Spells Trouble (Sisters of Salem #1) - P. C. Cast Page 0,35
Maybe we won’t find anything wrong at all. Maybe it was just the Norse tree that was messed up, and Mom fixed it, so we won’t have to do anything until Solstice. But I can’t do this alone. I need you.”
Mercy forced herself to sit up straighter. She nodded. “I’m with you, H. Like always. We can do this.” The words sounded right, but felt wrong—like everything else.
“Let’s take the deer path. The one that winds away from the road and runs along the creek. I can’t deal with talking to anyone right now and there’s no way we can be seen from the road if we go that way.” Hunter pointed to a slim ribbon of a path that led from the cleared easement area through a wall of gently swaying weeping willows.
Their joined hands anchored each other as the twins followed the path that would lead to the point of the pentagram where generations ago Sarah Goode had conjured a banyan tree to guard the gate to the Underworld of the ancient Hindus.
Sugar Creek was only a few yards to their right. The scent and sound of it drifted through the tendrils of the willows. Usually Mercy would have inhaled the rich smell of the crystal water passing over rocks and soaked in the music it made as it cascaded toward Goode Lake, but that day she walked in a bubble of grief that was so thick it didn’t allow the world to touch her. She would’ve stopped and slumped to the ground, unmovable, had her sister’s hand not propelled her forward, so when Hunter abruptly halted, Mercy stumbled and did almost fall.
“There it is. I’ve always thought it’s the coolest looking of all of them.” Hunter jerked her chin at the enormous tree that filled the area between the tall bank of the creek and the bean field that stretched up a gradual incline to meet the blacktop road. “It looks fine from here, don’t you think?”
Mercy wanted to say that she was having a problem thinking about anything except their mom, but Hunter was counting on her—and she tried to never let Hunter down. She cleared her throat and swallowed the dryness in her mouth. “It seems normal.”
“Right? Maybe everything will be okay. Let’s get closer.”
Hunter dropped her hand and Mercy followed directly behind her as she left the little path. No one was in sight. Mercy thought even the birdsong was subdued. They approached the enormous tree that was so out of place in the American Midwest, and could never have existed—let alone thrived—without the magic of generations of Goode witches. The trunk of the tree was really strange looking. From a distance it appeared to be one big, thick base, but closer it became clear that it was actually a whole bunch of smaller trunks butted right up against each other, like the banyan was trying to be its own forest. Vines dripped from the mushroom-shaped green canopy. Even through her grief Mercy acknowledged that her sister was right. The tree was uniquely awesome. As they entered the area under the canopy the calf-high grass became sparse and short, which was good because the banyan’s roots had broken through the fertile earth and they had to pick their way over them carefully. Mercy stopped and stared up. The banyan’s leaves were small for such a huge tree, and shaped like little grass-green hearts.
Her sister’s voice, hushed like she was afraid of disturbing the tree, pulled at her attention. “Do you feel anything? Anything weird?”
“Not yet.” Mercy stopped staring up and walked closer to the trunk. Hunter sat cross-legged facing the banyan—situated between thick fingers of roots. She closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sky as her lips moved as if in a whispering prayer.
Mercy walked slowly around the tree. She turned so that her back rested against the gnarled bark and faced the distant creek. She tried to concentrate—to open herself so she could glean information from her usually astute senses. But the fog of grief refused to thin enough to let anything through. She shook her head.
“I don’t know, H. I can’t seem to—” Mercy paused and sneezed. She rubbed her nose and sneezed again.
“Shh!” Hunter said. “I’m trying to pick up on any bad energy.”
“Sorry, but this smell is getting to me.” Then her mind caught up with her words and she craned her neck around to meet her sister’s gaze. “It stinks!”