This Spells Disaster, page 13
All this practice turned out to be fortuitous. Morgan hadn’t expected her grandmom to be their toughest interrogator, but life was full of surprises. Grandmom June had refrained from questions all week, but as soon as they’d nestled around the campfire with a bag of marshmallows, she had Morgan and Rory cornered.
“Let me get this straight,” her grandmom said. “You kissed Rory for Hazel’s benefit, and Rory retaliated by kissing you back when you weren’t expecting it? This all sounds needlessly complicated when you could have simply asked each other out on a date.”
Morgan shrugged, wondering how Grandmom June could think such things when Morgan knew for a fact that the more bonkers a romance novel was, the more she loved it.
“When did this revenge kiss occur?” her grandmom asked.
“Saturday before the last coven meeting.” The day Rory had agreed to this harebrained scheme seemed logical to Morgan. Pleased with her ability to ad-lib as well as Rory, even if lying to her grandmom felt wrong, she gave in to her impatience and shoved a marshmallow into the fire rather than wait for it to gently brown.
Grandmom June leaned forward in her chair, studying them long enough to make Morgan worry they’d given conflicting details and forget about her marshmallow. “That’s a long time to wait for revenge,” her grandmom said at last to Rory, her voice tinged with suspicion.
“It was all the more unexpected that way.” Rory elbowed Morgan, but it was too late. Morgan’s marshmallow had erupted in flames.
While Morgan desperately tried to salvage her dessert, her grandmom let out a sharp laugh. “I like that deviousness. Maybe some of your patience will wear off on Morgan.”
“Hey!” It was hard to be indignant, though, with proof of her grandmom’s point burning at the end of a roasting stick.
“So my daughter didn’t fling her drink on someone?” Lianne asked, joining them at the campfire. Her mom offered Morgan a fresh marshmallow, and Morgan silently vowed not to waste another.
Rory buried her head in her knees, but Morgan made an innocent face as she scraped the blackened coal of the old marshmallow into the flames. “Would I do that? Who’s making stuff up about me?”
Her mother didn’t look entirely convinced—she knew Morgan well enough to know that scenario was entirely plausible—but she accepted the real fake version of their story easily enough.
Over the next hour, the sun dipped beneath the trees and disappeared, and the sky turned a velvety blue—not quite full black, but darker than it ever got in Harborage. The insects sang a noisy and repetitive lullaby that was occasionally interrupted by shouts of happy laughter or joyful yelling. They left when Morgan’s grandmom, who had (thankfully) sobered up, reminded Morgan about how early she needed to get up the next day.
Morgan conjured her own magical light to guide them back to the cabin. Although it wasn’t truly needed, she so rarely had an excuse to perform this kind of fun spell. Her grandmom’s grandmother had probably grumbled about the younger generations turning to electricity when there was such a simple magical alternative.
Light shone from the cabin windows when they arrived, and Rory placed a hand on Morgan’s arm. “I should have brought some supplies with me. I could have cast a silence spell around us so we could sneak in.”
Morgan felt around in her pockets, but all she had was the bead from Erika, her phone, and an old movie ticket stub that looked like it had gone through the laundry a few times. While her shirt was cotton, from which she could purloin a thread, without a random button and a scrap of blank paper on her, tearing apart her clothes was pointless. “Can’t help.”
“Guess we’re doing this the mundane way. I haven’t tried sneaking around without magic since Isaac taught me how to create a silence bubble when I was fifteen.”
When she was fifteen? Morgan had totally been right earlier. If teenage Rory had ever attempted to cast a love spell, she could absolutely have succeeded.
“He sounds like a good brother. I assumed he would side with your parents, but it seems like he supports your career move?” Morgan was still parsing out Isaac’s take on everything.
“Yeah, he’s on my side, mostly. He thinks I’ve lost my mind to have given up competing to work at the Chalice, but he’ll respect my decision.” Rory crept lightly up to the door and made a sheepish face. “I feel ridiculous, but I don’t want to deal with them anymore tonight.”
