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Maisie. Bristling, the fur standing up on her back, and her eyes narrowed.
Joy glanced away after a moment’s eye contact. Maisie had always been exceptional at picking up on other people’s feelings, but since she’d been limited to a single form, it had become a realsense.
She knew exactly how Joy was feeling—ashamed and embarrassed and a bit like she wanted to cry.
“Sorry, Mais,” she whispered.
Maisie only looked more put out. When she failed to communicate her thoughts, she spun in a whoosh of fur, her tail whipping across Joy’s legs as she returned to the table where the rest of their coven was debating how to cast the next spell.
The spell toseethe killer.
Victoriya had glimpsed painted fingernails, they explained, finally telling Joy what had happened while she’d been locked up. But painted nails weren't helpful when half the female population had them.
Gabi needed proof of the murder, and if this worked, the killer would be locked in the cells under town hall to await trial. Joy would be safe.
“Joy?”
She glanced up to find Salma’s worried brown eyes on her. “Do you have a mirror? Big enough for us to all see.”
“You’re scrying?” Joy blinked.
Salma nodded. With the mirror, scrying was safe, at least. It would show them a scene in the past. If they used something like a locator spell or a sight charm to see the killer, there would be no defences between them. It would reveal the killer as they were at that very moment—and the killer would see them right back.
Not even as a last resort would they use it. The coven had all agreed, even before Joy had got out of the cells. If they used one of those spells, the killer could see Gus, seeEilidh, and come for all of them. It wasn’t worth the risk.
Joy chewed her lip. “There’s a mirror upstairs, in my mum’s old room. It should be big enough. Do you want me to—”
“No. These two will stop nosing through my grimoire and get it.”
Victoriya and Gus complained instantly, but ended up carrying the mirror down anyway when Salma levelled them with a stern look. Joy numbly watched them set the mirror face-up on the table, watched them link hands around it and focus intently on the silver glass. Joy herself saw nothing, since she wasn’t part of the circle, but she knew when the mirror had revealed something. Victoriya stiffened. Eilidh gasped.
Eilidh’s gasp turned into a cry, then tears, and to Joy’s utter shock, her friend dissolved into broken, wrenching sobs.
Joy’s hands fluttered uselessly as Eilidh wrenched away from the mirror, the table, and the others. Shuddering, her blonde hair stuck to her teary face, she fled down the hall.
Victoriya and Gus linked hands to close the gap; Joy knew the instinct—the witchcraft—that drove them as they kept staring, unfaltering, into the mirror. Usually, that power was her friend. But after the hold it had taken on her, she wasn’t so sure tonight.
Joy felt worse the longer she looked at them, functioning fully without her, not even noticing she wasn’t part of the circle. Her heart aching fiercely, she tore her stare away and went after Eilidh, frowning when she found the front door hanging open to let the crisp sea wind into the hallway.
Gripping her wand in a white fist, she went out after the younger witch. There was a killer free in the town; it wasn’t safe for Eilidh’s to be out alone.
TWENTY
JOY
Joy’s stomach roiled at the thought of what her witch sister had seen in the mirror. She intently scanned the steep road, but when she saw it was empty, Joy frowned and circled her house to the back garden.
She found Eilidh on a wooden bench next to the big ash tree in Joy’s back garden, her pink face and blonde-teal hair lit in shadows and amber light by the solar lantern by the back door. She had her knees pressed to her chest and looked utterly miserable. Comforting her friend, at least, was something Joy could do. She sank onto the bench beside Eilidh, the wood creaking as she put her arm around her friend’s shaking shoulders.
“It’s alright,” Joy murmured, tucking Eilidh closer. “Cry as much as you need.”
When Eilidh fell against her, Joy brushed damp strands of hair from Eilidh’s cheeks, scanning the garden as she always scanned her surroundings now. No one but her and Eilidh cast shadows on the lawn and herbs. They were safe.
But that didn’t mean they wereokay.
Joy’s heart clenched the longer Eilidh cried, and worry pressed her to ask what was wrong. But she held back, nor wanting to upset her further.
For minutes she let Eilidh cry and cling to her, smoothing her hair back. Joy’s whole body was cold, her hands going red and her nose numb, but she refused to leave until Eilidh was okay.
