28. Do You Wanna Build a Clone Man?
Do You Wanna Build a Clone Man?
The witches gathered just beyond the perimeter of the grove in a fretful clump.
Above and beyond towered the massive oaks, with their gnarled roots and whispering leaves.
For centuries, the grove had been the wellspring of the witches’ power.
The beating heart of their town. Now, it was as unreachable as the moon.
The magicians had encircled the area with an intricate web of formidable wards, far surpassing those that safeguarded their bustling casino.
These wards created an impenetrable barrier, preventing anyone (witch or otherwise) from stepping foot into the sacred grove without the magicians’ say-so.
The witches could sense the wards from a hundred yards away: an unnatural, imposing blockade that made their skin itch and their stomachs go sour.
There was nothing they could do except linger at the bottom of the hill, staring helplessly up at their stolen birthright.
When Delilah stepped out of Luna’s portal, she couldn’t help but notice how pathetic the witches looked. Quite the sorry little battalion, armed with nothing but hope and, thanks to her sacrifice, an ancient parchment.
Delilah said a silent prayer that the key to their victory lay in Agnes’s old spell. It has to , she thought. It has to be worth it.
“You got it,” Scarlett said eagerly when Delilah approached with the parchment in hand. “The portal spell.”
“The very same,” Delilah confirmed. “Although, what language this is, I have no clue. Hopefully it contains an incantation for moving entire structures across vast distances.”
Jerusha peered at the text, her wrinkled face scrunching in concentration. “I can read it, clear as day. The incantation is complex but not impossible.”
“Only one problem.” Aphra expressed what they all knew but didn’t want to say. “We’ve got no magic to power it.”
The ritual to end Saturnalia was as important as the one that began it. Without proper closure, the witches’ powers remained locked in the oak grove’s crystalline trees. Inaccessible and dormant.
“I ought to be able to fix that,” Luna said. “I’ll break through.”
Delilah and Scarlett gazed at their baby sister with a bubbly mixture of pride and doubt. Luna was powerful, sure... but would it be enough?
“First off, let’s try something straightforward.” Luna rolled up her sleeves. “The wind-bending technique I learned in Mongolia.”
She positioned herself at the edge of the wards, her arms moving in fluid, circular motions.
The winter air responded, swirling around her in a miniature cyclone that grew more and more intense, with leaves and small branches caught in its vortex.
With a powerful thrust, Luna directed the whirlwind against the invisible barrier.
The air crashed against the wards like water against stone: impressive to witness, but ineffective. The barrier didn’t even ripple.
“Okay, Plan B,” Luna muttered, shaking out her hands. “Let’s try the Warlpiri method.”
This time, Luna crouched low to the ground, pressing her palms against the frozen earth.
Delilah recognized the Australian telekinesis Luna had been so excited about during their travels.
A tremor ran through the ground, small at first, then building in intensity until small rocks and clumps of earth began to rise, hovering a few inches above the ground.
With a grunt of effort, Luna sent the debris hurling toward the barrier. Each stone and clod hit the invisible wall with a dull thud before falling harmlessly to the ground.
“Well, shit.” She brushed the dirt from her hands. “Let’s try something a bit more... creative.”
Over the next hour, Luna worked her way through a National Geographic–level compilation of obscure spells.
If David Attenborough had ever done a BBC series on magic, it would have looked roughly like this.
She tried the shapeshifting techniques of the Greek Proteans, transforming herself into mist to slip through the barrier.
She attempted the death-defying illusions she’d learned from trickster spirits in Haiti.
She tried a technique from the mountains of Armenia that involved aggressive throat singing.
Nothing worked. The wards would not be smashed, or tricked, or sung into submission.
Finally, Luna sat heavily on a fallen log, sweat beading her forehead despite the winter chill. “I’m out of ideas,” she admitted. “I keep thinking there’s one more thing... or maybe two? But I can’t remember now. Everything I can remember, I tried... But it’s not enough.”
Delilah plonked down beside her sister, the weight of their failure pressing down on them both. “So that’s it, then. We’re stuck in a perfect trap.”
Scarlett joined them on the log. “We need magic to break the wards, but we can’t get our magic back until we break the wards.”
“Catch-22.” Luna sighed.
Jerusha nodded grimly. “And without our magic, we don’t have enough power to use the portal spell to move the... you know, the thing. The big thing.”
“Casino,” Luna whispered gently.
“Right, right . . .”
“I can’t believe this,” Delilah said bitterly. “I gave up Jasper for nothing. I sent him away, and we’re no better off than before.”
No one argued. What could they say? It was the truth, plain and simple. The portal spell had been their last, best hope; a huge sacrifice had been made to obtain it, and it may as well have been an onion dip recipe.
“Maybe we could try again tomorrow,” Aphra suggested without much conviction. “Luna could rest, recharge...”
“It won’t make a difference,” Luna said, shaking her head. “The wards are too strong, too complex. This isn’t the work of a few stage magicians playing at real power. This is old magic, the kind that reshapes reality.”
The same kind of magic Agnes Bartlett had used to move an entire barn across space and time, Delilah thought.
The kind of magic that had created Oak Haven in the first place.
“It’s weird, isn’t it,” she said aloud. “Our whole lives everybody told us that the magicians were a joke. Turns out they aren’t that much different from us. ”
“They are hugely different!” Jerusha said fiercely. “Don’t you ever speak like that again. We would never treat them this way. We’d never treat anyone this way.”
