Spells

store. She took a deep breath, forced herself not to hesitate any longer, and walked next door to Nature’s Cure. In the weeks since Laurel returned from Avalon she’d only been in her mom’s store a few times, and the attention to detail never failed to impress her. She pushed the front door open and instead of a mechanical chime, the corner of the door hit a small silver bell that tinkled softly. Potted plants filled the windowsills, and a serenity fountain gurgled in the corner where it sat in a small Zen garden. There were even sparkly crystal prisms strung up in the window. Laurel took a moment to touch one, pleased that her mother had taken a decoration idea from Laurel’s room to use at her store. Despite the current tension with her mom, Laurel suspected she would enjoy working here even more than at the bookstore — which was saying something.

Laurel turned as her mom came through a bead curtain from the back room, lugging a large box. Her face was a little red and she was breathless. “Oh, Laurel, it’s you. Good. I can put this down for a second.” She plopped the large box down in the middle of the floor and wiped her brow. “You’d think they would send this stuff in smaller boxes. So what did you need?” her mom asked, bending over and sliding the box across the floor instead of lifting it.

“I just came to see if you needed help. Things are slow next door,” she added, and then wished she hadn’t. She didn’t want her mom to feel like her second choice.

“Oh,” her mom said, smiling in a way that at least looked genuine. “That would be perfect. I’m stocking today and I can always use an extra hand.” She laughed. “Your dad gets employees; I’m not to that point yet.”

“Great,” Laurel said, shedding her backpack and coming to stand by the new shipment. Her mom explained the contents of the box — most of which Laurel was familiar with from years of living with a naturopath — and then showed her the system of tags on the shelves that she could match with the bottles and boxes.

“I’m going to go fill out the invoice and start preparing my order for next week, but you just holler if you need any help, okay?”

“I will,” Laurel said, and smiled. Her mom smiled back. So far, so good.

Laurel was surprised by how many of the elements in the herbal remedies she could remember from her summer of intense study. The note cards were worth it. As Laurel pulled the different items out of boxes and placed them on their appropriate shelves she recited their uses in her head. Comfrey, use as an oil to calm inflammation, reduce the life span of weeds, and for the eyes when sight is failing. Winter savory, for clarity of mind and sleeplessness. Also good for koi, if you add it to their water. Promotes oxygenation. Raspberry leaf tea, for seedlings who refuse to eat. Add plenty of sugar to increase the nutritional value. Energizing when you have to be up late at night.

She particularly liked sorting the homeopathics, which were completely safe for faerie consumption since they were generally preserved in sugar, but almost always did the opposite thing for humans as for faeries. St. Ignatius Bean, for example, could be used as a remedy against grief for humans. For faeries, it was used as a sedative. And white bryony would reduce fevers in humans, but for faeries it was extremely effective in staving off freezing. Tamani had told her that the sentries who guarded the gate in Japan drank a cold tea made from white bryony every day during the winter months, when it could get very cold in the high mountains.

Thinking of Tamani distracted Laurel for a while and her hand was still — clutched around a cylinder of Natrum muriaticum — for almost a minute before her mom walked over and pulled her from her thoughts.

“Everything okay, Laurel?”

“What? Oh, yeah,” she mumbled, looking up at her mom before bending back down to grab more cylinders from a small box. “Just lost in thought.”

“Okay,” her mom said, looking at her a little funny. She turned, then stopped for a second. “Thanks for coming in to help out,” she said. “I appreciate it.” She put one arm around Laurel and hugged her sideways. It was an awkward hug, the kind you give someone when you’d rather just shake their hand. An obligatory kind of hug.

The phone rang, and with a hollow longing in her chest Laurel watched her mom walk back up to the register. It was strange to miss someone who was standing right in front of her, but that was how Laurel felt. She missed her mom.

“Excuse me,” said a voice just behind her.

Laurel turned to see an older woman she vaguely recognized from town. “Yes?”

“Could you help me?”

Laurel looked up toward her mom, who was still on the phone. She turned back to the woman. “I can sure try,” she said with a smile.

“I need something for my headaches. I’ve been taking Advil, but it’s not helping as much anymore. I think my body’s getting used to it.”

“That happens,” Laurel said, nodding sympathetically.

“I want something a little more natural. But effective, too,” she added.

Laurel was trying to remember what it was she had put on the shelves just a few minutes earlier. She had held the small bottle for several seconds, wondering if she should get some for herself — with the stress of the last few months, Laurel had more than a few headaches of her own. She moved an aisle over and found the bottle. “Here,” she said, handing it to the woman. “It is a little pricey”—she pointed to the price tag—“but it will be so worth it. I’m considering getting some for myself. It will be much better than Advil.”

The woman smiled. “Thanks. It’s certainly worth a try.”

She carried the bottle up to the register as Laurel went back to sorting homeopathics. After a minute Laurel’s mom led the woman over to Laurel’s display and, after a pointed look at Laurel, grabbed one of the green cylinders. “This will work much better,” she said. “It’s cyclamen, and I’ve given it to my husband for years for his migraines. Works like a dream.” As they were walking back up to the register Laurel’s mom explained how to use the homeopathic pilules and soon the woman was on her way.

Her mom stood by the door for a few seconds to wave at the woman, then walked toward Laurel. “Laurel,” she started, and Laurel could hear the frustration she was holding carefully in check, “if you don’t know what to recommend, come get me. Don’t just pull random bottles off the shelf. I wish you had waited for me to finish my phone call. These people are looking for help, and all of these herbs work very differently.”

Laurel felt like a little child being scolded by an adult who was being very careful not to hurt her feelings. “I didn’t just pull a random bottle,” Laurel protested. “That stuff’s really good for headaches. I picked it on purpose.”

“Really?” her mom said dryly. “Somehow I don’t think it’s that kind of headache.”

“What?”

“Pausinystalia johimbe? Do you even know what Pausinystalia johimbe is marketed for? It’s a male- enhancement herb.”

“Eww, gross!” Laurel said, repulsed now by her thought that she should get a bottle for herself. She knew most herbs affected faeries differently, but that was just wrong!

“Exactly. I only carry it because there’s a guy who came in last week and asked if I could special-order it. There’s something I didn’t need to know about my sixty-year-old banker,” she added.

“I’m sorry,” Laurel said genuinely. “I didn’t know.”

“I don’t expect you to. But that’s what I’m here for. I’m really glad you came in to help, but handing out sex pills for headaches isn’t helping. You need to ask for advice when you need it, Laurel. You could potentially kill someone by giving them the wrong herbs, depending on their health conditions. Please think about that next time.”

“I did think,” Laurel retorted, suddenly angry at her mom’s attitude. “It would have helped me!” she added impulsively.

Laurel’s mom sighed heavily and turned away.

“I got mixed up,” Laurel said, following behind her. “I forget that herbs don’t work the same for humans as for fae. I just made a little mistake.”

“Laurel, not now, please.” She walked around to the other side of the counter.

“Why not now?” Laurel said, slapping her hands down on the counter. “When? At home? Because you don’t ever want to talk about me being a faerie there, either.”

“Laurel, lower your voice.” Her mother’s voice was sharp — a clear warning to watch her tongue.