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The next spell is one to clear magic from the area. I write that down as well. Thankfully, it’s a simple chant said while walking counter-clockwise around the specified area.
I place the book back on the shelf, then head downstairs. The spell calls for a cauldron, but states that a simple pot may do in times of need. I don’t dare use Mother’s cauldron. Besides, there is no way to light a fire under it without magic. I haven’t quite learned that yet.
The kitchen cupboards are stocked full of the herbs necessary for the spell. Calendula, lavender, aloe. We also have plenty of honey. Using caps and spoons, I measure out the ingredients and dump them into a pot, one by one, in the order required. After adding water, I take a deep breath and hold up the end of a single braid. The brown strands absorb the light as I move them back and forth. Gathering my courage, I chop off a handful, gripping them tight.
Seconds tick by, and suddenly, a tingling fills my chest, as if bubbles are popping inside my heart. I stir the pot counter-clockwise with a wooden spoon, chanting the spell as I move. My raw skin presses into the gauze, but I ignore the pain, intent on finishing this project.
The contents boil, bubbling as I chant. When the mixture is the color noted in the grimoire, I tap my spoon against the pot three times while sealing the spell. Now all I have to do is wait for it to cool. I throw the copy I wrote into the fire, along with my hair strands, making sure both are completely turned to ash.
The mixture cools, and I pour it into a jar and take it downstairs. The jar is small enough to hide under my pillow and I tuck it away.
The witch is on her way, Nava says.
I blow out a sigh, and hurriedly set to work cleaning up. Then I walk around chanting to clear out any traces of magic. I repeat it once more, for good measure. Right as I am finished, I hear Mother’s voice calling for me.
“Rapunzel, let down your hair.”
I grimace. At least I can be grateful she waited until after I had completed my spell. At the window, I stare up at the sky. The sun is low, and night will arrive soon. I cannot wait.
I untie the fabric scraps at my neck, and my hair falls, the braids unrolling to the bottom. Mother attaches several baskets to the ends, then proceeds to climb up. When she is through the window, she has me help her pull the rope of hair up the tower.
I cringe as we pull my hair, pain shooting through my hands. I almost ask her to use magic to bring up her things, but close my mouth at the last minute. Anger beats my heart, and I wonder how much longer I have to push my own feelings and ailments aside for her sake.
Finally, after minute after excruciating minute, the baskets are inside the tower. Mother immediately hands one to me, indicating I should put it on the table. Gritting my teeth, I drop the basket on the table, and it hits with a thud.
“Be careful with that,” Mother says.
I say nothing in return, only bringing my hands close to my chest, cradling them.
“What’s the matter with you?” Mother asks.
The absolute gall of her. I stare at her, incredulous. “You burned my hands yesterday.”
Mother sniffs. “Stop crying. I didn’t hurt you that bad.”
My heart drops and I wonder to myself, am I simply being over-sensitive? I push the thought aside.
No.
A mother should not treat her child that way. I grit my teeth and decide to take a chance. I ask a question that has been burning in my mind since I saw that house by the tree. “Where was I born, Mother?”
She curls her lip up in disgust. “Here, of course. I gave birth to you myself, all alone in this cruel world. You know this.” She glares at me. “Why do you ask again?”
Before I can say anything, the window rattles, and two red eyes stare at us.
Chapter Thirty-Four
I immediately recognize the vampire as one of the ones Raúl and I fought off in the garden and stumble backward, almost tripping on my hair. Mother surges forward and a fire rope flies from her hand, whipping in the air. “Leave, now,” she says, her voice commanding and confident.
The vampire hisses and stares at us. “I’ll be back, witch.”
“Not if you want to live,” she says.
He hisses again, his red eyes flashing as he looks at me. Mother doesn’t wait for him to leave. Her fire rope goes out the window, smashing through glass, hitting the vampire in the shoulder. He screams and scrambles down the tower. I run to the hole and watch him scamper off into the forest. I will have to tell Raúl.
Mother walks until she stands behind me. “Do you see why you must stay inside the tower? Vampires lay in wait beyond the trees, itching for the chance to drain you of life. You are only safe here, with me.”
My shoulders stiffen as I listen to her lies. Though I should agree with her, deep down, I do not have the energy. “Good night, Mother. I will see you tomorrow.”
