by Rebecca Main
The list is short, very short, with only one piece of advice from each woman.
Emotion is never weakness. Feel — Maureen
Always fill your own cup first, self-care isn’t selfish — Lydia
Be free. Embrace who you are — Gran
The advice is all well and good, and I’m certainly grateful for it, but how can I implement it? Can it be that easy? My eyes slip close. Can it? For a moment I enjoy the stillness of the house and once more feel a surge of gratitude to the aunts and Gran who have left me be to sort out my issues. The house smells of my freshly baked cookies, but also of sage and basil and mint. The living plant wall was recently trimmed and treated by Aunt Mo, and the freshly ruffled plants share their wonderful aroma with the kitchen as well. The scents combine bringing memories of cooking with my mother to mind.
What would she say to me know? What advice would she have?
I open my heart to thoughts of her, letting her all-knowing words come to mind. Acceptance. Breathe it all in, honey.
My head bows in reflection. Acceptance. My teeth find my bottom lip to chew as I mull over the thought. Accept what though?
I know I’m in the wrong with Ben. I do. I also know that I will do right by him and tell him, face-to-face, about what happened because he deserves more than a text message or phone call. As for the soulmark… it’s a harder pill to swallow. I don’t want to be tied to this volatile alpha male who makes me feel things I’ve never felt before—a feeling of yearning so strong it’s unstoppable.
But the sealing of the soulmark isn’t something that can be undone. It just can’t.
It’s another painful truth to accept, and yet, somehow, I feel a heavy weight fall from my shoulders. I can’t go back in time and fix these things, but I do have a say in how I tackle my future.
Slowly I straighten, my hands resting gently on the island’s cool surface as my shoulders gently roll back and my chin lifts. Accepting magic, and all the crazy that goes hand and hand with it? I laugh, shaking my head from side to side, my curls swaying with the motion. I can’t give up on magic, even with all the crazy that accompanies it. I’m not going to let Gran down.
“Resurgemus.”
My eyes flutter open as an unexpected wave of heat tingles through my body. All around me chocolate chip pretzel cookies hover precariously in the air. Another laugh erupts from my mouth, my feet tapping the ground in excitement as I snatch one of the treats out of the air.
“Finally!” I chomp down on the cookie with glee, my careful concentration wavering as I do. In an instant, the floating cookies fall as one onto the counter top, breaking and crumbling upon impact.
“Shit.”
+++
Friday
I’m multitasking. As a chef, this comes naturally to me. I’m used to keeping watch over many things at once, all while keeping my hands busy chopping or dicing another ingredient. What I’m not used to is the magical strain of maintaining a spell while cooking. Given Wednesday’s success in casting, Gran opts to teach me the barring spell on Thursday evening.
The sensation is… odd. My magic pulls lightly from all parts of my body. My spine. My toes. My gut. It’s exhausting, to be frank, which is why I’m baking a batch of chocolate hazelnut biscotti to pair with our massive tea collection.
Though my heart feels lighter, and my magic is coming along, one issue remains. The soulmark. Despite restoring my calm and making a plan to see Ben as soon as possible, a pit of depression builds inside me due to Xander’s absence.
My hand gives a notable twitch and I pause my actions to settle my nerves. With a long, drawn breath, I pivot my thoughts to the task at hand. I place the biscotti logs into the oven and begin to straighten out the kitchen. Halfway through cleaning, the front door opens and closes, raucous laughter immediately fills the house. The aunts are home.
“Zoe?”
“In here,” I call back. Where else would I be?
Aunt Lydia and Mo come strolling in, their gazes resting knowingly on the half-cleaned kitchen island and my soapy hands. They begin to help silently until the task is complete and only a few minutes remain on the clock.
“What are you cooking?” Aunt Lydia asks as I set out a clean cutting board, serrated knife, and two cooling racks.
“Biscotti. I thought they might go nicely with some of the tea we have.” Both aunts hum their appreciation, sitting down on the stools on the other side of the island. “Where were you two?”
“Oh, just at the Wellington’s for some coven business.”
“I hope it all went well.”
“It did. Your gran is still finishing some discussions, so we thought we might come home early and see what you were making. Check on how you were doing,” Aunt Mo says. “You seem like you’re doing better, honey, are you? Some say the soulmark can be intrusive.”
My lips pinch together as I stew over her question. The soulmark does feel intrusive. I don’t want to feel Xander’s emotion, but it’s an unavoidable consequence of the bond. And I feel him more than ever now that my mind and heart are cleared. “I’m doing better, I think. It’s not… easy, but I’m learning to deal with it. I feel—a lot. And not just my own emotions.” My eyes flicker toward their calm expressions, “That’s what’s been hardest.”
