Page 92 of Werewolves and Witches AU

By the third floor, my thighs are burning.

By the fifth floor, my lungs are audibly protesting each breath by marking them with a loud wheeze.

By the eighth floor, I’m more than considering whether the roof is strictly necessary. Nine is also a significant number in witchcraft, and therefore surely it would be just as effective at aiding my spell cast?

But Sarah’s voice in my mind pushes me to the eleventh floor: “It has to be thirteen because you’re a solitary warlock, and that number signifies the strength of a traditional coven.”

Halfway between the eleventh and twelfth floors, the door at the bottom of the stairwell crashes open, and I instantly flatten myself against the stairwell wall. My heart pounds hard inside my ribs, sweat trickles down my spine, and each breath pants out at a rapid rate.

“Magpie? You in here, kid?”

Turning my head, I press my cheek against the cold concrete. A floor and a half—that’s all that’s left—and then I’ll be on the roof. As fast as I dare, I continue climbing… but just sideways, like a crab.

“Shit!” Matt exclaims, and the fire door far below closes with a definitive click.

Peeling myself from the wall, I run up the last few steps and push the security bar to burst out through the roof access.

The wind up here is much stronger than it was at street level; it catches the door and slams it back into the wall of the bulkhead. Cringing, and shoulders darting up about my ears, I freeze in place.

My chest heaves, but when, after a moment, the world doesn’t immediately end, I race to pull the door shut. I made it.

Leaning my back against it, I take out my phone to check the time… 00:22.

Hot and bothered, and in need of a moment, I drag the ball cap from my head. The wind instantly whips my white-blond hair everywhere, and some strands stick to my sweaty face. It’s annoying, but also refreshing.

It doesn’t take long for the balance to tip in favour of more annoying than refreshing, so I gather my wayward hair the best I can, and shove it back under the cap—then tug it firmly down.

I take in the plum-coloured night sky. It’s about as twilight as it’s going to get, so if I’m to capitalise on the liminal time, then I’d best get on with what I came here to do.

Kicking off from the door twists my face into a pained grimace. Jogging—or any form of movement beyond a lumbering and ungainly walk—is now strictly banned on account of the fact that all my muscles have turned entirely to lactic acid.

Awkwardly, I lurch across the roof space and shrug off my backpack. Unwilling to kneel—in case I never get back up—I catch the strap in one hand and unzip the bag with my other. I tip out the candles and crystals, but the feathers, which I’d smartly bundled inside a pillowcase for safety, I keep hold of.

My harsh breaths compete with the blustery air, and each one rasps over a sore throat. It’s hard to ignore them and focus on the craft work Sarah and I devised. Slowly, I fill my lungs and then hold it in, releasing it gradually to the count of five.

I’m to set out a thirteen-point grid that will represent my spiritual coven and also amplify my cast beyond the known and into the unknown. Turning in a circle, I mentally map those points, and then clear my mind of everything but my intentions toward this spell.

Rowan had laughed at me yesterday when I’d cleansed the mirror in the kitchen, and okay, maybe I’d been a little rushed when I did that, but the principle is solid. The best way to have a clear intention in mind is to state that intention out loud.

Grateful I’m alone up here, I set about creating the first-ever coven that contains an equal split in membership between witches and werewolves. At its centre, I lay my wonky Cairngorm Quartz and trap a pillow feather underneath her.

Cutting a straight line north, I place an amber crystal in memory of my ancestor—who first crafted the Luna del Lupo enchantment—and weight her feather under it.

At the southernmost point, I set a large moonstone to represent my “whatever we are that isn’t boyfriends but also means I’m still risking my ass up here to keep him safe” relationship with Rowan, and honour his connection to lunar energy.

To the east and west, I anchor more feathers under rose quartzes, to represent my parents, and the strength that family members will bring this impromptu rooftop coven.

At the other compass points, I add clear crystals to link Sarah and Anabelle as my elders, and smoky crystals for all the other Dogs, who are united through this common cause.

As I mark each point in my hybrid coven, I repeat my intention: “I’m here to notify you of a crime, and to stop it from being repeated.”

Migrating to the centre, I light a candle that I immediately need to shield from the wind by bracing my hand around the flame.

Into the flickering golden light, I spiritually open myself and add my energy to that of my coven. Together, we converge with the liminal space provided by the sacred height of the building, and the transition of time as enhanced by the twilight hour and the two-faced clock attached far below.

With one final, calming breath, I begin my cast.

“Dear Time, we are gathered—sort of—here today to bring a serious matter to your attention. Years ago, you appointed people into powerful roles, and one of them has abused this power.”