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

Twenty-one

Petrichor, the earthy scent released when rain nourishes dry land, floated on the back of the cool breeze as Hunter parked the car on the gravel road near the olive tree. Hunter didn’t follow Mercy as her sister charged from their mother’s car into the tall grass, headed straight for the old tree. There was something in the breeze. Something more than the sweet smell. It was prickly and magical and it pulled her and her tarot in a different direction. Hunter kicked loose gravel as she walked along the side of the road, following her witchy senses.

Halfway to the tree, Mercy stopped. “H, where are you going?” she shouted, her hands in the air.

Hunter wanted to reply but thought better of it. The explanation would bring more questions than answers.

Hunter paused at the edge of the road near tire tracks from the sheriff’s department vehicles that had been on the scene. Her breath caught as she raised her hand and pointed. “Over here,” she called out to her sister and waded into the grass. The tall blades swayed around Hunter’s thighs and beads of water fell on her boots as the field shook free of the magical rainstorm.

Her mouth went dry and her fingers trembled as she walked through the tall, lush grasses that arched and bowed with the wind. Ahead, the grasses were crushed, flattened down long enough and by something heavy enough that the rich crimson imprint had remained even after its absence.

A wooden stake had been left behind, nestled in the ground, a scrap of yellow-and-black crime scene tape still stuck to it. When Hunter and Mercy had driven by two nights ago, the tape had been stretched around Earl Thompson’s shiny red truck and extended out toward this spot. Had it not been so morbid, the whole thing would’ve made Hunter laugh. Silly non-magic folk trying to solve a problem that seemed more and more likely to be caused by an issue they couldn’t understand much less know how to fix. But that’s why Hunter and Mercy had come here: to find out if the failing gate had let something loose.

The tarot deck sizzled in her pocket as Hunter stood at the edge of the flattened red-stained grass. Earl Thompson had drawn his last breath here, had his last thought … What had it been? All Hunter could think about was this uneven outline his body had left. But that wasn’t what he’d thought about, what kind of temporary destruction he’d leave behind. Maybe he’d thought about fear or fury or fate.

What had Hunter’s mother thought when she’d lit herself on fire and left her daughters to face the world alone?

Mercy approached, her signature lilac scent catching Hunter’s attention. “Don’t we need to be closer to the gate?” Mercy pointed over her shoulder at the olive tree, its gnarled limbs reaching toward the last traces of clouds.

Hunter pressed the toe of her boot into the marred grass. “We have to do it here.” Deep burgundy stained the earth like spilled wine. It was blood. Human blood. Earl Thompson’s blood. Being here, this close to the scene of a crime, should make her feel different. Should make her feel something. The only things she felt were the power of the moon, the strength of Tyr, and the tarot cards burning a hole in her pocket. But those weren’t emotions.

Hunter crouched down and held her hand over the bloodstain. Her palm prickled with energy. There was power in blood. That was obvious. Countries rose and fell by it. The empowered blood of kings and queens chose the heirs to the throne. But more important, more powerful, was the blood of their people. Shed enough of it and any tide would turn.

Their mother had never mentioned this power or the deliciously sweet way its energy lapped against each of Hunter’s nerves with the steady seduction of waves on a beach. Hunter could be comfortable here, adding blood magic to her box of tools. After all, humans were made of stardust, so what was blood if not a liquid form of the cosmos?

Hunter slid her fingers along her smooth pendant and took her tarot deck out of the pocket of her oversized cardigan. The cards weren’t actually hot, but their energy felt fiery, felt ready. She pulled them from their velvet pouch the same deep blue as the sky abandoned by the sun. She shielded her eyes and looked up at the azure blanket above. The moon had settled against the sun-bleached heavens like a water stain. Mother Moon was always watching, the caretaker as the sun slipped from existence each night.

Hunter ran her hand over the silver back of her deck. She felt Mercy behind her, stuffed full of questions and opinions. But this was Hunter’s time to shine, and her Green Witch sister was so far out of her element that she’d sink without the safety raft of Hunter’s spellwork.

“This is gross, H. Can’t you work your magic anywhere else?” Mercy tented her arms and settled her hands on her hips. “Preferably at the tree since it’s the actual root of the problem.” Her smooth brow furrowed. “Pun not intended.”

“This is a stronger site.” How could Mercy not feel the energy rising from the stained earth? Hunter gripped her opal pendant. Maybe the earth hadn’t called her to this spot. Maybe this was the guidance of her god. “Tyr led me here,” she said and let the pendant fall back into place.

Mercy bit her lip. “Well…” There was that guilty look again. It wrinkled her round nose and pinched the corners of her eyes.

“You have to trust me, Mag.”

“I do!” The words rushed out too quickly.

Hunter bit the inside of her cheek and turned back to the matter at hand. She’d figure out what was going on with Mercy later. Right now, magic called to her and she wouldn’t keep it waiting. She situated her knees against the edge of the ring of blood and set the