The momentary change in air pressure at their departure through the portal situated within the crabapple tree set misshapen fruit to jangling at the ends of their stems.
I stared at the tree’s scruffy bark, patched with greenish-gray lichen, seeing but not seeing. The ground around the Old One was supposed to be smooth and well-tended for when travelers departed, making it easier to pick up the stones that acted as tickets. My tree’s multiple portals had been abandoned—or so Alabastair, my new friend and Portal Keeper, thought—and the stones had either never been replaced, or were buried under seasons of neglect.
Wes must have employed other means to get the gaggle of teens to the nexus in Vancouver.
Tanner touched the underside of my forearm with his fingertips and traced a line to my wrist. I let him take hold of my hand and snug it against his chest.
“We could work outside until the office is closed.”
A glance at the plants in my garden showed they were already in transition, with their brown-edged leaves and drying stalks. “I like that idea. I haven’t done any gardening in weeks.”
An apple dropped a timely reminder onto my shoulder. I bent to pick the ripe fruit off the ground. Shining it on my shirt, I offered it to Tanner and said, “I guess I should add apple-picking to the list.”
He kissed my knuckles, let go of my hand, and palmed the crabapple. Turning, he looked over his shoulder to the back of my house. His gaze moved clockwise over my property: the slice of the driveway visible from here, the uneven border where untended lawn met the woods and undergrowth, the bunkhouse under construction at the far end, and all the way around to my garden area. As he lifted his arm and started to speak, a bright pink Volkswagen Bug paused at the end of the driveway, rolled forward, then reversed. A horn sounded.
“Hold that thought,” I said.
“What’s Maritza doing here?”
“I have no idea.” I groaned. “Do you think if we ignore her, she’ll go away?”
“Not likely.” Tanner released my overall’s straps. “If she’s here without calling first, might be important.”
I jogged across the yard, up the drive, and called, “Maritza!” She rolled down her window when I passed through the wards.
“Calliope. I’m normally not one to visit unannounced, but I felt it imperative that we use the threshold provided by the equinox to create an essential tool that you will use in some of your magical workings.” She put the car in Park and lowered her black-rimmed sunglasses. Elongated ovals of Prussian blue twinkled from the end of each finger. “I brought most everything we need, and we should be done in under an hour. Perhaps two.” She gripped the steering wheel and stared out the windshield. “Maybe three. Would you be amenable to an impromptu lesson?”
I was intrigued enough to not hesitate. Besides, L’Runa wanted to enlist Maritza’s skill as a necromancer to decipher what information the dolls might share, and we needed her expertise for the banishing.
“Sure,” I said, “the driveway’s right here. Tanner’s visiting, too.”
“Delightful.” Maritza raised one already perfectly arched eyebrow and permitted herself the hint of a grin. Readjusting her sunglasses, she said, “Always good to have a druid around should things get out of hand.”
Tires rolling slowly over gravel sent me to the side of the driveway. I slid one hand behind the bib of my overalls and massaged the center of my chest. I was surprisingly not at all in the mood for things getting out of hand today.
Maritza parked her car, opened the driver’s-side door, and stuck one leg out. She’d traded her signature platform sandals for orange Chucks with blinding white laces. Her skinny jeans and loose blouse were black, as was the oversized hobo bag she dragged across the gear shift into the driver’s seat.
The work attire I’d grabbed off a hook in my closet looked even shabbier next to Maritza’s ensemble. “May I carry that for you?” I asked.
“Please. Your dress is in there.”
“My dress?” I shoved my hands into the overalls’ deep front pockets. Every time I’d worn a dress this summer, my life had experienced a marked change. White cotton for the initiation ritual. Red silk for the Blood Ceremony. An embroidered party frock the night the Flechette Clan revealed their true faces and intentions.
It was no wonder I always reached for comfortable sweats or cargo pants or my gardening overalls first thing in the morning.
Maritza nodded and walked around her car, straight toward Tanner. He had tucked his shirt into his pants and drawn his hair into a ponytail. “Druid,” she called, offering her hand. “Has Ni’eve released you from her tutelage?”
Tanner brought her fingers to his lips and bowed slightly. “The druidess and I will soon close this chapter of our relationship,” he said. His voice carried to where I struggled with the weight of the witch’s bag. “I was granted a three-day leave and chose to spend my time off with Calliope.”
“Timing your visit to coincide with the equinox was fortuitous. This is a perfect opportunity for Calliope to create the particles she will need for casting living circles.”
I had to heft the bag into my arms and hold it to my chest. “I thought witches used salt for their circles,” I said, drawing closer. Then I remembered L’Runa’s off-the-cuff lesson from the day before.
Maritza gave a patient sigh. “Do you recall the circle I cast in the burial mounds?”
My cheeks, already flushed from the sun, reddened at my lack of retention. I would never forget that circle she cast, nor would I ever forget my first sight of Maritza Brodeur. She had been walking toward the Pearmains’ back porch, her silhouette hazy in the summer heat. A cluster of floating confetti accompanied her slow gait. Later, she explained she’d created those particles that very morning
