Short story prequel to
Of Toxin & Teacups
By Cassie Swindon
1-2 months before “Of Toxin & Teacups” begins
The worst thing that could happen to a person is to die. And my Ouma must live forever or I’ll forget how to breathe. She’s the one who caught me the day I was born almost thirty years ago and deserves to continue on until the end of time.
Under the crescent moon, the blackbirds, grackles and ravens swoop between stars, an omen I’d rather ignore. I fidget with the hem of my dress, one dark as night that camouflages with midnight. A strand of pink lace disconnects from the seam, so I loop it around my finger like Zola does with her long hair when she’s nervous.
Except I’m not nervous. I’m petrified. This Fuzer ceremony is taking too long. I need the council leader to call out my name before it’s too late. I bounce in spot a little, trying to concentrate on the sand beneath my bare toes. I wait another minute, eyes clenched shut, stomach in knots, awaiting to hear: Aloutte Mae Nkosi.
The last Fuzer on stage to declare their spell was Gavin Matthews, so my turn is soon. Next to me, Zola’s whole body shivers, despite the warm summer night breeze that blows the scent of the saltwater from the other side of the dunes. My best friend of twenty-nine years, almost to the exact day, links elbows with mine. We were born in the same hospital, in the same week. Her mom has sworn that our spirits intended us to be twins but biology had other plans.
“Just a few more minutes,” she whispers, her voice trembling with urgency.
Zola knows as well as I do how terrible Ouma had appeared this morning when we visited her at the nursing home. Even the ghosts roaming through the halls had idled outside her door for longer than usual, magnetized by the devouring energy of finality.
A second bad omen looms in the distance as gray Atlantic storm clouds roll closer over Kitesville beach. I barely register that Julie Monsett has already begun by slicing her palm open, bleeding upon her stone and declaring her magic of the month. Her words are a haze, foggy and nonsensical. I can barely think straight.
“You’re next, it’s okay,” Zola doesn’t sound like she believes her words. “We’ll get back in time. And the nurses called her doctors. They’re probably already there.” She swallows, the sound audible next to me. “Your ouma is probably sitting up in bed and drinking her lemonade already.”
An odd half-laugh, half-sob explodes from my chest at the imagery of Ouma secretly pouring vodka into her lemonade behind the nurse’s back. Someday I want to be half as cool as our eighty-year-old matriarch. Grandpa always said that Ouma spoke a wild language of freedom that no one else could hear. If only time could slow down, pause, and keep her here with me forever.
I squeeze the crystals dancing from my neck and say a prayer to Luna Above. It isn’t until Zola gasps and unclenches my fist that I notice my long nails have dug little wedges into my skin.
“Breathe, Lou, breathe.”
“Next up is Alouette Mae Nkosi,” the Nerg councilwoman announces. “Please step forward!”
“Do you want me to walk up with you?” Zola asks, probably because I’m still grasping her tightly, worried I’ll fall over otherwise.
“Ouma always said I’ll know the moment she enters the next life’s realm because the tulips will send me a message,” whisper, frozen in the sand.
Sea spray hits my cheeks, egging me to take my place in front of the crowd. But I’m paralyzed. What if the Nergs don’t accept my spell? What if they do but I’m already too late? What if Ouma already passed on without me by her side? Tears threaten to fall.
A crow calls above, the third omen. That shakes me from my stupor.
“Come on, Zola,” I say, tugging her up the aisle of staring locals.
I’ve known most of them since I was a toddler, exploring the streets of Wilmintin, North Carolina in nothing but a bathing suit. We pass Teddy and Jaxon, then Ashley, our class valedictorian of 2013. She nods my way with a smile on her face. The bright moonlight won’t bounce off her blonde hair for much longer when that storm closes in. As if she reads my mind, her eyes flicker up to the sky before I pass.
In a trance, I find myself already standing in front of the Head Council, heart ramming under my ribs. I shouldn’t be here. I need to be holding Ouma’s hand– just in case.
“Select your rock, Miss. Nkosi,” she commands per ritual.
Unlike the last hundred times I’ve completed the ceremony, I don’t study the selection of quartz, slate or onyx on the alter. Quickly, I grab whatever my hand touches first and snatch a fresh dagger from the basket of knives. Before the expected direction is given, I slice open my palm, allowing crimson blood to leak onto my hand. I’m supposed to wait for the councilwoman to request my chosen spell. It’s out of my mouth in a single breath.
