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

a handful of milky stones that glowed softly against the square of black velvet Hunter had lined the basket with and the sapphire-colored pouch that held her tarot.

“Awesome! Let’s mix them together and then add the insecticide.” Mercy frowned as she stared at the insecticide. “Hang on. This is organic, right?”

“Of course. Mag, I’m not a Green Witch, but I’m also not stupid.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. I’m just being super careful because I want everything to be perfect. Speaking of, I have the perfect glass bottle for our oil.”

Hunter followed Mercy through the glass door of the greenhouse. Abigail had built her this incredibly awesome gift several weeks ago for Mercy to fill with young plants to transplant to their vast gardens. It was already alive with hanging ferns, a tray of thriving herbs, baby tomato sprouts, and an entire shelf of happily blooming orchids.

“It smells really good in here.” Hunter gently touched a wide frond of one of the hanging plants.

“Thanks, it’s mostly the honeysuckle over there. I coaxed them to bloom early. Here it is!” Mercy held up a glass bottle that was the color of the ocean, like a luminous ball sealed with a tan atomizer bulb just waiting to be squeezed.

“That’s pretty,” Hunter said.

“Yeah, I found it in the back of Abigail’s pantry. It makes me think of old-timey perfume bottles.” Mercy took the top off the bottle before she placed it on the worktable. “Okay, let’s do this together to make it stronger.”

“Sounds good to me,” agreed Hunter. “If you tell me what you need I’ll hand the oils and herbs to you.”

“And then you can add your insecticide at the end to fill up the bottle. Let’s set our intention.”

Somberly, the girls grounded themselves with three deep breaths—in and out.

“My intention is to heal the palm trees,” said Mercy. “Please hand me rosemary oil.”

Hunter passed her the vial of greenish-amber oil. “My intention is to protect the palm trees.”

The girls worked efficiently, sharing that special bond with which they’d been born. They mixed rosemary, mint, orange, lemon, and thyme oils—and added fresh herbs to the bottle. Then Mercy passed the bottle to her sister, who poured the organic insecticide into it until it was completely full. She handed the bottle back to Mercy, who securely screwed the top on before tucking it safely within their basket. Mercy gathered the stang and the circle of mistletoe.

“Okay, I think we’re ready,” said Mercy.

“Me, too, but I feel like we’re forgetting something,” said Hunter.

Which was when Xena, still wearing the fluffy bathrobe, hair cascading in chaos around her shoulders, hurried out the back door of the house.

“Kittens! Oh, good, I caught you before you left. You need to do one more thing—ouch!” Xena lifted one of her bare feet and frowned at it as she brushed a rock from between her toes. “If I have to wear shoes I will die. Simply die!” She sat on the back porch steps and raised her foot to her mouth.

“Freya’s cloak!” Mercy gasped. “Is she going to lick her foot?”

“Not while we’re watching she’s not. Xena! What was the one more thing?”

The cat person froze, blinked several times, and then dropped her foot. “Sorry, kittens. Being a human is very distracting. You need to make it rain.”

“What?” The twins spoke together.

Xena sighed. “The Egyptian palms are in the middle of the park, correct?”

“Yeah,” said Hunter.

“People will be there—even after dark. They have those horrid lights that do not allow cats to hunt at night at all. It’s really very upsetting.” She shook herself. “But that is not important tonight. What’s important tonight is that you cast your spell without prying eyes. So—make it rain.”

“Huh. She’s right,” Mercy said.

“Well, of course I am. Do you need me to remind you of a rain spell or—”

“No, we’ve got it,” said Mercy. “All we need is dried heather.”

“And fern leaves,” finished Hunter.

“Exactly,” said Xena. “I shall leave you to it.” She stood and picked her way carefully to the door. “Blessed be, kittens.”

“Blessed be,” Mercy and Hunter responded automatically.

“I’ll get the fern fronds from the greenhouse,” said Mercy.

“And I just saw the dried heather hanging in the back of the pantry,” Hunter said. “I’ll get that and the matches and meet you in the garage. It’ll be easier to call the rain to the park if we do the spell there.”

“Okay. See you in a sec.”

“Hey, Mag?”

Mercy hesitated at the door to the greenhouse and glanced over her shoulder at her sister.

“She was going to lick her foot!” Hunter said with a giggle.

“Right?! That cat!” Mercy shook her head, but grinned and felt a lot lighter as her sister’s laughter drifted through the evening air after her.

Twenty

Hunter parked in a corner of the lot that was made shadowy by several tall, stately white oaks. The girls briskly went to the largest of the trees, whose trunk was broad enough to conceal them both from the people who were jogging around the track and playing kickball on one of the softball diamonds.

The spell was simple, but effective—and one of the first spells Abigail had taught her daughters. Mercy could hear her mom’s voice lifting from her memory as Hunter struck the match against the rough side of the box. Girls, a witch always needs a good make-it-rain spell. We must keep our Earth Mother verdant and fertile—and without rain that is impossible.

In the car on the way there Mercy had braided the dry heather with the lush fronds of the maidenhair fern. As Hunter lifted the long, ceremonial match, she took the braid from her bottomless purse and held it to the flame. Together the twins invoked.

“Make it rain—make it rain—make it rain!” Three times, just as Abigail had taught them.

The entwined heather and fern began smoking and Mercy traced a pentagram in the air as they repeated thrice again, “Make it rain—make it rain—make it rain!”

All along Mercy’s arms her tiny hairs lifted as power billowed with the smoke. The air felt noticeably