Using a laser sight, Wincel adjusted a crystal in the grid on the lawn. Mrs. Steinberg, standing by the spirit house, frowned at her phone.
Twilight had fallen. The solstice would occur in less than an hour. Purple and gray shadows slid across the garden and the Victorian’s UFO.
Riga shook Hermia’s hand. Her grip was firm, and there were traces of motor oil around the edges of her red-painted nails. “Thanks for pitching in.”
“After everything that’s happened…” The alchemist, dressed like a fifties-era garage mechanic, blinked rapidly and adjusted the red bandana covering her dirty-blond hair. “I just want things to be better.”
“You’re comfortable with the ritual?”
Hermia nodded toward Rocky, who chatted with Mrs. Steinberg. The Viking spirit beside the tall blonde twirled a battle ax in his hand. Riga couldn’t imagine having a spirit attached to her, day-in and day-out. How did Rocky stay sane?
“Rocky and I practiced yesterday,” Hermia said. “We know what we need to do.”
“Good.” Riga glanced toward the three sisters, beside the gazebo.
Even from this distance, she could see Jayce’s jaw tighten.
“It’s been hard on everyone,” Hermia said in a low voice. “Hasn’t it?”
“Thanks to you and the others, hopefully not for much longer.” If they could pull this off. “Will you excuse me?”
The slender woman nodded.
Riga approached the three witches. She rested her hand on the edge of the fountain. “You’re sure about this?”
Jayce raised a brow. “It was your idea.”
“But you’ll have to live with it,” Riga said, “whatever the outcome.”
“I don’t think we can live with not doing it,” Karin said quietly.
Jayce looked at her boots and nodded. “We’ve agreed. This is happening.”
From beside the spirit house, the neighbor, Rocky, glanced at them. Rocky turned to Hermia and said something to the alchemist. Hermia laughed, the sound light and powerful as a bell.
“We don’t know what will happen.” Lenore laid a hand on Jayce’s shoulder. “Maybe your magic will be even stronger.”
The sisters looked to Riga.
“Maybe,” Riga said neutrally. There were no guarantees. She’d rebuilt her magical life once after disaster. But she wouldn’t make promises that might not come true.
But maybe that was wrong. Maybe it was best to hope. “Expect change,” Riga said. “There’s always change. And expect it to be for the better.”
Riga glanced skyward. They’d be safe from the sluagh here at Wits’ End. But as soon as people left for their assignments… She shook her head. They knew the risks.
“You’re tough, Jayce,” Riga continued. “And you’re brave. You’ll figure out a way to go on. And I’ll help.”
“We all will,” Lenore said.
Across the lawn, Donovan smiled at her. He turned away to speak earnestly to Patrick, still in his leg brace. She shook her head. How easily he and Wincel could have become trapped in the Black Lodge.
“It’s all right,” Jayce said. A muscle pulsed in her jaw. “It’s the right thing to do.”
Riga nodded, relieved. But her heart twisted for the young witch, because she knew, she knew what was at risk. What Riga was asking wasn’t fair, but it was right. “I will help you,” she repeated.
Jayce checked her watch. She swallowed jerkily. “Thirty minutes until the solstice. We need to get this show on the road.”
Jayce’s husband and two other men—Karin’s husband, Nick, and Lenore’s boyfriend, Connor—walked down the Victorian’s porch steps.
Wincel made another adjustment to the crystal grid and lurched to his feet. “I’m ready. Does everyone have their GPS coordinates?”
“No,” Mrs. Steinberg growled.
“It’s okay.” Wincel hurried toward her. “All you have to do is—”
“Maybe you should go with Mrs. Steinberg,” Riga said.
His shoulders relaxed. “Oh. Right.”
Riga smothered a smile. Wincel might not have magic, but having an engineer on the team had its benefits. She’d never seen such a perfectly aligned crystal grid. And she wouldn’t have thought of using GPS coordinates.
Riga divided them into pairs. Wincel double checked the GPS apps on everyone’s phones.
“Come, Patrick.” Brigitte grasped the young man’s arm, and he limped awkwardly alongside her. “I would like your opinion on a most intriguing dream.”
“Do gargoyles dream?” Jayce blurted and clapped her hands over her mouth.
Mrs. Steinberg went white, then red. “Garg—That’s who—what. I knew I recognized you,” she said hoarsely.
