I couldn’t believe this was happening. The spell had worked. It had actually freaking worked. I flicked my hand in the direction of the symbols. “Don’t you get it? He’s in trouble.”
“That’s a bit of a reach,” Rowan said skeptically. “We know he’s been in contact with Iris. How much trouble can he be in?”
“Do we?” I walked outside, looking around my backyard for Zev’s token. I knew in my heart this was a sign from him, and I had to figure out a way to prove it.
“What are you doing?” Carver asked.
“Aunt Marigold?” Michael’s tone was hesitant. “Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not.” A noise of frustration escaped me. “I’ve lost the stone.”
Rowan was stooped over, examining the grass. “What stone? One of your crystals?”
“A shiny black rock with red veins. It’s the size of a quarter and looks like a skipping stone.” I fought back a sob. “It was a gift from Zev.”
Carver’s brow knitted as his eyes narrowed to slits. “Does this stone have symbols on the surface?”
I held out my hand. “Did you find it?”
He shook his head. “No, but it sounds like a sebtusiptu.”
My eyes widened and my stomach turned a somersault. “That’s what Zev called it. He said it meant token.”
“Of what?” Michael asked.
“His esteem,” I answered.
Carver tugged at his ear. “Not exactly.”
“I’m not seeing anything like that,” Rowan declared from several feet away. “I’ll check the bushes.”
“We need to find it,” Carver said. “If it’s really Zev’s sebtusiptu, we have to find it. Zev’s freedom could depend on it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“A sebtusiptu is a token of debt,” Carver explained. “The djinn who makes it imbues the stone with a piece of their soul.”
“His soul.” My knees turned rubbery, and I reached out and grasped Carver’s arm to steady myself. “Right before he gave it to me, he had said he owed Freya a debt and that it had been paid.” I clenched my fist and winced as the painful burn screamed against my palm. I shook my hand. “He said to keep it, and a part of him would always be with me.”
“If it’s his token, then he was telling the truth. A piece of him is in that stone.”
I shook my head, feeling like I might puke. “I didn’t know he was being literal.” I wouldn’t have carried it around in my pocket like a trinket if I had. “If he’d told me, I would’ve taken more care.”
Carver’s gaze met mine. “If I know you, and I think I do, you have known where that stone is every minute of the day since Zev left Southill.”
“Not over here,” Rowan said from the fire bush.
“We should do a grid search,” Michael suggested.
“Have you been watching true crime shows?” Rowan asked.
“Archeologists use grids to unearth ancient treasures,” Michael replied. After a moment’s hesitation, he added with some chagrin, “But yes, I’ve been watching true crime shows.”
I chuckled and then gave my nephew a grateful look. “The blast threw me about ten feet. We should start with the bush and work our way out.”
“That’s not exactly how a grid works,” Michael muttered. “But sure.”
I smacked his shoulder with my good hand. “Less whining, more looking.”
He haphazardly saluted me with two fingers. “Okay, boss.”
I nudged him with my hip. “That’s Aunt Boss to you.”
The earth beneath my feet stirred, a subtle movement unnoticed by the guys. A second later, the ground parted, revealing a tiny nose resembling a delicate flower, sniffing the air with curiosity. “Mareee-gool,” the creature chirped. “Hear boom.”
“Hi, Tupo,” I greeted the little mole with a nod. “Big boom.”
It was strange to think that just a year ago, I’d attempted to deter these burrowing creatures with wind spinners and whirligigs planted all over my yard. Who knew forest giants were fluent in critter-speak? Since then, I had abandoned the futile attempts to get rid of Tupo and embraced coexistence with him. Knowing the name of my tiny neighbor had made evicting him unsavory. Even so, I’d established ground rules, particularly regarding tunneling near my kitchen. Most of the time, I only had Tupo to contend with, but February began mating season for the little fellow. Moles didn’t mate for life, but Tupo had found himself a temporary missus. She’d given birth to three newborn pups at the end of March.
Tupo wiggled his nose and hoisted himself up with his clawed hands. His dark brown fur contrasted sharply with his light beige hands and pink nose. “Boom scared babies,” he complained.
“I'm sorry,” I apologized sincerely. “It was an accident.”
He cocked his head to the side. “Done now?” he inquired.
“All done,” I reassured him with more confidence than I felt. “Hey, could you and your family keep an eye out for a flat, round, shiny black stone with red veins?”
“Yes, for Mari-gool.” With a wave of his hands, Tupo disappeared back into the earth, leaving me to wonder if my request would be remembered amidst the daily adventures of mole life.
“You’re such a weirdo,” Rowan said.
“I’m rubber, and you’re glue, bro.”
He laughed. “I’ll never get used to you talking to animals. What did that one say?”
“Tupo said he could smell your butt from a mile away.”
“Har har.” Rowan rolled his eyes. “What did it really say?”
“He,” I corrected. “Tupo wanted to know about the explosion. He said it scared his kids. He’d wanted to make sure I was done blowing crap up.”
“Oh.” His expression pinched. “It’s still weird.”
