by Pat Esden
The idea of him not knowing made her uneasy. The orb had been so insistent that she specifically tell him. She was sure the message was vital. But as he rested a reassuring hand on hers, the worry melted away, replaced by a ripple of desire.
She uncrossed her legs and shifted closer, her fingers aching for the touch to lead to more. She studied his lips. Firm and full. Made for kissing—
The connection broke as he took his hand away and sat back. “We need to tell Athena. She was pissed last night because Midas confided some concerns to me that he should have gone straight to her with. I don’t want to delay with this.”
Chloe took a sip of coffee, buying herself a second to regroup, before she nodded. He certainly knew how to deal with this better than she did.
Devlin called Athena and relayed everything she’d told him about the orb. Chloe was grateful he didn’t turn it into a video conference, given her wet hair and wrinkled clothes. But she was thankful he’d used speakerphone.
Athena suspected the spirit was a deceased coven member, someone attracted to the magic they were once a part of. She didn’t think there was anything to be concerned about. When she banished the orb from the house, she’d only sensed kinship radiating from it, not fear or anger. She was going to talk to their mother. Perhaps the spirit asked for Devlin because it was reliving a past event, something connected to his teenage years? At the mention of his past, Devlin’s lips pressed tight together. He ran his hand over his throat as if contemplating saying something, but then he glanced at the floor instead.
Chloe’s stomach sank. Was he not speaking his mind because she was there? For a second, she felt like an intruder into a conversation she had no business being a part of. But then she remembered that the orb had spoken to her. Not Devlin. Not even Athena. She had a right to be here, at least for this.
The timer on the stove buzzed.
“Got to go.” Devlin abruptly ended the conversation with Athena, then he rushed over and took the frittata out of the oven. As he served it onto plates, he started to go on at length about how he’d never eaten frittata until a few years ago. The almost too enthusiastic way he’d shifted from talking about the orb’s message to discussing cooking convinced Chloe that he was still withholding something, most likely related to Athena’s sniping comment about his teenage years.
“I meant to tell you,” he said, walking over with the steaming plates. “Last night, Em and Midas used techniques they were familiar with to tackle the maze. But you were impressive. You used your bracelet and a skill that was called for but not easy for you. Resourceful and gutsy.”
Chloe blushed. She decided to let her curiosity drop; after all, everyone was entitled to their secrets, herself included. “Honestly, I didn’t think anyone was watching me, except Athena.”
“Chloe.” His voice became husky. “I didn’t want to look at anything but you.”
She glanced away from him, toward the frying pan and what remained of the frittata. Heat rushed through her body, settling in her stomach and spreading lower. Every inch of her buzzed. Her lips parted as a longing to feel his lips against hers overwhelmed her. She wanted to taste him, touch him, to rip that damn shirt off his body and drag him to that king-size bed. Oh Goddess, she was in trouble.
Chapter 7
Fourteen stones. The one at the east wears the shadow of a demon. The one at the west whispers a warning: sunset is coming and the moon will not rise.
—Predictions of Athena Marsh
It was about eleven a.m. when Devlin drove Chloe back to her apartment. If she’d had a choice, she’d have joined the Northern Circle before she left. A coven of friends with goals that matched hers was exactly what she wanted and needed. But according to Devlin, her next step was to officially proclaim her interest to Athena, since she was the one organizing and keeping records of everything. Unfortunately, Athena had gone back to bed, so Chloe surrendered to the fact that she’d have to call her later.
Devlin dropped her off in front of the apartment house. She said a quick thank you, then shoved her hands deep into her jacket pockets, joyously lost in daydreams of him and the coven as she scuffed her way through the fallen leaves and climbed the porch steps.
The couple from the third floor came hurrying out the front door. One of them acknowledged her with a greeting, holding the door open for her to enter. Without meeting their eyes, Chloe smiled and flipped them a wave. She let out a grateful breath when they kept on going without stopping to chat. But it was too late to dive back into her daydreams. The cracks had already formed, the light of reality seeping in as she began to second-guess her decisions that had felt wise a moment earlier.