It turned out they didn’t need to worry. Morgan could hear voices coming from somewhere in the enormous cabin, but the creaky staircase was only steps away from the entrance, and they didn’t run into anyone as Rory quietly shut the door and led her to the third floor. There were two small rooms up here and a closet-sized bathroom, connected by a landing from the stairwell. Morgan hadn’t noticed earlier, but the cabin smelled musty and faintly of vervain and vanilla. It was an odd and not exactly pleasant combination.
“Oh, right. I forgot to warn you about this.” Rory opened the door to the room farthest from the stairs.
“About what?” Morgan placed her bag on the floor of the room and looked around as Rory flicked her wrist and flames ignited on a couple of candles. “Oh.”
The room was barely big enough for a narrow desk against the open window and a bunk bed. Except it wasn’t really a bunk bed, more like a loft bed. A sofa sat tucked away in the space below it.
Oh. The bed looked like a double, big enough for two people, but . . . Morgan’s stomach spun in circles that left her nauseated. What was Rory expecting her to say? To do?
Before Morgan could decide, Lilith, who until that moment had apparently been snoozing on the bed, jumped up. Rory’s familiar blinked disdainfully at them, then hopped down on the desk, deftly avoiding the candles, and streaked out the door.
“Rude. You didn’t say hello to Morgan,” Rory called after Lilith as the cat vanished down the stairwell. Turning back to Morgan, she continued. “I should’ve warned you about the space when you arrived. That’s a sofa bed.” Rory used her foot to gesture to the tiny couch. “In case you were worried. We don’t have to share.”
Right. That would have been truly horrible. She’d probably have rolled into Rory during the night. Tossed an arm over her. Grabbed a boob. Yup. Disaster averted. Morgan was glad for the dimness so Rory couldn’t see the way she’d flushed.
“Ah.” She lacked the wits to say anything else, visions of spooning a sleeping Rory with their bare legs entwined and the scent of Rory’s shampoo taunting her mind’s eye.
“I’ll take it,” Rory added quickly. “You’re my guest, so you get the bed as long as you don’t mind climbing up there.”
“I don’t mind.” Morgan also spoke quickly, afraid anything else would give away her disappointment. “But I have to get up early, so I might as well take the sofa bed. Less likely I’ll wake you in the morning.”
Rory nudged her suitcase closer to the desk. “You’ll wake me no matter what. I’m a light sleeper. So, you get the bed.”
“Rock, paper, scissors?” Morgan suggested.
“No.” Rory removed the dandelions that had miraculously not fallen off, and she tucked them into Morgan’s hair. “The loser’s crown is yours now, along with the bed.”
Morgan didn’t breathe until Rory stepped away, but she could smell her and felt slightly faint. “Why don’t we agree to take turns?”
There, she was being eminently reasonable. There was nothing awkward going on here at all.
Rory pursed her lips, staring at her long enough for Morgan to fear she’d spoken some of these thoughts out loud. “Fine. We’ll trade off. But you start with the bed. You deserve it after what you had to deal with today. You can say what you like, but I know you didn’t sign up for so much shit when you offered to do me this favor.”
“Fine,” Morgan said. It was easier than arguing, and Rory’s words had zapped her will to fight about it any further. As of this moment, she wanted nothing more than to crawl into the bed and not sleep.
Regardless of what her imagination had tricked her into believing, or how real things might have started feeling on her end, Rory had reminded her of the reality between them. Morgan was doing her a favor. Nothing more.
It was a lot easier to keep it in mind when Rory said it than when Morgan told it to herself. Probably because when Rory said it, it felt like a punch in the gut.
11
After a fitful night’s sleep, for which she had no one to blame but herself, Morgan managed to sneak out of the Sandler family’s cabin with only minimal human interaction. Rory groggily offered to have breakfast with her, but Morgan—still feeling stupidly morose—said she was planning on eating at the booth. Which meant she would spend the morning stupidly morose and stupidly hungry.
