To Spell & Back Read online

  Easier said than done. When I reached into the flame for the handle to trigger the door mechanism, I came up with nothing more than another dilemma. Here I was, unable to ask how to enter the workshop, and with all the drama going on, I’d spent way too much time indulging my curiosity about my father and my family.

  What was I supposed to do now? A lot was riding on this, and I had let myself become distracted.

  Two options presented themselves. The first was to go outside and see if there was a second entrance. Not very appealing given the current weather conditions. Option number two it was. The Balefire licked soft tongues of cool flame against my face when I thrust my head and shoulders into the fireplace. Hands outstretched, I expected to encounter the solid rock that made up the back wall. Instead, I overbalanced and fell right through into the darkened workshop.

  Any witch worth her salt can conjure enough flame to light her way, and that is exactly what I did. I’d have liked to dawdle and gawk at the changes from the sanctum I remembered, but I’d wasted enough time already, so I followed the compass and found a handful of nuggets tossed carelessly into a box on one of the shelves.

  The compass did its thing just in time for me to be yanked back to the present with the familiar tugging sensation and a popping noise in my head.

  Chapter Thirteen

  THIS TIME, ONCE I’D rematerialized in the sanctum, I wasted no time forging the living gold and repairing the Bow of Destiny. Once it was tucked back away, another damaged section having been seamlessly melded back together, I turned to Salem and described what I’d witnessed with as much detail as I could remember. His memory was significantly better than mine, so I knew he’d be able to recall all the fine points long after I’d forgotten them.

  “I thought Mag was a crazy old coot, and maybe she is, but she’s part of my family, and I’m worried about her. I’m pretty sure she wasn’t inside the cottage when it got blown to smithereens, but she might still be in danger. And she did give me the ring, which turned out to be just what I needed. I don’t think she’s dark. I’m starting to think Sylvana is the only wicked one of the bunch. Speaking of which, I half wonder if she wasn’t the one who tried to blow Mag up in the first place. There was some bad blood between the two of them.”

  When I’m worried, I tend to ramble.

  “Is there anyone Sylvana gets along with?”

  “Doesn’t look like it.” The thought saddened me, if I’m being honest. If I’m being more honest, it made me a little angry. My mother had all the things I never did, and didn’t appreciate any of them. “But Mag is her family, too,” I continued bitterly, “not that I’m surprised at her lack of loyalty.”

  “Why would she go after a harmless old witch like Mag? I can’t see any purpose to it. It doesn’t seem likely, and who knows how many other enemies she has—I mean, you don’t wind up living in the Fringe for no reason.” Salem asked the question I’d already begun to ponder. “Once again, it would be helpful to have more information.”

  “That’s becoming our motto, isn’t it?” I paced back and forth, my brain working at top speed. “Maybe there’s a way to learn all the family secrets. From the one person who knows each and every one—Clara. The dream I had the other night got me thinking. If the Balefire has healing properties and can liquefy living gold, maybe it would also turn Clara back to flesh and bone.”

  “You might be on to something there. Her body is immune to the flame just like yours, so she wouldn’t be harmed even if it doesn’t work.”

  I looked from Salem to the light of the Balefire burning in the hearth. “You want to try it?”

  “Do you think we have enough?” I placed a crown of woven sticks on Clara’s head and yawned. Salem and I had been up all night between the trip to the past and planning our current escapade. At some point, I’d need a nap, and soon.

  Between us, we’d emptied the back yard of every dried branch we could find before clearing most of the half-acre patch of woods behind where Clara stood. The Internet says no witches were ever burned in this country, but seeing a human figure in the middle of a thigh-high pile of brush gave me a pang anyhow.

  Sacrificing the rosebush growing at her feet caused me another rough moment. Ever since my first trip back in time, I’d come to equate the flowers with my grandmother. Velvety flowers with thorns protective enough to draw blood when they needed to. Hopefully, they’d be unnecessary before long.

