But with such a spell, Amber wondered what would happen if it wasn’t executed perfectly. Willow had half been joking when she’d said that she worried Amber could get stuck in the past—but what if something like that were really possible?
In her gut, she knew it wasn’t a spell to play with. It could cause irreparable damage if it was cast perfectly. But who knew what would happen if it wasn’t?
Amber kept flipping, looking for spells about severing powers from a witch. The practice was what resulted in the Penhallow line being cursed, so she wasn’t totally convinced that her mother would not only have dangerous spells in her grimoire, but illegal ones.
Gretchen, however, had seemed convinced there’d be something they could use against Kieran Penhallow.
Edgar moved from his spot across from her to grab a pad of paper out of a kitchen drawer—which he closed with a rattling clang that made Amber jump—and then he stood in front of the Blackwood grimoire again. He tore a strip off the pad and stuffed it between two pages before flipping forward a few more places and placing another strip into the book. She hoped that was a good sign.
Amber found a whole slate of spells that dealt with people’s minds. They were the kind of spells Amber had gravitated toward naturally. Spells to reveal guilty pleasures. Spells for truth. But while Amber’s often were simple—a spell that revealed the truth in a sentence or even in just a yes or no—these had much more depth. Truth about a lie once told. Truth in the face of unyielding denial. Truth when memories fail.
They all, like Amber had known instinctually, needed physical contact with a subject to be the most effective.
There were spells associated with dreams and nightmares and secrets. With happiness, loss, and grief. Spells to enhance emotions and to dampen them.
With a rising sense of disappointment that what she needed wouldn’t be here, she turned to the last page and she found something different. She gasped softly when she saw her name in her mother’s neat handwriting.
Amber and Willow,
If you have this book, I hope that means our plan has worked and you’ve made it this far into my grimoire because you’re reading it cover-to-cover out of curiosity and not necessity.
If it’s the latter, and a Penhallow is still after the book, I’m sorry. Truly, truly sorry. Your father and I tried so hard to protect you. Please believe that.
This is not the last page, but you must read this in its entirety for this last spell to appear. It will only appear for you two should you need a severing spell.
Do not tread lightly with this decision, girls. There are rumors that if one truly severs a witch from her powers, it’s not reversible. The witch will be forever changed, though no one is truly sure how.
I’ll let you in on a little secret that my father told me: the council didn’t actually sever power from the Penhallows—not completely. They scooped magic out of them, like gutting a melon, but they didn’t remove the drive for magic. That’s the trick, I believe. To truly sever magic from a witch, you don’t remove their abilities. That’s treating a symptom. You must sever their desire to do magic in the first place. You must take away a fundamental part of their being.
This is no easy feat. These rumors may simply be old wives’ tales. Myths. It may be impossible to ever really take magic away from a witch.
It’s never been done before, at least not as of my writing of this. All recorded attempts have resulted in madness and an even stronger desire for acquiring magic. The most notable attempt is the Penhallow curse which has now lasted for generations.
You must enter the mind of the witch and find their drive. Find what fuels their soul. And then snip that away and cauterize the wound so nothing worse grows back in its place.
I hope you never need it.
All my love,
Mom
Amber wasn’t sure when she’d started crying, but when the book gave a pulse of yellow behind her mother’s note, it sobered her up some. Her eyes widened as several pages materialized under the one she currently stared at. She wiped the tears from her face.
When she looked up, Edgar’s eyes were wide too.
Then, from upstairs, she heard, “Someone’s coming!”
Amber swallowed, then jutted her chin at Edgar. “Got anything?”
“Not going to tell me what you found?” he asked, brow raised.
“Not yet.”
“Did you hear me?” Jack called from upstairs. “Is it the incinerating guy?”
They both ignored him. Her magic hummed. She was so full of nervous energy, she was starting to fidget. Her foot tap, tap, tapped on the floor in a soft, frantic rhythm.
