Southern Charms

Waiting

When I was seven, my great-great-aunt Belinda died. It wasn't sudden or unexpected. She'd lived for more centuries than she'd own up to, and even the most powerful healing magic couldn't stop the effects of time on her body. She was little more than a shell in the end, and I remembered the adults whispering about what a relief it was to see her finally let go. In fact, the days after her death had been spent in celebration and happy tears. That had been my only experience with the death of someone close to me.

Until now.

I sat in the waiting room with my sisters and mother. Thanks to the unforgiving chairs, my backside had gone numb within the first hour, but the numbness spreading through my chest had nothing to do with the hard plastic I was sitting on.

"Mama, when are they gonna tell us something?" Caly demanded. Tears streaked her face, and the skin beneath her eyes looked bruised.

Harmony nodded, her bottom lip trembling as she squeezed our sister's hand. When her gaze turned to me, it lacked its usual venom. I wouldn't go so far as to say she looked affectionate, but for the first time in a very long time, I saw my sister staring back at me.

"Baby, I don't know. They're doing everything they can."

"What if it's not enough?" Caly asked, her voice starting on a wail and ending in a whisper.

Alyson Wych, witch extraordinaire and mother with all the answers, looked at the tiled floor and shook her head. Something inside of me broke, and I shot to my feet as Harmony began to cry. It would seem none of us could handle what amounted to our powerful mother giving up.

"I have to walk," I said, running from the room without waiting for anyone to respond.

The empty hallway echoed with the slap of my shoes against the floor. The Black Brier Institution of Curative Magic wasn't like impoten hospitals. There were no nurses stations or beeping machines. No calls for doctors over intercoms or families huddled about sick beds. No sickly scent of antiseptics and decay.

Only those with the most life threatening injuries found their way into this place, and most of those injuries were magical in nature. Sometimes people meddled with spells they weren't ready for or didn't have the power for. Other times- rare times- a feud between witches turned nasty, and hexes turned vicious. We still didn't know what had happened today.

I came to a sudden halt. The narrow hall opened into a glass domed room which functioned as an indoor garden and aviary. The air was sweet with florals and herbs, and water trickled from rock wall fountains that splashed into a stream running through the center of the room. Outside, the sun was setting in a troubled sky, back lighting bruised clouds with fire, and while most of the chamber was bathed in the eerie, orange glow, there were corners growing dim.

Stumbling to a bench formed from the roots of nearby plants, I sat down with a thud. Hands over my face, I fought back tears, refusing to shed a single one. There would be plenty of time for that if Daddy didn't pull through. Overhead, tiny lights burst into existence, beating back the shadows in the room but not in my heart.

After a few minutes, the turmoil in my mind quieted. There was magic in this room. Calming. Soothing. Itching. I scratched at my arm, willing my body to cooperate for once in my life. I needed this moment of peace.

"Damnit," I shouted, tugging at the ends of my hair before leaning against the bench and letting my head drop back.

"Don't let Clemmy hear you cussing. She'll wash your mouth out with soap."

"I think even Clemmy will give us a pass today."

I found my sisters hovering in the entryway, their expressions leery as they watched me. With a sigh, I scooted over and patted the seat. There was no hesitation. Both of them hurried to my side, and the little bench grew longer to accommodate all of us.