Seeing my grimace, Ceri leaned over the table and touched my arm. “It is a very small curse,” she said, her attempt to console me making things worse. “It’s not evil. You’re disturbing reality, and it leaves a mark, but truly, Rachel, this is a small thing.”
It’s going to lead to worse, I thought, then forced a smile. Ceri didn’t have to help me with this. I should be thankful. “Okay, pentagram first.”
Wings clattering, Jenks landed on the glass, shivering once before he put his hands on his hips and peered up at me. “Start here,” he said, walking away, “and just follow me.”
I looked at Ceri to see if this was allowed, and she nodded. My shoulders eased, then tightened. The chalk felt almost slippery as it skated over the mirror, like a wax pencil on hot stone. I held my breath, waiting for a tingling of rising power, but there was nothing.
“Now over here,” Jenks said when he lifted into the air and dropped down at a new spot.
I played connect the dots, my lip finding its way between my teeth until a pentagram took up nearly the entire mirror. My back was feeling the strain, and I straightened. “Thanks, Jenks,” I said, and he lifted up, his complexion red.
“No prob,” he said as he went to sit on Ceri’s shoulder.
“Now the symbols,” Ceri prompted, and I reached for the top triangle, being careful not to smear my other lines. “Not that one!” she exclaimed before the chalk could touch the glass, and I jumped. “The lower left,” she added, smiling to soften her voice. “When you scribe, you want to rise clockwise.” She made a fist, her eyes going to the cheat sheet. “This one first.”
I glanced at the diagram, then the pentagram. Taking a breath, I held the chalk tighter.
“Just draw it, Rache,” Jenks complained, and as the hush of cars shushing against wet pavement soothed me, I sketched them all, my hand becoming more sure with each figure.
“As good as I,” Ceri praised, and I leaned back and let my breath slip from me.
Setting the chalk down, I shook out my hand. It was only a few figures, but my hand was starting to ache. I glanced at the yew, and Ceri nodded once. “It should etch the glass if you tap a line and let your aura slip into the glass,” she said, and my face scrunched up.
“Do I have to?” I asked, remembering the sinking, uncomfortable feeling of my aura stripping away. Then I looked over the church. “Shouldn’t I be in a circle?”
Ceri’s hair floated when she leaned to stack our plates up. “No. The mirror isn’t going to take it all, just a slip of it. No harm in that.”
She seemed confident, but still…I didn’t like losing any of my aura. And what if Minias showed up or called in the meantime?
“Oh, for the love of little green apples,” Ceri said darkly. “If it will make this any faster.”
I winced, feeling like a chicken, then jumped when she tapped the line out back and, with a word of muttered Latin, set a loose circle. Jenks’s wings hit a still-higher pitch when the large bubble of black-coated ever-after shimmered into existence around us. Ceri was at the exact center, as was the way with undrawn circles, and I could feel the pressure of ever-after against my back. I scooted forward, and Jenks’s wings hit a still-higher pitch. He finally settled himself on the table by the salt. I knew he didn’t like being trapped, but after seeing Ceri’s impatience, I decided Jenks was a big boy and could ask to be let out himself if it bothered him that much.
Ceri’s circle was held with only her will, completely undrawn and entirely from her imagination. It wouldn’t hold a demon, but all I wanted was something to keep nebulous influences out while my aura was not protecting my soul. Why ask for trouble? And with that in mind, I earned a huff of indignation when I picked up the phone and took out the batteries. An incoming call could open an opportunistic path.
“You’re not going to lose all your aura,” she said, moving our stacked plates aside.
Yeah, well, I felt better, and as much as I liked Ceri and respected her knowledge, I was going to fall back on my dad’s admonishment never to practice high magic without a protection circle around you. Demon curses probably fell under that umbrella.
So it was with a lot more confidence that I plucked the makeshift stylus of yew from the table and tapped a line through Ceri’s circle. The energy spilled in—warm, comforting, and a little too fast for my liking—and I tilted my head and cracked my neck to hide my unease. My chi seemed to hum, and my fingers about the yew cramped briefly. I flexed them, and a tingling ran from my center to my fingertips. I’d never felt anything like it before while spelling, but then I was drawing a curse.