Page 83 of Curses and Cauldrons

She pulls a smudge stick out of a bag lying behind one of the council seats. With a low murmur to the Maiden, she lightsthe end. It flares with a flame before she blows it out and waves the smoke around the room. I catch hints of dragon’s blood resin and frankincense. Those are good for banishment and hex-breaking.

My breaths grow choppy. What does this have to do with my curse?

“What are you doing, Camille?” I grit out. Is there any point trying to talk sense into her? She’s been my mother’s puppet her entire life. A desperate plea for common sense isn't going to change her mind at this stage.

“I’m fulfilling the duty of the founding families.” Camille bends down to extract our family grimoire out of her bag.

“This is all Mom. You’re not smart enough to have your own original thoughts,” Penelope shouts at Camille, who throws her a dirty look.

“Get it done,” our mother snaps, and Camille turns her attention back to the grimoire.”

“What are you doing?”

My mother taps her finger on a line in the grimoire, and Camille nods. “This will ensure your curse is passed along to the next generation. That those of us who came before you will not be inflicted with our curses once again.”

“Is that even a possibility?” I spit out.

Camille grabs a small copper ritual bowl. “Hold her tight,” she instructs my father, whose arms squeeze me until it’s hard to breathe.

I glare at him over my shoulder, squirming to get free. “You’re all pathetic.”

My mother’s hand cracks against my cheek, and I spit in her face. I throw my head back and grunt in triumph when it connects with my father’s face. His arms band around me even tighter until I can barely breathe. My mother leans down andwipes the spit off her check with the arm of my shirt. “You’re lucky we still need you alive.”

“Don’t do this, Camille. You don’t have to be like her,” I gasp, knowing it won’t make a difference. I throw up a plea to the Maiden, Mother, and Crone. I don’t know if it will make a bit of difference, but something urges me to call upon them.

She ignores me, lifting a knife and slicing off a piece of my hair. Penelope is screaming, her voice hoarse from yelling for so long. Camille drops the hair into her bowl and nods to my mother. She shoves the sleeve of my shirt up and then Camille slashes the knife down my arm. She collects the blood and sits down on the ground facing me, the grimoire open in front of us.

My father is still holding me in place. Camille and my mother are inside the circle of candles. My mother reaches out and places a hand on the cut on my arm. Her hand is frozen with her water magic, adding her extra icy touch to my punishment. She’s trying to bring me as much pain as possible.

Except it doesn’t work.

Her touch isn’t painful. My father’s embrace doesn’t hurt. I’m still in a vulnerable position, but I’m not about to pass out like I usually would with so much skin-to-skin contact.

“Do it, Camille.” My mother grins down at the one daughter over whom she has control.

Camille lifts the ceremonial bowl up to the ceiling and begins to chant. “By candle’s glow and blood of kin, take this token of the founders’ sin. Through generations gone before, let this curse plague them no more. Transfer the curse from this age to the next. By rite of this magic, pass on this hex.”

“You’ll regret this,” I pant out. Magic is thick in the air, pressing down on me. But strangely, I don’t feel it in my body. It gathers around Camille like a storm brewing that has nowhere to go. All the candles snuff out in a phantom wind. There’s a drop in pressure and my head feels squeezed before there’s a pop anda release. In the darkness of the room, I feel a new presence. No, that’s not right. I feel three beings. A manifestation of magic surrounding and comforting me. I close my eyes as the faintest whisper of magic brushes over my cheek. It’s the Triad. I don’t know how I know, but it’s them. They’re here with me.

Just as suddenly as it arrived, the sensation leaves and everything goes to shit. There’s a boom, and we’re all blown back from the center of the circle. My father lets go of me and I fall to the dirt floor. The candles and torches flare back to life and the room glows before the fire settles. My mother, Camille, and my father have been tossed to the floor. They groan and push themselves to sitting.

“Come help me up,” my mother snaps, and Camille scrambles over to her. She grabs our mother’s hand to pull her up, but they both scream and break apart. Camille falls back on her ass and glares at Francesca.

“What did you do that for?” Camille shrieks.

“What did you do?” Francesca shouts, her fists crashing down on the ground. “You did it wrong.”

I watch them all with my mouth hanging open. Pen’s eyes are wide as they dart back and forth between our family members.

“What are the two of you blathering on about?” My father stands, brushing off his pants and glaring at the entire room.

“Come, Armond. Help me up.” My mother snaps her fingers at my father, who obeys with a put-out sigh. Except the same thing happens once again. The two of them shout and my father scrambles away, leaving my mother on the floor. Penelope cries out and runs to my side. My father’s magic must have fallen while he was distracted. The two of us watch the rest of our family flounder and shout accusations at each other.

“No. It’s not possible. How can you have fucked this up so badly?” Francesca snarls.

Camille’s head jerks up, and she stares at my mother with wide eyes. My mother glares back at her with her mouth hanging open. Camille shakes her head. “No, I did exactly what it says.” She lifts a trembling hand and points to the grimoire. The spell has taken every ounce of her energy.

“You.” My mother points at me, pushing herself off the ground. “What have you done?”

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