Fresh off her last twelve-hour shift at the hospital, Hazel sat in her beat up little blue Pruis and just took in the sounds and smells of the new morning. The sun was at that halfway mark of rising yet not risen casting a bounty of greys, blacks, and blues covering the sky. The dew of the misty night air hadn’t yet dried up and the air was filled with the sweet scent of blossoming flowers and trees as they also woke for the day.

  With a quiet resolve, Hazel looked back at the maze of daunting buildings which had been her hospital of employment for the last two years and wondered if she’d miss it. There were certainly a few people she’d miss, but she wouldn’t miss the treatment and she wouldn’t miss the hard work and squat for pay either.

  Spending two years in nursing school was supposed to give her the skills and means to hold down a job which allowed her to live a comfortable life, but no one can survive working sixty-hour work weeks under the conditions they set. It didn’t matter if you were on a med-surg floor with five or six patients or an ICU with only two patients, the amount of extra work the administration expects done leaves no time for patient care. This was even more true for night nurses, like Hazel, when the kitchen was closed, there were very few doctors on the premises, and the janitorial staff was limited. A patient throws her left-over dinner tray at you sending mash potatoes and corn flying across the room, wait for an hour for housecleaning to find someone to come up or just do it yourself. And it is totally unacceptable for food to be on the walls and floors for an hour. A patient codes at 2:00am and the only doctors are two floors down in the ER, that means twenty to thirty minutes of CPR. And the patient better not be dead when he gets there. This, and much more, on top of the routine medications, vital checks, wound care, admits, discharges, bed changes, and a myriad of other daily tasks.

  With all this she still couldn’t afford her two-bedroom apartment and a new car. The shining light in her busy, but otherwise dull, life was spending time with her grandmother. The one person in her life who never judged her who she was or berated her for her choices in life.

  Hazel parked in her grandmother’s driveway and sighed heavily. The grass and the trees had become overgrown and problematic, the once prized rose bushes laid heavy with old, dried flowers and overgrown roots. The house itself, located in a rather shady neighborhood, had began to look weathered and worn. Shingles were missing from the roof, and it desperately needed a new paint job.

  The state of the house mirrored her grandmother’s reclusive lifestyle. The once vibrant home had become a testament to the passing of time and the solitude her grandmother embraced. Despite its dilapidated exterior, Hazel knew that inside lay a sanctuary of memories and the warm embrace of her grandmother’s love.

  As she stepped out of the car, she made a mental note to clean up the yard and fix the house, perhaps this weekend. Hazel approached the front door with a mix of anticipation and concern. Her grandmother, despite her age and eccentricities, remained a pillar of strength and wisdom in Hazel’s life.

  She knocked lightly on the door before letting herself in, greeted by the familiar scent of lavender and old books.

  The eighty-nine-year-old excentric woman hadn’t left her shabby two-bedroom house since Covid became a thing and rarely allowed anyone through the front door. Inside the house was an immaculate display of chachkis, pillows, and crochet blankets.

  “Nana,” Hazel called out as she entered the old house. “Where are you?”

  “Down here honeybee,” her grandmother called from the basement.

  The basement was the only place that didn’t resemble a typical old woman’s home. It was filled with bookshelves filled with books on the occult, witchcraft, and paganism. The walls and floor were painted pitch black with a bright white pentacle painted on the floor. Hazel had spent more nights than she could count down here with her mother, and her close friends, as they cast spells for protection, knowledge, abundance and even the rare comeuppance for those who did hateful things to the people they loved. Of course, spells only have the power you put into them. If you cast a spell for protection you need to take the steps to secure your surroundings. If you cast a spell for knowledge you need to seek out that knowledge.

  Her most favorite basement memories were of the holiday celebrations, her favorite being Ostara which was celebrated on the spring equinox. This holiday welcomes spring and the goddess-as-maiden. They had always started the celebration early in the morning by walking through the park and the entire group would bring fresh fruits and homemade bread to sit and have a picnic breakfast before heading back to the house. The basement was adorned with bright colorful lights and fresh flowers. The work benches had been cleared off and filled with bags of dirt, fertilizers, and flower seeds. After the ritual to celebrate the goddess, they would set about filling dozens of colorful flowerpots and planting seeds of marigolds, asters, cosmos, and other spring flowers. Each of them would take a couple of pots home, the rest they would deliver to others in the neighborhood, given to patients in hospitals, and even a few to the elementary school teachers to have them grow in their classrooms. Miss Shayla never went on the delivery runs, she stayed and cleaned up the mess the ladies had made, but she was excited to hear all about it when Hazel and the others returned afterwards.

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  Hazel found her grandmother in the basement, solemn, sitting at a small desk in the corner. Five small boxes sat in a row in front of her.

  Hazel approached cautiously, sensing the gravity of the moment. Her grandmother looked up, her eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and determination.

