Chapter Four Lyra #2
You’re very bouncy. Ruth slanted me a look, and I giggled. It was true, I tended to be a touch exuberant with my enthusiasm.
“It’s about damn time,” Nova said, and I glared at her. She blew me a kiss, softening her words.
“Haud your wheesht, Nova. It’s not about you. At least not today. Give Lyra a chance to hear what’s to become of her,” Sloane said, cradling Blue in her arms.
“Really, just a lovely way with words.” I rolled my eyes at Sloane as Ruth toddled about in my palms. “You make it sound like a death sentence.”
“Please tell me she’s going to be a troll, please tell me she’s going to be a troll.” Nova screwed her eyes shut and crossed her fingers.
“You nasty witch,” I gasped at her. Trolls were decidedly beastly, and frankly, quite gross looking.
You’re a hearth witch, Ruth said, and my breath caught as I looked down at where the wee fluttermouse wiped her sword with a small cloth.
“A hearth witch?!” I exclaimed, and Broca’s face dropped.
“Damn it. She beat me to it.” Broca sighed but then shifted and smiled gently at me. “Aye, my dear. You’re a hearth witch. Of hearth and home. It’s a lovely, welcoming, nurturing type of magick you’ll have, and one that I think suits you precisely.”
My jaw worked, but nothing came out.
A hearth witch. I peered down at wee Ruth, whose warm brown eyes seemed ancient and all-knowing. Of hearth and home, your magick is born; with steady heart, your gift is sworn.
“Of hearth and home, your magick is born; with steady heart, your gift is sworn,” I repeated, and I felt it.
I felt it.
Magick unfolded inside me, as though awakening from a long nap, stretching and unrolling as it curled through my body until the tips of my fingers tingled. Excitement raced through me, and I cradled Ruth close as I danced around the room.
“I can feel it. I can feel it. It’s here—my magick is here.” My entire body quivered with energy, and I was more exuberant than I would have been finding a sample sale on Louboutin heels. Today was the beginning of the rest of my life. I skidded to a stop. “Wait, what does a hearth witch do?”
“Maybe she cleans?” Sloane suggested, and I whirled on her, my mouth dropping open.
“How dare you!”
“What’s wrong with cleaning?” Sloane raised her hands, hunching her shoulders.
“I don’t need magick to clean,” I protested.
“You know I’m careful with my things.” It was true too.
Every handbag I owned was tucked in its dust bag, shoes were kept in their original boxes, jewelry was categorized and secured.
My makeup table was a thing of beauty—aesthetically pleasing, portable, and functional.
I had just hoped that my magick would be something a touch more special than simply enhancing mundane everyday tasks like cleaning.
I mean, Sloane could travel through fire if she wanted to and talk to baby dragons.
Speeding up my Sunday chores with magickal assistance certainly paled in comparison.
“A hearth witch commands the domain of her home, as well as the kitchen. She’ll be able to set magickal protection wards, infuse her food and drink with spells, and craft comfort rituals for those in need.”
My mouth dropped open, and then I squealed and raced to the kitchen. Gently, I placed Ruth on the counter before flinging my arms wide and doing a dramatic shimmy.
“If we were closer to town, there’d likely be a three-car pileup outside,” Nova observed.
“Indeed.” Sloane laughed.
“Does anyone fancy a bite?” I rubbed my hands together, almost vibrating with excitement.
“Maybe just a wee scone or a touch of soup?” Broca suggested, pulling a tartan blanket off the edge of the couch and tucking it around her lap. “There’s a bite to the air, isn’t there?”
“Shall I put the fire on?” Sloane asked, but Broca waved it away.
“No sense now. Tomorrow, yes, if the cold snap keeps up. It’s early this year, isn’t it, though?”
“How about a wee cheese toastie and a bit of veggie soup?” Easy enough to make, but it would allow me to test my magick. Blue’s head shot up at the word “cheese,” and he scrambled across the room to land in a heap next to Ruth, who darted out of the way seconds before he would have landed on her.
“Sorry about that, Ruth. We’re still working on landings,” Sloane said. Blue’s mouth hung open in a happy smile, and he didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the fact he’d almost squished my familiar.
He’s a bit uncouth, isn’t he? Ruth sidled closer to me and tilted her head at Blue’s mile-wide grin. Charming, though.
“That’s probably most men,” I said, lining my ingredients out on the counter. Ruth let out a squeaky little laugh, and I turned to her, charmed myself.
I can help.
“How?”
Picking up my knife, I sliced the corner off the block of cheddar and tossed it across the room, and Blue gave chase. Sloane, with her powers of levitation, took it up, and a keep-away game ensued with Blue zooming around the room after the bit of cheese while I began the meal prep uninterrupted.
