Page 117 of Crown of Tides and Fury

It was impossible to tell what was going on, impossible to watch the individual tasks being performed. A large stone, the size of a small car, materialized above the orchard and moved closer and closer, as if by the invisible hand of God. It hovered in the air before Felicity. Her waving hands guided a chisel and mallet as they chewed away at the surface. Carving, sculpting.

We were mesmerized.

Felicity paid little attention to the construction happening in the hole. Every now and then, she'd lean to the side, wave a hand, and go back to concentrating on the large stone. The shape grew more and more defined. Wide at the top, narrower at the bottom. Five feet deep, at least.

A chill ran down my spine and I realized I hadn't moved for a long time. Ten minutes, maybe?

The mallet and chisel stilled and hovered in the air while Felicity studied the Celtic design on the face of her big rock. She gave a nod and the tools were gone. Her creation began to retreat. As it moved steadily away, we realized the rest of her work hadn’t been random at all.

A colossal bridge, made of glistening pale stone, extended from each side of the hole toward the center. Pillars, built on the two mounds of earth, supported each side. The gap in the middle was much wider at the top than the bottom—a gap waiting to be filled by the large, elaborately carved stone. Some force much more powerful than gravity held the other sections in place until the large one, the keystone, slid home like the final piece of a puzzle.

Water gurgled and flowed from pipes now coming to life inside the oval, filling it. The bottom was smooth—sealed. Fairy lights lit the rippling surface from behind. The fire lit it from our side. A fountain rose from the center, beneath the bridge, and water arched out in all directions.

Just when I thought she was finished, more stones arrived and piled onto the bridge, creating an enclosure with windows that mirrored the shape of the keystone. A little sanctuary. When it was complete, lights along the top flickered on.

Felicity’s hands rested at her sides again. When she turned to face us, we got to our feet to applaud. Each and every one of us had seen impressive magic before, but this was hand of God kind of stuff. This was terrifying. This was…not meant for mortals.

Not meant for witches, either.

The Creator took a little bow, pleased to have entertained us, but more pleased with herself. She waved Wickham to her, urgently. “Please. Take it from me now, before I am driven to destroy it. If you think creating is mind-blowing, the other side of this curse is doubly so.” She grabbed Wickham’s arm and made him look at her. “Hurry.”

Wickham nodded and turned toward the house, lifted his arm, and signaled someone to come forward. We all followed his gaze and watched his eldest son make his way down the steps. A long wooden staff lay across his hands.

The kid walked reverently between the rows of chairs, holding the gnarly stick high enough to clear heads, then presented it to his father before returning to his seat on the back row, beside Davey. Lorraine and Loretta resumed their sentry posts.

Wickham moved to the right side of the fire to face Felicity across the flames. He thumped the staff once and began to speak, in a language that might or might not be Gaelic. Yet another green mist rose from the fire and snaked its way around him, Felicity, and the firepit, spinning like a Hula Hoop a good foot thick and ten feet wide. Though Wickham’s lips stopped moving, the murmuring continued, this time, from the ring itself.

He pounded the ground again, three times. “Felicity Orley, do ye surrender yer Naming Powers of Creation and Destruction…for the greater good, with all the contracts and conditions with which ye might have multiplied those powers?”

Tears ran down Felicities cheeks and she turned her head to look at her latest creation. Green light glinted off the shiny, colorful squares of her dress and gave her dark updo a dozen glowing highlights. “Yes.”

“Do ye give it freely and without compulsion?”

She faced Wickham again. “I do.”

“Then let it be surrendered.”

The green light swirled faster, broke apart, only to snake its way around Felicity alone. It moved so fast I was sure it would destroy itself as it rose to circle her head, then slowly lowered, as if gravity were having an effect. But when it reached the ground, it was joined by a red mist that poured into the green and eventually replaced it altogether. When all traces of emerald were gone, the red substance rose back into the air above her.

Felicity’s hand shot out and caught the tail of it on the tip of her finger. This was her power, this red stuff. Would she pull it back?

Time crawled. I physically felt her surrender as her hand fell back to her side, as if her action had somehow changed the balance of the universe. The mist churned aimlessly for a moment, then headed over the witnesses, gathering itself as it veered toward Soni. I realized she was the onlyThirdinside our little snow globe without a Naming Power, which was probably what it was looking for!

Simon tried to move his young wife behind him, but she wouldn’t allow it. Sober and unflinching, she watched the scarlet cloud come to her. When it paused, she shook her head and pointed back at the fire. It obeyed immediately, reversed, and headed for Wickham. With the staff, Wickham directed it toward the table beside his sister that held the waiting bottles.

It ignored him.

The red mist advanced steadily until it hung above Wickham's head. It hovered for just a second or two, then began a slow pour onto his dark hair--no, notonto, butinto.

The Highlander’s eyes closed. His face darkened by increments, as if the color were seeping into every cell. His shoulders hunched as if trying to support a massive weight, but as the final traces of mist entered him, they relaxed. He breathed deeply, easily.

I breathed with him, imagining what he might be feeling, imagining what the power of Creation might do to a person. If it took possession of him immediately, what could he create? Could he make a door to the other realm?

He opened his eyes and his expression changed. His dimples deepened before a grin took over. Those white teeth glowed in the firelight. His eyes recessed into shadows, sending another wave of chills through me.

"Too much for a witch,” I whispered.

He tipped his head back and laughed, as if the joke was on the rest of us.

---