Witch Season: Does she have what it takes to outsmart the craft?

by Larissa May

  He shoved his hand into his front pocket and drew out Evie’s key. “I should give this back. I don’t think anyone is going to show up at that apartment. It was quiet as a tomb.”

  The protectant. I still had a few hours before leaving this coven, and I didn’t know what could come our way in the meantime. “Keep it,” I said. “After tonight I won’t need it. Evie infused the key chain with some kind of spell. I like the idea of you owning an alchemist’s protectant. There’s a kind of poetic justice to it.”

  He shrugged, but I could see a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. After a second’s thought, he held out his hand. “Like I said, it’s not personal, it’s—”

  “I know what you said,” I interrupted, taking his hand in mine. “But it is personal, and that’s why I’m leaving. I know what needs to be done.”

  Miro's shirt barely fit, the buttons pulling at the front. Shelley must have snagged it from the back of his closet, a leftover from two or three growth spurts ago. In contrast, her skirt hit the floor even though I’d folded the waistband twice, making me look, and feel, much younger.

  The sun sat low in the sky, its rays shining through the gap between the curtains, blinding me. I tugged them closed and sat on the bed in semidarkness waiting for Shelley to return.

  I still wore her talisman. Tonight I’d return it to her, replacing it with my own. Her stone of greens and purples and blues wasn’t meant to conduct my magic, but then, Evie’s stone was not the talisman my mother had intended, either. Did she have mine with her? Would she feel something when it was replaced? The thought saddened me, dampening my excitement at finally being able to perform magic without going into total respiratory distress.

  Any apprehension I had about the ceremony itself lay buried under the mountain of unease I had about my next step. Where would I start? I’d had contact with Brandon, so it made sense to start with him. I picked up my backpack, pulled my phone from the front pocket, and typed a quick message to him.

  Sonya is dead. I need you.

  With shaking hands, I placed the phone on the dresser.

  Where are you, Brandon? Why did you run?

  I thought about Seralina and Brandon, about me and my mom. All of us in the same city, separated by Gavin and so many secrets. I indulged the fantasy of a reunion, of everyone coming together.

  Until a knock at the door jolted me back to the reality of the present.

  CHAPTER 32

  It was Miro.

  He stood in the open door, dressed in a clean, white T-shirt and jeans, awkwardly balancing a wooden tray crowded with bottles of essential oils, a towel, and a number of candles. A navy-blue stone lay on a white, folded towel, drawing my eyes like a magnet. That must be it, I thought. My new talisman.

  Miro leaned against the door frame. “Can I come in? This is kind of heavy.”

  “I’m sorry. I thought you were Shelley,” I blurted. “And I’m sorry about before. We should have told you we were going.” Embarrassment sent a wave of heat over my face.

  Miro smirked; the temptation to laugh danced over his unusual features. “I would have tried to stop you, so it was probably a good decision not to tell me. I’m not always right, you know.”

  It was my turn to smirk. “I’ll keep that in mind.” We stared at each other for a moment, and then Miro placed the tray on the dresser.

  “Anyway, Shelley was supposed to do this,” he said, but changing the topic did nothing to dispel the weird tension that had entered the room. “But she’s taking care of Evie. Vadim offered, but Evie said she’d rather swallow molten gold.”

  My pulse jumped. I didn’t dare question whether my nervousness stemmed from my ignorance of the ritual or from Miro’s role in it. Or about his role in helping me to prepare. How exactly did one get ready for a consecration ceremony?

  “Have you done this before?” I asked.

  “I helped my father prepare Piotr’s talisman,” he said. Instantly, I was sorry I asked. “I gave him my blood for the family line.”

  “Blood?”

  “Don’t worry,” he said, the teasing smile returning. “This has more to do with Evie than it does you. She’ll need to give enough blood to cover the stone, to bind it to your family.”

  But I didn’t follow a family line. Disappointment slashed my hopes.

  “Don’t look like that. My father thinks it will work, even though you’re unmarked.”

  I smiled at him. “Your father hopes it will work.”