  Hands on his hips, Salem surveyed our handiwork. “Seems like it. There’s only one way to find out.”

  I looked at him and cautioned, "Don't laugh, I just have to do this."

  To Clara, I said, "Um, I don't know if you can hear me, but we're going to try something to see if we can bring you back. It won't hurt. I don't think. So you know, if you can hear me, what I'm doing, it was done out of love, okay?"

  I selected a stick as long as my arm and trekked back into the house to introduce the dry wood to the Balefire, then asked Evian for her assistance before carrying the merrily-burning torch back to where Salem waited.

  “What’s she doing here?” He asked. “This is witch business.”

  “Making sure we don’t start a forest fire.” I’d already asked her to help Vaeta make the air thick enough to hide our activities from the neighborhood.

  “Should I say a spell of some sort?” I asked once the faeries were gone.

  Even if this worked, my grandmother would not come back to life screaming, but I couldn’t seem to shake the mental image. I must have watched too many movies and TV shows about torching witches.

  “Infuse the flame with your intention. We’re in uncharted territory trying to remove a curse that originated from combining two spells. I’d say trust your instincts.” Salem instructed.

  “What if I don’t have any?”

  He shrugged. “Then I guess you’ll just have to light it up and see what happens.”

  Sounded simple. Wasn’t.

  Following my instincts, as directed, I closed my eyes and breathed into the working. Inside the barriers of air and water, the stilled breeze pillowed sound and sucked at my eardrums. I cast my awareness out like fingers to rifle over the hardened stone and anchored its texture in my mind for a weightless moment of anticipation. My imagination turned the stone to soft and yielding skin perfumed with herbs and oils and love. Pressure built alongside the need to thrust the burning brand into fuel waiting for the Balefire’s touch and in the moment when the first blue flame licked the first hungry branch, I became the fire.

  Heal. Purify. Devour. I knew nothing else but those desires until my heated tongue tasted stone and I searched the surface for that which might require my healing touch. Finding none, I withdrew to finish my feast among the tender morsels piled upon the ground. There was no work for me there, only an offering—a meal where I could eat my fill and be sated.

  “Lexi!” Salem’s voice sounded frantic when it finally penetrated the buzzing in my ears. “Lexi!”

  “I’m okay.” I thought I was, anyway. “What happened?” It felt like I’d been on a three-day bender with a gallon bottle of Twinkleberry wine.

  “Why don’t you tell me?”

  I opened my eyes to see why his voice sounded so shaky and found myself sprawled half on the ground and half in his arms. I did a mental catalog of my body to see if anything hurt and found that I felt wonderful. No, this was no Twinkleberry hangover.

  Bit by bit, my memory returned.

  “It didn’t work, did it?” I scrambled up to confront the statue still standing amid a ring of smoking embers. While I watched, the badly singed rosebush lifted from the ashes and bloomed Phoenix-like in the space of seconds. In another minute, all evidence of my efforts had been erased.

  “Were you trying to scare my last life out of me?” Salem demanded.

  “Not intentionally. I remember becoming part of the Balefire for a minute there, and that’s about it. Doesn’t seem like a big deal.”

  Salem’s mouth dropped open. “Not a
big deal?” He snapped it closed again and stalked away, ignoring all my efforts to get him to tell me what had happened.

  Whatever it was, I felt fine now. Better than fine. Other than the disappointment of not having broken the spell on my grandmother, that is.

  “So now we’re back to square one. I’d better go back to the Fringe and see if I can find Mag. I’ve been wondering something, Salem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Why does Mag look so much older than Clara? She’s only a few years Clara’s senior. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “That’s a question you’ll have to ask her yourself. Using strong magic for long periods of time could do it. There are spells that pull from the elements, and there are some that require a witch’s essence. Do too many of the latter, and you could turn to dust.” He explained.

  “What kinds of spells? Like dark magic?”

  “Some. Just as many that are light, though. You don’t usually see a witch age like that unless she’s been in the trenches for a long time. Light and darkness are always in a pitched battle. Most of it plays out in the day-to-day events—the choices we make, the love we find, the hurts we cause.”

