The air snaps tight around us.
I step back, the sheer will alone unable to keep my place as the northern corner, the bitter taint coating my tongue.
Lightning streaks across the sky, and thunder rolls in the distance, closer than before, but somehow within the sphere of the magic we’ve created, it seems further away than ever, almost as if we’ve created our own little world.
To my left, Posey’s eyes are wild, going to deep green. To my right, Rose’s eyes glow a soft blue, the color of the sky in springtime. But Hazel — Hazel’s eyes are red.
There’s determination etched across her face, a look I’ve never seen on my littlest sister. The raccoon familiar she somehow gained sits calmly at her feet, observing, striped tail twitching back and forth like a cat.
Gunner’s growling slightly at my side, and behind Hazel, in the distance, a sinuous tentacle breaks the surface of the water.
The circle we’ve created is unnaturally quiet, and the hair raises on the back of my neck, goosebumps rising all over my skin, though it’s no chillier than when we began.
Hazel lifts her hands again, higher this time, her voice ringing out with a clarity that doesn’t feel entirely like hers.
“We call the ward,” she says. “By blood and by bone, by memory and by place, we bind what is ours to keep.”
The wind shifts, sharper now, circling.
“Stand fast,” she tells us.
We do.
She nods once.
“North,” she says.
I swallow and step into my position. The ocean roars in my ears, like it lives beneath my skin.
“North and Sea,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “Guardian of the deep, keeper of what waits beneath. Rise and watch. Let the tide answer me. Let the water remember my name.”
The ocean answers. Not in words, but in a pull, a pressure, something vast turning its attention toward us. Something with tentacles and teeth; something that knows me.
“East. Sky,” Hazel calls.
Rose lifts her chin, her hair whipping in the wind.
“Sky above us, wide and watching, carry our will. Let nothing pass unseen. Let the air bear witness and turn aside what would break us.”
The wind snaps, sharper, colder, alive.
“West. Land,” Hazel says.
Posey presses her palm to the ground, her voice low and certain.
“Land beneath us, hold us fast. Root us, keep us, do not let us be moved. Let what we build here stand.”
The ground hums, solid and steady.
Then Hazel inhales.
“South. Fire,” she commands.
Her voice drops, deepening, something flickering behind her eyes that makes my stomach twist.
“Fire that burns and fire that protects,” she says, slower now, like she’s listening to something we can’t hear. “Answer me. Come forward. Stand with us.”
We clasp hands, palm to palm, the sound loud enough to compete with the thunder echoing in the distance. It reverberates in my chest and seems to settle all the way at the base of my spine.
