Mica's steel-gray gaze scans the map with obvious reverence before she looks up at us. "If the Cinderheart Crucible is somewhere on this map, I have a scrying spell that should help us find it."
She reaches into her jacket and pulls out a pendulum—a teardrop of dark metal suspended from a fine chain. The metal has a strange quality, shifting between gunmetal gray and deep blue depending on the angle, and I can feel the hum of enchantment radiating off it from three feet away.
Mica positions herself at the head of the table and holds out her pendulum. "This spell is anchored to my metal affinity, but Sebastian and I layered in a strong divination component, as well. The Crucible is forged metal at its core. I'm hoping this will work to call its location."
"Let’s give it our best.” Sebastian nods before panning his gaze to the opposite side of the table. “Reid and Asher, if you don't mind, can you step back so we can focus the goddess’ power?"
The two non-witches step over to the kitchen island and hop up on the counter to sit side-by-side.
"Best seats in the house." Asher winks and gives us a smile. "Good luck."
The rest of us—me, Wylder, Orion, Clara, Izzy, Mica, and Sebastian—gather around the table.
"Everyone ready?" Mica checks that we're good to go and then closes her eyes and draws a long breath. "Goddess Mother, I offer thanks for the gifts you have given. For the magic in my blood and the iron in my bones. I ask for your guidance in this working. Light the path we cannot see."
The pendulum stills in her grip. Then she extends her arm over the center of the map and lets it hang.
Mica's magic unfurls like smoke from a forge. Her signature hits me—hot metal, ozone, and the sharp clean bite of a struck anvil.
The pendulum begins a slow rotation, and the ley lines on the map respond, brightening where the pendulum passes over them.
Her brow furrows with focus, her lips moving in a silent incantation, and the chain between her fingers goes taut as though something beneath the parchment pulls at it.
She works methodically, slowly sweeping the pendulum across continent after continent, seeking an answer to our call. Her control is precise. Each movement deliberate.
I'm damn impressed. Mica knows what she's doing, and her intention is solid. She handles her pendulum with a kind of muscle memory that comes from years of practice.
Minutes pass. The pendulum swings.
The ley lines pulse and fade and pulse again as she passes over them.
But nothing catches.
Sebastian steps forward. "Everyone join hands and add your intention. Give her more to work with."
Wylder takes my left hand. Orion takes my right. Clara reaches for Wylder, Izzy links with Clara, and Sebastian closes the circle on Orion's other side.
The moment the circle completes, I'm washed with the power of our group.
Their magic floods through me—Wylder's green and growing warmth, Orion's ice-and-shadow edge, Clara's cool rush like a river current, Izzy's soft golden pulse that smells like cedar and animal musk, Sebastian's sharp silver thread of spirit.
All of it braids together, flowing through our joined hands into Mica's working.
This is us.
My chest aches. Not from pain but from the sheer weight of what these people have chosen to take on. Every single one of them walked into this house, into this fight, because they decided it mattered. BecauseImattered.
This circle of misfits and outcasts who barely knew each other weeks ago, now stand shoulder to shoulder around a map, hunting for a mythical forge to save a town that doesn't even know it needs saving.
Mica's pendulum seeks its target. The ley lines on the map respond. For one breathless moment, I think it's going to work?—
But no matter what we do, nothing catches.
There's no pull. No target.
After another long moment, Mica lowers her arm and rolls her neck. "Well. That was anticlimactic."
Each of us thanks the Goddess Mother for her divine love, and then we release our clasped hands, and the circle drops.
