The following day at the blue hour, Sloane trudged through the dewy lawn to the hobbit house next door, eager to see inside and start her training in witchcraft. She had convinced herself any protection spells she learned would be fairer to any perps than her lethal strength.
Dorathea’s porch was dark, and the drapes drawn. Sloane went to knock on the double doors when they slowly creaked open. She stepped inside the dark entry, and the strong scent of rosemary and clove rushed her. “Hey, I’m here,” she called out. “Dorathea?”
A faint light flickered ahead. She followed it into a hallway, and it disappeared, leaving her to feel her way through the pitch black.
“C’mon. Stop messing.” The light appeared again on the opposite side of a long, narrow room. “I’m not in the mood for games. I haven’t had my coffee,” Sloane shouted. The light shimmered again, bobbing its way to a second hallway. She followed it to a staircase at the end. Sloane took a deep breath and descended to the bottom of the stairs, whence the light disappeared, the door swung open, and she entered a cavernous space.
Dorathea and Elvina sat in two burgundy velvet-covered armchairs near a stone inglenook fireplace in a fire’s warm glow. “Good morning. Come sit,” Dorathea said.
Sloane tossed her tote against an empty third chair. “I don’t think the childish games were necessary.”
Dorathea glanced at the ceiling. “Thank you for bringing her to us, Alfred.”
The door slammed shut.
Elvina tapped her tail. You will find it best not to insult an enchanted house. They hold grudges just like the crows.
“What the hell is an enchanted house?”
Flames shot up the flue.
Delightful first impression, dear. I’m sure you and Alfred will muddle through splendidly.
“Alfred is a spirit infused in every inch of my home,” Dorathea said. “I would not survive without him.”
“Well, your spirit likes to play games with people.”
“He can be a bit impish, indeed. But play keeps life enjoyable.”
“If you like that sort of thing.” Sloane looked around. “What is this place?”
“This is the West Covenstead, where our coven has gathered since coming to Denwick. Elvina and I will train you here.”
The room was dim, and floating candelabras bathed the space in soft yellow light. Shelves covered the walls, and tables were set about the floor. Each tabletop held glass containers with swirling, colored gasses and objects suspended in liquids of various viscosities.
Sloane tried to take it all in, but it was a carnival of sights. She tilted her head. “What’s that sound?”
The burning wood?
“No, it’s not that. It’s a buzz. Can’t you hear it?”
“Ah, you hear my library books.” Dorathea snapped her fingers, and the room’s far end lit up, revealing floor-to-ceiling bookcases full of gilded hardcovers in every color. Sloane leaned around the armchair and watched, unblinking, as several books pulled themselves out, floated through the air, and reshelved themselves in different places. “I’ve ignored them lately,” Dorathea said. “They need to be read, or they become bored.”
Sloane let out an involuntary laugh. “Bored?”
“Quite. Dreadfully.”
“So they buzz around, swapping spots all day?”
“I would say they zozz rather than buzz.” Dorathea observed them with an empathetic look. “I do wish I had the time to read them properly. Perhaps Elvina and you can take a few more lonely volumes to the cottage?”
Elvina swished her tail. Oh, yes, that would be fun.
“For reading, love. Not to bat around.”
Sloane nodded. “Sure. They’re amazing. Do they hold still in your hand?”
“Of course, pet. They only want to be read.”
A familiar scent caught Sloane’s attention. It came from glass tubes full of liquids on Bunsen burners, releasing trails of colored steam. “What are you burning?”
Elvina glanced at a table in the middle of the room. Mostly angelica right now with some cinnamon and sage and a few other ingredients. It’s a protection potion. My specialty. I’m making a batch and will give you a vial to carry in that luggage you call a purse.
“Jesus. It’s a tote. And it carries everything I need.”
Sloane looked away and watched the bubbling liquids. They conjured the memory of a small saucepan full of leaves, roots, and bark that Jane always left simmering on the stove. It filled their house with the same scent. “Jane made the same potion.” Her voice was matter-of-fact.
“That surprises me,” Dorathea said. “I wonder why she felt the need for more protection. The concealment spell placed around you has proven impenetrable.”
“Maybe she didn’t think it was.” Sloane shifted her attention to the books. “We need to figure out who or what Jane was afraid of. What made her leave Denwick.” She looked at Dorathea. “It could be the same person responsible for the murders.”
Dorathea furrowed her brow and seemed to consider the proposition. “But why let Nathaniel, Mary, and me live for so long?”
“Good question. Why not kill you before Jane and me? Unless the perp couldn’t.”
Dorathea got to her feet. “Indeed.”
“I don’t have any evidence Jane running away from Denwick was or wasn’t connected to the murders.” Sloane got to her feet, too. “We’ll just have to see where the evidence leads us.”
