Chapter 9 #2
Grace gestured violently at her tote bag, which was full of produce and a couple of books, each wrapped and kept away from the other.
“Shopping. I live around here, I just met up with a friend. What are you doing here, getting sucked into a mind-invasion spell? Someone pocket realmed you. I had to step into the realm to undo it.”
Valeria had mentioned there were plenty of ways around the wards, for someone skilled enough.
“I…” Joan trailed off. “From afar?”
“No, they’d need to be close—”
Abel’s reassuring weight disappeared as he whizzed off. Joan stumbled and was righted by CZ tucking her behind his back.
Joan wiggled forward. “I’m being so rude,” she said a bit breathlessly. “Grace, this is my best friend, CZ. CZ, this is Grace Collins, the spellmaker I was telling you about. Grace, I appreciate you saving my life. Or my mind.”
CZ winced. “Sorry I manhandled you as thanks.”
Grace’s chin rose proudly. Her gaze very obviously flicked up and down CZ, who in turn gave her his own once-over.
Joan took advantage of CZ’s distraction to completely escape his protective stance.
“Whoever it was, they aren’t close by anymore,” Abel said, appearing in a rush of air and startling CZ and Grace apart.
Grace recovered quickly. “It was advanced work, and I’ve never seen the spell before. Why do you have someone hunting you?”
“Can you use what you saw to figure out who cast it?” Joan asked urgently.
Grace’s eyes flickered between the three of them. “Another Greenwood favor?”
“If it helps, you can count it as a LaMorte favor,” Abel said. “And your discretion would be similarly appreciated.”
“How do we know she’s not the spellmaker who did it?” CZ asked. “There aren’t that many in the world. First, she’s conveniently summoned by the Greenwoods, then shows up here? I told you not to come with me, Joan. I don’t know why you never listen.”
“I know you’re very worried about me, so I’m going to let that comment slide,” Joan said.
Grace hefted her tote higher on her shoulder and put her other hand on her hip.
“First of all, I’ve been in New York for years, I wasn’t ‘summoned’ here, so take the bass out your voice.
Secondly, Joan Greenwood comes to me outside her family to ask me a series of abstract questions about this new spell, then shows up at the Night Market, where people are saying the spell originated, and is attacked by an exceptionally skilled witch who rifles through her memories.
Leading me to believe that, one”—Grace held up her fingers to punctuate her points—“Joan is not acting on behalf of the Greenwoods and might actually be acting in opposition to them, and two, that you, Joan, know something about this spell. Something others are desperate to know. Which maybe makes sense as someone who can’t cast herself. ”
Joan sputtered. “Meaning what, exactly?”
“The chance to gain casting ability would be of particular interest to you,” Grace said. She ended her monologue in a huff, glaring them all down, her words such a rapid assault that Joan felt like she was being slapped repeatedly.
“No!” Joan cried out at the final insinuation, at the same time CZ burst into surprised laughter.
“You think Joan created the spell?” he asked incredulously.
“Or someone Joan knows well,” Grace said firmly. “It makes sense.”
“No, it doesn’t!” Joan interjected. “Well, maybe it does! But it isn’t true—we just—” Joan looked at the LaMorte brothers helplessly.
Joan had, in the privacy of her own mind, ruminated fairly extensively on whether Mik’s spell could help her fix her own issues.
But she had never uncaged the thought, and she’d only acted on it as far as it coincided with her urge to help Mik.
She knew better than to pin her hopes of finally regaining status in her family on a half-baked spell cast on a human.
“Not my problem,” Abel said, raising his hands. “Witch business belongs to witches.”
CZ was bent over, palms on his knees, laughing even harder. “Joan! An evil mastermind! Do you know how many times I caught her burning her bagel in the dining hall in college because she can’t even use a toaster?”
“They’re all different!” Joan snapped. “The settings vary, and sometimes one minute on one is too much or too little!”
“It was the same dining hall every time, Joan! Same toaster!”
“Guys,” Abel chided. “Please focus.”
“I wonder what your family would think about all this,” Grace said coldly to Joan.
Joan slapped CZ on the back, hard, but it only sent him deeper into his fit of laughter. “Do not tell my family,” Joan said.
Grace, to her credit, only stood straighter.
“Or what? You’re gonna throw around your privilege and bury me?
I have no interest in protecting people trying to mess with magic like this.
You have no idea what the repercussions are, and with your family history, I can only assume it’s a mess of ethical dilemmas ignored for the sake of power. ”
CZ straightened, dusting off his clothes and letting out one last amused sigh. “This has been a real pleasure. I’ve never seen someone so fundamentally misunderstand Joan. It’s beautiful, really.”
“Grace, I need you to forget everything you saw tonight,” Joan said urgently. “Not for my sake.”
Abel winced. “This is coming off as a threat, Joan.”
Joan waved her hands. “No! No, no, it’s—CZ, help me.”
CZ shrugged. “I don’t know her well enough to know if we should trust her, and I have no intentions of kidnapping or killing her to keep her quiet. Her presence here is still suspicious to me.”
“So now you’re drawing a line,” Joan snarked without thinking. “Maybe you should have made a no-taking-people rule before you took—Oops.”
Abel rubbed at his temples. “I can’t believe you guys haven’t been caught yet.
It’s honestly so sad to listen to this. Either send her away or bring her into this fucked-up little group of confidants.
If she’s the one behind all this, she deserves to win at this rate, because the two of you are just fumbling around, bumping into things. ”
Unfortunately, Joan needed Grace. Well, any spellmaker, or really any witch who could cast, but Grace was both.
Joan needed to know who had rifled through her head and how to undo the spell on Mik.
She needed witches for a sealing spell, and Grace now had some information to hold over Joan’s head.
Very dangerous suppositions that could really mess up Joan’s life—and, more importantly, CZ’s and Mik’s.
What Joan knew about Grace was hearsay and instinct.
Grace didn’t seem to want to be involved in witch politics, and she was willing to break from the whole witch world to stay away.
She wasn’t even from the city, though she’d been here several years.
Her mentor was encouraging her to establish herself, but she resisted.
She shopped at the Night Market like it was no big deal, indicating she clearly had no problem being in community with Moon Creatures.
She didn’t feel that this magic should have been messed with in the first place.
If Joan didn’t do something, Grace could turn around tomorrow and tell Valeria.
Joan wasn’t proud of it, but she suspected the best way to get Grace on their side was to make her complicit. Staring her down hard, Joan felt, in her heart of hearts, that Grace was not the one who had just been in Joan’s head. That touch had been freezing cold, and Grace was warm, vast.
Joan would have to trust her gut here.
“We know the human who was turned into a witch,” Joan confessed.
“We have them, and they’re not well—the magic, it makes them sick.
It happened against their will, and we’re trying to track down who did this to them before my family catches up to us.
” Joan looked at the brothers. “Before either of our families catches up to us.”
Grace’s eyes were wide and round and dark, drinking in the lights of the market. Her hand fell off her hip; her mouth lost its tension. That was surprise on her face, genuine surprise, Joan was sure of it, and it morphed into horror moments later.
In that transformation, Joan saw the heart of Grace Collins—this was not a woman playing the game of witches. This was someone who genuinely cared. This person, despite reason, believed Joan.
Grace’s gaze turned flinty. “How can I help?”