Echo’s grin is worth every penny as the witch spells her name in dough, the ECHO as ornate as calligraphy. Powered sugar appears like snow and drifts down upon the cake. Then tiny colorful chocolates sprinkle over that. With a final wink, the witches flick their fingers, and the cake floats over to Echo.
The same process follows for Winter, and by the time we reach our destination, both girls have powder covering their little faces.
I may be feeling low, but at least I’m a pretty good aunt, I think.
Up ahead, I see the shop we always come to when we visit the Market. By now, the rollercoaster of emotions that is today has exhausted me. I am ready to get out of here and crawl back under my covers.
The Fates, however, seem to have different plans in order.
Only as I draw closer do I notice the small crowd that has gathered near Tatiana’s, our favorite shop at the Market. Out front, a wolf in colorful skirts stands upon a crate, giving her a stage above the gathered.
The first thing I notice about her is that she is lovely, captivating, even, with her glorious dark curly hair and smooth brown skin. Silver bangles hang from her wrists and large silver hoops swing in her ears. Her eyes scan the gathered, and her powerful voice carries over the crowd as if by magic.
Perhaps the purest kind of magic–genuine charisma and leadership skills.
But it is not these qualities that freezes me in my tracks, that makes me want to open a portal in the floor and slip out of here to literally any place else in all the realms.
“Edmond Harvey Jackson,” she says. “Say his name!”
The gathered shout back:
“Edmond Harvey Jackson!”
7 3:00 p.m.
Edmond Harvey Jackson.
The name seems to enter through my ears but also my skin, permeating my bloodstream and nestling in my bones.
Goddess, news travels fast nowadays.
I think I am going to be sick.
“Fuck,” I hear Flora mutter.
Then she is dragging us away from there.
We are at another booth entirely before I am able to see what is going on around me. I am dizzy with guilt or trauma or some shit. I’ve never been prone to panic attacks, but I am pretty sure this is one of them. My heart is racing and I’m suddenly sweating profusely. My hand is clammy in Winter’s, and I’m dimly aware of her eyes on me, watching with concern too wise for her ten years.
“Four tickets to Cherry Gardens, please,” Flora is saying to a witch behind a glass in a little booth. The witch takes my sister’s payment and hands over the tickets.
I say nothing as Flora hands me mine.
“We’re going to Cherry Gardens?” Echo asks. “Yes!”
I think I try to smile. I’m not sure I succeed. I count my breaths in an effort to calm myself.
Winter usually loves Cherry Gardens, too, but she is too busy watching me to express delight. My heart is still racing, my palms clammy and my neck terribly hot. I’m starting to feel dizzy, my mind stalling.
We approach a turnstile, where a calico cat sits watching with sharp green eyes. When I just stand there, trying to steady my breathing, Flora slips my ticket into the slot for me and shoves me through.
I stumble as my feet touch soft grass and warm sun kisses my face, and the smell of Cherry Blossoms in full bloom takes the place of the scents of the Market.
I try to draw a deep breath. I cannot seem to rein myself in. I can’t seem to get enough air.
I cannot breathe.
I am going to die.
What. The. Fuck.
I’m barely aware of Flora telling Winter to take my other side. I nearly collapse as we reach a stone bench set along the pathway. The gardens blur around me as I keep sucking in air, not quite filling my lungs no matter how hard I try.
I am starting to freak the fuck out.
Flora gives Echo some directions, and Echo runs off to comply. She returns a moment later with some magical chamomile tea. I take the steaming cup gratefully and sip it deep enough to scour my tongue and throat.
But the chamomile magic does the trick, the herb much stronger than that sold by humans.
Finally, after a few gasps, my body starts to return to normal.
But you can just color me freaked the fuck out. If that was a panic attack, I never wanted to have one again. What is wrong with me?
A breeze picks up, drifting through the garden and carrying with it the scents of flora, grass, and sugar. I watch my nieces and sister as their hair lifts off their shoulders, and know the breeze is Echo, using her elemental magic. The sight of my three most favorite people in the world calms me further still, and I thank the Goddess for her blessings.
Sheesh. I need to get it together.
“Feeling better, Auntie?” asks Echo.
I am finally able to draw a full breath. I sip the magical tea and manage a real smile. “Yes, thank you,” I say, and stand, pleased when my legs hold me. “What are we waiting for? Let’s play.”
That is all the permission the little witches need. Winter and Echo dart off across the grass, heading toward one of the many sprawling jungle gym/treehouses that live in Cherry Gardens—a pocket between the realms, a playground for witches.
Also, an expensive place to purchase tickets to. My sister just dropped a few hundred dollars to get us here from the Market.
I cringe as this settles over me. Flora doesn’t even have to look at me to know what I am thinking.
“Don’t worry about
