by Lili Black
Its eyes close, its head falling heavily to the ground, and I check the time. Ten seconds. Not bad for my first try, but I need to be faster. Macey’s a witch, too, and tricky. If she senses a spell coming, she may be fast enough to counter it.
I drop to sit in front of the deer, the timer still running.
The sun rises, filling the trees with dappled light that chases away the night, before the deer finally stirs, its head lifting.
I check the timer to see two hours passed.
Resetting the timer, I form the spell again, and touch the deer’s forehead, sending it back to sleep.
Eight seconds. Still not fast enough.
While I wait for the deer to come out of the sleep, I go over the spell again and again in my mind, imprinting it until I see it every time I close my eyes.
The next time the deer lifts its head, I form the spell even as my hand moves forward, completing it at the exact moment my hand touches its soft fur.
One second, if even that, before the deer is back to sleep. But Macey won’t be as easy as a deer. She won’t hold still with my hand flying at her face. Not unless I take her by surprise. She’s overconfident and still remembers the fifteen-year-old failure she would have killed if not for my grandmother and mother stepping in. She stayed with our coven long enough to see me struggle to perform even the smallest of spells, which will lower her guard if it comes to a confrontation.
Satisfied I can’t improve any further with the deer, I free it from the snare, then wait for it to rise once more. I promised it no harm, and I won’t leave it unguarded and unconscious for a predator to come by and take it for an easy meal.
While I wait, I pull out my family’s grimoire and flip through the pages. It doesn’t have the same life that the dark one has, the same eagerness to be used, which makes it better and worse. If the book always opens to what I need, then I’m less likely to search through it to see what else it holds. But it’s annoying, flipping through pages of herbology and instructions on scrying to find what I want. These things really need an index to make it more searchable.
Or, better yet, I could just digitize the damn thing. It won’t have the power the book holds from countless Barlow women writing down their spells, but the book itself is rarely needed to perform the magic it contains. And these are only the spells my family has passed down through the generations. What spells exist in other families that mine never even dreamed of? What variants are out there that could streamline the more complicated ones we have?
Spellcraft is an art. Much like cooking, every witch does it differently, but the reason behind the steps gets lost over time. Sometimes they include pieces that aren’t actually needed for the spell.
A database of witchcraft is something my mother would have been against, but she never liked much of modern technology. Covens could be so much stronger if we joined forces, sharing knowledge instead of hiding it away like misers, only portioning it out to those few who came to apprentice with us. We’re working in an outdated system that can change so much for the better.
I pause as I find the page I wanted. A spell to speak the truth. I need something like this once I have Macey. Otherwise, she’ll just spit out lie after lie, leaving me with muddied information. And I don’t have time for muddied information.
I mark the page to memorize, then keep searching. While I know Macey and Donovan are together, I can’t exactly stalk him until she shows up, and no matter how angry I am right now, I don’t want him injured if it turns into a fight. He’s a human and has no place in a battle between witches.
The deer twitches, lifts its head, then scrambles to its feet.
I stay still, showing it I have no intention of bothering it further, and after a moment, it shakes itself and bounds away.
I stare after it for a long time, wondering what was so dark about that spell. It didn’t even take questionable ingredients to prepare or a sacrifice. Was it the removal of free will? White witches have spells that take away free will, too, like the binding Hattie used to trap Macey and stop her from killing me. Why is that one white and this one dark? Or should it be more of a gray witch spell, but gray witches aren’t an accepted craft, so it went into a dark grimoire?
Pushing those questions to the back of my mind, I return my attention to hunting for a locator spell to find Macey.
4
It takes a few more hours of flipping pages to find the spell I need, and by the end, I’ve made the decision to index the grimoires, so I never have to search that hard again. I can’t believe no one’s done that before. When I get the internet back, I can put them online somewhere so I can access it from my phone, too.
The spell requires the use of a powerful scrying stone, which fortune put in my lap thanks to Hattie. She’d be happy to know she’s still contributing to our plan, even though she isn’t physically with me anymore.
With spell and tools in hand, my next step is to figure out where to keep Macey once I have her.
I glance down at the white cat who sits glaring up at me. “What do you think, Maggie? Should I keep Macey here or at the house? It would be poetic justice to take her out where everyone died.”
Maggie puffs up her tail and gives me a disgruntled meow.
“I agree. Home is a bad place for this. It deserves better than to have her set foot there again.” Pacing around the firepit, I talk to Maggie because she’s all I have left. “I don’t want her here, either. She doesn’t need to know where I’ve been living. She probably knows a spell to project it somewhere.”
Home and this place are all I’ve known. Why is this so hard to pick?
I stop next to Hattie’s log. “Maybe I should just do it here.”
This time, Maggie snorts before she turns to sit with her back to me.
“Okay. You don’t like that answer, either. It would be more useful if you could tell me what you thought was a good place.” I rub my temples, then plop down on my log. “I’m losing my mind, thinking you can figure this out for me, Maggie. I need to be an adult and make these decisions. It’s what Hattie kept trying to get me to do.”
Thinking of Hattie, I flashback to the fireballs. “That’s it!”
