7. Daisy

CHAPTER 7

Daisy

T he grimoire is proving to be far more insistent than Daisy thought it would be. As she moves around the house, doing whatever she needs, it magically appears, flapping its cover and pages at her. She's not sure what it wants from her, but she's still trying to figure out why and how it's here in the first place. Or at least she's still wondering. She's not actively trying to find a solution. Admittedly, having the book follow her around has been entertaining and oddly comforting. She understands now why Petra had Morris when she lived on her own. Maybe someday she'll get a cat, or even a lizard, but for now, she's content with a sentient family heirloom.

Today is her day off, and after the council meeting the other night, she is thankful for it. Of all the people she could work with, the council decided on Sloan. Why?

Sloan has always been a thorn in her side. She's been the mean girl ever since they were young, encouraging her bonehead followers, like Francesca, to treat Daisy like she was the scourge of the earth. As if she was the one who sold unsolicited wares to the normies rather than her parents. Sloan went out of her way to single Daisy out and made sure she had limited ability to find peace.

So, no, Daisy doesn't think Sloan is the right person for this project. She has no experience that could even remotely be beneficial for creating a welcoming space to help those in need. How could Sloan ever know what it is like to hurt when she has lived a life full of privilege and opportunity? The coven rumor mill says she volunteers with the elderly, but everyone knows that's a lie meant to fuel her perception as a benevolent princess. Goddess knows Sloan would only rescue abandoned kittens and three-legged dogs to make herself look good.

With that, Daisy decides to put this event together on her own, despite what the council says. She'll show them what she's capable of and will do it without Miss Princess.

As if summoned, Daisy's phone vibrates on the table beside her. She picks it up and sees a text from an unknown number. Opening the message, she reads:

Unknown

Hi Daisy. It's Sloan.

I hope you don't mind—Petra passed along your number after the meeting the other night.

I'm wondering when you would be available to discuss initial plans.

While annoyed at Petra for giving out her number, she admits she likely wouldn't have provided it if Sloan had asked Daisy herself. She adds her contact info but lets the message sit on read for a few hours, spending the time cleaning and watching more Toil & Trouble before replying. For a brief moment, she thinks about pretending Sloan has the wrong number, but she's waited too long for that. Immature, maybe. But would it be entertaining? Yes.

Daisy

I do mind

Unfortunately, I am too busy for a meeting

Three bubbles instantly appear. Dammit.

Sloan

You work tomorrow night, right?

Yes

Lachlan, the traitor.

Wonderful. I will stop by, and we can have a quick chat.

Shit.

I will be too busy with customers.

I can wait.

See you tomorrow.

"Well, that didn't go as planned," Daisy says to the empty room.

The grimoire flops open on the coffee table, pages flipping rapidly as if caught by a strong wind. She steps forward and looks down at the opened page.

Vanquishing Spell

Daisy smiles briefly, considering it. Who knew grimoires could have a sense of humor?

* * *

The next night, as promised, Sloan waits with a book open before her. Daisy refuses to serve her, so another staff checks in on her periodically, gathering drinks and food as she requests. Seeing Sloan here is out of place. She doesn't belong here, in a friendly establishment where customers are like family. She should be somewhere cold and preferably very distant. Perhaps in a dark dungeon to match the cavern where her heart should be.

As the night winds down and customers file out, Sloan rises from the table she has held all night. She picks up her book and saunters to the bar in her tight pencil skirt and sweater, effectively trying to corner Daisy.

"Are you ever planning to acknowledge me?" Sloan asks, hopping onto a stool with ease, resting her forearms on the bar top. Daisy is surprised Sloan doesn't first wipe it down with a disinfectant wipe.

"I would prefer not to," Daisy deadpans.

"Ah, she speaks."

"Believe it or not, I know how."

"Oh, I know all about your speaking abilities. After all, it was only the other night that you tried to trade me in like a stinky sock."

"More like a rotting corpse, but I'll accept the analogy."

"Look, you don't want to work together, but we have work that needs to be done. How do you propose we do this?" Sloan asks, swirling the straw in her ginger ale, frustration evident in her tone and the flare of her nostrils—not that Daisy cares enough to pay attention to how her nostrils flare.

Daisy wipes down the bar, using the task as an opportunity to think of a response. "I have some ideas already. How about I send them to you, and we can go from there? Maybe divide and conquer. That way, we don't have to be together, but we can still get stuff done." She has absolutely no intention of sending anything to Sloan. She also doesn't have any ideas currently, but Sloan doesn't need to know that either.

