Page 91 of Sigils & Spells

A man spoke. “She gave me a scour spell.”

I waited for someone to answer him. And waited.

“It won’t take that long.” He had a subtle accent. German, maybe.

Either he was on the phone or his companion had an ultrasonic voice.

The heavy slap of shoe leather against the plywood floor made me jump.

Please don’t find me. Please don’t find me.

“Okay. Okay. I’ll just get our things out then.” The resonance of the footsteps changed as he moved quickly downstairs.

I eased out from my meager hiding place. Poking my head out into the hall, I cast a dim orb and gauged the distance to the door. Could I make it there without the newcomer hearing me? My stomach churned. Saliva flooded my mouth. I felt on the verge of throwing up.

Right now I’d give my eye teeth to be an illusion witch capable of invisibility. Hesitantly, I edged down the hall, ready to sprint for the door if I heard the man coming back up the stairs. Sweat poured off me by the last six feet.

I nervously eyed the stairwell opening as I ever-so-slowly turned the deadbolt. I cracked the door open, and mentally cursed. Near the ramp, a silver Corolla idled at the curb. With the sun glinting off the windows I couldn’t tell if there was anyone in the driver’s seat. The kids on bicycles buzzed past, laughing and shouting at each other. I closed the door.

Maybe I could find another door, and sneak out that way. And be caught. I could hide and wait. And be caught.

Damn it. What had I been thinking coming in here? I didn’t relish the thought of calling my dad to come bail me out of jail. My brain tumbled through my limited options. Sending up a silent prayer to Hecate, I snuck into the closest apartment.

Once again, I braced my back against a wall. Rubbing my upset stomach with one hand, I mulled over the brief, one-sided conversation. I supposed cleaning spells would be helpful at a construction site. Out of professional curiosity, I wondered how many scour spells they went through. I could give them a nice discount if they bought in bulk. Ashley wasn’t the only kitchen witch who sold those spells at Besoins.

I stopped calculating pricing when the man came back up the stairs. I tried to identify a rumbling whirring sound. Wheels against plywood? The front door opened and closed. Then silence. I waited for the sound of the deadbolt locking.

It didn’t come.

My leg muscles felt rubbery as I cautiously crept out to the hall. I stared at the door for a ten-count, then tiptoed across the floor. The front door was unlocked. The foreman wouldn’t make that kind of rooky mistake, nor would a real estate agent. He’d locked it before going down into the basement. Why not now? I cracked the door open. A slender, sandy-haired man wrestled a large soft-side suitcase into the Corolla’s trunk. He slammed the lid shut, then jogged to the driver’s door and got in. Someone sat in the back seat.

It bugged me that he hadn’t locked the front door. Would you use a suitcase to haul tools? It didn’t seem likely. Just who had gone down into that basement?

The car pulled away.

I threw the deadbolt and cast a quick freeze spell on it that would disable the keycode panel for a good half hour. The scent of wet paint was strong in the stairwell. There were three light switches on the wall. I bypassed them, bumped up the wattage on my orb, and hurried down the stairs. Near the bottom, I felt the hum of my magic.

I’d been right! Something else was hidden here.

Beneath my excitement and jubilant sense of vindication, my residual nervousness was still alive and well. Glancing back to the stairs every few feet I followed my magic to a doorless entrance with the letters “exer rm” spray painted on the drywall. I walked through the large room and entered a combination shower/changing area. Along with my magic, another’s buzzed like a swarm of bees. I stared at a long stretch of bare drywall. There had to be several spells here. But where? And what were they?

I swept my foot along the gray concrete floor encountering nothing. Resting my hand on the wall, I closed my eyes and tuned into the familiar vibration of my magic. I sidestepped. Eyes still closed, I slid my hand up.

To the left.

Another few inches up.

My fingers connected first with a tacky rubber cement substance, then with a smooth stone the size of my palm. I grasped the edges and tugged.

The spell broke. A white fiberglass door appeared, protected by mylock-tightspell, and—damn it!—someone else’s magic.

I really wanted to know more about the witch who was messing with my spell work.

I pounded on the door in frustration.

My hand ached from banging against the door. That was a stupid thing to do. I shook it out.

Why had someone hidden this door? What was on the other side? Or who?

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