Spellcaster

“Okay,” Verlaine said, a bit too loudly, but Elizabeth didn’t react. “As long as you keep the text under five lines, it’s seventy-five dollars for one week, one hundred dollars for two. Which is a whole lot cheaper than virtually any other paper in the world, but hey—it’s the Guardian.”

“Under five lines.” Elizabeth’s voice sounded distant. “I’ll have to think how to word it. Thanks for your help.”

“No problem.” The only problem, Verlaine thought, had been keeping this fake smile plastered on her face the whole time.

With a nod, Elizabeth turned to go. She walked back out into the night without ever glancing back.

What was that about? Verlaine wondered.

Once she was halfway down the block, Elizabeth reached into her bag and pulled out the turquoise Bakelite bracelet. It gleamed brightly in her palm.

Verlaine must have been wearing it earlier today. It would work.

Although Nadia considered calling Mateo to be with her while she attempted the spell, ultimately she decided against it. For one, it was late—eleven p.m.—so if his father realized he was gone or her father realized he was in her house, it would be tough to explain.

Also, the first time she did this shouldn’t be too strong. Spells for removal of magic could be violent or gentle, showy or soft. This needed to be gentle and soft. Nadia was mostly checking to see if it would work—whether she could sneak a sliver of Elizabeth’s magic away without her noticing. That was more likely without the boost to her powers that Mateo provided. (Later, when they had to stop her on Halloween, then she’d need him by her side the whole way.)

Finally, this spell was best cast while in the water, and there was no way Nadia was taking another dive in that freezing cold ocean. Much, much better to run a hot bath.

One thing awesome about living in an old-fashioned house was the old-fashioned bathtub. It was white porcelain, so big about four people could sit in it at once, set up on golden claw feet. Nadia had the squeaky taps turned all the way up, which was the only way to fill the tub before the water started getting cold.

Okay, supplies. Quartz dust. Rose petals. And—the razor blade.

Nadia set the stuff on the broad shelf beside the tub and took a deep breath. Then she slipped off her robe and sank into the warm bathwater, which covered her whole body up to her neck. She wore only her bracelet.

The dust swirled into the water, making it cloudy and yet softly sparkly. The rose petals floated on the surface. The razor blade—

—this was harder to do than she’d anticipated. Nadia had never cast any spells that called for her own blood, not before this. But blood mixed in water gave certain kinds of magic an accuracy and intensity that couldn’t be matched any other way.

Great. The one time I actually need it to be that time of the month, and it’s not.

She bit down on her lip, held out one thumb, and jabbed.

Ow! Owowowowow. But she’d done it. Nadia pressed on the tiny cut in her thumb tip until the first fat drops of blood spattered into the water. First they became strange trails of red, then lightened to pink, then vanished.

By the light of her stove, Elizabeth began her work. When she held the bracelet up to that glow, she could feel the response between them; yes, this would do nicely.

But then a cool draft shivered past her—a kind of chill that had nothing to do with temperature.

Her eyes widened. Nadia—reaching out for her. Attempting to meddle. And she seemed to understand precisely how to do it.

Elizabeth’s respect for the girl increased, but she felt no alarm, any more than an elephant would have been afraid of a gnat, even if it knew where to bite.

She set aside Verlaine’s bracelet. That could wait.

First she needed to show Nadia Caldani her place.

19

NADIA SANK DEEPER INTO THE TUB. THE FINE SPARKLY dust was beginning to settle to the bottom of the tub, forming lines of glitter that swirled with the water.

Summon the ingredients, she told herself. Everything is ready.

As Simon Caldani finished reading a chapter of The Trumpet of the Swan aloud, his son, Cole, said, “Daddy, what’s outside?”

“There aren’t any monsters outside. Promise.”

“I know. They’re birds. But how come there are so many of them?”

Simon rose from the side of Cole’s bed to peer out the nearest window. Sure enough, there in the biggest tree of their yard were dozens of birds—hundreds of them? It was hard to tell in the dark, because they were all black. Crows? He’d never realized how large crows were before. More were alighting on the tree every moment, the flapping of their wings audible as a weird rustling sound. The rustling seemed to surround their home on every side.

“It’s getting colder,” he said. “They’re migrating.”

“I thought birds went south for the winter,” Cole said. He was right, of course. But surely—

“They must be on their way. They’ll move on soon.” With that, Simon pulled the curtains shut. There was something eerie about it, those masses of birds, and somehow it seemed as if they were all staring at this house. That was the kind of thing that would give Cole nightmares for sure.

Elizabeth lit her candle. She made her own out of tallow fat, the old way, boiling down the dead flesh herself. How it glistened when it melted—and ahh, the smell. There was no replacing that stink, the fetid odor of real magic. Some people prettied it up, but she preferred to know it for what it was.

Holding her hand out flat, Elizabeth pushed it forward until her fingers were in the candle’s flame. The first flare of heat hurt, but she had long since learned to ignore pain.