A Brew in Time Page 9
She sat in the easy chair and drank from her own mug. Finally, I turned to look at her. “What is our plan?”
“Are you awake yet?”
“I guess.”
“I’m going to shower and dress. If you need to use the bathroom, you should do that before I go in there. You can shower while I’m making us some breakfast. Can you cook?”
“Pancakes,” I said. “Toast.”
“We’ll take turns, then. Today, I’ll cook. Tomorrow, I’d like you to.”
“You eat pancakes?”
“Of course, I eat pancakes. But do you know how to make them from scratch?”
“You mean from a mix?”
“No, I mean from flour and sugar.”
“I’ve never done them that way.”
“Then when you shower, you’ll be quick, and I’ll teach you.”
“All right.”
“After we clean up, we’re going to talk, and then I’m going to give you a tour of our little community. We’ll work for another hour before lunch, and then we’ll see.”
“All right.”
“Bathroom.”
I nodded, setting my coffee aside.
* * * *
She taught me to make pancakes. I never knew they could be so easy, and I told her that. “Why do people use a mix? This wasn’t really any harder.”
“Good question. I couldn’t tell you, but I like your attitude, Lydia.” I didn’t know what to say about that.
I did the cleanup, and then we sat back down at the dining room table. Aunt Mabel had my grimoire. “Move closer,” she ordered, tapping a place beside her, so I shifted seats and pulled it closer besides. “Have you opened it?”
“Yes. Was that wrong?”
“No, but no unsupervised practice.”
“Mom and Aunt Jackie have been very clear.”
“And I’m told you’re a good girl,” Aunt Mabel replied. “I wasn’t.”
“You weren’t?”
“Frankly, I was terrible, but not as bad as your grandmother.” She gave a little laugh.
“Did she miss her magic?”
“Yes, but not as much as she loved Jacqueline and Meredith. And I’m fairly sure your mother feels the same way.”
The grimoire was magic. It didn’t just explain how to brew potions, like a textbook. The book itself was magic. But for me, it was easy to open. I simply set my hand on the top, palm down, and after a moment, there was a little glow. I could feel the book opening, so to speak, and when I lifted my hand, it spread itself open before both of us. “That is so cool,” I said. It wasn’t the first time I’d felt that way. The grimoire Aunt Jackie gave me behaved the same way.
“It is, isn’t it?” she agreed. “Tell me what you know about witch magic.”
“Aunt Jackie said that starts with what a witch is.”
“A good beginning. Go on.”
“Aunt Jackie says a witch is someone who manipulates magic without being magic herself. Furthermore, it excludes warlocks and necromancers.”
“Tell me briefly what each of those are.”
“Warlocks are people who summon demons,” I explained. “Anyone who knows how can summon a demon, but there is always a price, and if you don’t take the proper precautions, that price can be quite high. Luckily, the knowledge is not widely known, and for some reason, while they might like to spread it, demons aren’t able to share.”
“Good. Necromancers?”
“They animate the dead.”
“Or perhaps simply talk to the dead,” Aunt Mabel clarified. “Is there a price?”
“A sacrifice. Dead chickens or worse.” I made a face.
“Or worse,” Aunt Mabel agreed. “Fae?”
“Fae. Werewolves. Vampires. They’re magical creatures, and thus the magic they do is different.”
“What is required to be a witch?”
“Natural ability, which is inherited, and there are no known cases of spontaneous ability. If you’re a witch, that means you have witch blood.”
“Which comes from where?”
“We’re not sure. One theory is either we’re descended from Hecate or she granted the first witch her powers. But Aunt Mabel, that doesn’t entirely make sense.”
“Why not?”
“Because witchcraft doesn’t appear to have a racial bias.”
“How does that negate the Hecate theory?”
“The ancient Greeks would only go back perhaps 3,000 years, but Home sapiens have been dispersed for at least ten times that long.”
“I wouldn’t discount the Hecate theory, Lydia,” she replied. “The ancient Greeks may go back 3,000 years, but the gods could be much older and may have had other names. That is one explanation. Another could involve crossbreeding, perhaps witches captured in battle and taken as slaves. And I’ll point out that the magic practiced by the indigenous people of the Americas doesn’t remotely resemble witchcraft. The times I have witnessed traditional Chinese magic, it has also not resembled witchcraft.”
“Multiple origins?”
“Entirely different magic with multiple origins,” she said. “Although living under some common rules. So, natural ability. What else?”
“You have to know how,” I said. “If no one ever taught me, I wouldn’t be a witch.”
“It is possible to stumble on it, but from what you’ve seen so far, how likely do you think that is?”
“Close to impossible.”
“Tell me more about witches.”
“There are different kinds.”
“Keep going.”
“Some witches manipulate magic directly. Some work with ingredients, like we do.”
“Has Jacqueline discussed which are more powerful?”
“No.”
“What do you think?”
“Being able to directly summon a spell could be useful,” I replied. “But I’ve barely scratched the surface of what we can do, and I don’t have a clue what they can do.”
