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FROM THE LITTLE GLASS OWL’S BOOK OF LUCKY CHARMS AND AUSPICIOUS OMENS, COMPILED BY ELECTRA GLASS

THIRTY-SIX

ALL TOGETHER NOW

The minute the door opened, the temperature in the room changed.

Tempest didn’t recognize the man in the doorway. But she knew him by the room’s reaction: Maida was on her feet before anyone else, crossing the floor with the speed of someone who’d been tightly wound and holding back. The oversized man caught her with practiced ease. He was used to catching her. He’d been doing it for a very long time.

“That’s Buffalo Westabrook,” Dan leaned to whisper in her ear. “I think it’s safe to say that he and the director are home safe. Thank the stars.”

Tempest felt tears coming to her eyes as she watched the reunion. Buffalo held Maida with his eyes closed for a moment or two, before he opened them and took in the scene. Granny Luna stood nearby, beaming with carefree satisfaction as if she’d never truly been worried.

Arthur stood to one side waiting his turn, as an impromptu line formed to greet and embrace the travelers and welcome them home.

Across the room Dan and Will looked at each other. Will nodded at Dan, and Dan raised his hand in a wave. He tilted his head toward Tempest.

“The woman standing beside Buffalo is Amrita Berman. She’s the Director of the Society for the Protection of Natural Magic,” Dan explained, whispering privately to her again. She liked the closeness of his breath in her ear and the brush of his stubble against her neck. She felt herself leaning in.

But at the same time, on her other side, Priya pinched her leg. “Oh, my shimmering spellbooks, Tempest! Do you know who that woman is? That’s Amrita Berman! She’s the director!”

Suddenly, without any sound or warning, Fortune spread her wings. She left her nest and crossed the room in a single beat, floating silently over everyone’s heads. She landed, quite decisively and protectively on the director’s shoulder.

The woman went still. She looked at Fortune with an air of certain recognition and reached up to touch the owl’s feathers with a careful reverence. The room was loud but Tempest could read the words on the director’s lips as she stared into Fortune’s eyes.

Hello, old friend.

And then, as if she sensed who was watching her, the director’s eyes found Tempest’s.

“Do you mind if I go speak with Will?” Dan asked.

“Of course not, go, go!” Tempest shooed him away.

“I’m just going to check on the Hell’s Belles,” Priya pushed back her chair. “They went to round up some snacks, and I want to make sure the kitchen is still standing.”

Amrita was coming toward her now. Even in her still wet and weary state, she crossed the room with purpose. She stopped in front of Tempest and studied her in much the same way that people had been gawping at her all evening, as a result of her unbinding. But Amrita had not seen her before the unbinding, so who knew why she was staring at her in such a manner.

“May I see?” she asked, and gestured toward Tempest’s forearm. Fortune hopped down onto the table between them.

Tempest pushed up her sleeves and held out her arms. The marks were different every time she looked. It was like the branches were a living thing, always growing and changing.

Amrita studied the marks for a long moment, turning Tempest’s arms over to see the branching and the buds and to read the names written in the leaves.

“I know your line,” she said. She pointed to a small leaf near the base of the vine, right at the pulse point of Tempest’s wrist. The leaf was inscribed with Aramaic-looking letters. Amrita looked up. “This is Soraya. I’ve met her. She’s your ancestor. Thirty-three witch generations back, approximately. She was remarkable.” A pause. “You have a bit of her in you.”

Tempest said nothing for a moment.

“I’m Amrita Berman,” the woman said. “Director of the Society for the Protection of Natural Magic. Currently in need of a shower and a change of clothes. I hope you’ll excuse me for that.”

“I’m Tempest Glass,” Tempest smiled. “I’m between jobs. Currently, I drive a book bus.”

“That sounds lovely,” Amrita said. “How do you decide where to go?”

“I have an atlas that guides me,” Tempest admitted. “Usually, that is. It hasn’t steered me wrong yet. Although it does tend to guide you toward your destiny, more than a specific destination.”

The tension suddenly went out of Amrita’s shoulders. It was subtle, but Tempest caught it—the relief of someone setting down a heavy weight they’d been carrying for a long time.

“It’s safe.” She sighed. She closed her eyes for a moment. “Thank the stars. That’s… good.”