Read Online A Witch's Handbook of Kisses and Curses by Molly Harper - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Molly Harper
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good at board games. She said she hadn’t seen much, but how could I know that? What should I tell her? I’d hoped to fly under the radar here in the Hollow, but having Jane’s input could help me track down the Elements. But could I trust her? These items were valuable, if for no other reason than that they were incredibly old. What if she started looking for them on her own and cut me out? Mr. Wainwright had trusted her, but I didn’t know her. And what was with the radio feedback noise? Was that because of Penny’s misfired binding spell?
“OK, whatever you’re thinking about, please stop,” shesaid, wincing. “We just went from radio static to that ear-splitting tone the Emergency Broadcast System uses.”
During this internal rant, I’d forgotten about my mental Jell-O shield. I stared at her for a long moment, picturing the Jell-O solidifying around my head. The moment I felt it snap into place, Jane’s tense face relaxed.
“OK, that’s better. Whatever you did, just keep that in place, would you? You might as well tell me about whatever you’re looking for. I’d like to help.” Leaning her elbows on her desk, she asked, “Now, how do you know Mr. Wainwright?”
“He’s a distant relation.”
“I’ve met all of Mr. Wainwright’s relations,” Jane said stiffly. “He was the last living person in his family line. Now, try again.”
“He visited Ireland about fifty years ago. He didn’t know about his daughter, my mother. He wouldn’t have known about me.”
I felt another little mental nudge. Apparently, Jane was double-checking my story. I gave her an exasperated frown. She started when she realized I could feel it and returned a sheepish grin. “Force of habit.” She scanned a row of framed photos on a shelf behind her desk, before selecting one. “Mr. Wainwright was in Ireland researching a family of were-deer. Was your grandma named Bridget?”
I shook my head and explained that although he’d been seeking were-creatures, Mr. Wainwright had been just as happy to discover my grandmother, a hereditarywitch who healed the leg he’d shattered in a motorcycle accident near the family farm.
Mr. Wainwright saw enough to know that Nana Fee wasn’t just a particularly skilled nurse. While she cared for him, she explained about the McGavock family’s magical talent for healing and how we’d used it for generations. According to the journal, they talked about magical theory and books and films until the wee hours of the morning. And at some point, I’m assuming they did things that I’d rather not picture my grandmother doing, because nine months later, long after Mr. Wainwright had packed up and moved to seek a herd of were-deer rumored to be living near the shore, my mother was born.
I pulled Nana Fee’s photos from my purse and slid them across her desk. Jane’s eyes widened slightly, then she looked me over. She picked up one of the snugglier shots, her eyebrows raised. “Mr. Wainwright, you dog.”
“My mother was the result of their . . .”
“Let’s say ‘union,’ for both of our sakes,” Jane suggested, holding up her hands in a defensive pose.
“All right, then. Nana Fee never contacted him to let him know about the baby. They weren’t in love. She didn’t want to hold him back from whomever he might meet that he would love.”
“What about her?”
I shook my head. “Nana Fee never revealed her lover’s name until just before she died, not even when my great-grandfather and great-uncles pressed and threatened and outright begged. She moved into the empty herder’scottage on the edge of the farm proper and went about making a life for her new baby. No simple feat for an unmarried twenty-year-old. But Nana was gifted, and frankly, I think the villagers were too afraid of losing her services as a healer to shun her completely. Likewise, her family loved her too much to send her away. She never married. She had her daughter, and she was happy with her
“OK, whatever you’re thinking about, please stop,” shesaid, wincing. “We just went from radio static to that ear-splitting tone the Emergency Broadcast System uses.”
During this internal rant, I’d forgotten about my mental Jell-O shield. I stared at her for a long moment, picturing the Jell-O solidifying around my head. The moment I felt it snap into place, Jane’s tense face relaxed.
“OK, that’s better. Whatever you did, just keep that in place, would you? You might as well tell me about whatever you’re looking for. I’d like to help.” Leaning her elbows on her desk, she asked, “Now, how do you know Mr. Wainwright?”
“He’s a distant relation.”
“I’ve met all of Mr. Wainwright’s relations,” Jane said stiffly. “He was the last living person in his family line. Now, try again.”
“He visited Ireland about fifty years ago. He didn’t know about his daughter, my mother. He wouldn’t have known about me.”
I felt another little mental nudge. Apparently, Jane was double-checking my story. I gave her an exasperated frown. She started when she realized I could feel it and returned a sheepish grin. “Force of habit.” She scanned a row of framed photos on a shelf behind her desk, before selecting one. “Mr. Wainwright was in Ireland researching a family of were-deer. Was your grandma named Bridget?”
I shook my head and explained that although he’d been seeking were-creatures, Mr. Wainwright had been just as happy to discover my grandmother, a hereditarywitch who healed the leg he’d shattered in a motorcycle accident near the family farm.
Mr. Wainwright saw enough to know that Nana Fee wasn’t just a particularly skilled nurse. While she cared for him, she explained about the McGavock family’s magical talent for healing and how we’d used it for generations. According to the journal, they talked about magical theory and books and films until the wee hours of the morning. And at some point, I’m assuming they did things that I’d rather not picture my grandmother doing, because nine months later, long after Mr. Wainwright had packed up and moved to seek a herd of were-deer rumored to be living near the shore, my mother was born.
I pulled Nana Fee’s photos from my purse and slid them across her desk. Jane’s eyes widened slightly, then she looked me over. She picked up one of the snugglier shots, her eyebrows raised. “Mr. Wainwright, you dog.”
“My mother was the result of their . . .”
“Let’s say ‘union,’ for both of our sakes,” Jane suggested, holding up her hands in a defensive pose.
“All right, then. Nana Fee never contacted him to let him know about the baby. They weren’t in love. She didn’t want to hold him back from whomever he might meet that he would love.”
“What about her?”
I shook my head. “Nana Fee never revealed her lover’s name until just before she died, not even when my great-grandfather and great-uncles pressed and threatened and outright begged. She moved into the empty herder’scottage on the edge of the farm proper and went about making a life for her new baby. No simple feat for an unmarried twenty-year-old. But Nana was gifted, and frankly, I think the villagers were too afraid of losing her services as a healer to shun her completely. Likewise, her family loved her too much to send her away. She never married. She had her daughter, and she was happy with her
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