“I found some of the most powerful sleep spells I’ve ever seen,” Edgar said. “There’s one in here that essentially can put someone in coma. But like a cryogenic-freeze kind of coma. They won’t age. They’ll just be sleeping … indefinitely.”
“Yikes.” She chewed on her bottom lip. Scratched at her ear.
“Out with it, Blackwood.”
“I found the sever spell,” she blurted.
He softened his tone when he asked, “We gonna use it?”
“If we do this wrong, it could backfire even worse than the Penhallow curse. I’m … I’m worried I’m too green. What if it’s too complex for me? I didn’t even know I had powers like this a week ago.”
“I get that,” Edgar said. “No one can make that call but you.”
Jack’s heavy footfalls sounded as he pounded down the steps, across the foyer, and darted into the kitchen. He thrust the phone toward Amber. “It’s Willow.”
Amber met him halfway and plucked the still-ringing phone from his hand. She almost didn’t hit accept in time. “Hi, Will?”
“Oh thank God,” Willow said, heaving out a breath. “Kieran has a head start on us so I didn’t know if he’d made it to you yet.”
The house gave a great shudder then, the windows rattling and the floor vibrating. Edgar and Jack took turns cursing up a storm.
“I think he just beat you here,” Amber said, a little breathless.
From outside, Kieran screamed, “Give me the book!”
The house lurched again.
Edgar bolted out of the kitchen and into the foyer, words of an incantation already leaving his lips. He was reinforcing the wards Kieran was currently trying to tear down.
Jack stood in the middle of the kitchen, hands clasping his elbows, eyes as wide as saucers. He nearly jumped out of his skin every time the house rumbled.
“Is there any way I can convince you to go back to the shop, Will?” Amber asked, walking to the doorway of the kitchen, watching Edgar work. “We’re in a warded house. You’re not.”
“Not a chance, big sis,” Willow said. “Aunt Gretchen and I took a hit of her protection tincture before we left.”
A sickening groan sounded, reminding Amber of a ship at sea.
“That’s only good against one strike. You know what a full dose of his power can do to you,” Amber said, aware of the rising panic in her own voice. “You’ll be like sitting ducks out there.”
Kieran screamed outside again, demanding the book. Something exploded, followed by cackling.
Jack hit the floor like a bomb had just gone off, his clasped hands protecting the back of his neck. He was muttering to himself. Maybe he was praying.
“Did you find the spell?” Willow asked. “Tell me what you need us to do. We’ll be there in two minutes. Gretchen is currently driving at speeds I didn’t know were possible in a car this old.”
Amber pretended she hadn’t heard that last part. Walking back into the kitchen, she took in Jack’s crouched form on the floor and the two open grimoires on the counter. Glass shattered outside. She winced.
Then a lightbulb went off in her brain.
“I’m sending you pictures and instructions, Will.” Amber said, her heart and her magic pulsing in unison. “I have an idea.”
Chapter 22
After sending everything to
Willow’s cell, Amber shoved her phone in her back pocket and then rushed to Jack’s side, placing a hand on his shoulder. He jumped at the touch, but he unfurled from his crouched position on the floor.
“How are you so calm?” he asked, then immediately winced as that horrible groaning-metal noise sounded again. He rested his back against the island.
It truly sounded as if a giant had a crowbar wedged under the house and was trying to pry it loose from its foundation.
“I’m not,” she said, squatting beside him. “I’m just good at compartmentalizing.”
He didn’t reply to that.
“In a couple minutes, I’m going to go outside.”
“What?” he asked, perking up and turning to her. “You can’t. You said incinerate. Your cousin’s keeping him out, right? We just have to wait till he goes away.”
“Jack—”
“No, Amber,” he said. “You have to—”
Then something exploded in the front room. Edgar cried out. Amber was on her feet and running in an instant. She darted into the foyer to find the front door had been blown off its hinges. Edgar was on the ground, grunting and cursing and trying to get back up.
