Page 36 of Muddled Magic

“Wait!”

This time, the garden gnome listened. Her little doll-like hands hovered over the bracelet as she paused. “This gonna whoop my fanny like that book?”

First, it would dig its thorns even deeper into my wrist, then: “It’ll be like sticking a penny into a wall socket. Times a hundred.”

Flora’s hands jumped all the way back into her armpits.

Only the wearer could remove the parasite bracelet, unless it was bespelled otherwise. Though… “Maybe Sawyer can?” We did share some kind of bond, after all. And if we could get that parasite bracelet off, there was a chance I could regain control of my cuffs. Surely they would obey their master more than another witch who chanted a fancy spell?

“But he’s on the other side of the barrier,” Shari said. And fighting like something rabid, given his bristling fur and snarling fangs.

“Maybe you’ve got something good stashed in your pockets,” Flora suggested.

As I stood frozen like a statue, they started riffling through my dress pockets. Shari held the hem of her oversized sweater out to create a sling like she was berry picking, and Daphne and Flora tossed all my bits and bobs into it, including the black tourmaline crystal.

“I’m glad you learned your lesson from before, dear,” the elegant older woman said. “Your pockets are now like portable junk drawers.”

“Portable magical junk drawers,” Shari corrected.

“Is there anything we can use in this mess?” Flora asked, having abandoned the pocket-raiding to wade around in Shari’s sling, sorting through all the items. The quiet crafter’s arms trembled with the strain to keep the sling upright and as taut as possible with the added weight of the garden gnome.

“What about the lacquer?” Daphne asked. “That vial over there!”

Flora chased it across the undulating sweater-sling before finally pouncing on it. “Got it! Do you think it’ll dampen the effects of the spell?”

“It’s worth a try!” Daphne plucked it from Flora’s fingers and unscrewed the top. Capping the top with her finger, she inverted the vial a few times and dabbed the lacquer over the glowing runes.

“It’s not blush, Daphne,” Flora cried. “Slather those cuffs like you’re pouring gravy over a slab of dry pot roast!”

“I’m sure I’d understand your analogy better if I’d ever made a dry pot roast,” she replied snippily, dabbing a more generous amount onto the runes, “but I would never disgrace a piece of meat by overcooking it.”

“Is it working?” Shari demanded, keeping the conversation on track.

I couldn’t tell. Maybe in a second when the last of the runes were covered, I’d know, but at that moment Dad shouted a warning. His shield rose at the exact moment of impact, his feet digging furrows as the grizzly rammed into him. Dad remained upright, bracing against the shield, but before he could flip or roll out of the way, the bear slammed him into the broad trunk of a nearby oak.

Grandmother assumed the sole defensive position around her daughter, cuffs blazing with battle magic as the bear, face streaked with blood, stepped away from my slumped father. Dad must’ve used one or both of those knives he kept up his sleeves when his shield broke, but the bear was too massive, his fur too thick, for the strikes to have any severe effect. But Dad was alive, just stunned from having a seven-hundred-pound grizzly bear body-check him into a tree at full speed.

Meanwhile, Lewellyn was proving himself an absolute pest against the other witches of the coven, the two cats helping him. Like he had with the coyotes, he knew he couldn’t take them on one at a time without opening himself up to a multiple-point attack, so he did everything in his power to use their own strikes against them. He ducked under the lash of Aunt Peony’s vine, forcing Otter to deflect the whip before it struck him across his face. The wolf seized Aunt Hyacinth’s robes and yanked her into Uncle Badger’s bludgeoning pillar of earth that erupted from the ground, forcing both witches to explode the pillar before it could knock Aunt Hyacinth unconscious. And all the while, Ame and Sawyer dashed here and there like they had indulged in far too much catnip, clawing whatever ankle they could find.

It was only by luck that Marten managed to snatch Sawyer up by the tail. Quick as the cat himself, my brother hurled the tomcat clear of the fight.

“Sawyer!” Ame cried, knowing there was no witch to spell a tree limb to extend and catch him.

He broke his fall by colliding straight into my mother.

All eighteen claws dug into her arm to keep him from careening to the ground, and my mother abandoned her spell with a screech.

Released, I stumbled forward as if I’d gotten the wind knocked out of me. My limbs felt sluggish, like they’d all fallen asleep simultaneously, and my knees hit the ground.

“Meadow!” Daphne cried.

“Get her the claw,” Flora shrieked. “Where is it? Shari, look in the leaves over there.”

Wheezing, I dug my toes into the ground and sucked in a deep, grounding breath. The seed of my power erupted into that familiar tree, flooding sensation into my legs and down my arms and into my numb fingers. They were warm and cooperating when someone shoved the demon’s claw into my right hand. They tightened, and I rocked back onto my knees to find the werewolf caged by bone-pale roots that were constricting tighter and tighter around him like a shrinking ribcage, Ame twisting in a spiderweb of green threads, Mom’s magic like a swarm of angry hornets chasing after Sawyer as he retreated into the undergrowth, and my grandmother…

Green magic wreathed her in a display I had never seen before. It blazed in her eyes, from her fingernails, and lashed all around her like she’d just stepped into a nest of snakes. The coal of the Hawthorne hearth in its censer was blazing green, enhancing her power. Yet despite the fury of her power, her face was calm and focused as the bear reared back to take off her head with a swipe of his paw.

Stepping forward with the grace of a crane, she struck the flat of her blazing palm against the roaring grizzly’s chest.

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