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Grams held up the pencil and set it down in front of her. “All right. Let’s get busy on your first lesson.” Then, without further ado, she began to explain to me how to use the energy of the earth and of gravity to manipulate objects around me, and I eagerly soaked up the lesson.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
An hour later, I had managed to lift the pencil about four inches in the air. Grams called a halt to the lesson when she saw that I was literally sweating.
“That’s enough for now. Think of this as a magical gymnasium. We’ll get those muscles into shape, but it’s going to take time. I want you to take a five-count deep breath, hold as you count to five, then breathe out to a count of five.”
I did as she asked, realizing I was a little dizzy from the work. Learning to work magic was so connected to our blood right as witches that we couldn’t explain it to anybody else. It was like trying to explain how to see colors to a person who had never seen colors, or explaining how to explain how to smell to someone who had never smelled anything in their life. If the power wasn’t there, it was impossible to describe how to use it.
I stood and stretched, catching myself as the room began to spin. After a moment, the vertigo stopped. “Whoa…I feel like I’ve been through the wringer.”
“That’s not surprising. While you have the power, you have never had to practice the discipline.” She opened the slow cooker and stirred the stew. “About three hours and this will be perfect. Meanwhile, it looks like the rain’s taking a break. Why don’t you go out and catch a breath of fresh air?”
Eager to take a break, I slid on my vest and headed for the door. “I think I will.” I left the door open, but the screen door closed, and clattered down the front porch steps. All around were the signs of the storm. The wind had left boughs scattered across the driveway, little potholes were filled with muddy water, the sound of raindrops echoed as they fell off the leaves and needles to the ground, and birds sang their evensong, their chirping ricocheted through the empty driveway. And everywhere, I caught scent of the pungent smell of petrichor, that earthy, tangy scent of rain activating the bacteria in the soil.
All the sounds and smells added up to home, and for the first time in a long while, I felt the connection between the land and me take hold. I’d felt connected before, but the lesson with Grams must have opened up a new avenue, because the energetic roots from my feet plunged deep into the ground, anchoring me into this space, this time. This land was my heart-spot, my haven. I sat down on the edge of one of the flower garden walls. It was wet but there weren’t any puddles on the brick.
Reaching out, I felt for the lines of the protective grid rising from the ground, arcing over my land to plunge deep once again. There were places where those lines had been severed and I found myself weaving them new again, understanding exactly how to fix them. I wove the energy thick, like a silver plait, and reconnected broken threads, filling in the spaces in the lattice that had been severed.
Grams approached from behind—I could feel her there. Her aura filled the space between us like a bright beacon. “You’re doing a good job,” she said, her voice soft.
“Am I missing anything?” I asked, keeping my attention focused on the spell.
“Not that I can see. You might strengthen the cord you just created, though. It’s a little thin.”
I quietly spun out more magic, sending it into the thread, fattening it up. It plumped like an éclair, being filled with crème pâtissiére. Another moment and the thread felt secure. As I kept going, Grams placed her hands on my shoulders, infusing me with her own energy and the entire grid lit up, a sparkling dome that reached over my land. Where it hit the ground, it plunged deep below, digging deep and coming together to form the opposite half of the sphere. There was a moment where everything froze. I caught my breath, waiting, and then, the edges of the latticed sphere came together and sealed. I had woven the wards, repaired the grid, and it was done.
I leaned back, breathing deep. “Thank you for your help.”
“You did the work. You’re stronger than you think. I’ll teach you how to tap into those unrefined powers of yours and to hone them, so you can use them at will.” With a kiss on my head, she turned back to the house. “The lessons will be hard at first, given they’re not what you’re used to doing, but they’ll grow easier. Now, hurry inside. The rain’s going to start up again. I can feel it.”
* * *
While the stew cooked in the slow cooker, I settled down on the sofa with my phone. I had yet to book a sanitizing company and that seemed to be the next logical step. I wasn’t sure what to look for, though. Finally, I called Daisy. She answered on the first ring.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I just wanted to ask you something. Given they pissed on my floor, who should I call to clean it up? You know, like a biohazard team, or something. I figured you would know since you deal with murders and stabbings and other sorts of crimes where there’s hazardous material like blood and…” I stopped, not wanting to bring up the idea of brains or other flesh.
“Oh, yeah. Try Fresh & Clean. They also clean up after fires and floods, so they can deal with mold and smoke damage as well. Hold on…” A moment later she gave me their number.
“Thanks. Bran boarded up the windows, and I have an appointment with the security company. They’re going to run the lines below ground for me. They’ll be out on Sunday. By the way, Grams and I will be gone on Saturday. Bran’s going with me to the wake. Fancypants and the kittens will stay with May, just in case. But can you have a patrol stop by a couple times during the day to check? I’ll be back late.”
“What wake?” Daisy sounded alarmed.
“My cousin in Port Townsend died the other day. He overdosed.” Once again, I felt the numbness descend. “I have to be the Bell Ringer so I need to be there throughout the day.”
“I’m so sorry,” Daisy said. “I didn’t know. Are you going to be all right?”
“Yeah.” I sighed. “I will. It’s just…I’m ready for things to quiet down. With all that’s gone on the past 15 months, I’m just overwhelmed. And knowing somebody’s targeting me doesn’t help.” The doorbell interrupted me. “Hold on, would you?”
I answered the door, my phone still in hand. It was a man, with a van out front that had a sign painted across the side that read, “Stillson Delivery.”
He glanced at his tablet. “Morgance MacPherson?”
“No, but can I sign for her?”
“Sure.” He held out his tablet and a stylus and I scribbled my name across it. Then, he handed me a box about the size of a notebook. It had a red ribbon around it, tied in a fancy bow.