Kieran appeared in the open doorway. His face lit up with a grin when he spotted her.
Before he could lift a finger or start an incantation, she sent a burst of air at him that had so much rage behind it, it knocked the startled Penhallow clear off his feet, over the patio’s railing, and into the bushes.
“Up, Edgar!” Amber called out, using sheer adrenaline to pick up the heavy wooden door. “We have to re-secure the house.”
The weight of the door vanished. Edgar was upright again, his magic not only refastening the door back into place, but layering on another protection spell. Kieran’s growl from outside was punctuated with a rattle from the reattached door. Kieran was tearing the defenses down almost as fast as Edgar was putting them up.
“You got a plan, cousin?” Edgar asked, even paler now than he had been earlier. “I’m gonna run out of juice eventually. He’s stronger than I am.”
If Neil’s magic was still speaking to him, Edgar must have been both physically and mentally wrung out.
“Yes,” she said. “Keep him occupied.”
“Keep him occupied,” he repeated sarcastically. “What do you think I’ve been doing?”
“I’m going out the back.”
“The yard is a jungle,” he said. “Be safe.”
“You too.”
The house gave another shudder.
She bolted back into the kitchen, then to the back door. There was a shelf stacked with cooking staples—flour, sugar, oil—that clearly hadn’t been used in a while, given the coating of grime on their containers, bottles, and caps.
“I need your help, Jack!”
“This can’t be a good idea, Amber,” he said, though he still joined her to assist in clearing a way to the door.
Once it was unobstructed, she grabbed the knob, only to find it locked.
A great gust of air sailed between Amber and Jack, slamming into the door and blowing the now slightly splintered wood clear out into the dark beyond it. Jack yelped. Amber whirled around, hand outstretched and magic buzzing. But it was only a wild-eyed Edgar in the doorway to the kitchen.
“Sorry! I just remembered the door was locked and I have no clue where the key is,” he said, shrugged, and then ran back to the foyer.
Which was helpful, but also meant Jack was considerably less safe in the house now. If another Penhallow was around, Jack didn’t stand a chance.
“Come with me!” she said, grabbing the Henbane grimoire and tucking it under her arm, then jogging into the foyer and up the stairs from where Edgar was still battling it out with Kieran, the door between them. Jack was hot on her heels. They ran down the dark second-floor hallway and into the bedroom that still had light pouring out of it.
“So you decided to wait it out?” Jack asked, tone hopeful and a little breathless. “We could probably shove a dresser or something in front of the door. Is the chief on his way? He can stop him, right?”
“Maybe,” Amber said.
The bedroom was tiny. Its only furniture was a three-drawer dresser, twin bed, and a single nightstand adorned with lamp, a dusty, slightly askew shade resting on the bulb. Its muted orange glow was the only light in the room. Amber peered out the small window. She could hear Kieran out there—screaming and generally causing mayhem—but she couldn’t see him. It was a sea of black down below. Out in the distance, though, she could see part of the rutted road that led out of here, the ground lit only by moonlight.
Where were Willow and Aunt Gretchen? Gretchen’s speeding hadn’t resulted in some horrible end for them both, had it?
No. She couldn’t let herself think that way.
Jack plopped down on the twin bed, the mattress’ springs issuing a creaky reply. He winced slightly, then angled a small smile at her. He clearly felt safer up here, especially with her here with him.
So she felt no small amount of guilt when she made eye contact, focused her magic, and said, “Sleep.”
Jack’s eyes rolled back in his head and he tipped over sideways, feet still on the ground, the bed creaking even louder now as he collapsed onto it. His face and body relaxed completely. She placed his feet on the bed, while keeping the grimoire under her arm. Then she moved to the door.
“Sorry, Jack,” she said softly, then closed the door behind her.
Across the dark hallway, down the steps, through the foyer, and into the kitchen she went. The hole where the door had stood—a black, forbidding rectangle of night—reminded Amber of a missing tooth. Steeling herself, she dashed out into the dark, the late-February air cold on her face.
