I swung my legs around and leaned forward to look at the cookbook. “What do you mean?”
Autumn flipped a few more pages searching for something. “You see this one?” She pointed at a recipe called Lies Be Gone Lemon Bars. “When I made this recipe, I was unaware that it was a culinary spell. I took a pan of this dessert to work, for a pot-luck. Everyone who ate a lemon bar told me the truth, or they blurted out whatever was on their mind. Things they normally would never say out loud…and let’s just say that I learned way more than I ever wanted to know.”
I felt my eyes go wide. “So you’re saying that you accidentally spelled your co-workers?”
“Yeah.” Autumn grimaced. “It wasn’t one of my finest moments.”
“My mother would have considered that a success,” I said. “Then again, for Mama it had been all about power: As in power over another.”
“Which is probably why her spells were so disastrous,” Autumn pointed out.
I blinked. “I never thought of it that way.”
“If I’ve learned anything since I moved to William’s Ford, it’s that magick is all about what’s in the heart of the practitioner. Their intentions, personality, and who they truly are…inside. That force shapes and colors their magick.”
I nodded. “I never thought about it that way. But that makes a certain sort of sense.”
Autumn flipped a few more pages. “See this recipe?”
I read the title of the cake recipe that she pointed to. It was called Chocolate Sin. I glanced over the notes written on the side and flinched. “This was my grandmother’s work? Lord have mercy! That’s a deity invocation wrapped up in a sex spell if I ever saw one!”
Autumn’s shoulders dropped. “You literally saved me about an hour of explanations.”
“You honestly didn’t work that, did you?”
“Yeah,” Autumn said, with a grimace. “In my defense, I didn’t know that this was a spell book. I thought I’d simply found an old family cookbook. It was a major rookie-Witch mistake. After I served the cake for dessert, things got a little wild.”
I was torn between shock and laughter. “Dare I ask who you served the cake to?”
Autumn smiled. “To Duncan. Last summer.”
I pressed my fingers to my lips to keep from snorting with laughter.
“We were exes and trying to be friends at the time.” Autumn rolled her eyes. “Boy, did it take a lot of willpower to keep things from getting too crazy that night.”
“So if I’m following you correctly, my grandmother Irene dabbled in the darker aspects of the Craft?” I shook my head. “Could that be where my mama got her predilection for manipulative magick?”
“No. I doubt it,” Autumn said. “Listen, when I first moved into the bungalow, I heard a lot of nasty rumors about Irene Bishop and the sort of magick her clients paid for.”
“Oh Lord.” I grimaced. “You mean she was like a Witch for hire?”
“Not exactly.” Autumn flipped her hair over one shoulder. “After a while I learned there were two sides to the story. Irene Bishop was many things, and while I don’t approve of taking money for spell craft, she wasn’t dark. She worked some amazing magick for her clients.”
“Such as?”
“Successful spells for women who desperately wanted children, and more than a few healing spells. Irene was clever, ambitious, and generous to her friends. And let’s not forget that your grandmother was willing to sacrifice a great deal to keep her only child safe. She’s a hell of a woman.”
“Was,” I corrected automatically.
Autumn grinned. “I’ll have to have you over to the bungalow. You can meet your grandmother and see for yourself.”
“I have only a smidgen of feminine intuition. I’m no psychic, not like you are.”
Autumn gripped my hand. “Magnolia Irene Parrish, you are much more than you realize.”
The pages on the cookbook began to rifle…on their own. With a gasp, I jerked farther away from the coffee table.
“Oh.” Autumn smiled at me innocently. “I probably should have warned you about that. Don’t be scared. The cookbook has a mind of its own.”
The pages stopped, and I cautiously peered down to see what recipe they landed on. “Avalon Apple Pie,” I read out loud. “A recipe guaranteed to invoke the magickal wisdom of your ancestors…”
“That’s a new one,” Autumn chuckled. “I suppose Irene wants you to go ahead and embrace your heritage. Reluctant Witch or not.”
“No thank you, Irene,” I said out loud—in case she was listening somehow.
As the pages began to turn again I probably should have been frightened, but at the moment I was too amazed to do anything other than sit and stare. Finally they came to rest, and together, Autumn and I leaned forward to see where the pages had landed this time.
“Make New Friends Manicotti,” we read out loud.
She nudged me with her elbow. “She’s subtle, our Irene.” Autumn rolled her eyes.
I couldn’t help it, I began to laugh.
After Autumn left, I spent some time studying the cookbook. Eventually, I put the cookbook away in a kitchen cabinet, high enough where Willow wouldn’t reach it. The first night I had it in the cottage, my eyes kept traveling to the cabinet, half expecting it to come bursting out and land on the table. If I hadn’t seen for myself what the book could do, I would never have believed it.
The recent visits with Nina and Autumn had brought up many memories for me of my teenage years. Back when I’d been attempting to take the magick I’d learned and apply it in a more affirmative way. What I wouldn’t have given to have known about these other Witches…good Witches.
Despite the rudeness of their Aunt Faye, The Bishops appeared to be a normal, well-adjusted family. Clearly my cousins practiced a very different sort of magick than my own mother had. The fact that they lived regular and happy lives, despite being Witches, was somehow reassuring to me.
The next morning
