I was inside our protections, and so this house belonged to our family, at least. Beyond that, I couldn’t be sure. It was this connection that allowed my curiosity to get the better of me, and I turned the filigreed brass knob, and pushed the door inward.
I caught only a fleeting glance at the interior—the multi-colored flames leaping in the pot-bellied stove, the long work table, the shimmering fumes rising from a small cauldron, the sagging shelves full of jars and dried bunches of herbs and candles—before a whirlwind of dark hair and angry eyes flew into the gap, blocking my view.
“Let’s get one thing perfectly clear,” Persi had said. “You might own the cottage, but you are never ever to set foot in here. Ever.”
The door had slammed in my face. And though I had glimpsed it again in my various explorations of the grounds, I never dared to so much as approach Persi’s workshop after that.
And so, my heart pounded with anxiety as the little building came into sight, and when Persi opened the door and jerked her head impatiently for us to enter, I hesitated. It was only when Jess nudged mein the arm that I forced my feet to unstick themselves from the ground and shuffle forward, following Persi inside.
At first, I could see almost nothing, waiting in the darkness while Persi bustled around lighting candles and lanterns and, finally, the fire in the squat little stove. The firelight threw elongated shadows that stretched up the walls like long, creeping fingers.
“Sit,” Persi said. It was more order than invitation, and Jess and I both obeyed, perching ourselves on two rickety wooden chairs that had been pushed up against the work table. Jess was looking all around her with a mixture of awe and curiosity. Persi flew forward and slammed a spellbook shut that was lying open on the table in front of us, and clasped it protectively to her chest before returning it to the shelf behind her. Then she looked between Jess and me, her gaze as sharp as knives.
“Explain,” she said.
“Explain what?” Jess asked.
“Let’s start with how you’re alive when your body was sitting in the morgue a few days ago.”
Jess and I locked eyes, silently asking each other who should begin and where. Persi, short-tempered at the best of times, gave a low growl of impatience.
Jess raised a hand in apology. “Very well. I’m the interloper here. I’ll go first. But I must insist that we treat this conversation as confidential. You must give me your word that you will not repeat anything that I’m about to tell you. It is as much for your safety as it is for mine.”
Persi’s eyes darted fiercely from Jess’ face to mine, and I nodded earnestly.
“Trust me,” I mouthed.
Persi looked like she wanted to refuse just out of sheer spite, but she gave a sharp nod instead. Jess took this as the word she required and, with a calmness I envied, she began to talk. She explained about her own sisterhood, the Durupinen, and about how she came upon the grimoire. Then she went on to describe how she had sensed the Source and wanted to explore it, how I had mistaken her powers for her death, how I had helped her regain her body, and finally, how we had arrivedin the cavern that night. Even Persi couldn’t hide her increasing incredulousness, and by the time Jess had talked herself out, Persi’s hands were pressed over her mouth, and her eyes were wide with shock.
“My… my mother…she spoke to you?” Persi whispered from behind her fingers.
“Yes. Many ghosts do. It’s kind of… my thing,” Jess said, though her tone was gentler now, like it had occurred to her in the moment that she was speaking to a daughter who was still grieving her mother. “She was adamant that the book be returned to Wren.”
Persi’s gaze, suddenly sharp, darted to me. “To Wren specifically?”
“Yes.”
“And she came to me, too,” I said, barely able to look at Persi. “The night of the Litha Pageant. She warned me that a girl was coming with a book, and that I should trust her.”
“And you didn’t think to tell any of us about that?” Persi asked.
I bristled a little. “I didn’t know what it meant. And I’m not sure if anyone’s ever told you this, but you don’t exactly invite confidences.”
Persi looked like she was biting back a retort, and then seemed to deflate. She ran her hands over her face and through her hair, taking a deep breath, before turning her attention back to Jess.
“So you mean to tell me that… that the Source is in fact one of these Gee—…geet?—…”
“Geatgrimas,” Jess said, enunciating clearly. “And yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
It seemed we had finally reached the moment to ask questions, and I was not going to miss that opportunity. “Why would a Geatgrima give people access to magic?” I asked.
Jess furrowed her brow. “Look, I don’t know much about how witchcraft works, so this is just a theory, but… am I correct in assuming that your powers are passed down through your bloodline?”
Persi and I both nodded.
“Well, as I said before, a Geatgrima marks the thinning of the veil between the world of the living and the spirit world. You could almost think of it as a tear in that veil. If your power comes from your ancestors,perhaps it is the proximity to those ancestors that amplifies your powers here. In other words, you are able to draw on your generational power because they are so close to you.”
“So, then… do you suppose it’s true of every Geatgrima? You said they’re all over the world. Does that mean that witches are drawn to Geatgrimas wherever they are?” I asked.