It didn’t seem right to risk disappointing her parents again by joining the Circle without even mentioning it to them. Not when they’d explicitly warned her against fraternizing with them. It also wasn’t fair that her parents would end up being blamed for her mistake if something bad happened, like they had with the Vice-Chancellor’s son. She needed to weigh that risk against the chance that she might find a cure that could right the past, not to mention that the coven could become a shining example of what her generation of witches were capable of.
Chloe plodded across the foyer and started up the stairs. The whole thing was complicated by the issue of Devlin. He was smart, had ambition and a great profession, he was a witch, everything that would have normally thrilled her parents—and impressed the High Council of Witches. Except, he was Devlin Marsh. Athena Marsh’s brother. The son of a man her father had warned her about. Not that she was convinced anything long-term was going to happen between her and Devlin. After all, they’d just met. But…
She reached the top of the stairs and let out a long sigh. Like it or not, she needed to talk this through with someone. Juliet, she decided. She’d ask her opinion—without telling her too much about the coven.
Quiet as she could, Chloe crept past Greta’s door and knocked on Juliet’s. A clunk sounded from inside, followed by several meows. But no one answered, of course. She sighed again. This was a large part of the problem with living in an apartment house populated with grad students and working people. Most of the time everyone was gone. If they weren’t, then they were either sleeping in or had people over.
Her thoughts weighed on her as she went into her apartment and flopped down on the couch. She had two choices. Follow her heart and simply join the coven. Or get up her nerve and talk to her mom about it. She laughed at herself. Calling her mother was beyond ridiculous. Mom would have a heart attack, and despite Chloe being an adult, her father would fly to Burlington and physically drag her home by the hair if he had to.
Mom. Chloe’s pulse picked up. When she’d talked to her father on the phone the other day, she’d mentioned buying some glass straws for her mom at the farmers’ market. Instead of sitting here driving herself nuts or wasting the rest of a gorgeous day studying and doing laundry like she’d planned, she could walk downtown and get them. By the time she got back, Juliet would probably have returned. Plus, as an added bonus, Keshari might working at the market.
Chloe didn’t know Keshari that well. Last spring, when she’d come up to get a closer look at the university, Keshari had been her walking-tour guide. They’d hit it off right away and Chloe had been pleasantly surprised when they’d ended up in the same Folklore class. But they’d never managed to get together liked they’d planned, mostly because Keshari was not only working on her bachelor’s degree; she also lived at home and helped her parents with their Tibetan import business—including sometimes manning their farmers’ market booth. Keshari seemed sweet and open, into meditation and philosophy. A talk with Keshari would be the perfect way to get her head on straight, assuming Keshari was at the market today.
Chloe changed into fresh jeans and a lightweight sweater, tugged on her sneakers, and started for downtown. The warmth of the sunshine on her face and the smell of the leaves crunching
beneath her feet energized her. A city bus whooshed to a stop nearby, but she didn’t try to catch it. The more she walked and thought, the more it felt like she was right where she was supposed to be.
Fifteen minutes later, she reached City Hall Park where the farmers’ market was held. The sidewalks and vendor tents teemed with shoppers, buying pumpkins and pottery, batik scarves and handmade soaps. Chloe’s mouth watered from the smells of fresh baked pretzels, breads, and cookies. Working here probably didn’t pay much, but next spring she should talk to Keshari and see if any of them needed help. It wasn’t like she was going to be able to live on her savings forever.
She picked up a dozen straws from Double Infinity Glassworks, then continued down the line of vendors, sipping a sample of freshly pressed cider. It was delicious, but not as incredible as the bright patchwork jackets under the next canopy. They were orange, spring-green, bright pink, boxy, and embroidered. They had a distinctly Himalayan vibe, and she absolutely adored them. She also suspected she’d found where Keshari worked. Keshari had told her that her grandparents and parents had come to Burlington in the 1990s as refugees from Tibet. They still had family back there, and most of what they imported and sold was handcrafted by them.
