Page 69 of Gemini Hunted
“Any spell uttered from the Book of Flame and Breath that fails,” Master Aries murmurs, “either suffocates the casting witch or sets her afire. Nor is the Book known to discriminate when choosing a victim for its malice. Anyone within range who’s breathing is a likely casualty.”
“Cheese on toast.” Zara clutches her duffel to her chest (for some reason I haven’t figured out yet, she’s carrying a kitten in there) and looks worried.
“However, I believe Mordred may be shielded from both effects, so long as he remains fully submerged.” My prof furrows his brow. “At least in his current form.”
“Ah,oui?” Jae gives the cistern a narrow look, even as he wraps a possessive arm around my waist. “I thought I smelled shifter on that one, me.”
This is all super intriguing, but I can’t afford to get distracted.
I flick on my lighter, cup a careful hand around the bespelling candle Jae is holding, shield it from the dank and foul-smelling wind that’s just kicked up from nowhere, and touch my tiny flame to the wick.
As the taper begins to glow, I whisper the spell that unravels curses.
I’m a weak witch in general, like really weak. But curse-breaking is similar to healing. Both are meant to restore the natural order.
These are magics any Light Fae can summon.
A pale green flame flares to life and dances on the wick. The dry scent of sage and a fresh green whiff of dill tingle in my nostrils. Then a finger of olive smoke twines from my candle and curls over the spellbook’s open pages.
I hold my breath and pray for luck to Saint Raymond, the Catholic saint of secrets. Sure, I’m Seelie, but I’m baptized and educated in Catholic prep schools, another way we hide from the mortals.
And maybe my patron saint is listening.
Because, under all our expectant stares, the words of the spell blur and waver. The handwritten letters squirm and wriggle across the page like worms.
“Bon bagay,”Jae whispers, soft as breath.
I sneak a hand down to clutch his warm fingers, still firmly gripping my waist.
The squirming letters settle into stillness.
“Oh, crap,” I whisper into the spellbound silence. My eyes fly over the text. “That’s… like… a really archaic dialect.”
Zara gives a little hop that broadcasts both excitement and impatience. “Well? Can you still read it?”
I blink at the strange accents and sigils that bedizen the letters and nibble my lower lip. “I mean, it’s still Latin. I think I can pronounce the words. It’s just—I don’t totally know what they mean or what they’ll do—”
From the smothering shadows, a diabolical chuckle rises.
Every follicle of hair on my head crinkles and lifts. The back of my neck crawls.
In reply, a low hoot echoes. From the clotted darkness near the door, two round eyes glow an eerie electric blue.
Scattered here and there in the darkness (because it’s definitely gotten darker in here), matching eyes wink into sight.
Master Aries mutters an oath in Hungarian and slips from the protected circle on silent feet.
“Lucius!” Zara whispers. “Wait!”
But my reliable professor is gone. Vanished. Lost in the dark.
“Shit!” Zara hisses. “Aren’t we safe here inside this circle?”
“We’re only safe from witchcraft, babe,” Neo tells her earnestly (and accurately). “Not flesh-and-blood shifters.”
Now every eye in the circle turns to me.
“We’re out of time to indulge your insecurities, McSnicker,” Vasili snaps. “Cast that spell now if you want to live.”
