Chapter 1 #3
“I’m going to make tea,” she announced. “You know, in case anyone here forgets this is an actual emergency and not a bachelorette party.”
Her bird gave a dry little trill from its perch on the fridge, and Crystal was pretty sure it was laughing at her.
The plumber twisted the wrench one last time, then reached deeper into the pipes with a gloved hand. When he pulled it back out, his palm glittered with wet, irregular fragments. They were pale green and blue, translucent, their edges smoothed as if the ocean had been polishing them for years.
“Well, that’s new,” he said, holding them up to the light. “I’ve seen all kinds of things clog a drain, but this? Looks like beach glass.”
Victoria leaned in, eyes narrowing. “That’s not—”
“Pretty, though,” Sahara cut in, but her tone was sharp. “Like jewelry.”
Lioness bent closer, brow furrowing. “Wait. Those look like—”
“They’re mine,” Crystal said, flat and final.
Three heads turned toward her.
“Yours?” the plumber asked, glancing from the shards to her. His eyes narrowed just slightly, and there was a flash of recognition there, the kind people get when they’ve seen stranger things than they can explain.
Crystal’s gaze flicked to the trident tattoo on his forearm, the one most civilians wouldn’t recognize. She did. He must be a former Navy SEAL. Which meant he was trained to notice things. And ask questions. And not let go until he got an answer.
She shrugged like it was no big deal, though the bird above her ruffled its feathers in agitation. “Long story. Not relevant to you. Just put them in the bucket.”
The plumber hesitated, clearly debating whether to push for an explanation.
“Seriously,” Crystal said, her voice dropping half an octave. “Bucket.” She thrust it toward him.
He dropped them in with a soft clink, though his gaze lingered on her just a beat too long.
“Thank you,” she added, as if the conversation was over. The witches exchanged a quick, silent language of raised brows and sidelong glances, but no one said a word.
The bird trilled once, low and warning. Crystal didn’t need the Atlantic in her head to know it agreed. They shouldn’t talk about the tears.
The front door closed behind the plumber with a low thud, followed by the rumble of his truck down the drive. Crystal’s bird tracked the sound until it faded, then settled back into its silver and white feathered watch over the kitchen.
Joell exhaled through her nose, bracing her mop like a staff. “All right. Enough manual labor. Let’s do this properly.”
She flicked her wrist, and the air shimmered.
A rush of warmth rolled through the kitchen, tugging every drop of water up into the air.
Victoria opened the back door. The moisture hovered in a trembling sphere above their heads before shooting out the back door in a glittering arc.
The tile was dry in seconds, smelling fresh and clean.
Victoria clapped her hands once. “Now that’s how you mop.”
Sahara wiped her palms on her jeans. “Library? I think we need to process… everything.”
They filed in, the kitchen’s chaos forgotten and the high-ceilinged calm of the library a welcome relief. Shelves rose in neat towers of leather and paper, but the big oval table in the center was already claimed by a battered bucket, and inside it, the pale green shards the plumber had found.
Joell reached in and lifted one between thumb and forefinger. The moment her skin touched it, a slow thump pulsed through her hand, up her arm, like the echo of a distant drum. She hissed softly. “It’s alive.”
“Not alive,” Sahara corrected, leaning over to look. “And not alert, but it’s carrying a signal.”
Magda strolled in from the adjoining study, her hair still damp from the shower. Somewhere decidedly cleaner than the kitchen flood. She took one look at the shards and smiled faintly. “Pretty. I could set them in silver, make necklaces. One for each of us.”
“Jewelry?” Victoria asked, skeptical. “I only wear Tiffany.”
“Protection,” Magda said. “If they’re warning of something, we’ll want to feel it sooner rather than later. And I can make it Tiffany quality, so you won’t be embarrassed.”
Joell turned the shard over in her hand. The pulse came again, a little faster this time. “Sooner might be very good.”
The witches exchanged looks over the bucket of ocean-colored glass, each of them hearing the same unspoken thought: whatever these were, they were tied to Crystal. And whatever was coming, it was already on the way.
They each reached in and chose the piece that resonated with them. Handing them over to Magda, Joell asked, “Do you need us to label which piece belongs to which witch? There are nine of us now.”
“I think Bas talked Katie into going to school in Europe and training with her on the weekends. She’s about to start college at Oxford,” Brianna said.
Joell nodded. “Besides, she’s still a witchlet. Warnings from the universe might be too much for her.”
“No worries,” Magda held out her palm and pointed to each unique piece of sea glass and named the witch it belonged to.
Crystal nodded. “Impressive memory you’ve got there, Mags. We might live through another crisis.”