The morning air was shockingly hot, even for August, and Morgan was sweating far earlier in the day than she would have thought likely—partially because her mother had bought her a hot coffee instead of an iced, and partially because there were a lot of boxes to unpack and not a lot of space to do it in. In her grumpy mood, Morgan preferred to blame the coffee.
Unsurprisingly, it did not get any cooler as the sun climbed higher and the crowds descended on the festival grounds in earnest. The Bed, Bath, and Broom booth officially opened at noon, along with the festival itself, and although Morgan longed to go exploring, it wasn’t an option. Hazel and other coven members stopped by to share gossip and make plans, but Rory wasn’t among them. A few times, Morgan thought about texting her, but to what purpose? She was supposed to be there for Rory when Rory needed her. Presumably, when that happened, Rory would make it known. That was the favor Morgan was offering her.
Favor, favor, favor. The word had taken on the same unpleasant vibe as “cute,” but this was no one’s fault but her own. How many times had she told herself that she was only Rory’s fake girlfriend? Even last night, while embellishing their meet-cute story, she hadn’t truly accepted that it was all fake. A few moments here and there when they acted friendly had twisted her all up inside and made her believe there was a chance she could be more.
“And that’s it,” Morgan’s mother announced. “We’re all out of the sunblock. I didn’t foresee that happening.”
Grandmom June snorted. “What did I tell you? You should have done some scrying to know what to prepare.”
“You could have done some scrying,” Lianne retorted.
Morgan kept her mouth shut so no one would suggest that she should have done it. Instead, she shoved aside the pink curtain they’d hung and went into the back of the booth to sort through their inventory and make sure she hadn’t forgotten to pack anything. Miraculously, she hadn’t. They hadn’t prepared a lot of the cooling sunblock, because historically it wasn’t a big seller. Today’s weather had simply affected purchases—even the weather forecasters hadn’t divined the temperature would climb into the upper 90s.
Morgan discreetly tucked her own sunblock tube deeper into her purse, along with the one she’d set aside for Rory. It and her water bottle, which was charmed to chill its contents, were all that were keeping her from wilting.
“Do we have enough ingredients to make more?” Lianne asked. “It’s supposed to cool off tomorrow, but it would be good to have some on hand. If people like it, they might want to stock up before leaving.”
“We have most of what we need.” Morgan scrolled through the inventory list on the shop’s tablet. “No lemon balm, though.”
Lianne popped the last bite of her lunch in her mouth. It was well after noon, but her mother hadn’t slowed down to eat. “I’m sure someone’s selling high-quality lemon balm. Grab me enough for a small batch, and I’ll start it tonight.”
“Morgan, your girlfriend’s here!” her grandmom yelled from the front of the booth.
Fake girlfriend, her brain automatically corrected.
“I can do it,” Morgan said, ignoring her grandmom. The sunblock was one of her mother’s specialties, but spending more time with Rory was asking for trouble until she got her emotions firmly in check. Rory couldn’t be annoyed with her if Morgan had to work, so it was a perfect excuse for avoiding the Sandlers.
“Don’t be silly.” Morgan’s mother patted her arm. “Drop off the lemon balm before dinner. Things are starting to slow down.”
Morgan grimaced into the tablet. She couldn’t ignore Rory forever. And honestly, she didn’t want to. She merely had to get her head on straight. There ought to be a spell for that, damn it. Morgan took a second to fix her hair, then recalled there was no point trying to look good for Rory. Grabbing her purse, she exited out the back of the booth. “Hi.”
Rory spun around, looking significantly more cheerful and significantly less overheated than Morgan had expected. “Busy day?”
“At times, yeah. I didn’t expect it to be this hot, either.”
“No one did. Well, except this divination specialist in a workshop Hazel dragged me to this morning. Supposedly, she did.” Morgan couldn’t see Rory’s eyes through her sunglasses, but she could hear the eye roll in her tone.
“Hazel’s still determined, is she?” Hazel’s mother and sister were both well regarded for their scrying talents, a gift Hazel did not seem to have inherited.
