Page 102 of Big Little Spells

Georgie’s gaze searches mine. “Theoretically. But like I said, there’s that ancient disregard for consent. We don’t really do spells like that these days.” She pauses. “I mean, and call ourselves the good guys.”

I shrug, and force a smile. A wilted daisy if ever there was one. “The good news is, he is ancient. So I doubt he’ll be offended by unwoke spellcraft.”

Georgie studies me for a long moment, then nods thoughtfully. “These aren’t your typical herbs and crystals for modern application. I can probably get most of what the spell needs from the museum and the archives. I’ll have to be careful about who I ask about some of these things, though. Someone might put together what you’re trying to do and...” She trails off. Because there are so many bad things that could happen, there’s no point in listing them all.

But this has to be done. “It has to be before Litha. Before the test.” That’s when he’ll sacrifice himself. I’m sure of it, even with all the ways he’s blocked me from seeing into his future.

“I’ll do my best. But I can’t promise...” She blinks. Once. “Sage.”

I try not to grimace, but I’m a bad friend, because I know she sees me trying.

“He has access to pretty much anything and everything at the school. He can certainly fill in any gaps.” She begins to read over the spell again.

“Would he...” I clear my throat, trying desperately to be diplomatic. “I mean, could he keep it quiet? Is he on our side?”

Is he brave enough? Because I really doubt that he is.

“I’m not sure.” She doesn’t look up from the spell, too busy jotting down what I think is a shopping list. On a pad that hovers near her and writes down what she wants in an invisible hand. “But I’ll find out. Carefully, of course.”

I chew on my lip, fighting not to say what I want to say. It’s none of my business. Georgie is my friend, but not the kind of friend I should feel comfortable assaulting with my opinions on her choice of dating partner. That would be Ellowyn, who would happily respond in kind.

But the words tumble out anyway. “Georgie, do you really think that he’s...?”

She looks up at me, her gaze so unexpectedly direct that I trail off without finishing what I was going to say.

“I know what you think, you and Emerson and even Ellowyn, but I’m not like you.”

Whatever I thought she’d say, it’s not this. “What does that mean?”

She gestures around her adorable room as if that’s an answer. “I’m a Historian.”

“So...what? You have to have a boring boyfriend?”

Her mouth firms. There’s something almost resigned in her gaze, and it makes my breath catch. But then she smiles in all her usual dizzy brightness. “He’s a nice man, Rebekah. And he might help.”

Which is all that really matters. For now.

Because I think we need all the help we can get. Even his.

27

THE DAY BEFORE LITHA, Emerson insists we have a party. She calls it a meeting, of course, but Ellowyn and I decide to treat it like a party. We convince Emerson there’s no point in yet another practice round when all we’ve done for the entire month of June is practice, practice, practice.

“There’s such a thing as overtraining,” I tell my overachieving sister.

She eyes me over her stacks of binders and spell books as I lounge on her bed, lazily painting my toenails. I spent the last three days doing literally nothing but practicing balance spells with Nicholas—who I now know firsthand is a much harder teacher than any I encountered in these soft modern times, goddess help me—but I don’t share that with her. It will ruin the moment.

“How would you know?” Emerson asks. Evilly.

And then laughs when I throw one of her pillows at her.

“It’s about coming together as a coven,” I say, trying a new tack, when Ellowyn and I begin mixing margaritas in the kitchen of Jacob’s house. To Emerson’s consternation.

“Alcohol is known as the great unifier,” Ellowyn adds. Soberly.

Emerson only sighs. But she doesn’t stop us. We make margaritas and Emerson puts together dinner, and once we’re all gathered together, we do just that. Gather. We eat and drink together. We laugh, and even with tension and grief their own overwhelming entities in the room, we find ways to take a moment for ourselves.

A breather.

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