“No!”
She looks deeply disappointed. Like I’ve personally failed her. Like not owning crystals is a moral failing.
Meanwhile, Dave has moved to the kitchen and is now filling the small space with even more smoke. He’s practically invisible in the haze. Felix is walking around the perimeter of the living room, bent over slightly as he pours salt in a careful line along the walls. It’s leaving a white trail across my floorboards.
My uncle is going to be so annoyed.
My anxiety spikes even higher. Should I offer them tea? That’s what you do when you have guests, right? You offer tea. It’s polite. It’s British. It’s what my mum taught me. “Always offer tea,” she’d say.
But they all seem very busy. And what if tea is offensive to witches? What if they only drink herbal infusions blessed under the full moon or something? What if offering normal Tetley is some kind of terrible insult?
I stand awkwardly, still desperately flapping the tea towel.
“Would anyone like tea?” I squeak out, my voice barely audible over the alarm.
Nobody answers. They’re all too focused on their respective tasks. Morgana is arranging crystals in geometric patterns. Dave is chanting. Felix is measuring out salt with intense concentration.
The smoke alarm finally stops its shrieking. The sudden silence is almost as jarring as the noise was.
I nearly collapse with relief. My arms drop to my sides, the tea towel hanging limply from my hand.
Morgana emerges from the bedroom, looking satisfied. “I’ve placed crystals at all four corners and under the bed. The energy should be much more balanced now.”
“Great,” I say weakly. “Thank you.”
I have no idea what balanced energy feels like. The flat feels exactly the same to me. Just smokier.
Dave finishes his smoke ceremony. The flat smells like a burned garden. Like someone set fire to a herb shop. My eyes are watering.
Felix completes his salt line and steps back to admire his work, hands on his hips. “There. That should create a barrier. Make it harder for him to fully manifest.”
“Harder?” I repeat, latching onto the word. “Not impossible?”
“Shadow beings are tricky,” Felix says, not meeting my eyes. “We can’t completely block him because of the bond. But this should weaken his presence. Make it less intense.”
Less intense. That’s something, I suppose.
The three of them gather in the living room, forming a rough circle. Morgana produces a small silver bell from somewhere in her robes and starts ringing it while chanting. The sound is clear and pure. Dave joins in the chanting, his deeper voice harmonising with Morgana’s. Felix pulls out what looks like a tarot deck, the cards worn and faded, and starts laying them out on my coffee table in an impressive-looking pattern.
I have no idea what any of this means. I’m just standing here, feeling utterly useless and out of my depth.
“Did you really call a shadow prince a baby duck?” asks Dave, pausing in his chanting to look at me with undisguised curiosity.
Heat floods my face. “It just came out!” I blurt, defensive. “He was being all seductive and intense and I panicked!”
“It’s actually hilarious.” Felix lays down another tarot card with more force than necessary, the card slapping against the table. “Also potentially very dangerous. Shadow beings don’t like being mocked.”
“He seemed more offended than dangerous,” I say weakly, remembering the look on Hex’s face. The indignation.
“For now,” intones Felix.
Okay, that’s not at all ominous. Oh my god. What am I doing? I have no idea what I am doing. I’ve insulted a powerful supernatural being and now I’m standing in my smoke-filled flat while witches perform rituals and I still haven’t offered anyone tea.
After what feels like an eternity of chanting and bell ringing and card laying, Felix finally announces, “We’re finished.”
I look around the flat. It looks the same. Well, mostly the same. Except for the salt lines tracing the perimeter of the room. And the lingering smell of burned sage that’s going to take days to air out. And the crystals. There are crystals everywhere. On the windowsill. In the corners. Under furniture. My flat looks like a new age shop exploded.
“So it’s safe now?” I ask hopefully, desperate for some reassurance.