“To k-keep my grandma alive until the next ceremony,” I barely force the words out through the lump forming in my throat.
Shocked gasps hiccup through the crowd. I don’t dare turn around. It’ll only show hesitancy. The Nergs need to know I don’t mean harm, that I’m confident in this being a typical magical request, that I won’t abuse this strong spell, that they have no reason to fear me.
Low murmurs erupt behind me and Zola moves closer, like a magnet finding her counterpart. At a moment like this, I wish my older brother, Marquis was here to stand on the other side of me. Traveling for work, he will be attending a different ceremony almost identical to this somewhere in Oregon when it strikes midnight there. Right now, his neverending support is a crutch I long for. To be sandwiched between my two pillars in this life would be a good sign.
The councilwoman shakes her head. In a small town like ours I know her to be Ms. Hooper, the kindergarten teacher at Wilmintin Elementary, who also taught me how to count to twenty.
“Alouette,” she whispers and bends over, “Pick another one. You know we can’t approve that.” Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes since everyone knows about Ouma’s rapid decline. “How about to meet a nice partner this month, that way you won’t be lonely when–”
Ms. Hooper notices her mistake and rolls her lips in.
“Please,” I beg as the chatter grows louder behind me. “Just ask. Maybe they’ll vote to pass this one.”
Thunder booms from ahigh, making Zola jump in place.
Ms. Hooper sighs and lifts her hands. “Fellow Nergs, a new spell has been requested. As per custom, we must reach a majority decision to allow Ms. Nkosi to use her spell until next month’s ceremony. She has asked for the power to provide extended life. All in favor, move to this side of the stage,” she says, pointing to her right, where rain starts to drizzle on the group.
I don’t have to turn to know the outcome since it’s written on Ms. Hooper’s sagged shoulders. Zola still cranes her neck to peak behind me and her tiny whimper confirms my worst fear.
“I’m sorry, Alouette. Pick another spell.”
Someone brushes against my side, where I desperately wish Marquis was standing. Within a single inhale, I know from the unfamiliar scent that it’s not my brother. I glance up to meet blue-green eyes that resemble the passionate sea. The man’s voice seems familiar, but I can’t place it. He wears a hood, so half his face is in shadow.
He leans closer, and whispers in my ear, “request that the next Fuzer’s spell be granted.”
“What?”
“Just do it. Trust me.”
Maybe I was thrown off by his accent. I bite my lip and glance at the impending storm. There’s no time to think this through. Any other time, I’d request a short break to consider my options, but they’ll deny that too due to the weather.
“Who’s next?” I whisper back to him.
“They’re going to pass up your turn if you don’t answer. Hurry, little owl.”
Only Ouma has ever called me that. Who is this man and how does he know the meaning of my name? Is this a sign from the spirits?
If so, I need to listen.
I clear my throat, “My request is to grant the next Fuzer access to whatever magic they choose.”
Ms. Hooper’s brows knit together. She checks her phone, her finger scrolling over what I assume is the alphabetical list of Fuzers. Though all of us in attendance have memorized our order and know that Viobelle Nutriv is next. She always requests the same spell– to increase her wind surfing business by 1 percent profit each month.
Three other Nergs join the councilwoman on stage and speak under a new gust of wind. Ms. Hooper’s hair whips like a tornado as she tries to control it. I cross my fingers even though it’s futile.
They all nod and face me. “We can accept that request,” Ms. Hooper says. “Next, is Viobe–”
“No,” the man steps forward and holds out his phone. “I’m next. My name is J.B. Osler and my registration was approved five minutes ago from both Sydney and that fine gentleman at the check-in booth.” He nods to the entrance, where one helium balloon battles in the wind.
“Osler!? Not THE Osler?” Ms. Hooper swipes her phone screen frantically.
“J.B. Osler,” He repeats.
The name zings up my spine like a zipper. Am I supposed to know this person? The Nergs in front of us all have different reactions, from a widening of their eyes to arms crossed against their chests like a shield against this outsider. Are they shocked? Intimidated? Frightened? I honestly can’t tell. The range of emotions painted on their faces varies so drastically that it has me questioning my choice.
Ms. Hooper squints at her screen, then her eyes land on him again. Her gaze bounces back and forth a dozen times before her jaw drops wide open.
“Yes, sir, Mister Osler, go ahead and name your spell. We here at Wilmintin are happy to host you this week.”
If I weren’t mistaken, I’d guess that Ms. Hooper has an instant crush on someone my age. Awkward.
