Page 11 of Battle for the Shadow Prince (A Bargain with the Shadow Prince #2)

11

Practice Makes Poltergeist

ELOISE

T he next night, Maeve is back again with her Little Miss Witch starter kit as I’ve come to call it. We set up in the parlor as we did the night before.

“If you start feeling cold or your head hurts, we’ll stop,” she promises.

“I slept twelve hours last night after drinking the tea you made me. I’m ready. Let’s do this.” Like last night, the candle, feather, bowl of water, and pot of earth challenge me from their sectors on the purple silk.

“Let’s warm up by lighting the candle,” Maeve suggests.

I snort. “You make it sound like I’m readying myself for a workout.”

“You are. Using magic is like using a muscle. You grow your abilities with practice.”

Sitting up straighter, I concentrate on the candle, trying to find the web again. But I can’t reproduce the vibration from the night before. Until the ticking of the grandfather clock reminds me to anchor. I shift my intent to the clock, and the web rises between me and it.

“What did you just do?” Maeve asks. “I felt your power bubble into being.”

“I connected to the clock. I wasn’t able to form the web directly to the candle but now…” I cast out toward the wick and it ignites. I turn my attention to the feather, and it floats into my hand and then back again.

“Interesting.” Maeve frowns.

“You sound disappointed. Hey, I did it.”

She shifts. “It’s just yesterday, I thought your connection to your anchor was so you could channel your ancestors. I didn’t realize it was also the source of your power. It poses a challenge. It’s not like you can carry the grandfather clock everywhere you go. If we can’t move your anchor into something more portable, it’s possible you may only be able to practice your magic in this house.”

I sigh. “Terrific. As long as I never leave my house, I’ll be a force of nature.”

She laughs. “We’ll do some research in that attic library of yours and see if there’s a spell to change the anchor. For now, if you feel okay, try to swirl the water in the bowl.”

I turn my focus on the water but can’t seem to connect to it. That is until the room turns red and my father appears in front of the fireplace. I grin. “My dad’s here.”

Daddy smiles, and my heart swells. I miss him so much. His silver eyes twinkle at me.

“Can you teach me how to move the water?”

He approaches me on the opposite side as my mother did, and I feel his energy flow into me. A hair-thin web appears between me and the water. He twirls his finger, and I picture that movement in my mind. The water circles in the bowl.

“Good,” Maeve says. “Now the pot. If you’re feeling strong enough.”

I am. The vibration of my father’s energy, so much slower and more even than my mother’s, flows through me. I watch in wonder as a thread forms between me and the pot. And then a green shoot rises in the center of the earth. Two leaves sprout from a scrawny stem.

“Wow, Eloise, you really are?—”

Passing out is inevitable. At some point of practicing magic, my body just gives up and my head hits the sofa cushions. But each day I’ve been able to do more. By Friday night, after Maeve revives me once again, I’m feeling pretty good about what I’ve learned and my rate of improvement. We sit at the kitchen table, scarfing pizza from Echo Mills’ one and only pizza place, Slice of Home , and I already feel stronger, like I could try again. I know I’m recovering more quickly than before and definitely am able to do more on my own without the help of the spirits who come to train me.

“I think the pizza has gotten better since we were kids,” I say around the bite in my mouth.

“Yeah, it only took them twenty years to get the crust right.” Maeve sinks her teeth into another slice.

“So…” I sip my iced tea and swallow. “I’m a medium, I guess.” The question of how to define my magic has popped up before in my head. Am I a witch like my mother and father? A spiritualist like my great-grandfather? A magical mutt?

Maeve snorts. “You are far more than a medium, Eloise. I think we’ve completely misunderstood your sigil up until now.”

“How so?”

“Your parents told you your sigil was a key. We assumed they meant that it unlocked a portal to the underworld, which it did. We focused on the portal part, not the underworld part.”

“Right.”

“You can, presumably, transport yourself and, again presumably, transport others to the underworld and then jump from the underworld to anywhere else. But maybe we’ve been viewing your sigil too narrowly. Maybe that’s just one way you can use it.”

“You think there’s more?”

She takes my hands. “I think your real power is in channeling magic from beings in the underworld and using it as your own. Think about it like this. You are the key, not to a portal but to a doorway, and as long as you hold that door open, you can allow what’s on the other side through. Your family members are the easiest for you because they want to help you. But potentially you could tap into the power of any dead witch or wizard if you practiced long enough. And if I’m right, the name for your brand of power is spirit magic.”

