Spells Trouble

by Kristin Cast

  Mercy squinted at the card, trying to figure out what was wrong with the logs that bobbed in clumps in the river. “Um, H, what tree does that mean?”

  “Easy. The hippo-filled river is the Nile, which means we need to start at the Egyptian tree, of course.”

  “Oh, yeah, of course.”

  Hunter raised a brow at her sister.

  Mercy lifted her hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean anything except that I’m glad you’re the Cosmic Witch ’cause I’m hopeless at tarot.” She looked over her shoulder at the big clock in the foyer. “So, it’s just a little after three thirty. I’m pretty sure I can cut and carve a stang and, with your help, get all the stuff we need for the spells together by dusk.”

  From the stairway they heard a long, drawn-out yawn. Xena turned the corner into the kitchen area as she stretched and yawned again. She was still wearing their mom’s fluffy bathrobe. Her hair stood out around her face like the mane of an electrocuted lion.

  “Good morning, kittens,” she said between yawns.

  “Xena, it’s afternoon,” said Mercy.

  Xena shrugged as she headed to the fridge. “That’s human time. In cat time it’s morning whenever we awaken. Hunter, love, did you get me more of that extra-thick cream and delectable tuna?”

  “Yeah. Cream’s in the fridge. Tuna’s in the pantry.”

  Xena’s head swiveled around and her eyes skewered Hunter’s. “You remembered to get me albacore, didn’t you? You know I won’t eat common tuna.”

  “Xena, we all know that. You’re the only carnivore living in a house of vegetarian witches,” Mercy said, then went on, as she continued to list what she and her sister would need to collect for the tree spell.

  Xena sighed as she made her way languidly to the pantry and began pawing—literally—through the canned goods. “Yes, I am aware of your strange dietary predilections. It is the only thing my Abigail and I ever crossed words about. Ah! Here it is! Delicious albacore.” She carried the can to Hunter and plopped it down in front of her. “Do be a dear and open it for me.”

  “How about I show you how to open it yourself. It’s really easy.” Hunter stood and started for the electric can opener that sat in the corner of the kitchen counter between the coffee maker and the blender.

  “Oh, no, thank you, kitten. I loathe electric appliances. What if I broke a nail?” Xena batted a hand at Hunter dismissively while she peered down at the cards. Her gaze shifted from the one face-up. “Oh, excellent! You’ve decided on a spell and you’ll be beginning at the Egyptian tree.”

  Mercy glanced up at her. “Am I the only one confused by tarot?”

  “Yes!” Xena and Hunter said together.

  Xena slid onto the bench seat and licked the back of her hands, then smoothed them through her crazy hair as she leaned into Mercy and read her notes. “A stang! That’s a rather good idea. Very powerful in the hands of the right witch.”

  Mercy paused in her list making. “Am I the right witch?”

  “Of course, kitten.” Xena licked the back of her hand again and tried to smooth a strand of Mercy’s hair.

  Mercy backed out of her reach. “Xena, it’s not cool when you do that.”

  “I’m just trying to help you look your best. You’re rather disheveled.” Xena hesitated and sniffed in Mercy’s direction. Her yellow eyes widened. “Mercy Anne Goode, you smell like—”

  “Nothing that’s your business!” Mercy said quickly, super grateful that the whirring of the can opener kept her sister from hearing their exchange. She gathered her sticky notes so that when Hunter turned with the open can of tuna Mercy held them out to her. “Could you gather these things for me while I cut the stang? Then we’ll meet in my greenhouse and put everything together.”

  “Sure, Mag,” Hunter said, and took the open can of tuna to Xena.

  “You do not think I’m going to eat from a can, do you, Hunter? Your mother is no longer with us, but we have not yet deteriorated into barbarism.”

  This time Mercy and Hunter shared their eye roll. “Perish the thought,” Hunter murmured, detouring to the cabinet that held Abigail’s collection of bone china.

  “I suppose you want us to pour the cream for you, too?” Mercy asked, though she’d already taken a wine goblet from another cabinet.

  “I do so love it when my kittens take care of me,” said Xena, smiling and making a humming sound that was eerily purr-like.

