fascino. It is fragile. It can break, subito. You have a lamen, to protect you?”
Harriet knew the word, though she hadn’t heard it in years. She didn’t usually show her amulet to people, but in this case it seemed the right thing to do. She tugged the chain out from beneath her shirtwaist and lifted the ametrine into the light.
Signora Carcano held out her wrinkled hand, palm up. Harriet felt a twinge of reluctance, but it subsided as she unclasped the chain to lay the amulet in the old woman’s hand.
“Ametrine,” the old witch murmured. “Amethyst and citrine together. Healing and clarity, very good. Someone gave you this with much love.”
“My grandmother.”
“Makes you powerful. Your nonna’s power joined with yours.” The strega handed back the amulet. “I wish you don’t do this.”
“I must. She’s in trouble, and it’s partly my fault.”
The old woman thought for a moment, pursing her wrinkled lips. “I advise?” she said.
“Please.”
“Before you create this—this glamour—call on your nonna to help you. To protect you. You have an apprentice?”
“I do.”
“She, too, must help you. I give you a citrine, to keep with the amethyst. You put them together, for balance.”
“Do you have a moonstone in the shop?”
The strega paused, a finger on her chin, then made her way to the cluttered counter where the stones lay in a tumble. She stirred the pile, plucked out one tiny, pearly gem, and brought it back. “Your apprentice?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Is good. All three stones together for your work. To gather the power.”
“Thank you, signora.”
“Prego.” Signora Carcano replaced the adder stone in its bag and wrapped the three crystals in a twist of paper. “You return the uovo di serpente, after.”
“Yes, of course.”
Harriet paid her and tucked her purchases into her handbag. As she left the shop, she heard the strega muttering to herself. She glanced back and saw that Signora Carcano had brought her own lamen out into the dim light. It looked like it might be a large cross, silver perhaps, but gone black with age. She was murmuring a prayer, or an intention.
Harriet hoped it was for success in the task that lay ahead of her.
43
Harriet
How does it work?” Annis asked.
Harriet blew an anxious breath. “I don’t know for certain that it will work,” she admitted. “I’ve never done this before. Grandmother Beryl only did it once, and she never wanted to do it a second time.”
“Just tell me what to do.”
Harriet’s nervousness eased in the presence of Annis’s trust and courage. She had told her about the strega’s warning. She understood the risk they were taking.
“We’ll put the stones together, where the candle flame will shine on them.”
Annis accepted Harriet’s ametrine from her hand and removed her own moonstone from around her neck. She set them on the worktable, where the amethyst and citrine and the little moonstone from the strega waited. “Why do stones have such power?”
“They’re the stuff of the earth,” Harriet said. “Try to imagine how old they are, how long they lay waiting to be found. They carry the energy of eons inside them.”
Harriet had spent the previous evening preparing an incense. She had chopped several sprigs of thyme, for courage, and added shavings of sandalwood and ground cedar needles for protection. She explained the mixture to Annis. “The incense is to help us draw on our best selves, our strength and our boldness. Once we begin we must not look back, and we must act quickly, before the glamour fades.”
“Will they really not be able to see her?”
“If we are successful.” She took the little burlap bag from her pocket and slid out the adder stone.
“Oh!” Annis said softly. “Is that it?”
“It is. Signora Carcano says it’s Roman, very old. I believe we can trust her.”
“May I touch it?”
“Of course.” She handed the cool bit of stone to Annis, who took it in both hands, cupping it between them. She closed her eyes, and her lips parted in wonder.
“It’s very old, Aunt Harriet. So many hands have touched it. They—they leave an imprint. I can almost see them.”
Harriet accepted the adder stone back into her own hand. “I don’t feel it,” she said ruefully.
“Perhaps I’m imagining it,” Annis hastened to say.
“No, no, Annis. Trust yourself. Part of what we do is imagination, of course, but it’s also instinct. Ignoring your instinct, your intuition, will make it shrivel and die. It will atrophy, and that would be a terrible waste of your ability.”
Harriet drew the blinds so she and Annis could focus on