Chapter 22

Upin the attic of the farmhouse, Sawyer crouched in that space between attic vent and trapdoor, ready once again to spring for whatever exit was closest depending on how my spell worked.

"Are you sure you want to be doing this so soon?" he asked in a hushed voice.

He'd taken one look at me when I'd come back from Flora's and leapt into my arms. I'd climbed the stairs and sunk into my bed, pulling the covers up over both us. We'd snuggled, slept, and had risen this morning to set everything about the farmhouse to rights. I'd checked on the hobs, surprised to find an apple pie waiting for me—Sawyer had snuck out in the middle of the night to tell them of my healthy return. The rest of the day had been spent purposefully not thinking about the lumberjack shifter and his strange Celtic knot pendant and getting everything ready for tonight.

I had a new parasite bracelet on my wrist, adorned with three very large tourmaline crystals this time. If my experiences in the Alder Ranch glen had proven anything, it was that I had indeed grown stronger, no doubt to my increased focus.

The bleached tourmaline stone still sat on the windowsill where it could access both sunlight and moonlight. Maybe it would recharge and reclaim its color. Or maybe it would remain that way. Another gap in my knowledge—I knew how to fashion and use parasite ornamentation, just not what happened to the stones when they were spent. But that was a mystery meant for a bottle of Riesling on another day.

"I'm ready," I assured him.

"Well I'm not," he grumbled.

Stepping over my containment barrier of brambles, blackberry lilies, and sweetgum balls, I leaned down and placed the grimoire on a fresh hearth stone. This time when I drew the circle of wax and salt, it took the shape of a dara knot. The first ring hadn't proved useful in the slightest; maybe this one would.

Uncorking the vial of stolen powder, both Sawyer and I wrinkled our noses as the stench of rotten eggs filled the attic. I applied a hefty sprinkle all over the emerald in the grimoire's cover and beat a hasty retreat outside the containment barrier.

"Sawyer, the mirror!"

Grumbling, the tomcat slunk on his belly to the swivel mirror I'd purchased from Emmett at the Barn Market. The position of the mirror took him farther from his beloved escape routes, but if things went south, he needed to hit the mirror so it could face the ceiling. Mirrors could sometimes be used as portals between worlds, and I certainly wasn't hosting a welcoming party to whatever was in the grimoire.

Now that Sawyer was in position, I retrieved a glowing hearth ember from my bucket of coals, held my breath, and leaned to look in the mirror, ready to hurl the ember and activate the barrier.

There was nothing in the mirror.

"What the?"

"What's happening?" Sawyer squeaked.

Swallowing thickly, I glanced down at the grimoire emerald, all sparkly with powder, then back at the empty mirror. Why hadn't the warlock's powder worked?

"You have to activate the powder," came Ame's drawl from the attic vent behind us.

Sawyer and I both screamed, but that did nothing to wake the emerald nor the parasite inside.

"How did you get up here?" I shouted.

Ame licked a paw, making sure to show off her claws. "I climbed." Then she wiggled through the slats and dropped down into the attic. "Sawyer and I meet at midnight every two weeks for a status report and wellness check." She gave her ward a stern look. "I expected to find you on the front porch."

Sawyer didn't know who to apologize to first. "S-sorry," he just told the air between Ame and me.

"Wellness check?" I said, almost angrily. How dare she insinuate I wasn't taking care of him? "He's almost fat, thank you very much."

"No I'm not!"

"You do like those tuna cookies she makes," Ame said. "Not that I blame you. And a wellness check that involves his mental and emotional health, Misty Fields, not just his physical health."

"I'm fine," Sawyer said, flicking his tail. "Just this spell is making me nervous. There's something—"

"Eh," I cut him off.

His ears lowered, fur fluffing, his tail twitching even faster.

"Something private between you and your witch. Or friend," Ame said. "I understand. But that's toirchim glaze, and because it is so powerful, it can only be activated by a special phrase."

I'd long ago stopped wondering what Ame knew and how she knew it. "Do you… know what it is?" I asked.

The caliby cat wrinkled her nose. "That's specific to whoever manufactured the glaze."

Sawyer and I deflated at the same time.

"So you stole this from the warlock and don't even know how to use it?" Ame demanded, fur bristling. "I should claw you both!"