My yell scares Maggie, who runs away to hide under the trailer.
“Sorry!” I call after her.
Not far from the stream bed where we practiced is another cave, a natural one. It’s much smaller than the one here at camp, but it’s large enough to hold Macey. I can even look up a spell to barricade her in.
Jumping to my feet, I skip my families’ grimoires and go for the dark one to find a spell to hold Macey against her will. I need something stronger than the cat’s cradle binding Hattie used, something more powerful. I’m not foolish enough to believe Macey’s the same as she was three years ago. Time will only have taught her more tricks.
My heart beats fast as another piece of my plan comes into play. As I flip through the pages, I pause on a spell to block someone’s magic. It’s only temporary since it takes a triad to bind someone’s magic, but it should still give me enough time to work on her without her being able to retaliate.
I write the spell down, then memorize it before I continue to flip the pages to find a spell that will allow me to imprison Macey. A few spells come close, like one that lets me fortify chains and shackles, but I’m not worried about that. Once I block her magic, she’ll be powerless. Macey always relied on magic over physical effort.
Finally, a spell catches my eye. To Create A Barrier. The spell acts as an invisible wall to hold people in or out. If I set this near the cave entrance, she won’t be able to get out no matter how hard she tries. As with the blocking spell, I read the lines until they’re embedded in my memory, but I also write down the words and runes, just in case.
Unlike the sleeping spell, I can’t test the blocking one without another magic-user. But I can practice the barrier spell.
Walking to the entrance to my cave, I stop just outside. The words are easy to recite from m
emory, but carving the runes into the rock walls proves difficult. I finally find a rock strong enough to engrave the runes, but then realize I need to reconsider the placement. If she can reach the rune, she can counter the spell by defacing it.
I continue to practice until dusk settles in. Perfecting this one step is key, or she’ll just escape. If she has the chance to run to the dark witches, I’ll miss my chance to get the information I need.
While I still have enough light, I walk the half-mile or so to the cave by the stream and carve the runes there. This will save me time trying to get them right after I capture Macey. With my luck, she’d wake up and run before I finished. Once I’m happy with the runes and the magical barrier they create, I check the cave to make sure I remembered it correctly.
The walls inside are smooth, and the only exit other than the entrance is a large hole dozens of feet overhead. At one time, the stream used to cut through here, but erosion, or maybe animals, diverted the path over the years. With how smooth the walls are, Macey won’t be able to climb out. I collect any rocks or other debris from the smooth floor and carry them outside. Even with her magic blocked, a rock to the head would still knock me out, and I have no interest in letting her try to kill me again. Once was enough.
Second-guessing the use of the fortify spell, I head back to the campsite, find the spell, and memorize it. I don’t have any shackles, but the spell will strengthen whatever I cast it on. With that in mind, I grab a spool of my string to bind her hands and feet. That should give me extra protection from her overpowering me.
Satisfied I have everything in order, I climb inside the trailer and curl up in the bed, wrapping myself in Hattie’s quilt to wait for morning.
I wake with the sun and make myself oatmeal, adding a small spoon of brown sugar and a sprinkle of cinnamon. Hattie and I were saving these for a special occasion, but with my plan, I think this qualifies.
Today, I find out who killed my family.
“Okay, quit stalling, Sabine,” I chastise myself since Maggie isn’t around to do it for me.
She’s been ignoring me since yesterday.
The trailer is becoming a memory box. The table holds Henry’s box of gems and stones as well as his letter to me, and I’ve also placed the last of Hattie’s old coven tools there. Once I find and eliminate the dark witches, I’ll be able to add my families’ artifacts here, too.
Reverently, I lift Hattie’s scrying stone and carry it outside.
At the firepit, I stir the coals, bring them back to life. I add lemongrass to the small flames to help find my center and calm myself, then sit on my log to meditate. The citrus also heightens my energy and concentration, which I hope will give me the extra boost I need to find Macey.
As I delve within myself, the magic flows from me into the crystal.
At first, only a swirl of colors appears, the images unclear. Where scrying used to discourage me, excitement now builds, because even if I don’t succeed on the first try, I’m already farther along than I’ve ever gotten in the past.
The colors continue to swirl until a hazy image of Macey takes form. Her clothes are different from the Macey my mind captured at the party, but her face is the same. It’s not enough for me to determine her location, though. I slow my breathing and focus on her, trying to expand the image to figure out where she is.
Macey’s image solidifies, and the colors around her start to form impressions until they settle enough for me to recognize the booths at the Farmer’s Market. As Macey walks past the area where my family used to have their booth, I almost drop the crystal.
How many times did she grumble about helping at our stall and mock the need for the market?
Knowing where to go, I stow the crystal back in the trailer, then head to the truck to double-check the back.
The old tarp we use to cover what we buy on supply runs still sits in the bed of the truck. But all our supplies are stored away, leaving the bed empty. The tarp will be perfect for hiding Macey’s body on the way back here.
On the way to the market, I go over my plan, trying to work out contingencies if things don’t go as planned. But this is my first time kidnapping someone, and there’s really no way to figure out everything that could go wrong.
