The long drive home was uneventful- much to my chagrin. Anything that delayed my arrival was welcome, even a ticket, but as was the case on most days, the long stretch of Old Hwy 27 was free of police officers lying in wait. Every now and then, when Monty Hester went on a bender and forgot to replenish the wards, the cops would pass by the old road and decide to patrol it.

When that happened, I always tried to warn Monty before my grandmother got wind of it. Last time Clemmy Leopold found out before me, she gave him such a bad case of the pox he couldn't sit down for two weeks without a foam cushion. Of course, he didn't slip up for a whole six months after that. A record in Black Briar.

I knew the moment I passed the imaginary line into town. Every resident could feel it. Most said it felt like crawling into bed after a long day. Coming home eased their weariness. For me, it was as if someone had tightened a noose around my neck or pulled my skin too tight. Everyone knew I didn't belong here- even the town.

There was no denying the town was beautiful. Mainstreet was a postcard picture. Towering Magnolia trees lined the road as you entered the city, each one accompanied by a wrought iron lamp post. At night, flickering flames in each light turned the avenue into a fairy tunnel. The trees soon gave way to stout, red brick buildings. Flower boxes filled with blooms of every color were attached to every window, and cafe lights were strung across the street.

I drove slow, not to admire the scenery but to avoid hitting the shoppers who crossed the road after little more than a pause and a wave. Nothing in any of the shops was worth getting hit by oncoming traffic, but they couldn't help themselves. Their minds were filled with whispers and warnings. Black Briar was not a town to be found in when the sun went down if you weren't local. By five, they'd all be gone, barreling down the highway, unimpeded by the police.

A mother and daughter duo darted in front of me, bypassing the courtesy nod and wave completely. Braking hard, I threw my hand out to the side to stop my purse from dumping into the floorboard. Neither noticed their near demise.

"No, no. It's fine," I said, gesturing wildly. "I'm just glad you weren't hurt." A fist rapped on the glass, the shock prompting me to jam my foot against the brake pedal harder. All my cosmetics and loose change went flying.

"Rose, roll the window down."

Slapping one hand over my chest, I did as requested. "Aunt Ophelia. You shouldn't walk up to cars and scare people. I wasn't in park."

"Well, I'd sure hope not. You're in the middle of the road. Who were you talking to? You got one of them bluetooth contraptions in here?" She leaned over me and peered at my dashboard. My car was too old to have bluetooth, but I said nothing. She didn't know what to look for.

"Myself. I was talking to myself."

"Hmm, you're not hearing voices are you?" Aunt Ophelia's expression was so hopeful I hated to break her heart, but after one disastrous attempt in my childhood, I'd learned to never pretend to possess abilities I didn't have.

"No ma'am."

Her smile fell. "I just wanted to catch you before you drove all the way home. Your mama wants you to come to the shop."

She waited for my response. Green eyes narrowed and thin lips pursed as she readied herself for a fight. Going to the shop was the last thing I wanted to do- dread was curdling in my stomach- but going home wasn't a much better alternative.

"I'll get right over there." Agreeing was almost worth the shock on my aunt's face. Almost.

Aunt Ophelia backed away from the car, her attention elsewhere already, and I pulled into a parking spot in front of the family store. The name, Southern Charms, was emblazoned in elegant, crisp white script over a deep purple, painted wooden sign. The darker plum color would fade to mauve as the evening brought cooler temperatures, and when the last of the daylight faded, the white would become a silver shine in the black. There was little I liked about this shop, but the sign always made me smile.

"Mama," I called, schooling my expression into what I hoped passed for- if not 'happy to be here' then- 'I don't hate my life.' A polished silver platter cast my reflection- evidence of utter failure.

"Back here Rosey."

'Back here' meant the workroom- the worst area of the shop. Out front could pass for nearly a hundred posh boutiques in the south- cottage chic with perfumed air. We kept trendy jewelry, Peter's Pottery, cutesy placards, and Simply Southern t-shirts on regular display, but that's not why visitors from all over the south visited us.

No, they came for the amulets and charms, the dream sachets, and spelled cookbooks. Most thought it something fun, maybe even a little wicked, to purchase. Some grabbed whatever little thing sparked their fancy; others were more purposeful-going so far as to request special orders. But no matter what item was purchased, each contained power.

Power that came from the skill and talent of the woman who was currently on her knees in the middle of the workroom, her derriere bobbing in the air as she arranged crystals on the rough, wooden floor. My lip twitched. Alizon Wych was one of the most revered women in this town, and here she was twerking to "Despacito."

"Mama?"

"Hand me a piece of that blue binding salt. It's still in the mold, made it fresh today," she said, foregoing a hello. She'd known the moment I'd stepped foot into the room- mother's intuition or a Gift, I couldn't be certain. It'd creeped Flannery out the first few times, but for me, it was part of everyday life.

I grabbed the requested chalk and handed it to her. Wiping my hands to remove the dust, I sneezed. A chain reaction followed: stuffy nose, watering eyes, and a threatened repeat. Black Briar set my allergies off more than any other place, but it was getting worse the older I became.

