Chapter Sixteen Lyra #2
I stepped into the center of the circle, my dragon-scale necklace warm against my skin. Felicity took position opposite me, just outside the salt line, book cradled in her hands.
Ruth perched on my shoulder, tiny claws dug firmly into my dress, wings half lifted. If a fluttermouse could look like she was ready to battle a Viking, Ruth somehow managed it.
Sloane, Broca, Raven, Tam, Nova, and Deidre formed a ring just beyond Felicity, hands linked. Their combined magick hummed in the air and wrapped around me, as comfortable as a warm shawl.
“Deep breaths,” Raven murmured.
I inhaled. Exhaled. Tried not to think about Rab’s mouth on mine or hedgehogs or the fact that my magick currently had the impulse control of a toddler high on sugar.
“Okay,” Sloane said. “We raise power as usual. Felicity, you keep your recitation slow so Raven can track structure as we go. The second something feels off, we stop. Clear?”
A chorus of “ayes” sounded around the room.
Broca began the opening chant, voice low and rhythmic. The others joined in, and the sound vibrated through the floorboards, through my bones. The air warmed. The hairs on my arms rose.
Magick gathered like a tide.
It slid through me, tugging at my own power. My magick, so very eager to be used, rushed to meet it.
“Behave,” I whispered to it. “No hedgehogs.”
Ruth squeezed my ear. Focus.
The chant shifted, rising. The circle’s power locked into place with a gentle whoosh of light, surrounding me.
Felicity took a breath. “Here goes.”
She began to speak.
The power in the room tightened.
At first, it felt… okay. Heavy, but not unpleasant. Like a storm building.
Then something snagged.
“Line to line, root to root, balance paid where balance’s due…”
A cold prickle walked down my spine.
The magick shifted.
The gentle blanket pressure turned into a pull almost like invisible fingers hooking behind my ribs, tugging.
My breath hitched.
Ruth stiffened.
Lyra. Her voice was sharp.
Felicity’s voice sped up just a fraction.
Raven’s brows drew together.
The tugging increased. It wasn’t painful yet, but it felt wrong, like someone rummaging in drawers they had no business opening.
“Slow,” Raven said quietly.
Felicity stumbled on a word, then paused. “Right. Sorry.”
Her cheeks were flushed and a bead of sweat ran down her temple as she fixed her eyes on the page.
The next phrase caught like a hook.
“Burden shared and shadow soothed…” Felicity intoned.
Something latched on to the threads of my magick… and tugged. Hard.
I gasped.
Ruth screeched.
Enough.
She shot off my shoulder in a flare of lavender light, her sword raised.
It happened fast.
One second, Felicity was reading, the circle was humming, and the magick was tugging at me.
The next, Ruth was at the center of the circle between us, wings thrown wide, with her sword drawn, glowing so brightly it hurt to look at her.
“Ruth!” I choked.
She wasn’t listening.
Her tiny voice rang out, and not just in my head this time, but in the room, high and fierce and commanding.
Stop.
The magick hit her and bucked like a wild thing. For a heartbeat, I saw what looked like lines of energy twisting between Felicity and me, threads of some sort.
Ruth’s sword came down through the middle of it.
The circle shattered.
The candles guttered and went out. A gust of cold wind whooshed through the cottage even though the windows were closed, snuffing every bit of flame.
The odd tugging sensation stopped.
I staggered, knees buckling. Nova lunged in and caught my elbow before I face-planted into the salt.
“Easy,” she said, voice shaking.
Raven’s arms were pulled tightly across her chest, hugging herself. Sloane braced herself against the back of a chair. Tam swore softly.
Felicity had been knocked backward onto her bum, book splayed across her lap. She looked stunned, eyes huge in the dim light.
Ruth hovered between us, sword still out, golden wings trembling.
This was wrong, she said, turning in the air to face me. That spell grabbed you. It did not feel like help.
“She says it was wrong,” I said, reaching out my hands so Ruth could flutter into my palms. “That the spell tried to grab me.”
Raven swallowed hard. “She’s right. There was a twist in the structure. The energy wasn’t just easing off the curse… it was… hooking something else onto it. I couldn’t see what yet.”
“It might have resolved cleanly,” Felicity argued. “Sometimes old spells feel strange halfway through. We stopped too soon.”
Sloane shot her a look. “Better too soon than too late.”
“But—”
“No.” Sloane’s voice brooked no argument. “Whatever that was, well, it was wrong. I’m not gambling on my sister.”
The room was quiet for a beat.
Felicity’s shoulders sagged. “I was only trying to help,” she whispered. “I thought… it sounded so perfect. Like it was written for you.”
I believed her.
That was the worst of it.
She truly, desperately wanted this to work.
“It was worth trying,” I said softly, even as my insides still felt like they’d been rearranged. “But if Ruth says it felt wrong, I trust her.”
Ruth looked up at me, giving me a nod of appreciation, before tucking her sword back into its small leather sheath.
The spell smelled like old grudges.
Raven pushed herself to her feet, picked up the book, and turned it carefully. “I’d like to study this more,” she said. “There are gaps in the text I didn’t see until the power rose. Sections that look smudged or… deliberately obscured.”
“Deliberately?” Broca asked, eyes sharpening.
Raven lifted a shoulder. “Could be nothing. Or it could be someone trying to hide the cost. Either way, it’s too unstable to use as is. We’re shelving this approach. Agreed?”
“Aye,” came the tired chorus.
Felicity’s mouth trembled. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I didn’t mean to scare anyone.”
“You didn’t,” Tam said, then grimaced. “Okay, you did a bit. But only because we are a touch on edge these days.”
“You did right by bringing it,” Broca said, reaching over to pat Felicity’s shoulder. “Old magick’s always a risk, and that’s the truth of it.”
A flicker of frustration crossed Felicity’s face. Then she nodded, blinking fast. “Of course.”
Sloane took a steadying breath. “Right. Then tonight’s conclusion is that the darkness curse lives to make us miserable another day.”
Chairs scraped and mugs were brought over to the sink. The Charms began to bundle themselves back into coats and boots, and everyone said their goodbyes. The door shut with a soft click, and I turned, feeling weary down to my bones.
Nova flopped back onto the sofa. “Well,” she said. “That was a fun little evening. How’s your soul? Still attached?”
“Barely,” I muttered.
Ruth crawled around in my cupped hands, her fur still faintly bristled. I stroked a finger gently along her back.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Always, she said simply. I don’t mind trying spells. I don’t even mind old spells. But that one felt like it had too many hands in the pot. Too many old arguments soaked into the ink.
“Old arguments?” I echoed.
She yawned, showing tiny sharp teeth. The book was written by someone who’d been angry a very long time. I don’t like angry ink. It forgets who it’s meant to help.
An odd little shiver walked through me, but I shook it off. It had been a very long day, and I was exhausted.
“We’ll find another way,” I said aloud, more to myself than anyone. “One that doesn’t feel like being turned inside out.”
Nova nudged my shoulder. “Preferably one that doesn’t require emergency exorcism by your pocket mouse, yeah.”
Ruth huffed. Pocket mouse with a sword.
I smiled, even as the weight of the darkness outside pressed in at the edges of my awareness.
We hadn’t broken the curse tonight.
But we were trying. And someday, somehow, we were going to fix this. That much, at least, I could promise myself. Even if I couldn’t see the way now, I had faith in our coven. The Charms had been nothing but a blessing to us, and I was certain we’d see our way through this.
And for now? I needed to go face down into a pillow for eight hours and think of nothing else but ideas for my next baking challenge.