  Mercy had to smile, too, when she and her sister put the bowl of tuna—albacore with a small silver fork—and the crystal goblet of cream in front of Xena, who forked through the tuna delicately, still purr-humming with pleasure.

  “Now, shoo, kittens!” Xena said, “Get ready for your spell. And remember, as you gather the items, hold your intention. That was one of the reasons my Abigail was such a powerful witch. She was wonderful at setting intentions.”

  Hunter read the list Mercy had given her. “These things are all in Mom’s pantry, right?”

  Mercy nodded. “Yeah, but I think we should add fresh herbs along with the oils made from them. The rosemary, mint, and thyme are in the garden. Want me to get them?”

  “Nah, I’ll harvest them for you and wash them. I need to cleanse the moonstones while I add intention to them anyway. Plus, you’ll be busy carving the stangs,” said Hunter.

  “Stangs? As in more than one?” Mercy’s fingers drummed against the old grimoire she held. “You really think we can’t use the same one for each tree?”

  Hunter opened her mouth to answer, but Xena interceded before she could speak. “You must have unique spellwork items for each tree. The power needs to be fresh and focused—not shared. Think of the Egyptian tree only as you prepare. Once you are successful with healing that tree, then you shift your intent to the next.”

  “But shouldn’t we be moving quicker?” Hunter asked. “The trees are getting worse and worse.”

  “Which is why you must concentrate on one at a time. Do not fragment your powers. Be clear. Be strong. Be decisive. That is the advice your mother would give you. If you’re in a hurry stop complaining and get to work.” Xena poured the cream from the wine goblet over the tuna, dipped her head, and began to lap delicately at it.

  “Gross, Xena!” Hunter disappeared into the pantry.

  “Oh, bloody hell that’s disgusting.” Mercy gagged as she hurried out the back door and headed for the pretty little greenhouse that had been an early birthday gift from Abigail.

  * * *

  Mercy stood the ladder against the wide trunk of the ancient oak that had watched over the Goode Cemetery for more than two centuries. She’d fashioned a strap around the well-sharpened hedge trimmers, which she slung over her shoulder, much like her giant boho purse. Before she began to climb the ladder Mercy went to the tree and pressed both of her hands against her trunk. She breathed deeply, catching the scent of the newly blooming lilac bushes, big as trees, that framed the little wrought-iron fence enclosing the cemetery. She listened carefully, hearing the cardinals that loved the oak so much, as well as the whirring of dragonfly wings as the helicopter-like insects darted from the water feature that decorated the other side of their spacious backyard. And then Mercy felt it—the inhale and exhale of the mighty tree that vibrated softly against her palms.

  “Hi there, Mother Oak.” Mercy spoke with familiarity to the tree because she knew the tree well. She’d grown up in her shade and spent uncounted hours in the deep V where the massive boughs first split from the trunk, reading and hiding from weekend chores. Mercy’s lips lifted in remembrance. “It’s me again. Mercy. I need your help today. I’m going to cast a heal-and-protect spell over the Egyptian palms, and a stang will channel the energy of the spell. So I need your permission to harvest a living bough. I brought wax to seal the wound.” She paused and patted one of the deep pockets in her dress that held a small candle and a box of matches. “And I’ll be very careful. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. May I have your permission, Mother Oak?” Mercy press
ed her palms more firmly against the skin of the oak, closed her eyes, and opened herself.

  She didn’t have to wait long for the tree’s response. Almost immediately the bark against her palms warmed and Mercy was flooded with a wave of affection. She imagined it was a lot like being engulfed in a hug by a grandma.

  “Thank you, Mother Oak. I promise to use your energy only for good and will tend to the wound I cause you.” She decided not to mention that if the spell was successful she’d be back four more times. The faithful old tree probably wouldn’t mind, but still …

  Carefully, Mercy climbed the ladder, thinking of their childhood when Hunter used to boost her up to the lowest branches. She’d swing her legs hard and scramble into the arms of the oak, where she’d spend hours reading or just absorbing the warmth and strength and love of the tree. As her thoughts turned to Hunter, the breeze, which had been gentle and warm, changed—cooled—and brushed insistently against Mercy’s skin. She shivered suddenly—like a dark god had walked over her grave.

