Opal glanced at me.
I didn’t offer her any advice. She’d been subjected to enough darkness in my company for a lifetime already.
The young witch nodded, pushing the blankets from her shoulders and awkwardly placing them over the stool. “Okay.” She wandered over to the bag of salt, inspecting it.
Christopher stepped around the kitchen island, moving the pile of blankets and the stools to the side.
“I could have painted a pentagram, but I assumed you’d prefer to not have me mark up your tile,” Aiden murmured, brushing his thumb over my wrist as he loosened his grip on my hand. “The pentagram in the loft is keyed solely to me.”
I nodded. Securing a permanent pentagram made perfect sense, especially when other sorcerers were in the vicinity.
“I just draw a pentagram with the salt?” Opal asked.
“Yes.” Aiden stepped around the counter, holding my hand until the forced distance pulled us apart.
“I’ve only worked with chalked circles so far,” the young witch said.
Aiden nodded. “The salt will be receptive to your natural magic. Some witches use salt to craft their circles, but I’m more familiar with a pentagram working.”
I stepped closer to Christopher.
Opal dragged the salt into the center of the cleared space, then tugged ineffectively at an upper corner of the bag in an attempt to open it. She glanced up at Aiden.
He smiled, leaned down, and tore open the bag. “Work with handfuls rather than trying to tip the bag. Try to leave enough space in the center to stand within.”
Opal plunged both of her hands into the bag, scooping up the salt. She paused, frowning down at the tiled floor as if trying to visualize the shape she was supposed to be forming.
Paisley was watching the sorcerer closely. I had the feeling that I should be prepared to start stumbling across pentagrams built out of bones in the yard.
Christopher leaned back against the kitchen table. His deck of oracle cards was in hand.
I stepped close enough to brush his shoulder, keeping my gaze on the yard beyond the French-paned doors to the patio and my back to Opal and Aiden.
“We can’t keep her,” I murmured. My heart ached as I gave voice to the thought — a ridiculous reaction to the situation. I tried to ignore it. Unsuccessfully.
I could have blamed the magical connection that Opal had forged while accessing my dreams, except such magic didn’t often work on me. Or if it did, it rarely held for long. “We have no jurisdiction,” I added. “No claim, and no ability to train her.”
“I agree,” Christopher said, bowing his head. His white-blond hair fell forward over his high brow. He’d been letting it grow out for a few months.
“But …”
The corner of his lips curled into a smile. “But?”
“But if you see differently, you’ll tell me?”
“Always, Socks.”
Aiden turned to look at us. “We’re ready.”
Opal was standing in the tight center space of a roughly laid salt pentagram. The shape was a little uneven, but the lines were solid.
“First, I’ll talk Opal through scanning herself for spells and foreign magic, and then you can question her. But her energy is thin. And it would be better for her to sleep.”
He meant it would be better for her to sleep than to be amplified by me. I nodded to indicate I understood his implication. “So maybe just one or two questions?”
He nodded. Then he turned back to hand Opal a small object. A safety pin. “You will prick your finger. It’s mostly a symbolic gesture, but your magic resides in your blood. To ground and claim the pentagram for yourself, you will brush your finger at the five points, inner or outside, as you feel moved to do.” Aiden crouched, indicating the nearest points of the intersecting salt lines to Opal. “You will reach for those points when you call the pentagram closed. This will eventually become second nature to you, but for now, you’ll use the traces of blood as anchor points.”
“But … I can’t feel my own magic, right?”
Aiden nodded. “But once it’s separated from you, you’ll be able to pick it up.”
Opal pricked her finger, crouching to follow Aiden’s instructions. She selected the five inner points of the pentagram, perhaps instinctively trying to create more of a witch circle.
Paisley hunkered down beside Aiden. Her red-hued eyes narrowed, enraptured by the entire process.
