Page 12 of Her Dreadful Will
As Soleil watched, the ring’s glow faded and the woman strode away, shaking the last of the herbs from her fingers as she disappeared around a corner.
There was nothing to be done. No help Soleil could give, no evidence to collect, no justice to be had. She was too late.
After closing the door quietly, Soleil went back to her car and sat it in for several minutes, until she could handle the wheel without shaking. She hadn’t collected much merchandise for the shop, but that could wait for another weekend. For now, all she wanted to do was get home, tuck that terrible ring away somewhere safe, and forget everything about this horrible day.
7
When she reached home, Soleil couldn’t manage a bite of lunch. She couldn’t think clearly, couldn’t quiet the anxious chatter of her conscience, so she took Carebear for a long romp at Hatter’s Fall—a sprawling, rocky mess of forested hills, mill ruins, and one big waterfall. Her old mint-green VW juddered and complained the whole distance there and back again—a twenty-minute drive each way.
Clearly, her trip to the Mountain Market had done a number on the car’s inner workings and for the first time since her arrival, Soleil started to worry about money. Business at the thrift shop was slower than she’d like, and even with the startup money from her parents and grandfather, she wouldn’t be able to keep going for more than a couple of months unless sales increased significantly. Add a car repair into that equation, and her timeline grew even shorter.
After letting Carebear loose in their small backyard, Soleil plopped into a rickety wicker chair by her back door and pondered her situation. If things didn’t work out with the shop, she’d have to take on a second job—maybe as a barista. She would still meet a lot of people, but she would be serving them coffee quickly. She wouldn’t have time to get to know them, to understand what they needed, to exert her magical influence properly.
In the couple of months since she had arrived, she had probably touched the wills of a few hundred people. In a town with a population of four thousand or so, that was significant. And perhaps that massive expenditure of radiance—magical energy—was why she felt so terribly tired. She would have to go into a long recovery trance tomorrow to restore her powers. Hopefully the weather would be cooperative. A nice energizing sun-soak was just what she needed.
Carebear nudged her knee, a rope toy in his mouth. With a sigh and a half-smile, she rose and threw it. He bounded across the yard with fluid power, his black coat gleaming in the sun. When he brought the rope back for another round, she shook her head. “I’ve got work to do, baby. Go run for a bit, okay?”
With a reproachful stare, he trotted away, and Soleil went inside to work on the hyacle that would give her a permanent connection to Mya Childers.
Her workshop was a long room at the back of the house, with a row of windows overlooking the backyard. She’d placed tables under those windows and laid out the more modern implements of her trade—torches, glass rods, rotary tools and paddles for polishing, and her small kiln. Beside those stood a set of tiny wooden drawers filled with dried herbs, chips from various kinds of wood, bits of minerals and rocks, slivers of bone, iridescent jade beetles, and dragonfly wings. The green glass bottles lining the windowsills scattered the light, casting gold-green fragments across the herb charts on the walls. Soleil’s favorite piece of art in her workshop was a sleek kudu skull, narrow and slit-nostriled, with a pair of gloriously twisted black horns. On a table beneath it she’d set out the rest of her skull collection—a tapir skull with its odd frontal bone spur; a condor skull with a ponderous sharp beak, and a python skull with its split lower jaw and wicked fangs. On the shelves she had arranged several bird skulls in various sizes, as well as one each from a cat, a bat, and a possum.
Soleil sighed, running a finger down the groove between the magpie skull’s eyeholes. This was perhaps another reason why no one had wanted to date her in college. What normal girl had a skull collection?
Skull...
What had the brown-haired witch’s skull looked like after the—after thepop, pop? The sound echoed in her head, hideously subtle, horribly final.
A burst of nausea churned her stomach. Why, why had she gone to the market Friday instead of Saturday? If she had waited one more day, she would never have seen that cuffed witch. She wouldn’t have been involved at all, could have stayed blissfully ignorant. She had done everything wrong today, everything.
Closing her eyes and gritting her teeth, she inhaled through her nose and blew out the breath, slowly. Enough with the second-guessing and the guilt. It was over now. No way to fix it.
Better to forget about it and get to work.
She charmed the rainwater first, adding some dried cornflowers for psychic power, along with scraps of paint from the siding of Mya’s house. She spoke a few carefully chosen words over the mixture, then she assembled the rest of the ingredients in a clean mortar and selected a pestle.
Her phone emitted a cheerful ping, and she set down the pestle to check it. A message from Lucibae75, one of the few Institute students she still communicated with since graduation. During training at the Institute, students weren’t allowed to trade real-world names or information on peril of expulsion. After matriculating, graduates could technically exchange true names or real locations if they so desired, but most of them maintained their anonymity until they reached the rank of Highwitch. Giving an unknown witch your real name and location was like handing your social security card to a random stranger in an alley and trusting them not to do anything nefarious with it.
Most of Soleil’s connections through the Institute hadn’t lasted past graduation, but she had managed to forge two solid friendships: Lucibae75 and Uzigothgirl. To them, Soleil was “Starburst,” a subtle nod to her real name. The three of them had been partners on a few projects, and were often reprimanded for too much witty banter in the in-class chat space, which was supposed to be used only for questions and lesson-related comments. Since graduation, they still used the Institute’s messaging app, Grimoire, which included additional layers of security to protect the secrets of magic.
Lucibae’s message was simple. “Whatcha doing?”
Soleil pinched her lips together. She could never tell Luci or Uzigoth anything about this morning. Between the shame of what she’d left undone, and the nauseating disillusionment seeping through her soul, she had no idea what she would even say.
Soleil’s thumbs flew as she typed back, “Making a hyacle.” She set down the phone within eyeshot and went back to grinding her elements together.
A blinking pink snowflake appeared, which meant Luci was typing back. “I thought you were going to slow down with the hyacles! You’re going to burn out!”
Sighing, Soleil thunked down the pestle and responded. “I met a woman yesterday who needs my help. I may have to treat her husband too.”
“Fix him, you mean.”
“Yes. Fix him. It’s what I do. Everyone is happier here now.” Her lips tightened as her thumbs flew over the tiny squares on the screen’s keyboard. She’d always sensed Luci’s faint condemnation of her thesis project. Even via message, the other witch’s disapproval was a tangible thing, oozing through her word choices.
“Remember what Highwitch Erlich said. Keeping tabs on too many hyacles at once can make your brain shatter.”
“Gee, thanks for that reminder. Can I get back to work now?”
“Don’t be mad,dorogoi. You know I’m just looking out for you.”
