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“Black tourmaline,” Fia suggested, coming closer. “It’s protective.”
The sisters each scooped up the appropriate stone with thanks. Elena Reyes, who must have overheard their conversation too, slipped over, saying, “I think we all could use some protection these days. I’ve heard some other stories.”
If Gwendolyn Blair had made this statement, there would’ve been no telling the truth of what would come next, as she was known for embellishment, but Elena was different. She was mindful when she spoke, always aware her daughter might be listening. Although Tally wasn’t with her today, that didn’t change the fact that Fia trusted what she’d say.
“What stories?” Katrine asked, rubbing her thumb over the tourmaline.
“Well, one of them is my own,” Elena whispered, a hesitant purse forming on her lips before she continued. “I have a silver hand mirror that belonged to my grandmother, and when I gazed into the glass this morning, I had… no reflection.”
Fia and the Sinclair sisters let out small gasps.
“The room was still reflected, but it felt like… well, it felt like I’d disappeared.” Her hand reached out, and Fia caught it, the link between them a reassurance that Elena was solid and wholly here. More grounded, she went on, “There’s worse. I’ve also heard word of spiders”—they all shuddered—“crawling into cribs and weaving webs over cradles. Ones so unyielding they have to be slashed apart with a knife.”
“Are the babies…” Katrine swallowed, unable to complete the question.
“They’ve all been fine,” Elena hastily reassured them. “But their parents are beside themselves.” Elena peeked at Fia then, her brown eyes wide and worried. “I can’t stop picturing spiders in the walls, crawling over Tally in the night. And… I was hoping for a spell of protection or safekeeping or something. You could craft a spell like that, couldn’t you?”
“Yes, of course,” Fia said immediately, her mind already swirling with soft words for soft magic. Imagining ways to insulate someone from the curse ever seeing them in the first place. Although there was no absolute safeguard, charms and spells did hold some power.
Fia slipped over to the counter, Elena and the sisters following, but she was hardly aware of them as she set pen to paper. She fell deep into the spell, her fingertips tingling, her heart thumping with expectation, thinking of the concealment spell she’d used to slip through Thistledown unseen. She didn’t want to shroud Tally from the world, though—only from the creeping curses.
With care she crafted each line, forever imprinting them in her mind. Once it was completed, Fia gave the spell to Elena, then wrote one each for Katrine and Morella at their request. Word of mouth brought more customers into the shop, both those who’d witnessed a curse and those who feared an encounter, and by day’s end, Fia realized the missing Book of Ribs was about so much more than her and clearing her name. It concerned every last resident of Wakesend.
Retrieving the grimoire was of the utmost importance.
That night, before Andromeda went back to the Hotel Hush, she, Fia, and Penbrook settled at the small table in the kitchen, eating their fill of potato and leek soup brought home from the nameless café, while devising their plan to steal the dark spellbook.
“It’s not stealing if something has already been stolen,” Andromeda, the most eager of the three to crash the Bramble Ball, insisted.
“Undeniably true,” Penbrook agreed, the least concerned about the impending danger.
“Sebastian Smith would undoubtedly think otherwise,” Fia, the only one who seemed to be taking their planning seriously, reminded them. She was a ball of nerves—with fear of both Sebastian and the grimoire. She didn’t trust the intentions of either. “If he catches us—”
“He won’t.” Andromeda pushed away her empty bowl, a smile playing on her lips. “I’ll keep him occupied while you and Penbrook search for the book.”
“And if he’s carrying it on him?” Fia asked, trying to consider every possibility.
Andromeda wiggled her fingers, then walked them across the table, snatching the spoon from Fia’s bowl. “Then I’ll relieve him of it.”
“If the grimoire is in the manor, we’ll hunt it down.” Penbrook grinned at Fia with a twitch of his nose. “I’m sure you’ll be able to sniff it out.”
“You’re hilarious,” Fia said, unamused. She didn’t understand how they could be so confident about it all, but then, it seemed they let very little intimidate them. Because what, after all, was worse than the deaths awaiting them? “Is this enough of a plan?”
Penbrook shrugged. “We have an invitation. We have a distraction. We have a search party.”
“You know, maybe we do need something more.” Andromeda touched the sleeve of her gauzy dress, admiring the sheen. “We need to dress the part too.”
“That’s not—”
Smile widening, Andromeda danced right over Fia’s objections. “Tomorrow, we go shopping.”
CHAPTER 17
The next day it wasn’t Andromeda who convinced Fia to go shopping—it was Dermot Stone. When he came into Sable Spells, he was already in a huff, pushing his way to the counter as if he didn’t see Skye Blackwood already talking to Fia.
They hadn’t been saying much—although Skye might have come into the spellshop frequently, her quiet remove didn’t often invite conversation—but today she’d offered up a sentimental smile, one slow finger tracing an old ink stain. “They’re refinishing the countertop at Poet’s Theory,” she’d said.
“Really? That’s nice,” Fia had replied, assuming that was all Skye would say. Not wanting to press her to talk, she’d continued organizing the display of sleeping tonics and energizing serums Penbrook had somehow mixed together.
