They had a lot more to discuss at lunch tomorrow and this weekend and beyond. For now, though, Ridley had to hurry; around 5:15, Daddy had texted that he was leaving work soon and picking up pizza for dinner. By her calculations (he had to finish out his shift, drive from the hospital to Ned’s Pizza, pick up the pizza, then drive home), she had about ten more minutes, depending on if he’d remembered to call Ned’s with the order first, which was a toss-up with him. She also tried to guess his driving route; he’d likely take Pine, not Laguna, because of traffic.
She couldn’t risk running into him. (Yes, there was always a memory-erase spell, but what if it didn’t work?) Momma she didn’t have to worry about; she rarely left the house anymore. Likely, she was taking a nap in her room while Harmony watched TV.
Ridley eyed one of the still-under-construction McMansions on the street. Half of it was almost finished, at least on the outside, and the other half was just wooden frame. It was also set way back on the lot and out of the neighbors’ sight lines. Perfect.
Glancing around, confirming that she was indeed alone, she strolled casually toward the more finished part of the house. She ducked behind what looked to be a future six-car garage.
Reaching into her backpack, she unzipped one of the compartments and pulled out a small black velvet pouch. She loosened the drawstring and shook out a piece of moldavite. The moldavite was a gemstone from the Bohemia region of the Czech Republic, and it was super-rare. Like all other moldavites, it was believed to have fallen from the sky in a meteor shower nearly fifteen million years ago. Which was pretty much the coolest thing ever, in Ridley’s humble opinion.
The moldavite had been a gift from her aunt Viola, the other witch in the Stone family (that Ridley knew of, anyway). It was Aunt Viola who’d recognized Ridley’s powers when she was ten (she’d accidentally witnessed Ridley’s discovery moment with the hair, and helped her reverse it before Daddy and Momma found out), and it was Aunt Viola who’d taught her her first spells. (Back in Cleveland, Aunt Viola had belonged to a small coven that possessed a dozen or so torn, faded pages from Callixta’s book.)
Ridley held the translucent green gem against her heart and closed her eyes. Aunt Viola had told her that moldavite was a powerful aid in transformation rituals.
“Muto,” she said softly.
Nothing.
Focus on your intention, she reminded herself. Which was not easy, since part of her—a big part of her—didn’t want to transform.
But she had no choice. She hated, hated, the twice-daily transformations—each time, the ritual brought up the gut-wrenching pain of the past, of living as someone else—but it was necessary until she perfected a permanent form of the muto spell, vertero, which would substitute for medicines and surgery. And dissimulatio, also an advanced perception spell, way beyond what calumnia could do; there was an incomplete entry about it in Callixta Crowe’s book, and Ridley had been working in her spare time to fill in the gaps. Once she’d perfected it and vertero, too, she would be able to live as her true self twenty-four seven but still appear as Morgan to her family. Some people couldn’t see the truth, anyway.
“Muto!” she repeated, more loudly. “MU-TO!”
The third incantation did the trick. The muscles in her neck began straining and pulling as her Adam’s apple expanded. Her scalp tightened as her long, beautiful curls grew shorter and settled into a neatly trimmed ’fro. Her small breasts sank into her chest, becoming even more invisible under her white button-down shirt. The Crimson Secret polish vanished from her fingertips, leaving them bare.
She touched her upper lip and felt the bristly shadow of a mustache, which made her grimace. Her fingers grazed her cheeks; the skin was rougher, coarser, with tiny bumps. The fat in her body had shifted, too. And…
Enough. She didn’t want to go through the full checklist in her head; she just wanted to get on with it. Her sad metamorphosis was complete. She could go home.
But just as she was about to leave her hiding spot, her phone lit up with a message.
It was a group text from Greta to her and Binx:
Gofflesby is missing.
19 TRANSCENDING TIME
Your Familiar is not your Familiar forever. One can lose a beloved spirit companion to Death or other partings.
(FROM THE GOOD BOOK OF MAGIC AND MENTALISM BY CALLIXTA CROWE)
Greta wandered through her house aimlessly, chewing on her thumbnail and trying to still the wild trembling of her hands. Upstairs, downstairs, and back up again. She cast fleeting glances at every corner of every room, under furniture, on top of furniture, but nothing registered. She felt blind, helpless, powerless; Gofflesby had disappeared, and she had no idea, not a single clue, where he might be. Standing on the second-floor landing, she clasped the raw amethyst pendant. But it, too, seemed lifeless—it offered no vision, no inspiration, not even a sliver of comfort. She was useless as a witch.
Tears stung her eyes. She covered her face with her hands.
Don’t cry. You’re not useless. You have to stay strong. Gofflesby needs you.
The smell of black-bean-and-sweet-potato chili wafted from the kitchen. Her mother, making dinner. Greta swiped at her eyes, took a deep breath, and headed downstairs.
Teo was on the family computer in the living room, playing Roblox.
“I didn’t let her out,” he said without taking his eyes off the screen.
“Him. I know you didn’t. When was the last time you saw him, though?”
“Dunno. This morning? He