She waited a couple moments for her eyes to adjust, for the pitch-black yard to morph into a landscape of dark gray and midnight blue shapes. She could make out the tops of the tall grasses behind Edgar’s house, which were nearly waist-high. A swath of them were flattened, thanks to the door Edgar had hurled out here. Tall smudges of soft black marked the spots where trees stood several feet away. A jungle indeed.
Problem was, she was sure to make a racket tromping through all this brush that rose up not far from Edgar’s back door. But a light would give away her position. And she still had no idea where Willow and Aunt Gretchen were.
A rattling clang sounded from the front of the house. Amber would just have to hope Kieran and Edgar were making enough noise that he wouldn’t hear her coming.
She started off, using her hands to swat away the weeds that slapped at her and tore at her clothes as she crunched her way through the overgrowth, the grimoire clutched to her chest.
She’d just rounded the back corner of the house and was creeping along the side toward the front porch, the sound of Kieran’s battle with Edgar growing louder, when her back pocket vibrated. She couldn’t hear it, but she felt it. Then again. And again.
Amber halted and pulled her phone from her pocket. Twenty-three missed texts from Willow. Amber cursed under her breath. She quickly lowered the brightness level of her phone screen, then read the messages. The first had come in two minutes before, and they’d grown increasingly frantic since then. Had Amber briefly lost reception out here?
Another one popped up. I can see you on the side of the house. Aunt G and I parked in the woods and hiked in. We’re ready when you are.
Without replying, Amber stuck her phone back into her pocket and then picked up the pace, remaining in a semi-crouched position so she could stay out of sight as much as possible when she made her dash past the porch where Kieran was losing his ever-loving mind.
She was able to make it to the front of the house without Kieran seeing her, but he’d clearly sensed her, because he suddenly stopped hurling magic at Edgar’s front door and whirled around.
Amber was partially hidden behind the old pickup truck. Between that and the pitch black, she knew he couldn’t see her. But he was sniffing the air again, scent
ing the book she clutched.
He didn’t seem nearly as worn out as Edgar. Did Penhallows not tire from excessive use of magic the way non-cursed witches did? Amber had hoped that he’d be at least a little drained by now.
“I know you’re out there, Blackwood!” Kieran called, facing the dark yard. The lights from the porch lit up his back, casting his face into shadow. “You’ve brought me the book like a good little girl, haven’t you? Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
Amber remained quiet, knowing her lack of response would infuriate the already unhinged witch even further.
“Come ouuuut,” he called, drawing out the words. He rested his hands on the railing surrounding the porch as his gaze skated over the vague shapes in the dark. “Come out!” His hands tightened harder on the railing and then started to yank and pull. He growled in frustration, then lashed out with his feet at the lattice work below the railing. “Come! Out!”
While he melted down, Amber sent a burst of air directed at the foot not currently whaling on Edgar’s porch. The gust was enough to put him off balance and he crashed to the porch. She needed him out here with her. Closer to Willow and Gretchen and further from Edgar and Jack.
Kieran roared, then scrambled to his feet. He called out an incantation that Amber recognized a moment too late—one she hadn’t heard before, but knew what it would do once it was complete.
A blindingly bright burst of blue light erupted out of Kieran’s hands, spider webbing off his fingertips like small fireworks. It was brief, and likely expelled a ton of energy, but it had been enough. It illuminated Edgar’s dark property like lightning on a stormy night. His gaze locked on where she still stood near the back of Edgar’s truck. She hadn’t ducked out of the way in time.
“There you are,” he said, grinning, and then the light went out.
Amber turned and bolted, knowing he was in pursuit from the pounding of feet on Edgar’s creaky porch, down the steps, and across the ground. As he ran after her, wild puffs of air from his nostrils made her feel like she was being chased down by a bull.
Pawsitively Cursed Page 26
