Mixing Magics, page 22
Dedication
For my Patrick.
Thank you for letting me borrow your name and share your life.
I choose you in every dimension.
Epigraph
Fin’s Prophecy
The key is the story you tell yourself.
About who you are and who you may become.
Lives are stories.
Rooted in the telling, but also changed.
Clutched too tightly, stories cannot grow.
And grow they must.
And what story isn’t made better for a bit of mystery?
Questions asked together, spoken aloud, or held silently in our hearts keep us connected.
Find your story—the thread only you can weave in the tapestry of magic. But it must be true. Only then will you find us. Only then will you bring her home.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Part One: Blood Moons and Sneaky Boyfriends Are a Messy Mix chapter one: the blood moon
chapter two: messy memories
chapter three: the headless boyfriend
chapter four: comparing notes
chapter five: deducti-whatevers
chapter six: melting clues and learning curves
chapter seven: a very special kind of disappointing
chapter eight: a devilry of a banishing
chapter nine: being a really bad girlfriend
chapter ten: good, bad, and complicated
Part Two: The Pain of Knowing Just a Little chapter eleven: up the rattlesnake
chapter twelve: when is a clue not a clue?
chapter thirteen: keeping secrets
chapter fourteen: sometimes you just have to do it yourself
chapter fifteen: a witch and her mystery
chapter sixteen: classic crowley magic
chapter seventeen: un-brie-lievable circumstances
chapter eighteen: the blood fairy
chapter nineteen: jumping to conclusions
chapter twenty: grandma orla’s not so nemesis
chapter twenty-one: a (metaphorical) blizzard of confusion
chapter twenty-two: the thread only i can weave
chapter twenty-three: blood is easy, the truth is harder
Part Three: Forgotten Answers chapter twenty-four: all things unsubstantiated
chapter twenty-five: the actual literal worst
chapter twenty-six: i’m not at liberty to say
chapter twenty-seven: the bamboozle ballet
chapter twenty-eight: the weird compass bubble situation
chapter twenty-nine: an unauthorized field trip
chapter thirty: the squelch
chapter thirty-one: the memorabilia
chapter thirty-two: a popular memory
chapter thirty-three: finding faults
chapter thirty-four: the first unbinding
chapter thirty-five: the start of something new
chapter thirty-six: mixing magics
Epilogue: Winter Solstice
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Clare Edge
Copyright
About the Publisher
Part One
Blood Moons and Sneaky Boyfriends Are a Messy Mix
chapter one
the blood moon
I meant to conjure the demon. But I didn’t mean for the Concealer to be quite so good at its job.
“Cai? Are you still there?” I hiss into the darkness.
The wind rustles through the leaves and something howls in the distance—distracting Clíodhna, my brand-new diabetes alert dog. But Cai doesn’t answer.
Until he does.
“Is that a trick question?” he whispers.
“Well, if it was, you would have failed.”
“So, I’m just supposed to ignore my girlfriend when she asks me a question?” he asks.
My stomach does a little flip at the world girlfriend. I like that Cai’s my boyfriend, though I really don’t know how I feel about that term. It’s not itchy-wool-sweater bad; it’s kinda pants-with-a-too-tight-waistband bad. I really like Cai, but I’m just not used to it yet. There’s a lot I’m not used to. Being Cai’s girlfriend (okay, it’s not that bad), having diabetes (absolutely that bad), and not having Grandma Orla here for the Blood Moon ritual, or in this dimension at all (totally, completely, absolutely the very, very worst).
“Um, Ber?” Cai’s voice is barely loud enough to cross the space between us.
“Don’t go too far, okay?” I whisper. “The Concealer is doing a very good job and I don’t want to lose you.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Cai assures me. The emotion in his voice pinches something deep in my chest. It’s only been a few weeks since my grandma disappeared into the demon dimension with our cat Darjeeling, an entire coven of rogue blood witches, and the Mystery demon I accidentally bound to me. I’m honestly surprised we didn’t cancel this full moon gathering. But Mom thinks we need to keep up with rituals.
At least Clío seems excited. She circles me, her tail wagging furiously. It’s her first coven gathering since she came home from the shelter with us a few days ago.
We’ve taken to calling her Clío, which is probably not an appropriate way to shorten the name of a very venerable (and slightly terrifying) figure of Irish mythology. But she seems to like it. Honestly, she seems to like most things. Another thing I’m very much not used to, since before her I’ve only ever had cats. And cats are pretty indifferent to everything. I think I understand cats better.
“Am I low?” I ask, holding out my hand, palm down so Clío can alert. Cai and I have taught her to bump her nose into the palm of my hand if my blood sugar is too low and bring her muzzle down on the top of my hand if I’m too high. Not high like that. High as in my blood sugar is too high. Because of diabetes.
Clío just wags her tail. Not low then, I guess. Or she’s already forgotten the alerts. Cai worked on them with her for hours yesterday though, so I’m probably fine.
“Ber? Did Clío do her business?” my mom’s voice calls through the darkness, making me jump.