  God, not goddess …

  The feeling of foreboding was so thick—so real—that Mercy paused partway up the ladder as thoughts she’d repressed for days flooded free. “Oh, Freya,” she whispered. “Are you telling me that I’ve been right to worry about Hunter’s choice of a god instead of a goddess? Is Tyr the reason our powers aren’t strong enough to keep the trees healthy? Could you show me a sign—something I can understand better than symbols from a tarot deck? Something a Green Witch would get?” Mercy drew a deep breath and opened her mind to her beloved goddess, Freya.

  Nothing.

  Absolutely nothing came to her except the familiar sounds and scents of Grandma Oak.

  Mercy sighed. “Okay, well, I promise to pay attention in case you want to send me an omen.”

  The warm breeze returned and Mercy shook herself, wondering if she’d imagined the cold and the foreboding. She chewed her lip contemplatively as she continued climbing.

  When she got to the familiar fork in the tree, Mercy rested a moment. She centered herself again by breathing deeply. Then she focused on her intention.

  I am here to harvest a bough for a magical stang that will channel healing and protective energy into the Egyptian palm trees.

  Mercy recited the sentence over and over to herself as she pressed her back against the oak and let her gaze search the branches around her. Soon, her attention was captured by a thin branch growing, straight and strong, from one of the central boughs of the tree. It was forked and about an inch in diameter—and at the end, in the early spring leaves, was a circle of tangled mistletoe. Mercy grinned and nodded as she patted the skin of the bark affectionately. Mistletoe was a powerful magnifier of magic, and would be a great addition to her spell.

  “That’s perfect, Mother Oak! Thank you.”

  Mercy climbed out, straddling the thick arm like a horse, and used the shears to slice through the much smaller branch, letting it drop to the ground. Then she pulled out the candle, lit it, and dripped wax on the cut, sealing it to keep out insects and disease. She retraced her way back down the ladder and embraced the tree one last time, whispering her appreciation before she grabbed the branch with one hand and the ladder with the other. She hurried back to the greenhouse where she opened her well-organized tool chest and brought out the little folding knife she used to trim plants. Mercy kept it razor sharp so that it wouldn’t cause the plant any more damage than necessary. With a sigh, she sat in the open doorway of the greenhouse and began to trim leaves as she thought about strengthening and healing the palms that guarded the gate to the Egyptian Underworld. She whittled the finishing strokes to create a spike on the bottom of the stang, and concentrated on her intention so fully that Hunter’s voice made her jump.

  “Hey, that looks really good!”

  “Oh, bloody hell, you scared me,” Mercy said.

  “Sorry.” Hunter sat beside her. She carried one of their mom’s handwoven baskets, which she set by their feet. “Wow, you even got mistletoe.”

  “Yeah, Mother Oak was super generous today.” Mercy touched the glossy, pointed leaves of the circle of mistletoe.

  “I’m not a Green Witch,” said Hunter, “but that seems like a good omen.”

  Mercy met her sister’s gaze and nodded agreement. “A really good omen.” She cleared her throat and added, “Hey, H, did you ever consider any other god, or goddess, to follow except for Tyr?”

  Hunter’s arched brows lifted in surprise. “No. Never. And that’s a weird question. What makes you ask?”

  Mercy shrugged. “I dunno. As I was climbing I was thinking about when we were little girls, before we thought about anything much except toys and tea parties and whatever.”

  Hunter snorted. “I never thought about tea parties. That was you. I always thought about books, but now you’re totally the research queen.”

  Mercy smiled at her sister. “Sorry. That was a weird question. We shouldn’t be thinking about the past right now. We should be concentrating on our spell. Speaking of—did you get all the items for my Awake and Alive Oil?”

  “Yep!” Hunter opened the basket and pulled out the bottle of insecticide she’d purchased from the nursery and five vials of homemade oils, as well as the herbs she’d just harvested. Inside the basket there was also a handful of milky stones that glowed softly against the square of black velvet Hunter had lined the basket with and the sapphire-colored pouch that held her tarot.

