Page 112 of Meet Your Maker: Part One

Jinx picks up a small jar filled with amber liquid, herbs and flower petals swirling lazily inside. She gives it a gentle shake, the contents catching the light like trapped fireflies. “This here’s an anointing oil,” she says, her voice low and sure. “Cypress needles, Spanish moss, and a touch of moonflower essence.Picked and brewed myself. Strong stuff. We’ll use it to seal the symbols, lockin’ the magic into the house and land.”

Beside me, Tomas shifts slightly, arms crossed over his chest. “You do this for every house you ward?”

Jinx flashes a grin, all teeth and edges. “Depends on the house. Some just need a little salt and good intentions. Yours?” She looks toward the packhouse, her eyes narrowing. “Feels like it’s been through the wringer. This place has stories—and not all of ’em are friendly.”

A cold twist coils in my stomach, but I push it down, focusing on the tools in my hands. “What do you need me to do?”

Jinx pulls another stick of chalk from her bag, twirling it between her fingers. “Alright, Sunshine, let’s see what you’ve got.”

She strides toward the front door, and I follow, the heat pressing down on my shoulders like a weighted blanket. Around us, the coven is already in motion—black salt sprinkling along the property’s edge, iron spikes ringing with each hammer strike, chants whispering through the air like a low breeze.

Tomas lingers behind, a silent sentinel, his watchful gaze a constant presence. Shadow moves in and out of sight, their fluid grace blending with the work Ava and the others are doing along the perimeter.

Jinx kneels by the doorframe, pressing the chalk to the wood with a confident flick of her wrist. “This is where we start,” she says. “Simple symbols first—anchors for the energy. Then we’ll build it up.”

I crouch beside her, the chalk clutched tight, my palms clammy. “And what exactly am I drawing? Just… random lines?”

Jinx snorts, the sound dry. “No, girl. Symbols have meaning. Intention.” She draws a looping sigil with a few quick strokes, the lines confident, flowing. It looks ancient and new all at once. “This one’s for protection. Keeps what’s inside safe.”

She lifts her head, her sharp eyes locking onto mine. “Your turn.”

I glance at the door, then back at her. “What if I mess it up?”

Her gaze softens, just a fraction. “Then you fix it. Magic’s not about bein’ perfect. It’s about will. You got plenty of that, don’t ya?”

I swallow hard and press the chalk to the wood. My lines are shaky, uneven, but Jinx doesn’t say a word. She just watches, her eyes tracking every movement, her presence a steadying weight.

When I finish, I sit back on my heels, staring at the symbol with a mix of pride and doubt. “That… doesn’t look right.”

“It’ll do,” she says, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Now seal it.”

I blink. “Seal it?”

She unscrews the jar of oil, holding it out to me. “Dip your fingers. Trace the lines. Feel the magic, let it stick.”

I hesitate for just a heartbeat, then dip my fingers into the oil. It’s cool and slick, its scent earthy and wild—moss-covered trees, moonlit nights, whispers through leaves. Carefully, I trace over the chalk lines, my fingers trembling.

When I pull back, the symbol hums faintly, alive with a quiet energy that prickles against my skin. “Did I… do that?”

Jinx chuckles, rising to her feet and brushing dust from her knees. “You sure did. Not bad for a first-timer.” She claps me on the shoulder, her grin wide and approving. “Don’t worry, Sunshine. You’ll get the hang of it.”

The rest of the morning passes in a blur of chalk dust, whispered chants, and the steady clang of iron spikes sinking into the earth. Jinx keeps me busy, guiding me through symbols on every door and window, her instructions sharp but patient.

Shadow helps Ava along the perimeter, the black salt shimmering faintly in the sunlight. Tomas stays close, his wolf a low growl beneath his calm exterior, though he keeps his thoughts to himself.

By the time we reach the barn, I feel wrung out, the strain not just physical but magical. Each line of chalk, each brush of oil, pulls something deep from within me. My fingers fumble as the chalk slips in my grasp, my breath coming faster.

Jinx catches my hesitation, one brow lifting. “You holdin’ up, okay?”

I nod, forcing a breath. “Yeah. Just… give me a sec.”

She studies me for a beat, her eyes sharp but not unkind, then grins. “You’re tougher than you look. But magic’s a hungry thing. Don’t let it eat you up.”

I straighten, rolling the chalk between my palms, the weight of the work settling in my bones. “I won’t.”

“Good.” Jinx jerks her chin toward the door. “Let’s finish this up. We’ve still got stories to change.”

I nod, gritting my teeth as I press the chalk to the barn door. The sigil comes out shaky at first, but I push through, tracing each looping line with deliberate care. Sweat beads on my forehead, and my arms feel like lead.

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