Page 14 of Summer L.A.W.

Crystal’s eyes drifted to the shell on the table. “Maybe it’s the kind of hurricane you don’t see on radar.”

That earned her a round of uneasy glances.

Magda pushed the charts aside. “We should still prep for high-seas interference from Crystal’s ‘frenemies’. Ward reinforcements, wear the sea-glass pendants at all times, emergency evac routes in case she tries to push through the bluff.”

“And we keep an eye on those coordinates,” Joell added. “If so much as a seagull sneezes out there, I want to know.”

Crystal didn’t answer. She just reached for the shell, half-expecting it to pulse in her hand. It didn’t. But in her head, the countdown kept ticking, as steady and inescapable as the tide.

4

After dinner, Sahara had the library table covered in notes, charts, and exactly one coffee mug that read Witches Do It With Wonder. Victoria was on the monitor sipping from a mug that read “British Fashion is Pants.” A tease to lighten Crystal’s mood.

Sahara tapped her pen against the edge of the notebook. “We’ve tried tracking spells, emotional resonance readings, even magnetic imaging.” She sighed, flipping open her phone. “Time to call in the European branch.”

Across from her, Crystal lifted one eyebrow. “The what?”

Sahara was already dialing. “Bas,” she said as soon as the line clicked, her voice warming. “Got a situation. One of ours just leaked power all over the Eastern Seaboard, and I think she’s got water magic in her bones.”

A faint, accented chuckle drifted through the speaker. “Let me guess… Your blonde sharpshooter is stirring up the Atlantic.”

Crystal leaned in. “How do you know about that?”

“Because,” Bas said smoothly, “I read the weekly reports, and your week sounded like a storm in heels. You should do a DNA enchantment.”

Sahara perked up. “You mean the lineage spell?”

“Exactly,” Bas said. “It will tell you if her magic runs in the blood or if it’s an acquired anomaly. If it’s bloodline, the sea magic could go back centuries. She might even have natural protection from the sea.”

Crystal folded her arms. “What if it says I’m just a fluke with good aim?”

“Well, then, you still have good aim,” Bas said.

Crystal rolled her eyes.

The call ended with Bas promising to send the specific ritual. Sahara turned to Crystal with a gleam in her eyes. “Ready to spit in a cup?”

“That’s the least weird thing I’ll have done this week,” Crystal said.

They set up the spell at the far end of the table—a circle of salt, a silver and black enamel basin half-filled with water from the nearest shoreline. Crystal placed both hands on the basin’s rim and let Sahara murmur the incantation Bas had sent.

The black water stilled, then swirled. Images shimmered in the depths. Rigged sailing ships on stormy seas, a woman in a long coat standing at a cliff’s edge, her hands raised against a squall. Her blue eyes were exactly like Crystal’s.

Words etched themselves in silver across the basin: Descendant of the Watchers of the Channel. Navigatrix of Bound Currents. Bloodline sworn to guard the British coast in war and storm.

Crystal swallowed. “I think the Watchers of the Channel are from the Napoleonic era.”

Sahara smiled. “Looks like your ancestors are Sea witches. Hopefully, the rare, nice, kind who can find anything in open water and change the course of a storm.”

Crystal looked down at her reflection, now ringed with spectral compasses and tide charts. “Well,” she said softly, “that explains a few things.”

“Like?” Sahara asked.

“Why I’ve never experienced more than the threat of a storm when onboard a ship. They all seemed to miss me.”

“Good,” said Joell, stepping into the library like she’d been eavesdropping for the last five minutes, waiting for a dramatic reveal. She carried a mug that read Ask Me About My Coven and had the air of someone prepared to start assigning jobs. “Now that we know what you are, we can decide what to do with you.”

Crystal eyed her warily. “That’s vaguely ominous.”