He slashes a cut into his palm, in the same shape as the lightning strike above his head. His blood drips on a stone one. Two. Three times. I meet his gaze, hypnotized by the intensity of the calmness he emits during such tension. It’s as if we’re in a bubble of tranquility as the world outside our little sphere detonates from my explosive fears.
I watch his lips move, not believing it when I hear him say, “My spell will be to keep her grandma alive until the next ceremony.”
Zola’s grasp on my arm tightens. I suck in my breath and wait for a miracle.
“Yes, it is granted, Mr. Osler. Thank you for attending our humble ceremony and please reach out to us if you are in need of anything during your stay in town,” Ms. Hudon finishes.
A few Nergs in the crowd hiss and boo since they were not consulted for a vote. Who is this man that got exactly what he wanted with no conflict? Fury rises within me that he so easily obtained what was so obviously denied to me. At the same time, I should be groveling at his feet, kissing his toes. For some reason, my eyes drop to the earth, revealing what my intuition already guessed, that the man is in-fact barefoot, like me. Two souls of the same mind. A strange sensation prickles my skin in a way I can’t explain. I should tell him thank you, ask him how I can repay him.
My attention is snagged away when Zola wraps me in a hug I can’t deny.
When I turn towards him again, the strange man is gone. I dart to the left. Nothing. I turn to the right. Swirl in a circle. Where’d he go?
“Lou, let’s go!” Zola pulls me away from the crowd.
Technically we’re supposed to stay to witness all Fuzers finish their ceremony but she’s right, there’s not a minute to lose. Thunder pounds the whole world while lightning streaks flash. Rain splatters harder, flattening my curls. I don’t care.
“Zola! We didn’t ask if I need to complete the magic near Ouma or if I can say it now!” I yell ahead.
Something slaps across my face. I peel the substance off to see flower petals. Dread overwhelms me. Is this a tulip? I move faster. Out of breath. How do I know if it’s a tulip petal?
My feet splash into puddles with each step through the sand. Zola’s jeep is on the other side of the dunes. It spurts to life as we get closer, thanks to the magic floating in the air on this night of enchantments.
“Say the spell it now AND when we get there!” She screams over the slamming rain.
Soaked, we slide into her jeep and it drives on its own for a minute before the magic wears off. Jerking over potholes, we both bob fiercely in our seats, our heads slamming against the ceiling.
Jumbled and discombobulated, I clench my eyes shut and focus on my chakra centers. Our magic is a DNA trait, but we all have different ways of accessing it. My strongest point is through my heart. I feel the tightness in my chest like a rubber band about to snap and focus on the power residing there. Warmth flows through my chest like a candle spreading to a fire.
I envision Ouma healthy and laughing, drinking her lemonade on a morning when the calendar shows July 13, 2025, one month from today. Manifestation is key. My energy pours every bit of desire and longing from my dreams, my consciousness, my everything into a focal point of keeping Ouma alive for thirty more days. That’s all I have until this spell runs out.
Like a button being switched, I feel the change within and know it worked.
Immediately exhausted, I sag in my seat. Not for long since the jeep tosses us around violently.
“You did it?” Zola doesn’t glance my way since she’s squinting through the rain smacking her face. “You did it! I know you did! We’ll be there in seven minutes! Ouma will be so glad to see you.”
My phone rings. In fear that the screen will show the Senior Haven’s director name, I cover it with my hand to make sure the water won’t destroy it.
To my relief, my brother’s name appears.
“Marquis?” I ask. “Have you heard from Haven Center?”
“Hello? Lou?” His voice cracks on the other end. “There’s a lot of static. You okay?”
“Can you hear me?”
“Lou?” Marquis breaks up. “My friend … weekend … RipSilver … gave him your number … won’t be back until … tour guide.”
“Marquis? What? Have you heard from Haven’s director? I’m on my way there now. Is Ouma okay?”
“ … friend … Jake …”
“What?” I glance down at my phone, where it shows I barely have a signal.
“ … remember? … Osler … surfer …”
Amid the chaos of the storm and being thrown around in the jeep, pieces unite to form a completed, confusing puzzle.
Marquis’ friend is Jake, which starts with a J.
Sign up as an ARC reader for the full novel witchy romcom , Of Toxin & Teacups, which has the tropes of: celebrity athlete, diverse cultures, opposites attract, big brother’s best friend/best friend’s little sister, a hint of forbidden romance, magic in a modern setting
