Chapter 3 Sam

T hree months later: Summer

The sound that packing tape made while being stretched should have been used as a torture method by CIA spies. I didn't even have that much stuff, but my crystals and tarot cards alone took up too many boxes. Even though I only used one deck, I was still attached to all of them.

I had gone through almost all the stages of grief after losing my job. I just kind of missed the "acceptance" portion because I was still furious. There would be absolutely no forgiving and forgetting, but my rent payment and depleted savings decided I needed to get over stewing in my anger. I sat on the floor, using a box as a backrest, and angry tears sprang to the corners of my eyes. I let them fall this time. It was just an apartment and just a job, but they had been mine. I could go back to pretending I was fine tomorrow.

At least there is at least an end to the packing-tape symphony .

I took a break to shower before ordering takeout and packing my suitcase. My hair tumbled down my back after being released from a messy bun, and I attempted to brush through my curls. I was determined to avoid my own bloodshot blue eyes in my reflection. The girl in the mirror tended to be a judgy bitch sometimes, and I wasn't in the mood for her. While I tried to let the waterfall melt everything away, hot tears continued to spill over instead. They became part of the water until it ran cold. I turned them off along with the shower and resolved to make it through the one night I had left here.

I finished ordering from my favorite Chinese place, knowing it was going to be one of the things I missed most about Rockford.

That's a little sad.

But with no letter of recommendation and a sparse portfolio (since I was told I could use none of the designs I worked on at the firm as an assistant ), not a lot of employers were jumping at the chance to hire me. Freelancing kept me going for a couple of months, along with my savings, but now I had to face reality. Reality was the worst.

THE SUN WAS OUT AND mocking me with its good vibes and vitamin D. I'd gotten up at the ass crack of dawn to finish loading the U-Haul and do a last sweep of my apartment. Reluctantly, I dropped my keys into the lockbox at the main office and got into my C-RV. I sent a quick request to my guides and the dragon that guarded my car to make sure I got to my destination safe and sound. I had six hours to get right with the idea that I was going back to Emberwood and that I had to be a big girl. I hated running to my aunt for help, and I hated telling my mother about it even more. Her holding back the words "I told you so" was worse than her just saying them.

I sighed.

You are an adult now. Act like it.

I focused instead on seeing my Aunt Zin. Nothing could seem all that bad if she was there.

I called her as I maneuvered the SUV and the trailer out of my apartment complex.

"Samantha," she answered warmly.

"Hi, Aunt Zin! I just wanted to let you know that I'm leaving Rockford. I should be there around three."

"I can't wait to see you. You have the dragon I sent you?"

I grinned despite my mood. Only with her would I discuss the importance of having one's dragon for travel safety. I looked down at the shimmery statue she'd sent me to represent my actual dragon in whatever realm dragons exist. "I've got her. Never leave home without Pearla." Yes, I named my dragon. It would have been rude not to.

"Perfect. Then I'll see you this afternoon."

"See you—"

"Oh, also? Do not stop at the hamburger establishment. Drive safely!"

She hung up before I even thought about asking "What burger place?" but I'd learned to roll with it when she gave me vague predictions. Taking her word for it was better than getting food poisoning.

I listened to all the songs I'd had lined up for the first leg of the trip, but they were not enough of a distraction from the fact that my entire life had imploded in a matter of months.

Why did I have to go off on David like that? This thought plagued me often when I replayed all the dominoes that fell to land me here, but the answer I heard in my head every time was, "David was a dick." Okay, maybe the answer was typically, "Because you needed to leave," but I liked the first one better.

But I didn't WANT to leave, I thought back sharply. The thing about my guides, though, was that they didn't care. They were hilarious that way.

I chewed on my lip as I gave up trying to argue with my people. They were annoying me. The gas station up ahead beckoned for me to buy all the snacks for the four hours I had left. There was , in fact, a burger place next door, but I wasn't interested in testing my aunt. Gas station pizza would be safer. There was a gap in parking spaces that perfectly fit the car and trailer combo I was rocking, so I said thanks to Pearla for that. She was the best at finding parking. I pictured her curled up and looking smug on top of my car.

It had warmed up since I'd left Rockford, and I tugged on my jean shorts to cover my thighs as they rubbed together. I grabbed candy at random, a slice of who-knows-how-old pizza, and enough iced tea to keep me appropriately caffeinated.

Back in my car, pleasantly surprised at the freshness of said pizza, I tried to envision what living in Emberwood would be like.

Correction, staying in Emberwood. ‘Living' implies permanence.

Not too many years ago, the idea of living there had been my whole daydream... until it wasn't. I hadn't been back since just before senior year of high school. Visiting my great-aunt was my most favorite summer tradition, at least until the end of that summer.

With effort, I tried to remember all the warm, homey feelings from before that, and my heart lurched. I did miss Aunt Zin's house and, even more so, her shop. I felt like I'd grown up in Books and Broomsticks. It was where I'd learned how to read tarot, read all kinds of books I shouldn't have, both witchcraft-related and not (Zin liked her pirate romance books near the register). But that place had felt more like home to me than my actual home for a lot of years.

You should have just gotten the soda; fake sweetener be damned. Water with pizza was not hitting the spot. I sighed and chewed.

