59 Birdie
BIRDIE
It’s well after one in the morning by the time Hortie comes home from her girl’s night, shuffling through the back door singing show tunes.
Dáinn, Jasper, and I are still sitting at the kitchen table.
We all changed out of the clothes Baz magicked us into.
I’m in my sleep shorts and a tank top, makeup scrubbed, glasses on.
Dáinn had to borrow some of Jasper’s clothes.
They’re both in T-shirts and athletic shorts.
I keep it to myself how much I secretly liked the suspenders.
Between the three of us, spread across the table, are the schematics for a Winthrop blood bank, the journals of Robert Dent, and all the hiking and aerial maps Jasper has of the Beale Pointe Forest.
Hortie comes in from the laundry room and tosses her keys on the counter. Her magnified eyes blink behind her bedazzled glasses as she glances around. “Oh my—” She pops her arthritic hands on her hips. “Jasper Prescott, what in the name of Circe’s Surly Pigs have you done to my kitchen?”
She’s right to be alarmed. At my insistence, we’ve sort of turned the kitchen into a war room.
Over by the sink, sketches of Ludmilla’s coven members are taped to the cabinets in descending order of strength.
The sketches were all hastily done by Dáinn.
Each includes a bullet-point list of their respective magical abilities.
“Don’t touch anything,” Jasper growls. His focus is all on the sketches in front of him. Dáinn drew each level of Raven Watch from memory, and Jasper is trying to memorize the layout of all the rooms.
Slipping from my chair, I walk over to Hortie. “Hey, sorry about the mess. We can try to clean it up a little.”
She pats my arm. “Don’t bother, dear. I was just a little surprised.”
“We all just figured it was time to get a bit more organized. The blood moon rite is only eight days away. We have to be ready.”
She glances to me. “They told you then?”
I nod. It’s been a night of startling revelations. Dáinn was brave, admitting to all the deaths born as a result of the blood moon rite. I blame him for none of them. Each soul claimed is another mark against Ludmilla. She is the author of all this pain and suffering.
Hortie walks up to the mugshot wall, arms folded across her middle in her tie-dyed kaftan. Her frown deepens as she takes in the sketches, letting her eye trace from bottom to top until it settles on Ludmilla. “So . . . that’s her?”
“Yeah. Ludmilla Latchko, aka the Raven.”
It turns out Dáinn is something of an artist. He’s particularly talented at sketching the expression of a person’s eyes.
Ludmilla looks cold and aloof. Much to Dáinn’s delight, Jasper added a little devil tail and horns to her sketch.
She sits there now, leering at us from the top of the cabinet, her haughty brows arched as she watches us make our plans to take her down.
Below her picture are three more sketches: Dimitri, a mean-looking witch with thick swirls of inky black tattoos; Nikolaj, a moody gargoyle; and Vivienne, a beautiful vampire who could be a Zoe Kravitz doppelganger.
According to Dáinn, they’re the three most powerful creatures in Ludmilla’s inner circle.
He believes at least one of them will be sent to check on the status of the blood bank once we set our attack.
Beneath the three lead henchmen are a few rows of other creatures with less sophisticated portraits.
There’s a harpy/witch named Mindy, another witch named Enzo.
Dáinn made a few more sketches for some other known associates, including one of a devastating-looking upper-level demon whom he described as “dangerous beyond anything.” Orion Blodwen.
Just the name sounds scary. I really hope he’s not the one Ludmilla sends to the blood bank.
“Yeesh,” Hortie mutters, tapping a finger over Blodwen’s scowling face. “Wouldn’t wanna meet him in a dark alley.”
“The wraith says he’s a pact demon.” It feels odd not to use Dáinn’s name, but he hasn’t given me permission to share it with Hortie. “Though, I’m not quite sure what that means . . .”