“A pentagram is a symbol used in many different ways,” Aiden said as he straightened. “In Asia, it’s connected to the five elements — fire, earth, metal, water, and wood. Others speak of it being connected to the five senses. Sight, hearing, taste, touch, and smell. Still others simply revel in the mathematical implications, specifically the golden ratio.”
Opal sucked on her finger, nodding. “And you?”
Aiden smiled. Then he placed his feet slightly apart, arms akimbo. “The human form.” He nodded toward the pentagram. “Your head before you, arms to the sides, and legs behind.”
Opal raised her arms, mimicking Aiden and murmuring thoughtfully. “Yes. I see that.”
A brush of magic flitted through the thick lines of salt, sealing Opal within the pentagram.
“Quick study,” Christopher whispered, shuffling his cards.
“Two questions?” I whispered back. “The name of her kidnapper? And where she was being held?”
He nodded.
“And if she doesn’t know?”
He looked at me steadily. “We ask her to visualize you running her kidnapper through with your black blades. And since we know that’s going to happen anyway, I’ll see it. And we’ll get a face.”
I ignored the way my stomach soured at the idea of asking a child to visualize me slaughtering someone. “And if that doesn’t trigger a vision?”
Christopher shuffled the cards, magic flashing around his hands. “Then I’ll ask her to draw cards.” He looked at me steadily. “But we already know who’s involved.”
I nodded, agreeing silently to Christopher’s nonverbal implication. Isa Azar. And Ruwa. Opal had indicated that a woman had stolen her mother’s face. “Anything else would be too much of a coincidence.”
“It will be better to draw them to the property,” Christopher said.
“Yes.”
We stepped forward in unison, watching Opal carefully brush her hands over her head and face. Her eyes squeezed closed in concentration. I’d missed a bit of Aiden’s instruction, but assumed that he’d talked her through how to look for the presence of foreign magic on her person.
“Magic not your own feels differently to everyone,” the sorcerer said encouragingly. “Like an oil stain for me, or a spot of mud.” He glanced at me.
“If I can’t actually see a shimmer or blush of color,” I said, “it feels like a hum of energy for me, or like electricity.” I glanced over at Christopher.
The clairvoyant nodded. “Motes of light,” he murmured, his gaze trained on the young witch. “Sometimes with … a different temperature.” He shook his head, coming to some conclusion. “We’ll draw cards, not the other idea.”
I nodded, relieved.
“I don’t feel anything weird,” Opal said, opening her eyes. She blinked rapidly, swaying on her feet. Casting the tiny circle, even anchored by the salt, had drained the last of her energy.
“That’s my assessment as well,” Aiden said. “But I wanted to be sure.” He looked to me. “Ask your questions.”
“Did you see your kidnapper with her other face?” I asked.
Opal’s lip trembled. “No. But I heard her on the phone, when we were driving away from the Academy, speaking in another voice. Another language. I didn’t understand it.”
“Did you pick up any names?” I asked, changing my mind about the second question I’d been going to ask. “Either hers or anyone who she talked to?”
Opal shook her head, tears edging her eyes now. “She … kept me asleep mostly, in the dark. But s
ometimes I heard her talking to herself … stuff about deals and bindings and … blood?” She locked her gaze on me. “I knew it … I knew my mom was dead … but …” Tears began silently streaming down her face. “I wanted it to be her. You know?”
“I don’t,” I said. “I never got to have a mom … just a brother. So we’re both lucky in different ways.”
Opal swayed on her feet.
“Cards now,” Christopher said. “Quickly, before she fades further.”
“Opal,” Aiden said, calling the young witch’s attention. “You’re going to dispel the boundary, just by scrubbing your foot or hand over the salt line, breaking the alignment.” He raised his hand, stopping Opal from automatically following his instructions. “But the magic still contained within the pentagram, because you didn’t imbue it into a charm or a spell, still belongs to you. Some practitioners prefer to collect that residual before they dispel the boundary. Sorcerers will store this energy in artifacts.”
Opal nodded, pointing toward the runed copper rings on Aiden’s fingers. “Like properly prepared jewelry.”
