by Layla Nash
He offered the papers to me. “This is my roster for the Alliance witches, at least. Do you remember the names of the ones who disappeared?”
I flipped through the covens until I came to Rowanwood, pausing to consider the nine yearbook-size photos on the page. “Danielle and Cara,” I said, but it came out a bare whisper as the two dark witches stared back at me from their smiling, posed headshots. I repeated myself, then tapped their photos. “Those two, I think. I’m sure the Peacemaker will do something about it, at least send out a call. But in the meantime, they told everyone to stay low.”
“Easy enough.” The overzealous smile returned as he took his papers back, nodded toward the interior of the apartment. “Want to come in for a drink or something? My coven has an opening. You’re welcome to sit in the circle a couple of times. See if you want to join permanently.”
“Maybe later, but thanks.” My skin crawled at the thought, but the shivers made smiling just a little easier. “Got to get to my other job.”
“Well, if you ever want to cast with us, let me know.” He watched from the doorway until I reached my apartment, a few steps away, and disappeared inside.
I locked the door behind me, set the deadbolts, and ramped up the magical wards that guarded my threshold. I glanced through the peep hole and held my breath—he remained in his doorway, staring at my door, and the smile had disappeared. A shiver ran through me. Damn witches.
Chapter 7
The memory of Chompers’ attention stayed with me even as I took the bus to the Slough after dark and made my way down the overgrown paths to the memorial. As much as I hated nature and the feeling of leaves and branches against my skin, it was a thousand times worse when it felt like something would jump out at me every other step.
The Slough contained the witches’ memorial—three interlocked circles of trees, protected by magic and superstition. Each tree represented a coven that fought in the war. Some had been completely lost, so their tree was planted in memory and left to grow wild. The others showed some degree of tending, often with small offerings or candles or mementos left in the soil or among the branches. I got to the Slough early to walk the circles, murmuring a prayer to the saints to protect them all even though I’d done the same with Tracy, Joanne, Rosa, and Andre only the night before.
In the center of the center ring was a gnarled, twisted blackthorn. I couldn’t remember it blooming in the last five years, since the night I planted it. My parents’ coven tree had been the blackthorn, and I planted the tree in the heart of the memorial in their memory, and in the memories of all the witches who stood with me and perished. I stared at the twisted thorns and tangled branches, my vision blurring briefly in the moonlight. And to think, after ten years of war and five years of peace, we still weren’t free. We still weren’t safe.
I didn’t linger too long in the open, nor did I disturb the detritus of the spell Tracy’s coven worked the night before—some candles and salt, hints of burned sage. In the magically preserved clearings, the air felt colder, and I pulled my coat tighter as I headed for the edges of the forest.
By the time I found a hiding place outside the memorial circles, perched on a branch behind some lingering foliage, I’d developed a long list of things Tracy would have to do to make up for this minor favor. Nothing strenuous, she’d said. I made a rude noise and once more checked that my bag wouldn’t catch on anything if I had to jump down in a hurry. A five-pound bag of salt, some sage, a mirror, oak twigs, and a few other things provided a comfortable counterweight on the branch so I could balance. Preparing to counter what Anne Marie and the others planned presented some challenges when I wasn’t entirely sure what they wanted to accomplish. A summoning could have been a variety of things—finding a lost object, Calling a person against their will, summoning a demon from another realm.
The moon wasn’t right for the witches to arrive, but Jacques, Anne Marie’s second-in-command, had always had a pathological need to be early, to be the first, and I didn’t want him to catch me wandering the memorial. From what little he shared of his childhood, apparently he’d been a late bloomer at every stage—walked late, talked late, read and wrote late, hit puberty late. I tried to find sympathy in my heart for him, but there were too many splits in that road, too many turns where he’d taken glee in making my life difficult.
The jade ring on the fourth finger of my right hand spun around and around as I played with it, an old habit and a nervous one. I’d taken Tracy’s warning to heart and put on the ring of a mender and healer—a nonthreatening, relatively low-powered witch in the hierarchy of skills. Incredibly powerful witches could heal life-threatening wounds as if they’d never happened, but the witch hierarchy went by degree of power, not by proclivity or talent. What mattered was what you could do, not what you wanted to do. Rosa saved my life multiple times by patching me together when parts of me were nothing more than hamburger, but no one called her a mender—she was a war witch, whether she liked fighting or not.
The coven’s work the night before left a distinct trail through the park, easy enough for other witches to follow. Especially with the overwhelming stench of burnt magic permeating the air, even after a full day. It drove everything away from that part of the park, until not even crickets chirped in the night. A blaze of powerful magic pulsed in the center of the memorial, around my tree, and revealed a complex spell combining a summoning and a Calling. The goal could have been anything, really—trying to find something misplaced, dragging someone back against their will, bringing something from another realm.
I checked the bag once more, but froze at the sound of approaching steps and disturbed vegetation. The full coven, all nine of them, entered the memorial. Magic connected them: they’d begun the spell elsewhere, carried it with them into the Skein. I held my breath. Of the threads that bound them, one shaded slightly gray, hints of intent that affected free will. Not precisely dark magic, but on the edge. Only the darkest of magics influenced the free will of a sentient being. That was a line that could not be uncrossed.
