Chapter 9 Coco
Coco
Ten minutes later, a frozen margarita sits to my left and Cristina is on my right.
I run my fingers down the book. “Ready?”
She lifts her glass. “More than ready.”
I turn the first page, only to discover a message printed on the white-marbled vellum. It’s written in loopy script that honestly makes me a touch envious.
But even though the script is pretty, the message is not.
Warning. The use of magic on those against their permission will have Devastating Results—and could lead to death.
“Um . . .” Cristina grimaces. “Do you think that’s real?”
“It’s an old spell book and is probably just a bunch of nonsense.”
Even I don’t quite believe that.
Cristina taps her fingers against the rim of her margarita glass. Indecision is written all over her face. She’s seconds away from backing out.
“In our defense, we’re not using this spell to hurt Stone. Besides, it’s probably not going to work anyway.”
I laugh weakly, but Cristina doesn’t. “I don’t know. It feels like we’re dabbling in something we shouldn’t.”
My stomach twists into a pretzel. It does feel like that, and my inner compass, the one that generally points north, is spinning into a death spiral.
I can turn back now or I can move forward.
“Come on. Let’s just have some fun. It’s no big deal.”
I offer Cristina an encouraging grin and she slowly nods. “Sure. No big deal. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“We’re not going to kill him.”
“Right.” She sounds more convinced now. “Let’s do it.”
I dive into the book, flipping pages. The spells are written in English, which is a blessing, but some have Latin-looking names.
I sip the mango margarita Cristina made. It’s sweet with a touch of sour—just tart enough to make me keep sipping.
“What are we looking for?” she asks.
“I have no idea. But I’ll know the spell when I see it.”
“Okay.” She peers over my shoulder. “Here’s one to get rid of chin hair. I don’t think you want that.”
“Nope.”
I flip the page and discover remedies for increasing beauty and teeth-whitening. This book is for sure old, since both of those things can now be done with surgery and toothpaste.
We keep scanning but only find entries for reheating your tea and soup.
It’s not until we reach the middle of the book that the spells suddenly shift, and everything changes. The pages become more brittle. The ink, darker.
“Here’s one for making dandelions bloom prematurely,” my friend says. “Though be warned, bees might swarm.”
“Good to know . . . Oh, here’s a spell for a light hex lift. Temporarily removes minor curses.”
“What about major ones?”
“I guess you’re screwed.”
She laughs and sips more of her drink. We turn the page, and both of us suck air.
“‘To See Light,’” we say in unison.
Behind us, a picture frame clatters onto the counter. We jump.
Cristina and I exchange a worrisome glance before turning back to the book. I read the description: “A spell for someone to open their eyes.”
Cristina continues where I left off: “To grant the recipient clarity of perception, allowing them to see that which lies beneath, beyond, or within. Often used to perceive magical auras, ley lines, or truth-bound illusions.”
This is it! If I can get Stone to see the ley lines, then my problem is solved! He’ll realize I’m right, he’s wrong, and he’ll fix the materials.
All will be well in the world!
Cristina’s eyes sparkle with delight. “Co, this is full blown, like an orgasmic-level bomb that just dropped in our laps.”
It is. It’s like the book knew I needed someone to see ley lines and it delivered the goods. But I will temper my excitement. “Let’s read the rest.”
She keeps going. “Pierces all mental veils—internal and external—to reveal hidden truths. Ingredients: garlic, eggs, vinegar.”
“Apple cider or white?”
She shrugs. “Doesn’t say, but I’d go with apple cider and make sure you put some of the cloudy mother in it. Oh, wait. There’s also glow grass.”
“What’s that?”
“I think it’s what Rowe has. She can make her grass glow by lying in it and moving her arms up and down.”
I clap cheerfully. “Yes! I’ve heard of that.”
“It’s in the backyard.” She hunches over the book, still reading. “We also need something of the person who you’re casting the spell on.”
I pull a dollar bill from my bag. “This was his.”
“How’d you get that?”
I wave her off. “Never mind.”
My blood is zinging. This is real. This is happening. All we have to do is get the ingredients and cast the spell.
“Wait,” she says, and my hopes crash and burn to the ground. “There’s a warning.”
“Another one?”
Cristina points to small script at the bottom of the page, and I read aloud: “Spell should not be used on individuals not possessing magical signatures. Ingestion of glow grass may result in identity instability, temporal disorientation, or full cognitive reset.”
“Hmm. That is a problem,” I muse. “So maybe we just use a pinch of glow grass?”
