No Chance in Spell

by ReGina Welling

  “Everything would have been fine if your incompetent hellspawn had been able to keep the Balefire alive.” Violet spat at my grandmother. “I might never have needed Ravana’s power at all, but there it was, being offered to me on a silver platter. All of you have laughed behind my back, and all of you have paid the price for that whether you knew it or not. Winnie—why do you think you didn’t get accepted to that summer program at Oxford even though you were more than qualified and your mother knew someone on the admissions board?”

  Winnie’s eyes widened as years’ worth of wistful disappointment suddenly made sense. She bit her lip and glanced sideways at the Raythe, and I had a feeling she would have scratched Violet’s eyes out if not for her menacing companion. “Why?” Winnie whispered.

  “For all the times you used the term null like a racial slur. Think back, all of you, and I think you’ll find I served karma well.”

  “Almost there,” Evian whispered in my ear. Her voice sounded strained. “And we’ve figured out a plan to alert the others.”

  Only because I’d been watching the first stealth bubble attack were my eyes attuned enough to pick up the tiny blip—one of many—that circled in front of me and floated gently next to my left ear. I heard a pop and then a whisper.

  “Missing Balefire restored in 10, 9....”

  A ten count to be ready didn’t leave a lot of time to get the jump on Violet. My limited history with the coven left me clueless about what to expect, and if I'm honest, most of them looked like bored housewives, not kick-butt witches with a lot of battle experience. Oh, who am I kidding? I’m not exactly a war-weary soldier either, and I had no idea what type of an attack to mount against Violet’s energy field.

  The faeries held little sway in what amounted to our inner sanctum. A stroke of luck for Violet because if this whole fracas had gone down outside, my godmothers would have set the elements against her and driven her into the ground before she ever had a chance to get the upper hand.

  Mag looked like a wet dishcloth draped over a hook. She hung in the air between Violet and Ravana, her chin resting on the Raythe’s razor claws, shoulders slumped forward, fighting to keep her eyes open. I prayed to Hecate promising everything short of my first born child as payment for her survival. Surely, I must be owed one tiny favor, gratis, but it didn’t stop me from offering.

  “6, 5, 4...”

  I didn’t hear the 3 because the Bow of Destiny chose that moment to play a little tune from its ‘80s collection. Thanks, but I already knew Vi was a cold hearted snake; I didn’t need a musical reminder.

  What I needed was a way to get inside the magic barrier. Or over it, since the shimmering curtain ended only three feet above my head. If Kin were here, he could use his basketball skills to lob a potion right over the top. If we had a potion to lob, the lack of which was another strike against us. I was the closest, so it felt like the burden of taking out Violet’s protection rested on me.

  Some witches carry an athame or a boline at all times, but my ritual knives lived in one of the drawers in the potions station, which was on the other side of the summoning ring. No help there. If only I had a weapon of some kind, something magical that would pierce her spell...oh, for the love of tiny pickles.

  “2, 1. NOW!.”

  Evian released the water barrier around Vaeta’s air pocket, and Balefire dropped out of the popped bubble with a hissing sound and then a roar. Luckily for me, the noise drew Violet’s attention long enough for me to pull my father’s bow, nock an arrow, and let a living gold tip with a razor point slice through the magic barrier. God trumps witch, and I didn’t even need to call Miss Pinkeye to do it.

  Maybe my subconscious aimed for the Raythe, or maybe it was simply instinct to act against the biggest threat. Living gold steeped in the strongest magic of all—love—thwacked into the hulking thing’s chest (always aim for the heart) and quivered there.

  I only meant to pierce the veil of protection and allow the coven a place to direct their defensive spells. The bow had other ideas and apparently required a living target. File that info away for the future.

  CLARA

  In the middle of life and death situations, time does crazy things: slows down, speeds up. Every moment my sister edged closer to death seemed to rush past in a blur. But, when I heard Evian’s voice in my ear, her countdown dragged out long enough for me to formulate a plan. The flimsiest plan in the history of plans since I had no way of communicating with the rest of the coven and they were probably all doing the same.

