Page 72 of The Spell Caster

I had clearly worn out my tenuous welcome. “Yes,” I said with a weak smile. “Well, I’ll get out of your hair. Thanks again.”

“Good luck,” Hazel said distractedly as I scurried out of the room.

Down the hall, I was relieved to see a back exit illuminated with a sign. I didn’t want to see the Saltmarsh Circle witches again.

I paused outside to rub the fingers of one hand over my eyes. We would fare better—we were prepared. We were watching the skies. I had to believe that.

I stopped by the provisionary, where several witches were working to stack new food onto the shelves. My head spun. How many people lived with me now—seven? Eight if you counted Fern, who didn’t seem intent on going home. Fate, and four of them were guardians who would probably burn through a hundred times the calories as the rest of us.

I wrapped Hazel’s tablet in a cloth napkin so it would be protected, then grabbed a cardboard box from a stack in the corner and started piling in containers. I couldn’t bring everyone a drink, so I added a tin of lemonade mix and some tea bags as well. There was a large open bin with bamboo forks, probably since there were so many refugees arriving. I took a few of those, too, not knowing if we had enough silverware for everyone.

“Thank you,” I told the working crew.

An older witch, their curly hair streaked with gray, gave me a tremulous smile. “Thank you, spell caster.”

I ducked my head and left quickly with a murmured reply.

When I arrived back at the apartment, juggling my heavy box against my hip while I wrestled the door open, Salix was sitting up sleepily on the couch. She was tall and built sturdily, probably a great advantage in her line of work.

“Hey, spell caster,” she said around a yawn, running a hand over her shaved head. “I’ve seen you around Northern Sea. Didn’t catch your name.”

“Layla,” I said, setting down the heavy box.

“Oh, the one who isn’t casting yet. Is that all food? Fate bend me over a log, you’re a lifesaver.”

Salix helped lay out the containers as I turned on the toaster oven to warm up an assortment of hand pies. I pulled dishes out to stack them up and found a pitcher to mix the lemonade. We had a dish set for six, but one of the glasses was missing.

“I’ll try to find us some more cups later,” I said absently.

I ate my lunch quickly, and the full stomach and lack of sleep finally ground me to a halt. I was too exhausted to worry or think anymore.

Thank fate.

I crawled into my bed and fell asleep to Costi’s even breathing.

***

The next day arrived, and the next, and still there was no sign of the angels. My covenmates and the guardians came and went at all hours, on a rotating schedule. I took on the unofficial duty of going out to procure food for everyone, with Fern helping by washing the dishes and rinsing out the containers to return. Afraid to leave the apartment, she busied herself with household chores, giving the rest of us a break.

I was able to pick up some news along with our meals. Refugees from the three Circles—Saltmarsh, Tidewater, and Cypress—were still trickling in. Some had fled west to Circles there, but most were coming here, believing in strength in numbers and hoping the mountains would form some natural protection.

The news was bad. Their Circles had been devastated. We had gained a huge number of witches to protect, but hardly any were spell casters or guardians. Most of them had been killed in battle.

There were rumors—angels viciously pursuing any witch they spotted, using glowing weapons to cut down the unprotected, setting buildings ablaze to flush out new prey. It was a wonder anyone had survived at all. The Hillsong Circle, in Kentucky, was believed to be a total loss.

Knowing an attack must be imminent, the new piecemeal Mountain Circle worked around the clock to prepare, bringing in food and supplies from the outside for all the new residents and trying to complete building projects. Witches were crammed into every indoor space available. We were burgeoning close to four thousand in a space built for less than half that.

Costi was on an evening shift, not due back until two in the morning, so I began to scroll through Hazel’s database in between mealtimes. It was extensive, with dates going back five hundred years. Each spell had a numbered designation based on the book it was found in and a description of the effect, with Hazel and Calamus’s cross-referenced notes about history, variations, and speculations on whether the spells would work or not. I decided to look through line by line instead of searching for keywords so I wouldn’t miss anything.

There were circle spells for everything from growing hair to turning stones into metal—far more than circlewrights ever used these days. I supposed our slow circle magic had been mostly replaced with the technology of industrialization. It was a shame. We used to be a wonder of the world, but now our powers were outmatched by modern civilization in almost every area except defense against angels. And we weren’t doing so great with that lately.

Lying on my bed, I flicked quickly through the endless list of spells. In the hall, Datura was helping Salix move one of the beds from Sativa’s room into the bedroom with the other guardians so she wouldn’t have to sleep on the couch. Briefly, I imagined giving up one of the beds in my own room, forcing me to share with my surly, attractive roommate. It would be a noble cause, to help other refugees.

I flopped over onto my back with a groan. I was getting nowhere with this. I hadn’t come across anything useful, like a spell to shield witches from angel death rays. What in Hell’s name had we been doing for the last half millennium? I’d seen at least ten spells for curing toenail fungus, and one to calm a crying baby that took an hour to draw. Maybe spend less time drawing out a circle spell and more time rocking the poor little thing.

Halfway through the database, a new section began, denoting a different book of spells, and I slowed my scrolling, paying attention. This one seemed a lot more serious—the first entry was a spell to create a quicksand trap. Not that great against flying angels, but moving in the right direction.

In this more interesting section, one line denoted a place where an unknown number of pages were missing from the tome. Farther down, Hazel had highlighted a spell in yellow that was labeled “creates a door.” Maybe she meant to look into that one more, since there were no further details about what it meant. I imagined a circlewright hoping for a nice wooden door with a knob and knocking a big hole in the wall instead.

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