They spread out into the memorial silently, hands out at their sides to maintain the circle. Magic rose in sheets between them, condensing into blue ripples and waves. Anne Marie began to chant in a low voice, her eyes closed. A bad habit I’d tried to break her of, with no success.
Memories rose to the surface, unbidden. Nights laughing around a banked fire, none of us willing to admit we couldn’t sleep because of nightmares, but none so brave we could risk the darkness alone. Rosa showing me how to cook proper rice and beans. Joanne teaching me the mantra I still used, lecturing me on mindfulness and meditation. Tracy comforting me as I sobbed over Sam.
Friends. Covenmates. A family when I’d needed one. Direction when I was lost.
I squinted, unmoving in my tree, at the warp and woof of their magic. It looked more like a summoning than a Calling, really, though focused on a person. Not Calling her lost car keys, that was certain.
The spell unfolded in complex connections, woven and built by powerful, capable witches. I searched for the intent but found little to guide me—whatever drove Anne Marie’s spell, it wasn’t evident in the magic. I resigned myself to not being able to tell Tracy anything interesting, but the magic flared unexpectedly, arcing up in a bright, blinding flash. One of the young witches stepped back, dragged the magic with her until it unbalanced. Tilted. Billowed up on one side.
Rosa made a sound, unwilling to form words that would disrupt the spell further, and leaned in to regain control. She and Tracy fought to pull it back into form as Joanne and Andre and Jacques crouched, anchoring the cast. Through the darkness, I couldn’t see the young witch’s face but imagined the stern talking-to she would get later. The slightest distraction during a spell of that strength made everything wonky. If it were bad enough, the coven would have to start over.
The fabric of the spell formed once more under the careful ministrations of the senior witches. It was almost back in shape, Anne Marie’s droning
voice undisturbed by the changes, when another flash pulled the threads apart. I leaned forward, gripping the tree branch. There. Right there.
In the woven pattern of intent and power and experience, a thread of darkness wormed through every layer. Saints above and below. Dark magic. Grimly shiny with opalescent malevolence—white for demon magic.
I swallowed hard around my panic. Demon magic corrupted their spell, but they didn’t seem to know it. Rosa sure as hell didn’t, else she would have stormed out of that circle fast enough to destroy the entire city. I inched closer, almost tumbled off the branch as I stared into the magic. There was no telling what would happen when the spell culminated, but I knew enough of demons to know the magic wouldn’t be enough—it would need blood and bone and fear to feed.
Saints protect them.
No wonder Tracy wanted me nearby. She must have felt it during the first night, the imbalance from the dark magic’s cloying, clinging hunger. It would draw from the pure magic, would work its way into the heart of the spell until intent didn’t matter. Until whoever put that magic in the spell would control everything against the will of the others. I chewed my lip, searching for a place to intervene.
In every spell, there was an ideal place to turn, to change, to redirect. A natural pause, a hiccup. The magic warped, flowed around the darker thread. Anne Marie’s voice gained volume, her hands pushed up, the coven following. If they finished, it would be too late, and the shockwave of magic that nearly knocked me over the night before would have been nothing compared to what would follow.
Salt and flame. I drew magic, hopefully soft and quiet enough not to draw attention. We’d worked magic together long enough that I knew how they built their circle, knew the right point to apply pressure. And they hadn’t set a ward around the clearing, too confident in their own abilities. Rookie mistake. I’d taught Anne Marie better than that.
I sent an arrow of magic into the spell just before she tied everything off, the sliver enough to prevent the spell from culminating. The mess festered and seethed, pressed against the boundaries, but remained contained. The coven likely waited another night. But my magic hid inside their spell, would disrupt everything when they started again. Hopefully it would be enough to derail the disaster before it got them killed, even if I couldn’t convince Tracy to call it all off.
The witches paused, arms raised above their heads, as Anne Marie shouted a final incantation. I leaned back. My elbow bumped the bag and it slipped into emptiness, almost dragging me over with it, and I grabbed at the branch. Shit and double shit. I held my breath, desperate. The magic should have distracted them, there was so much else going on no one could possibly notice—
When I dared look up, I found Joanne staring at me, head tilted and no expression on her face. She watched me from across the clearing as she anchored the circle. Her eyes narrowed, she mouthed, “Lilith?” and it rippled through the magic.
I shook my head, hunching down to make myself smaller. Joanne wouldn’t do anything—she wouldn’t blame or hex me—but if she outed me to Anne Marie, there would be hell to pay. I tried to ease back to the trunk and descend, but as I balanced, Rosa frowned in my direction as well. She opened her mouth, a question in her eyes, but Anne Marie suddenly threw her hands in the air, calling out the final part of the incantation. Magic flashed up in a blue column and I moved, dropped out of the tree, and shouldered my bag. They regrouped, milled around, both Rosa and Joanne looking in my direction. I shook my head, backing down the path until branches and dust obscured them from view.
