The most inclusive magic I’d ever experienced swirled around me, bringing joy to my middle and a grin to my lips. I contemplated joining them, partaking in the joy I was feeling. But it wasn’t my circle, and I didn’t want to disturb them. I said as much to Smokey, ready to retreat.
“You sure you don’t want a closer look? We won’t disturb them at all. We’ll just spy from the shadows.”
He really did the creepy thing well.
“Maybe just a look,” I said softly, curiosity getting the better of me. “Not spying, just looking.”
He was nice enough not to mention that it was essentially the same thing.
Smokey took the lead, drifting to the other side of the aisle and then around the corner. The view was much better from here. The group—they looked to be all women—sat in a circle surrounded by glowing candles. A plethora of items littered the ground in the middle. They chanted softly, either looking toward the sky or the ground.
Magic rose from the items between them, called to life by the words they were saying in harmony. The source of the beautiful magical light I’d seen. They were using their emotions for this chant, and using one another for more power.
“You see?” I said softly, hunching down next to Smokey in the shadow of a gravestone. “They’re coming together as a unit and speaking the spell. They are using one another for power boosts. Why can’t mages do that?”
“Mages…is that like…guy witches?”
“No. They’re witches with more power.”
“Ahh.” He nodded.
“Mages are usually super solo when it comes to magic,” I whispered. “They kind of shut everyone else away.”
“Many hands make light work,” he said.
“Yeah, right? I’m not crazy for thinking this way is better, am I?”
“No you are not. Working together usually gets the job done faster. Even salesmen do better in a unit.”
I squinted in confusion, not knowing what salesmen had to do with anything.
A scent wafted our way, earthy and dense. Incense, if I had to guess, though I couldn’t place the fragrance. A few words sporadically reached my ears, but the intentions of the magic were coming through loud and clear.
Comforting. Love. Healing.
“What do you think—”
“Shhh!” I waved away his words.
“May she be peaceful and joyous,” the group murmured softly.
I closed my eyes as paper crinkled. A new smell hit me, like something burning.
“Now, I don’t approve of that at all,” Smokey said, stiffening. “Starting fires is a no-no. Fire can get dangerous. Occasionally these witch—or mage—people accidentally create fireballs. Big fireballs that puff up into the air. That kind of practice is going a bit far.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the fireballs were probably Reagan’s way of messing with him. She had an odd view of jokes.
“May we bask in the light, blessed is this night.”
Protect. Heal. Safety.
They were doing an utterly simple protective spell intended to keep one of the members safe. Narrowing in on their magic, on their connection, I got a more complicated read on what was happening.
It seemed one of the lovely ladies was having issues with abuse.
As the magical currents ran through me, fire kindled deep inside my gut, forcing out ideas of what I would do to someone who was physically or emotionally abusing me. Amazingly, they weren’t all magic spells. Not at all. The first, out of the blue, was a head butt.
No one would expect a random head butt.
Well, except for me. I’d learned the hard way.
I’d dug into their efforts before I could stop myself, weaving a rich, complex spell within and around theirs, mindful of the necessary elements for healing and recovery.
“They seem confused,” Smokey whispered, looking over my shoulder. “Are you participating with them or something?”
Magic wove in and out of my fingers, and I wanted to laugh with the joy of it. I felt buoyant, strong, beautiful, sexy, and powerful. I felt how glorious it was to have my finger on the pulse of nature.
This was what I had been missing. Emery had been right those many months ago. He’d said I was more like a witch. A deep connection with others and the world around me was necessary to my magic working. I did think like a witch. The joy and love of this community buffeted me. It made me long for deep roots of my own.
But something was missing from the Ladies of the Light: the male half. Nature existed in both. Kooky though she was, Mary Bell was right about one thing: nature was the light and the dark, and everything in between. The magical world was rough. Wild. The calm and the storm. It required balance. These ladies did themselves a disservice by calling only to the feminine. And only to the light.
I missed Emery. I missed the balance we had found together. It had been so natural with him. So light and easy. We belonged together, whether he was ready to admit it or not.
I shook it off and shoved the spell toward the group, watching it swirl around until it sank into one of the ladies, a short-haired girl with black glasses and a pug nose.
May you kick his ass, lady.
“The witches are good people,” Smokey said. “Just wait until you meet one of the foul creatures that inhabit this world. That’ll ruin anyone’s mood.”
“I’ve already met plenty.”
Smokey’s laugh was low and rough. “You’re probably talking about vampires, right? Since you’re hanging out with Reagan. Maybe a shifter or two? All nice folk compared to some of the other things that exist out there, believe you me. I’ve thought about leaving this place a million times. Going out to Florida and retiring. But there is one thing this place has that Florida doesn’t.”
“What’s that?”
“Reagan.”
“Right.” I’d heard something like that a time or two.
I headed back, passing him. He wasn’t long in following.
“You’ll follow her lead, if you know what’s good for you,” he whispered.
I wasn’t sure if that was true, but these days, I wasn’t sure about much of anything. Except that if you placated someone, they were likely to go away.
“Got it,” I said.
“She has her finger on the magical pulse of this town. Of any town.”
“Totally. I sensed that.”
“You’ll see. If you get in a bind, she’ll help you out of it.”
I turned back toward the house, slowing when I saw a man standing in the entrance of the cemetery. Thick shoulders reduced down, making his upper body a V. He dominated the space by virtue of both size and presence, seething a sort of malice that had me plucking ingredients out of my magical cloud for a painful sort of cocktail.
He took a step forward, and the weave easily rolled through my hands, similar to a spell from one of Reagan’s books. I found myself incorporating strands and strings of the bright, sweet feeling I’d been reintroduced to through the witches, much like I’d pulled happy thoughts into my spell in Darius’s house right before slamming it into Ja.
“Ohhhh!” I shifted as an explosion of understanding hit me. The happier strands added balance, which actually made the spells stronger.
During my blast of awareness, the spell I’d been weaving fizzled out and I was left standing unprotected in a darkened cemetery with a creep and a possible thug.
“Blooming bollocks,” I muttered, starting the weave again.
“What’s she doing out of the house?” the man asked, his stance wide and arms pushed just slightly away from his body. The posture screamed, “Flee before I bust your head.”
I nearly tap-danced backward, having no problem with following unspoken orders. This wasn’t a confidence issue, it was a keeping-the-peace issue.
“I couldn’t stop her,” Smokey said, tensing. “I tried to talk reason, but she was hellbent on coming in here. She wanted to see the”—he lowered his voice to a whisper—“witches.”
The newcomer’s exhale was loud. “Did you chase them out?”
“No, these are the quiet ones. They’re not hurting anyone,” Smokey replied, and I relaxed a little, realizing they knew each other. Given Smokey’s fierce loyalty to Reagan, I figured I was in the clear.