"That works," Sloan says, picking up her phone. "I'll text you my email."

Daisy nods, feigning agreement.

"I look forward to working together," Sloan says before standing up and collecting her things. "Have a good night, Daisy."

"You too," Daisy replies, watching Sloan's hips sway to the door. Sloan looks back, wiggling her fingers like the prissy witch she is before leaving. It pains Daisy to smile back, but she does, keeping the pleasant facade while internally wishing she could hex Sloan where she stands. Once the door chimes behind her, Daisy moves to the door and locks it. She huffs a laugh to herself as she strolls back to the bar. Send Sloan her ideas. That's funny.

As she continues to clean and complete her end-of-the-night duties, Daisy grumbles to herself about Sloan. Why is Sloan trying to be so pleasant? Daisy doesn't buy the nice act one bit.

Daisy finishes her closing duties and heads home. Her home is her one safe place, where she doesn't need to answer to anyone and can wallow or fester in her thoughts as she pleases.

The grimoire greets her at the door, laying open on the floor to the page with her family tree. Daisy removes her boots and then kneels before the book. Running her hand along the page, she feels years of history through the inscriptions of previous relatives who have added to the image over time. Moving her hand to the bottom of the page, she finds her parents, Norma and Levi, written in her mother's writing, followed by an arrow down to her.

Seeing this stirs up too many emotions. Pain. Shame. Love. Loss. The toxic mixture floods her system, causing a river of tears to burst from within. Through her tears, she notices a glow emanating from the grimoire. It's a call to her, for her to join with it. But her power remains latent. The grimoire doesn't seem to care. Instead, it urges her to complete the joining ritual, flipping the page and displaying the necessary words to repeat.

Wiping her tears away with her sleeve, Daisy picks up the tome and carries it to her living room, where she sets it down on a dark coffee table. She sits down in front of the table, crossing her legs underneath. Picking up a lighter nearby, she lights the trio of candles at the corner of the table and wipes her unusually sweaty hands on her thighs.

Is she really about to do this?

Is this book telling her what to do?

Is she going to listen to it?

The answer is yes.

Taking a deep breath, she closes her eyes and feels a pulsing sensation along her arms. Slowly opening her eyes, she sees the glowing grimoire has begun to pulse, pulling her in. She leans in, reading through the passage before her. Her magic begins to spark within, answering the call of the grimoire. With a final deep breath to steady herself, she recites:

I, Daisy Hale, accept the grimoire as a part of me.

I ask that it accept my magic and meld its power with mine, forever as one.

I pledge to honor and protect my family grimoire with all that I am and all that I possess from this day forth.

May the goddess grant me this.

Violet-colored magic surges out of her as a current of golden power leaps from the grimoire. As the currents meet, a golden light bursts, making Daisy see spots. The connected stream moves toward her, mingling and twining together as it does, eventually flowing back into her. The two streams merge, twisting under her skin, placing barbs into her soul.

"Whoo," Daisy breathes into the empty room. She looks down at the no longer glowing grimoire and senses its power, almost smiling within. The book pages flip wildly on the table, celebrating their joining.

"Evidently, you needed that," Daisy says. "I did too."

She calls forth her magic, willing it to light a candle on the fireplace mantle, and it responds without hesitation. The violet current fills the room, lighting not only the single candle but every other candle in the room, too.

"Okay, then. Little bit more power there. That will take some adjustment."

Standing, Daisy picks up the grimoire and settles with it on the couch. Choosing to forego her standard reality TV watching, she spends the next few hours looking through the tome, becoming comfortable with it, and exploring the history of spells and potions through the eyes of her ancestors.

When her eyes can barely stay open for a moment longer, she places the book back on the table and lays on the couch while pulling a blanket on top of herself. Within seconds of laying her head, feeling more centered, she drifts off into the most peaceful sleep she has had in weeks.

Waking the next morning, even with a stiff neck from a night of sleeping on a couch at a weird angle, she feels inspired. Ideas for the community event race through her mind, and her magic sparks with a newly loaded energy under her skin. Checking the clock on the wall, she sees it is late morning, which feels like the perfect time to start making phone calls.

The first place she calls is a multi-cabin inn and spa next to the lake in Leeside. She books a consultation visit for the end of the following week, excited about the prospect of planning a getaway gathering. She follows that conversation up with calls to several other vendors, from catering to decor, who are only too excited to offer consultations and meetings to go over options and pricing.

After the final call of the morning, she leaps up, punching her fists in the air, feeling more like herself than she has in a while. All thanks to the mysterious delivery of the grimoire.