“Spirit magic?”

“Yes. I’ll be honest, I’m a little out of my element here. The Gowdies, we animate things. Nothing we work with includes souls. I’m not sure exactly how it works. It could be the clock or the house itself that allows the spirits to interact with you, but it seems more likely to me that you yourself hold the power and are simple using the clock as an anchor or a brace to support all that magic coming though from the other side. And if that’s the case, we should be able to move your anchor so that you can practice magic outside these walls. In fact, I think we should try practicing somewhere else.”

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m certainly willing to try.” I try to wrap my head around everything she just told me. It’s a lot but not altogether surprising. “Maeve, I think you’re right about unlocking the passage, but I wonder if maybe it’s, like, always open when I’m here.”

“Why would you say that?

“I, um, recently learned that my ancestors have been more involved in my life than I originally thought.”

“What do you mean?”

I point at the spider plant hanging over the sink. “I have never watered that plant.”

Slowly she stands up and touches the soil. Her brow peaks. “It’s wet.”

I nod. “Also, I thought my grandmother had hired landscapers to tend the yard. Well, she had, but they stopped after she died because they were doing it on a volunteer basis to help her. I didn’t realize they’d stopped until I ran into the owner at the grocery store and he asked if I’d consider using him again. Someone has been maintaining the grounds, Maeve, and it isn’t me.”

“Shit. And they didn’t start doing all that until you moved in here.”

“I think… it didn’t start until the day the eye of the dragon opened.”

She squints at me.

“There’s this painting of a dragon on my mother’s art studio door. The eye was closed when I moved in. After I mated Damien, it opened. I think being with him awakened something in me, something dormant.”

She adjusts her glasses on her face. “So your house is haunted by your ancestors, and something about you, and perhaps your relationship with Damien, allowed them to cross over. I can think of worse things.”

I smile. “Honestly, it’s been comforting. Nothing scary has happened. Every encounter I’ve had with the spirit world has been benevolent. I like to see them.”

Maeve squeezes my hand. “This is good, El. It feels natural to you because it is. You were born for this. This magic is yours.”

A warm feeling blossoms deep in my chest.

She grabs her purse and slings it over her shoulder. “I wish I could stay, but?—”

“No, I get it. You’ve been so helpful.”

“Tomorrow at my place to try your magic outside of Harcourt?”

“It will have to wait until Sunday,” I say. “I need your help with the Hitch and Cast spell again tomorrow.”

Maeve frowns. “I thought we agreed to take a break and see if Damien could free himself.”

I frown. “You said a week. It’s been a week. He’s not here. I need to go back in and make sure he’s okay.”

“You’re his mate. You would know if he wasn’t.”

I press my hand to my gut. “I do feel the bond stretched thin like before. I guess that means he’s alive, but I’ve had this awful feeling in the pit of my stomach that something is wrong. How could it not be if he still hasn’t managed to escape?”

The sigh she gives is way overdramatic. “Fine. But for the record, I don’t like it. You need to be really careful right now. You’re in a vulnerable position with your magic.”

“Damien would never hurt me.”

“He just almost killed you last time,” she mumbles, glancing at her watch.

I bite my tongue to keep from saying something snarky. Technically it’s true, but it was an accident. “It won’t happen again,” I promise.

“Right.” She chews her lip. “Tomorrow is Saturday. Let’s do it in the afternoon again. That’s when he’s most likely to be asleep. On that note, considering I need to be back here in twelve hours, I’d better get out of here.”

“Thanks. You’re the best.”

“I am!” she says through a smile. “You’re lucky to have me.”

We both laugh and hug goodbye.

After she leaves, I bring a bowl of pizza crusts, fruit, and leftover beef from the fridge out to feed Phantom. Tonight he’s waiting for me. I sit on the back stoop and watch as he comes straight to the bowl beside me and starts eating. He looks like he’s put on some weight, but I notice now, with him so close and within the circle of light from the house, that he’s an old fox. His face is peppered with white, his eyes are rheumy, and there’s a concerning lump on his ribs.

I frown. Phantom is a wild creature, not a pet. I don’t try to touch him or anything. I understand that nature will take its course. But before I go in for the night, I make sure his water dish is full, and I leave a warm blanket next to it.