  Talk about lack of unity.

  Then, when Evian shouted in my ear and the Balefire roared a welcome to its missing piece, time doubled in pace, and before I could act, Lexi set chaos in motion. Everyone says that history is doomed to repeat itself and I guess I can now agree. To a point, anyway. The Bow of Destiny is a weapon of love, not hate. Using it with the wrong intentions has consequences. I turned it on its owner and broke him with it, which makes me the poster girl for what not to do with the Bow of Destiny. After that, concern for Lexi took a backseat to the events of the moment, and I focused on saving the day.

  Lexi’s arrow turned out to be a blessing and a curse. On the plus side, the arrow did what it was meant to do and showed Ravana her truest heart. Fired with the right intentions, each arrow reveals a truth which its target has been unable or unwilling to see, and the focus is on love. Used in defense, the arrow pierces and lays bare the deepest desires and regrets of the soul.

  When I fired on Lexi’s father, I hadn't been aiming for him and had no idea what would happen. It's taken me twenty-five long years to come to terms with what I did to him, and I still haven't told Lexi that part. No one should be forced to experience the darkest places of their own psyche until they’re ready to look.

  As it turned out, Raythes don’t exactly have a psyche, or a soul—hence the need to steal souls from witches. What they do have, though, is the desire to feed and to evolve. Violet’s unique situation had spawned a Raythe with an abnormal set of desires—mainly to protect her. Once Lexi’s arrow revealed to Ravana the depth of Violet’s control, she shrugged it off, and the Raythe turned on her master.

  Dangerous. Much more dangerous.

  Suspended by wickedly-tipped claws around her neck, Mag dangled from Ravana’s grasp, her face pale beyond the telling of it, and her feet barely moving. Always protective, Mag held her Raythe-defeating method close to the vest, a deep, dark secret which left me with little to go on but instinct.

  Instinct said to use my strongest defense which, in this case, meant my best offensive spell.

  “Weave and sew; bind our foe; loop and knit; her power omit.”

  Spellbindings—ropes born from soul magic, and tough enough to temporarily rob a witch of her freedom—formed between my outstretched hands. What they would do to Ravana was anyone’s guess, but they were all I had. My best spell fed by the magic of my chant, my intentions, and my desperate need to protect my sister no matter the cost.

  “Weave and sew; bind our foe; loop and knit; her power omit.”

  Joining her voice and her will to mine, Lexi repeated the invocation to double its power. As the last words of the chant echoed into silence, the bindings whipped toward the Raythe. Tongues of hot blue witchfire tasted Ravana’s mottled flesh from wrist to shoulder, writhed like lightning-touched snakes from neck to waist and lower to bind both body and power. Claws retracting in a blur, Ravana freed my sister and focused her attention on that which held her. Time deceptively slowed to allow me the full experience of watching Mag’s frail body fall toward the unforgiving stone.

  Push back one threat and another steps up to take its place. Worse, the spell for making air pillows went out of my head so fast it left skid marks.

  “Um. Mullis polvinus? Molis pulvino?....” My lungs and my magic would fall far short.

  The wind tossed from a body in motion flung my hair in my face. Rhys used himself as a shield, grunting when Mag’s weight slammed his head into the flo
or. Even as he rolled, he curved arms and legs around her for protection. Bruises bloomed on skin scraped by rough stone, but he caught my eye and nodded. Mag lived. Rhys scrambled to his feet, lifted my sister gently in his arms and, wobbling slightly from the blow to his head, carried her toward the corner where the faeries huddled.

  I owed him an apology and myself a dinner of crow.

  “Go with him. Help Mag, please Lexi!”

  With Ravana tied up however briefly, it was time to put Violet Bloodgood in her place and damn the karmic cost.

  Knowing she was the lesser of two evils and the linchpin in this crazy game, the rest of the coven had taken it upon themselves to give the rogue witch a taste of their collective ire. Ever seen a cat toy with a mouse? Then picture a clowder—the technical term for a group of cats—toying with a rat. A rat with big boobs and a penchant for tight skirts.