I half expected to find them on my doorstep when I got home. They had cars, after all, while I wasted time at the bus stop. Instead, only the flickering security light in the open hall greeted me. I shut the door and double-checked the locks before leaning against the wall, rubbing my eyes. Tracy and Joanne and Rosa would talk first, would at least ask what I intended. Anne Marie would act, and rightly so—what I’d done to disrupt their spell was close to an act of war. She was the War Witch, the leader of the War Coven, and the senior witch in the Alliance. She didn’t need anyone else to approve her punishment of nonaligned witches.
Minutes passed before I felt them approach, the combination of their magic a wrecking ball swinging up the stairs. The magic practically vibrated the building, still active and intimidating from their coven work. Rosa ran her hand over the wards outside my door, a gentle touch that served as a wake-up instead of an aggressive breaking; I knew it was her by the green threads of healing magic running through the blue. She said, “Open up, hermana.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, but opened the door, letting it swing in until I faced a third of my old coven. Rosa stood on the battered welcome mat, arms folded over her chest. Joanne and Tracy stood behind her, expressions lost in the dark as the security light blinked out. Nothing broke the silence of the hall as we stared at each other.
Rosa arched an eyebrow as she looked at me. “So what’s up, Lil?”
“Just wanted some fresh air.”
“Witch, please,” Joanne snorted, flipping her pin-straight black hair over her shoulder. “You hate nature. The only time you ever climbed a tree was when a wolf chased you up one. Come on.”
I glanced at Tracy, hovering off to the side with a hint of panic around her eyes. She didn’t trust them. Maybe didn’t trust me. Either way, I couldn’t tell Rosa and Joanne the truth. Not yet. I rubbed my temples. “Curiosity, I guess. Whatever you did last night felt wrong. I figured you had another two nights of casting and I wanted to see what you were up to.”
“We did exactly what Anne Marie—”
“Come on,” I said, interrupting Joanne with her own words. “You had to feel what happened last night. There’s something wrong in that spell.”
Joanne shook her head. “We have two new witches; we’re trying to rebuild the coven. It’s not easy balancing them when they don’t have any experience.”
There was no telling who introduced dark magic into their spell, but it had to be one of the nine in the coven. I didn’t move from the doorway, didn’t offer to let them in. Mostly it was shame at the peeling paint and shabby hand-me-downs inside, but my dad’s long-ago lesson never to invite trouble inside also echoed in the back of my head.
A thump across the hall, followed by Chompers’ muffled voice yelling, “Go ahead, call the police. Then what?” drew Rosa’s attention. Her eyes narrowed as she looked back at the other apartment.
I cleared my throat. “So why risk something that big with untried witches?”
“The ones we trusted died or left,” Rosa said. She looked at me with something like accusation, since I’d been one of the ones who left.
I held up my hands to fend off whatever might have followed, even though none of them added anything. We’d said all we needed to say about that... unpleasantness four years earlier. Or so I hoped. “What was so important it couldn’t wait until you trusted the ones you have?”
“Information.” Tracy spoke up after the silence stretched and neither of the other witches looked inclined to answer. “We need answers, and this is the only way to get them.”
“Answers about what?”
Another thump, and the sound of breaking glass reached us through the door. Rosa looked at me. “What is that?”
“He argues with his fists.”
“A real man.” Her voice dripped scorn, her hands clenched. The tattoos on her knuckles stretched, distorted. She didn’t bother with a glamour to disguise them, and I didn’t blame her.
“A witch.” I shook my head, staring at the other door. “I tried to get her out. She won’t leave him. Needs him for something, but she won’t tell me what.”
“You’re a fucking war witch,” Joanne said. She gestured over her shoulder, two-inch-long sharpened nails a flicker of red danger. She looked, as usual, like she should have been dancing in the trendiest club in the city. “Make him leave.”
“Not my place.” I winced at another round of shouting, another thre
atening, “Who would want you? Who?” I tried to concentrate, wondering when we would have to intervene. “He’s aligned. If I do anything to him, the Styrma would crush me before I could explain. And Anne Marie would be out front.”
Tracy started shaking her head. “She wouldn’t—”
“You know it’s true,” Joanne said under her breath. She tapped those long nails against her perfectly white teeth, squinting a little as she studied me. Debating what to do about me, maybe.
When she didn’t go on, I took a deep breath. “I don’t know what information you need, but for what it’s worth, please don’t complete that spell. Walk away from it. There’s something wrong.”
“What’s wrong with it?” Tracy said, just as Rosa started, “We have to finish.”
“I don’t know, exactly.” A small lie, really. Small enough it wouldn’t hurt anything. “But it’s not good. You can bind and banish it without completing the spell, it’s—”
Joanne looked at me with an unnerving intensity. “If we don’t finish, it will sap our magic for weeks. We can’t afford to be weak now; there are too many threats. This will fix it, Lil. It’s the only way.”
The stairs creaked, almost lost in another thump-thump against the wall. I stared into the inky shadows, chest tightening. Maybe they’d called the Styrma on me anyway, just in case.
Rosa said, “Chica, you don’t understand. For the witches to survive this bullshit with the wolves, we—” just as Leif stepped onto the landing.
The three witches froze. Leif’s eyebrows arched. “You what?”