My dearest Michael, I wrote, if you are reading these words, I am no longer alive. I’m sorry that you have to find out about me, about your heritage, like this, but I’ve only known for a short time myself, and I thought I’d have more time.
I traced a finger over the letter I’d written to my son over a month ago before I had told him about tru-craft. I’d found out that I was in grave danger, and if I would’ve died, I hadn’t wanted him to be left alone without any explanation. Thank heavens, I’d survived, and the letter hadn’t become necessary. Still, the penned last letter to my son was a stark reminder that my life was a complete shitshow, and I was the star.
I read through the names of my ancestors, sending up a request that they give me some guidance. Aideen Magee, 1678. Clionna Doon, 1705. Siobhan Adrian, 1782. Mary Ann Langford, 1834. Brigit O’Malley, 1880. Mira Roberts, 1912. At the end of the list, I had added my own name and the year.
I flipped through page by page, reading spells that I’d created along with notes in the margin like, don’t use too much agar unless you want the giggles all day. One day, this book would pass to my child and, perhaps, to his children. From what Keir had told me, grimoires were family-specific living entities. They were drawn to the bloodline of the witch who crafted the book, and they were able to manipulate their existence until they found living heirs. This grimoire had found a way back to me, though it hadn’t found my birth mother or her mother. Or maybe it had, and they’d known how to repel it. Mira Roberts, 1912 had been the last name before mine. I assumed she had to be a great or great great grandmother. She’d landed in New York as a refugee during the first world war in 1914. She’d had a child with her, but the name had been illegible, and her husband had been listed as deceased on her immigration card. Keir hadn’t been able to find any other information about her.
I didn’t resent my birth mother for giving me up. If she hadn’t, I wouldn’t have known the love of my family, and that would be a tragedy. I’d had a happy childhood, and I wouldn’t have traded it for anything. It didn’t stop me from wondering about the woman who’d let me go. Had she been a tru-craft witch? Had wild magic killed her? It had almost killed me.
My stomach clenched as I looked at my hand and arm.
Wild magic hadn’t killed me yet, but it wasn’t from a lack of trying.
The terra-craft spells in the book were fairly useless for the purpose I needed. The closest one was a perimeter incantation that warded against pestilence that Linda had helped me with when we got leaf miners, mostly moths and sawflies. They were destroying several plants, and the spell repelled them from my yard. If I needed to fend off Japanese beetles or Gall mites, then I was all set. Unfortunately, I needed something to keep every pixie-hunting paranormal asshole from entering my garden. Better yet, something to keep them entirely out of Southill Village.
I kept flipping pages, wishing the book would magically show me the way.
It did not.
The fire spells were a total bust. Its pages of charms and defensive magic offered nothing that could cover the yard and the house. I had mixed feelings about continuing. When I’d first mastered earth magic, I’d eagerly cataloged every spell and incantation I’d learned. I’d been less enthusiastic with fire, and it showed in how few spells I’d written in that element’s section.
The next page after the ignis section was empty. There were no aero-craft spells, incantations, or journal entries. Nada. Nothing. Zip. Totally my bad.
Help me out, I silently pleaded with the leather-bound tome. Show me the way.
It didn’t respond.
Keir walked out into the garden. “Can I sit?”
“Yep.” I scratched my head. “I’m stuck.”
“Anything I can help with?” He put his arm around me.
I laid my head on his shoulder and inhaled the scent of bergamot and sandalwood. I’d bought him some homemade organic, non-sudsing goat milk soap from a shop out of Garden Cove, Missouri. Marigold, a self-proclaimed expert in natural products, promised I’d love it. I did. I loved it even better on Keir.
Damn, the man smelled terrific.
“I was so quick to put the book away when the air symbol showed up. Is it too late for me? Did I blow my shot to master aero-craft by not embracing it right away?” I closed the book and placed my palm on the cover. The grimoire was a living thing. Living things could get angry. Maybe the book was punishing me for tying it up and tossing it in a dark attic. “You think the grimoire is pissed at me? I’ve ignored it for a month. It’s possible, right?”
Keir gave me a crooked smile. “I don’t think your grimoire would keep anything from you. Especially if your life was on the line. It wants you to survive.”
“Hah. I haven’t seen any evidence of that, or it wouldn’t keep throwing element bombs at me.” My fingers trembled as I traced the alchemy symbols for earth, fire, and air. Cripes. I was afraid of the book. Of course, I was. It had turned my world topsy-turvy, and the hits kept on coming. “I’m scared of it,” I told Keir. “I’m scared every time I touch it. Maybe it senses my fear.”
Keir was quiet for a long moment. “I don’t know the answer, Iris. I wish I did.”
Luanne came out. “Hey,” she said. “The pixies are getting hungry.”
Crap. “I left the pollen in the car.”