“Very well,” Dorathea said. “Shall we begin your lesson?”
“All right. Let’s do this.”
Dorathea held out her hand, and a cane ripped across the room. She caught it and tapped the floor three times. A lectern appeared on the other side of the fireplace. On top of it was a thick tome.
“What’s that? The Witchcraft Bible ?”
“Your cheekiness is exactly why I chose to be a High Priestess and not a professor.” Dorathea flicked her wrist, and the book’s pages fluttered open. “This is the Book of Hagorúnum .”
Elvina padded over to Dorathea and leaped on a stool. It’s the spell book for the Wiċċan of the Northeast Quadrant.
Sloane rested against the side of the inglenook and crossed her arms. “I thought we were in the Northwest Quadrant?”
We originated in the northeast, but evil brought us here.
“And keeps us here. Now, for your protection, we will teach you three spells. You know their concepts as detecting, disarming, and moving your location without traversing physical space.”
“Teleporting?” Sloane’s voice almost stuttered in surprise.
“Yes, indeed.”
“You’re going to teach me all of that today?”
The familiar simpered, curling her tail around her haunches. Your vibrations are strong, dear, but not that strong.
“Elvina, please.” Dorathea turned to Sloane. “We will start with a detection spell. It is quite simple, a one-word incantation. Onwreon. ”
“What the hell language is that?”
“Must you be so captious?” A stool appeared beside Dorathea. “Sit here, please.”
Sloane walked to the seat and mumbled, “I think High Priestess was the right choice.”
Elvina laughed. I see you’re trying to be a teacher’s pet.
“I’m just saying don’t assume I know different languages.”
Elvina laughed harder and rolled off her stool, landing on all fours.
Dorathea ignored the familiar. “Onwreon is Old English.”
Elvina leaped onto her stool again. This is going to take a while.
“You know what? I liked you better as a cat,” Sloane said and turned to Dorathea. “Why Old English?”
“Wiċċan exist everywhere. And we use all six thousand five hundred languages spoken in the world. Our Protection Coven uses the language of our ancestors.” Dorathea tapped the floor with her cane, and a green plastic clog appeared in her hand. “This clog belonged to Harold. He wore it when he helped Nathaniel, Mary, and me work in our gardens.” She held on to the shoe for a moment before passing it to Sloane.
Sloane wrapped her fingers around it. The bottom was caked in dirt. She thought of Harold slumped over her mother’s armchair, and anger flooded her body, mostly anger at Liam Morris. And at herself. Sloane pointed the clog at her cousin. “Why are we detecting Harold?”
“Because his soul has been released. So you can look without mine or the Grand Coven’s approval,” answered Dorathea.
“Fine. But I’ve got a question before we start. If wiċċan can sense each other, why can’t they detect other magical creatures without using a spell?”
“We can detect most with the Grand Coven’s permission. But Magicals who are defenders of their species in the Nogical world must conceal their identities,” Dorathea answered. “We cannot detect each other unless the Interspecies Council gives consent.”
Elvina licked the back of her paw. If we stayed in Denwick, Dorathea and I could train you in Magical Creatures. It was your mother’s favorite subject. You’d learn who lives among Nogicals. Interesting stuff. It’s a shame you want us to return to New York.
“And I might be alone, kitty-cat.” Sloane looked at Dorathea. “Because he got into my building unseen, and had the disintegrating photos, we know Morris was a Magical and possessed, and we’re guessing our suspect is also either a Magical, possessed, or both, right? So why waste time detecting? Shouldn’t you teach me how to disarm?”
“You must trust I know what I am doing,” answered Dorathea.
Sloane stared into the massive fireplace. The flames licked higher as if pulsing. Why should she trust this eccentric old woman? But then again, why shouldn’t she? So far, Dorathea was the only family who hadn’t lied to her.
“All right,” she said finally. “What do I do?”
“Nothing yet. There are rules you must learn. You may only use the detection spell without permission if your life is in danger. Otherwise, as your High Priestess, if I am unable to grant consent, I take your request to the Grand Coven for approval.”
“My life is in danger. Why would I waste time getting permission.”
“Fair enough. I will clarify. To use the detection spell without permission, your life must be in imminent danger. Under attack. That is why I hope you would seek the authority to use the spell before our suspect resorts to violence.”
“At Harold’s repast, you detected Gannon Ferris. I didn’t see you leave to get the Grand Coven’s permission.”
“As the High Priestess of our coven, I have the latitude to grant myself the right to protect us.”
“Jesus. Fine. I’m seeking permission, now. I need to detect the Keane and Reed family members and Charles Huxham.”
Anyone else? Elvina said.
“Not right now.”
Dorathea nodded. “I will seek the Grand Coven’s approval.”