Brigitte stiffened. “I do not know what you mean.”
“Los Angeles. Nineteen-ninety-two. That damned magician killed three of my lodge members, and you were there. Young man, step away from her.”
“Three lodge members?” Patrick edged away. “What’s she talking about?”
Riga’s neck tightened. Not now. Why hadn’t she warned Jayce to keep her mouth shut?
“That gargoyle,” Mrs. Steinberg pointed at Brigitte. “You nearly killed me all those years ago.”
“Wait,” Jayce said, looking from one woman to the other. “What? Was that the magician Riga killed?”
“You killed someone?” Wincel stepped backward.
Riga’s stomach tensed. No, no, no. “I didn’t kill him.” They didn’t have time for this.
“I misspoke,” Jayce said. “Brigitte’s fine. And Riga didn’t kill anyone. There was a fire. It was an accident. You know me. Sometimes my mouth runs ahead of my brain.” She laughed uneasily.
“It’s not funny,” Mrs. Steinberg said and turned to Brigitte. “You’re no better than that sluagh. You could have been the one who summoned it.”
“I did not,” Brigitte said. “Sluaghs are vile abominations.”
Mrs. Steinberg jabbed her e-cigarette toward her. “You are a—”
“Brigitte had no choice all those years ago,” Riga said. “She was that magician’s familiar.”
“That might be even worse,” Mrs. Steinberg said. “All the things she must have seen and done… It leaves a stain.”
“Yes,” Riga said quietly. “But we’re defined by our choices. Brigitte had none back then. She does now. And her choices since have been good.”
“We can’t trust her,” Mrs. Steinberg said.
“You trusted me enough to bring me here,” Riga said.
“I didn’t know you were bringing a gargoyle.” The old lady gripped her handbag like she might start swinging.
“She’s not a gargoyle anymore,” Riga said.
“Wait.” Wincel blinked. “Gargoyles are a thing?”
“I trust Brigitte,” Riga said.
Jayce stepped forward. “I do too. And my feelings are never wrong.”
“I’m with Jayce,” Karin said.
Mrs. Steinberg shook her handbag at Brigitte. “What if she kills Patrick and lets her point on our compass tonight drop?”
Wincel raised a hand. “What if that does happen?”
“The spell will fail,” Riga said, “and the sluagh will be empowered instead of its opposite, and people may be hurt. We may be hurt. In the worst case, someone could die. But that’s always been the risk. We’ve all been standing on that precipice since the sluagh arrived. If we fail at this, there’s nothing to stop it from going after the rest of Doyle too. We have to trust each other and get this done.”
“Evil leaves a mark,” Mrs. Steinberg muttered.
“But redemption is possible.” Riga’s hands fell limp to her sides. “It has to be,” she said quietly. Otherwise, what was the point of going on? And they had to go on. They all had to.
Mrs. Steinberg’s jaw worked. She looked away. “If anything goes wrong…” she growled.
“It won’t be because of Brigitte,” Riga said. “She’s my partner. We stand together.”
The old woman’s jaw clenched. But she nodded.
Riga slumped. Thank you. “So, is everyone ready?”
The others shuffled their feet and mumbled an assent.
“Great,” Riga said brightly. “You know your assignments, and watch the sky for that sluagh.”
The group moved off. Hermia hurried back and hugged Jayce, then the alchemist ran to join Rocky and her Viking ghost.
Donovan strode to her. “You handled that well.”
“Ha.” She tugged both hands through her hair. “Yeah.”
“But I can see you’re worried,” he continued.
She clasped his hand. “No one’s protected once they leave Wits’ End.” Including you.
“They know the risks. You didn’t force them into anything.”
Easy to say until something went wrong. Riga lowered her head, her chest tightening. But this needed to happen. Too many people had lost their lives in Doyle. It was time for a change.
“You’re not feeling guilty about that binding spell?” he asked.
“No.” Thanks to Brigitte’s help during their quick trip home, that had gone off without a hitch. The relief on her niece’s face when the binding was done was enough to confirm they’d done the right thing. “I think the kids are going to be all right.”
“For now. They’re going to be pissed when they’re old enough to be unbound and we tell them what we’ve done.”
“They’ll get over it.” And if they didn’t, they’d face that too.
Donovan kissed her, then kissed her again, longer and more deeply. And then he walked to Brayden, speaking seriously with Jayce. The two men departed.
