Page 18 of Muddled Magic

“So you are trying to sabotage him!”

I whirled on him, poking that big brute of a cousin square in the chest, just like he had me. “You’ve known me since I was born, Boar Valerian Hawthorne. Before the Circle ceremony, had I ever given you a reason to doubt me?”

His face was torn but stern. “No. But you’ve been acting erratically ever since it was announced that Marten would take Hare’s place and not you. I heard a rumor today that you were talking about dating a shifter. You know they’re forbidden!”

“Did you ever think to ask Grandmother why?” I threw up my hands. “That’s not the point right now! Marten is trying to divide us. I’m trying to do the very opposite. Now do I have to worry about you backstabbing me, or are you going to help me?”

Boar’s face darkened under the light of the moon. “Otter should’ve never told us about the grimoire ceremony.”

“That’s not a yes or a no, Boar.”

“I’ll walk back to the house, how about that?”

He was neither aiding me nor standing in my way. “Good enough.”

Dad’s morning training sessions had made me strong and no stranger to feats of endurance, and Grandmother’s amazonite pendant had refreshed me to the extent magic could. I raced down the barren hills to the grassy plains we used as pasture for our goats and chickens. They scattered with a flurry of squawks and bleats as I bolted past them for the hedgerows.

Not soon enough my bare feet were pounding against the flagstone courtyard and I was gasping for breath, realizing I didn’t know one very important thing: where this ceremony was even being held. Slamming a glowing palm against the ground, I sent out a wide-searching Scouting Spell, ignoring the children asleep in the manor, the adults on their customary stroll through the garden of night-blooming flowers, and focused on the little cluster in Grandmother’s office.

No!

I raced through the manor, hoping against hope that it was someone else in there with Grandmother, but as the door opened and I skidded to a halt, a grave-faced Marten exited into the hallway, the Hawthorne family grimoire held in both hands. The emerald in its cover, housing that infernal parasite, was glowing, winking out so quickly I might’ve just imagined it. Except I knew better. It had just fed off Marten, maybe even Grandmother.

My brother paused in the hallway, lifting dull brown eyes to meet mine, but he didn’t say anything. Didn’t even seem to remember what he’d done to me however many hours ago, even though the evidence of my imprisonment was still in my long brown hair and all over my clothes.

“Right away, Marten,” came Grandmother’s order, her booted footsteps bringing her to the doorway. “Your father is waiting.”

As she flicked her attention off her grandson to her granddaughter, her gaze narrowed on my filthy appearance. She looked drained too, in a way I had never seen. It wasn’t in her posture or the color of her skin, but in her eyes. “Yes, Meadow?” she prompted crisply.

I didn’t reply, just gaped as Marten stalked past, heading in the direction of the grimoire’s resting place and the glamoured not-dog.

Grandmother cleared her throat, demanding an answer.

I was too late.

“I-I came to apologize, Grandmother,” I lied, knowing I needed a very good reason to explain my presence right now. “For my behavior earlier.”

She simply nodded, giving me another up-down glance before inclining her head in acceptance and shutting the office door.

My heart dropped into my toes like a stone. Whirling around, I walked as briskly as I could out of sight before launching into another breathless run. I didn’t stop until I was hidden in the thicket of everblooming lilac bushes.

Drawing my knees up to my chest, I hugged myself, eyes staring at nothing as my mind whirled.

Marten had been initiated. His memory wiped.

From her drained expression, it was clear the parasite had fed on Grandmother too.

By the Green Mother, for how long had this been going on? And if it was feeding on Grandmother, Aunt Hyacinth, Otter, and now Marten, it was most definitely feeding on the other robed members of the Circle of Nine. Our strongest Hawthornes.

So what do you do next, Meadow?

I sucked in a breath as Grandmother’s familiar command came to mind: Focus.

Well, first things first, I told myself. What do you know?

It’s a parasite.

And with that one piece of knowledge, I straightened under the lilac bushes, releasing a shower of fragrant, trumpet-shaped blooms.

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