“Means he’s a powerful creep, at least archdemon level.” Stepping in closer, she narrows her eyes at the bullet-pointed fine print scrawled next to his portrait. “Yep. Fifth Circle. His particular brand of magic is curses and bonds. Ever heard the phrase ‘Make a deal with the devil’?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Well, it’s Fifth Circle demons making all of hell’s deals. I don’t wanna know what this witch has done to secure an archdemon’s loyalty. Whatever it is, it can’t be good. And it will take a heck of a lot of firepower to match him. Even more to overpower him.”
“But the coven is up to the task, right?”
She takes a step closer, her finger tracing over each bullet-pointed list of all the Latchko Coven’s magical abilities. “Our island’s wards have kept us safe for a long time,” she says, almost to herself. “I wonder now if they haven’t also made us weak.”
With that ominous thought hanging in the air, she turns away and goes to check out the mess on the table.
I stay looking up at the mugshot wall. Hortie is right, Ludmilla has a lot of power on her side.
For centuries she’s been collecting the biggest and baddest magical cronies she can find.
They all seem to live and thrive outside the bounds of human life and law.
Even without their magic, they’re all criminals. All hardened killers.
I look to the cabinets on the opposite wall where we’ve posted the pictures of our coven.
And what do I see? Reclusive islanders used to a quiet life.
Shop owners. Matchmakers. Most of the witches in this coven are old.
Frail in body, if not in spirit. Only three of them are under forty, including Phoebe.
And she’s stuck in Germany with no magic to speak of anyway.
As High Priest, Jasper’s name is taped to the top of the cabinet.
No picture. Just a list of talents he hastily scribbled about himself: green magic, defensive spellcasting.
He also wrote the word “lightning,” but it’s followed by a question mark.
When I asked him what it meant, he just muttered, “Don’t ask. ”
A few of the other names and magics, I recognize. Hortense Hastings: air, healing. Mercy Bartlett: water, hexes. It should be no surprise that Ruby’s magic is green too. As a multigenerational farmer, it must come in handy to feel at one with the earth.
There’s a picture of Frankie Poole just below Jasper’s name.
It’s a grainy photo he printed from his phone.
She’s an air witch, like Hortie. Jasper listed “strength” as one of her core magics.
But is she strong enough to take on a centuries-old vampire like Vivienne?
Could she crush a powerful gargoyle like Nikolaj?
The youngest person in the coven is Cora Greenwood.
The picture taped up is her high school graduation photo.
Jasper slipped it from one of the broken frames in the living room.
She’s only nineteen years old. My god, at nineteen she should be getting tattoos and having sex in cars, not trying to save her family from magical obliteration.
Her element is fire, so that’s something maybe.
Fire is destructive. It could be useful in a fight.
Under her element are listed the words “curses” and “potion-making.” She may be young, but she sounds fierce.
I glance to the photo taped just to the left of Cora.
Jasper took it from one of the other broken frames.
It features an ancient-looking woman and a mousey older man with watery eyes.
Ada Clarke and her son Jonah. I smile, taking in his frumpy sweater vest. Ada is a fire witch.
Jonah’s magic is air. My gaze settles on the other word listed next to him: Seer.
Next to Seer, Jasper jotted the word “offensive” with another question mark.
I’m not sure how one turns Seeing into an offensive skill.
Maybe he wants Jonah to try and See the results of this attack before it happens?
Maybe he can See who Ludmilla will send to the blood bank? That would certainly be useful.
My frown deepens. Jasper’s team is smaller than Ludmilla’s and comprised of only witches.
No superhuman strength and speed, like a vampire.
No indestructibility, like a gargoyle. No powers of possession or shapeshifting, like the demons listed as Ludmilla’s lowest tier associates.
Just ten witches, a human, and a wraith.
And maybe Baz. But only from the sidelines. And only if he can be bothered to care that day.
But Baz does have a vampire . . .
I wonder what else he hordes in his collection of oddities?
Sighing, I take in the wall one more time. I may know nothing about crafting a fantasy football team, but even I know we need a deeper bench if we’re going to pull this off. Jasper needs more allies. He needs a mix of magics and abilities to rival Ludmilla’s coven.
And we’re running out of time to find them.