Page 10 of Awakened Ash and Alchemy

Her mother and aunt would babble on about the properties of salt all the time, and it had nothing to do with adding it to dinner. There was always a fresh bag tossed into the shopping cart almost monthly, with backup stashes kept in the pantry.

Hmmm. She peered around to check no one was watching, or whispering over her shoulder to judge her, even though she was stuck in some crisis of what was real and unreal.

So she grabbed the large saltshaker from the pantry and went back to the bathroom. Poured a small mound of ordinary white crystals into her palm, and hesitated.

If her aunt were here, she’d say words, wave her hands, breathe deep, and manifest it into some spell. Or she’d toss it over her shoulder for luck.

But which shoulder? The left or the right?

Angela shook her head and said the first words that popped out of her mouth. “Evil be gone.” It was absolutely ridiculous.

But her aunt, the self-proclaimed white witch, would approve. Spiritual protection, purification, and warding off evil, words Aunt Claudine would mumble while sprinkling salt crystals across the entryway of their store or their homes. Full moons, new moons, the equinox, or because a customer just didn’t vibe with Aunt Claudine—out came the salt. It made Angela roll her eyes as she swept up the mess the next morning.

Except this time, Angela willingly sprinkled salt crystals onto her freshly cleaned bathroom floor. Only for her eyes to widen as they fell…

Faint wisps of steam curled up from the floor, thin as hot breath on icy glass, and dissolved into nothing. And so too, thankfully, that putrid smell.

“I’m really losing my mind.”

It was just a chemical reaction. It had to be. It was salt reacting to the bleach. That was all. Like how baking soda and vinegar react. It’s just science. Nothing else.

Right?

Yet, the overwhelming panic rose in her chest, forcing her to clutch the saltshaker like a lifeline. It wasn’t real.

But her heart wouldn’t stop hammering, as her pulse pounded in her ears.

“Zarek,” she breathed. Somehow, it instantly calmed her.

Back in the kitchen, this time she was adult enough to actually pour herself a glass of vodka. Not that it mattered much; she drained it in moments while staring through the back door at the garbage bag squatting like a lumpy toad on her darkened lawn.

It had to go.

Within minutes, she’d dragged the small barbecue into the center of the back lawn, then scrunched up some papers to sit around the bag. She dug through the pantry for matches, snatched up the big stash of salt, and ditched the drinking glass but kept her vodka bottle close.

With the night sky a silent overseer, she lit the fire and stepped back as it caught.

The flames blackened the garbage bag where it melted and curled in on itself, unleashing that vile stench of evil, making her step back even further.

No, this is my house. Where the glow of the suburban streetlights was comforting along with the sounds of a car, a television blaring somewhere, a dog barked, and the smell of Mrs. Nonea’s overnight chicken broth brewing in her slow cooker—that the other neighbors wished would retire—mixed with the cool night air. All the normal things that said she was home.

She took another hard swallow of the vodka, rolled her shoulders to find her backbone, then stepped forward again and tossed another handful of salt crystals into the blaze.

A hiss escaped through the crackle, and somehow the smell vanished.

Just like that.

Angela didn’t move from her spot, vodka in one hand, box of salt in the other, until everything was reduced to ash.

Even when the fire had long burned itself out, Angela remained until the salt box was empty, and the vodka bottle lay on the grass. She wanted to forget more than anything. But her mind refused.

And yet, beneath the exhaustion and fear, gratitude lingered for the handsome man with sea-glass eyes who didn’t look at her like some oddity.

Eventually she closed the barbecue lid, scooped up the vodka bottle, and headed back inside. With one more glance back at the metallic monster that hid her secrets, she tried to put it all behind her and locked the back door, knowing already that sleep would not come easily tonight.

FOUR

Angela dreamed of teal-blue eyes that were too bright and too clear. They filled the darkness like twin beacons, fixed on her with an intensity that made her chest ache. His face was carved with an unsettling beauty that came from an unfair bone structure that was unnervingly dangerous and undeniably sexy all at once. Along with a restrained power that radiated from him like a storm locked behind glass.