  “True enough,” he replied. “Without a family book to guide us, I’m working on instinct and tradition.” He lit the candles, four in all—blue, green, white, pink. “Do you know the preparation spell?” he asked.

  “My mother taught it to me when I was little,” I said quietly.

  “So did mine,” he said, his voice also low, respectful. “I lit the pink candle for your parents, Breeda. The white is for you.” His hands were warm and strong as they clasped mine. We closed our eyes and began:

  The lightest blue to soothe the mind,

  The deepest to reveal all kinds,

  Crimson brings unbridled lust,

  And Purple keeps a ruler just,

  Green for health as well as wealth,

  While white protects the mortal self,

  Pink draws near the friends who roam,

  But blackest black keeps them from home.

  I opened my eyes to the soft glow of a candlelit room. Miro’s smile was gentle but mildly anticipatory. “Now—”

  A boisterous laugh interrupted, and then Evie’s voice, scolding and sharp, cut into the peaceful atmosphere. Miro rolled his eyes and closed the bedroom door, shutting us off from the others. I tried to hold a neutral expression, but my nerves quivered. We were alone.

  “Okay,” he said. “I think I know what I’m doing, but be patient.” He lifted the white candle and held it in front of me, like an offering. His large hands shook slightly. Surprised, I glanced up at him, but his eyes were closed. Was he nervous, too?

  “Breeda Fergus, do you accept the consecration of your talisman, the true conductor of your magic?”

  The words caught in my throat. It’s what my parents would want me to do, I thought. It’s what I need to do.

  Miro’s eyes flashed open. “Well?” he said, but not unkindly.

  “Yes,” I answered. “I do.”

  He exhaled audibly and returned the candle to its place with the others. He laid the towel on the dresser, dug four bowls out of the pile of stuff on the tray, and lined them up. Each one got a few drops of carrier oil. Then he rifled through the amber bottles and chose one, adding a drop of something else to the first bowl.

  Miro stirred the oil mixture with his finger. “Rose of Jericho brings the beginning. New thoughts for a new life.” He placed his fingers at my temples and gently rubbed in the oil. The delicate scent of fresh-cut roses calmed my frayed nerves. I reveled in it, losing myself so completely it felt like a loss when he finally dropped his hands.

  He chose a second bottle and added its liquid to another bowl. “Marjoram, for the change flowing through your blood.” He caught my hand in his, turned it over, and traced one blue vein from my wrist to the inside of my elbow with the fragrant oil. I shivered as the path he drew tingled with life. My blood seemed to rise to the surface, heating the flesh from the inside out.

  I focused on breathing and watched Miro prepare the third bowl. He began to move slowly, finally stopping completely, staring at the bottle in his hand.

  “Is everything okay?”

  He turned to me, an uncharacteristically sheepish smile curling his lips, and gestured toward the buttons on my oxford shirt. “You, uh, need to . . .” he mumbled.

  “What?”

  “You need to unbutton your shirt,” he said quickly, a flush sweeping over his features.

  His comment set fire to my face. “That’s fine,” I said, my words barely audible as I fumbled with the buttons. I undid the top three and pulled the shirt open, exposing my br
a.

  At first I couldn’t look at him. My thoughts went to our kiss in the laundry room, to the way his lips felt on mine, to the curiosity I felt when I thought about the chaos that desire brings. Was that what I really wanted? It seemed selfish to ask myself that question, given the circumstances, and yet . . .

  When I met his eyes, I couldn’t deny the surge of hope I felt when I found a spark of longing that mirrored my own.

  Miro dipped his index finger into the third bowl he cradled in one hand. “Pine. To give the heart strength.”

  I held my breath, shivering while Miro did . . . nothing. He stood perfectly still, head bowed. I brushed my hand across his arm. “It’s fine,” I murmured. “Go on.”

  He raised his head, locking eyes with me. In the swirl of green and brown and gold of his eyes I saw the mysteries of the forest, my second home, the place of our life and death, beginning and end. The birthplace of the natural world. The heart and soul of a witch. The feeling nearly overwhelmed me, shaking me to the core in a more intense way than magic ever had.

