Page 15 of Fated Protector

"Sage," he says, pulling out a bundle of the dried herb wrapped in twine. "I’ll smudge the four corners of the room, and that will clear the atmosphere of any evil influences. Then we can set up the protective wards on a blank foundation." He pulls a box of kitchen matches from his bag and lights one, setting the flame to the bundled sage. It lights immediately, filling the air with a smoky-sweet scent.

He goes to each corner of the store, holding up the sage and letting the smoke waft through the air around the area. He mumbles to himself, and though I cannot hear what he is saying, I don't want to break his concentration by asking for clarification. When he finishes the fourth corner, he blows the flame out with a huff of air and beckons to me.

"Can you feel it?" he asks, gesturing to the air around us.

I close my eyes and try to sense whatever change has occurred in the atmosphere. But to me, nothing feels changed. I must look disappointed because Jean-Pierre comes back and pats my shoulder, nearly knocking me off the chair. "It takes a while for some people," he says.

"Was Sasha good at magic?" I ask in a small voice.

"She was decent, but it wasn't her first interest. She was drawn to the knowledge itself, not the application. I think she liked pointing people in the right direction, then watching them grow."

"That sounds just like her," I say, my throat tightening. I blink away the salty sting of tears. "What next?"

"We set the wards." He pulls out four sparkling stones from his carpetbag. "Rose quartz, citrine, amethyst, and obsidian. One for each corner. It works a bit like a spiderweb. Each corner acts as an anchor, and the magic weaves itself around them, over and over again. When directed, the stones will feed off each other and should hold off any danger."

"What if someone fights the magic with their own magic?"

"It's a possibility. But magic is just like physical power. You have to be stronger than the other magic to destroy it." He scrunches up his mouth and adds, "or, you outsmart the other one. That applies to all conflicts."

"In the board room and the real world," I say with a halfhearted laugh.

“I suppose it is," he says, granting me a kindly smile. "Do you want to help?" He holds out the citrine. I take the polished stone in my hand, rubbing my fingers over the smooth surface. "It feels cold," I say with surprise.

He nods. "They all do. It's a natural trait. But they won't once they are set up as a ward." He jerks his head towards the first corner. "Come on." I follow him to the corner, taking three steps for every one of his. I'm amazed that he fits between all the standing bookshelves in the hall.

"Now, hold it in your palm, facing towards me." I follow his instructions, and he puts his enormous hand over mine, not touching but hovering over the stone. He mutters something in another language, something that sounds French in origin but isn’t Cajun or proper French. He closes his eyes as he speaks, and in my hand, the stone begins to heat. The golden yellow glows, growing in intensity in tune with Jean-Pierre’s chanting. When the heat is almost too much to bear against my bare skin, his eyes flash open. They are the same golden color as the citrine. I take a sharp breath, and his eyes fade back to his natural color, along with the stone.

"That was insane," I whisper. He takes the stone from my hand and places it on a shelf in the corner of the room.

"That's how you charge a stone to become a magical ward," he instructs. “Now, this stone is just waiting for the others." He heads to the next corner, and I stroll along behind him. Three more times, we go through this ritual. Each time the stone heats in my palm, his eyes turn the color of the stone before fading away. As he locks the last stone in place – the obsidian – a gust of wind blows through the store. The breeze is sweet and sharp.

"I feel it," I say, lifting my hand as if to run my fingers through the wind. "I can feel the magic." I let out a surprised laugh and clap in excitement.

Jean-Pierre simply nods as if he had expected this from me all along. "You'll be safe now, as long as you stay inside this room."

"There is no issue with me leaving, though, right? I'm not trapped here or anything?"

"No, nothing like that. And while this magic is powerful, it's muted enough from the outside that other supernatural creatures won’t instantly be drawn to it."

I sit back down in my chair, almost trembling with the overload of information and sensation. Magic is real. And I just helped with it.

"Can I do something else?" I ask, feeling like a kid in kindergarten asking the teacher a question.

“Something else?” Jean-Pierre looks surprised. "What do you mean?"

"I want to try magic," I say. "Isn't there a beginner spell or something I could try, like moving a piece of paper with my mind or something like that?"

He chuckles. "I guess I could teach you a basic flame spell," he says, tapping his chin. "Beginners usually start with the basic elements. Plus, it might be useful if you need to defend yourself."

"Yes, let's do it," I say quickly. Jean-Pierre sits down next to me at the table, the chair groaning under his weight. He takes my hand in mine and flips it palm up, just like with the stones.

"Complicated magic, like protective wards, does usually take a spell," he explains. “But simple spells, ones that just use the basic elements, are more a way of focusing your mind."

"I can do that," I say. "I do yoga. That’s all about focus. Kind of the same thing, right?"

He chuckled again. "Mental focus in yoga is done in the safety of the studio. Can you apply that same focus when you're in danger? When monsters are breathing down your back, and your life is at stake?"

"Good point," I say, leaning back in my chair. "But I'll give it a shot anyway."

---