“Well, you’ve done a fine job of keeping your head on your shoulders through all this nonsense,” Aunt Lydia commends, fingering her jewelry. Her cat-like eyes narrow. “Just know you’re doing the right thing. The truce that has resulted from your willingness to cultivate a relationship with the Adolphus boy certainly has its benefits for the coven.”
“Friendship, Lydia,” Aunt Mo corrects, not minding the way Aunt Lydia rolls her eyes in response.
“Friendship is a type of relationship, Maureen. Now, Zoe, is Ben aware of your arrangement?”
I shake my head firmly, eyes comically wide as I respond, “No. Definitely not. Witches and lycans? He would try to commit me to a psych ward.” What did they expect me to say to Ben?
Oh, don’t mind him, Ben! I just have to stay within ten feet of Xander at all times in order to maintain my sanity. Want to grab a coffee?
I flinch at the thought, the action covering the twitch in my hand that follows. The soulmark shivers against my skin in a wholly unpleasant way. Damn. The aunts give wary nods in unison at my passionate declaration.
“It’s best to keep supernatural revelations to a minimum, dear,” Aunt Mo advises delicately. “But I’d mind how affectionate you are in public with your Ben when you next see him. I’ve been told that the Adolphus’s have their dogs out watching you and reporting back to their alpha on your movements.”
“Seriously?” I mutter, feeling myself running cold, then steaming mad at the news. “This is ridiculous! Whatever happened to privacy? Isn’t being magically tethered together for the rest of our lives enough?”
Aunt Lydia cackles, her laughter almost covering the sound of the oven timer going off. “Zoe, your life is tied to that man, whether you like it or not. Though you may not have completed the process, Xander is an alpha. Your bond is naturally stronger than others. Say for some reason you were injured, it would affect him, and in turn the pack.”
“What she’s trying to say is it’s in the best interest of the entire pack to keep you safe.” Aunt Mo interrupts her.
“Which is why my every move is being watched,” I finish. “Because they think it will keep him safe. Them safe.” My correction takes on a bitter note. My nose scrunches in distaste as I pull the biscotti out of the oven to cool. “Maybe if I were a caster and could wield my magic better, I wouldn’t come off as so helpless.” A slow fire builds in the pit of my stomach. “I’m a witch for goodness sake! And an independent woman to boot! I can take care of myself, no adult supervision necessary.”
My rant leaves me breathless, and the aunts mildly stunned, but mostly amused.
“You’ll come into your magic just fine,” Aunt Lydia reassures me. Aunt Mo nods her agreement
, her wavy white hair swaying. “In fact, I dare say you have a better handle on it than you think. You’re focusing on magic that isn’t your forte. Of course it will be challenging, but you’ve been brewing up a storm all week. Remember what we told you before? You transfer your emotions by way of magic into your cooking. You can make people feel what you want them to feel. You can give your creations purpose.”
“But I want to be able to do the things all of you can do,” I whine giving into my self-pity, “Like lighting a candle without a match? I could start the stove and set a potion to brew like that!” My fingers snap sharply together. “But can I? Nope. Not me.”
Aunt Mo gives me a dry look, “Don’t complain, child, it’s hardly becoming.” My shoulders sag. “If you're finding it difficult to call upon your magic, it’s because you’re still holding back something inside of you. Let it go, Zoe. Let yourself feel. You can only grow by knowing yourself inside and out, and to do that, you need to accept all the feelings running inside of you, good and bad.”
“I know,” I tell them, the words rekindling hope inside me. “So, what had Gran staying later at the Wellington’s?” The aunts exchange a measured glance.
“Your grandmother is working on obtaining safe passage for an item of interest for the coven,” Aunt Lydia finally says. “It’s important that it goes smoothly, and there is nobody who can negotiate like your grandmother.”
“Is that why she came back? To broker some deal for the coven?” My fingers press gently into the biscotti to test how warm they are. Not too bad, I decide and begin cutting them lengthwise into half-inch thick slices. Once I finish arranging them cut-side down, they go back into the oven to firm up.
“How much has your Gran told you about the Trinity Coven?” Aunt Mo asks, watching my methodical movements.
“Not too much,” I say, chewing at my bottom lip, “mostly just about mom and the talents that run in our family.”
“I see,” she murmurs. “Well, there’s much more to it than that. You see, our families, the Clybournes and Steins, along with the Baudelaires, moved here from the east around the same time. Our families have been connected for a long time, dear, and when the Steins decided to move west, we all followed. This land was flush with ingredients both magical and natural we were needed. I, along with your grandmother and Lydia, form the Elder Triad of our coven. We’re the matriarchs, and together we lead and provide protection and counsel to the witches under our wing. We made do with your grandmother away for so long, but it’s been a relief to have her back. Our coven is meant to be led by three, not two.”