Over the rack of jackets, wind chimes and brass bells swung lightly in the breeze. Her charm bracelet clanked against the side of a brass singing bowl and it let out a gong that reverberated through her body, right into her bones. Chloe didn’t know much about singing bowls, but sound healing was on her list of areas to explore in the future. Maybe they were something the Northern Circle should investigate as well. She’d read somewhere that sound could be used to inspire out of body experiences as well as for healing.
A display of glass gallon jars filled with layered stripes of vivid colored sand caught her eye. Smaller jars sat next to them, their granular contents equally as eye-catching, in various shades of white, pink, and peach. It looked like Himalayan salt, which was way better for protection than the generic table salt she had resorted to using after running out of the purified salt she’d brought from home.
A woman swished out from behind a drape that formed the back wall of the tent. Chloe couldn’t see her face well as she stood within the shadows of the tent, but the woman wore black leggings and one of the orange and pink jackets that were hanging on the racks. Her dark hair was bound into sleek pigtails and strings of jade and honey-colored beads hung around her neck. She was pretty sure it was Keshari, but the woman could have been a sister or cousin.
The woman stepped closer and Chloe’s doubt fell away. “Hey, Keshari. I was hoping you were working today.”
A wide smile crossed Keshari’s lips. “Chloe, wonderful to see you. Welcome and blessings.” Her voice was as resonate as a singing bowl.
“I’ve been meaning to call or catch up with you after Folklore, but that class is such a zoo.”
Keshari waved a hand at Chloe. “No worries. It is not your fault. I always seem to be rushing.” She smiled again, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “I would sit in the front of class with you, if it were not so claustrophobic.”
Chloe laughed. “If I don’t sit up front, I get distracted.”
As Keshari moved into brighter light, a pendant on one of her necklaces sparkled. Chloe leaned forward, squinting at it in the low light. “Wow. That’s gorgeous. Is it salt?”
“Yes. Himalayan. My uncle makes them. We have more in the jewelry showcase if you are interested.”
Chloe was fascinated by the idea of Keshari’s family creating such gorgeous things on one side of the world, then cooperatively selling them on the other. She thought she was from an interesting family. But she was beginning to realize that there were so many others who were equally if not more fascinating. Like Devlin, the thought crossed her mind so fast she blinked in surprise. She shook her head and glanced at Keshari’s pendant again.
“I love your pendant. But I was hoping you had loose Himalayan salt. Is that what’s in those?” She motioned at the jars filled with rainbow colors.
“The smaller ones, yes.” Keshari went over and picked up a jar containing pink salt. “The others are sand. Kits for creating basic mandalas. They come with booklets about meditation and the various philosophies.”
“What a great idea. I’ve read about mandalas, but I don’t know much.”
Keshari’s gaze went to Chloe’s charm bracelet. “Are you Wiccan?”
“Ah—” Chloe’s pulse picked up and she swallowed hard, a lie already forming in her mind. But, of all the students she’d met at the university, Keshari was the one she’d most wanted to get to know better. In class, they always seemed to be on the same side of discussions and debates, like the one the other day about if Bronze Age caps and Golden Hats were crowns for kings or used by ancient wizards. What was the harm in a little bit of honesty? “I practice the Craft. Just not as a Wiccan. Actually, that’s why I asked about the salt. I want to use it for protection.”
Keshari nodded thoughtfully. “Have you heard of the Tears of Tara, then?”
Chloe frowned. “Tara—like the Goddess?”
“The Tears are a special salt. Gathered from sacred lakes in the mountains in Tibet. The purest in the world. We use it to preserve food and for bartering. Our shamans also use it.”
