The storm was still ongoing when we left the house in my black Jeep. Witch weather; Aunt Florence called it. Supposedly, it was in weather like this that witches recharge their crystals and other witchcraft items that absorbed the energy of their surroundings —positive or negative.
Seth drove the car.
Aunt Florence sat next to him in the passenger’s seat, absentmindedly scratching the handle of the door with her long nails. She was agitated —obviously, all of us were. But somehow it seemed to me that there was something weighing heavily on her mind. Maybe she was finally seeing the fault lines in her plans?
Grace and I were in the backseat, alternating between taking deep breaths, looking out the window, and sparing each other skeptical glances.
She had gotten down the basics of the te
