#middlespellman

“Are you sure you aren’t a thespian? With dramatics such as that, I believe you could win all the trophies award season does present.” Vesta herself was prone to being colorful, but even she didn’t make a fight out of every conversation. That was Bella’s gift. “Now what exactly is this newest monologue razzling on about?”

Wasn’t this the cousin who’d done things with Lucifer himself? Not to mention all the other trouble she’d gotten up to just in eight years with Francis’ own birth. “That’s not what Mama says, or Auntie,” Or Auntie Vesta come to think of that. 

Emilia couldn’t help but giggle, knowing how much Ysbella loathed the sudden return of her mother at the call for the Hedge Witches. At first, the child was amused by her absentmindedness, which really was self absorbance. But even with money she had received being mistaken as a servant, Emilia was starting to grow tired of the woman’s eccentric and radical behavior, as well as her inability to even remember she existed. “Maybe we can hide her wine suitcase. Perhaps in my tree. She’ll never find it there. Maybe we can make her eye twitch.”

“Promise not to tell?” Because clearly whatever she was up to, it was something someone was bound to object to. Otherwise she wouldn’t have been hiding in the pantry and giving Bella a fright. Though, really, given the project, she probably should have been working on it outside. “I’ve been working on a recreation of some of the spells in this grimoire I found at the Academy. This one just happens to be flying ointment.”

Hand poised above the receiver Zelda asked, “Who died and can they be put in the Cain Pit?” Mortals dying didn’t particularly bother Zelda to be honest. But. . . It did get rather tedious covering it all up to the rest of the population of Greendale- and Riverdale as it happened to extend across the river on occasion.