Sitting on the floor near the bed where Amelia remained in a state between life and death, my head rested against the side of the mattress while I again looked over the translated words. I started to worry that I hadn’t heard from Rachel. Belham hadn’t returned my numerous calls, either. I wondered if something pertaining to the house had come up, which would always take precedence over anything else. Especially something involving a witch who would never work for him. Sleep deprivation was clouding my vision and causing me to see double, and the maelstrom of emotions wasn’t making things any better.
“I don’t feel good about this,” I admitted to the sleeping Amelia. The more I read over the translation, the more I began to wonder if I had been duped.
It didn’t read like a counterspell to the curse, in which I expected to find a sigil, philter, and invocation. The weird lists of ingredients and elements for the potion made no sense:animal poison, fruit of darkness, and revenant. It included more traditional ingredients such as tannin, evening primrose, and Himalayan salt. I’d spent hours in the office and the only thing I had to show for it were these four lines of prose, three lines of invocation, a sigil that needed to be placed on Amelia, and the revenant.
“Amelia, what’s animal poison?” I murmured, my voice trailing off as my head sank deeper into the firm mattress behind me. It wasn’t just Amelia’s presence that I missed, she was also my brainstorming partner and my sounding board. Our collaboration had always been like a choreographed dance, effortless, complementing our strengths and compensating for our weaknesses. Faced with a magical challenge of this magnitude, I was desperate for her insight.
I texted Rachel the list of ingredients, but as expected, she responded that she didn’t know.
Anything could poison an animal. Could it be rat poison? I wasn’t giving Amelia rat poison. Chocolate was dangerous for dogs but could be harmful to humans if they were allergic. What was the fruit of darkness? In fairytales, mythology, lore, and religion, items like pomegranates and apples often symbolized darkness. The termrevenantwas easier: a dead person, a vampire. As my eyes began to droop with sleep, doubt crept in. I wasn’t entirely sure about that, either. What if it had another meaning? Perhaps a cruel individual or someone who seemed soulless.
Symbolisms of darkness and poisons were my final thoughts as I slipped into sleep.
Waking with a start, I sat up from my sprawled position on the floor where I’d fallen asleep with the grimoire next to me. New translations of the ingredient list were written in boxy script: Animal poison = wolfsbane. Fruit of darkness = fig from a Balic tree harvested by demons. Revenant = whatever foolvampire you can get to be the host of the spell, which they may or may not survive.
If I hadn’t known who was responsible for the new translation, the scathing note beneath it made it blatantly obvious: Whateverpretentious twit-litdidthis translation did a great disservice to the language.
Twit-lit. He was a creative jerk.
Cirrian hadn’t made any changes to the invocation, which had been translated to English. But his note encouraged me to perform the spell in Latin. Spells didn’t just encompass the witch’s magic; there was power in the wording as well. Amelia had several spells she’d created that she would only perform in Spanish. Despite this being a demon spell, Latin would be the best option if performed by a witch. I imagined Etruscan wasn’t a language often used, and mispronunciations could hinder the spell.
I was right: revenant was a vampire. Tannin and Himalayan salt were always on hand in my home. Primrose, a commonly used ingredient in spells, could be easily acquired from Amelia’s coven. Heading downstairs, I debated which task I should tackle first: the wolfsbane or the fig from the Balic tree? Both would be equally difficult to get.
Encouraged by the actions of the Chicago pack, the other shifter packs in Illinois became emboldened. They all insisted—no,demanded—that the covens dispose of all their wolfsbane. The shifters aimed to control or eradicate anything that posed a threat to them. The covens couldn’t justify possessing wolfsbane, a plant that when ingested or after sustained contact affected lycanthropes just as severely as silver. It weakened them and prevented them shifting to their animal form, which was their most effective way to heal. The two known spells commonly performed by alchemy witches that required wolfsbane and was unrelated to the werewolves, had alternativespells. Although more complicated, the substitutes stripped the covens of any justification for war over possession of the ingredient.
The werewolves kept a close eye on the umbral and alchemy witches, who were likely to resist their demands on sheer principle. They overlooked and underestimated Ember Hearth covens, not viewing them as a true threat. Witches who could control weather and use it to their advantage were dangerous. The Earthroot Coven, made up of verdant witches who manipulated the earth, had prolific command of plants and forestry, and their whimsical personalities led to people disregarding how formidable they were. These oversights allowed them to go under the werewolves’ radar, which was why they were more likely to still possess wolfsbane. I suspected that underestimation of the Earthroot Coven would cause the werewolves problems in the future.
A quick text confirmed my theory that a witch from a member of the Earthroot Coven was my best source.
It was her last message of, “I have a witch in mind. Give me an hour. I got you,” that unburdened me, burying the hopelessness with a sense of optimism. Rachel didn’t traffic in pretenses or false hope. She committed only when she was sure. I would get the wolfsbane.
The grimoire and new translation in hand, I headed for the kitchen for coffee and stopped short at the sight of Cirrian on the sofa, insouciantly nibbling on pretzels from the snack box I got for his imprisonment. He was thumbing through one of the books he hadn’t destroyed during hismantrum.
“You’d have more to read if you hadn’t thrown your little adult-fit,” I said.
“You’dhave more to read if you hadn’t captured me,” he shot back with a wry smirk.
“Will showing up in my home uninvited be a little quirk of yours?”
“Uninvited?Youmademeyour coerced guest. Despite the entertainment you consistently provide as your guest, I still have collections to make,” Cirrian shot back as he continued to scan the book.
Death didn’t stop because he was here. The thought of the grim reaper just chilling on my sofa sent a shiver through me. “I would have woken you upon my return, but I found it oddly comforting how peacefully you slept knowing how freely I could move within your home. With little care for the trouble I could cause.”
It was a special skill of his to sound both menacing and flirty. I didn’t know how to respond.He’s a menace, Kara. Focus on that part.
“Or I was just really tired and slept despite that awareness,” I countered.
“I’m sure that’s it.” His tongue roved lazily over his lips, his eyes dropping from mine to the paper in my hand.
“Thank you for the translation.”
“You mean thank you for thecorrecttranslation. You had a translation—a poorly done translation—but a translation nonetheless.”
“Yeah, thank you.”
He shrugged. “I don’t believe your success is possible, but I find it amusing enough to nudge it along as I see fit. If it fails, it fails. If you manage to save Amelia…” His eyes iced over. “When you fail to satisfy your oath, I will take you next.”
“I’m glad you find my effort to save my friend so entertaining,” I snapped. It was hard to be grateful to an insufferable prick who was being flippant about Amelia’s and my life.
