Ava’s POV
"You’re under stress. Emotional turmoil can trigger latent magical abilities." Odelia rose from her chair abruptly. "You should be careful, Ava. Control is essential. Don’t let your emotions overwhelm you."
I set my coffee down, studying her face. "Mom, what aren’t you telling ? This feels like more than just magic getting stronger."
"Don’t be dramatic," she said, though her eyes wouldn’t et mine. "Just be mindful of your emotions."
"Mom—"
"I need to get to work," she interrupted, gathering her things with unusual haste. "Take it easy today. Rest. We can talk more later."
Before I could protest, she kissed my cheek and headed for the door.
"Rember what I said, Ava. Control your emotions. It’s more important now than ever."
The door closed behind her, leaving alone with my half-empty coffee cup and the distinct feeling that my mother was hiding sothing significant from .
I sank into a chair, replaying her questions in my mind. The concern in her eyes hadn’t been just about my broken heart. It was sothing else—sothing that frightened her.
My fingers traced absently over my chest, where that strange sensation of sothing trying to break free had been growing stronger lately. Not quite pain, but a pressure, a restlessness that increased whenever I was upset.
"Control your emotions," I mumbled, mimicking her words. "More important now than ever."
Why now? What was happening to that had my always-composed mother looking almost... afraid?
I pushed away from the table, determined to find answers. If Mom wouldn’t tell what was going on, I’d have to figure it out myself. The logical place to start was with her collection of grimoires and magical texts.
Our apartnt wasn’t large, but the small room we called the "study" housed all of her magical books.
I headed there with purpose, already planning which books to check first for information about magical surges or physical manifestations of witch powers. But when I pushed open the door, I froze in the doorway.
The bookshelves were... wrong. Where rows of leather-bound grimoires and crystal-adorned spell books should have been, I found only mundane novels, business textbooks, and fashion magazines.
"What the hell?" I whispered, stepping inside and running my fingers along the shelves as if the magical books might suddenly appear under my touch.
I pulled books out at random, checked behind rows, and even looked under the desk and chairs. Nothing. Every single magical text was gone.
"This is impossible," I muttered, heart racing. "They were here days ago."
A sick feeling settled in my stomach.
My mother had removed them deliberately and recently.
I stord out of the study and headed straight for her bedroom. This was a major invasion of privacy, sothing I’d never normally do, but desperate tis called for desperate asures.
Her room was unusually organized today, which was different from how ssy it normally was. I checked under her bed, in her closet, and through her dresser drawers. No books. I moved to her nightstand, rifling through the contents.
"Co on, where would you hide them?" I muttered, increasingly frustrated.
It wasn’t just the books. Her tarot deck, crystal ball, pendulum, ritual bowls—all of her magical tools had vanished too. Even the faint scent of sage and rosemary that usually perated our ho had been neutralized, replaced by the artificial scent of store-bought air freshener.
I stood in the middle of her bedroom, hands trembling with both anger and disbelief.
"She’s trying to erase everything," I whispered. "She wants to completely cut off from anything related to witchcraft and magic."
The realization hit like a punch to the gut. My own mother was getting rid of every single trace of magic in our house, basically wiping it out of my life. And the timing? Right after she asked about my magical abilities? Yeah, that wasn’t just random.
"What gives her the right?" I said louder, anger building within . That strange pressure in my chest returned, a restless energy that seed to pulse with my growing fury. "This is my birthright too!"
I paced her room, breathing heavily, trying to think. If Mom wouldn’t tell what was happening and had removed all our magical resources, I needed another source of information.
Grandma Hillary.
The thought ca suddenly, crystal clear. My grandmother was a pure-blooded witch, powerful and knowledgeable in ways my mother had never fully embraced. If anyone would tell the truth about what might be happening to , it would be her.
I rushed back to my room and grabbed my phone. Finding Grandma’s number, I dialed quickly.
It rang and rang, eventually going to voicemail. I tried again with the sa result. A third attempt told her voicemail was full.
"Damn it!" I threw my phone onto my bed. "Why is everyone suddenly unreachable?"
I pulled up the map on my laptop, calculating the distance to Silver Creek where my grandmother lived. It was about a five-hour drive—doable in a day, but better as a weekend trip.
"Fine," I decided, slamming my laptop shut. "If no one will talk to on the phone, I’ll go in person."
I spent the rest of the afternoon going back and forth between being pissed off and totally freaked out, pacing around our apartnt and constantly checking the ti. When 7 PM finally ca around, I planted myself in the living room, sitting on the edge of the couch with my arms crossed, ready to confront my mom.
The sound of keys in the lock made my heart pound. I got ready for a fight.
Mom walked in, looking beat but put-together like always. She seed montarily startled to see sitting there in the dim living room, but quickly recovered..
"Ava, why are you sitting in the dark?" She reached for the light switch.
"Where are they?" I asked, my voice low and controlled.
She paused, her hand hovering over the switch. "Where are what?"
"Don’t play dumb, Mom. The grimoires. The spell books. Every magical item we own. Where did you hide them?"
She flipped on the light. "I put them away. You don’t need them right now."
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