She straightens, and I catch sight of her unusual eyes.
“Incantatrix immemorata.” She overenunciates each word. “The unmentioned witch, whose magic devours her memories. Very peculiar. Very rare. I wonder why that is …”
My brows draw together; I’m taken aback by the fact she knows this about me. “That was just the way I was born.”
“Hmm…” Those light eyes scrutinize me, her body trembling a little. Though her magic is strong, her limbs seem light as a bird’s. “No, I don’t think it is.”
My gaze sharpens on hers. Now that I’m looking closely, I realize why her eyes look so unusual. There’s no pupil in either of them. Is she…blind?
“Who needs sight when the third eye sees all?” she says.
I recoil from her a bit.
Man, elderly witches are spooky. That really is when we come into our highest power.
“Selene, dear girl, you are being circled by vultures. Many eyes are on you. Some of them good, some of them bad, some a bit of both.”
“What?” I say, alarmed.
“Power is to be celebrated and feared. You have it in spades, but it is locked away. Find the key and use it. Don’t be a pawn when you’re a queen. No one commands a queen.”
I blink at her, and my hand twitches from the urge to write this all down before I can forget.
“I don’t…understand,” I say finally, tightening my hold on my bag.
She laughs, the sound wispy; it makes me think of corn husks for some odd reason.
“There is a lot you cannot remember, but do not fool yourself into thinking you do not understand, Selene Bowers.” She gives me a meaningful look with those all-seeing eyes of hers, and for a moment, I think she must know about Memnon.
“Make your amulet,” Mistress Gestalt says. “Protect yourself against harm.”
Harm?
“And Selene?” she says. “The villains are coming for you. Ready yourself.”
CHAPTER 16
Moldy toadstools.
I scrape the charred, flaky goop from the bottom of the cauldron, grimacing as I go.
I’ve been working on this freaking amulet all evening, and all I have to show for it is this sludge. My hair is singed, I smell like smoke, and the other witches who’ve entered and exited the spellcasting kitchen have kept their distance.
I was hoping that if I got started on an amulet for myself tonight, I’d manage to both finish my first big class project and wrangle some extra protection against the ominous threat Mistress Gestalt warned me about.
This kitchen has an old cast-iron stove as well as several cauldrons hanging over open flames, one of which is mine. On the opposite side of the room, there are shelves of jars holding all manner of rare ingredients.
I scoop the charred paste from the cauldron and place it into a bowl, ignoring the way Nero’s ears go back at the sight of it.
I set the bowl down on the kitchen’s butcher-block counter and make a face at my creation. My creation cannot be right. After moving over to my textbook, A Practitioner’s Guide to Apotropaic Magic, I read through the spell recipe once more.
“Where did I go wrong…?” I ask Nero.
Nero blinks at me, and I swear he’s saying, How am I supposed to know? You’re the witch.
But maybe I’m just anthropomorphizing my panther.
I turn back to my textbook. Could it have been the alyssum? The recipe called for a handful, but that’s such a loose measurement. Or maybe I need fresh mugwort and not the dried version.
But then, maybe it’s not the mugwort?
I rub my temples.
“You’re still here?” Sybil’s voice rings out.
I glance up as she enters the kitchen. She came in here with me a couple of hours ago to work on an assignment for a different class, but she long since left to get some reading done.
Apparently, she finished reading.
She crinkles her nose. “What is that ungodly smell?” she says, wandering closer to me.
“That’s the smell of protection,” I say smoothly.
“Whatever concoction you’re brewing, I don’t think it’s supposed to smell like that.” When she gets to my side, Sybil peers into my bowl. “Or look like that.”
I gaze down at the lumpy charred paste. According to my textbook, it’s supposed to settle into a milky green liquid.
“What are you making anyway?” Sybil asks.
I grimace. “It’s supposed to be a protective potion. Once it’s done, I just dip a piece of jewelry into it…and it should come out an amulet.”
At that, she laughs. “Dude, that’s more likely to attract bad shit than it is to scare it off.”
I make a face at her. “It’s not done yet.”
“Babe, scrap it and call it a night. You can try again tomorrow.”
I grab my wooden spoon and stir the grayish sludge. “Does my best friend really have that little faith in my abilities?”
Sybil raises her eyebrows at me. “Uh, when it comes to this particular spell—yeah, I do.”
“Pfft.” I wave her away. “I’m almost done here.”
“All right, Selene, you do you.” Sybil pushes away from the counter. “I’m heading off to bed. Want to join me for a run before class?”
I make a face at the thought. “Do I really like running?” I ask her.
For a moment Sybil hesitates, like she doesn’t know if I’ve truly forgotten.
“It’s a rhetorical question,” I say. “Of course I hate running. But I’m a masochist, so yeah, I’ll join you.”
She shakes her head. “You have the worst humor, you know that, right?”
I point the wooden spoon I’m holding at her. “I…yeah, I might.”
She gives me an amused look. “Night, babe. Don’t accidently curse anything with that…potion.” With that, she breezes back out of the kitchen.
“Night!” I call out after her.
Once it’s quiet, I return my attention to my goop.
Now, where was I?
I glance down the list of steps I’ve meticulously checked off. All that’s left is the final step.
Take the object you wish to coat with your protective mixture and submerge it into the potion.
There’s an incantation that goes along with this step, and supposedly, invoking this spell will cause the potion to burn away and leave only the magic-coated amulet behind.
Simple enough.
I add more water to my mixture, whispering the incantation under my breath as I do so. And then I stir and stir until my sludge turns into a lumpy liquid. It looks a little greener as a liquid too, so that’s a win.
It’ll have to do.
I grab a small clay pendant with swirls stamped onto the front. It was a cheap knickknack I bought at a street fair in Berkeley, but it’s unusual and pretty. And if this all goes well, it will be an amulet.
I worry my lower lip as I look at my concoction. After a moment, I drop the pendant into the mixture.
This is going to work, I tell myself.
Taking a deep breath, I hold my hand over the bowl and begin. “I call on earth and air…” My power rises, called by my intent and the incantation. “Wash away weakness”—the soft orange magic flows down my arm and out from my palm before settling over the liquid—“from beings wicked and intent unkind…”
As I watch, my power sinks into the potion, making the liquid luminesce.
I finish the incantation with “keep me safe; keep me whole.”