“She could see them the same way one can see a spider’s web when a shaft of light hits it at the right angle. Meche’s web of power. Dolores clicked her needles together and smiled, remembering her own days of spells. She didn’t think about magic very much anymore. That was part of her childhood, when Dolores and her sisters stitched spells with their needles. Spells to make the clouds release a gentle drizzle upon their heads. Spells to catch the eye of the boys in town. All those spells which w...ere now gone, erased the same way a slate is erased with a warm cloth. But the memory of the feeling, of the magic...ah, that was still there. Where had she put her old thimble? It had been made of porcelain and carefully painted by her eldest sister. Dolores hadn’t looked at her object of power in ages. She wondered whether it still had any strength in it. “Grandma! I’m home!” Meche yelled, and she heard the front door bang shut, then the quick patter of feet across the hallway. It was no more than a few seconds before a record started playing.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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