a knowing smirk and I nod at her words. “I’m a *bruja*. A witch, *mija*.” She tells me, waiting and watching as my eyes widen and my whole body goes rigid. “I’m old friends with your *mamá*. We met almost a decade ago in *Tejas*.” I automatically translate the few words she speaks in Spanish, the words well-known enough for me to grasp as I hear them.

“T-Texas?” I stutter, blinking rapidly and feel understanding hit me. “You’re the one who gave her the herbs.” It’s not a question, but more of a statement to confirm what I already know.

“Let her in, Sunshine.” I hear Hale call just loud enough for my Wolven hearing to catch and I blink, moving aside automatically to alow the witch into the house.

“*Gracias, mija*.” The witch tells me with a nod and sweeps in past me before I can think to close the door in her face. The sizzle of her energy makes my body tense in fear and anticipation as she passes, the scent of her making my nose twitch. Once she’s passed me, I shut the door and follow at a few paces back, as she moves to the bedroom. The witch, Mari, greets Hale with a nod and sets her large bag on the empty bed I used to use. Without a word, she pops open the latch holding the thing shut and feel my body go rigid as my senses are once-again overloaded.

Smells, as numerous as the ones I scented before, fill the air - and this time much stronger - so strong, in fact, that I have to clap a hand over my mouth and nose as the overpowering aroma hits me. I blink back fresh tears, this time from the smell rather than anything I’m feeling, and grip the doorframe for support.

“*Perdóname*, I forget how strong Wolven senses are.” The witch waves a hand at the bag and the air dances with shimmery black dust. My eyes widen as the scents go from overpowering to barely noticeable in a second. I’m too stunned to speak for a second as my nose twitches under my hand and slowly, very slowly, lower it. Much dimmer than before, the scent of spices float around the room as Mari rummages through the bag for something. “How long has she been unconscious?” I blink, trying to figure out the answer, but my mind’s still reeling at the sudden dampening of smells in the air and everything else that’s happened since Mom collapsed that I don’t really have an answer.

“About thirty minutes, give or take five minutes.” Hale speaks when I don’t. The witch pauses and stares a little too long at her hands before she resumes her search. A spike of fear tightens around my chest, an added thump of the beat slamming the organ into my ribcage. Bile rises in my throat and I have to force myself to breathe as black dots dance at the edges of my vision.

Finally, the witch pulls five little bottles from the bag in one hand and a little burlap pouch in the other. I stare as the witch turns her back to me and releases the bottles. They rise from her hands and float a few inches in front of her as she opens the burlap pouch and pulls dried leaves from it. There’s a pulse of dark energy now radiating from the witch as she works, not bad - but dark - like the sky at night. Endless and devoid of light. Gooseflesh ripples along my skin and I take a tentative step back as the five bottles uncap and the liquids from inside rise into the air.

It’s like we’re in a zero-gravity room, the way the ingredients are now floating, the only difference being the surges and ebbs of power now flickering through the air in spurts as they dance about. The witch is moving her fingers, like a conductor directing a symphony and muttering under her breath. All the while, Hale’s sitting calmy with Mom, his eyes locked on her and not paying any attention to the weirdness just above his head. Like this isn’t anything special - or he’s seen this a million times…which he probably has.

All this new information starts to click in the back of my head as the scents of ginger and antiseptic fill the air. Only…it doesn’t smell like *antiseptic* anymore. It’s deeper than that, more like the dark energy pulsing from the woman…something I’m starting to comprehend is the scent of Magic. Things that hadn’t made sense over the last few months start falling into place. Things like Mom drinking that tea every morning - waking up early to brew it - and finishing it before I could really think too much about it.Things like the slow degrading of Mom’s appearance and how tired Hale’s been looking. The worry in Hale’s expression. Blue’s suggestion that I see Mom a while back. All of it.

*She’s been keeping things from me*. And that realization, more than the rest, hurts.

The witch makes the dark liquid - a muddy - almost sludge-like mix pour from midair into Mom’s mouth. I catch Mom’s throat moving, like she’ swallowing the stuff as the pulse of magic in the air grows. When the liquid is gone, the bottles float back to the bag and disappear along with the burlap bag. The witch takes a few steps back, settling herself beside her bag on my old bed and flexing her wrists. The sound of her joints popping fill the air as Mom’s color returns.

In a matter of minutes, Mom’s eyelids flutter and she lets out a soft groan, her free hand going to the back of her head. Relief fills me as I watch her, but the underlying worry and understanding of the situation keeps me stock-still by the door.

“You’re sick.” I say slowly as Mom looks around the room. Mom’s eyes are tired as they rest on me and a sadness I had seen before when she’d spoken to me earlier fills her eyes. “What is it?” I hear myself ask stiffly, the icy chill of my voice making the room feel empty. Mom’s lips tremble, her eyes tightening as she sits up - Hale helping her and propping pillows behind her.

“Cancer.” That six-letter word wraps it’s unforgiving grip around my body, information about the five things that affect Wolven and humans equally zipping into the forefront of my mind. I don’t dare breathe as something in me starts to break. Shards of pain lance through my heart, spreading into my stomach and throat and making my whole body tense. Hale says something. Mom says something. I don’t hear them as that void of silence wraps around me, as if it can shield my spinning mind from anything else and soothe some of the raw emotion gripping me. Horror, anger, disbelief - they run on a spin cycle through me, over and over as a soft roaring in my ears grows.

A chill - the same that’s been following me around since I Bloomed - burns it’s way to the surface of my body, cloaking me in it’s emptiness.

“*Breathe*.” The word - a command - comes from Hale across the room, forcing fresh air into my lungs. The cold is suddenly chased away by the oxygen, the rioting pain and emotions slamming back into me and almost choking me as I suck in breath after breath. Reality feels like it’s shifting around me, warping like those mirrors at carnivals that show something you know to be off.

Mom holds an arm out to me and I go to her, like a puppet on a string. Her body isn’t strong like I remember it, but thin and weak. The body of someone who’s loosing a fight to a disease that will leave her a shell of herself. After a few minutes, everything settles around me and my steady breaths turn into a hitching sob.