Page 18 of Summer L.A.W.

“Maybe the key’s safer underwater than on our library table.” Brianna folded her arms, jaw set.

Sahara leaned in, notebook already open, eyes gleaming like she’d been waiting her whole life for cursed brass. “Or maybe this is a chance to study one of the oldest sailors’ wards we’ve ever seen. If I can map the sigils, we might⁠—”

“Lose our faces to a sea-wraith before lunch?” Crystal cut in.

Lioness cleared her throat. “Or we could stop bickering and put it in a containment circle before it decides to pulse harder and crack the solid mahogany table.”

“Seconded,” Victoria said quickly, dabbing under her nose like the wards still had her bleeding. “Preferably something with triple reinforcements and very, very far away from my new shoes.”

The compass throbbed again, harder this time. The bird shrieked, wings flaring wide. Books toppled from the nearest shelves with a crash.

Joell raised her voice over the chaos. “Enough. Circle first. Debate later.”

Magda was already fumbling through her bag. “I’ve got salt. And chalk. And, uh—half a bath bomb?”

“That’s not going to help,” Crystal said.

“Depends how stubborn the entity is,” Magda muttered, already starting to sketch a crude ring around the table’s top.

The air thickened, briny and metallic, as though the sea itself had been dragged into the library. Mason, still hovering by the doors, tightened his grip on the handle.

The compass pulsed again, and this time, faint whispering spilled into the room. The sound was unintelligible, but rising, layered, urgent.

Joell’s expression didn’t flicker. “Ladies,” she said, calm as if she were asking for cream in her tea, “I think our salty guest would like to speak.”

5

Magda knelt on the marble floor, chalk in one hand, a dish of salt in the other. Her pentacle sprawled around the table like a star-shaped no-fly zone, nearly complete. Sweat dampened her temple. “One more line,” she muttered. “Just one more, and we’ll have whatever it is ready for containment.”

“Do it fast,” Joell said, eyes locked on the compass. The thing pulsed on the table, water slamming against its glass like waves battering a hull. “Because it’s watching us.”

Before anyone could blink, the compass launched itself off the table, straight at Crystal.

She barely had time to squeak before it smacked into her chest and clung there like a barnacle with abandonment issues.

“What? No!” she yelped, staggering backward. “I’m not your chosen one; I don’t even like sea junk!”

Her bird shrieked, talons flashing as it dove, catching the brass edge and wrenching it free. With furious wingbeats, it dragged the object toward the half-finished containment circle.

“Drop it in, sweetheart!” Crystal called, bracing herself against the table. “Make Mommy proud!”

But the compass wasn’t playing along. Its inky water thrashed, and just as the bird crossed the chalk boundary, a voice ripped through the room. The words clawed inside their skulls:

“THE DEAD SHALL RISE!”

The rest was obliterated in the explosion. Light seared. Sound shattered. The compass blew apart in a burst that flung the witches across the library, scattering chalk dust and salt like confetti at the world’s worst party. Sahara’s books toppled, mugs cracked, and the air stunk of ozone, like an electrical fire.

Crystal hit the floor hard, ears ringing. Bird fluttered down beside her, smoking faintly, feathers frizzed and barbequed.

“Okay,” she croaked, coughing. “That was not a normal compass.”

“Not a prophecy either,” Magda wheezed, dragging herself upright. “That was a threat.”

Joell pushed hair out of her face, already steady, already commanding. “We should move the mansion.”

Brianna blinked. “To where?”

“Tennessee,” Sahara said flatly. “Our usual place in the mountains. We’ll be out of reach. The wards will reset. We’ll have room to think.” She shook chalk dust off her safari shirt.