“Yes. Or rune-inscribed weapons. But witches allow the energy to be absorbed into the earth, knowing it’s always there for them to recall.”
Opal pursed her lips thoughtfully. Then she nudged the salt line closest to her with the toe of her right foot, dispelling the boundary she’d called forth.
“The magic in the blood you used to seal the pentagram has now been consumed,” Aiden said. “So you don’t need to worry that anyone could collect it and use it against you.”
Christopher stepped back, grabbing a stool and placing it by the island. Opal was visibly struggling to keep her eyes open, but she obligingly climbed onto the stool.
The clairvoyant shuffled his oracle deck, magic encircling his hands, then snapping into the cards themselves. A soft white glow ringed his eyes.
I took a step back from the brush of his power, but Opal gazed at him, awestruck.
“Is that your magic?” she whispered.
He grinned at her. “You tell me.”
She raised her hand, fingers brushing against what appeared to be empty air near the clairvoyant’s shoulder. Christopher offered her the deck of cards. “Draw three.”
“From the top?”
“From wherever you wish.”
Opal settled her hand on the deck. “Do I have to think of anything? Like, have an intention?”
“Your intention is embedded into your being, witch. Into each step you’ve taken to get here, and each step you will take now that you’ve called on Emma … and me, Paisley, and Aiden. You’ve called forth your warriors, Opal. Now you will simply point out the path we’ll follow.”
Stiff-backed and much more alert than she had been, the young witch plucked three cards from the deck without looking at them. She pressed the cards against her chest, still gazing at Christopher.
He nodded toward the island counter. “Place them, please, as they lay in your hand onto the counter.”
“Don’t twist them or flip them, you mean?”
“Yes.”
She placed the cards down.
Verbena. Upheaval.
Dandelion. Revelation.
Foxglove. Caution.
I must have reacted in some way to the reveal of the same three cards that Christopher and I had pulled after Isa Azar showed up, because Aiden turned to glance at me.
“Significant?” he asked quietly.
“Only if I’m about to be swallowed by darkness,” I murmured.
Christopher frowned at me. “Which card belongs to you, Opal?”
She touched the dandelion.
“And which to the woman who kidnapped you?”
She touched the foxglove card.
Christopher looked over at me, his frown deepening. He shook his head slightly. He wasn’t picking up the glimpse of the future he’d been trying to evoke.
“What do you see?” Opal whispered.
“Nothing relevant,” Christopher said.
“Does that mean I’m going to die? That Emma is going to die?”
“No,” the clairvoyant said grimly. “I always see it when Socks dies. Over and over again.”
“And then you change it?”
He nodded, gathering up the three cards the young witch had drawn. “Then Socks changes it.”
Opal glanced over at me. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She folded her arms on the counter and rested her head on them. Eyes open, watching me.
Christopher threaded the dandelion card through his fingers, flipping it over and under. A fancy trick born from magic rather than skill — but still, his magic didn’t rise. He frowned, then reached his hand toward me.
I stepped forward, slipping my hand around the back of his neck, brushing my fingers against the tattoo of my blood on his T1 vertebra. He mimicked my touch, slipping his fingers into my sweater, slightly lower. His blood was tattooed over my T3 vertebra.
“Socks,” Christopher whispered. His breath brushed my temple. With both of us barefoot, he stood slightly taller than me.
“Knox.” I tilted my head, locking my gaze with his. Watching the magic moving in his eyes as I gently reached through our shared blood bond and added my power to his. Doubling, tripling it.
The magic simmering in Christopher’s eyes increased in wattage. Opal sucked in a breath.
“What do you see, my clairvoyant?” I asked.
“You, Socks. Always you, dancing on the edge of my perception.”
“What of the child witch?” I asked.
“Hey,” Opal said. “Thirteen. Thir — teen. Teen.”
