Page 20 of Vexing the Grumpy Orc

“And it will work this time?” His gaze flicked to Digby’s stone form.

“If we don’t have any… interruptions.” I shot him a pointed look.

His ears darkened again. He held up his hand and took an overly large step away from the boundary. “I’ll stay outside the circle.”

“Good.” I finished placing the last mushroom andstood back to examine my work. Everything was perfectly positioned—better than my first attempt. “Because I really need this to work.”

I dug through my pack for my mortar and pestle, then returned to kneel in front of Digby. The shadow caps glowed purple in the growing darkness, casting eerie light across my familiar’s frozen features. My heart ached at the sight of him—still as vigilant in stone as he’d been in flesh.

I dropped the most vibrant shadow cap into the bowl and crushed it into a fine paste. The mushroom released its earthy scent as I worked, mixing it with a few drops of water from the stream, until only the final ingredient waited.

I pulled a small silver knife from my pocket and pressed the blade to my index finger. A quick slice—practiced, clinical—and crimson welled to the surface.

Galan hissed, his head snapping away.

“What’s wrong? Big bad orc doesn’t like blood?” I teased, letting three drops of blood fall into the mixture.

“Not blood without purpose.” His ears darkened again. “Wasteful bleeding is for fools and showoffs.”

“This has purpose.” I stirred the mixture with my fingertip, watching it turn from purple to deep crimson. “Blood carries intent. It’s the strongest binding agent in magic.”

He shifted his weight, looking uncomfortable. “You must be used to it. With your nursing.”

“Former nurse.” I smeared the mixture across Digby’s stone forehead, careful to make the symbol exactly as the grimoire had shown. “Though the medical board might have a new complaint about Harrison Rocha to consider.”

The symbol complete, I pushed away all thoughts of Harrison, of jobs, of everything but the magic gathering in my blood. This moment belonged to Digby.

Taking a deep breath, I began the chant.

“Shadow caps of twilight’s hour, grant me now your sacred power. Blood of witch and mountain’s heart, break this curse and stone apart. What was flesh and now is stone, return to life and blood and bone.”

The words pulled at something deep inside me, drawing magic up from my core and into the circle. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I channeled more power, feeling it flow through my outstretched hands toward Digby.

“Shadow caps of twilight’s hour...”

The crystals vibrated, humming with energy. The air thickened as the mushrooms began to pulse.

A sudden crack echoed through the trees. Galan moved before I could blink, positioning himself between me and the sound. His huge frame blocked my view of the forest, muscles tensed for attack. I froze, spell momentarily forgotten as he listened, head cocked.

“Deer,” he finally said, relaxing slightly. “Just passing through. Keep going.”

I nodded, though he wasn’t looking at me anymore. His gaze swept the tree line, vigilant. The protective gesture wasn’t lost on me. For someone who claimed to hate witches, he seemed awfully concerned about my safety. I didn’t comment when he settled closer to my circle than before, though still carefully outside its boundary.

I closed my eyes and centered myself again. The ley lines hummed beneath me, power rising through the earth and into my bones. I let it fill me, channeling it through my blood and into the circle. My limbs trembled with the effort, but I couldn’t stop now. Not when I was so close.

“Blood of witch and mountain’s heart, break this curse and stone apart. What was flesh and now is stone, return to life and blood and bone.”

Again.

“Shadow caps of twilight’s hour, grant me now your sacred power. Blood of witch and mountain’s heart, break this curse and stone apart. What was flesh and now is stone, return to life and blood and bone.”

Again. The mushrooms brightened, their purple glow intensifying with each word. I poured more and more of myself into the spell. Each syllable felt heavier than the last, like speaking through honey. But I had to keep going.

“Blood of witch and mountain’s heart…”

My voice grew hoarse, but I pushed on, focusing everything I had on Digby’s stone form. On memoriesof his warm weight against my side. His indignant chattering when I worked too late. His unfailing loyalty that threw him between me and danger.

“What was flesh and now is stone, return to life and blood and bone!”

---