The line begins shuffling forward, and he follows at my back. “Glad I could help, then. Incomplete as it may have been.” He sighs. “My brother’s crowd is kind of scary, but knowledgeable.”
“It’s a start in a new, more hopeful direction,” I say and make my way onto the ferry.
“Glad you are taking a positive approach to a possible dark situation.” He swings past me and leads me into the cabin. Quickly finds us a seat. “Speaking of positive things,” he continues. “That girl at the shop today was something else, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yeah?” I twist toward him and shoot him a playful grin. “You find her cute?”
“Oh please.” He waves his hand before us as if to clear the air. “You know she’s not my type. But she could be an interesting addition to the coven. A little more people power.” He shakes flat-palmed air brackets at the side of his head.
“Yeah, well.” I tilt my head. “She seems like a serious novice. She’d require a lot of guidance.”
“Not a problem.” He waves off my comment. “Between the three of us, we’ve got this.”
“Belle, honey, is that you?”
I spin toward the sound of my name and spy my mom moving in my direction. She rushes forward and presses her palms to the side of my head.
“It is you.” She smiles wide. “Goodness gracious, child. What are you doing this side of the river?”
“Just spending time with my friend.” I tilt my head ever slightly toward James. “You remember James, don’t you?”
James jolts to a stand, ruffles his hair, and thrust his hand forward. “Mrs. Roussard.” He bows his head. “Good to see you again.”
“Put that away.” She knocks his hand down and throws her arms around him. Hugs him. “Of course, I remember you, boy.” She releases him and steps back. “I simply adore you.” She pinches his cheeks.
“And I you,” he replies.
James and I exchange a glance. Mom shimmies her body onto the seat between us and slaps her knees. “Tell me all about your day.”
The chance to talk about any coven issues or healing steps for my mom just bolted like a witch on a broom. James and I indulge her in small talk for the short voyage, and once we are back on land, Mom and I walk home together, sharing my umbrella. We live in a nice little duplex fairly close to the ferry terminal. Because of the short distance, mom often chooses to walk and take the ferry to work, rather than use the gas to drive across the river. Mom and I wave our goodbyes to James before heading inside. He still has a few more blocks to walk before he reaches his destination.
Since Mom is working one of her better personalities today, I clip a few fresh herbs from the back garden, and we cook up a hearty soup. I don’t tell her I already ate. We talk about my school and her work, keeping the conversation uplifting and light.
My mind wanders, and I consider the information John bestowed on me. The suggestion that my mom has been reprogrammed or mind controlled by Caleb.
“Do you have any regular rituals?” I ask, shifting the conversation.
“What kind of rituals? Surely you don’t mean the average morning and night rituals,” she says.
I shake my head. I don’t want to hear about her hygiene habits. “Like a mantra, prayer, poem, or something?”
She shrugs. “Sometimes I read from my self-help journal.” She pats my hand. “You have to know, I want to be the best possible mom for you.”
“I know.” I drop my free hand on top of hers and squeeze. Make a mental note to seek out the self-help journal and search for any programming notes from Caleb. “I have a bit of homework to finish, so I am going to take it back to my room and get it done before I crash.” She nods, a cheerful look on her face. I grab my backpack from the back door where I left it right after school, before James and I took to the French Quarter. I didn’t want to lug it around all afternoon.
Retiring to my room, I spread my book and papers out over my bed and get to work. I answer a few science questions, complete my history reading and an entire activity log in math. In the kitchen, the phone rings. Mom picks up the extension in her bedroom and exchanges a few words with the person on the other end of the line.
“Belle,” she calls. “There’s a young lady on the line. She’s asking for you. She says her name is Luna.”
My shoulders jerk straight. Luna? The girl from the shop? She must really be anxious about this spell of hers. I slip off the bed and head for the kitchen. Retrieve the phone from the wall cradle and cover the receiver. Holler to my mom that I have the phone and then listen, wait for her to hang up. After a moment, a soft click signals the third line has been disconnected.
“This is Belle,” I say and stretch the cord so that I may take a seat at the table.
“Sorry to call so late at night,” Luna says. “I just. I wanted to know if this was a good number… and I also wanted to thank you for being so kind to me today.”
“You think I’d give you a fake number?” My mouth drops open.
“No. Not really.” She falls silent and I wait, not wanting to be the one who speaks first. “You just made me feel… I don’t know… not alone. Not ridiculous. And I guess I wanted to talk to you again.”
“I’m flattered, but you should never feel ridiculous. Just because some people don’t understand or believe in magick doesn’t mean they have the right to belittle you or make you feel like less than you are.” I press the phone between my shoulder and chin, freeing my hands so that I may fold them across my chest.
“Thanks.”
