We all know it’s only a matter of time.
Finally, after moving around furniture and covering the common room floor with candles and salt, the witches are ready to begin.
West comes to stand before me and Jude, her amulet glowing from a thin muslin pouch she’s now wearing around her neck.
“The girls and I would like to try something, if you guys are up for it.” She watches us closely, brows raised, eagerly awaiting our replies.
I try to send her my thoughts. I’m sure Jude is doing the same.
We’re up for anything that gets us out of these prisons and back to fighting by your side, my wild girl.
“Since I’m not hearing any protests,” she says with a teasing smile, “we’re taking that as a yes.”
“It’s time, Westlyn.” Tatiana gestures for West to join them on the floor, where they’re all seated inside a circle of candles and salt.
The Codex is open on the floor between them, its pages glowing with their now-familiar violet and indigo light. Next to it, a large stone bowl holds a mix of the dried herbs and oils, and at Tatiana’s direction, West slices her palm and makes a fist, spilling her blood into the bowl.
Clasping hands, the witches begin a low chant, calling upon and blessing each of the elements—salt and herbs, representing the earth. Ashes and candles, representing fire. West’s blood, representing water. Their breath, representing the air.
Soon, their chanting slows, their tone deepening, the words melting into an ancient language I don’t speak but I assume is the Spell of Unmaking.
Magic electrifies the air. I can feel it on my stone skin, warm and tingling and heavy.
Dangerous.
But somehow, hopeful.
Please, please let this work.
The chanting doesn’t stop, but the witches release West’s hands, then close the circle around her.
She places her left palm on the Codex, her right dipping into the bowl containing her blood. A violet flame flickers to life, and she removes her hand, painting a line of blood across her forehead, then stretching her hand toward me and Jude like she’s making an offering.
As the witches continue their dark and soothing murmurs, West closes her eyes and begins a chant of her own.
Spell of darkness, spell of stone
Woven through blood and skin and bone
As it is written, by my breath and blade
So shall this magic be fully unmade
Voice rising steadily above the witches’ chants, amulet glowing bright in her pouch, West recites her verse alone, again and again, the magic gathering strength, visibly sparking to life around us.
It swirls in great clouds of black shadow with wild arcs of magic that flicker like an electrical storm.
She keeps chanting, louder and faster, the concurrent chant picking up speed to match, those otherworldly clouds enveloping me and Jude completely, until all I can see—all I canfeel—is magic. IsWestlyn’smagic.
The transformation begins in earnest at my feet, my toes slowly warming to life, my calves twitching as the magic races up my thighs, spinning inside my gut until it spirals outward, a rush of heat and electricity zipping around my bloodstream.
I think I hear Auggie calling West’s name, but it’s a distant sound, muted by the sudden pounding of my heart and the rush of blood to my head.
She’s doing it. She’s fucking doing it.
Come on, wild girl. Almost there.
“I’m not giving up, Augs,” she says, her voice cutting through the din. “We’re so close. I can feel it. It’s working.”
