Six
I always got the sense that my mother was watching me whenever I visited her grave. Maybe that was just how cemeteries were supposed to be. Jacquie waited for me in the car as I wound my way through bits of scrub grass and weeds to my mother’s headstone. It was out of the way near the back of the cemetery and the plot was neatly weeded. A small bouquet of daisies sat propped against one corner. My mother’s favorite. My father had clearly been by recently. I stopped in front of the stone and tugged the pendant out from beneath my jacket, the metal warm to the touch thanks to body heat.
“Hey, Mom,” I greeted. I didn’t expect a response, but a gust of wind picked up in that instant and the honey flavor of my mother’s magic bloomed around me. I closed my eyes and soaked in the familiar s
