Page 45 of Strike It Witch

The saguaros were dead, but their dormant roots still produced enough magical residue to power up—or, rather,re-powerup—the original protections. With the cooperation of Mom’s soil, my spell could tease it out of them. However, getting the earth here to cooperate for even this small amount of time was a challenge.

I untied the bundle and laid the ingredients in the hole—Cecil had left me enough horehound after all—and poured in a cup of sea water, mixing everything together with my finger.

Pure water acted as a dissolution agent, diluting magic as it washed away intention and ingredients. Sea water was not only electrically conductive, it aided magical transmission, too. I’d driven five hours round trip to the Pacific Ocean last week to refill the jug.

When the surface of the water had stilled, I hovered my hands over it and chanted the spell, using English, Spanish, and a few Latin words, as I’d been taught. The language didn’t matter, and neither did the words. It was the intention that counted.

Like the road to Hell, the road to effective magic was paved with good intentions. Also bad intentions, but I kept away from the dark stuff.

For a moment, just one, I felt the raw power in the soil. Life sprang from it like a jolt of electricity, treating not only thewater as a conductor, but my body, too. Together, we acted as an infinity loop of magic and intention. Together, we spoke to the roots of the saguaro, coaxing magic from them.

Together, we met in love and purpose to protect this park and the beings residing inside it.

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I reached for the saguaro spine. I chanted as I set it on the water’s surface.

“Protegerlos.Protect them.”

The salt water jetted up like a fountain, balancing the spine on a single drop of water three feet in the air then fell back to earth in a slow-motion splash, taking the saguaro spine, the spell ingredients, and the salt water with it. The surrounding soil filled the hole, and my magic came back into me in a whiplash snap, leaving me flat on my back and gasping for air.

When the effects of having the wind knocked from my lungs subsided, I rolled onto my side, careful not to squish Cecil, and sat up. The gnome had already placed a fresh stone atop Orange’s grave. It would be a fully-powered key by morning—no need for me to use any additional magic for it. Sra. Cervantes would know to pick it up before leaving for herhow to be the world’s biggest grouchclass, or whatever she did with her time.

“Meow, meow.”

“Yeah, that did suck, Fennel.” I grunted and rolled to my feet. Took a swig of coffee, downing the equivalent of a full cup in two gulps. “Look at it this way,” I said, as I screwed the cap on the thermos, “I only have to do this six more times.”

The last saguaro of the spell was also the one with the most residual magic.

Red.

By the time I got to him, I’d polished off the thermos and was still dragging. The amount of caffeine I would’ve required to stay fully alert would’ve poisoned me, so I’d accepted one ofmyawakencharms from Cecil to make it through the last few cactuses.

My magic was so low, an outside attack from even a low-power witch would’ve taken me out. I couldn’t run, couldn’t cast, couldn’t defend myself. This was the moment when the spell became dangerous. If anyone knew how weak I was tonight, they’d be able to kill me as easily as killing a human.

I knelt in front of Red’s grave, hissing as the bruising on my knees reminded me I’d been doing this for three hours now. I dug the hole and performed the spell, the salt water splashing me as it rose high above my head, too high for the amount of water I’d poured. The saguaro spine was absorbed into the flow, traveling through the spurting water into the earth.

That was Red. He always did things differently than the other saguaros.Done, I reminded myself. He’d alwaysdonethings differently. Because although I could tap the magic in his roots to power Mom’s old spell, he wasn’t alive anymore.

Like Mom.

No matter how much I wanted things to be different, neither of them would ever be back. Even if I managed to grow the saguaros from the sleeping roots buried here, the cactus that formed wouldn’t be Red. NotmyRed.

“Protegerlos.Protect them,” I whispered, infusing the words with the last of my magic.

The fountaining water fell to the earth with a splat, and the magic punched out of me, leaving me so weak it was all I could do to breathe. I crawled onto the damp soil of Red’s grave, curled up, and passed out.

I awoke two hours later,finding fourawakencharms draped around my throat and my cell phone beside my head.

Fennel sat beside the phone, his tail curled around his legs.

“Don’t tell me. All hell broke loose last night?”

“Meow.”

I glared at the phone I was certain I’d left charging in my trailer. “So not all hell. Just a small corner of it?”

“Meow.” He batted the phone, sending it spinning in my direction.

I sat up. Sleeping on Red’s soil had a rejuvenating effect as well as keying me into the park spell, similar to how I keyed the stones for my tenants. I took off all but one of theawakencharms and made a mental note to ask Cecil to help recharge them later. He’d long gone to bed, leaving Fennel to watch over me and, apparently, my phone.

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