“You got something figured out yet?” she asked.
“Rub it in,” I said.
Lu’s brow arched. “What you really need is a lead box.”
I gave her an incredulous stare. “For what? Storing plutonium?”
Keir snickered.
Lu put her hand on her hip and struck a badass pose. “Lead hides stuff in an x-ray. I just thought that something like that might keep the pixies off the supernatural radar.”
“Oh, like the cloak of invisibility.”
Luanne squinted at me. “Do you have one of those?”
I chuckled. “Didn’t you ever watch the Harry Potter movies?”
“Uhm, no,” she said. “I’m not an adolescent who wishes magic was real. I’m an adult who knows it exists.”
I could see how that might turn someone off to the series.
“Well, Michael loved the books and the movies.” So had I. It was a love I could share with my kid. “Harry has a cloak of invisibility that allows him to go around unseen.”
“Too bad it doesn’t exist,” Keir said.
“Something like that would make my job easier,” Lu agreed.
I opened the grimoire back up again, hoping to find some kind of hint in the cryptic message it had given me the day before.
Blood of my blood, daughter of fade and bright.
Tears of my tears, prepare for a harrowing fight.
To fight what is not there, first, you must harness the air.
Ignorance is the greatest sin. Learn what you must or be dust in the wind.
Goddess, help you.
I glanced at Keir. “What do you think it means by fighting what isn’t there?”
“Maybe it was talking about the wraith,” Lu guessed.
Keir gave a slight head shake. “That was unseen, mostly, but it was definitely there.”
A shiver ran through me. “Speaking of which, if the wraith isn’t done with me, does that mean it will show up again?”
“Likely,” Keir said.
“It’s like the universe is trying to kill me,” I said.
“There are easier ways to off someone.” Lu huffed a breath. “When you weave your invisibility cloak, you need to get under it with the pixies.”
“Hardy har.” I rolled my eyes. I reread the message. “If ignorance is the greatest sin, then I am definitely going to hell.”
Lu kicked a pebble off a paving stone. “Hell is a construct. It doesn’t really exist.”
“It doesn’t really exist,” I repeated in a mutter. “Hey, how does the pixie dust attract all the hunters?”
“The dust sends an energy signal that acts as a beacon to all supernatural creatures.”
“Then why can’t I feel it?” I was a witch, after all.
“Because you’re a person,” Keir said. “Not a creature.”
“But you’re a creature,” I told him. “Sometimes. Do you feel it?”
He nodded. “It’s like a compulsion. A calling. It feels like the dust wants me to find it and use it to transform myself into something more than what I am.”
“What?” I asked.
Keir frowned. “I’m not sure, but I can understand the draw.”
“Could you feel it even when they were at your place and you were here in town with me?”
He nodded. “Yes. It’s like a signal, but I don’t want to change, so it’s gotten weaker since the first time I resisted.”
“What about Zev?”
Lu looked back over her shoulder. “Zev!”
He came outside. “Yes?”
“Are you getting drawn in by the pixie mating dust?” I asked.
He held out his hand and tilted it back and forth. “Sort of. But it’s not strong.”
“Maybe because he’s human-ish,” Lu said. “What are you thinking, Iris?”
“I have a pest spell in the book that wards the perimeter, and there’s a transformation spell that turns a mum into a carnation.” That was one of my prouder moments.
Lu made a face. “Why?”
“Because carnations smell nice and mums don’t,” I said.
“Or you really liked carnations,” Lu countered. “How does a flower spell and a pest spell help us?”
“I’m not sure I can make it work, but they’re both earth spells, and I think I can maybe twist the two of them together to make a transformation spell.” I shook my head. “More of a masking.”
“Of what?”
“The signal,” I said. “If I can change the signal going out—”
“Then the pixies basically become invisible,” Lu said excitedly as she caught where I was going.
I grinned. “Exactly!”
Zev nodded. “If you can mask the signal, there is no need to hide the pixies. It’s a good plan if you can make it happen.”
Keir had been reservedly quiet. He removed his arm from around me.
“You don’t think it will work?” I asked.
“I think it could work,” he said, but he looked miserable.
“Then what?” I reached for his hand, and he tucked it between his knees. “What are you thinking?”
The corners of his eyes were wrinkled and pinched with worry. “I think it sounds like the type of spell that might kill you.”
“Keir,” I said softly. “I don’t know what else to do. The monsters aren’t going to stop coming. I’m going to be forced to use my magic one way or another. And if I can block or change the signal the pixies are putting off, isn’t it better than panic magic during a fight?”
He shook his head, but he wore a hint of a smile. “Probably. Can we at least consult with Thomas beforehand?”
“Absolutely.” I kissed him. “Because I’m not as ignorant as the grimoire would have you believe. My momma didn’t raise no fool.”