Spells Trouble (Sisters of Salem #1) - P. C. Cast Page 0,87

together. Well, unless you push them through the Greek gate and seal it behind them. Then the body will crumble and continue to decompose, and the Cyclops will be banished back to Tartarus.”

Hunter blew out a long, sighing breath. “So, that’s the best way to get rid of it?”

“Indeed,” said Xena. She paused and lapped delicately at the cocoa before continuing, “Otherwise you take the risk of the Cyclops killing someone else and hiding inside his or her body.”

“But before we even think about how we’re gonna do all of that, don’t we need to strengthen the gates?” said Mercy. “I mean, it’s already super awful. The Fenrir caused Mom’s death. Then the Cyclops has caused the deaths of at least three people—including whomever he’s hiding inside. Think of how bad it would be if even just one more monster broke through another gate.”

“It would be terrible,” said Hunter.

“And very inconvenient.” Xena dabbed her mouth with the back of her hand and then licked the drops of liquid chocolate from her skin. “As Goode witches you can open the gates anytime you wish by simply commanding them, so being rid of the Cyclops—once you figure out who he is and somehow get him to the Greek tree—should not be difficult. But it will be extremely difficult if you have to battle several murderous monsters at the same time.”

“So, do either of you have a clue how to fix the trees? What Hunter and I did today obviously didn’t work—or at least it’s not working fast enough.”

Hunter frowned into her hot chocolate. “The directions on the insecticide said it could take a week to ten days for the worms to die.”

Xena leaned across Mercy and stroked Hunter’s arm gently before she said, “Oh, kitten, I believe if the mundane part of your spell was going to work the magical part would have been effective today, if even just a little.”

“Khenti said he noticed no difference on his side of the gate.” Mercy picked at her lip. “And, truthfully, I didn’t notice anything being any better on our side, either.”

Hunter shook her head. “No, neither did I.”

Mercy squared her shoulders and looked from Xena to her sister. “Do either of you have any idea at all about why the trees got sick to begin with?”

Hunter shrugged. “I’m as clueless as you are about that.”

Mercy chewed the inside of her cheek to keep from blurting the thought that had been swirling around and around in her mind. It could be because you chose a god and brought a guy to a girl party!

“Forgive me, kittens. I am only a familiar and not the witch our Abigail was. I wish I knew what was sickening the trees, but I do not.”

“It’s so frustrating that none of us knows what’s wrong with them,” said Hunter.

“Well, what that means is that you need to look deeper and create a stronger spell to heal them,” said Xena.

“That sounds logical and even like it should be easy, but Mercy’s been going through those old grimoires like she’s cramming for finals and what we did today was all she came up—”

“Wait! I have an idea.” Mercy leaned forward, digging through the piles of grimoires. “Xena, did you pull the copies of Sarah’s grimoire?”

“You mean the original Sarah Goode?” Xena asked, perking up, too.

“Yeah, that’s exactly who I mean.”

“Actually, I did.” Xena pointed one long-tipped finger at a book that rested behind the others. It looked more like a fat folder than the other leather-bound journals. “It’s good to see that my feline intuition has not left me—even while I’m in human form. It told me you might need copies of the most ancient grimoires.”

Mercy grabbed the folder and sat back against the couch’s cushions. She opened it carefully out of habit, even though the pages within were Xeroxed copies of the fragile originals, which remained in a temperature-controlled lockbox in a Chicago bank. Generations ago the Goode witches began copying the oldest grimoires so that the knowledge of their ancestresses would never be lost, and then sealed away the originals.

“I like to think about the fact that someday Goode witches, our great-great-granddaughters, will copy my grimoires,” said Mercy as she searched for the right entry. “It makes me feel like I’m gonna live forever.”

Hunter snorted softly. “It makes me stress about my handwriting.”

Mercy looked up and grinned at her sister. “Well, that, too.” She turned a few more pages and then pumped her fist in victory. “Yes! Here it