“Yeah, almost done,” I call back. I sneak one last look at the spot where the Concealer demon is hiding Cai, take a deep breath, and walk back toward Mom and most of the rest of the Bitterroot Coven. It’s the first full moon since everything happened up on Flathead Lake, and we’re gathered together at a secret bend in the Clark Fork River.
Mom doesn’t know Cai’s here. No one does. Well, except me. And Clío. And the cats, Frangi and Mars. So, all the animals know, but none of the people. And since Cai’s the only mind mage present, he’s the only one the cats could tell anyway.
Clío and Mars chase each other around my feet as I walk back toward the crackling fire, and I take in what’s left of our coven. Okay, that’s kind of a dramatic way to say that, but Grandma Orla is like the sun, and her not being here has left all of us without anything to revolve around. I’m honestly surprised Dutch Haemon didn’t swoop in and try to take over. But he wouldn’t stoop to attend a piddly little full moon ritual with us anyway.
Mom and Dad are closest to the fire, sipping something from a thermos. Mom’s wearing a long red jacket, and her red hair looks almost as dark as blood in the light from the fire. Dad wears his usual jeans and a flannel. At least it’s a red flannel. We’re all wearing something red to celebrate the Blood Moon, which is also known as the Hunter’s Moon. You’d think it would be a big deal for blood witches, but we keep it kind of low-key since the biggest holiday of the blood witch year is less than two weeks away.
Samhain.
It sounds like sow-when. It’s the holiday called Halloween by geenin—nonmagic people. And I am determined to get Grandma Orla back to our dimension by then. Which is why I’ve conjured a secret Concealer demon and hidden Cai under a tree.
Coven gatherings are super private, like all blood witch magic. Cai and I would get in so much trouble if anyone realized he’s here. But I can deal with trouble. And it’s not like things could get much worse. Besides, Cai’s here to gather intel. As a mind mage, he’s sort of (almost) a human lie detector. And I think my family has been keeping secrets from me.
My sister, Maeve, waves me over to the other side of the fire. Maeve is three years older than me, a good six inches taller, and looks almost nothing like me and Mom. We’re both soft, with round faces and big legs, big hips, and big red hair. Maeve is all angles and pin-straight dark brown hair that she’s wearing braided into an elaborate crown. Her makeup is dramatic—smoky liner framing her bright green eyes. Her red dress is so dark it’s practically black and it falls to her ankles, hovering just above her black combat boots. She looks exactly how you’d think a stylish teen witch would look, and she probably didn’t even have to conjure a single demon to do it. I’m absolutely not jealous.
She’s chatting quietly with Drew Haemon and the Vasquezes, Juan and Taylor, who make room in the small circle for me as I approach.
“Ber, how’s the diabetes?” Taylor asks, and his husband, Juan, whacks him in the arm.
“You can’t just ask someone how ‘the diabetes’ is, Tay,” Juan says, then turns to me. “I’m sorry about him.”
“No worries,” I say automatically.
“No, absolutely worries,” Maeve says. “That’s not cool.”
Taylor holds his hands out in front of him.
“Sorry, sorry,” he says. “I was just trying to ask how things were going.
“No worries,” I say again. When Maeve glares at me, I add, “Diabetes always sucks, but it’s a bit easier with Clío.”
“Oh my goddess!” a voice squeaks in a pitch so high I’m surprised Clío isn’t the only one who can hear it. I turn to see Francesca, Juan and Taylor’s nine-year-old daughter. “She’s so cute!”
“She’s my diabetes alert dog,” I explain as the younger girl reaches out to pet Clío’s head.
“Wait, that means she shouldn’t pet her, right?” Taylor asks, grabbing his daughter’s hand before she can reach my dog.
“It means she needs to ask first,” I explain. “She can smell my blood sugar, so she’s working right now.”
“Cool,” Francesca says. “But I could maybe pet her later?” she asks in a smaller, hopeful voice.
“Absolutely,” I say, and she beams.
“Was this the magical experiment you mentioned at the equinox gathering?” Juan asks.
“Um . . .” I glance at Maeve. I didn’t really think through how to explain Clío to the rest of our coven. And I’d completely forgotten Grandma Orla had mentioned that we were going to attempt a magical experiment about my blood sugar. She didn’t know that Maeve and I had already performed said experiment and I’d bound myself to a Mystery demon, and the rest of the coven definitely didn’t know that. And they probably need to keep not knowing that.
“Yes!” Maeve says brightly. “Actually, do you think you could train cats to smell blood sugar?” she asks Drew. Her voice is all bright and I can tell she’s trying to change the subject, and I appreciate it. “Once you get Thirteen Kittens up and running?”
The conversation shifts to the witch-cat breeding facility Drew is opening down the Bitterroot. Phew. Maeve’s a genius.
“We’re actually expecting our first litter any day now,” Drew says.
“Can I have one?” Francesca asks, tugging at both of her dads’ hands.
Maeve takes advantage of their distraction and pulls me aside.
“Okay, we definitely need to figure out how we explain Clío’s training without mentioning Cai,” she whispers. My eyes go wide and I wonder if she knows he’s hidden nearby, but then I realize she just means in general. Our family might be getting better about trusting other magical people who aren’t blood witches, but the rest of our coven is not ready for that.
