Page 17 of Witch and Tell
“I got caught up in the idea that you had to have money to be worth anything, that respect was about the nice car and the fancy watch.” Tyrone smiled widely and lifted a palm to wave at Candace from the Beauty Palace.
Candace tossed her hair and returned his smile. She took a seat at the bar. Looking over her shoulder at Tyrone, she smiled again.
Tyrone was popular with the ladies, that was for sure. I had the feeling he’d been piloting that particular boat in life’s river just fine. As charming as Tyrone was, I would take Sam over him any day. Tyrone’s strong jaw and melting eyes were nothing next to Sam’s intense gaze and eccentric habits. Advertising had it that a person had to look like Barbie or Ken to inspire love. Truth was, when you loved someone, the tiniest detail— a goofy smile, a receding hairline, a habit of snapping fingers when remembering something—became a draw far more alluring than perfect teeth.
That said, it was nice to talk with a handsome man and to feel appreciated as a woman—and a friend. I wouldn’t say no to another drink with him sometime.
“It takes courage to change your life’s course like that,” I said.
“If you only knew.” Tyrone’s voice was quiet.
Whatever this change he was gearing up for, it was important to him. Following his gaze to the bar, I determined that this diversion in course was perhaps less important than his immediate goal. I’d leave him to talk with Candace. The barstool next to hers was open, and she tossed a flirtatious look Tyrone’s way. Tyrone nodded toward her.
“Thank you for the conversation.” I rose and slung my purse over my shoulder. “I’ve got something I need to do at home. See you around.”
Tyrone drew his attention back to me. “See you later, Josie. It was great talking with you. Don’t let the anticat lady get you down.”
Chapter Ten
The summer night was as warm and soft as silk velvet. I pushed open my bedroom window and tried to avert my eyes from Big House, but I couldn’t help but check to see if Sam’s SUV was there. It was. Yellow light escaped from the crack in his bedroom curtains. He was so close, yet so far.
A crow alit on the roof of the gable below me and sharpened his beak on the roof tiles.
Chills shivered through me as I turned away from the window. I had to get to the bottom of what hampered my magic. I had a handful of clues: Babe Hamilton; Ian’s disappearance; Lise.
A dark force sought to bind my magic by severing my connection to books. Maybe that force was also responsible for my seeing Ian’s body. I was forced to admit Sam had been right. Ian couldn’t have made it into the library without his wheelchair, and there had been no sign of that. Until now, the interfering magic had been relatively minor, but it seemed to be gathering force. I had to figure out who and what was behind it.
Scrying was the best way I knew to piece them together. In brief, scrying was using a reflective surface— a crystal ball, a mirror, a slab of polished obsidian, even a bowl of water—to see images. Sometimes these images concerned the future, but foresight wasn’t my gift. I simply wanted to know what was happening to me now.
I pulled a fresh beeswax taper from a drawer and lifted a heavy brass candlestick from its place on the end table. I tuckedGrimm’s Fairy Talesunder my arm. Since I was a child, I’d loved this book. Because I’d put so much energy into these stories over the years, their words had fueled some of my most powerful spells. I neededGrimm’s Fairy Talesand the powers of the rest of the library’s books to fuel my magic, if I could wrest it free.
Rodney trotted down the stairs behind me. The books, which would normally be stirring into a wave of sound, barely let out a buzz. The whispers I could make out sounded strained. I hoped I could rally enough magic to make scrying work at all.
I hesitated at the center of the atrium. This was, after all, where I’d seen Ian’s body. Here, in the dark, as tonight. However, what repulsed me from the memory was also why I wanted to scry here. If someone else’s magic was involved, its residue might linger. I lit the candle and set it in the atrium’s middle, where moonlight through the cupola’s stained glass splashed red, green, and blue light. Rodney lay on his side, with a spill of green on his fur, and lazily blinked at me.
From the kitchen I brought a bowl of water and placed it near the candle so its flame would illuminate the water’s surface. Following my grandmother’s instructions, I cast a protective circle large enough to hold me and Rodney.
The library around me was oppressively quiet. Oh, how I hoped the scrying would work. I could feel my senses dulling, as they’d been before the spell binding my magic had been released a few years earlier. I couldn’t go back to that way of living. Not now, when afternoon skies were so vivid, food tasted so good, the wind smelled of the earth, and I knew love.
“Books,” I whispered, half craving, half fearing their response. “Books, lend me your energy to see what stands between me and my magic.”
I felt as if I were inside a bubble with transparent yet viscous walls. Energy pushed against those walls, but it might have been outside the library altogether, its force was so weak.
“Books,” I pled, “please. Speak to me.”
Magic’s force continued muffled, faraway. Rodney stood suddenly and growled, looking into the darkness.
“Hush, baby. We’re safe here.”
I saw nothing, heard nothing. I picked up the bluebound volume ofGrimm’s Fairy Tales. I held the book to my chest and breathed deeply. Then I ruffled my fingers through its pages until a tingle told mehere. I set the book in my lap and opened it where my fingers had landed. My heart fell.
To accompany the scrying,Grimm’s Fairy Taleshad selected “The Old Witch,” a particularly gruesome tale. However, if this was the cost for gathering magic, I’d pay it. I read the story’s beginning:
There once was a little girl who was very obstinate and willful, and who never obeyed when her elders spoke to her; so how could she be happy?
The story was short, merely a page. I read on. The story related how the stubborn girl insisted on visiting an evil old witch who could appear in many guises, but whose true face was “a creature with a fiery head.” The story ended with the witch changing the girl into a block of wood and tossing her on the fire.
Warning received. I closedGrimm’s Fairy Tales.