I stood behind her and slightly to her right, mimicking her movements as she traced a pentacle in the air. She repeated the movements three times more, to the east, south, and west.
“Now, to call in the directions. We’ll keep this brief.
“Powers of the East, please be present. Bless us with light.
“Powers of the South, please be present. Bless us with clarity.
“Powers of the West, please be present. Bless us with transparency.
“Powers of the North, please be present. Bless us with truth.
“Great goddess of ghosts, Hecate. Mistress of thresholds. She who lights the dark and opens the doors. Bless my family with your protection and guidance.”
The flames on the five candles rose and expanded as the sky outside the windows darkened. A jagged line of lightning lit up the backside of a cloud, followed five seconds later by a muffled boom. Bigger weather was on its way. I was glad for my aunt’s presence within the safety and comfort of the circle.
“Apply the mascara, Clementine, and gaze into the mirror.” My aunt sat in front of me, settling onto one hip and tucking her legs to the side. She held the mirror high enough I could see without having to distort my posture and by the third application I sensed the mascara’s magic taking effect.
I stuck the wand in the container and twisted it closed. “Ready,” I whispered.
Maritza simply nodded and said, “I shall follow your lead.”
“Where did Mom stash her financial records?” I watched my reflection mouth the question, then asked the second one. “And where are her notes?”
When nothing happened, I asked another question.
“Where is Rémy Ruisseau’s love match?”
Lightning split the sky. Thunder followed much more closely, perhaps two-and-a-half seconds later. I jumped a bit and asked the question again, this time using the mage’s exact wording.
“Where is Rémy Ruisseau’s beloved?”
External sound faded, moving toward the walls. I saw the mirror in front of me, but Tía’s body zoomed away too. It was just me, a mirror with no reflection, and hazy sparkles hanging expectantly in the air.
“Where is Rémy Ruisseau’s beloved?” I whispered again, watching as my breath caused the particles to move and begin to re-form. Pearly-white story threads wiggled into the light and clustered near the center candle, shivering.
Fear mixed with an eagerness to communicate. I closed my eyes and recentered myself. When I opened them again and slid my arms into my mother’s shop coat, Clementine had become Moira and the air was filled with a tempered sense of urgency.
Moira drawing on the wisdom of the tarot. A well-used deck, its images unfamiliar and gorgeously drawn.
Cups.
I moved back in time, to the moment Moira reached for her deck on the underside of one of the drawers of her desk. Fast-forwarding, we were back at the cards. A bowl of charms, some carved from stone and wood, some shaped from metal, all with runes and other symbols carved or painted onto their surfaces. A huge abalone shell half-filled with water. My mother’s athame—no, a pair of scissors designed to look like a sword when they were closed.
“Where is Rémy Ruisseau’s beloved?”
A plain wooden box. A doll wrapped in muslin. An envelope filled with snippets of fabrics, ribbons, and trims. Beads. All of it in iridescent shades of greens, blues, and a nearly white pink.
I felt love and death rising in the air, chilling my skin, Moira’s skin.
Hands shaking as more tarot cards were overturned. Charms landing on the table and surrounding the cards. The table shaking, creating ripples across the surface of the water in the bowl.
Fear. Everything about the emerging creature broadcasted…desperation. A plea for help.
Many pleas for help. Many voices.
The emerald ring pressed to the side of Moira’s massive desk chair. A secret bottom dropped down. Something shoved inside.
I noticed I was standing. The mirror was on the floor and Maritza was in front of me, arms akimbo and her eyes wide open. Only, her eyes had gone as milky as the dead and she was floating in the air. Story threads were winding around her, tasting her, eagerly reweaving themselves into the fabric of her roomy sweater. As the threads disappeared and her feet made contact with the rug, she closed her eyelids and crumpled to the floor.
“Beryl, how do we stop this?” I asked. Unlike the first time, the mascara was stinging my skin.
Something landed at my feet. “Clemmie, use the wipes to get it off.”
I went to my knees and fumbled with the container’s snap on lid until I had a handful of towelettes. I swabbed my face and gently pinched my eyelashes until the pain abated and my sight—Clementine’s sight—returned. Maritza was still down for the count.
I stood where she had when she invoked the cardinal directions, thanked the powers that be and apologized for the brevity and clumsiness of my words. I blew out each candle as I went, lifted the candle at the center, gave my thanks to Hecate, and doused that flame too.
“I don’t know if I did that right, but we have a code red here,” I said, kneeling by my aunt. I tore off the shop coat and lifted Maritza’s arm. It was like lifting overcooked spaghetti out of the pot. “Shoot, Beryl, now what do we do?”
“I’m calling Alabastair. He can portal here.”
“Tell him Tía’s breathing. And I know where Mom stashed at least some of her records.” I grabbed the coat and hung it over the back of Mom’s big desk chair. “Let me have the ring,” I said. “I need it to open something.”
Beryl twisted the ring off her finger and put the call on speaker. She launched into relaying the sequence of events to the necromancer. When she finished, I asked, “Bas,
