This Coven Won't Break - Isabel Sterling Page 0,45
finally settling on a page near the middle of the thick book. He glances up at me. “I’ve never heard of Blood Magic doing that.”
I’m not surprised Cal hasn’t heard of it. I doubt our Clans have stopped hating each other long enough to try such a thing. I’m sure Morgan and I aren’t the first cross-Clan relationship, but we might be the first where one lost her magic to Witch Hunters.
“Is that a grimoire?” I ask as Cal runs a finger over the page of symbols.
“Basically. It’s a record of all the potions that have been passed down to me, plus all the trial and error it took to create some of my own.” There’s a note of pride in his voice, and I wonder how many new spells he’s perfected that never existed before. “This page has the instructions I need to test your magic and see what’s going on.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it.” Which is weird. I remember the notebook Lexie had in Manhattan. It was filled with symbols, too, but it looked nothing like this. Hers were all swirls and looping circles where Cal’s is harsh lines and math-like symbols.
Cal stands and pulls various ingredients from the cupboards. “That’s not surprising. Casters tend to keep their spells pretty private. And the different teaching lineages all use a unique style of notation.”
“Teaching lineages?”
“Yeah.” He sets up four empty beakers on the table, carefully moving the other potions out of the way. “We don’t have covens the way Elementals do. We don’t celebrate the turn of the seasons together or form extended familial bonds. What we have is more like . . . I guess you could call it a study group. Over time, a number of different systems developed to keep track of our potions without Regs being able to read them. Can you roll up your sleeve?”
I do as he asks, and Cal puts on medical gloves. I have to look away when he preps my arm and slides a needle into the vein to take a sample of blood. “Do you and Archer use the same system?”
“No. The style tends to be fairly regional. He’s from Texas originally, so his notes look nothing like mine.” Cal pulls the needle from my arm and sets the vial of blood on the table while he mixes together a variety of different potions, glancing only occasionally at his notes.
“Are his all swirly?” I ask, mesmerized as I watch him work.
Cal stirs the far left potion clockwise three times and holds a hand over the open top, whispering something under his breath before turning to look at me. “No. He uses an alphanumeric code.” He turns and glances over at me. “There is a style that’s more looping though. How’d you know?”
“Hmm?” It takes me a second to realize what I’ve done. I consider telling Cal about Lexie and the other Manhattan Casters, but bringing them up risks exposing the whole inter-Clan violence thing. “It was just a guess. Yours is like anti-swirly, so I figured there’d be one that was.”
I’m not sure Cal believes the rambling lie, but he’s so focused on his potions that he doesn’t press. I watch him work, captivated but unable to comprehend the intricacies of what he’s doing. He weighs and measures herbs and whispers incantations under his breath. It reminds me of my Dad, the way he’d hum as he made pancakes from scratch, consulting his recipe every few steps.
By the time Cal sprinkles a mixture of herbs into the final potion, my throat is tight with emotion. I swallow it down while Cal whispers an incantation over the whole thing and picks up the vial of my blood. “Ready to figure out what’s going on?”
A fresh flood of nerves washes through me. I nod and watch with morbid fascination as Cal pours my blood into each of the four potions. Some of them hiss and others spark with electricity, and I have zero idea what any of it means. Cal watches the process, the crease in his brow deepening. After a few minutes, each of the potions has settled and gone completely translucent, only the barest hint of their original color remaining.
“What does that mean?”
Cal shakes his head and bites the edge of his thumb. “Except for when Morgan’s around, does your magic ever work on its own?”
“Not that I’ve noticed.” I rub my arms as a chill sweeps over me. “It hurts so much each time that I’ve stopped