‘I don’t know how to draw the symbol Tabitha drew in the dirt,’ Isobelle said, glancing down at the scuffed space where it had been. ‘And it feels as though getting an occult symbol wrong is probably riskier than leaving it out, on balance.’
‘Mostly about intention,’ Gwen reminded her with a small smile. ‘And you certainly intend harder than anyone I’ve ever met.’
That drew a reluctant laugh from Isobelle. ‘I suppose we’ll find out soon enough,’ she said, retrieving the waterskin from where Rosamund had strapped it to Princess Buttercup’s saddle (how the woman had got any of Isobelle’s gear on her without losing a limb, she didn’t know) and taking a sip, then filling the abalone shell. ‘Last time we couldn’t pull this off evenwitha witch.’
‘We have to try,’ Gwen replied. ‘If we can make it work – if we can fill that spell jar with something that will turn Bingleton’s curse back on him – then we’ll have our moment. Tie him up, let the Order deal with him; at the very least, get Tabitha out of there.’
‘Agreed.’ Isobelle handed Gwen the flint, so she could light the candles. ‘And you know I’m all for willing things into existence. We’ll soon find out whether that’s possible without a witch.’
Gwen fixed Isobelle with a long look that she couldn’t interpret, and then turned her attention to lighting the candles. ‘I believe you can do it,’ she said, attention on her task. ‘And the scrolls I was reading in bed were clear – anyone can work a spell, with practice and intention. Witchcraft is a practice, not a birthright. Intention matters – belief matters. I believe you can do it. And you’re good at believing things, always have been.’
Gwen certainly seemed very firm, so Isobelle decided to wholeheartedly commit to the attempt. Gwen was right – belief always mattered, in any endeavour.
‘I wish we knew what went wrong last time,’ she said, turning the memory over in her head. Afterwards they’d been so busy looking for Tabitha, they hadn’t had a chance to reflect on it. But that brief, glorious golden glow that had been building inside her had certainlyfeltlike magic.
Until some undisclosed secret had blocked it.
Is there anything between you that either of you have been concealing?Tabitha had asked.
We’re good, Gwen had replied.
But they hadn’t been. Gwen was still holding back.
Is it what Gwen hides from you about her nightmares?asked a small voice in Isobelle’s head. That was what she had askedGwen last time they had stood in this place, and tried this spell, and she hadn’t answered. Had anything changed?
‘I think we’re ready,’ said Gwen, shielding the last candle with her hand until the flame properly took the wick. ‘Now, the real question – do you remember what we were chanting?’
‘Of course,’ said Isobelle airily, with at least seventy per cent confidence that she was right. She reached out for Gwen’s hands, flashed her dimples at the other girl for luck, and closed her eyes.
Isobelle began in a low voice, but after a few rounds, her tone strengthened. Gwen joined in, her slightly lower voice weaving in with Isobelle’s, the two of them in a harmony that felt as natural as breathing. Isobelle let herself sink into the sound of their voices joining together, the feeling of Gwen’s hands, warm against hers.
Within her, she felt an echo stirring of the golden glow she had felt last time. It felt like the sun coming out from behind the clouds, though she knew the moon was high above them. Like that quick tingle of joy that ran through her when she looked for Gwen in a crowd and found her.
It was happening. They were making magic.
Is it about to break again?asked a tiny voice in her head.
Hush, she told it. But it didn’t hush.
What about last time? Last time, you asked Gwen about her nightmares, and she never answered you. You know she’s keeping something from –
Abruptly the glow was gone, a wave of cold running through Isobelle, as if someone had poured a pitcher of water in through the top of her head, and it was running down to her fingers and toes.
Gwen made a surprised noise, dropping Isobelle’s hands and stepping back with a gasp.
Isobelle’s eyes snapped open. ‘Did you feel that too?’
Gwen nodded, eyes a little wild. ‘I felt something,’ she admitted. ‘And then—’
‘And then it stopped, like last time,’ Isobelle agreed. She dragged in a slow breath, trying to push away the awful feeling of the broken spell, and reached for Gwen’s hands again.
Gwen turned to check on the flickering candles, and then gazed beyond them to the horses. ‘Maybe we did need a mystical symbol on the ground.’
Isobelle, usually so willing to throw herself into a conversation and see if she could swim, waded out into the waters of this one as carefully as if a sea monster lay in wait. ‘Gwen,’ she said softly, and saw her champion swallow. ‘Last time, the spell failed because there were secrets between us. Some truth untold. I think there still is.’
Gwen simply shook her head, her eyes still on Achilles, refusing to look back at Isobelle.
Isobelle squeezed Gwen’s hands, and eased a touch closer. ‘So much has happened since then, but we’re stillback where we were. It’s the nightmares, isn’t it? What is it you won’t tell me about that night you fought the dragon?’
