Page 122 of A Time of Witches

“Three times,” Asher mumbled almost to himself.

“Ah, you remembered.” Aunt Jacqueline’s smile was one of pride. “There’s more of the earth in you than you realize, my boy.”

Lilith sat beside the older woman, who indicated each item in the bowl. “We also have yarrow to lift the veil between our worlds and selenite to prevent anything from blocking our entry. Elder wood and labradorite to help connect us to where we need you to go. Rosemary for memory and recall, so you don’t forget where you came from. And thyme to ground you and call you back.”

Dragon nestled against Lilith’s side as the firelight reflected something inside the bag hanging from Aunt Jacqueline’s shoulder. Lilith frowned. “Is that a knife?”

Aunt Jacqueline indicated Asher sit between Lilith and herself, completing the circle around the fire, before answering. “Of course it is. You can’t ask the earth for so much power and not be willing to offer something in return.”

“You are already sacrificing your gifts for this,” Lilith said softly. “Is that not enough?”

Aunt Jacqueline offered a gentle smile, one of acceptance at her own fate. “That is my sacrifice. You, my dear, require just a bit of blood.”

“Do I need to offer blood too?” Asher asked.

Toby dropped his whole weight into Asher’s lap, and Asher’s breath came out in a grunt.

“I am leading the spell and Lilith is sliding back in time, which is why we must sacrifice,” Aunt Jacqueline replied. “You are here only for your power. No sacrifice needed.”

“Sure, that makes sense,” Asher replied with a tone that suggested it made no sense at all.

Aunt Jacqueline ignored him and handed Lilith the knife. “Just enough to dribble onto the plants.”

“Dribble seems like a fair amount of blood,” Asher muttered.

Lilith accepted the knife, startled by its weight. By how solid the handle appeared against the transparency of her hands. “Whatever it takes.” Flexing the fingers of her left hand outward, she positioned the blade over the heel of her palm.

“With intention,” Aunt Jacqueline said vehemently. “And make sure the blood catches the moonlight.”

Lilith took a deep breath and adjusted her position, so the moon bathed her left palm in silvery light.

Closing her eyes, she focused her thoughts.

Let me see Jacinda so I can tell her what I know, so Sybil may live. So, I may continue to exist.

The force of her longing sent a pang through her chest even as a prickling sensation warmed over her birthmark, echoing her intent.

She pressed the blade to her skin, shocked how easily the razored edge slid into her flesh. Blood trickled out, landing pat, pat, pat against the herbs. The metallic scent mingled with honeysuckle into a macabre perfume. Lilith moved her injured hand, ensuring every item in the bowl was sufficiently spattered with blood.

Aunt Jacqueline nodded and took the knife before handing Lilith antiseptic and gauze, a kind consideration given Lilith was still dripping everywhere.

While the old woman assembled the items in front of her, Lilith hastily wrapped her hand. The wound burned, the discomfort pulsing in time with her heartbeat, like her birthmark, all throbbing to the same rhythm.

With a graceful swirl of her wrist, Aunt Jacqueline spoke in a low voice, the tone melodic as before. “Let the thread of time unwind, to reveal what we must find. Return her once all is said and please ensure she is not dead.”

Lilith gaped at Aunt Jacqueline.

“Was that really necessary?” Asher asked dryly.

Aunt Jacqueline shrugged. “You don’t get what you don’t ask for.”

A white glow glinted in the bowl and blue flames licked over the herbs and stones, bathing the offering in a brilliance that made Lilith squint. The pungent fragrance of herbs filled the air and motes of light danced up from the bowl.

Aunt Jacqueline held out her hands, which Lilith and Asher each took before clasping their own, completing the circle.

A flash of memories flickered through Lilith’s mind, ones that did not belong to her. Asher as a small boy, making his own breakfast amid a deteriorating kitchen littered with empty bottles, a couple shouting in the background. Children laughing, mocking. The frenzy of paint on canvas. A young woman who disappears…

Then there was a girl, Aunt Jacqueline, being told she was not good enough for the legacy of Brackenmere Manor.