Page 74 of An Amateur Witch's Guide to Murder
Mateo sits at the center of the same uncomfortable gray couch where he’d eaten Christopher’s finger a lifetime ago. Topher, of the recently concussed, isn’t allowed to help, so he’s beside Mateo, buzzing.
“She’s fairly confident,” Topher says, watching Linnéa and Ophelia move about the room, setting up a large magical circle around Mateo.
Probably hoping for a response but the last time someone prepared a ritual around him, Mateo had eaten them. Ophelia’s dutifully sprinkling a mix of rue, basil, and rosemary around so there’s obviously a level of trust here between Ophelia and Linnéa. Mateo hadn’t been witness to it—busy lying on his face in a bedroom realizing he’s maybe not actually a human being—but it’s intensely uncharacteristic of Ophelia to info-dump his backstory. She must really think Linnéa can help him.
Not a single one of the symbols she’s drawn are familiar to him, but that just means whatever her magic is, it’s not extremely evil, like everything he gleaned off his mother. A lot of pleasant-looking leaves and even some peaches are in play around thering. Not a single drop of blood involved. He’s rating it loads higher than Ethan’s work.
“I’m not entirely human either,” Topher whispers, dragging Mateo’s attention back to his suddenly way too close face, which is leaning in and up to deliver this earnest message. With way too much clarity Mateo remembers that he fully licked his face.
Linnéa straightens and draws both of their attention—thank fuck—her features alight with excitement, edges of pale lips tipped up in the more confident version of Topher’s baby deer smile. It’s like she’s just been told she’s going to hang out with a bunch of puppies for an hour, not that she’s about to start a ritual to find Mateo’s mom’s evil-ass spell book. “We will begin now, Mateo.”
She beckons Topher from the circle, and he joins Ophelia a few yards away, clear of the herbs and chalks. The pair stands with arms linked as Linnéa moves in front of Mateo and kneels.
Mateo catches Ophelia’s gaze briefly. Her lips quirk and she mouths “relax.”
So, he does, attention flicking back to Linnéa.
“Ophelia has explained your attempt to contact me with the charm I left Topher. That you had the Blood Witch’s spell book, and that something went wrong with your casting. But that isn’t what happened. It did not go wrong. You did contact me, Mateo. A shout in the dark, but because I was pursued, I resisted this call, assuming you were an enemy. It was a powerful call. A powerful magic that you performed. I am an ancient being. That it could pierce what I protect myself with is no small thing.”
Mateo blinks hard, remembering the charred little figure that had been Linnéa and how angry and scared she’d felt. She’dleft that statue with Topher so it had probably looked extra bad when he’d used it to call her.
“Intentions and emotions. These are the most powerful things,” she says, watching him steadily. “Where is the book?”
“I don’t—” he tries, but she puts a finger on his lips, silencing him.
“You do,” she interrupts, and despite the physical shushing happening, she’s still smiling, still pleasant about it, like she’s trying to coax a toddler into counting properly.
Mateo chances a look at Ophelia and Topher, but they’re just watching, Topher’s lips parted in wonder, Ophelia’s gaze hard and attentive.
When it’s clear Mateo doesn’t know what to say, Linnéa tries a different question. “Why don’t you have the book?”
Is this a trick question? Ophelia had to have told her it disappeared, meaning he doesn’t know where it is or why he doesn’t have it. Maybe Linnéa wants a more hippie-dippy answer? When he tries to speak, the pressure of her fingers lessens some, so he manages, “It’s not mine?”
“Is that a question?” Linnéa asks sweetly, and he gets the sense that he’s done something right but has no idea what.
“It’s not mine,” he repeats more concretely.
“Why isn’t it yours?”
“It’s my mother’s.”
“The Blood Witch?”
“The Blood Witch.”
“And whose blood is in your veins?” Linnéa asks.
He hesitates because, again, it feels like a trick question. His blood is literally black. His mom did something really fucked here and it’s not what he’d always thought. But she’s looking at him with her placid eyes, waiting for him to answer herwhatcolor is the skybaby question, so he must know the answer she wants.
“The Blood Witch?” he tries.
“Statement,” she corrects softly.
“The Blood Witch’s blood is in my veins,” he says and is greeted with that radiant smile.
“Then the book is yours, by blood,” she says, and the world turns to ice.
For a moment Mateo’s terrified he’s on fire again. Then he leans forward like he’s going to spew but from his heart. With a shudder, the book drops out of his chest with a lot of black stuff and a solidsplish. It feels like he’s finally coughed out something that’s been lodged in his throat for a month and he’s left panting.
