Page 78 of The Wolfing Hour
“You know that Carl Sagan quote? Mom liked it,” I said. “I was looking at the sky and thinking about her, and it popped into my mind.”
“We’re made of star stuff. We are a way for the cosmos to know itself,” she said without looking up. “Lila preferred the way he said in his TV show because she liked the wordcosmosbetter thanuniverse. Thought it sounded better.”
I wasn’t surprised she’d taught Margaux the quote. Mom had had a way of lovingly strong-arming people into her world, making them fall in love with the things she liked. Especially music. You could be a diehard metalhead, but a few hours with her would have you humming along to “Muskrat Love” by Captain and Tennille.
“I meant to ask you earlier—do you have any idea where Floyd might’ve gotten hold of a spell that could hide him from security cameras?”
She shrugged. “Travel witch? You’d know better than I do what sorts of things your kind stocks. Either that, or he had someone in my late coven do it before he killed them. Hard to say for certain. I can only assure you it wasn’t me. Now be quiet and let me finish this in peace.”
I peered over her shoulder at the symbol she was drawing with wide and thin swooping whorls but didn’t ask any other questions. Instead, I tipped my head back and stared at the sky some more. The cool room, the cosmos above, and the scratching sound of the chalk against the unglazed Mexican tile comforted and calmed me.
Ten minutes later, she sat back on her haunches and surveyed her work. “I don’t know if this will work, but it’s worth a try. It won’t hurt anything.”
“Where’d you find the spell?”
“My family grimoire.” She dusted chalk off her hands. “I should tell you I asked Bronwyn’s advice on which of three spells to use. She thought my first choice was safest, but felt this one was strongest. She always accuses me of playing it too safe.”
“So you let our resident turncoat change your mind?”
“Yes, because I don’t believe she’s a turncoat, as you put it. If anything, I’d say she was a traitor to the organization that originally sent her here—because of her feelings for you.”
It annoyed me to hear her say that because she had a point, and I wasn’t ready to be over my anger with Bronwyn.
“She was right, of course. It was my choice to play it safe with the spell to track down Mason today, and it was inadequate.”
I’d gotten the news via a text from Bronwyn while at Ronan’s. I was disappointed it hadn’t worked, but tracing and tracking spells were difficult and magic wasn’t an exact science.
“Spells fail all the time, Margaux,” I said, “and you can’t be sure the problem was your choice, either. It could’ve just as easily been a break in the intention, or Bronwyn’s negative energy, or Floyd somehow blocking you.”
“Regardless, we’re down to a millimeter of hair from Mason—it was all we managed to salvage.”
“Okay then. What do you need from me?”
“Something of Aurora’s, a pile of your soil, and your magic,” she replied.
I extracted a paper-wrapped bundle from my pocket—a rainbow butterfly hair clip Rory had left at Ronan’s. He’d offered to mail the plastic clip to her, but she told him she had plenty more. I was deeply glad he’d thrown it in a drawer instead of the trash.
“There’s a hair in there,” I said, cradling the clip in my palm. “About half an inch long.”
Her eyes lit up. She pointed to one of the larger chalk whorls. “Perfect. Set it here with Mason’s.”
What she’d said to me last night came to mind, and though it wasn’t the time for it, I asked, “Margaux, what makes you believe I could run a coven?”
“Many reasons,” she replied, and tapped inside one of the whorls with her fingertip. “Put your element there.”
I picked up a pocket-sized burlap bag of Siete Saguaro soil and poured it on the spot she’d indicated. The excess coating my hands vaporized then absorbed into my skin. The power surge felt good, welcome.
“Reasons? What, like my elemental magic? Or my demon side? Or maybe it’s the way I attract trouble like a floodlight attracts moths.”
“Those are lower on the list of coven leader priorities,” she said and pointed at me with the chalk. “Now, one of us must be a conduit for the spell. It’s risky. The location will flow directly into the brain of the chosen person, and?—”
“Chosen person, my ass. Cut it out, Margaux. We both know it’s going to be me.”
She lifted and lowered one thin shoulder. “You’re the strongest choice, but others could do it. Not the inebriated gnome, perhaps, but certainly Fennel or me.”
“Exactly how dangerous is this spell?”
“Magic always carries risks, you know that. But, as I said before, this is outside the norm.”