“All right. Good.” Sloane looked down at Harold’s green garden clog.
“Wiċċan draw from our emotional and physical desires,” Dorathea said. “We wield our internal chaos and harness the universe’s energy through those desires.”
“What desires?” Sloane asked.
“To protect,” answered Dorathea. “When you have connected to the source, to the one you wish to keep from harm, you are ready to articulate an incantation. If you cast the detection spell correctly, your third eye will open. And it will reveal all you need to see.”
“My third eye? Like my mind’s eye?”
Similar, but not the same. When your third eye opens, you will see the unimaginable.
“All right. Doesn’t sound too hard. Let’s do this.”
“Harness your feelings for Harold. Ask yourself why you need to glimpse his soul. Focus on your answer. I will say the incantation, and you will repeat after me.”
“Do I say it out loud?”
“Yes, for now. Elvina and I have practiced our craft for decades. That is why we cast silently.”
Elvina stopped grooming. Even then, some wiċċ an must always cast out loud. And some must use a wand.
“True,” said Dorathea. “Repeat after me. Onwreon.”
Sloane shut her eyes and exhaled. Her fingers trembled. “On…wreh…on.” Her mouth felt tortured, and she opened her eyes.
Elvina crossed her paws. We need to work on your pronunciation.
“It will come with practice,” Dorathea said. “Repeat after me. Onwreon.”
“Ohn…wree…oh…n.”
Better. But now faster.
Dorathea nodded. “Yes, pick up the tempo. Practice it in your head a few times.”
Sloane tightened her fingers around the green clog. She heard Harold’s voice, telling her how he had held Jane when she was born. She focused on the love in his voice and her desire to find Morris’s employer. “Onwreon.” She dropped the shoe. “Holy fuck.”
What did you see? Elvina asked.
“I can’t describe it. Colors. In waves that just kept coming toward me.”
“Anything else?” Dorathea asked.
“No.”
Elvina’s pupils dilated. You opened your third eye.
“Excellent, indeed,” Dorathea said. “Now drawing on your desire to protect, peer through the veil of colors. You will see the last time Harold touched the shoe and his true essence will wash over you. Try again.”
Sloane stepped off the stool and picked up the shoe, whacking it against her leg. Clumps of dried mud fell to the floor. She closed her eyes and, after a minute, said, “Onwreon.” Her third eye opened, and she forced herself to gaze into the unfamiliar colors for as long as possible. “Damnit.” She opened her eyes. “Nothing appeared.”
Dorathea managed a smile. “Let’s try another object.” She snapped her fingers, and a silver brush appeared in her hand.
Is that? Elvina sat up. I haven’t seen it for ages. Jane was so disappointed she’d left it behind.
Dorathea looked at the familiar in dismay and handed Sloane the brush. “What do you feel?”
Sloane passed it from one hand to the other. “It’s vibrating.”
“Yes, indeed. It was your mum’s brush.”
“Jane’s stuff never vibrated before.”
“I’m sure you stopped noticing your mum’s vibrations after time.”
“No. I never felt the vibrations until I arrived at the cottage, and you were spying on me from behind the roses. I felt it again in Freya’s teashop. But never in New York.”
Dorathea and Elvina stared at each other.
“What? Was something wrong with Jane?”
“There was nothing the matter with your mum,” Dorathea answered. “You will always sense the presence of wiċċan unless a spell we cannot undo protects them. Possibly the protection charm your mum cast kept her vibrations from you, too. Do you have any of her items? Perhaps something she wore or touched recently?”
“Why? Do you want to detect her? You just said there was nothing wrong with her.”
“I am not hiding anything. I thought I would make sure for both our sakes.”
Sloane’s stomach tightened. “I don’t have anything here.” She shoved Jane’s brush in her back pocket, unprepared to see Jane or the version of her attached to it. “Why don’t you just teach me how to disarm now.”
Dorathea searched Sloane’s face. “Yes. I agree. We will move on to disarming. But you must practice the detection spell. I have placed Harold’s shoe and your mum’s brush in your tote. You must be able to use them to detect both Harold and Jane by tomorrow.”
Sloane patted her back pocket, and the brush was gone. “All right. But I also want to learn how to move things like you just did. That could be really handy in my line of work.”
A bit out of your league , Elvina said.
“She is correct. You are unprepared for such a complicated spell.”
Dorathea passed her hand over the pages of the Book of Hagorúnum , and they fluttered to a stop. She snapped her fingers. A dark leather-bound book floated out of the bookcase and whizzed across the room. She caught it without turning her head.
Sloane grinned. “So when I learn this spell, can I just take whatever I want from someone?”
“Absolutely not. We do not disarm for any purpose other than to protect.”
“How loosely can we define protection?”
