A Curse for Christmas by Mason P A

Author:Mason, P A [Mason, P A]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: P.A. Mason
Published: 2021-11-03T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 6

Marissa found a dirty, old towel in the back of Jake’s truck which we used to wrap Henrietta into a bundle, and she cradled the bird tenderly as I hotfooted it back home. From what we could see, there didn’t appear to be any obvious broken bones, though Henrietta lay limp and lethargic—not responding to our telepathic communication.

“This can’t be coincidence,” Marissa stated.

“Nope,” I agreed. I didn’t particularly want to open the can of worms Henrietta’s condition brought to the fore, but I knew Gramma would hit the roof when she saw the owl. Even without the gift, I was almost certain a healer wasn’t capable of attacking both witch and familiar with their skills. But the link a witch shared with their ancestral-spirit-turned-animal was fair game for a hex witch, whose gifts they directed at a person’s soul stuff rather than their physical body.

“Well?” Marissa snapped. “Are we going home, or should we head Gramma off at the pass and go directly to Blanche?”

I blinked and glanced at Marissa, whose normally affable countenance was replaced by a mask of cold fury. I blinked and returned my attention to the road. “Go directly to Blanche and do what, exactly? She might take more offense to her garden withering than most people, but it’s not exactly the thumbscrews we need. Unless you have some poison in your pocket and plan on threatening to pour it down her gullet?”

“I wouldn’t be beneath it if I did. But spells or no, I say we head straight over and demand she start rescinding before she unleashes a feud.”

“A bit late for that, wouldn’t you say? Besides, we need to check in with Gramma. She might have had some luck with the grimoires.”

Marissa grunted something that sounded like yes, so I turned off the highway before the township of Tumbling Springs to cut directly to home. The trip back seemed to take twice as long, and I warred with irritation, anger, and fear that Mom’s condition had worsened since we’d been gone. When I pulled up at the house, I launched up to the porch and stomped into the hallway—muddy boots and all.

“Gone long enough,” Gramma called out from the top of the stairs.

With the presence of mind to kick off my boots before heading up to the carpeted second floor, I took the stairs two at a time. Instinctively, I went straight for Mom’s room, and found Gramma with a chair pulled up by her bedside with a stack of leather-bound grimoires beside her.

“Any change?” I crossed the room to sit on the bed and took Mom’s hand.

“Nothin’. But she ain’t getting no worse, which is somethin’.” Gramma rubbed her eyes and stretched her shoulders. “What’d you girls find?”

I glanced at the doorway where Marissa had caught me up—less her muddied designer boots—with Henrietta bundled in her arms. She went over to lay the owl gently next to Mom. “Peggy Gordon is out for the season. There was nothing at the house. But we found Henrietta on the trip back.

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