Spells Trouble (Sisters of Salem #1) - P. C. Cast Page 0,106
only sneeze like this around…” Her words trailed off as her head swiveled to stare at Xena, who was licking the back of her hand and smoothing her hair.
“What?” Xena stopped mid-lick.
“We might as well tell them,” said Hunter. “They know everything else.”
Mercy shrugged. “Fine with me. Xena?”
The cat person shook herself, which sent her hair flying madly around her shoulders and made Emily sneeze again. “Emily, kitten.” Xena took her hand gently between hers. “I am a cat. Their cat. And by theirs I mean I’ve been a Goode familiar for generations. Please don’t ask for how many years—it’s impolite.” While Emily and Jax stared slack-mouthed at her, Xena nodded. “Oh, and Emily, I am truly sorry I make you sneeze. I give you my word I do not do it on purpose. I’ve always liked you, kitten.” She dimpled at Jax and made a little purring noise. “You, too.”
Emily and Jax turned their wide-eyed gazes from Xena, who went back to grooming herself, to the twins.
“It’s true,” answered Hunter and Mercy together—though they didn’t share the intimate smile that usually accompanied their twin-speak.
Emily went back to staring at Xena. “In a completely bizarre way that makes perfect sense.”
“Yup,” said Jax, who shot Xena sideways glances.
“Kittens.” She paused in her grooming. “Refocus on your intention. We can discuss how spectacularly magical I am another time.”
“I’m gonna have to get some Benadryl. A lot of Benadryl,” muttered Emily as her attention returned to the spell.
“Okay, so, to answer the question I think Em was starting to ask,” Mercy said. “We’re going to communicate through our speaker phones.”
“Except for me,” Hunter broke in. “There’s no way to know if I’ll be able to be on my phone. Mercy will use our connection to know when I’m in place. And then you’ll have to trust me to keep up.”
Mercy nodded. She didn’t look at Hunter. Good. She won’t try to take over. I’m better at this part anyway, Mercy told herself. “So, I’m going to lead you through the ritual, and I’ll be sure I don’t waste time on flowery words and such. We light candles, then seal the gates with—”
“Blood!” Emily squeaked, her eyes on the cheat sheet.
Xena patted her knee. “Yes, kitten, but not very much.”
Mercy barreled on quickly. “Then you thank your tree and blow out your candle—and we’re done!”
Emily raised her hand. “You said we each need an offering, but I don’t have anything.”
“Em, you’ll be at the cherry tree that guards the Japanese gate,” explained Mercy. “I brought your offering.” She reached into her purse and brought out the beautiful little Japanese sumi-e Emily had painted in remembrance of Abigail Goode.
Emily took it, holding it carefully, gazing at the soaring owl. “It seems like a million years ago that I painted this.”
“It is a perfect offering,” Xena assured her. “Something precious created with love.”
Jax waved his hand, getting their attention. “What’s my offering?”
“The dove feather you got from your dad, remember?” answered Hunter.
“Oh, right! Got it in my pocket.” Jax patted his jean’s pocket.
Mercy turned to look at her sister. “I didn’t see what offering you brought.”
Her twin’s emotionless eyes met hers. Her voice had a hard edge to it that bordered on anger. “I’m going to get it on my way to the tree, but you already knew that, so why did you need to ask?”
Mercy just stared at her, unable to arrange the right words to reply.
Into the sudden silence Emily spoke up. “My other question is about the, um, blood.”
“Oh, I can answer that.” Xena bent and brought out a small, rectangular box from below the seat in front of her. She opened it to expose five tiny daggers, each about the size of a pinky finger. They nestled on faded red velvet.
“I’ve never seen those before,” Hunter said, peering over the front seat.
“They were in the attic,” Xena said, “in Gertrude Goode’s hope chest.”
“What are they?” asked Mercy, intrigued by the perfection of their carved bone handles and their razor-like blades.
“Miniature athames.” When Emily and Jax sent her confused looks Xena fluttered her fingers at them and clarified. “Sorry, kittens. I keep forgetting how new all of this is to you. An athame is a witch’s dagger—used only for rituals and spells. In the past, witches used a lot more bloodletting in their spellwork.” She sighed nostalgically. “That seems to have gone out of style. Well, go on, each of you, take one.” She passed the box around and everyone chose their athame.