“We all have our magical hang-ups.” Rory took a sip from her water bottle. “Did you eat lunch? Do you need anything? I stopped by earlier, but your mother said you were taking a break. It’s been so busy, I didn’t bother texting you since I doubted you could respond.”
Rory had tried to see her? A drop of sweat ran down Morgan’s cheek, and she brushed it away, feeling a touch lighter and less gloomy. “My mom didn’t tell me that.”
“She probably forgot.”
Like Lianne kept forgetting to eat her lunch. That was certainly plausible. Morgan came by her tendency to be scatterbrained naturally.
“I have to buy some lemon balm, but otherwise I’m free the rest of the day.” Morgan scanned the crowds and the lines of booths that spanned all directions.
Anything and everything magical or magic-related was for sale—from simple ingredients to prepared spells-in-a-bag. There were rare book sellers, jewelry-makers like Erika, and potion-makers like Morgan herself. Artisans sold beautiful scrying instruments and candleholders and censers. Talented green witches and herbalists sold custom incense blends, bags of dried leaves and seeds, or live plants. There were vendors selling ingredients for darker magics, too. Bones and dried blood for curses, live and dead insects, and more items that you had to know to ask for. If it was possible to put a spell on something or use it to that end, someone was probably selling it.
Since she hadn’t left Bed, Bath, and Broom all day, Morgan wasn’t sure where to go. For the moment, though, she simply wanted to get out of the teeming crowd and sit for a couple of minutes. Her feet were aching. “What have you been up to besides the workshop with Hazel?”
“Hiding from my family,” Rory said. “I ran into some friends I used to know from back when but left when they started asking questions. So then I cheered myself up by going shopping. Which reminds me, I bought you a couple things.”
“You didn’t need to do that.”
“Shush. I wanted to, okay?” Rory was wearing a tiny backpack, and she pulled it around to the side so she could reach into it.
They’d stopped under a tent that had been set up with picnic tables, although at this time in the afternoon, they had it largely to themselves. Morgan took a seat and drank more water, watching Rory.
Rory’s sole concession to the heat was wearing a tank top, and Morgan realized she was searching Rory’s arms for additional scars to match the one on her hand. She didn’t see any, and while that was a good thing, it meant she was no closer to understanding why Rory had quit competing. Not that it was any of her business.
“Oh, here.” Morgan handed her the tube of the cooling sunblock, thankful she could make a trade for the surprise gifts. “I saved you some when we started running low, in case you didn’t have any.”
Rory oohed as she examined the tube. “Thank you. I’ve never tried this before.”
“It’s good,” Morgan said. “If I can say so myself. I mean, I didn’t make it. My mom did. But it feels really nice when it’s hot out.”
“Of course you can say so yourself. And now for you—this is one of Erika’s.” Rory unwrapped a bracelet made of a string of snowflake obsidian beads and handed it to Morgan. It was beautiful, and Morgan could feel the power in the beads as soon as she touched it. “That should provide more protection from negativity than a single bead.”
“It’s gorgeous.” It also had to be worth way more than the tube of sunblock. Morgan couldn’t get away from the nagging voice in her head telling her that this was Rory paying her back for her help.
Ugh. If only the beads could ward off her internal negative energy as well as the external.
“That gift had a purpose,” Rory said, pulling a small box out next. “This one is for fun.” Smiling slyly, she opened the box, revealing what appeared to be four chocolate truffles. “They’re called chocolate orgasms. I didn’t know what flavors you’d like, besides no citrus, so there are double chocolate, hazelnut, cherry, and mocha.”
Okay, aside from the heat rising up her neck when Rory said “orgasm” (and the momentary lapse in breathing as her imagination went places), this was a gift Morgan didn’t feel weird about accepting. The truffles couldn’t have cost nearly as much as the bracelet, and they looked amazing They were definitely magical, too, because they hadn’t melted into a pile of chocolate sauce. “Ooh.”
She reached for the box, and Rory snapped the lid shut on her fingers. “Don’t eat them until later.”
“I have terrible impulse control. You can’t give me chocolate and tell me not to eat any.”
