Chapter 24

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

My family moved quickly. We hadn't spared the time to don winter boots or coats or hats and gloves, so the night nipped at our ears as the unyielding ground pressed hard against our house shoes.

Our late-night trek across the wildflower fields roused the pixies hibernating in the birdhouse, but only the big one, the one who'd taken the most offense to my snubbing of their gifts of marbles and feathers when I'd first come to Redbud, left the comfort of its coyote-fur-lined nesting box. With a curious and sleepy trill, it fluttered on dragonfly-like wings to land on my shoulder. It was as light as a hummingbird, and I barely felt it as its tiny fingers took hold of my ear. It chirped its question again, wondering why I wasn't asleep.

"Witchy business," I murmured. "Go on back to bed, Dart."

The pixie did no such thing. We were friends now, after all. It rose from my shoulder and flitted higher, scouting the way to the eastern woods.

Otter and Uncle Badger carried the mirror, and the rest of the Hawthorne witches formed a defensive circle around them with me in the center beside them. I held the Hawthorne ember in one cupped palm—for my protection, Grandmother had said.

Sawyer, in his infinite feline sneakiness, dodged between Aunt Peony and Aunt Hyacinth's legs, and I pretended to trip over the flattened wildflower stalks to dip low and snatch him up. He disappeared into my foraging bag within seconds, his weight comforting.

There was a single light on in the hobs' barn, and it bobbed as it was brought to a frosted window and illuminated a few faces pressed up against the glass. Lifting a hand, I waved them over.

The barn door slid open just enough for a hob to slip through the opening, and Roland hustled over, his thick brown eyebrows disappearing beneath his hat in mute question.

"Everyone to the farmhouse," I told him, never once losing stride.

His shorted legs quickened into a jog to keep up with us. "What's going on, lass?"

"Just a precaution." The hearth's wards weren't extending past the porch now, and I didn't want them unprotected. Our recent summoning efforts had not only weakened the Hawthorne ember, but the farmhouse hearth too. With the Hawthorne ember in the censer on this little field trip into the eastern forest, it was up to the farmhouse flames to pick up the slack even as it recovered.

The forced calm in my voice alerted him to the possibility of trouble more so than my words did. Roland gave me a crisp nod and broke away from the pack of witches, whistling sharply to gather the hobs' attention.

The light of the crescent moon proved strong enough to light our way to the moonflower grove without anyone twisting an ankle on the black walnuts I or the squirrels hadn't harvested. Grandmother and Aunt Hyacinth slapped aside some of the spindly elderberry shrubs to make room for the mirror to pass through without getting scratched, using their hands for the task in order to reserve their magic.

The clearing was alive with pearlescent light as the flowers eagerly stretched up their many-petalled blooms to the night sky. Nearby, the red thread of the portal's echo flickered as it steadily dimmed, destined to vanish all too soon.

As quietly as they could, Uncle Badger and Otter set the mirror down as close to the portal thread as they could get it without interrupting the beam. The leaves crunched under the stand, their crackling seeming to echo far louder than it had any right to. But the eastern forest was quiet, bare trees and silent conifers standing tall in a breezeless night. I found myself staring into their depths, the familiar pull of curiosity to explore the wilder, darker places of the world rising from where it had lain dormant.

Aunt Peony passed around the silver case with the last of the neon-blue grub gummies, and every Hawthorne took one to build back some of their strength. I didn't think about it—I just chewed, swallowed, and grimaced. Then the six witches hastily formed a circle around the mirror and repeated what I'd come to call the Frame Fusion Spell to repair any cracks and strengthen any weaknesses. After the frame creaked and sparkled with the magic healing its stress points, they returned to that droning summoning incantation.

"Meadow," Grandmother hissed, snapping her fingers to get my attention. She'd already plucked the censer from my hand and had opened it in front of the mirror.

I shook my head to clear it and summoned my magic as Aunt Eranthis, Grandmother, and I once again attempted to tack the red thread into the mirror.

"The tension is less," Aunt Eranthis murmured, rubbing the portal's echo thread between her thumb and forefinger like it was a rare piece of Angora yarn, "but still not ideal. We must hurry."

As the two women began weaving again, I recited the spell that would fuse each connection in place.

Dimly, I became aware of Sawyer clawing free of my foraging bag and climbing up to my shoulder. Facing backwards, his tail looped around my throat for balance and support. He was literally watching my back, as well as the rest of the Hawthornes' who were occupied with the summoning. His whiskers and ears twitched incessantly, his little claws digging into my shoulder as his balance shifted, but after all our time together, these little movements didn't prove distracting. Overhead, Dart whizzed in a nervous circle.

Just as before, the shimmering opalescence of the mirror brightened and began to clear. I tried to keep my attention on the connections of the portal string I needed to fuse and fuel, but the magic being performed before me was beautiful. And not just the flashy lightshow that was occurring, but the intricacies of the weave, the way the ornate frame shimmered and hummed an almost musical note as it channeled the power of the summoning.

When the last connection was in place, Grandmother and Aunt Eranthis quickly took hold of my hands to form a smaller circle around the mirror, lending their voices to the incantation I recited. The six witches of the outer ring joined in on our spell, and when all nine voices blended as one to chant the words together, there was a burst of silver steam from the mirror as the last of its opalescence vanished.

Arcadis stared back at us, his crimson eyes furious. "I've been expecting you."