The door sounds again, opening and closing swiftly. Gran enters a moment later, shrugging off her knitted shawl over one of the kitchen chairs. She comes over and gives me a kiss on the cheek, wordlessly putting on the kettle before diving into the tea cabinet in search of something specific.
“Where is the tea for cephalalgia? I feel like a bullet’s trying to split its way through my head.” Aunt Lydia eyes the tea cabinet, her expression relaxed yet thoughtful. With her gaze intently focused on the cabinet, its door swings lightly open. A tinkling of movement among the glass jar rings throughout the kitchen before a short and stout jar boasting purple and black tea leaves floats out of the cabinet to the kitchen island. Aunt Lydia casually waves her hand and the door to the tea cabinet closes. Gran’s shoulders fall with relief from their tensely held position. “Thank you, Lydia.” Aunt Lydia nods, twisting the cap off the jar and working sans-magic on fixing gran her tea.
“Not feeling well, Gran?” I ask tentatively.
“It’s been a tiring week, even with you taking over the barring spell.” My heart gives a pang of sadness as I nod weakly in response. Gran gives me a small smile in return. “Don’t go worrying about me, honey. We Baudelaire women are strong, and don’t you forget it.” I nod once more, startling at the beep that sounds from the stove a moment later.
“How about a chocolate hazelnut biscotti to go with your tea? That will definitely make you feel better,” I tell her as I pull the baking trays out of the oven. “They’re still pretty hot, but they should cool down in no time.” I move the biscotti onto the cooling rack once more, waving a spare plate over them to aid in the cooling process.
“That sounds wonderful,” she tells me with a soft smile, cradling the steaming cup of tea Aunt Lydia hands her. When her tea has steeped long enough, she picks a biscotti up delicately between her fingers, nibbling on the end with a satisfied expression.
“Delicious and they pack a bit of punch,” she proclaims. The aunts and I take one each, following suit with tentative bites as the heat engulfs our mouths. “Hmm, you’re right. I think this is helping my headache already.” She lets out a small sigh of gratitude, and I can’t help but grin.
“I told you.”
“And we told you,” Aunt Mo chimes in, “Your intentions are coming through your baking. A brewer through and through.” My eyes widen in short surprise before a happy smile finds its way onto my lips. Perhaps I’m not so hopeless after all.
+++
The tricky thing about making a soufflé is that so many things can go wrong and when it does there’s no hiding it. It’s about getting the soufflé to rise and not fall afterward. Having the oven temperature just right and not overworking the eggs.
Despite the precision and detail a soufflé dish requires, I enjoy the challenge of making them. It makes me feel like a real chef and a proud reminder of all the things I’ve accomplished. Plus, they are the perfect treat to have straight out of the oven. The absolute perfect late-night dessert on a Saturday night, drenched in strawberry sauce that will leave you feeling pleasantly full till morning.
My mind is happily free of its normal worry, thanks to time spent with Gran today. We had talked magic, meditated, and she had me performing more spells by the end of the day. Even a few potions and tea concoctions to help restore my magical energy. Maintaining the barrier felt easier after drinking the tea. My confidence restored, I decide to reward myself with a strawberry soufflé.
Just as I am placing the soufflé into the oven, I feel a stir of anticipation in my stomach. I straighten. Gran told me to expect the feeling anytime someone approaches the house with the intention of entering. I glance at the clock on the microwave. The aunts and Gran had left twenty minutes ago to meet with the Reynolds and won’t be back for at least another half hour or so. I take a hesitant step toward the front door as the feeling swells until finally, a knock sounds hard and heavy at the door. I take a large breath, walking forward with purpose and peeking through the eyehole.
It’s Xander.
Fuck.
“Go away,” I tell him through the door, ready to turn back to wait out the soufflé.
“I just want to talk. To see you. It’s been a week, Zoelle, please.” I feel frozen at his hoarse words. Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I take my time to think of a response. “You can’t just shut me out like this.”
“It’s late, Xander, and I really don’t want to deal with you right now. Especially if you haven’t learned how to respect other people’s boundaries. So my answer is still going to have to be a firm no.” My parting words give me a rush of adrenaline as I watch him glower through the peephole.
“I only want to talk. Face-to-face, and apologize for my actions last week.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t particularly want to listen.” He cocks his head to hear my softly spoken words. His eyes flash a sudden amber gold as he leans in toward the door.
“Come now, Zoelle, don’t make me play the big, bad wolf. I know the barrier has shifted control from your grandmother to you. Your magic is hardly strong enough to keep me out on your own. Why don’t you come outside and talk to me before I tear this door down? I’d hate to make a scene and create such a mess, but if that’s what it takes…”
I swallow. Hard. “You wouldn’t,” I hiss, fear and doubt unmistakably tainting my voice. Another flash of gold, and this time accompanied by a truly devious smir
k. Xander flashes me his canines before his rasping voice drops low and dangerous.