  Trembling, I inhaled deeply, the heady scent of pine nearly overwhelming my senses. “Please,” I whispered.

  Miro touched his finger to my chest, resting it gently against the skin. My pulse sounded in my ears.

  His finger began to move, slowly tracing a star over my racing heart. “Star of day and star of night, guide the heart to choose what’s right.” He placed his palm over the star, the heat of his skin warming the oil.

  “You’re ready,” he said softly. I didn’t dare to breathe as he slowly refastened the buttons on my shirt. His callused fingertips lightly scratched my skin, prompting goose bumps.

  “Are you cold?” he asked.

  “No,” I lied. A chill had taken hold of me—not on the surface, where his hand had been, but in my heart, where I realized my feelings for Miro ran deeper than the quick flicker of mere attraction. Shortly, though, the bedroom door would open and I would walk into my future. Alone. I felt a stab of guilt—what I wanted to do and what I needed to do should not be at odds, not with my parents still missing. I thought about them, about Sonya, and forced myself to ask Miro, “What comes next?”

  “We wait for midnight,” he replied, looking at me strangely. “Is something wrong?”

  I couldn’t reveal what I was thinking: that the temptation to lock the guest-room door with both of us inside and never leave would be unforgivable. I spotted a distraction. “The fourth bowl,” I said, gesturing toward the dresser. “You forgot one.”

  Miro picked up the last amber bottle. He uncapped it and held it under my nose. “This is my addition,” he said. “It’s not an official part of the ceremony.”

  I smiled sadly, thinking of my mother. “Jasmine.”

  “Mixed with evening primrose.” He nudged one drop of the thick oil onto his pinky finger, then touched it to the middle of his lower lip. Before I could react, he leaned over and pressed his mouth to mine, anointing my lips with the oil.

  Reflexively, I opened my mouth, deepening the kiss. Miro froze for a second, then wrapped his hands around the back of my head, pulling me toward him, our bodies crashing together. I ran my hands up the muscles of his arm, wove my fingers through the silky hair curling over his ears, caught his breath and mixed it with my own. His touch electrified my skin, drawing me closer to the edge of complete surrender, to falling into something I couldn’t quite comprehend, or didn’t want to. Frightened by the power of my desire, I brought my hands to the sides of his face, slowing our movements.

  He felt my apprehension and broke the kiss, leaning his forehead against mine. “Are you okay?” he murmured.

  “Yes.”

  Miro pulled back slightly, so we could look at each other. “I wish my gift was stopping time,” he said, his face reddening a little. “I’d hold this moment, just as it is.” He drew a finger over the oil on his bottom lip, and a teasing smile slowly appeared. “And that is the single most cheesy thing I’ve ever said to a girl.” He kissed me once more, quickly. “But it doesn’t make it any less true.”

  I laughed, trying to match his lightness. “After two whole days, of course I’d expect you to start planning the binding ceremony.”

  His smile faded. “I don’t put my trust in time, Breeda. Two years hasn’t dulled the pain of Piotr’s death, yet everyone promised time would heal me. Those same people would say it’s ridiculous to think real feelings could take root in two days. They’d be wrong again. I feel how I feel.”

  “The problem is,” I said, “everything else is a big question mark.” I hadn’t told him how I felt outright, and I could feel his anticipation deflate a bit. What happened between us should feel like a start, but I could only see endings everywhere. Letting Miro know I had feelings for him would only make leaving more heartbreaking.

  “We’re going to consecrate the stone soon,” Miro said, a more practical tone to his voice. “It might not help you find your parents, but it will make you stronger and more in control of your magic.”

  I exhaled, impatient. “What do I do now?”

  Miro paused for a second. “You wait,” he said. “I know how difficult it is for you to sit still, but you can spend your time cataloguing all the reasons you’re attracted to me.”

  “So the consecration ceremony takes place in ten seconds?”

  He smiled, but it had too much sadness in it. “Soon, Breeda,” he said, before walking into the hallway.