“You’re weird.”
“You’re both weird,” Michael said. “Argue less, search more.”
“Found something.” Carver plucked an object from the ground and brushed the dust off. “Wait, no. It’s the right size and shape, according to your description, but no red veins or symbols.”
I strode over to him with my hand out. “Let me see.”
He pressed it into my palm, and I shivered at the familiar feel and weight. He was right, there were no veins, no symbols. But, as I rubbed my thumb across the surface, I knew without a doubt that this was Zev’s token. My pulse quickened. The spell must’ve changed the token somehow. If a piece of Zev’s soul was in there, had I killed it? Would that harm Zev in some way? “I... I think I broke it.”
“Is it the right one?” Rowan asked, peering around me for a better view. “It looks like a worry stone.”
I’d carried the token with me every day since Zev gave it to me. I could identify it with my eyes closed. “It’s the right one. But it’s wrong. Changed.” I flipped it over. “It used to have three red lines that kind of looked like the number four, and...” I turned it over again. “There were pointy triangles on this side, like the ones on the cabinet doors. Veining too, but thinner, more weblike.”
The adrenaline of losing Zev’s stone had started to wane, and my hand began to throb. I lifted my left hand to look at the burn. The blister stuck out a half-inch from my palm and was the size of a silver dollar.
“It looks like it’s filling up with blood,” Carver said. “We better treat it before it gets worse.”
I tucked the stone back into my pocket. “We need to find out what’s going on with Zev.”
“We will,” Rowan assured me. “But if you don’t get that hand treated, I’ll have to amputate. You don’t want me breaking out the bone saw.”
“Fine.” I knew he was teasing, but the fiery pain was getting distracting. “I’m happy to let you two play Doctors.”
An interesting look flashed between them—a look I planned to interrogate them about later. For now, I had enough of my own personal intrigue to keep me busy.
As we walked back into the kitchen, I grimaced at the mess. I’d blown up my stove and ruined Zev’s rock. What was I going to screw up next?
Rowan helped me to the sink. “Run your hand under that cold water for another minute or two.”
“Do you have aloe vera, lavender, chamomile, and witch hazel?” Carver asked. “I didn’t bring my herb kit.”
“I could go get it for you,” Rowan offered. “It wouldn’t take long to run home.”
“You wouldn’t mind?” the eclectic witch asked. Their shyness with each other made me think that if anything was going on it was relatively new. A flash of giddiness and the cold running water briefly distracted me from the pain.
“No need.” I gestured with my non-injured hand. “I have all those ingredients. Lavender is hanging there.” I pointed to the drying rack in the window. Aloe vera is in the front yard rock garden by my driveway.” I reached up and opened the cabinet above my sink and took a box down. “Et voilà. Chamomile tea. Oh, and the witch hazel is in the bathroom medicine cabinet.”
Carver arched a brow at me.
“I use it for my pores,” I explained.
“Ah, right,” he said. “Well, then, I think we have all the ingredients. Rowan and Michael, can you get the aloe and witch hazel? I’ll get the two ingredients here in the kitchen.”
“You got it.” Rowan gestured to Michael. “You get the aloe.”
“Works for me,” the teenager quipped. Gosh, Michael had grown up so much in the last year. Learning your mother was a tru-craft witch and that her life was in constant danger had a way of putting life into perspective. I know Iris was disappointed when Michael decided to take a gap year from college to learn more about his heritage and explore magic, but I couldn’t have been prouder of him.
Carver grabbed his tool bag and set it on the table. “Mortar and pestle?”
“Does material matter?”
Carver’s mouth widened in a grin. “You’re starting to think like a witch.”
I returned the smile. “High praise indeed.” I pointed across the kitchen to the far wall. “There’s a clean black granite mortar and pestle on the shelf to the left of my oven mitts.”
“Excellent. Black granite is perfect for a healing spell.” He gathered the tea, lavender, mortar, and pestle and set them near his bag. While he prepared to make his magical salve, he offhandedly asked, “What were you trying to achieve with the spell?”
I was glad he hadn’t accused me of being reckless, but it didn’t stop me from feeling like a fool. “I’m sorry, Carver. I know it was stupid to change the spell.”
He looked at me quizzically. “I’m not angry with you.” He pulled a chair out for me. “Come over here and sit.”
I reluctantly turned the water off because my hand started to sting again. I waved it at my side to let the air cool the surface as I strolled over and took the seat.
Carver sat down in the chair next to mine and leaned toward me. “You accomplished powerful magic, Marigold. You have the gift. Tell me about your thought process. I want to know exactly what you changed and hoped to achieve with the spell.”
How could I explain something about which I wasn’t completely certain? “I’ve had this gut feeling for months that something was off with Zev. I’ve been researching the books you gave me and some spell books I found online. The guidance spell, from my understanding, is designed to send a message to someone who can’t be reached by normal means.”
“But just because he hasn’t called you doesn’t mean Zev’s been unreachable. Iris said he’s been communicating with her.”
