Chapter 22 #2
Joan expected Astoria to yell, or get angry, summon that sword of hers or storm away—anything to avoid almost every person in the room calling her out.
Joan, in her shoes, would have been on the defensive.
Joan, in her shoes, would have told her aunt no, emphatically.
She had done exactly that. But Joan would have hesitated too, because she knew what it was like to have an overbearing parent.
A family name that tied you up in knots.
Astoria took in a controlled breath. “I’m here now, and I’ve been convinced not to turn Mik in to anyone.”
“We’ll help seal them,” Wren said. “Then we can all work together to catch the original spellmaker. Mik mentioned Fiona Ganon, and we’re looking into it. What we don’t have is motive. Why do all this? Money? But then why not take credit for it publicly?”
“That’s all well and good,” CZ said, and Joan was endlessly grateful she wasn’t the only one who was feeling untrusting here. “But it doesn’t actually explain what you intend to do with the spell once you have it.”
“I would still prefer to give it to Moon Creatures,” Wren said.
“After doing our best to complete it so it does not have the side effects it does on Mik. The magic poisoning needs to be resolved; even if you give a human or full Moon Creature the ability to channel, they have no natural ability to process magic in a way that doesn’t make them sick. ”
Grace snorted. “You and every other witch on earth would love to cure magic poisoning. Doesn’t mean it’s possible. I’m years deep in that research, and so is Fiona. It makes sense that’s where her spell fell apart. And you, Astoria?”
“I have agreed to help on the condition that all of you, including Wren,” Astoria said, frowning at her best friend, “strongly and thoroughly consider the option of destroying all knowledge of the spell so no one can get their hands on it.”
“Not even your mother?” Joan asked.
“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” Astoria replied. “That is the best I can offer.” She was looking only at Joan. Her gaze was steady, hard. But her mouth told the rest of the story, still canted down.
Please, believe me, those lips said.
“And it’s a deal I already accepted,” Wren said, a warning note in her voice. “So, now that we have the requisite number of witches, let’s seal Mik.”
Mik popped to their feet. “I’m more than ready.”
“One of you is still recovering from the brink of death,” CZ pointed out.
“I’m fine,” Grace said.
CZ looked unconvinced.
Wren’s eyebrows were a clear question, gesturing at herself, then Astoria, then Grace, then Joan. She held up four fingers. “Isn’t this more than enough?”
“Joan doesn’t cast,” CZ said, his voice overlapping with Joan’s grumbled “I can’t cast,” which matched Grace’s “Joan is strictly not allowed to cast.”
“I can channel though,” Joan offered. “Quite prodigiously, I’m told.”
Grace flicked her arm. “Don’t use prodigiously.”
“Joan, you are also dealing with the effects of magic poisoning,” CZ said.
“Having seen what Joan’s channeling can do, I am not sure we need quite that much magic for this spell. Do you have some level of control over how much you pull in? How honed is this ability?” Astoria asked.
Underhoned, underdeveloped, and in fact brand-spanking-new. Joan scowled. “Can’t I channel however much I channel and you all take in only what you need?”
“I don’t think we want to experiment with that on Mik’s sealing,” Grace said, acutely betraying Joan.
“Wren and I can shoulder the magic channeling to minimize your reaction, Grace. We split casting and channeling all the time,” Astoria said. “Just shape the spell.”
Grace’s eyebrows rose; she turned to look at Joan meaningfully.
“Yes, I got the idea from them,” Joan muttered, flopping onto the couch.
Grace, in all her mercy, didn’t say anything else.
Joan had never witnessed a sealing spell before, mostly because they were rather rare. Witches had to commit truly egregious crimes to be sentenced to such a fate, and Joan wasn’t usually around to watch the judgment get carried out.
But it was, surprisingly, easier than she’d expected, which kind of frustrated her because Mik had been suffering all this time.
If only Joan could cast or had realized sooner that she could channel magic for someone else to cast with and had a couple of weeks to practice.
If only Joan had trusted Wren earlier, if only she’d had a better grip on things.
If only all the world were in her control and did exactly as she said, when she said it.
Within two minutes of continuous casting, a seal formed in the air and settled on Mik’s chest, over their heart, before sinking into their skin.
Joan knew the theory—the spell would feed on the magic the witch would normally have attracted to themself, only now it was funneled into the seal.
Every time Mik got upset, the spell would refresh itself.
Just like that, Mik was cured. Joan wanted to get past being put in time-out, but she had to admit it’d soured her mood.
Mik’s smile was radiant the moment it was done. “Someone upset me,” they said.
“Let me get a kitchen towel,” CZ said, pretending to get up.
“You’re such an asshole.”
“It’s one of my most endearing traits,” CZ replied.
“Ignore them,” Grace said to the Californians.
“They’ve never been around company. Now—Fiona.