  “These boxes,” she began, her voice trembling slightly, “contain items that have been passed down through our family for generations. Each one holds a piece of our heritage and power.”

  Hazel reached out to touch one of the boxes, feeling the cool, aged wood beneath her fingers. “What am I supposed to do with them, Nana?”

  Her grandmother took a deep breath, steadying herself. “You must learn to use what’s inside. It’s time for you to embrace your true potential and carry on our lineage of protection and wisdom. But only one is for you. The others will come soon.”

  Hazel’s mind raced with questions, but she remained silent, understanding the gravity of her grandmother’s words. She knew this was a turning point, a moment that would shape her future and the legacy of their family.

  “Nana, what’s wrong?”

  “Something big is coming, and I haven’t prepared you.”

  “What are you talking about?” Hazel sat in the office chair next to her grandmother and gently took her hand.

  “I know you have had a bit of a crisis of faith lately. You’ve felt like the Goddess hasn’t shown her true self to you, but I need you to open up and listen.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I’ve never really told you much of my ancestry, the line of witches we come from is long and powerful. You have more power inside of you than you know, and I have failed to adequately teach you to use that power.”

  “I don’t have any more power than any other pagan.”

  “But you do. Our line has a connection that can directly touch and direct the magic. Most pagans have some inner connection and can call for assistance, we have the power to use magic at our will. It’s not something we choose to use all willy nilly. It takes wisdom and knowledge to access and use this magic with reverence and for the good of all.”

  “Nana, are you feeling ok?”

  “No, I am most definitely not feeling ok. I don’t even know how any of this will involve you or me. For today all I need is for you to take this and wear it next to your skin. Keep it on you all times.”

  Shayla reached over and took the box from Hazel’s hand, opening it and pulling out a pentacle pendent with a magnificent dark blue lapis lazuli.

  “The stone of knowledge, this will help you to understand what is happening and to protect your mental state in times of chaos.” Shayla slipped the chain over, gently kissed her cheek and smiled. “Let’s go upstairs and have some tea and scones and you can tell me all about what’s going on in that hospital of yours.”

  The two women, one old and one young, held hands as they ascended the stairs into the kitchen where the scent of freshly baked scones and French pressed coffee filled the air.

  The warm aroma wrapped around them like a comforting embrace, easing the tension that had surfaced moments before. Shayla carefully set the pendant around her neck, Hazel felt a slight tingle as the lapis lazuli settled against her skin.

  Shayla busied herself with preparing the coffee and scones, her movements deliberate and measured, a reflection of the steady wisdom she carried. "You know, this stone has been in our family for generations," she remarked, her voice tinged with a blend of nostalgia and pride. "It has seen us through many trials and tribulations. Now, it will guide you."

  Hazel smiled softly, appreciating the weight of the legacy she was stepping into. The kettle whistled, and soon the delicate clinking of china filled the room as Shalya poured the steaming coffee. They sat at the small wooden table, its surface worn with years of shared stories and laughter.

  “To legacies,” Hazel said, raising her coffee cup. Shayla’s eyes sparkled as she lifted her cup in response.

  “To new beginnings,” Shayla added, a knowing glint in her eyes.

  As the two women sipped their coffee, the connection between them felt stronger than ever, forged by shared history and the promise of the future.

  “Now, tell me all the new gossip and drama in your hospital,” Shayla smiled as she poured the coffee for them.

  “I’m the latest drama. I quit this morning, and no I didn’t give proper notice. After my shift I just walked into the DON’s office and handed her my keys and quit.”

  Shayla looked at Hazel in shock, her coffee cup paused mid-air. "Oh, my gawd! Why’d you do that?”

  Hazel shrugged, a mixture of relief and uncertainty etched on her face. “I didn’t spend two years in school to be treated like a dumpster and have all the shit piled on top of me just because I work the night shift.”

  Shayla nodded slowly, her expression softening with understanding. “Well, you gotta do what you gotta do for you, but what are you going to do now?”

  Hazel took a deep breath, her resolve hardening. “I’m a nurse, jobs are a dime a dozen. I think I’m going to try private nursing.”

  The morning had been a comfort, the conversation a balm for Hazel's weary soul. Shayla had listened with the patience of an old friend, offering the solace that only years of trust could bring.

  As Hazel stepped out into the warm afternoon air, she sighed deeply, feeling the weight of her decision lift slightly from her shoulders. The sun cast a gentle glow over the neighborhood, illuminating the path ahead with a bright welcoming light. She glanced back at the house, its windows warm and inviting, a beacon of the support she knew she could always rely on.

  With a determined stride, Hazel walked towards her car, her mind already buzzing with plans for the future. Private nursing seemed like the perfect next step, a way to reclaim her power and find joy in her profession once more. And with Shayla's unwavering encouragement, she felt ready to face whatever challenges might come her way.