“I mean, diabetes dogs exist,” I whisper back. “That’s what we told the school, that she’s just a trained diabetes alert dog.”
“Oh yeah, right. Cool.” Maeve nods, but I can tell that keeping secrets is starting to weigh on her too. She squeezes her ceremonial dagger so tight her knuckles are white in the firelight.
“When we get Grandma Orla back, she’ll help explain all of it,” I say.
Mom starts to call the coven gathering officially to order, and I reach for my own ceremonial pin, which should be in a box in the pocket of my dress. But then I remember I lost it a few weeks ago and we haven’t had the time or resources to make me a new one yet. Blood witches like us conjure by making intentional blood sacrifices. Usually this is just a little drop of blood from a finger. We have ceremonial pins and daggers that are kept super sharp, so they do minimal damage. Since September, I’ve just been using the lancet that’s part of my blood sugar testing kit. Which normally seems totally fine, but as the other witches get their daggers ready, I feel a bit silly using my lancet. Even as I pull out the “Sir Ber” lady knight bag Maeve got me that I keep it in.
We spread out around the fire, forming a loose circle. The cats take their places at the cardinal directions: north, south, east, and west. With Dar in the demon dimension, Frangi is the most senior witch-cat, so she takes her place in the east. Closest to Ireland, and the source of our magic.
That thought sends my mind spiraling into a hundred questions—most of them directly related to Fin, the Mystery demon I accidentally conjured with my sister at the last full moon. The Mystery demon I miss for about a million different, complicated reasons. And the Mystery demon who said the source of our magic was Mystery demons, right before they disappeared back into the demon dimension, taking Grandma Orla and Dar with them.
It is our magic, our lives and stories that give you your powers in this dimension. That’s what they said.
I shove the thought aside for later as Mom laughs loudly. I look up just in time to see her and Dad kiss. Maeve and I exchange a can you believe our parents are like this look. Well, it’s actually an aren’t you glad our parents are like this? look. They can be totally embarrassing, but they’re also awesome.
They would be even more awesome if they’d stop pretending anything is normal or okay without Grandma Orla here.
But I don’t have time to think about that right now either. Because then the ritual begins.
chapter two
messy memories
“Thank you for gathering with us tonight,” Mom says. “To honor the Blood Moon, we sacrifice a memory. Something we cherish. A beloved remembrance of a beloved. In this way we honor our ancestors.”
Dad passes around scraps of paper as Maeve distributes quills.
“When we must rely on the memories of others, we maintain trust within our coven,” Mom continues.
The idea is one I know well. The words are familiar, though it’s strange to hear the phrase in Mom’s voice instead of Grandma Orla’s. And for the first time, I question whether or not it’s true. I question my mom and our traditions. Which makes me feel like Maeve. She’s the queen of questions. It’s not like I just go along with everything, but things have always been more complicated for me than they are for her. I’m the one with extra power in my blood. I’m the one who is bigger than the world seems to want me to be. I’m the one with diabetes.
Maeve is the one whose blood isn’t always powerful enough to conjure. The one who memorizes every spell and invents new ones when there isn’t a good enough one already written. She’s the one who is secretly dating a weather witch. And I look to her, expecting to see my own hesitancy on her thinner, older face. But her eyes are closed, paper and quill clutched in one hand, dagger in the other.
“Please, bring your chosen recollection to the forefront of your mind and linger in it one last time,” Mom says, casting mugwort into the fire. The smell of sage fills my nostrils and Clío whines at my side. And she’s right, this part of being a blood witch is really weird.
I thought I’d made up my mind. I knew this was coming. I knew I needed to pick a memory of Grandma Orla. Because she’s my most beloved. But now, the idea of giving up any memory of her feels impossible. Which is why I have a few memories on deck. That I was supposed to have chosen between before now. Oh well. No time like the present.
Option A: The Aggregate Demon.
When she was thirteen, Maeve secretly conjured an Aggregate, though I think she was actually going for a Breed, which is a class B Multiply. I know she was as shocked as anyone that the spell worked. But that night, when Mom and Dad were on date night and Grandma Orla was distracted, Maeve conjured an Aggregate and let it loose in my room.
By the time Grandma Orla found me—because Maeve left me alone with the dang thing, even though I was only nine—I was sitting on the floor of my room with a slimy yellow sluglike demon the size of a loaf of bread that was churning out an ever-growing army of stuffed animals as I presented each of my snuggle friends to it in turn.
But as I let the memory play through my mind, I can tell it won’t be enough. For the magic to work, the memory has to really cost you something. It has to be more than fun; it has to be deeply meaningful. So I let the next memory play through my mind.
Option B: My Diagnosis.
This is not a fun memory, and it wasn’t a good day. But it wasn’t a bad day either. Because we finally had an answer for why I was so sick, for why I’d lost so much weight and my mouth was so sticky. For why I had to pee all the time. Mom and Grandma Orla sat on either side of me, each holding one of my hands as the doctor told me. I could tell she’d told them first, and part of me was angry about that. I was almost thirteen, my birthday was only a few weeks away. Why didn’t she think she could tell me at the same time?
