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I count to ten and exhale again, focusing on my breathing rather than the emotions that threaten to make me lose my grip on my magic.
Again.
It’s been a long day, but it’s not this woman’s fault my grandmother is lost, and it wouldn’t be fair to take out my frustration on her. Lisette is trying her best to help, and I appreciate her efforts.
It’s more than anyone else has done. Two other workers have already abandoned my quest to locate her.
She has to be somewhere in this airport.
Dead people don’t just pop their coffin open for an afternoon stroll—not even the witchy ones.
At least, none that I’ve seen in the last twenty years assisting her at the funeral home she runs—ran—back home. That responsibility is mine now… Maybe. I haven’t decided if I want to keep or sell it yet.
My life has felt like it’s falling apart bit by bit since she passed, and it’s more than figuring out how to run the business on my own.
It’s always been the two of us.
I don’t know what to do with myself now that it’s just me.
I wish I had one of the potions she was always brewing: luck, nausea, panic, whatever. I’d take any of her tinctures right now. One of each, if I could. And a handful of Advil for the wicked migraine I know I’ll have later.
The auras are already pulsing at the edge of my vision.
The staticky buzz of a walkie-talkie grates against my eardrums, making me wince. When I look up, Lisette presses the button on the device and speaks.
“You’re sure?” Her eyes flick to me, and then quickly away again, fixated on the blank screen of her computer monitor instead.
“Did they find her?” I ask eagerly.
By the look on Lisette’s face, I’m not sure the news is good, but I still hold out hope.
“Checked and rechecked,” the static-muffled voice responds through the walkie, barely intelligible.
Lisette’s frown deepens, and my stomach sinks. When she addresses me, she shakes her head. “It’s a sorry mess, Miss Dumont. Seems your Grand-Mère’s coffin wasn’t on the plane from the start.”
That’s impossible.
Yet here I stand without her.
“What do you mean she wasn’t on the plane? She has to be.” My voice is shrill, and suddenly I can’t breathe, panic bubbling up again and my magic with it.
My fingertips tingle with the buildup of energy. I need to keep a lid on my magic before I do something obviously witchy. Only… I’m not sure I can rein it all in.
The power here is so much stronger and more accessible than what I’m used to. This is my birthplace, and with that comes a connection to the ancestors.
Lucky for me, humans create their own explanations for the strange and unusual. A bursting lightbulb or a bit of malfunctioning technology barely registers to them these days.
Thank Gaia, because the only thing that could make today worse is being burned at the stake.
“I watched the men on the tarmac load the casket onto my flight in Leeds. I know she was on the plane with me. It’s not like she just got up and walked away.”
“Come here, cher. Take a seat.” Lisette grabs my arm and guides me behind her little podium, gently pushing me to sit on a flimsy-looking plastic stool.
I don’t realize I’m hyperventilating until she rests a hand between my shoulder blades and urges me to put my head between my knees. After a few gulps of stale airport air, Lisette clears her throat, and I mentally prepare myself for more bad news—though I don’t know what could be worse than misplacing a person.
If a witch isn’t laid to rest on ancestral soil after their body dies, their energy—or what humans might call their powers—can’t rejoin that of their family.
Grand-Mère will never truly rest.
