Spells Trouble, Kristin Cast [books to read in a lifetime .TXT] 📗

her, anyway.” She sat up a little straighter. This was her spell, her successful spell, and she would own it. “We asked to have her grief washed away. Not the whole thing but a tiny piece of it. Enough that she could be herself again.” She gestured to the image of her sister staring up at them from the cauldron. “And that’s exactly what happened.”

Mercy clapped and managed to sit up a tad straighter. “It is me! I knew it.”

Kirk scooted back toward the circle and leaned into his girlfriend. “You’re okay with all of this?”

Mercy cocked her head and shrugged. “Nothing we do is evil or bad. It’s all based in love and light. And, like Hunter said, it was just a small piece of my grief.” She turned and took Kirk’s hands in hers. “Those same two things brought you here tonight to help me, and they did. You were so powerful tonight, Kirk. So perfect. This couldn’t have happened without you.”

Hunter’s cheeks flamed. Love and light hadn’t brought Kirk there; she had. She had been the beacon of peace and hope. She had wielded the power. Hunter tightened her free hand into a fist. If Kirk had left, and he almost had, she would have figured out how to make the spell work without him. He was unnecessary, trivial. A small blip in both of their lives. A high school fling. Hunter’s jagged nails bit into her palm. In ten years, neither one of them would be able to remember his name. They’d call him “the quarterback” or “that guy” or maybe they wouldn’t call him anything at all. Maybe Hunter would become a Sabrina witch and erase all trace of Kirk Whitfield from her sister’s memory and they’d never have to speak of him again.

Warm liquid pooled in Hunter’s palm and trickled down the side of her hand. She unclenched her fingers and stared down at the blood sprouting from the crescent-shaped wounds her fingernails had carved into her flesh.

Hunter let go of Jax’s hand and clutched her pendant. She needed to refocus, reground herself. She would never erase Mercy’s memory. She should never even think such a thing. Wielding the power, being a conduit, it was all getting to her. It had to be.

“I’m closing the spell,” Hunter blurted as she clenched her hand and hid her bleeding fist behind her back. She felt four sets of eyes press against her as she closed her own and searched for the right words. The spell no longer flowed from her. Hunter was clogged up. A big, fatty, hairy clog. She’d name it Kirk.

“At this time and at this place we thank Mother Moon and Father Tyr for cleansing our friend and sister and purifying her heart and mind and soul. We know you will remain near, as will we.” Energy pricked Hunter’s fingertips and she followed her urge, her intuition, and plunged her bleeding hand into the water. The icy cold liquid shocked her and sent her eyelids fluttering open. “This rite is ended,” she continued as she watched her blood eat away the blinking image of her sister before sinking down, down, down. Hunter wet her lips and shouted the final closing line she’d heard her mother use time and time again. “Merry meet and merry part and merry meet again!”

Scarlet ribbons snaked around the glowing moonstones, turning each a petal pink. Emily sucked in a breath as the rocks lifted from the cauldron’s bottom, reeled into Hunter’s palm by the power of her blood.

Thirteen

It was hot inside the Goodeville precinct. Too hot. The kind of hot that made every inch sweat and stick and itch. Frank Dearborn twisted the faucet knobs and let cool water splash against his swollen knuckles. How could anyone live like this? Inside all hours of the day, fake breeze blowing down from dusty vents in the ceiling. People had come so far only to imprison themselves.

He leaned over the sink and peered into the small rectangular mirror that hung from the pristine bathroom wall. “Dearborn.” He ran his tongue along his teeth and smiled. “Sheriff Dearborn.”

It was more than convincing. It was a fact.

Pain jabbed his left eye. He clapped his hand over the spikes of heat that blurred his vision and lurched forward. His forehead crashed into the mirror. “Mother—” He stifled a roar and pushed himself away from the reflective glass. Shards rained onto the porcelain as he ran his fingers over the tender knot forming in the center of his forehead. It’d been like this since last night, since the olive tree. Sudden shocks of increasingly devastating pain. It would be over soon. No matter where he was, he could never escape his fate.

Eye still covered, he leaned toward his splintered reflection. He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth and forced his hand away from his eye. He affixed his gaze to the faucet. He didn’t want to look.

“Damn mirrors.” He flinched as he gently patted his swollen eyelid.

He shouldn’t blame the mirrors. It wasn’t their fault they reflected the truth. He should blame that woman. The one who’d made him love her. The one who’d turned him into a monster.

He swept his gaze back up to his reflection. If he couldn’t find a cure this time, he would be like this forever. Threads of milky white swirled across his dark iris. Air hissed between his clenched teeth as he rubbed at his eye, clearing away the gunk. As quickly as the clouds of white vanished, they were back again.

He sighed. There was no use fighting it. He hadn’t escaped the curse. Maybe he never would.

He unhooked his aviators from the collar of his uniform and pushed them up the bridge of his nose. Seeing through the shadows was better than revealing a problem. A difference. People weren’t good with different.

His stomach roiled and saliva flooded his mouth. He was going to be sick. Not from the sight of his disgusting visage. No, this