Page 53 of The Queen's Box

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A LAZY RIPPLE expanded outward from the center of the bowl. Then the motion deepened—something pulling, pulling—and the reflection staring back at Willow began to change.

Somewhere at the edge of her awareness, she registered Amira’s rapt attention. Cole’s, too, though he was more on guard.

Willow barely noticed because—quite suddenly—Willow was no longer in Amira’s house at all. The scent of Amira’s perfume vanished, replaced by the smell of grass and warm earth. Sunlight stretched long across a green lawn, its rosy fingers deepening to violet as dusk approached.

She knew this place.

A croquet mallet thudded lightly against a ball—once, twice—a lazy rhythm. Not a game. Just a girl idly knocking the ball around, working on her technique.

It was Ash, wearing cutoffs and a T-shirt Willow knew well, the one with an atom on it. “SCIENCE DOESN’T CARE WHAT YOU BELIEVE,” read the words below.

Willow—or rather, the Willow in the vision—sat cross-legged on a picnic blanket. She was younger than her current age. Maybe seventeen? Across from her, nine-year-old Juniper mirrored Willow’s posture, eager to impress.

A single egg rested in Willow’s palm. A second egg waited beside her. Willow gently bounced the egg she held. “The shell keeps the egg nice and safe, right?”

Ash knocked the croquet ball closer so that she had an excuse to sidle up next to them.

Willow lifted the egg over the rim of a glass. “But when you crack it—”

A tiny fault line zigzagged up the shell.

CRICK.

Willow pulled the shell apart, and the raw egg slipped free, stretching thick and mucus-like before plopping into the glass.

“The egg slides out!” she pronounced. “See?”

The croquet ball rolled to a stop beside the picnic blanket. Ash trapped it with her foot. She didn’t speak, but she was listening.

“Now you,” Willow said, picking up the second egg and handing it to Juniper. “Crack yours.”

“Oh boy,” Ash muttered. “Here we go.”

The sun sank lower. Shadows stretched longer.

Juniper cracked her egg and watched, wide-eyed, as its gloopy innards sloshed into her glass. She went a little pale.

Ash leaned on her mallet like a walking cane, interested despite her protestations.

“The broken shell represents all the rules we’re supposed to accept,” Willow told Juniper. “The rules about what’s real and what’s not.”

“Like physics?” Ash interjected. “Those rules?”

“But here’s the thing, Juniper,” Willow continued. “There are other worlds than this one. Older worlds, where time works differently and where magic still exists.”

“Really?” Juniper said.

“Yes, really.” Willow leaned forward. “But the magic can only be perceived by people who believe in it. Same for rituals. For aritual to work—and yes, I’m talking about the ritual we’re about to do—you have to believe it will work.”

“This ritual,” Ash drawled, “what’s it for? To make Juniper throw up?”

Juniper flicked a nervous glance at Ash.

Willow snapped her fingers in front of Juniper’s face. “Hey. Juniper. Eyes on me.”

She lifted her glass.

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