Jayce stood for a moment, watching the men’s departing backs. She joined Riga at the grid.
They gazed down at the elaborate design. The crystals glittered in the B&B’s lawn.
“So,” Jayce said. “What happens if I do lose my magic?”
“Don’t think about what might happen.”
“I can’t not think about it.”
“Then I’ll help you work through it, if you want. I’ll be available as long as you need me.”
Jayce nodded, swallowed. “Thanks. I may take you up on that.”
Riga glanced at the darkening sky. “You should take lead in the ritual.”
“Me? But—”
“You know how. And you’re the earth witch. This is your town.”
“Yeah, you drilled me in the ritual. I know it. But...” Jayce’s neck corded. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
The skin bunched around the young witch’s eyes. “You’re asking me to... drive a stake through my own magic. I can’t.”
“You’d prefer I did it?”
Jayce stared at the large quartz crystal in the center of her grid. “No.” Her voice cracked. “No. I’ll do it.”
Riga’s neck unknotted. This was the way it should be. This improved their odds. She checked her watch. “The others won’t be in place yet, but we should start preparing.”
Jayce dropped to the lawn and crossed her legs. She pressed her fingers into the thick grass and closed her eyes.
The B&B’s kitchen door opened, and Susan peered out.
Riga walked to her, on the porch. “Thanks for letting us take over your yard again.” And thank heaven for people who were open to oddities.
“It’s fine,” Susan said. “I didn’t really need a solstice barbecue. Is... everything okay?”
“It will be.”
“I’m afraid I can’t keep my guests with windows overlooking the lawn from watching. But I’ve shifted my usual UFO lecture to start at eight-thirty. That may draw some attention away.”
“That’s a great idea. We appreciate it.”
Susan leaned against the door frame. “I’m actually a little surprised you came back to Doyle after what happened. Hayleigh Davidge pulling a gun on you, I mean.”
“That was stressful,” Riga agreed.
“I heard Stetson’s selling the magazine and moving to L.A. I can’t blame him for wanting to leave after his mother…” She trailed off. “He wants to try surfing.”
“No kidding?”
“I know. Who’d of thought his dream was to be a surf bum?”
“What about the rest of the magazine’s staff?” Riga asked.
Susan half-laughed. “It turns out most of them were only hanging in there to help Stetson. They wanted to retire years ago.”
“So all’s well that ends well?”
“I hope so.” Susan paused. “I hear Rye took some time off for a trip to Florida.”
Where Oonagh had fled to stay with her parents and find her footing. Riga smiled. Oonagh was still in mourning, but... Good for him.
Susan checked her watch. “Oh. I’d better get my projector set up. Good luck with your, er, ritual.” The innkeeper hurried inside the Victorian.
Riga returned to the crystal grid, and sat opposite Jayce. “It’s time.”
Jayce opened her ivy-colored eyes, and there was fear and loss in them, and courage too. She nodded and lit the candle in front of her. “We call the spirits of the east...”
The spirits came, and the wind blew but the candle didn’t extinguish, and the crystals flared, and THE spirit arrived. Riga’s heart leapt.
Golden energy blossomed from Jayce. The crystals brightened. Silvery lines flew outward from the stones and raced to the edge of the lawn.
The garden darkened.
Jayce stiffened, and the light around her dimmed. Dark magic and corruption slithered, sickeningly sweet, through the warm air. Involuntarily, Riga rubbed her injured shoulder, bile scorching her throat.
The opposite had arrived. Its shadow circled overhead, erasing the stars.
Riga’s hands fisted, and she relaxed them. Jayce could do this. Riga’s spine swayed, her limbs trembling. She pressed her hands into the lawn and realized the ground was shaking.
The mercury lines shifted, spinning on their axes. A flowerpot tumbled from the porch railing to the ground.
“Is this supposed to be happening?” Jayce shouted.
“Keep going.” Was it supposed to be happening? It didn’t matter. Jayce needed to have faith. She needed to believe for the magic to work.
A feminine silhouette emerged from one of the lines of light. The shadow of a crown stretched across the lawn.
The fairy queen. Riga bit back a curse. It was all going wrong.
From the growing shadow came a feminine scream of rage and defiance. The sound knifed through her, chilled her bones. The pine branches groaned in response. Roses shuddered, petals falling to the ground.