“Okay,” she replied. “Answer me this: would you rather be really good at fighting, or never need to fight?”
I made another face. “I’d rather not have to fight.”
At that, she reached over and fingered my protection bracelet. I stared down at it. “I see your point.”
She fingered it a moment longer. “This won’t protect you from everything, but it dramatically reduces the chances evil will find you. That can be more powerful than a death spell, especially if you’re surprised or hesitate.”
“I don’t know how I’d feel if Aunt Jackie were teaching me death spells.”
“Some witches kill animals as part of their spells.”
“Eye of newt?”
“Liver of cat.”
“That’s horrible!”
“I keep them locked up,” she said. “But I have two grimoires that contain spells requiring that type of ingredient.”
“I didn’t see anything like that when I paged through this book,” I said. “Did I miss it?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Good,” she agreed. She tapped the book. “There isn’t a single brew in here you’re ready for.”
“Then how are you going to teach me?”
“I’m going to teach you how to write a grimoire,” she said. “And you’ll fail.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’re not ready,” she explained. “You won’t be able to fully wrap your mind around some of the techniques.”
“Then why am I here, if I’m not ready?” I turned to look at her and then whispered, “You are sick.”
“I’m old,” she said. “And I’ve had two scares.”
“Aunt Mabel.”
She squeezed my hand. “It’s the cycle, Lydia. I might have twenty years left. I could die tomorrow. I suspect it’s something in between.” Then she looked away.
“Please tell me,” I said, another whisper.
She stared out the window for a minute. “Your mother defied
me.”
“How?”
“You should have started younger.”
“I’m too old.”
She turned back. “You’re not too old. I am too old. If I don’t teach you, then Jacqueline needs to write this book for you, because she can’t teach you from the one I wrote.”
“If what you’re suggesting is true, then you might not be around when I’m ready for spell two.”
“Lydia, I’m almost positive that’s the case. That’s fine. I need to get you started. Started is enough. You’ll struggle. Jacqueline will be able to guide you, but guiding and teaching aren’t the same thing. You’ll struggle, but you’ll be okay. Now, you’re going to promise me something.”
“What’s that?” I had to choke out the words, and they sounded rough.
“You aren’t going to tell anyone I criticized your mother. She had her own priorities, and you learning magic wasn’t in the immediate list. I think she was wrong, but you’re her daughter, not mine. Promise me.”
“I won’t say anything about this to anyone,” I said.
“Not Jacqueline. Not that girl you talked to last night.”
“Did I keep you up?”
“No. Promise.”
“I won’t say anything to anyone,” I repeated, emphasizing the last word.
“Thank you, Lydia. Let’s talk about what I’m going to teach you, and then let’s look at the spell. After that, we’ll take our tour.”
“All right.”
She closed the book and set her hand on it. “In order to write a grimoire, there are requirements. You must write the grimoire from the beginning. Did you see which page was first?”
“The table of contents.”
“That’s right,” she said. “You cannot write the spells first and assemble the table of contents at the end. You write the entire book. You bind it. And during the binding, the words absorb the magic.”
“That’s how I know how to pronounce the words.”
“That’s right. You can be taught, but that’s very hard, as it depends on pronunciations that haven’t been used by any language spoken in at least five hundred years. This is all tied together. A grimoire wouldn’t need to be magic if you could speak properly. The spells in your first grimoire are easy to pronounce. These are harder, and you aren’t ready.”
“So you said.”
“I have grimoires that do not help you magically. Learning the spells only works after you’ve spent years growing accustomed to producing the sounds without help.”
“I understand,” I said, nodding.
“You’ll be ready for this book when you can brew everything in your first book without relying on the magic of the book. It’s okay to refresh your memory, but if you can’t stir the brews without reading the words, you’re not ready.” She paused. “Lydia, if you can’t do that, then Serephine will need to wait longer, or Jacqueline will need to write her first grimoire for her.”
“I won’t disappoint anyone that way,” I promised.
“Good. I didn’t think you would, but I wanted to ensure you knew what was at stake. Your sister is counting on you, and I know how you feel about her.” She paused, then nodded. “All right. To write a non-magical grimoire, you can simply copy it like you might copy your girlfriend’s class notes.” I snickered at that. “But clearly, that won’t do Serephine any good at all. So there are several steps.”
“I saw the first spell was to prepare ink.”
“That’s right. You also need to prepare the parchment. Luckily, there is nothing magical about the cover itself, so you can use any good way of binding the pages together. The final spell is to infuse the entire book, which awakens the magic and prepares it for your sister.”
“So three spells.”
“Yes. We’re only going to work on the ink. When you’re ready, I can help you with the spell for the parchment. That won’t be for two or three years. Let’s read the spell, and then we can take our tour.”
* * * *
Aunt Mabel had a golf cart. “Have you ever driven one of these?”
“No.”
“It’s easier than a car,” she said. “It’s electric. Unplug it.” She pointed.