  Winnie swiped first and came up with a fistful of blond curls and at least two broken nails, having foregone magic in favor of the traditional hair pulling and eye scratching. Millie hit Violet with her best engorgement charm, and Violet’s skin began to swell and stretch until her fingers could no longer grasp her wand and it clattered to the floor.

  Pansy Pinkerton joined hands with Lobelia Morningside and Serena, and the three of them sent a simple wall of energy at Violet, forcing her onto all fours.

  Violet pulled all fifteen volumes of The History of Famous Nose Warts down on Serena, proving just how far over the edge she’d gone if a pregnant coven mate was considered collateral damage. The largest tome spun in the air and struck Serena’s forearm spine-first, pulling a yell out of her when the bone snapped.

  The pain seemed to spur Serena on because she never missed a beat and switched her wand from her left hand to her right. “Didn’t count on me being ambidextrous, did you, Violet? It’s not so easy when you pick on witches at your own level. Tell me what you did with my mother, or you’ll be the one paying in blood. Mark my words.”

  Black fire formed at the end of her wand, and as much as Serena might need revenge, Violet wasn’t worth dying over. It was time to shut this thing down.

  LEXI

  “Everyone okay?” What a stupid question. Three paler-than-milk faeries, one battered demon, an unconscious witch, and Vaeta—looking robust compared to her sisters—occupied the most sheltered corner of the room.

  Why the godmothers seemed so depleted was a mystery I didn’t have time to unravel.

  “Can you heal her?” I caught Terra’s eye while laying a hand on Mag’s forehead. Why? I have no idea, it’s what you do when someone is sick.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

  “Then I’ll have to do it myself,” I called up the memory of Salem listing the recipe for a healing potion in his most pedantic tone. If memory served, this one would take only a minute or two to make and while maybe not the most potent, should be better than nothing.

  With one eye on Aunt Mag and the other on Gran’s progress against Violet, I whipped up the concoction to the best of my ability. The godmothers helped me dump it down her throat.

  “Ugh, I hate Echinacea,” Mag grumbled as the color returned to her face. The bruising around her neck remained; she’d need more than a basic healing elixir for that. “Thanks, now get me on my feet.”

  “Tell me what to do, Auntie. You’re not strong enough.”

  “That’s ageist, and you know it.” Regaining her feet with a little help from Rhys, Mag dusted off her hands and toddled back toward the fray with me trailing behind her.

  We never made it, but we had a ringside seat for what happened next.

  With their efforts focused on Violet, the rest of the coven ignored Ravana and Gran couldn’t hold her alone. The Raythe gave a mighty shake that shredded the magical bonds to dust. I saw her pause and survey the room with beady eyes. I also saw the moment she made the decision that sealed her doom.

  Ravana’s eyes locked on Violet with a wild hunger.

  “Get out of the way,” I shrieked, but it was too late. The rampaging beast hit the coven like a bowling ball, scattering witches every which way, and before the last one hit the ground, Ravana had her master by the throat, lips locked on Violet’s in a deadly imitation of a kiss.

  There was nothing we could do but watch helplessly while Ravana feasted on her master’s soul.

  I’ve never watched anyone die before, and I hope I never do again. When the deed was done, Ravana triumphantly turned to the next closest witch and then the weirdest thing happened. She belched. A gusty, fetid burp that echoed off the far wall and spewed a faint, white shape in the same direction.

  Ravana looked surprised, then dismayed. Or I think she did. Her expressions weren’t that easy to read. She roared. She shivered. She fell to dust. Poof.

  And she was gone.

  Violet was dead. Not just dead, but thoroughly stoned. It must have happened while we were busy watching Ravana fall apart. How’s that for karmic payback?

  The fireplace slid open. Salem’s eyes searched the room until they found me relatively unharmed, and I saw him sigh in relief. He tossed me a grin, then turned to help Millie Minkens to her feet. Pyewacket made a beeline for Gran, and the last to step inside was none other than Calypso Snodgrass.

  White-faced, she raised her voice in as concerned a tone as I’d ever heard her speak, “Serena? Are you all right?”