“You sell it here?”
She nodded. “Wait a second, please.”
She disappeared into the shadows and behind the drape. While she waited, Chloe pretended to check out the jewelry showcase. In truth, all she could think about were Keshari’s words. ‘Our shamans also use it.’ That made it sound like Keshari and her family weren’t purely Hindu or Buddhist as she’d assumed from their heritage.
Keshari returned a minute later, holding a fist-size satin bag, tied shut with a red ribbon. She undid the ribbon, pinched out a few gray granules and placed them on Chloe’s palm. “Taste. They will surprise you.”
Chloe licked the grains from her hand. They tasted strong and earthy. But that wasn’t what left her stunned. As the salt crystals melted in her mouth, a surge of magic energy tingled across her tongue and gums. The inside of her lips trembled from it. The magic flooded her sinuses, like the heady sensation of peppermint or a shot of whiskey, or what she imagined it would feel like to kiss Devlin. Her scalp prickled and she was certain that if she cast any spell right then it would have come out potent and quick.
“Holy cow,” she said. “That’s amazing.”
Keshari laughed. “I’m not sure about holy cows. But it tells me you are blessed.”
Chloe stiffened.
A test.
She glanced toward the tent’s exit, wondering if she’d made a big mistake by even looking for Keshari.
“I am sorry,” Keshari said, holding out her palms in a placating gesture. “I should not have said anything.”
Chloe rubbed a hand across her charm bracelet. Normally, she’d have panicked if someone discovered her abilities. But—if she was totally honest with herself—on several occasions she’d thought she sensed a flicker of magic shimmer off Keshari. She’d decided her own preconceived ideas about Tibetan people being mystical had clouded her judgement and made her imagine the sensation. Witches weren’t immune to making blind assumptions and being prejudiced about other cultures. However, Keshari clearly knew true magic existed. “You startled me, that’s all.”
“I still feel bad. I know better. But it makes me happy to meet someone like myself.”
“Yeah. I guess I can understand that.” A knot of hesitation lingered in her chest. Her father would have told her to walk away, to look into Keshari thoroughly before opening up. But she totally got how Keshari felt. Meeting fellow practitioners her age was one of the reasons she was considering joining the Northern Circle. This wasn’t a reason to panic and back away, but an opportunity to know someone she already liked at a deeper level.
Her fear dissipated
and she stepped closer, focusing on the air around Keshari. She had to pay close attention, but she could detect a subtle thrum of magic there. She wet her lips with her still tingling tongue, working up her nerve. “I thought I picked up on your energy before, but I wasn’t sure.”
“The campus is not exactly a favorable place for noticing such things. Too many emotions and competing energies.” Her eyes shone with mirth. “The only thing I ever sense in class is that the professor gets nervous when the two of us gang up to debate his theories, yes?”
Chloe laughed. “That’s true.” She glanced past Keshari at a woman who’d stopped to look at the price tag on a set of wind chimes. The woman moved on, rejoining the flow of shoppers. The market was one of the city’s hubs. It was busy, but it had a more laidback vibe than the university. Over the years, it seemed like Keshari must have picked up on other gifted people, not to mention her family discussing such things. Maybe, just maybe…“You don’t happen to be familiar with the Northern Circle?”
Keshari’s eyes widened. “I—” This time she was the one who appeared taken aback. “Are you a member?”
“No. But they asked me to join.”
She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Me too. Last winter. But my parents said no.”
An unexpected twinge of guilt uncoiled in Chloe’s stomach. If she’d asked her parents like she was supposed to, that’s what they would have said for sure, as well. “So you didn’t even consider it? I mean, isn’t that kind of up to you, not your parents?”
“I know people who belong to the coven. They—” Keshari stopped talking as a slim woman in a red tunic and full-length skirt—most likely in her early fifties judging by the streaks of white in her jet-black hair and the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes—swished into the tent carrying a jug of cider.
