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The space in the middle of the dining table, in front of the seat reserved for Dad, was lacking its centerpiece. I’d taken the Egyptian wand from Dad this morning for my preparations, but it was still in my room. Waiting to have its magic cast on it.
I’d better get that done before the real party kicked off. Dad might be the host in name, but I needed him to feel totally confident in the arrangements I’d made and my ability to keep things running smoothly—so that he wouldn’t feel the slightest doubt about how the night was going before the grand finale.
And Killian would be here not long after the party started. I’d be expected to entertain him and pretend I found him entertaining.
“What a beautiful spread,” Philomena said, shimmering into being beside me. She clapped her hands. “I wish it were a better occasion.”
“No kidding,” I said, moving away from the table. “Iwish I’d planned dinner first instead of three hours in. Then we could get everything over with.”
“Oh, but half of the impact is in the build-up,” Phil said sagely. “I can’t imagine I ever would have frightened off that rival of mine—Claudette, like to put wagtails to shame—if we hadn’t had the most luxurious picnic before the bees.”
I raised my eyebrows at her, but my stomach balled as I headed up the stairs to my room. “Your bees didn’t even sting anyone. This… is going to be a little more dramatic than that.”
I closed the bedroom door and locked it. Before anything else, I dug out my secret phone and sent a quick text to the guys.All’s well so far. One more piece to put in place.
Make them wish they never messed with you, Damon wrote back, with a devilish emoji.
We’re standing by if you need us, Seth added. I could picture him side-eyeing Damon’s enthusiasm.
They were standing by, but this part only I could do. I went to my desk where I’d left the gilded case. My breath came a little shaky as I popped it open. I didn’t want any magic lingering on the case itself where one of the witches present might sense it. That power had to stay completely contained until Dad opened the case to show off his prize.
The polished wood felt warm, the edges of the inlaid gems almost gritty, as I eased the wand out. I set it on the floor in the middle of the room.
It would have been better if I could have worked in the magicking room—the public one or even the private one that had been Celestine’s but should by all rights now be mine. But that would look far too suspicious, so I’d have to make do in here.
I shut the curtain, cutting off all but a faint glow of sunlight. Then I pulled out the tools I had secreted out of the magicking room yesterday. A dagger, a length of fine silver chain, and a sprig of dried belladonna. In theory, any spell could be cast with just one’s mind and one’s magic, but with a larger magicking, it was much easier to focus your energy when you had tools to direct it.
“I trust you’re not actually planning to unleash a dramatic storm of stinging bees,” Phil said, plopping down on my bed.
I had to laugh. “No. It’s more complicated than that too. I need it to… to hurt some of the guests, and to affect Dad’s behavior so it looks like he’s doing it on purpose. But nothing so powerful it can’t be subdued.” A tricky balance.
Breathing slow and even, I laid the chain in a circle around me and the wand. Then I grasped the hilt of the dagger in one hand and the belladonna sprig in the other. First… first I would need an urge to dig into my father.
I swiveled on my feet and looped my arms through the motions I’d charted out over the last few days, piecing together fragments from my years of learning with lore gleaned from the old texts to weave a spell completely my own. My spark flared brighter in my chest. Its warmth bled from my muscles and spilled from my skin. Magic coalesced around the wand by my feet.
Yes, grip him. Grip him and control him the way he’d planned to do to me. At least he’d get to shake off that spell after a few minutes. I wasn’t going to enslave him for a lifetime.
My fingers tightened around my tools. I dipped low and stretched my arms high. A fancy illusion to begin with, as if he only meant to entertain. Ease them into it. Phil was right. The more build-up, the deeper the shock.
I cut the dagger through the air. Deeper, sharper, the urge turning angry. Vision twisting, seeing more than what was there. And then a burst of violence, turning it out on them. All of them—smiling Frankford, cool Mrs. Gainsley, every other person at that table who’d have happily seenmein magical chains or dead alongside my consorts.
A jolt of my own anger shot through me. For an instant, I pictured writhing figures, expressions contorted with pain, and my spark danced higher with a heady wave of satisfaction. All the ways I could bend them to my will, punish them for all the crimes they’d already committed…
I started to whip the dagger faster through the air, and caught myself at the last second. A trickle of cold ran through my body, momentarily dampening my energy.
What was I doing?Thatwasn’t the plan. I wanted just enough damage for them to think Dad was a true threat. Nothing permanent. No long-term damage.
And yet some part of me was disappointed, knowing that.
I swallowed hard and refocused on the spell. With a twist of my fingers, the belladonna caught fire. I trailed its pungent smoke through the air. Clouding the mind more, adding an extra edge to the punch of aggressive magic, and then burning it all away.
I was breathing hard when I eased to a stop, hunched over the wand. My nose prickled with the thin smoke and sweat dripped from my forehead. But it was done. When I brushed my fingers over the wand, it thrummed with contained power.
A knock thumped on the door. I startled, the last shreds of the belladonna sprig falling from my hand.
“Rosalind?” Mrs. Gainsley said. Snuff my spark, if she smelled that smoke—if she saw any hint of my magicking—
I scrambled to my feet. “Yes?” I said. A quick kick sent the chain sliding under my bed. I thrust the dagger under my pillow.
