Another finger, and I counted the ground below my bare feet and hands as a prominent ally. By touching the earth, I could sense when other Magicals were nearby, and often—at least, here on the island—I could differentiate Magical signatures and know exactly who I was “seeing.” I could also read the health of the soil, an essential aspect of my job with the Agricultural Commission. That skill garnered me one more digit.
Four fingers stood firm.
“Stop it.” I spoke the words aloud. I needed to not let myself go anywhere near the Calliope who, for sixteen years, had unknowingly worn a tattoo designed to mute her magic. The same Calliope whose magic had never been acknowledged, much less encouraged, once her mother had died.
I shook out my hands, read through Rose’s email once again. I chose a fresh notebook and roller ball pen and started a list of the supplies I would need, from crystals and herbs to a basic set up for at-home chemistry. I emailed Maritza and let her know I might have found a grimoire. After that, I took a closer look at the course synopsis. Witches were into layered learning. A few of the topics were covered every year, with big ones like Living in Harmony with the Magical Calendar taking the student witch from observer to leader by the end of the five years.
Same thing with herbal studies. Witches-in-training were required to create an at-home garden and plant the basics—some of which I had, many of which I did not. More plants would be added to the plot each year in order to have on hand the raw ingredients for creating ever more nuanced and potent elixirs and potions.
I pulled out volume four of Good Houseweeping, the one labeled Home Maintenance, flipped the book over, and unfolded the map of the property. I wanted to see if other vegetable and garden plots had been marked, but this map wasn’t giving me much.
I tried another, thinking there might be some connection between each collection’s official label and the contents of its magical pages. If Home Maintenance focused on structures on the property, from portals to chicken coops, then volume one, Marriage, would likely hold relationship advice and volume two, In the Kitchen, would be recipe central for food and witch-crafted potions and elixirs. A tingle of anticipation shot up my arms.
Tucking In the Kitchen under my desk, I picked up Farm and Garden. That had to be the one. I performed the book-flipping ritual and brought the tip of my athame to the thick end paper. Sure enough, the knife found an opening, the slit grew, and when the book was laid flat, the page opened into a map.
This version showed my acreage had, at one time, been packed with garden plots and not at the expense of cutting down the glorious arbutus and Garry oak trees. There were neat rows of fruit trees: pears, apples, plums, and cherries. Herbs occupied a couple of round formations that resembled Celtic knots.
I had my answer. And before the Building Your Herbal Garden module began, I would go over my land, inch by inch, to see if I could uncover even a shadow of what once was.
Satisfied with my search results, I reordered my Good Housesweeping books, all but the unlabeled, empty volume. I wondered if there were words in there, somewhere. I had tried my saliva and my athame. I hadn’t tried to use my blood, but if the book wanted my blood, how was I to do that?
I’d sliced my thumb to create a rudimentary blood ward with Tanner’s help.
I’d had my Blood Ceremony and fed my menstrual blood to my land at the witches’ insistence.
But if this book wanted a taste of me in order to reveal any secrets it might have? I was at a loss.
I shook my head, tucked the book next to the others, and woke up my laptop.
Maritza had responded, short and to the point. I lingered on her closing line: “Please bring with you a genealogical chart and the possible grimoire.”
Chapter 13
I closed my laptop. Spun my chair and rested my calves and feet on the rumpled bedcovers. Closed my eyes. Started to bargain with myself. A nap now, in an empty, quiet house, would give me energy for tonight. And tonight’s agenda included a search for the Apple Witch.
I would return to Cliff and Abi’s. Enlist River, Kaz, Belle, and Rose’s help, and Hyslop and Peasgood’s too, if they were up for it. I could not let Jessamyne disappear, Tanner in her wake. Surely, River or one of the other druids would know how to reach Tanner no matter where he was and bring him back.
Bring all three of them—Tanner and Abigail and Clifford—back.
I was afraid to admit the depth of my tiredness. I hauled myself out of the chair and into the bathroom intending to scrub my filthy feet. A glance in the mirror convinced me a full shower was the humane thing to do.
Hair washed, conditioner in, I turned from facing the stream of hot water to let it pummel my upper back. One foot slipped. My hand smacked the wall as I steadied myself. Lifting my chin, I kept my head under the spray until my hair was thoroughly rinsed.
The thud of something heavy landing on the floor above me had me grabbing for the faucets and crouching low. I turned the water off, slicked my hair away from my face, and waited, my heart pounding against my ribs.
Another thud and the muted rattle of a door handle. I slid one leg over the edge of the clawfoot tub then the other, shot my arms into my bathrobe, and scanned the room for a weapon.
Boom.
Menstrual pads and sponges. Nope. An almost empty canister of toilet cleanser. Uh-uh. A plunger. I hefted the wood handle, gave it a swing, and admired the weight and density of the