She nods. “Agreed. Hell, we don’t even know if this spell’s going to work. The book is old, and neither of us are witches.”
I laugh uneasily. “Exactly. Okay, let’s gather the ingredients and do some casting.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re eagerly watching a pot atop the stove bubble happily with water, garlic, egg whites, and vinegar. The kitchen smells like we’re brewing up a mean all-purpose cleaner.
“Now we need a drop of your blood,” Cristina says.
I frown. “Is this blood magic? I don’t think that’s good. Isn’t that, like, frowned on in every witchy movie ever?”
“It’s just one drop, and that’s what the spell calls for.”
“Okay.” I get a knife from the drawer and position it over my finger. “Should I jab or slice? Wait. I might faint. I can’t slice my own finger. Can you do it?”
Cristina eyes the knife. “Let me see if I can find a needle.”
I exhale with relief. “Much better idea.”
She leaves the room and returns with a small sewing kit. My friend digs out a needle and hands it to me. “Here you go.”
I find a lighter and sterilize the tip. Then I poke my finger, watching as a bead of blood swells on my skin before it falls.
The pot hisses, and the lights flicker.
“Must be a storm on the way. Let me get some candles just in case we lose power,” she mumbles.
Right. A storm.
She returns with the candles and lights them. I snip off a piece of the dollar bill and watch as it floats into the pot.
“I’m sure you could still spend the rest of that,” she tells me.
“Oh yeah, there’s a lot left over.”
Cristina grabs the bundle of glow grass we harvested from outside. There’s nothing magical looking about it now, but when we plucked it, it lit up like a Lite-Brite.
She drops a pinch in the pot. “Say the words.”
“Why are you whispering?”
“I don’t know,” she still whispers. “This feels serious somehow.”
I agree. My stomach is doing somersaults, while my skin buzzes with electricity.
I stir the ingredients and look back to the book, which lies open on a recipe stand. “Lucem videre.”
The lights snap out, pitching us into darkness except for the warm glow of candlelight.
“Do you think that’s bad?” Cristina asks.
“No, it’s fine. Like you said—a storm must be passing through.”
I’m sure she doesn’t believe me, because I don’t even believe myself.
There’s a knot the size of a basketball in my throat. I swallow it down and say the next words. “Veritatem videre.”
A wind howls through the kitchen, plastering my hair to my cheek. But I keep on.
“Veritatem videre. Lucem videre. Incantationem in noctem iacere.”
The wind screams like the room is filled with the spirits of a thousand ghosts. The ingredients in the pot bubble turbulently.
Cristina grabs hold of my arm. “Coco, what have we gotten ourselves into?”
While she whips her head around like crazy, the chaos in the room—the howling wind, the bubbling and hissing ingredients—hits a crescendo.
It feels like a thousand strings shoot from my stomach, going in every direction. It isn’t chaotic. This is in tune. I’m connected to the wind, the ingredients, the very earth. Underneath my feet, ley lines throb from miles away, strumming for me.
As the feeling intensifies, as the noises heighten, my stomach fills. It’s a bubble growing inside my belly, rising with the intensity, putting pressure on my spine. And as it balloons, everything becomes louder, harder, deeper, and then all of a sudden—
The bubble pops.
The intense feeling falls away like a flower dropping petals in the breeze. The wind stops howling, and the pot gives one final death knell hiss. A line of steam rises, curls into a ball, and vanishes.
The lights flicker back on, and it feels like all the oxygen’s been sucked from the room.
“That. Was. Wild,” Cristina whispers.
The magic of the spell still lingers in the air, blanketing the atmosphere with energy.
Then it dissipates, too, just like the steam that vanished from the pot.
I exhale a shaky breath and respond to my friend. “Yeah, that was wild. What do we do now?”
She scans the text. “Now you bottle up some of the substance— Ew, that is gross.”
I peek over the rim of the steel pot and agree. The mixture has taken on the appearance of dark-green slime.
Cristina pats my shoulder and says teasingly, “Now you get to feed it to him. According to the book, it won’t take much. But he’s got to eat it. I guess make sure whatever you put it in is delicious.”
She blows out the candles and slides off the stool. “Do you have a plan for how you’re going to get Stone Maddox to ingest that?”
It takes a moment for one to form, but once it does, it’s solid.
A slow grin unwinds across my face, though inside, my stomach flutters. “Oh yes, he’ll take it. And once he does? He’ll see everything.”
Cristina shoots me a worried look, but I wave her off.
“Maybe. It’s just a joke, right? Nothing’s going to happen.”