“Yeah,” I said skeptically, “but has he? The occasional brief text message isn’t really communication.” I shook my head. “The last thing he said ‘Remember, a part of me is always with you’ , then nothing. He’s not the kind of guy who would do that. Not to me.”
Carver’s brows dipped. “Regardless of what Zev would or wouldn’t do, tell me more about the spell.” He used a small pair of scissors to snip the dried lavender flowers into the mortar bowl. Afterward, he cut open a tea bag and dumped the chamomile inside. He used the pestle to grind the dried herbs as he waited patiently for me to answer.
“You’re a good man,” I said, surprising both of us.
He gave me a lopsided smile. “Uh, thanks.”
“I mean it. You should be outraged right now. You’re trying to teach me magic, and I’m playing Russian Roulette with a difficult potion.”
He shook his head. “Is that how you deal with your students when they use their brains, imagination, and innovation to increase the scope of their knowledge?”
I chuckled. “No one blows up a stove because someone has drawn a correlative comparison between Madame Curie and Marge Simpson’s impact on modern feminism.” I waved off the notion. I’d taught Women’s Studies at Darling University for fourteen years and had never seen that correlation, but it made my point. “I’m not sure it’s a fair comparison.”
“Okay,” he conceded. “So, I take it you were trying to get a message to Zev. What ingredients did you use to change the spell, and why did you think they would work?”
I glanced out the window and saw Michael coming up the walk. “I saw that the guidance spell had a lot of similar ingredients to a message or communication potion—bay leaf, dandelion, and such. So, I, uh, I exchanged allspice for the yarrow and added a pinch of dried hibiscus.”
“Hibiscus?” He narrowed his gaze at me. “That’s an herb for love spells.”
I shrugged. “I was trying to reach someone specific.”
“That you were.” Carver looked up past me, and the tension around his eyes eased. “Ah, Rowan. Great.” He held out his hand and took the offered bottle from my brother.
Michael came in with three long aloe stalks. “I hope this is enough.”
“Perfect,” Carver told him. “Get a knife, slice the leaves in half, then scrape the insides onto a plate and bring it here.” He unscrewed the cap on the witch hazel and poured a small amount into the bowl with the pulverized flowers.
Michael brought the plate with the aloe gel he’d procured and set it on the table. Carver took a small wooden spatula with a twisty carved handle from his tool kit and scooped the clear slime into the mixture.
“This seems less magical and more holistic,” I said skeptically.
My mentor raised a brow at me. “Now for the magic.” He stirred counterclockwise five times. “Give me your hand.”
I held it out. He dipped two fingers in the bowl.
I winced and tugged my hand away when it looked like he was going to rub the goo on my blister. “Maybe Rowan could shoot me up with lidocaine first.”
Carver shook his head. “Trust me?”
I glanced at Rowan. He raised a brow. “I don’t carry lidocaine or syringes on me, so maybe you should just trust him.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be all science is boss when it comes to medical care?” My hand pulsated with pain.
Rowan laughed. “Magic is just science that hasn’t been discovered yet.”
Carver took my hand and gently circled the blister with the salve he’d made. He drew a triskaideka in the center and chanted, “Hecate, wise and calm, grace to mend the blistered palm. Goddess of magic, good health to receive, using herbs to soothe this burn, let pain leave.”
I gasped as the intense burning sensation began to subside, but the edges of the blister still throbbed with discomfort. I heard Michael behind me say, “Wow. I’d like to see the science that explains that.”
Carver smiled as he finished his incantation: “Mother of witchcraft, grace your daughter, my friend. Take her hand in yours and help her mend.”
My eyes shot wide as I watched the blister get smaller and smaller until it was gone, but what it left behind surprised everyone.
Black triangles with red veining lines decorated the healed skin.
“The symbols.” Carver brushed his thumb over my palm. “It’s like they’re tattooed into your skin.”
“That’s the same thing on the wall,” Rowan added.
“It sure is.” I stared at the pointy triangles that had once been on the stone in my pocket. I shifted my gaze to Carver. “What does it mean?”
“I’m not sure.” He stood up while retrieving his phone from his bag. “But I’ll make a few calls and see what I can find out.”
I wasn’t going to idly wait for Carver’s contacts to come through. If Zev was in trouble, I needed answers and fast. Iris had been evasive about Zev’s texts, and I’d let it go because I knew she’d been trying to protect my heart. I had to know the last time the ifrit had messaged her and what he said. More importantly, I had to know if he’d clued her into his whereabouts.
I got up and marched into the living room, where my phone was plugged into the charger then tapped on Iris’s number.
“Hah, you missed me, bitch,” Iris’s voice sang out. “If you’re not spam, political, or a robocall, leave a brief message after the beep, and I’ll get back to you.”
This was the third call in two days that had gone to voicemail. After the tone, I quietly said, “Are you screening my messages? Stuff is going down here of the magical variety, and I’m pretty sure Zev’s in the shit. Call me ASAP or, so help me, I will fly to Ireland for a good old-fashioned sister smackdown.” I paused before I disconnected and added, “I love you. I’m scared. Call me.”