Elvina cackled. You’re so much like your mother.
Dorathea’s shoulders rose with a deep breath, and she exhaled slowly. “No more interruptions, pet.” She held up the book in her hand. “This is the Official History of Dracas in Europe . I will summon a dragon from its pages, and you will disarm me of the book and close its cover before the creature can fully emerge, sending it back to its pages and protecting us from its wrath.”
“Yeah. Right. The dragon’s a hologram or something?” Sloane waited for a reply, but neither Dorathea nor Elvina answered. “Dragons exist?”
“They do, indeed,” Dorathea said. “For your training, I will just call a wyvern. They are less dangerous than their cousins. And rarely breathe fire.” She glanced at the ceiling. “Alfred disapproves of firebreathers in the covenstead. But don’t be fooled. The wyvern’s swiftness and venomous sting make it deadly. It doesn’t need fire.”
Sloane crossed her arms. “Wait. You’re serious right now? Why would you teach me with something that could actually kill us?”
The danger must be able to compel your desire to protect , answered Elvina. It has to be real.
Dorathea opened the book, and Sloane jerked. “Calm yourself and focus like before. The incantation for disarming an aggressor is Āniman .” We will begin with your pronunciation. Repeat after me, ān-ee-mahn.”
“Ān-ee-man,” Sloane intoned.
Not bad , Elvina said. Less cat and more aunt in the last a. Try again, ān-ee-mahn.
“Ān-ee-mahn.”
Dorathea nodded. “Very good. Repeat the word several more times in your head until I summon the wyvern. When I do, it will spring forth, headfirst, disoriented, but will quickly assess who its captors are. Our lives will be in danger. To cast the spell correctly, you will align the energy in your mind and body into a single desire to protect us and then say āniman clearly. Are you ready?”
Sloane planted her feet firmly to the floor as if bracing for a fight and asked, “What’s our backup plan?”
There is none , answered Elvina.
Dorathea slid her hand over the open pages. The air above the book pulsated with expanding ripples. Then the foul scent of carrion emanated from the pages.
The first of the dragon Sloane saw was two leathery horns. Then a patch of dark brown and gray reptilian scales. She took a deep breath and braced herself. A second later, the top of the wyvern’s head sprung forth. It flailed about and released a bone-chilling roar.
Sloane stuttered, “Ān…ān…Āniman.”
The wyvern bore its fanged teeth and wielded its leathery horns. Its screeches filled the room while its serpentine neck pushed up, snaking out of the pages.
“Āh-ni-man!” Sloane shouted.
The beast looked around the room with beady, orange-red eyes, searching for the voice source.
Elvina rose on all fours, arching her back.
The wyvern locked its gaze on Sloane, and its leather wings emerged from the book. Sloane stumbled backward.
“Āniman!” she shouted.
The creature opened its jaws and hissed a forked tongue, its rough tip flicking Sloane’s cheek, and just as she opened her mouth, the wyvern’s spiked tail appeared, lashing forward.
Bel ūcan! Elvina shouted.
The wyvern’s menacing force disappeared from the room, followed by its tail, wings, neck, and head as it slipped back into the pages. The book cover slammed shut.
Sloane bent over, her hands clenching her knees. “Jesus Christ, Dorathea. I’m guessing that wasn’t one of your better ideas.”
“Nonsense. That went as well as expected. Your iteration was correct. But you were unable to focus your energy. What did you feel when the wyvern poised to strike?”
Sloane shook out her arms and hands. “Nothing. Well, maybe shock. Seeing a wyvern isn’t an everyday thing for me.”
Mhmm. Elvina’s tail twitched. There’s no shame in being scared.
Sloane glared at the familiar. “I wasn’t afraid.”
Your eyes told a different story.
“Āniman!” The dark-brown leather book zipped through the air to Sloane’s open hand. “Whoa. I did it.” She surprised herself and looked at Elvina. “See, I can cast the spell. The wyvern just surprised me. I wasn’t scared.”
Dorathea snapped her fingers, and the book reappeared on her lectern. “You may have been unnerved before. However, just now, you were angry.”
“No, I wasn’t. I’m frustrated with Elvina. But not angry.”
Same emotion, different degree, dear , Elvina said.
“Enough.” Dorathea held Sloane’s eyes. “I warned you, pet. When we cast spells out of anger, we open ourselves to evil. It can manipulate our anger and prehend our power. I fear you have already done so many times. But no more.”
Sloane closed her eyes. The muzzle of Morris’s gun flashed. An ache lodged in her throat, and heat spread from her neck. What if she had known how to disarm—
“My request is important.” Dorathea interrupted her thoughts. “We must remain impenetrable to the evil that has come to Denwick.”
Sloane opened her eyes. “Fine. I’ll work on it.”