  “Awesome! Let’s mix them together and then add the insecticide.” Mercy frowned as she stared at the insecticide. “Hang on. This is organic, right?”

  “Of course. Mag, I’m not a Green Witch, but I’m also not stupid.”

  “Yeah, yeah, sorry. I’m just being super careful because I want everything to be perfect. Speaking of, I have the perfect glass bottle for our oil.”

  Hunter followed Mercy through the glass door of the greenhouse. Abigail had built her this incredibly awesome gift several weeks ago for Mercy to fill with young plants to transplant to their vast gardens. It was already alive with hanging ferns, a tray of thriving herbs, baby tomato sprouts, and an entire shelf of happily blooming orchids.

  “It smells really good in here.” Hunter gently touched a wide frond of one of the hanging plants.

  “Thanks, it’s mostly the honeysuckle over there. I coaxed them to bloom early. Here it is!” Mercy held up a glass bottle that was the color of the ocean, like a luminous ball sealed with a tan atomizer bulb just waiting to be squeezed.

  “That’s pretty,” Hunter said.

  “Yeah, I found it in the back of Abigail’s pantry. It makes me think of old-timey perfume bottles.” Mercy took the top off the bottle before she placed it on the worktable. “Okay, let’s do this together to make it stronger.”

  “Sounds good to me,” agreed Hunter. “If you tell me what you need I’ll hand the oils and herbs to you.”

  “And then you can add your insecticide at the end to fill up the bottle. Let’s set our intention.”

  Somberly, the girls grounded themselves with three deep breaths—in and out.

  “My intention is to heal the palm trees,” said Mercy. “Please hand me rosemary oil.”

  Hunter passed her the vial of greenish-amber oil. “My intention is to protect the palm trees.”

  The girls worked efficiently, sharing that special bond with which they’d been born. They mixed rosemary, mint, orange, lemon, and thyme oils—and added fresh herbs to the bottle. Then Mercy passed the bottle to her sister, who poured the organic insecticide into it until it was completely full. She handed the bottle back to Mercy, who securely screwed the top on before tucking it safely within their basket. Mercy gathered the stang and the circle of mistletoe.

  “Okay, I think we’re ready,” said Mercy.

  “Me, too, but I feel like we’re forgetting something,” said Hunter.

  Which was when Xena, still wearing the fluffy bathrobe, hair cascading in chaos around her shoulders, hurried out the back
door of the house.

  “Kittens! Oh, good, I caught you before you left. You need to do one more thing—ouch!” Xena lifted one of her bare feet and frowned at it as she brushed a rock from between her toes. “If I have to wear shoes I will die. Simply die!” She sat on the back porch steps and raised her foot to her mouth.

  “Freya’s cloak!” Mercy gasped. “Is she going to lick her foot?”

  “Not while we’re watching she’s not. Xena! What was the one more thing?”

  The cat person froze, blinked several times, and then dropped her foot. “Sorry, kittens. Being a human is very distracting. You need to make it rain.”

  “What?” The twins spoke together.

  Xena sighed. “The Egyptian palms are in the middle of the park, correct?”

  “Yeah,” said Hunter.

  “People will be there—even after dark. They have those horrid lights that do not allow cats to hunt at night at all. It’s really very upsetting.” She shook herself. “But that is not important tonight. What’s important tonight is that you cast your spell without prying eyes. So—make it rain.”

  “Huh. She’s right,” Mercy said.

  “Well, of course I am. Do you need me to remind you of a rain spell or—”

  “No, we’ve got it,” said Mercy. “All we need is dried heather.”

  “And fern leaves,” finished Hunter.

  “Exactly,” said Xena. “I shall leave you to it.” She stood and picked her way carefully to the door. “Blessed be, kittens.”

  “Blessed be,” Mercy and Hunter responded automatically.

  “I’ll get the fern fronds from the greenhouse,” said Mercy.

  “And I just saw the dried heather hanging in the back of the pantry,” Hunter said. “I’ll get that and the matches and meet you in the garage. It’ll be easier to call the rain to the park if we do the spell there.”