Mik told you what I said about her? Joan’s convinced we should get to her first, before we try to game out how we come clean to witch society and get the Greenwoods to leave Moon Creatures alone. Public outrage will be our best bet.”
Wren subtly straightened, amusement melting off her face. “Astoria staked out her apartment, but she hasn’t gone there in what seems like weeks.”
Fiona. That, Joan had never seen coming. The why escaped her. Why would Fiona do this to Mik? How could the same person who’d taught Grace be behind this? Joan had been face-to-face with her and never suspected a thing.
“How wealthy is she? Could she have other property in the city?” Astoria asked, as the conversation continued around Joan.
“Not wealthy at all,” Grace said. “So far from it. Fiona’s well-known in the witch world, but I saw how she lived in Atlanta.
All her money went toward giving the air of wealth, without actually possessing it.
She’s been aiming for the endorsement of the Greenwoods for years, trying to get them to secure her a job. ”
Joan remembered what her mother had said to Valeria the moment Fiona had left the room: She wants a place in your employ.
“So she’s desperate for societal power and financial wealth,” CZ mused. “Maybe that’s motive—she develops this magic, sells it to the highest bidder, or uses it to establish a name for herself.”
That was what Joan had always assumed, but Wren had been right earlier.
“Like Wren said, why wait, then? The spell, even half finished, has sent everyone into a frenzy. She could have publicly claimed it and already made tons of money selling it. If it was just money, the moment Mik escaped and resurfaced elsewhere, Fiona would have been claiming to be the one behind it.”
The room sat with that thought for a harrowing minute. This must be hell for Grace.
Grace stood in the corner of the room, fingers twisted together in what Joan was rapidly learning was a telltale sign of her agitation. She met Joan’s gaze and looked away.
“Then she’s probably hesitating because she needs the spell for something else and can’t use it if it’s defective, right?” Mik said slowly. “Her priority has to be fixing it, doesn’t it?”
Astoria was flipping a little knife, faster and faster.
She’d found Mik when the rest of them had lost them, saved Joan and Grace from the spell that should have killed them.
For all her questionable morals, she was powerful.
She could protect everyone in this room better than Joan could ever hope to.
Astoria spoke up. “Then does Fiona need Mik to perfect the spell, or are they a discarded failure?”
“Let’s be careful of language here,” Mik said. “I’m perfect.”
“You’re priceless in my heart,” CZ said.
“Suck-up.”
“We can use them as bait,” Astoria said. “Set a trap, and have Fiona walk into it.”
“And if she doesn’t? I’m not a fan of putting Mik in danger,” Grace countered.
“Unlike some, I’ve never liked witches moving humans around like pawns for their own personal gain.
” Grace’s parents were humans. It was an obvious fact of Joan’s life and upbringing that witches used spells to manipulate humans for their own gain, but Joan herself had never had that power and so never much agreed with it either.
Humans working in witch-owned factories, persuasion spells used on human politicians—there were no laws against that sort of thing in the witch world, beyond anything that might reveal magic to humans on a wide scale and prompt them to fight back.
“Okay, so we don’t want to use Mik. Grace,” Wren said, “do you know how to fix the spell? On Mik, you’ve gotten up close and personal. Can you perfect it?”
The room turned on her, but Wren threw up her hands as everyone spoke up at once.
“Wait! I’m saying, if Fiona doesn’t want Mik, we can bait her with knowledge.
Grace knows her and has been in communication.
But Fiona doesn’t know Grace has her figured out.
Grace might be able to set a meeting, either on her own or with the promise of a solution, even if it’s fake. ”
Grace gave a hesitant nod. “Like I said, the issue with Mik is essentially magic poisoning, and I’ve been working on that for forever.
I can fake something. But I ask only one thing—please, let’s make absolutely sure she’s the one behind it before we condemn her to some awful fate.
We’ll question her first, not just hand her over to the Greenwoods or whoever. ”
She took the room’s agreements one by one, some more easily than others.
Joan’s voice was a quiet rasp, but she answered when called on.
Thinking through Fiona’s shadowy motivations had only unsettled her further.
Her mood had continued to crash into the pits of hell after being unable to help seal Mik.
She could recognize her inability to emotionally regulate in the wake of minor rejection as a standard symptom of her anxiety and depression, but in the middle of it, she could only sit there dully, running over every failure of the last week.
The group huddled together to hatch their plan for Grace’s lure. Joan looked around: three witches, a witch-fae, a vampire, a human.
When Joan darted a glance at Astoria, she found the woman already looking at her, blatantly, without enough self-respect to at least drop her gaze when Joan met it.
She held it defiantly, and if Joan were feeling more generous, maybe she’d mark that look on the Wardwell heir’s face as concern.
But she wasn’t. She was feeling pitied. Joan hated that pity. She glared right back, something sizzling between them, before Wren caught Astoria’s attention and pulled it away.