Page 166 of Jinxes and Drumsticks

“Inherently, yes, it’s a calming stone. But its crystalline structure vibrates at a hertz level that can be altered to make it do what a quartz does.”

“Only if you make it a quartz, though, right?” I offer.

“EXACTLY. THEN IT’S NOT AMETHYST ANYMORE.”

“Why are you yelling?” Aemon asks. On paper, it would look like an irritable retort, but instead, he sounds absolutely charmed by her passion.

“Because I’m right. And I’m tired of pretending I’m not.”

Bastion rolls his eyes and takes a sip from a teacup. “Fine, you win. Can we talk about something that isn’t boring, now?”

“Like what?” I ask.

“Paint drying? Grass growing?”

“Now that’s just mean,” Wren says. “You’re the one who insisted on fighting me.”

“Sometimes I do it because I know it gives you a sick thrill,” Bash says, smiling into his cup.

“You’re a bitch,” Wren says.

“A very pretty bitch,” he says.

“And so modest,” I say.

“Humility is for the humble,” he says.

We all laugh a little at that, and quiet falls between us at the table. Daisy interrupts to offer us more refreshments, and I order a lemonade. Bash orders another pot of tea, and Aemon asks for a bourbon for himself and hot chocolate for Wren.

A little deepening of Wren’s complexion reveals how tickled she is that Aemon ordered for her. He smiles at her, subtly, before draping his arm on the booth behind her. And, I can’t lie... It’s kind of nice. Just to hang out with them, like old times. Eating and drinking and teasing each other. It’s nice not to think about the waning magic in The Buried City, or the Ritual, or my curse.

It feels like back a few months ago, before everything blew up. Only, we have a new addition.

Aemon has somehow sneaked into the role of ‘friend’. I was so skeptical of him before. But the longer he hangs around, the more I like him. He’s calm, sarcastic, smart. He kind of reminds me of Bash in a lot of ways, but more grounded. He’s an easy baseline to rely on.

And now that he’s not trying to get me to marry him, I feel a lot more comfortable around him.

We play cards. Bastion consistently wipes the floor with us. We talk about my sex life (embarrassing), and Wren’s greedy dating practices (funny), and Aemon regales us with tales from his very long, very eventful life. Soon enough, though, the witching hour arrives, and we can no longer pretend that this very scary thing isn’t happening.

The light conversation gives way to sprinklings of logistics for the rite. Then it’s all we talk about. And the stress of it has me feeling like I’m on the brink of seizing.

Wren takes my hand in hers and squeezes.

“Babe, why don’t you go get some air?” she asks. “You’re looking pale.”

I tuck my lip between my teeth and nod. “Yeah,” I say. “Okay.”

I wish I could call Damien. Hearing his voice would do a lot for me right now. But I settle for going outside and putting my head on my bent knees and focusing on the feeling of air entering and leaving my lungs. Focusing on how it feels to be alive. Focusing on believing that I will still be alive in a few hours’ time.

After being outside for a few minutes, I hear the scuff of shoes and lift my head. “Time to go?” I ask.

“No. You looked a bit sick. I just wanted to come check on you,” a surprising voice says. Daisy. I look up at her as she sits with me on the back stairs. She brushes her hand in soothing circles over my back.

“Nasty bit of magic you’ve got on you,” she says.

I gasp, checking my scarf. Did it move? Did I forget and take it off?

“It’s still covered,” she says. “My late husband. He was a powerful familiar, kind of like that other fellow at your table. When he departed, he gave me a lot of that power. It used to be overwhelming—feeling all the threads in the tapestry of magic around me. But it got easier with time. Most days, it feels like the same old carpet I walk across every day. But when you walked in, it was like expecting the carpet and stepping into a frozen lake instead.”