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CHAPTER SEVEN

“There are three pillars of power for coven witches,” I explained. “Their own cores, their grimoire, and the communal strength of their coven. We call covens Circles of Power because of that unity—even the weakest member can be made stronger by their fellows.” I gestured to all of us ringed around the room, even Sawyer, who now sat on my lap. “This is our Circle of Power. Our friendship.

“That’s the easy part, all done. Now for the trickier bit. Most think a grimoire is only a collection of spells. But it is also a creed, each spell adding to a carefully curated set of beliefs. A purpose. And that, I know we have as well.

“You don’t remember this yet, and I didn’t know it at the time, but we began forging our own coven in the Tussock woods. You all came together for one purpose—to help me create a spell. First to hunt down a demon to free the curse on my family’s grimoire, but also to free Redbud of the Alder Ranch Blight. Our coven strengthened again on the bridge, when we united to protect Flora.”

“ I needed protection?” Flora whispered to Daphne.

“Honestly, dear, I love you, but you must learn when to shut your mouth. To be perfectly clear, this is one of those times.” Daphne shook out her mane. “Go on, Meadow.”

“I need you to want this,” I told them. “There will be no going back. The illusion that has been tricking you has also been your protection. You will be giving that up, so you must be strong. Stronger than you’ve ever been. And you can be, because we’ll all be in this together. But you must make the choice now.”

“For Redbud,” Flora said immediately. She plucked the crochet hook out of Shari’s fingers and clamped her paw around her friend’s. Then she seized whatever of Daphne’s she could comfortably grip, which just happened to be her ear. “I assume we much be joined through touch for this to work, yes?”

“For Redbud,” Daphne echoed. Mindful of Shari’s shelves, she stretched out her hind leg until I could hold on to her hoof.

“Redbud’s too big,” Shari mumbled, trembling. “B-but I can do it for you. My friends. And Charlie.”

I smiled at the porcupine, squeezing her paw. “It’s perfect, Shari. Now let’s focus on something we’re all familiar with. Shari’s hut, I think.”

“Um, why ?” Flora wanted to know. “Maybe a shared event would be better? Like our last afternoon tea when I was going to get me a pound or two of his flesh for humiliating you.” Her grin was positively feral. “Still might just. Ooo, this memory makes me so happy.”

“Charlie was there,” Shari said, brightening. She quickly deflated, a tremor making her quills rattle. “Then he showed up.”

“That was a rollercoaster of an afternoon,” Daphne agreed. “You were upset, Meadow, but also happily engaged—I think—and I didn’t know what to feel.”

“All of these conflicting emotions is exactly why I want you to focus on the hut,” I said. “Or rather, what’s inside it.”

“A hoarder’s paradise?” Flora asked .

The porcupine hissed at the honey badger, quills flaring.

“Shari’s crafting supplies, those shelves full of snacks,” I listed, “that bottle of booze, us . In the life you don’t remember, you had—”

“Thursday Craft Night!” Shari blurted. Her smile was so wide, her chubby cheeks turned her dark eyes to slits. “We played games! Had cocktails, gossiped, worked on projects. Flora! You welded lawn ornaments.”

The honey badger preened. “I knew I was a badass.”

“And, Daphne, you made dreamcatchers to help me sleep better.”

“Of course I would, dear,” the mare said. “You’re important to me.”

“And soap out of goat milk!”

“Also sounds like something I would do if I had hands.”

Shari turned to me. “You . . . you made me Better Than Sex cake for my birthday!”

“Question,” Flora said, “did the cake live up to the hype?”

“I was told you ate two slices,” Sawyer piped up from my lap.

“Proof enough for me!”

In that moment, despite the somber atmosphere and the risk of discovery, the four of us dissolved into laughter. Purring, Sawyer leaned against my stomach and looked up at me. While I still held on to my friends’ paw and hoof, my laughter faded.

“What is it?” I whispered down to him.

He stood, bracing his front paws on my chest so he could look me in the eye. “You’d do anything for your friends, wouldn’t you? The Brotherhood could be coming down on us any second, and you’re taking the time to laugh with them.”

“Of course. And they need it.” Leaning forward, I nudged him with my nose. “Life has enough drudgery and fear in it already. It needs moments of laughter and joy to make it worth living.” Then I gave his ear a pretend chomp, giggling again. Oh my Green Mother, when was the last time I’d truly laughed?

“I have no memory of this,” Daphne whinnied, finally calm enough for words, “but I absolutely adore this notion of Crafts and Cocktail Night! If it is anything like this right now, then I’m all for it.”

“Me too,” Flora agreed. “Sounds like the perfect place for big appetites, bigger dreams, and plotting the demise of the ruling regime.”

Then the honey badger yelped, and Shari gave me a smug look. “I pinched her for you.”

“Alright, everybody,” I said, sobering. “Hold on to this feeling. Feel the touch of your friends holding your hands. And—”

My magic bloomed, a golden-green light lifting from the oak tree’s leaves. It emanated from my heart this time, rushing across my chest and down my arms and circling again and again where I held Shari’s paw and Daphne’s hoof. A third tendril wound around Sawyer in my lap, an unseen power smoothing down his fur like a petting hand. My friends watched in awe as my magic touched their hearts and sprang towards Flora. She jerked, surprised, then grinned.

I felt the moment the circle was complete and how it grew as it took my friends’ happiness and excitement and determination and compounded it again and again until the magic connecting us raced and spun like the winds of a dervish.

It took only a thought, and the magic of the oak tree that had filled me to the brim thundered into them. Whereas Ossian had kept me sedated with illusions, his glamour, Caer power, and toirchim tonic, there were fewer, and weaker, hooks in my friends. With our combined focus, and my new raw power, it only took a second to free them.

Shari screamed, shucking our hands and hugging her prickly arms around herself .

“Shari!” I exclaimed, wanting to console the porcupine but unable to figure out where to touch her without impaling myself.

Sawyer immediately jumped from my lap into hers, and her paws instinctively combed through his fur, imagining it was Ame’s. The porcupine calmed, blubbering, “It’s a lot . . . at one time.”

“Good gracious,” Daphne exclaimed. The mare surged upright with a startled neigh, knocking into the shelves and causing an avalanche of yarn. “He turned me into a horse ? His mistake! Who needs a shillelagh to cudgel his brains out when I have four suitable hooves?”

Flora, to my surprise, remained perfectly still, her beady black eyes so wide they were ringed in white. Upon closer inspection, I noticed the honey badger was vibrating with rage.

“I can’t touch my magic,” she whispered. “It’s there, but it’s locked away.”

Then, almost impossibly, her wide eyes grew even wider. “Poppy! Flint!” She drilled me with a vicious honey badger stare. “Tell me they’re not in that dungeon.”

I shook my head. “I can’t do that. But they were alive when last I saw them.”

Her paws tightened into fists. “When I get my hands on my welding torch again,” she vowed, “no inch of that fae king will go unscorched.”