Page 16 of The Hocus Pocus Handbook

Could we be facing interference from beyond our realm?

Impartially, I analyze the facts, reviewing what I have observed in the past twenty-four hours. Nothing unusual. No traces of outside influence. There would have been whispers in wild fae circles if even a hint of outside presence had been known. No, it doesn’t make sense. This didn’t happen because witches made a pact with Summer…

I close the door and bring forth my spiderlings, reviewing what happened in this room. But the spiders show me what the evidence suggests: The Summer delegation drank a lot of wine, frolicked, and sprayed some fluid that made everything shiny and sticky, and then they rolled around in it. Not quite an orgy, but along those lines.

And then they left the room through this door. When I try to send my spiderlings after them, deeper into the palace, the little hunters stop.

I’m missing something.

This is a suite, connected rooms made to house a large party. But the Summer scion would have been assigned to the largest space. I’ll go over that territory again.

Frowning, I move into the primary bedroom with its ice-white furnishings. The doors to the wardrobe stand open, nothing inside. I close them thoughtfully, feeling the tug of…something. I close my eyes and scan in here. Not a tingle. Not a spark.

I’m already intrigued by the Summer scion because for the first time in what has sometimes seemed like an endless existence, I am…stymied.

How did they vanish?

No magic can explain this. There should be traces for me to follow, even if I’m unfamiliar with the one who compelled the parting of the ways. There are always trickles, runnels of energies soaked into nearby objects.

But this room is dead to me, silent as a cell before a prisoner cries out.

I cannot report my failure. My dreadful cousin might cut off my head if I admit that I don’t know where the quarry has gone to ground. Hunting is what I do.

As I turn to depart, a thought strikes. The fluid that they sprayed, did it dry into those feathery strands? I breathe in the scent again. Moonmallow. It blocks magical energy for a time, and used in conjunction with a glamour…

Could it be that simple? Oftentimes the simplest explanation is true. I examine the premises one last time, and when my supposition proves plausible, I laugh.

For the first time since I accepted that I’m alone in the universe, I laugh and laugh and laugh, practically beside myself with glee.

If my theory is correct, the Summer delegation used my information about the secret passages concealed within the palace. They created the signs of a bacchanal here in alliance with some wild fae, and the whole group used moonmallow. Most likely, the wild fae, disguised as the Summer delegation, went into the palace so they would be seen, then not seen, once they dropped the glamour and resumed their own identities. A powerful illusionist must have created the fachan diversion, and allies flipped tables as corroborating evidence. Meanwhile, the actual Summer host crept out through secret tunnels, their own magic concealed.

Two things are absolutely clear in this moment: Lord Liskaal is in no fashion prepared to face the Summer Court, and I cannot wait to see how it all unfolds.

9

A Spell for Mischief and Mishaps

I’m sure you’re surprised to see a spell along these lines. But sometimes, people need to be reminded that everyone’s the same. We all have hopes and dreams, and they need to drop their fancy cake or spill their wine at some formal occasion. Even better if it ruins an expensive outfit. This spell won’t call a plague to their houses or burn anything down, but… Tripping at the wrong time. Dropping something important. Knocking things over at the worst moment. Oh yes.

I call this working the Great Equalizer. Nobody looks important with a sticky pudding down the front of their vest, do they? Only use this if you’re aggrieved and fed up with someone’s nonsense. Unlike most, I’d caution you not to put too much of yourself into it, lest someone trace the mischief back to you. It’s best to go gently and wait. The mischief will find its time, and if you’re lucky, you’ll be around to see it. If you’re even luckier, you’ll only hear about it and escape all blame.

This one is best cast in the dark. You’ll require:

A sharp piece of black tourmaline, uncleansed

Rue, hyssop, and wormwood

A malachite mortar and pestle

One large hawthorn leaf

Grind up the herbs with the mortar and pestle until they turn into a paste. Use the black tourmaline to write a single word on the hawthorn leaf, something simple, like: Fall. Trip. Spill. Picture the spell’s recipient clearly in your mind, then use your magic to incinerate the leaf until not even embers or ashes are left. There should be only smoke on the wind, winging its way toward your target. Cleanse all your tools thoroughly afterward, both the tourmaline and the mortar and pestle. You might also wish to do a cleaning ritual for yourself as well because you don’t want spells of this sort traced back to you, my gem.

Once those matters are tended, wait. It may not happen immediately, but wild spirits have a good sense of comic timing. In my younger days, I had more fun than I should admit with this one, and you take after me in that respect. When you were just a tyke, you toddled to the palace kitchens and took a single bite from every pastry you could reach.

It was sheer chaos, and I laughed myself sick.

Thea