  “Sure, but what does that have to do with my aunt’s condition?” I said.

  “Some are called to fight in other ways. It may be that Mag was chosen. Or, it may be any one of a dozen other reasons.

  Let me go to the Fringe for you. I can track down Mag’s familiar. We have sort of a network. Just don’t get too used to it; I’m starting to feel a little like an errand boy. Or a bloodhound.” He muttered something about fish under his breath, and I ignored it.

  “Hurry back. I’m worried, and I won’t sleep knowing you’re out there.”

  Salem’s face softened, “Yes, boss.” He mocked lightly as he flitted into cat form and trotted away.

  Once he was out of sight, and the faeries had taken down the barrier, I was alone in the clearing with Clara.

  "I'm sorry. I don't know how to help you, but I won't give up. Not ever." Heady, the scent of roses filled the air, and when I reached to caress a tender petal, I nicked my finger on a thorn. Why did that keep happening? Ever single time.

  As the drop of blood spilled down on my grandmother's stone foot and the rose bush rustled, I wondered if it was her way of communicating her displeasure. What would I be waking if I succeeded? The gentle girl I'd seen in the past or the fierce witch I saw before me now.

  I only knew I had to keep trying.

  I settled down on Kin’s couch, a glass of wine in my hand, and sighed when he started rubbing my feet. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he had magic hands. Things were going well, for once, and I took advantage of the moment of peace to talk about everything I’d learned and the nearly-repaired status of the Bow of Destiny. Kin listened with rapt attention, always eager to learn all he could about the strange new world that had recently opened up to him.

  “What is it about the Balefire that makes it so special? It’s the source of your power, it’s hot enough to melt this living gold, yet I’ve seen you touch the fire and not come away burned—where did the Balefire come from?” Kin’s curiosity was bubbling over, and I realized it was time to tell him the tale Sylvana had told me.

  “The Balefire came to us through one of my great-great grandmothers, Esmerelda, a couple of thousand years ago during the Fae Civil Wars—which, by the way, featured the slaughtering of thousands of witches. It reminds me of the plot of Star Wars, with the Unseelie Fae as the dark side, and the Seelie Fae as the light—witches got caught in the crossfire, much like the innocents employed to build the Death Star. The Unseelie wanted to preserve Fae blood lines, and forbade mating with humans, witches, or anything else that wasn’t quote-unquote pure.”

  “Your sci-fi nerd is showing.”

  “Shut up.” I gave him a gentle nudge with my foot.

  “Of course, near-immortals being told who they were and were not allowed to fornicate or even associate with didn’t go over well, and the Seelie rose up against the dark court. Esmerelda’s husband, Clarence, was a powerful wizard. He died trying to protect his sister, who was half-Fae, leaving Esmerelda and their small daughter alone and defenseless.

  An Unseelie prince by the name of Oberon came looking for them. He fell in love at first sight with Esmerelda, forsaking his family and his princely duties and refusing to harm her. He turned to the light, made Esmerelda immortal, and together they rallied troops to defeat the Unseelie.

  Now here’s where it gets interesting, at least with regard to the Balefire family history. Esmerelda was one of the most powerful witches of her time, and she created the Balefire as a weapon against the Unseelie court. As long as it burns, no Unseelie may enter our realm. Upon victory, an accord was struck: the witches agreed to guard the Balefire flame, and the Seelie agreed to protect us while in our realm. Hence, every witch has a faerie godmother.”

  “What happened to Oberon and Esmerelda?” Kin’s eyes were wide, and for good reason. It was one hell of a bedtime story.