Jayce’s teeth chattered. “Riga…?”
Confidence is everything. “You’re good. Keep going.”
The shadow touched her foot, and icy fear flooded her senses. She was racing up the stairs toward her children’s shrieks. She was blasting through the door of the nursery.
Riga’s fists clenched. That was done. The twins were safe. And their loss—any harm to her children—would always be her greatest fear. But it was only fear. She was here, in the garden, in Doyle, and the queen was not. Yet.
Jayce whimpered. But she’d defeated the queen before. She could do it again.
Riga placed her hands on Jayce’s knees and focused on the in-between. Its emptiness filled her, everywhere and nowhere. She poured that energy through her hand into the young witch. “You’re doing it.”
There was a rending sound, of falling earth and trees uprooted. Something crashed on the hillside.
“You’re doing it,” Riga shouted, hoping it was true. But sometimes belief was more powerful than truth.
The lines shifted, spun, and then shot beyond the borders of Wits’ End. Heat flared from Jayce, burning. A globe of light exploded from the young witch, and the shadow fled.
And then the light was gone. The crystals faded, and the only illumination in the yard streamed from the windows of the Victorian.
It was done.
Blinking spots from her eyes, Riga sagged and dropped her hand. They’d done it.
Jayce collapsed, limp, to the lawn. Her hands dug into the grass.
It was full dark. The solstice was over. Riga extended her senses. A gentle, flowing power, like a lazy river, poured through and around her.
Doyle had changed.
Stunned, Riga walked to the picket fence. The sky was filled only with stars. A shadow skimmed across one. Riga went rigid, then relaxed as a bat pinwheeled past.
The opposite was gone.
She followed the fence line to the driveway and crossed the street to a ramshackle house. The yard here was a disaster, the Wits’ End opposite.
She bent to examine a stunted rose bush. No one had done any gardening at this house for years, and the rose bush was no exception. And yet...
Riga squinted. There were tiny buds on the rosebush. As she stared, she could swear she could see the bud growing, pulsing with life.
Riga shook her head. Had she imagined it?
Gingerly, she touched a dried-out branch. That same, smooth power flowed through it. Doyle was changing.
The phone rang in the pocket of her linen jacket, and she pulled it free. Donovan’s name flashed on the screen, and she pressed the phone to her ear.
“You did it,” he said. “Our crystal lit up. Even Brayden could see the line that touched it. We all saw your grid, expanding through Doyle.”
Which meant other civilians might have seen it as well. Riga grimaced. She’d deal with that later. Or leave it to the sheriff to come up with another explanation. “It wasn’t me. It was Jayce.”
“And her magic? Did she lose it?”
“I’m not sure.” She hesitated. “Donovan, if you hadn’t been there after I’d lost my magic...” Her throat closed. She cleared it. “I don’t think—”
“Of course you would have,” he said.
She blinked rapidly. Maybe it was true. But Donovan had been there for her all those years ago. “Thank you.”
“I’ll see you soon,” he said.
“You’d better. And Donovan... I love you. I can’t wait to get home.”
Riga returned to the Wits’ End yard.
Jayce still sat on the lawn. She raised her hand, palm down, over the grass.
Nothing happened.
The witch drew her arms inward. “It’s gone,” she whispered.
“Try again,” Riga urged.
Jayce shook her head. Again, she extended one hand above the lawn.
Again, nothing happened.
Riga pushed her own aura outward, toward Jayce.
An ache swelled in her heart. She came to sit beside the young woman. “No,” Riga said. “It’s not gone. Your magic has only changed.”
“It’s gone, I tell you.” Her voice rose, her hands fisting. “I don’t feel anything.”
“But I do,” Riga said. “You have magic.”
She laughed harshly. “Like Wincel?”
“More than Wincel. But you’ll have to relearn how to be an earth witch.”
Jayce’s head turned toward her. “You knew what would happen all along. That’s why you gave me that assignment to teach earth witchery.”
“No, I didn’t know. Not then.”
“Then why—?”
“I told you, we learn best by teaching. And I have a feeling you’ll be doing a lot of teaching, very soon.”
“Why would I?”
“Because Doyle’s going to be attracting a different sort of seeker. One that will need your help. Yours and your sisters’.”
“I don’t understand.”
Riga gripped her shoulder. “You will.”