As I pull into the parking lot, I scan the car for Donovan’s SUV. Still undecided about what I want to say to him, I let my phone die so his unread texts and voicemails wouldn’t taunt me. Once I get through this, I can deal with him, but not before. The last place I need him right now is in the middle of a witch war.
After years of being away, the crush of visitors at the market overwhelms me. I should have brought the scrying crystal with me, so I could track down her specific location. I don’t want to stumble upon her accidentally. At this point, my best bet is to lure her out, let her see me but not let her know I’ve seen her. If I can get her to the truck, I’ll be able to knock her out without witnesses.
Confident in my plan, I weave through the cars to get to the market, sticking close to the taller vehicles so I don’t risk her spotting me before I find her. My biggest advantage is that Macey won’t be actively looking for me. So long as she doesn’t spot me before I’m ready, I should be safe.
As I near the booths, the familiar scent of fried foods, fresh-cut wood, and sweet confections takes me back to when I came here with my family, opening a pit in my stomach I thought I closed long ago. Ruthlessly, I shove those feelings of loss away before they distract me. What I do today is for them, as well as the children and families to come, who will have a chance to live without the fear of dark witches preying on them.
Under the cover of the booths, I skirt the outside of the market, peeking around the tent walls to scan the throngs of people in search of Macey. As I reach the end of the second row of booths with still no progress, I begin to lose hope.
Discouraged, I pass the clothing booths where I first met Donovan and enter the part of the market where the booths mingle with brick-and-mortar stores. Here, there’s little to no cover, and I keep a sharp eye out for her distinctive red hair.
Finally, I spot her sitting on a bench, eating roasted nuts from a paper bag.
My heart lurches with panic, but her attention is fixed on the cell phone in her hand. Every now and then, she glances up distractedly, before looking back down.
Pulse hammering, I move to stand in her line of sight and pretend to window shop. Even with my colored tips, the white-blond of my hair stands out. She should recognize it immediately.
In the reflection of the window, I watch her head lift again.
She spots me almost immediately and freezes.
As soon as she locks onto me, doubt sets in. What if she doesn’t follow me? Fear tightens my chest. What if she calls for backup instead of taking the chance with just the two of us?
Heart in my throat, I walk away before she can call someone, head to the end of the market, then cut over to the parking lot. This time, as I walk through it, I stay in plain sight. I don’t dare look back to see if she followed me, though, and I have no way to know if she texted for backup.
I reach the truck and put the tailgate down, making it look like I’m securing the tarp while I check the way I came from the corner of my eye.
The path lays empty.
“Long time no see, Sabine,” Macey sneers from behind me.
Spinning, one hand flies to my chest in real surprise because I didn’t realize she snuck around behind me, but instinct brings my other hand snaking out. I tap her forehead as the spell forms in my mind.
Her eyes widen just before she collapses to the ground.
I glance around quickly to make sure no one saw us, bend, and grab her under her arms. She’s about the same size as me, but my time at the farm then at camp helped make me strong. Grunting, I haul her upright, placing her chest on the tailgate. Nerves quicken my heart rate, and I check my surroundings again to make sure no one is around.
Once I know the coast is clear, I swing her legs up onto t
he tailgate, then roll her into the back. While I’m not concerned if she gets injured during the drive, I don’t want her to get so hurt that she can’t help me, so I use the straps to secure her to the side of the truck. Tucking the tarp down around her, I shut the tailgate and climb behind the steering wheel.
Sweat slicks my palms, and my hands shake so hard I drop the keys as I try to put them in the ignition. On the third try, I force myself to stop and take a minute to meditate and calm down.
This is what I wanted, what I planned, but part of me rebels against my actions.
My mother and grandmother would be so disappointed in me, but they aren’t here. And Macey knows the people who helped take that away from me. She came to our coven to steal our coven’s tools of power to buy her way into the dark witch’s coven. Even if she failed, she knows where to find them.
Resolve firmly back in place, I try the key again and manage to start the engine, then check the time. If I shave off ten minutes for getting her in the truck, I should still have an hour and a half before I’m in danger of her waking. Plenty of time.
The old truck doesn’t go much over the speed limit, but I slow even more, not wanting to risk being pulled over with a body in the back.
When I hit the dirt path to the camp, there isn’t much I can do about all the ruts and bouncing around. Macey’s going to be sore when she wakes up, but that will be small compared to what I have planned for her.
Back at the campsite, I grab the hand ax before opening the back of the truck. Based on how the deer reacted, she should still be asleep, but I want to be ready.
I pull back the tarp. She still looks asleep, but I grab her calf and give her a hard pinch just to be sure. When she doesn’t even twitch, I tuck the ax into my belt, yank the tarp from the truck, and spread it on the ground.
I should have blocked her magic back in the parking lot, but I was in too much of a hurry to get out of there. I fix that now by speaking the incantation. Once I’ve finished, I grab her ankles and drag her from the truck onto the tarp. Binding her hands and feet with the string and fortifying it, I then tie a rope to the metal rings at the end of the tarp to create a loop.