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“That,” Carver said, “and this.” He ran his hand just above the surface of the water, sweeping it across the cauldron. A faintly glowing map of the world appeared in the liquid, as if it had been etched into the inside of the cauldron.
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“Just like how we do things at the Lorica,” Romira said.
“It is the sensible thing to do,” Carver said, nodding. He extended his fingers, dropping Agatha Black’s brooch into the center of the cauldron. It sank into the center, its intricate edges catching the thin lines of the cauldron’s magical map.
Bastion cleared his throat. “This isn’t going to damage the brooch, is it? Only that we don’t have so many of Grandmother’s things anymore. I imagine Mother has attached some sentimental value to the brooch.”
“Under normal circumstances, no,” Carver said. “But these aren’t normal circumstances, are they, Mr. Brandt? Magic carries some risks, after all. I am certain that your mother will understand how we must place more value in security over sentimentality just at this moment.”
Bastion nodded, and said nothing more.
“Now. Water, as we all know, is an excellent medium for scrying.” I gave Carver a flat smirk. Trust him to take every possible opportunity to create a teachable moment. “It has been used for centuries by practitioners of the art, perhaps because of its reflective properties. It accounts for why some seers will use looking glasses, while others prefer crystal balls. But sometimes, simplicity alone can work wonders.” Carver pressed his own fingers into the sides of the cauldron. “Sometimes it is best to keep magic practical.”
Something hovered in my field of vision – not one of the other mages, and certainly nothing human – and I started at the intrusion. It was Vanitas, floating in midair, tilted over the cauldron as if he, too, was looking in.
“Little warning next time you do that,” I thought to him.
“I was curious,” he replied. “I wanted to see.” Which I suppose finally confirmed in a way that Vanitas could actually see through his jewels, but I had other, more thrilling concerns to attend to just then.
I held my breath as Agatha’s brooch took on a life of its own. The lion’s eyes seemed to glow as it glided slowly along the sides of the cauldron, never settling on one spot. It wavered for a moment over the West Coast, the exact place where we’d have expected her to be.
Stupidly I wondered if the map could, I don’t know, zoom in. What was the point of scrying if it could only show us her general location? Would the map reorient itself, maybe shift perspective somehow and show us a tiny, levitating Agatha Black in her general surroundings?
I froze. What if scrying worked both ways? Agatha was certainly powerful enough. What if she could see us?
So many questions, none answered, because Carver gasped before I could even phrase something to say. The brooch was moving much faster, sliding and scraping along the inside and the bottom of the cauldron, tracing a haphazard pattern around the map. Faster and faster it went, speeding through the scrying water like a torpedo, its eyes glowing ominously.
Then it stopped, sitting motionless at the center of the cauldron, where it first began. I sipped in a careful breath, desperate to ask one of the dozens of questions I needed answered right then, when it happened.
The surface of the lion’s head splintered, then cracked into a dozen pieces, each shard rushing to a different part of the cauldron, as if drawn by some eldritch magnetic force. Not a dozen, I realized, counting again. Thirteen.
“Impossible,” Carver hissed under his breath.
I looked around at the others, my confusion building until I finally settled on Romira’s face, which had grown pale and drawn.
“It can’t be,” she muttered, in a voice thick with horror and reverence. “The Coven of One.”
Chapter 18
“Okay,” I said. “Coven of One. Go.”
Romira took another pull from her beer. Her second one. She’d quickly downed the first we’d offered her, after we tracked her to the Boneyard break room slash living area, where she immediately began sifting through the cupboards for hard liquor. We’re not huge drinkers at the Boneyard, but duh, everyone keeps the good stuff in their own bedroom. So a nice, frosty beer right out of the fridge it was. Well, two of them. Everyone had assembled there, in fact, even Sterling and a recently placated Mason, like confused D-list superheroes with nowhere to go.
“Right,” she said, finally catching her breath. “Right. Historically, I didn’t think it could be done. You know how magic gets amplified when more people are involved, right? When multiple minds and hearts aim their energies towards the same purpose. Pour enough magic into one, singular objective, and you can move mountains.”
“It’s why cults exist,” I said. “It’s the whole premise behind ceremonial magic.”
In the back of my head, the distant memory of Thea’s voice broke the surface. “It’s how you get an apocalypse going.” My gaze locked with Carver’s for a bare second. He was listening intently, suspiciously quiet.
“It’s why magic users and spell casters of the same vein tend to gather together. Cults, as you said, or druids, and covens as well. As in witches.”
“Of which Grandmother is one of the most powerful,” Bastion muttered.
Romira nodded. “Right. And to get everything truly magically aligned, you’d want everyone to be on the same page. For best results, basically, like how a corporation ideally works. Same vision, same mission. And if someone, or several someones in your coven have different ideas about how to do things, that can dilute the power of the magic you’re trying to make. But what if everyone was of the same mind? With your intentions streamlined. No blocks in the arteries. Just blood pumping straight through the system, because everyone works in concert.”
My gaze went distant as I imagined the possibilities. “One mind,” I said.
