Emporium of Superstition by Elle Beaumont

Author:Elle Beaumont
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Midnight Tide Publishing

As the screen door slams behind me, somewhere in my mind, it registers that the day has changed. Gone are the blue skies and chirping, twirling birds from the morning. A layer of humidity blankets the whole area; each breath feels heavier than the one before it. Our tree, the willow, is changed as well. The tree’s kelly-green leaves are now spearhead shapes of pearly white, and they clack together when the breeze picks up. As I part the branches and come to the storm drain, I see it’s changed too. Or maybe my vision has changed with the stitching. It’s still a half-dome shape, but the grates are creamy-white.

Behind me, tires screech over pavement. Gravel crunches. Car doors slam. Time is up. The pearly leaves clatter together again as three women, one I recognize as Marcy Baxter, Mom’s so-called best friend, march over the lawn.

“Clara.” She looks upon me, fake sympathy gleaming in her eyes. “It’s been a long week for you, dear.”

“Where’s Elba?” I ask.

The three women exchange knowing glances, or smirks. They couldn’t have. She’d set her hat on the bed, left it there. They didn’t. The cute little maroon cloche with the purple ribbon. No.

“I think you know,” Marcy says. She paces closer, a leader among the three, with her crunchy-gelled curls leftover from the ‘80s. The other two women’s features aren’t standout. They have matching sandy-blond hair and wear denim shirts with their sleeves rolled up. I can’t see anyone’s lace, and that’s when I think of my own.

I back away from them, swiping fresh tears from my cheeks. This is no community. They’re not a sweet little Instagram-filtered coven of #witches. They have killed my aunt. I have no one left.

Suddenly, my ankle rolls in a gopher hole, and I hear a sickening snap. The pain of it shoots up my calf and blocks out the throbbing that’s been consistently pounding in my chest. I’m a heap on the ground, so close, so very close. But not close enough.

“This has gone on long enough,” one of Marcy’s henchmen says.

“We won’t let you take away what’s ours,” says the other.

The three step toward me, menacingly. I know they’ll do whatever they must to stop me.

“We’ve all made sacrifices just to gain this little bit of power,” Marcy explains. “Your family’s caused nothing but trouble for too long.”

I touch my lace, letting one finger linger over the ruby—warm once more. As I do, I feel the pain in my ankle drain away. The tendon or bone, whatever is torn and broken, mends itself, like new.

“Go easy on her, girls. She’s just received her lace. Just getting a taste for what she’s capable of, I’d wager.” Marcy’s auburn eyebrow cocks, and her lips curl into a cruel smile. “Can you feel what we’re capable of too?” She crouches before me. Her teeth shine a sickly stained yellow in the bright white reflecting off the pearly leaves. “What do you say, Clara? I can show you. Mentor you.”

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