"Wait! I saw Jakob's lips moving in the mirror," I exclaimed. "He must've been whispering the activation spell."

"And do you read lips?" the caliby wanted to know.

My hopes fluttered away again. "No."

"Well, lucky for you, every familiar is trained in human lipreading."

"You're kidding."

"Certainly not. Though we're born knowing how to talk, we must still learn the tongue of our country, and of our witch. Sometimes several languages. And nothing facilitates that better than watching your mouth move as we listen to the words. Our mouths don't work the same way, you know. Besides, it can come in quite handy if you're ever separated and can't hear one another but you can see each other."

"But how does that help us?" I asked. "I saw the warlock speak the spell, not Sawyer. Do you want me to try to mimic the shapes his mouth made?"

Ame rolled her eyes. "And introduce mistakes that might blow you both up?"

My lips pursed into a thin line. "I don't appreciate the sarcasm."

"If you two were bonded, you could simply show Sawyer the memory."

As Sawyer and I both started to protest, Ame slashed the air between us, demanding silence. "I know, I know! So it is rather fortuitous that I'm both here and Sawyer's mentor. I can, for a very short time, create a temporary bond between you. We use it mostly to test compatibility in the field, outside the test chambers of the university."

"What happens if we're not compatible?" Sawyer asked.

"Pain," came a simple, flat reply.

We shared a wary look.

"So, best pray that you are. You'll need to concentrate on that memory only, Misty, otherwise your mind might take Sawyer down a rabbit hole you don't want him to."

I sank cross-legged to the floor, extending a hand to Sawyer. "If you're willing."

He minced in place, fur fluffing, then let out an exasperated sigh and crawled into my lap. "I suppose I didn't steal that toirchim glaze for nothing."

"Stare into each other's eyes," Ame instructed. She balanced a paw on each of us, claws pinching down. "Now hold that memory, Misty. Sawyer, relax completely, and… animus ligare brevis!"

I tensed as something foreign yet familiar touched my mind, my spirit, my self. Instinct told me to resist, to shove it away, but my mind knew it was Sawyer. I had agreed to this. And more than that, my heart knew his. Knew his bravery and friendship and loyalty. I should be honored to have such a good soul tied to mine. A mental sigh released the tension and dropped my guard, allowing his spirit to permeate mine.

The memory of that evening, shrouded by the shadow of the warlock's wagon, resolved into acute clarity. Jakob Tabrass sitting at his vanity, the beauty of the mass of shiny crystal bottles and golden pumps and porcelain jars doing nothing to dampen his sinister presence. The ruby-topped cane positioned between his knees, shimmering as if dusted with glitter. His lips beginning to move as he stared into the mirror.

What was he saying?

I tried to slow the memory down, to focus solely on what he was whispering. Maybe it worked, maybe it didn't, but the memory moved on to the creak in the door as I'd angled for a different position, then my flight to the Lemon Shake-Up wagon.

No! It was too soon. That hadn't been enough time! I need to go back, to—

"Ouch!" I yelped, my concentration shattering as Ame's claws dug into my hand. I blinked rapidly, finding myself back in the attic with Sawyer in my lap and both of us glaring at the caliby cat. Apparently she'd stabbed Sawyer too. "Thistle thorns, that hurt."

"You're welcome," Ame said crisply, backing away. "I could've just let the bond continue to knit between you, but I was taking your free will into consideration. You two were going too deep, so pain was the only thing that could snap you out of it. You're lucky I didn't bite you. Then you'd have to have oral antibiotics instead of just a Band-Aid."

Forget the Band-Aid; I let the magic of my core heal those shallow wounds in just a few seconds and then rubbed at Sawyer's fur where she'd scratched him. "You okay?"

"Tough tomcat skin," he groused. "But it still pinched something awful."

"But did it work?" Ame asked. "Were you able to read the warlock's lips?"

Sawyer's ears pricked. "Yes!"

I gave a whoop, surging to my feet. "Ha-cha!" My days of exile in Redbud were almost to an end. Tonight I'd learn just exactly what that parasite in the grimoire was, and once I knew that, I could go about preparing for its removal and destruction. "Then let's do this!"

Sawyer gave me a hesitant look. "But…"

"But what?"

The tomcat took in the excited anticipation on my face and thought better of what he was about to say. "Nothing."