I can chop.
Ruth reached between her wings and pulled out her sword again. She swished it back and forth in the air, so fast the movement was just a blur, and I gaped at her.
“Bloody hell, Ruth. You’d be an absolute menace in a fight, wouldn’t you?”
I’ve been known to hold my own.
I was afraid to ask just what Ruth had been forced to hold her own against. Instead, I pointed at a carrot. “Chop that to bits if it’s not—”
Thwack!
Ruth slammed her wee sword down, and it sliced cleanly through the carrot and forever eradicated the word “cute” from my description of Ruth.
“Is she really helping?” Nova asked, crossing the room to peer over the breakfast bar to where Ruth’s sword was now a blur of movement, perfectly chopped bits of carrot piling up next to her.
“Incredibly so,” I said, admiring her movements. “She’s like a sous chef on speed.”
“No kidding.” Nova whistled in appreciation. “She’s a wee beastie, isn’t she, then? Tiny killer in the kitchen.”
Already Ruth was moving on from the carrot to the celery I’d taken out, and we watched in fascination as she moved with precision through her task.
“Right, let’s just crack on with this, shall we?
I guess I’ll just…” I paused, realizing that I no clue how to proceed.
In one sense, I understood what it meant to infuse food with magick, but in another, I really had no idea.
I usually considered magick to be used for highly specific and directed intentions.
For example, if someone was sick and needed a magickal brew to cure them.
But just to test magick for magick’s sake?
The task felt too broad, like it wasn’t rooted in anything that made sense in my mind.
I looked over at Broca, a helpline. “I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do here.
Automatically, I just want to make the meal the same way that I always would. ”
“Magick doesn’t always have to have a purpose.” Broca paused, raising one hand in the air. “Actually, that’s not entirely true. See, your magick is a tricky thing. Imagine it like…”
Sparkles appeared in the air in front of Broca’s outstretched hands, and I clapped in appreciation. I was a sucker for anything that glittered.
“See, now, imagine this is your magick, you ken? It’s waiting for direction.” The sparkles swirled in a formation over Broca’s head and then formed the words “Welcome, Ruth.”
“Aww, that’s lovely,” I said.
“My magick needed my intention to make it work. So the purpose it served was to follow my lead. All magick is based on intent. But not all magick must serve a higher purpose, if that makes sense? You can use magick to help you cook. To speed a recipe along, or to convert one ingredient into a missing ingredient. Not every spell has to be in service to others. In fact, it’s better that it’s not, at least while you are learning.
You can’t go and heal someone with your medicinal broth if you haven’t had a chance to work with your magick for a while first. So we start small.
My suggestion? Bring your broth to a boil quickly. ”
“Oh!” I turned to the stove, delighted. “That’s a great idea. Simple, easy, but will speed up the cooking process. I understand now.”
“Your magick wants to be used,” Broca agreed.
“Oh, slutty magick, I like it,” Nova said, and I snickered.
Sloane finally gave Blue his cheese, and he collapsed on the couch, winded, while she wandered over to the kitchen to watch.
“So Lyra’s got slutty magick and a tiny terror in the kitchen?” Sloane asked.
“I do not have slutty magick—”
“I mean, you might, you don’t know that yet,” Nova said, leaning her elbows on the counter, a teasing grin on her face. “You’re a hearth witch. That covers kitchen and home. And a home has bedrooms. Sooooo…”
“So her magick can make the bed after she shags her date?” Sloane wondered, reaching over to grab a piece of carrot and popping it in her mouth.
“Or clean the sheets,” Nova said.
“Can we focus, please?” I turned to my sisters, hands on my hips. “I don’t have slutty magick. And even if I did, we wouldn’t call it slutty magick because it’s 2026 and we embrace a woman’s right to choose who she wants to shag. ‘Slutty’ is a patriarchal concept.”
Feminine power. Ruth raised one paw in the air, looking like a little militant feminist warrior with her glittery purple fur and sword at her side.
“Aye, that’s it. Feminine power. And I am using mine to boil this damn broth.”
Turning, I added some stock I’d made earlier that week to a pot and put it on the stove. Flipping the burner on, I stood back and focused on the pot.
“A watched pot never—”
“Wheesht,” I hissed at Nova, waving a hand behind my back at her.
“Och, just you wait, Nova, you’re going to be an absolute mess when your power comes in,” Sloane said.
“Like you were, Miss Control Freak?” Nova asked.
“So what if I like to have things planned out?” Sloane countered.
Stomping my foot, I turned.
“Seriously?”
Ruth fluttered up in front of them, brandishing her sword.