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NOT IN HER FAVOR
The next morning, Bethany stood in front of the fountain, ready to nail her scrubbing spell to the wall.
The algae-infested fountain boiled slimy gas eruptions into the air like it knew she was coming for it, but she stood farther back this time. If her obituary read, “Murdered by Stinky, Dirty Water,” she would literally die of embarrassment.
Yes,literally.
Yes, Bethany had thought that, and she meant it.
Literally.
Because sometimes witches came back as liches if the moon and spells were right, and then they had to die again.
Usually of embarrassment because of somethingliterallylike this.
Bethany resolved that such amortifyingthing was not going to happen to her.
So, she had her spellcasting notes, her conjuring paper and inks, and a shot of liquid courage in her orange juice that morning.
After all, her boss wasn’t going to be around. No one was going to know if she was just the slightest bit tipsy on the job.
Bethany sucked in her breath, raised her ink brush, and dipped it in the pot of black ink.
Spirals and runes took shape on the paper as she worked, muttering and singing the spells under her breath. The ink pots dipped and were hovering where she needed them when she needed a new color of ink.
The incantation formed. The power rose within her and funneled onto the paper.
She could do this. It was all just attitude. Ember was totally right.
A positive mindset was all she needed.
She believed that she could make the strongest, suckiest, most voracious algae-eating plecostomus fish in the history of algae-eaters to eat that algae to death.
She believed it.
In apparitional spellcasting, you had to name what you wanted because names were powerful magic.
Rhyming the word plecostomus hadn’t been easy, but she’d worked in “Plecostomus, come flock to us, if it pleases you more,” to draw the algae-sucking fish out of the magical ether.
Apparitions are notorious sticklers for politeness, so formal language is customary in spells.
“Look, madam. See, sir. Pence and pennies for your trouble, pounds and dollars for your time.” She drew copper circles on the paper, then stylized loops to symbolize mounds of gold, all of them contained within a circle of arcane runes. “Take shape, acquire form, if you hear my rhyme.”
The spell was done. The runes looked right.
Confidence infused her, and she stood straighter as she released the magic from her body and soul with a great rush of breath.
The paper lifted off from her fingertips, and everything looked good.
It floated out to the middle of the fountain.
Bethany could have sworn that coagulated lumps in the sludge followed the progress of the paper drifting through the air.
She held her hands aloft, feeding the spell from her power, drawing magic from the ether and the ley lines of the Earth and Cosmos, imbuing the spell with every ounce of magical strength she had.
She was going to need another fortified orange juice after this. Maybe a protein bar. Or carbo-loading.
But these algae-suckers were going to be hungry and huge, and they were going to clean this murderous fountain until it was as shiny as a freaking crystal orb.