Not that there was anything wrong with my parents or where I grew up in Indiana. My mom and dad just didn't quite get me. They loved me; I confused them. I was too strait-laced for my artist mother, who criticized my choice of graphic design instead of the "real arts." As she put it, graphic design was just creativity for capitalists.

Sue me for wanting health insurance.

I rolled my eyes despite the fact that no one could see me and took the last bite of pizza before heading back out onto the highway.

Me losing my job was probably the highlight of my mother's year. My dad was an accountant, and he didn't get any of my witchy "woo-woo" shit. No, they weren't still married, which was obviously shocking, but they were on friendly terms. Zinnia? always acted as if everything I said and did made perfect sense.

I'm lucky to have her , I thought. There was some guilt creeping in about fighting so hard against moving to Emberwood. I could have been forced to crawl back home to one of my parents. Horrifying.

I rolled down all of my windows and let the humid air swirl around me, my curls threatening to abandon my ponytail. I didn't care, I needed to clear out the negativity I'd brought to my car.

I decided that all of this reminiscing was serving a purpose; convincing me that I was doing the right thing by going there to lick my wounds. Start over.

Too late to second-guess now .

I PULLED INTO THE LONG gravel driveway of Aunt Zinnia's cottage outside of Emberwood proper, only grabbing my suitcase from the back—unpacking was not happening today. A smile couldn't help but appear at the jungle of a garden that overflowed onto the front walkway. The scent of the jasmine vines lifted my mood, and I knocked after traversing the terrain to the door.

"I'm offended that you knocked," Zinnia said as a greeting, pulling me into a fierce hug. We'd seen each other since I last visited, of course, but it wasn't the same as being together at her house. Tears sprang to my eyes when she didn't let go. I tried to tell myself it was her Gold Dust Woman perfume, the lingering scent of incense, or the sheer number of plants surrounding her house, but I didn't buy it.

"I missed you," I said, stepping back.

"Of course you did. The people in Rockford are boring, and you didn't belong there. Now come in already."

She practically glided across her hardwood floors, looking like Stevie Nicks' older sister, her collection of bangles chiming together, and I wondered if I'd ever be as effortlessly cool. Zinnia was one of those women whose age was difficult to determine. She had streaks of gray and silver that wove through her coarse, dark curls. She either had great skincare, or she was the sort of witch who stole youth from the town's children on Halloween.

I followed her into the kitchen, marveling at how her normal decor and witchy shit blended throughout the house. Crystals next to family photos, decks of tarot cards stacked next to her unopened mail, runes in the bowl with her shop keys. It all existed harmoniously.

"Are those margaritas?" I asked, looking at the full blender on the counter.

"Yes. Glasses are in the hutch."

"It's 3:30 in the afternoon."

"And time is a construct, so I don't care. The last time you visited, you were eighteen and couldn't drink, so consider this a makeup for lost fun." She arched a brow at me, daring me to argue, but I just shook my head and went to get the glasses.

She poured, and I relaxed. I was glad we'd already hashed out everything that had happened with work, so I didn't need to talk about it again. Zinnia had gone on a campaign to get me to come stay with her as soon as I told her about losing my job. I'd pushed back. Hard. It had already knocked the wind out of me to admit to my mother that I couldn't cut it in corporate America, or the "capitalist hellscape," as she called it. I'd tried to explain to my aunt that I wanted to fix my own mistakes, but she simply continued to act as if it were an irrefutable fact that I'd be staying with her. I couldn't decide if me being there now was a testament to her psychic abilities, her manifestation abilities, or a little of both.

"Who's manning the shop if you're here?" I asked, noting the time.

"No one. It's closed. Closing periodically without warning only adds to the mystique of the store."

I laughed through my nose at that. Her shop didn't need any more mystique, but that's what kept the tourists coming, so I guessed she knew what she was doing. "Well, whenever you want to put me to work, I'm ready. I need to unpack and return the U-Haul, but other than that." I was going to at least be useful while I stayed there and attempted to figure out the rest of my life.

"Oh yes, actually, I asked Shelly, you know my neighbor? To send her sons over to bring your boxes to the guest house around five. So don't worry about that."

"Aunt Zin, that's not necessary—"

She interrupted me with a wave. "I told her the same, but I took care of an... issue, we'll call it, with her now ex-husband a few months back. She's been intent on repaying me since then."

I raised an eyebrow at her this time. "Do I even want to know? Or is this like a ‘he-was-never-seen-again' situation?"

"Don't be ridiculous, he's in Columbus. I just helped get him there faster. And with less money than he wanted." I had to laugh at that.

"Fine, fine, they can unload the U-Haul."

"Good. Glad that's settled. We can talk about the shop later. After more margaritas. Go check out the guest house; it's changed a bit since you were last here. Relax, change, and then we'll have dinner. I know you said you decided against hexing your former employer, but we can at least put him in the freezer, no?" She gave me an innocent smile before shooing me out the back door toward the tiny guest house.

I shuffled down the gravel path with my suitcase. I tamped down the little spark of comfort I got at being taken care of. Getting too comfortable was the opposite of the purpose of my time here. Recover and move on — that was the only goal.