"You're confident in the words, yes?" Ame asked sharply.

He nodded, still looking a little glum. "Yes."

"Don't worry, Sawyer," I told him, scratching him behind the ears. "I won't let it touch you."

That didn't seem to reassure him much, but he told me the incantation anyway before resuming his position by the swivel mirror. Ame wisely took up Sawyer's old position between the trapdoor and the attic vent opposite the one she'd climbed in through.

After sprinkling on an additional coating of the glaze, just to be sure, I retreated back to my side of the containment barrier and gripped the selenite monocle in my hand, just in case. Then, in a whisper, I intoned,

"Be still and calm, O Ravenous Beast.

Obey my words and let suff'rings cease."

The emerald on the spell book cover glowed to life, pulsing with green light, but no shadowy tendrils emerged. There was no spray of salt, nor snap of bramble canes and sweetgum balls into a thorny sphere, nothing.

The glaze must be working!

Shifting my weight, I leaned to the side to peer into the mirror.

A shapeless black cloud waited for me. It merely hovered in the center of the mirror… sleeping?

"You, creature," I commanded in my boldest voice. "Tell me what you are."

The cloud stirred, the jagged lengths of shadow I'd seen eject from the emerald taking form. But that was it. There was no shadowman to talk to, no sentient creature to evict from the emerald.

"What the?"

I raised the selenite monocle to my eye, first to examine the jagged strips of shadow in the mirror—which remained as such before the revealing power of the crystal—then turned my sight to the emerald itself. With the shadowy tendrils out of the way, I saw the parasite clearly now.

Not a shadowman like the one trapped in the ruby topper of Jakob Tabrass's cane. A fragment, one that pulsed in a steady rhythm.

"It's a fae heart," I gasped, the monocle shaking against my eye. "A half-heart."

"A fae half-heart?" Sawyer quipped. "Well, that's good, right? And better than the whole thing to deal with. Just grab the iron fireplace poker from downstairs, give it a stab, and we can finally be rid of it!"

But he didn't understand; he hadn't been there.

Codrin Alder's words came back to me like a death knell. "‘So long as the main heart beats, this one will never cease,'" I murmured, sinking to the floor.

"I'm sorry," Ame whispered.

"What does that mean?" Sawyer asked, a tremor in his voice.

"That's a demon's half-heart in there!" I cried bitterly, breaking my own rule to only refer to them as Big Nasties. "It means my family is more cursed than I thought. That this whole time, everything I've gone through, has been for nothing!"

I threw the selenite monocle against the wall, my parasite bracelet flashing a warning as it absorbed my excess power. The crystal still shattered, sprinkling the attic floorboards with white dust.

After tipping the mirror to face the ceiling, just in case I was wrong, Sawyer slunk to me on his belly. He didn't crawl into my lap, pausing at my knee as my hands balled my sundress into two halves that I was very soon going to rip apart.

"Then what do we do?" he asked softly. "There's always something we can do."

"Short of hunting down that warlock and demanding information?" I barked. "And pray to the Green Mother I'm even strong enough to survive that encounter? I have no rotten idea!"

Thistle thorns, I was a second away from bursting into hot, angry, frustrated tears. I was so overwhelmed, so unprepared. How had I even thought I was capable of handling something like this? That I, Meadow Hawthorne, just twenty-five years old and not even a robed elder of my coven, had been powerful enough, smart enough, to dispel a curse that had beguiled witches older and far wiser than me?

I pressed my forehead against my drawn-in knees, arms wrapping around my legs. "Thistle thorns, I've been so stupid." This wasn't a fairy tale. I didn't get to win just because I was doing what was right. The real world didn't work that way.

Sawyer leaned against me, rubbing his head along my thigh and purring.

"Na?ve," Ame corrected quietly. "And… maybe you don't need to hunt down the warlock to get the answers you seek."

"What?" I asked, lifting my head and smearing away the stray brown wisps of my hair that had plastered against my tears. "What did you say?"

Ame looked unsure for the first time since I'd met her. "There is someone in Redbud with more than their fair share of knowledge about the dark arts and the fae who use them. I think it's time we get Shari to talk. To face her past. She was supposed to be a demon's bride, after all."

The End of Sourdough Troubles.