“Anyway, we’re screwed.” Scarlett stood up, brushing off the back of her coat.
“Mama’s trapped in some interdimensional limbo, we’re powerless, and the town is being turned into an increasingly tacky tourist trap with every minute that ticks by.
I don’t know about you guys, but I could use a drink. Or twelve.”
No one argued with that assessment either.
The pub was mercifully empty of tourists in the late afternoon. Dayo, bless her, took one look at their faces and immediately started lining up shots.
“That bad, huh?” she asked, sliding glasses across the bar.
“And then some,” Scarlett replied. “We’re officially out of options.”
“Did something happen with... you know?” Dayo’s eyes flickered to Delilah.
“It’s done,” Delilah said flatly. “He’s gone. And it was for nothing.”
The liquor burned as it went down her throat, a welcome distraction from the hollow feeling in her chest. She pushed her glass forward for a refill.
“I’m really sorry,” Dayo said, pouring generously. “About all of it.”
“That makes all of us.”
The witches claimed a table in the corner, away from the windows where tourists occasionally peered in with camera phones at the ready. The afternoon stretched into early evening, marked by rounds of drinks and increasingly despondent conversation.
“You know what I don’t understand?” Luna said, gesturing with her glass. “How the magicians got so powerful. All of a sudden, they’ve got magic that rivals what our ancestors could do?”
“They’ve been planning this for years,” Aphra pointed out. “Ever since their last attempt failed.”
“But where did they learn it?” Luna pressed. “That kind of power doesn’t just appear overnight. I’ve traveled all over, studied with some of the most powerful magical practitioners in the world. Even they couldn’t pull off what these magicians are doing.”
“Maybe they found a wellspring,” Jerusha suggested. “An untapped source of magic.”
“Or maybe they’re channeling power from somewhere else,” Scarlett added, her eyes unfocused as she contemplated her drink. “Like, siphoning it off.”
“From where, though?” Delilah asked. “Their headquarters in Vegas? Come on.”
The conversation circled uselessly, theories rising and falling like the level of liquid in their glasses. By the time Zahir arrived, lugging bags of groceries for the pub’s kitchen, they had exhausted both their ideas and most of their hope.
“Ladies!” Zahir called cheerfully as he bustled past their table. “You all look terrible. Day drinking on a Tuesday? Kelly Melrose would never approve.”
“Well, I’ll tell ya what, Z,” Scarlett said, slurring a bit. “I’d give anything to have my mother come storming into the pub to give us a dressing-down for getting drunk before dinner. Seriously, anything.”
“Did you get the...” Zahir made a vague gesture with his hand. “The thing?”
“The spell? Yes.” Delilah shrugged. “For all the good it does us.”
Zahir paused, setting down his bags. “No luck at the grove, I take it?”
“The wards are impenetrable,” Luna confirmed. “Even with my powers intact, I couldn’t make a dent.”
“Damn.” Zahir’s cheerful demeanor faltered. “I was really counting on you folks to save the day.”
“So were we,” Aphra said grimly.
Zahir disappeared into the kitchen, the sounds of unpacking and preparations drifting out to them. Soon, he emerged with a tray of food.
“On the house,” he announced, setting down plates piled with pub-food masterpieces. “Can’t save the world on an empty stomach.”
“Zahir, you angel.” Scarlett reached for a scotch egg. “How do you always know exactly what we need?”
“You’re a magic man, Zahir,” Jerusha agreed, digging into a plate of nachos with surprising gusto. “Pure magic.”
“I wish.” Zahir laughed. “If I had even a fraction of your powers, I’d have this place cleaned up and the prep work done in seconds. Alas, I’m just a simple chef trying to keep you witches fed and functioning. A magic man I am not.”
Not magic.
The words echoed in Delilah’s mind, triggering a memory. Another Zahir, semi-transparent, surrounded by cats.
“Holy shit.” She stood up so suddenly she nearly knocked over her glass.
“What?” Scarlett asked, alarmed. “What just happened?”
“Epsilon,” Delilah said, heart racing. “Eps. The clone in the attic.”
“The what now?” Luna looked confused.
“There is some magic left. Scarlett’s failed kitchen doppelg?ngers.”
Understanding dawned on Scarlett’s face. “You’re right, Del. They were literally made of magic. Too bad I got rid of them all.”
“But you didn’t, though. The, um, let’s see, the fifth one. Epsilon. He has been hiding in the attic.”
“What?! That little bastard!”
Zahir looked deeply concerned. “Hang on . . . Who ?”
“I’m clearly missing something important here,” Luna said, looking between her sisters. “There’s a clone of Zahir in our attic?”
Scarlett nodded. “Zahir was working so hard, trying to run two kitchens at once, so I tried to conjure multiple Zahirs to help out.”
Luna gasped. “Oh my gods, Scar... That’s way too advanced. No offense but you aren’t experienced enough to do a spell like that.”
“Yeah, no shit. Wish you’d been here to tell me that at the time. It was a huge mess to mop up and apparently I didn’t even get it all.”
For the first time since leaving Jasper at the county clerk’s office, Delilah felt a flicker of genuine hope. She grabbed her sister excitedly. “What do you think, Luna? Would that give us enough power, do you think?”
“I have no idea. I’ve been all over the world and I’ve literally never heard of anything like this.”
“Well, what do you say, little sis?” Scarlett nudged Luna playfully. “You wanna meet a clone?”