"Thanks love," Mama said, leaning back and admiring her work. Wisps of sable hair stuck to her round cheeks. "These need to sit for a few hours before we start the next step. Thought it would be best to get a head start on the Forgiveness Charms this year. They take so long to make, and we always sell out with the holidays approaching."

"Why the blue chalk?" I asked, sitting on a stool and wiping my nose with my sleeve. It was desperately hot back here, but I couldn't remove my sweater before I had a chance to wash the Calamine lotion off.

Mama replied as though reciting from a textbook, "Blue has excellent calming vibrations, and corresponds with forgiveness. Others will make these charms with a single, blue crystal and bind the spell in white or blue chalk."

"And that's bad? You've got green, blue, and pink. I'm guessing these will be bracelets."

She touched each stone. "It's not bad. It'll get the job done, but it's more of a fabrication of feeling than a real step towards forgiveness. Blue is the obvious choice for forgiveness, but green is for acceptance, and pink is for love. People who use our Forgiveness Charms will be more inclined to root out the problem and find real healing."

A tendril of awe wound through my breast. As much grief as this place gave me, it gave others opportunities for real happiness. Mama put so much effort and thought into everything she did, and she didn't take advantage of people just because they weren't one of us like most folks did around here.

"Of course, you'd know all of this if you studied."

The tendril dissipated. "For goodness sakes, Mama. Why would I waste my time on studying something I can't do anything with? Might as well send Aunt Ophelia to high school with me."

Mama rose to her feet and set her lips in a stern line. "Acantha Rose, why do you study history in that fancy school of yours? What purpose does it serve?"

Nostrils flared as I glared at her. I'd walked right into this one. "We study history to learn from it. We don't want to repeat the same mistakes."

The response earned a grunt of approval. "So you arm yourself with knowledge?"

"Mama," I whined, pressing my lips down long and hard over the first 'm.'

"Don't you take that tone with me." Witch or not, mothers were the same everywhere.

"It's different. I'm never going to be able to use magic. Heck, I think I'm allergic to it." At my proclamation, another sneeze ripped loose, and the welts on my arm began to itch again.

"You know very well that magic doesn't settle in until your seventeenth birthday."

"No, your Gift settles in at seventeen. Caly cast her first hex when she was six, and you had to put weights on Harmony's ankles for an entire year after she turned four to keep her from levitating."

Her lip trembled and she snatched up a pestle and began to grind whatever was sitting in the mortar with vigor. After a few seconds, she tossed in a pinch of pepper, but she remained silent. It was to be like that then.

I left her to sulk while I pulled a jar of sea salt from a cabinet. The coarse white salt shifted in the glass and caught the sun pouring in from the skylight. My sisters swore they could smell the ocean when they opened the jar, but to me, it was like sniffing table salt.

I placed it next to Mama. She set the pestle aside and pressed a finger between her eyes. Whenever I was tempted to believe there might be a place for me in Black Briar, these moments reminded me of the truth. I was an unwanted anomaly. An abomination. And worst of all, a burden to an acclaimed witch like Alizon Wych.

"This weekend will be busy. I'd like you to finish making the black salt and put it in the small, burlap sachets. You won't find them beneath the counter. We ran slap out, and I had to order some more. They were delivered today. Left them by the back door. Make sure you put up what you don't use. After that, the seasonal flowers will need to be tended to. You'll need to wear gloves while deadheading the Larkspur. Remember the last time. "

There was no point in arguing with her. No point in mentioning Caly was better suited for salt making, her experienced hands knowing just went to stop grinding. And Harmony was far more handy with plants than anyone in the family. Her crystalline voice, one of the many Gifts she received when she turned seventeen, was capable of coaxing even the drowsiest plants into full bloom.

"Yes ma'am."

"Good, now grab this and get to working. I'll need at least this batch prepared before we open in the morning. Tomorrow is Mabon." She said the last bit while tossing a sharp look my way as if daring me to express confusion.

"Yes, Mama," I acknowledged. I knew very well that Mabon started tomorrow. It was part of the reason I'd been dreading this long weekend. Witches from all over the state would pour into Black Briar to celebrate. For most, it was nine days of dressing up, feasting, and visiting with extended family. For me, it was nine days of being gawked at by those who'd only heard of the peculiar Wych daughter.

"I still think you need to stay home from school until it's over with," she held up a hand to stop my protests, "but I agree it would put you too far behind. See that you're helpful tonight and tomorrow, and I'll consider letting you spend Saturday and Sunday at the house."

Hope sparkled through my veins, and I pushed up on my tiptoes. "I won't complain at all."

"Don't be making promises you can't keep," Mama said, softness creeping into her voice and the hard lines around her eyes disappearing with a smile.

"I won't complain much then," I amended, reaching for the pestle and mortar. The cuff of my sweater slipped just high enough to reveal the crusty patches of white.

"Acantha Rose Wych, just what is on your arm?"

Well, rats.