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“Or,” Beatrix countered, “my pregnant cousin in Greenshire is bedridden and will need us to care for her, and soon the witchling too.”
Thessa gulped down the last of her sage water and pushed the pitcher toward Soren. “Drink, at least.”
He’d not ordered any food, nor picked at the jarred goods.He just ignored her, and everyone, with his eyes fixed on the cobblestone streets.
So, she poured him a glass, scooting it close enough to force his attention.When his dark eyes met hers, there was no mistaking the plans of vengeance in them. She wasn’t sure what happened to his parents, and didn’t feel right asking, so she leaned in close to whisper, “What happened was awful and I know sorry won’t do, but I promise I’ll help you make this right, and not only for you …” She shifted her gaze toward Ivy and Beatrix, then back to him. “This goes beyond us. All witches deserve to learn the truth about how the Elemental Army really serves Andera.”
Soren took the glass and drank.
Leora scurried over to inform the table she’d be spending sundown praying with Emiel at the House of Hekate. Trying to contain the grief welling in her own eyes, she sniffledbefore adding, “There’s no need to settle up, your meals have been paid for,” and spun back around.
Wayland returned, scooting next to Soren before speaking into his ear. Neither one looked at the other.
Thessa couldn’t help but think about how Leora lost her parents, tragically, and not long ago. The thought of her revisiting those wounds she’d worked so hard to mend, worried Thessa. Pushing out of her chair with haste, she chased Leora out the door.
Yanking her arm, Thessa twirled Leora into a massive hug. She squeezed for every bit of love and light she’d offered her, and whispered, “Thank you for being my friend.”
Sinking into her, Leora whispered back, “Forever, Tess.”
When she made it back inside, Ivy and Beatrix excused themselves to the washroom.
Thessa sat back down and stabbed another cherry with her fork.
Wayland and Soren were staring at her.
“What?” She asked, popping it in her mouth.
Soren’s jaw worked as he said, “We have a plan.”
32
LECTURE NOTES FROM SPELLCASTING AND CURATION:
The success of a spell depends on the will of the witch. Phrases may hold importance, but intent speaks to our powers beyond words themselves.
Ivy removed nettle and thyme from her leather pouch of herbs, dumping a generous portion into her mortar. “Do you need a blade?”
“No,” Thessa replied, reaching for the dagger she’d crafted before her life shifted into a bundle of chaos. She swiped it through the flames then sliced through her palm.
She was thankful the Celestials had snuck her into their room for a bath, and for the clean clothing they’d given her. She wasn’t surprised they said yes when she asked for their help with a Guidance Spell. Thessa needed to reverse the mindset of an entire population and wasn’t sure how to start.
While black-flecked blood pooled into the bowl of crushed herbs, she looked to Beatrix and Ivy for any sign of hesitation or regret—there wasn’t any.
“Are you ready?” asked Beatrix.
Thessa nodded, wrapping her hand. After stripping off her borrowed tunic, she swiped her finger through the bloodied paste and drew the five-pointed star across her chest.
Joining hands with Beatrix and Ivy, she said, “Thank you,” before closing her eyes and reciting her spell.
The swirl of Celestial magic grew around her like a bubble of moonlight.
Drawing in her focus, Thessa went to repeat her spell, but everything went dark.
This was not the In-Between.
Thessa knew this place.
Darkness swept around her, caressing her cheeks as her hair swirled with the wind. She was surrounded by her magic … her depthless black sea of magic. It wasn’t simply her soul that was dark, it washer.