“I was just stopping by to let your mother know I would welcome her presence at the funeral,” Sylvia said. “I’ll always regret that things didn’t work out between her and Nate. I know her being there would mean a lot to him. I hope you’ll all attend,” she finished before she started down the sidewalk to a Mercedes parked just a few shops down.

Quinn and Addison shared a look once her back was to them.

Addison pointed to a handful of cicadas singing on the window ledge.

“Ah, shit,” Quinn said.

Addison nodded. “Mom’s never going to forgive me for agreeing to help her.”

Chapter 7

Irene

The mason jars Lavender & Lemon Balm used to store teas and herbs were not made for slamming against countertops. After the first one cracked, Clem started following Irene around the shop, taking each jar out of her hands before she could break another.

“I cannot believe that woman.” Irene wasn’t yelling, because Irene didn’t yell. She let the cicadas do the talking. “She has the nerve to go behind my back to my daughter for something she knew I’d never sell her. Then she comes in here bemoaning the marriage that never was? Like I give a shit if it would mean a lot to Nate to see me at that funeral.”

“You know your reaction is exactly what she wants,” Clem said as she rescued the dill from Irene’s grip and gingerly set it on the table. “To get you riled up so that you’ll decide you will go to the funeral just to be the bigger person.”

“Not helping.” Irene scooped a tablespoon of dill into her three-cup granite mortar. She tilted her head to the side, considered the amount, and added three more heaping spoonfuls. Dill helped protect against dark forces, and when it came to the Bonners, she needed all the protection she could get.

Unlike the produce they sold to the restaurants and at Baker’s Grocery, the herbs and teas in the shop were sourced more broadly or came out of the family garden that ran the perimeter of the house, before the land gave way to darkness. There was no shadow magic in them, just old-fashioned homeopathy and green witchery.

“And that is helping?” Clem gestured to the mess Irene had made of the table.

Irene was only half listening. She tapped a finger against her lip, then strode across the room and grabbed the jar of dried blueberries.

“I’ll take that.” Clem swiped it from her. She glanced down at the label, then back up at Irene. “Dill and blueberry? This sounds terrible.”

“It isn’t about the taste.” Irene continued making her rounds. “Blueberry provides protection against psychic attacks.”

“Which you need why?” Clem asked.

“Sylvia clearly came in here to get under my skin.”

“Is this some sort of revenge thing? Like a potion or a spell?” Clem said.