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Back Spells for Lost Things Save as PDF
Chapters (42)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. Prologue
  5. – 1 – Willow
  6. – 2 – Mason
  7. – 3 – Willow
  8. – 4 – Mason
  9. – 5 – Willow
  10. – 6 – Mason
  11. – 7 – Willow
  12. – 8 – Mason
  13. – 9 – Willow
  14. – 10 – Mason
  15. – 11 – Willow
  16. – 12 – Mason
  17. – 13 – Willow
  18. – 14 – Mason
  19. – 15 – Willow
  20. – 16 – Mason
  21. – 17 – Willow
  22. – 18 – Mason
  23. – 19 – Willow
  24. – 20 – Mason
  25. – 21 – Willow
  26. – 22 – Mason
  27. – 23 – Willow
  28. – 24 – Mason
  29. – 25 – Willow
  30. – 26 – Mason
  31. – 27 – Willow
  32. – 28 – Mason
  33. – 29 – Willow
  34. – 30 – Mason
  35. – 31 – Willow
  36. – 32 – Mason
  37. – 33 – Willow
  38. – 34 – Mason
  39. Acknowledgments
  40. More from the Author
  41. About the Author
  42. ALSO BY JENNA EVANS WELCH

I move to the telescope, pressing my eye to the lens. Instantly, I’m swallowed up in relief. Telescopes are magic. Yes, they let me see things I can’t see with my eyes. But more than that, they control. In that tiny circle, everything is contained, on purpose. Nothing is random. I can name it, pinpoint it, identify it. It all makes sense in a way that nothing in my life ever has.

Next I grab my notebook and begin to write. I always write the same basic things in my logbook. Beginning and ending time of my observation session, the date or dates. My location and where I am exactly (I write WH for “witch’s house”), what the weather and conditions are like. Whether or not there’s cloud cover, mist, moonlight, fog, that sort of thing. If I’m using a telescope or binoculars, and if so, what model and magnification. I write down what my target is if I have one. Some nights I have something in mind; other nights I look until something catches my eye. And sometimes I write down a sentence or two about whatever is on my mind.

I adjust the telescope, moving in on my mom’s favorite star. The Dog Star. And I don’t know if it’s the house or the clear night sky, but I keep hearing my mom’s voice in my head. Remember, baby, miracles happen in threes.

I think about my mom, about how even when I don’t want it to, her gravitational pull matters. And that is so unfair. Because some people, like Emma and Simon’s kids, get moms they can count on. And some get ones like mine who can’t or won’t be who their kids need them to be, and where does that leave them? Gravity-less.

The moon is enormous and heavy and oh so solid, and when I hold out my palm, it rests on it, like it’s mine for the taking. Maybe that’s what makes me do what I do next. I know the universe doesn’t care what I think, but I decide to ask it for a favor, just this once. Please help me figure out what to do.

I don’t know if I’m talking to the Dog Star or my mom or what, but I’m talking to someone. The stars twinkle brightly, the planets swirling precisely in their orbits. The universe operates perfectly; would it be too much to ask for this one small thing? “Please send me another sign,” I say.

I feel more vulnerable than I have in ages. I feel ridiculous, but also, there’s that hope again.

And that’s when the window starts to open.

– 11 – Willow