On My Way - Eve Langlais Page 0,62

before that, maybe I’d enroll in some classes. Learn from a pro how to actually do it.

Probably a better use of my time, and a new goal. Get the shop running well enough that I could hire someone and then take pottery-making lessons.

The mature thing to do. I really should get to it. I should probably dust the shelves, make sure all the items had identification numbers, and update the catalogue online. Look into shipping options.

What did I do instead? I flipped through the family book. Blank page after blank page. Not as many as you’d think given the thickness of the parchment. I ran my fingers over the smooth texture. Surely someone had written more than the family name in it. Invisible ink. The kind that only appeared under the right circumstances.

Before I could question my sanity, I pricked my finger and smeared a page with blood, rubbing the red fluid over the cream-colored page. I stared and waited for letters to appear.

To my disappointment, I’d done nothing but ruin it. I sighed. So much for that wacky idea.

Setting the tree book aside, I then reached for the book bound in the strap that wouldn’t open. Since I was already nuts, I rubbed my wound on it. Nothing. Blood didn’t act as a key.

“Abracadabra! Kazam. Open up. I command you.” I got kind of silly with the book. This was stupid.

I should study the only book that I could actually read. The one filled with recipes. Or, as Trish and my daughter claimed, spells.

After last night, I couldn’t scoff. However, I did wonder what potions Grandma had concocted from this book. She’d fed me more than a few and told me to lie to my father about them. He called it quackery.

But now I had to wonder.

A flip of the pages and I found my attention caught by some of the titles. Easing the pain of the moon cycle. No more snoring. Fertilizer. Which I quickly scanned and wrinkled my nose, as the number one ingredient was poop.

So many mundane spells, one after another. Wood Floor Long Shine. Luxurious Hair—which I slid a bookmark into for later.

My fingers flipped faster. Mouse Free House. Anxiety. Forgetfulness. I spent a second looking at the ingredients. Some of them familiar, especially the vanilla pod. I remembered seeing Grandma dropping one into the drink she made me most often.

I resumed turning pages, faster and faster, the never-ending book. I saw something and stopped. Had to slide the sheets back to the thing I’d seen.

The diagram of a circle, just like the one at home. The one that had saved my butt.

Protection and Defense the title claimed. The instructions for creating it were long. As in probably hours of work. Did I care that it would cut into my shop prep time? Nope.

My heart raced each time I thought of the demon. I remembered those eyes that night I took Grisou to my shop.

I wanted a circle. I painted it onto the floor, working off the picture in the book, skipping a few of the dumber steps. Walk widdershins thirteen times with your eyes closed. Seriously?

I just needed to recreate the image, which wasn’t easy to do on planks. The circle itself needed a bit of finagling to get the lines perfect. I ended up planting a nail in the floor and tying a string to it. On the farthest end, I attached a marker and then proceeded to walk counterclockwise, drawing on the floor, creating an oversized orb. Once I’d used the wood burning tool—courtesy once more of Mr. Peterson’s hardware store—and etched the outline of my circle, I worked on the symbols—and no, I did not burn a black candle before each one. I didn’t entirely believe in what I was doing and, yet, felt compelled to recreate it.

A circle saved my life in the magical house. Would it have the same power outside the cottage? I kind of wished I’d never have to find out.

Darryl arrived as I put the finishing touches on it. To his credit he didn’t turn around and walk out. He stayed outside of the drawing and cocked his head. “Interesting choice of floor art.”

“I thought having a bit of pretend witchiness might intrigue customers. I’m going to add some of the symbols to the window frame and the crown molding.” I’d paint the gibberish squiggles all over if it kept the weirdness at bay.

“Playing up on your witch heritage? That’s brave. Used to be a time