I did that, and by the time I was done, Aunt Mabel was in the passenger seat. I climbed in on the other side. She handed me the key and pointed. I put the key in and turned it. “Is the battery dead?”
“No. Give it a tiny bit of gas. Just a little.”
I shook my head but did as I was told, and the cart began moving. “Oh,” I said.
“We’re going that way,” she said, pointing.
We drove all over. The retirement community formed a little village with housing along the sides and the common spaces in the center. To the north was a golf course.
Discounting staff, I didn’t see anyone younger than twice my age, and most were at least three times. At one point, I said, “It’s not just an apartment.”
“Arizona is filled with retirement communities like this,” she said. “Some are quite luxurious. Some are less so.”
“The mountains are pretty.” I pointed.
“They are,” she agreed.
“Do you golf?”
“No, not really. Sometimes I’ll ride along. Sometimes the gentlemen try to pressure me into playing, but I’m pretty good at discouraging them.”
“Should I ask how?”
She flashed a smile. “Watching me for two or three strokes on the driving range usually does it.”
I laughed. “Do they use it as an excuse to step up behind you and ‘help you’?”
“Not more than once.” I laughed again. She smiled again. “In my younger years, I let a lady or two get away with that, though.”
“Did it help?”
“Not with my golf game.”
* * * *
We had lunch at the golf course club house. I’m not sure why, but it seemed strange to see Aunt Mabel eat a burger. It was more down-to-Earth than I expected from her.
Afterwards, we returned to her condo. It was time to get serious.
* * * *
I spent a week with Aunt Mabel. She was right; I knew the magic wasn’t working, but in spite of that, I thought I learned a lot.
She drove me to the airport then surprised me. She parked in the ramp and walked into the terminal with me. Together, we checked my large bag, and then she led me towards the line for security. Once there, I turned to her. Before I could say anything, she did.
“Thank you, Lydia.”
“Why are you thanking me?”
“You’ve been a delight, and I’m sorry to see you leave.”
“You’ll be able to get back to your friends, and maybe the eyelash-batting lass will flirt with you some more.”
“I don’t have a lot of friends, Lydia. I have acquaintances.” She looked away for a moment. “It’s nice enough here,” she said. “I understand why some people like it.” Then she turned back to me. “Maybe I’ll go back to Hawaii next year.”
“Could I come?”
She smiled. “I’d like if you did. Are you still intimidated by me?”
“No,” I said. I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around her. I might have surprised her, but she slowly wrapped hers around me, careful of the backpack. “Thank you,” I whispered.
We held each other for a minute before she relaxed. With that, I relaxed as well, and we separated. “Keep track of your backpack.” In other words, keep track of the grimoire.
“I will.”
That wasn’t the last time I saw her, but it was the only time I went to visit her at her snowbird home, and she wouldn’t be around by the time I was ready to begin to study my second grimoire in earnest.
Love
I was in baggage claim, waiting for my check-in to arrive when I heard someone behind me say, “Hey, babe.”
“Janie?” I asked. I spun around. “Janie!” We came together, hugging tightly, and then I realized I was crying. “What are you doing here?”
“More than I realized, apparently,” I admitted, brushing the other side. “Since when do you call me ‘babe’?”
“It seemed like the right thing at the time.” Then she moved closer, and we kissed. It wasn’t long, but it was good, if a little salty. “I missed you, too.” Then she hooked my arm, and together, we turned back to the carousel.
“What are you doing here?”
“I begged your folks to bring me with them then ran ahead. We’re taking you home to drop your stuff off then out to eat.”
“Really?”
“If you’re up for it,” she added.
“I’m starving,” I admitted. “We were late into Denver, so I didn’t get a chance to grab something there. All I’ve had since breakfast is two packages of pretzels.”
“Can you survive, or should I try to find a vending machine?”
“I’ll be fine,” I said. “If the bags ever get here.” I looked over at her, and I felt the overwhelming urge to Tell Her. Yes, in capitals.
No, not about witchcraft. You know, the other big thing.
The L thing.
We hadn’t said it yet, but I was pretty sure she felt the same way. I almost said it, right there, but I didn’t want the first time to be here, in airport baggage claim.
So while I was thinking about that, Janie asked, “How was Arizona, now that your great-aunt isn’t listening, and you can be honest?”
“Warmer than here,” I replied.
She nudged me with her hip. “I know that. Come on. Did you like it?”
“Some of it,” I said. “Being warm was nice. The mountains were kind of pretty. But I think they use more water keeping their golf courses green than they do on everything else combined. I didn’t Google it or anything, but… They sure do love their golf down there.”
“What else is there to do?” She said it in a tone that was meant to be rhetorical, but I decided to answer her anyway.
“Aunt Mabel is living in a pretty impressive retirement community, actually. They have a bunch of activities.” I laughed. “Everyone drives around on golf carts, though, instead of cars. Well, not if you go somewhere, but just around the complex. And a bunch of them played something called pickle ball.”