Page 19 of The Filigree Key

“Staging a coup,” I answered nonchalantly.

Shari heaved a nervous sigh, Daphne snorted in surprise, and Flora whooped. She threw her fist into the air, nearly losing her footing on her perch. A log rolled loose and tumbled towards the firepit, snagging a stray string of a nearby skein of yarn on its way. Daphne lunged forward and snatched the skein with her large square teeth before it could be pulled into the flames after the log, and Shari nearly fainted in relief.

The honey badger’s eyes sparkled. “That’s—”

“You shush up,” Daphne said. “No one says another word until Meadow explains herself.”

So I did. I told them everything from summoning the portal, its backlash, the filigree key, my new identity as a primal witch, the Stag Man’s illusions, my memories returning, the updated wedding timetable, everything. And to their immense credit, they believed me. As much as they could.

With a groan, the honey badger started rooting around in the stack of firewood again. “I think I need a drink. Shari, you still keep that bottle of cider the woodchucks gave you around here?”

“I moved it. From the last time you tried to mooch.”

“Now’s not the time to be stingy! My world is being turned inside out, upside down, and then wrung out like one of Mrs. Bilberry’s dishrags. And you know that badger’s grip strength.”

Grumbling, Shari leaned down, shooed Sawyer to a different side under the cot, and produced the bottle in question. She yanked the cork out with her teeth and took a big swig first before handing it off to the honey badger.

“I want to believe this,” Daphne began slowly as the bottle was passed around, “because I trust you as my friend, but you must admit, Meadow, some of this sounds very far-fetched. You’re talking about an entire town being held hostage under one illusion. The magic required is, is—”

“Extensive.” I nodded.

It was my turn with the cider, and I paused to have my sip so I could pour some into Daphne’s mouth, considering she didn’t have hands. When the cool liquid slid down my own throat, a memory of easier days came with the familiar sweet taste. The hobs hadn’t lost their touch, even if they were woodchucks now.

“Which is why Wystan and the Brotherhood have been rounding up all the supes, Fair Folk, and the oldest of the forest creatures to sustain it,” I elaborated. “I’ve seen them in the dungeon. He drains them so he doesn’t have to use his own magic. Or at least, less of it.”

“I’ll kill him,” Flora seethed. If it was one thing she hated, whether she was garden gnome or honey badger, it was the abuse of Fair Folk, especially if they were targeted solely for their magic. “I’ll—”

“You can’t,” I said. “You’re a beast, Flora, and ultimately under his control.”

Yet something Ossian had said when I’d been complaining about the vermin in my walls had me suspecting there was a loophole to exploit. Wasn’t that the fae way? And how poetic it would be to use his own methods against him.

“Mice have pitiful memories and I’m not around to constantly remind them.” Perhaps it was the beast’s mind he was influencing and not the beast itself.

“But I think I know how to solve that problem.” I smiled, my heart lightening with optimism. “It’s time for you all to wake up.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

“There are three pillars of power for coven witches,” I explained. “Their own cores, their grimoire, and the communal strength of their coven. We call covens Circles of Power because of that unity—even the weakest member can be made stronger by their fellows.” I gestured to all of us ringed around the room, even Sawyer, who now sat on my lap. “This is our Circle of Power. Our friendship.

“That’s the easy part, all done. Now for the trickier bit. Most think a grimoire is only a collection of spells. But it is also a creed, each spell adding to a carefully curated set of beliefs. A purpose. And that, I know we have as well.

“You don’t remember this yet, and I didn’t know it at the time, but we began forging our own coven in the Tussock woods. You all came together for one purpose—to help me create a spell. First to hunt down a demon to free the curse on my family’s grimoire, but also to free Redbud of the Alder Ranch Blight. Our coven strengthened again on the bridge, when we united to protect Flora.”

“I needed protection?” Flora whispered to Daphne.

“Honestly, dear, I love you, but you must learn when to shut your mouth. To be perfectly clear, this is one of those times.” Daphne shook out her mane. “Go on, Meadow.”

“I need you to want this,” I told them. “There will be no going back. The illusion that has been tricking you has also been your protection. You will be giving that up, so you must be strong. Stronger than you’ve ever been. And you can be, because we’ll all be in this together. But you must make the choice now.”

“For Redbud,” Flora said immediately. She plucked the crochet hook out of Shari’s fingers and clamped her paw around her friend’s. Then she seized whatever of Daphne’s she could comfortably grip, which just happened to be her ear. “I assume we much be joined through touch for this to work, yes?”

“For Redbud,” Daphne echoed. Mindful of Shari’s shelves, she stretched out her hind leg until I could hold on to her hoof.

“Redbud’s too big,” Shari mumbled, trembling. “B-but I can do it for you. My friends. And Charlie.”

I smiled at the porcupine, squeezing her paw. “It’s perfect, Shari. Now let’s focus on something we’re all familiar with. Shari’s hut, I think.”

“Um, why?” Flora wanted to know. “Maybe a shared event would be better? Like our last afternoon tea when I was going to get me a pound or two of his flesh for humiliating you.” Her grin was positively feral. “Still might just. Ooo, this memory makes me so happy.”