I glanced longingly at the Grimoire and sighed before closing the door behind me.
Chapter 3
THANKS TO A MAGICALLY uneventful day, Kismet was able to spend her human hour the way she liked—going for a run, casting a few spells, and devouring a whole pizza. I knew her routine well. As soon as she left the apartment, I had twenty minutes before she would return.
The door slammed shut, and I raced to the junk room to unearth the Grimoire again. It was probably over four hundred pages long. How would I find the teleportation spell? I flipped to the table of contents, my heart racing. I scanned past the list of demons: werewolves, vampires, shapeshifters, and dark casters.
I suppressed a shudder. After performing blood rituals and black magic, a witch or warlock changed from light to dark, which transformed them into a demon. Deep down, I knew that not all demons were bad. Some abided by the law and kept to their own covens. Those who rebelled and actively hunted innocents were the ones who made things a problem.
At long last, I found sections for each type of magic: Thinkers, Seers, Pushers, Jumpers, and Elementals. I quickly flipped to the Jumper section, although it used the fancier term of “Teleporters.” After several pages, I finally found it—the spell for teleportation and transportation.
I frowned. Weren’t those the same thing?
My fingers hovered over the ingredients. Most of them were available in our collection, but I would have to ask Mia for some of the more complex ones. Her mother was a healer and had access to all kinds of herbs.
I scanned the conditions for the spell, and my heart sank. This spell requires a significant amount of power. It can only be performed during a magical surge, such as a magical event or when a magical being collects power.
I blinked and looked up from the text, my brow furrowing. A magical event? I groaned and slammed the book shut. My knowledge of my own magic was limited enough, let alone my knowledge of the calendar of witchy holidays to celebrate. Kismet would know, but I would need to word my question carefully to avoid arousing suspicion.
A few minutes after the pizzas arrived, Kismet returned, her forehead covered in sweat but her eyes alight with energy. I didn’t know what it was like to be a bird for twenty-three hours of the day, but it probably felt good to sprint on longer legs for a while.
Kismet inhaled three slices of pizza before she slowed down and looked at me cheerfully. “Good day?” she asked between mouthfuls.
I nodded. “Nice, lazy Saturday.” I paused. “Too lazy, really. It’d be nice to find things to do.”
Kismet raised an eyebrow. “Like drinking with your friends?”
I rolled my eyes. “No, I mean magical things. You were right. I need more magic in my life. It will help ground me.”
Kismet scrutinized me, and I held perfectly still as if being sniffed by a wild animal. Then she smiled. “That’s a great idea.”
I picked at the peeling paint on the table, avoiding her gaze. “So, uh, do you know of any magic related . . . stuff happening soon?”
Kismet swallowed a bite and looked at the ceiling in thought. “Well, there is the spring equinox. That’s kind of a big deal. Ordinarily it’s a hot spot for the magical community, but this year it’s even more so because it’s a millennial year.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Millennia are powerful. It’s why they only occur every thousand years.”
“What about, like, decades? Or centuries? Are they powerful too?”
Kismet shrugged. “The longer the span, the more power involved. Rarity is a power in itself. So yes, each passage of time holds a portion of power, but none so much as a millennium.”
“So, when is the spring solstice?” I held my breath.
Kismet’s brows lowered and she fixed a flat stare on me. “Equinox. Come on, Desi. You must’ve learned this in school.”
I blew out a breath, my cheeks puffing out. When I’d fully exhaled, I said tentatively, “I don’t know, March . . . 21st?”
“Close. March 20th. So, Monday.”
Perfect. “Do you want to go?” I asked.
“To the Equinox Gathering?”
I nodded.
Kismet chuckled and wiped her face with a napkin. “It’ll be at two in the morning. I don’t think you’ll be very, uh, social at that hour.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Ick. You’re right.” I groaned and fixed a dejected expression on my face. “Frack. Maybe next time.”
Kismet narrowed her eyes. “Where is this coming from?”
I covered my face with my hands. “I don’t know, Kiz,” I said, my voice muffled. “I just—I feel like I’m floundering. That wolf attack was a wake-up call for me. I need to get out of this—this bubble. This haze. I need some clarity.” In my defense, it wasn’t a lie. But the “bubble” was magic and demons and memories of my parents. That was what I needed to escape from.
Kismet’s blue eyes softened, and she set her napkin down and reached for my hand. Her fingers pressed into mine, and comfort washed over me.
“I’ll tell you what,” she said. “Maybe next week you can come meet your parents’ coven. I don’t often meet with them because you never expressed interest, but I’m sure they would be glad to have you there.”
I stiffened as discomfort coiled in my stomach. I tried not to clench my fingers into fists because I still held Kismet’s hand. I forced a wobbly smile to my face. “That sounds awesome.”
Meeting the last people who had seen my parents alive? Hearing their condolences or remarks about how much I looked like them? Being engulfed in memories of my past, when my parents had been alive?
Kill me now.
THE NEXT DAY PASSED with agonizing sluggishness. José popped over in the morning for a quick goodbye kiss, and I assured him I would join him in Miami. He left me with a photo of his abuela’s house
