Lesya sat up. “I've never seen witch magic.”
I blinked. Paused. Considered this. When was the last time I'd cast a spell? In the beginning, there had been only Nick—my gray tabby cat who was currently lying in a pile with Trevor and Vero—my witch magic, and me. I didn't know about my faerie essence or goddess potential. All I had were spells that took time and preparation to cast. Oh, yeah, and a pair of Atlantean claw gloves—my weapon of choice for quite awhile. These days, when I dropped my hands, it was to release dragon claws and when I cast magic, it manifested in moments. But there's beauty in human magic too, a uniqueness, even if it stems from the Fey. I hadn't realized that I missed it. And I'd nearly missed an opportunity to share it with my children.
But I wasn't sure if I could pass on my craft to Lesya. I'd given her a god soul—a single soul as opposed to the two souls I'd given Rian and the three Brevyn wound up with. Brevyn and Rian both had human souls so I could probably teach them to cast spells, but Lesya... I doubted it. Odin studies magic, all magic, but even he couldn't cast a human spell. When he needed to find a traitor among his friends, he had bartered for my help. He had watched me work, but his magic was different than mine—limited to certain abilities—and couldn't assist me.
That was the beauty of witch magic: its restrictions were balanced by greater opportunities. Fey magic is limited by elemental alignment and race—like how Fire Fey have fire magic but only Dragon-Sidhe can shift into dragons. When the Fey bred with humans, their magic was passed down but altered. Witches need tools and items from nature to cast spells. They have to connect with Nature through physical pieces of it since they don't have an element inside them. But with that hindrance also came a benefit—the type of spells they could cast weren't as limited.
“I don't think you'll be able to cast spells, sweetheart,” I said gently. “You're a full lioness; there's no human in you. But, if you want, you can watch.”
“I can't make magic?” Lesya asked in disappointment.
“Youaremagic, Kotyonok,” Kirill said gently. “Witch magic requires tools and herbs and candles but your magic is a part of you. You don't need any of zat to make magic. All you have to do is call it forth.”
“I guess that's better,” Lesya said in a tone that implied otherwise.
“It is,” I insisted. “That's why I don't cast spells often. They take work and time to manifest, but god and faerie magic are instantaneous.”
“Then why do you have to cast a spell now?”
“Because only witch magic can give me what I need.”
“Do you need our rings for spell?” Kirill asked me.
Of course, he knew exactly what I was going to do. After my rant the other night, how could he not?
“No, I'll use mine as a bridge. It should be fine,” I assured him.
“Can I still watch?” Lesya asked.
“Me too?” Zariel added.
“Zare, this is a mommy and daughter thing,” Sam said gently.
“No, it's okay.” I waved Zariel over. “You're family too, Zariel. Of course, you can watch.”
“Yay!” Zariel jumped up, her dark curls bouncing and her hazel eyes alight with excitement.
Lesya got up and took Zariel's hand, just as excited to have her friend with her. I glanced at the wolf and cat pile to see if Vero wanted to come too, but he was passed out, making tiny snoring noises that harmonized with his father's rumbling breaths and Nick's kitty snuffling. I chuckled and took Lesya's hand to lead the girls into the palace.
We took the golden elevator up to the fifth floor, then headed to the South corner where an arched passage opened on a spiraling staircase. We went up the stairs to the top of the tower, where an open, circular, stone space—stocked with everything I might need for spellwork—waited. I had equipped every tower with the tools and common ingredients for witchcraft, but I kept my spellbooks in the library. I didn't need a book this time, though; I knew this spell by heart. I should, I'd written it.
Writing a spell isn't as hard as it sounds. Once you know the fundamentals of the type of spell you want to craft, it's simple to adjust it to suit your needs. For making our rings, I took a basic charging spell and added a locating spell to it. Once that was done, all it needed were a few words to add specificity.
South is associated with Fire and lions, making it doubly powerful for me, which is why I chose it for the crafting. You'd think it would be associated with dragons too because of Fire, but that's the North: dragons and... owls. I paused in the middle of gathering the things I needed, an image of the owl man staring at me, his fingers shaped like bird claws. I shook the memory away and focused on the task at hand. It didn't matter who those owls were, just as long as they handled Texas' snake problem as promised. If not, we'd be having words.
“Okay, I need you two to be quiet now,” I warned the girls. “Just sit down over here.”
I motioned to a spot that would be far enough away from my workspace to not be distracting but would be within my circle and close enough for them to see everything. The girls nodded solemnly and sat down. I felt it too—the space had a sacredness to it that made you want to whisper. That's what happens when you cast spells, especially in a magical realm. The place where you cast them remembers. The veryairremembers.
I laid a white, circular cloth down on the gray stone then carried the rest of my things over: a bowl of water, a bowl of salt, an incense burner with dragon's blood incense, a black candle, and my athame. I cast my circle around the cloth and the girls, calling on the four directions even though I was in the South Tower. These were all minor steps that I probably could have skipped if I had to, especially since I was in a warded territory in the God Realm. But they enhanced the spell and set the tone. When a circle of salt surrounded me and the girls, its tiny grains glowing softly with magic, I took a seat on the cloth and centered myself.
First things first: I had to make the ring. I took the athame and used it to cut a lock of my hair. Some witches would sniff disdainfully at me for using my sacred athame for such a base action as cutting, but in my opinion, an athame is a tool and tools are merely receptacles for magic; they become what you intend them to be. I intended my athame to be used for spellcraft and that included cutting things needed for the spell. It worked very well too, slicing my hair like a razor. The lock was a curl and it wrapped around my finger as if it knew what it was meant to be. I called on my territory magic and changed that piece of myself into a gold band—a ring that would fit perfectly on Viper's finger. Then I laid the ring on the cloth before me.
I could feel the Aether pulsing expectantly. I wouldn't be able to trace through it from there—I'd have to go to the tracing room downstairs for that—but, as a witch, I could connect to the Aether anywhere, not with my body but with my mind. It was where I'd send my spell once it was cast—the place where the magic would manifest. This was what the Fey couldn't do; this was what made witchcraft different from faerie magic and gave it endless possibilities. The Aether. In that realm of pure magic, where gods leave memories as payment for travel and remnants of every spell ever cast by a witch lives on, my words—carried there by ritual and the magic inside me—would become reality.
Once I was focused, I picked up the black candle in its silver holder and blew lightly upon it. The wick caught and a tiny flame came to life. The girls made soft sounds but didn't speak, their little eyes going round with wonder.
I picked up the ring and waved it through the candle's flame as I said, “I consecrate this ring with Fire.”