  After he left, I stood in the middle of the empty room, watching the flickering candles throw shadows against the walls, and trying to process what had happened. Then my phone vibrated against the wooden dresser. Another text:

  I love you. Doing the best I can. Have news. Tonight?

  I put down the phone without responding. Only a short time ago, I hung on Brandon’s every word, accepting what he said without question. Now, when they could be weapons in disguise, I had to scrutinize them for every possible meaning. He said he loved me before anything else. A few days ago that would be cause enough to trust him, but now it muddled my head, confusing me in so many ways.

  Thoughtful, I picked up one of the bottles of oil Miro had left behind. “Jasmine,” I said quietly, touching a drop of the oil to my bottom lip. “Bringing hope to hopeless cases.”

  Hope was really all I had.

  CHAPTER 33

  I couldn’t sit still. My fingers twitched over my phone. I wanted to reach into it and grab Brandon by the neck and shout, What do you know? I read his text a second time, and a third, trying to decide if it meant to communicate its simple message or something more.

  Think, think . . .

  But I couldn’t think. My lips were still swollen from the oil, from the kiss. I closed my eyes for a second, reliving its intensity.

  And then I opened them. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t fix my thoughts on Miro. In a few hours I would own a talisman, but I would still need a strategy. I had to plan for every possible scenario when I met Brandon. What news did he have? If he’d found my parents, wouldn’t he tell me? Or had he found Gavin? Had Gavin found him?

  Brandon had said he loved me. My emotions surged and dove, but what did I really feel? What was the transition and what came from my heart?

  All I knew was I wanted to see Miro again—I knew I wanted to kiss him again—but only if everyone I loved was brought to safety, without putting anyone else in unnecessary danger.

  I caught my reflection in the small, oval mirror hanging on the wall. My eyes looked otherworldly, shining with the intensity of a thousand lit candles. The purple smudges underneath them had completely faded, my skin bright, even in the dim light.

  Miro said I was ready. And strangely, I felt ready. My parents needed me to be.

  I picked up the smooth, deep blue stone, soon to guide my very being, and thought about what Shelley said, about her talisman being as natural a part of her as an arm or a leg. The stone settled into the middle of my palm. On closer inspection, it was a blue star sapphire, th
e inclusions so small the star was almost not noticeable, like a tiny spark in the night sky. It was a unique, semiprecious stone, not overly expensive, but not an obvious choice for a talisman. I smiled, thinking of my mom. It was exactly something she would pick.

  You had better work, I thought, running my finger over its smooth surface. Something about the stone was so familiar. Did my mom have one like it? I stuck my other hand out and balanced the stone on my wrist, watching the star shine in the light from the lamp. Hadn’t I seen a stone like this somewhere else?

  I had. I put the stone back on the dresser and grabbed my backpack from the floor. Inside was the friendship bracelet Sonya had given me for my birthday. I knew the stones on it like I knew my own face, but the change hadn’t registered when I’d hurriedly shoved it in my backpack at the apartment. There, sewn tightly to the braided, gold bracelet, was a new stone. Smooth and blue with a small, white star on its surface. I fastened the bracelet around my wrist, making sure that stone touched my skin.

  The effect was instantaneous. It felt molded to my body, as if it had a heartbeat that matched my own. I felt a sense of calm, a calm I hadn’t felt since I’d left Portland. The immense power I felt standing in the alley with Miro rose again, wildly coursing through my veins, but my will reined it in, setting the pace, guiding its path.

  This had to be my rightful talisman, I thought, staring at the blue stone. Right? Or was it simply a connection to my old life, to Sonya, to my parents?

  I pressed the stone into my wrist and felt the strength within me grow. This was it. It had to be.

  My mother knew we might be running into trouble. She hid it in plain sight, hoping I’d figure it out. I felt a rush of love for her, and one of gratitude for the faith she had in me. The star in the middle of the stone caught the light. How odd, looking at the one thing that would be with me forever.

  I heard the low hum of voices chanting the spell of affirmation, the entrance to every ritual. Soon they would come for me.