Christopher chuckled at the witch but kept his attention pinned to me, our gazes locked. “With you, Emma. Echoes of the immediate future. Being carried upstairs, tucked under the quilt you currently have on your bed. Watching her sleep, snow falling. Darkness approaches, tire tracks on the driveway, words exchanged with an … unseen adversary. Then … then …” He shook his head. “Darkness swallowing you.”
“Darkness approaches,” Aiden asked quietly. “Literally? Or magically?”
“Near sunset,” I said. “Usually.”
“And the swallowing?” Aiden added.
Christopher dropped his hand from the back of my neck. I did the same, watching closely as he crossed around the kitchen island and poured himself a glass of water.
Neither of us answered the sorcerer’s final question.
“Could someone block your sight?” Aiden asked.
“No,” I said, answering for the clairvoyant. “And certainly not while Christopher is amplified.”
“I thought you didn’t like impossibilities.”
I snorted. “I don’t. But this isn’t one. The only way a clairvoyant of Christopher’s power, amplified by me, could be blocked would be if someone had his blood, or his DNA.” I glanced over at Opal. “And that’s —”
“Not impossible,” Christopher said with a sigh. He poured a second glass of water, but then just stood there, staring at the glass-fronted upper cupboards.
“What do you mean?” I asked tersely.
“Don’t be mad, Socks.”
“Christopher. No one in this house would betray you. Not me, not Paisley or Aiden …”
“Of course not!”
“But?”
He cleared his throat, keeping his gaze averted from me. “Jenni Raymond.”
A cool burst of adrenaline flooded through my system. “What about Jenni Raymond?”
“She came by last night, looking for you.”
“And I was?”
“Asleep.”
“Jenni Raymond isn’t likely to come by for a chat after midnight.”
“Actually …” He glanced at me. Embarrassed, maybe? “She checks on you.”
“She … checks on me.”
“Yes.”
“Ridiculous.”
He shrugged.
“I thought the two of you were barely talking to each other.”
&n
bsp; “Yeah. We don’t talk much.”
I clenched my hands into fists, ready to pound on something. Then I forced myself to address the revelation rationally. “First of all, Jenni Raymond isn’t going to betray you. Second of all, I got up myself and checked on you last night, and she wasn’t in your bed.”
Christopher rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. The blood tattoo on my T3 vertebra tingled in response. “I agree, Jenni wouldn’t ever hurt us. It’s against her nature. And we don’t meet in the house.”
“Jenni could have been compromised, though,” Aiden said. He glanced at Opal. “After inadvertently taking a sample of your DNA with her.”
Christopher turned, leaning against the sink to level a withering look at the sorcerer. “I’m not that stupid. A gentleman uses a condom.”
“Who’s Jenni?” Opal asked.
“Shapeshifter. Slightly shorter than me,” I said. “Dark-brown hair, light tanned skin. She’s an RCMP officer. That’s mundane law enforcement for this part of the world.” I shifted my gaze to Christopher. “It’s none of my business who you sleep with. And you don’t have to do it in the barn, or wherever you go. This is your house.”
He grimaced. “Apparently, Jenni is making the rules. It isn’t a frequent thing.”
“Are you sure it was her?” Opal asked.
All three of us turned our attention on the witch, and she flinched as if we’d struck her. I glanced over at Aiden, forcing myself to calm down. The three of us combined — amplifier, clairvoyant, and sorcerer — might actually be able to inadvertently assault her burgeoning senses.
“The woman who stole my mom’s face …” Opal’s voice cracked, then she squared her shoulders. “She looked exactly like her. Like, exactly. Her magic even felt the same.”
“It had been over a year since you’d seen your mother, right?” I asked gently.
Opal’s bottom lip quivered. “Almost three.”
“Okay, so you might not remember what her magic felt like —”
“Wait,” Aiden interrupted. He spoke thoughtfully, as if putting together a puzzle. “This person … the face stealer … walked right into the Academy and took you?”
Opal swallowed, nodding. “She had my birth certificate. She … she knew things. I thought she was my mom.”
Bonds and Broken Dreams (Amplifier 2) Page 18