  “I'm okay.” Serena, her arm already splinted and healing stepped out from behind the group. I can’t remember the last time I’d seen a genuine smile on her face, and I admit to getting a little misty when I watched mother and daughter embrace.

  “Never a dull moment, hey?” Leave it to Aunt Mag to boil a life and death situation down to a cliché.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  KIN SHOWED UP RIGHT before Calypso took charge of Violet’s granite remains. An impressive flick of her wand sent the bulky statue floating.

  “Where shall I put,” her customary sneer reappeared, “this?”

  “Put her next to a fire hydrant somewhere. One in a neighborhood with a lot of dogs.” Simultaneous snorts went up from several sections of the room when Winnie offered her opinion.

  Despite loss and injury, the mood was high, and I suspected Terra was about to see her Twinkleberry wine stash become severely diminished. She and her sisters had begun to regain their color and I'd had enough drama for one day.

  Kin and I retired to my bedroom where I’d hoped to get a chance to shower off the day and cuddle in front of a good movie. One of his favorites since there was a good chance I'd fall asleep before the end. I felt like a Mack truck had run me over, backed up, and run me over again, but it turned out fate wasn’t finished with me quite yet.

  My phone blinked with a half dozen missed calls from Hannah, and I wondered what fresh hell might be waiting for me on the other end of the line. Good news didn’t even cross my mind, and rightly so.

  Without even checking my voicemail, I dialed Hannah’s number and was surprised to hear Emily’s voice on the other end of the line, “Hello? Who is this?”

  “It’s Lexi Balefire. We met at the farmer’s market a few weeks ago.”

  “How do you happen to know my daughter?”

  My heart leaped into my throat, but fortunately, I wasn’t obligated to answer the question since Emily immediately launched into the more pressing reason for her call. “Hannah ran away, and her father and I are calling everyone in her phone log that might have information about where she went. You’re the last person she called. Do you know where our daughter could have gone?”

  I heard the fear in Emily’s voice, and it broke my heart.

  “I haven’t spoken to Hannah since she called me a few days ago. Can you tell me what happened before she took off?”

  Emily was silent for long enough I thought she’d hung up. I’m sure she was wondering how much of her situation to reveal to a virtual stranger.

  “Her father dropped her off at our house, and we got into an argument. We’ve been g
oing through a separation, and Hannah hasn’t been taking it very well.”

  My mind raced as I thought back over my conversations with Hannah, and I recalled her description of summer weekends at Coachman’s Bluff. I’d bet my right arm that’s where Hannah had gone, and dicey cell service out at the caves would explain why she hadn’t taken her phone along with her.

  The internal homing mechanism, now tied to the Bow of Destiny, kicked in to let me know I was correct.

  “She did mention something once about Coachman’s Bluff being her favorite place. Have you checked there? ”

  “Why didn’t we think of that?” Emily rushed me off the phone, but even knowing Hannah’s exact location wasn’t enough to settle the jumpy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  “We have to get out to the caves at Coachman’s Bluff. Can you drive?”

  Kin nodded, his eyes wide with concern, and shrugged his sweatshirt back over his head, “I'm ready." He’d overheard my conversation and being a stand-up kind of guy was as worried about the lost child as I was.

  Ten minutes later we were cruising down an unfrequented route out of the city, north toward an undeveloped section of coastline. The sun was just beginning its slow descent into the horizon, and we were quickly losing what remained of daylight. A sudden chill in the air left no doubt autumn was fully upon us, and as I rubbed my arms for warmth, I worried it would get frigid enough tonight to put Hannah in danger.

  No way would I let it come to that. “Park over there, I bet that’s the Aarons’ SUV.” I pointed toward a small clearing where a vehicle was parked beneath a low canopy of trees and hopped out before Kin put his car in park.

  “Here, take this,” Kin pulled a spare sweatshirt out from behind his seat and draped it over my shoulders. Then he hit the flashlight feature on his phone to illuminate an overgrown, boulder-strewn path. I heard leaves rustle in the woods to our right, and for once didn’t stop to do the spider dance when I walked face-first into one of their webs.