  “That’s the same question I asked. So, Oberon became King of the Faeries, with Esmerelda as his Queen, and they knew they would have to return to the Faelands. Esmerelda insisted on raising her daughter, and so they left four Seelie princesses in charge for one Fae year. Time works differently here than it does in Faerie, so they were able to spend one hundred years in this dimension with Esmerelda’s daughter, Isabeau. Oberon offered Isabeau immortality, but she refused, requesting a prolonged life instead for all of witchkind, ensuring that if the Balefire line ended, another family would be able to take its place. She’s the one who made sure this world would always be protected from the black court.

  As for the King and Queen, they’re still there, ruling over the Faelands, blocked from reentering our realm by the very thing Esmerelda created to save it.”

  “Wow, that sounds like a fairy tale. Oh, I guess that expression makes more sense now. Every day I find out some new, unbelievable truth. Life with you is never boring, Lexi Balefire.”

  “I know how you feel and now, to top it all off, it turns out I’ve had an aunt this whole time. Just add it to the list of what ifs I contemplate daily. I hope Salem finds Mag. Even while she was scaring the bejesus out of me, there was this other feeling. Something familiar; I realize now it must have been the blood bond. Witches are meant to recognize their own, especially Balefire witches.”

  “Why don’t I ever hear anything about the Balefire men?” Kin’s question didn’t surprise me; I’d expected him to get around to asking it at some point.

  “Well, I found a few photo albums tucked into a box in the sanctum and as far as I can tell, no Balefire witch has ever produced a son. Sylvana said her father left when she was a baby, and I’ve no idea whether he’s still alive or not.”

  Kin was silent for a long moment, “I’ve been trying not to think about that part. Being outlived by you, I mean. I’ve always expected to live a normal human lifespan and then meet my maker, so that doesn’t bother me so much. But you’ll still be young-looking and beautiful when I’m an old man.”

  “Well, then I guess all the other old men will be jealous of you.” I kept my tone light; we were wading into dangerous territory. At least he was saying “will” instead of “would be.” I’d take that as an indicator it didn’t bother him enough to leave.

  Our relationship had moved at light speed, so while in terms of our time together thus far, this conversation was somewhat premature. However, given what we’d been through already—saving his soul with true love’s kiss, having almost lost him to Jett’s debauchery, and sharing truths that I’d never been able to discuss with another human being—it was a perfectly acceptable line of inquiry.

  “I think we just have to live our lives and see what happens. You never know, right? Maybe I’ll get turned into a vampire or something, even out the playing field.” Kin joked. I decided a tutorial about those who reside in the shadows could wait for another time.

&
nbsp; “We’d better get ready, or we’ll be late for our reservation.” I managed to breathe between the kisses Kin had begun trailing along my neckline during his crack about vampires.

  “A few more minutes won’t hurt...” he brushed my concerns aside.

  “Just a few.” I nodded in agreement, losing all will to argue.

  Chapter Fourteen

  HALFWAY THROUGH THE day on Saturday, I started to wonder if game night had been a particularly good idea. Ominous noises issued from the backyard, and I had no clue what they meant because all the windows on that side of the house had gone dark. Twice I’d heard raised voices, which was never a good thing, and late in the afternoon, an explosion shook the foundations.

  The distinct scent of freshly-turned soil perfumed the air, and I knew that meant Terra was doing some serious revamping of the terrain out back. I just hoped she remembered where the sewer line ran this time; repairing it had been a breeze, but a geyser of grossness isn’t something easily forgotten.

  Call me a coward if you must, but I holed up in my room with the excuse that I needed to update the RSVPs for the lonely hearts party—which took all of ten minutes and wasn’t the least bit urgent. But you have to understand, this was not my first time, and the aforementioned snafu wasn’t even the worst we'd ever had. As much fun as faerie game night could be, the setup was always fraught with possible meltdowns. One time we played post-apocalyptic Monopoly because Evian dripped water on Soleil’s shoe and the resulting brouhaha got out of hand.

  The trick to measuring the level of impending chaos was to listen for one of two things: complete silence or pandemonium. Anything in between those two extremes signaled the all-clear. Of the two, pandemonium was the easiest to deal with, because the term silent but deadly has more than one meaning in the Balefire household.