But what choice do I have? Maybe Margie’s folk remedies and counter-charms will work as well as Donag’s. At this point I’m desperate enough to try anything.
I sit cross-legged on the floor of the cottage. I’ve timed it as well as I could—later than Callum would visit and earlier than Donag returns home—but still, I rush through the preparations.
Breaking a more powerful curse demands a stronger chant and charm. I follow Margie’s instructions to the letter, all the while wondering what my college teachers would think if they saw me now. Sticks and strings and wax. So much for scientific method.
I gathered thirteen twigs, all of similar size, and only from the fallen branches of a rowan tree. I snagged redthreads from an item that touched Donag’s skin. The russet-colored skirt in her trunk is as red as the woman gets, which I’m hoping is good enough.
I weave the threads, binding the twigs just as Margie showed me, plaiting with alternating braids and knots, then snip and seal with candle wax, all the while intoning the chant Margie taught me—with a couple changes of my own.
“A rowan tree and string of red,
unbind the curse, reverse its thread.
By moon’s pale light and time’s decree,
send me back and set me free.”
This has to work. It has to. If it doesn’t…
I close my eyes and cast my voice deeper. Louder.
If I concentrate hard enough, maybe it’ll be enough to undo something as huge as Donag’s summoning.
I try to lose myself in my intent. As I wave the amulet over the candle, I imagine opening my eyes to find myself back in my hotel room. Back in the twenty-first century.
Callum’s face flashes in my mind. His image is as clear any photograph—vivid, unforgettable, inescapable. As if I’ve imprinted on him.
No.With a shake of my head, I squeeze my eyes tighter.
Home. I’m going home.
It’ll be safer for Callum. What he needs.
What I need.
I lift my arms higher. Deepen my voice further.
“One’s ill intent
Hath done me harm.
With this chant,
Reverse their charm.”
The candle sputters. Shadows stretch across the floor. I lean closer to the flame, the words thrumming through me, as if something more than my voice is speaking.
I am doing this. I have power.
I am my will.
The air crackles. My pulse roars in my ears. I stretch my hands higher, higher. There’s a pop in my shoulder, but I don’t stop. The power builds, electric, intoxicating?—
“…With this chant, reverse their charm.”
The door crashes open.
Chapter
