Читать книгу Daughter of the Spellcaster - Maggie Shayne - Страница 7

In her tiny hand she held the vial of mugwort over her steaming cauldron and carefully let three drops escape. No more, no less. Then she looked up at her mom and smiled.

Mamma nodded her approval but didn’t let little Magdalena bask in it for very long. “Now the eyebright. Just a pinch.”

Lena set the vial aside and picked up the old brown crockery jar with the dried herb inside. She plucked out a pinch and dropped it into the squat iron pot.

A little more, said Lilia. You have tiny fingers, after all.

She didn’t say it out loud, of course. She spoke from inside Lena’s head. Though her mom called Lilia an imaginary friend, to Lena she was a big sister and very real, even though no one—except Lena herself—could see her. No one else ever had. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t real.

Lena grabbed another pinch and popped it into the bubbling brew, eliciting a satisfying hiss from the pot.

Mamma frowned at her. “How did you know to add a little more?”

“Lilia told me to,” Lena explained.

“Ahh. All right, then.”

Mamma didn’t mean it, though. She didn’t believe in Lilia. Magic, yes. Witchcraft, most certainly. But not Lilia. Grown-ups could be so odd sometimes.

Aside from that, her mom was the best grown-up Lena knew. She was beautiful, first off. The prettiest mom in the whole town. And she didn’t wear jeans like the other moms. She wore flowing dresses—she called them captains. No, wait. Kaftans—in bright oranges and yellows and reds, and sometimes deep blues and greens. And big glittery jewelry that she made herself. And she knew all about magic. So much that other witches were always asking her about stuff.

And she loved Lena more than the whole wide world. And Lena loved her back. So with all of that, it wasn’t so bad that she didn’t believe in Lilia. And anyway, she never came right out and said it. Just said she was “keeping an open mind,” whatever that meant.

Lena took the wooden spoon and gave her mixture a stir, leaning over to sniff the steam. She had insisted on a drop of dragon’s blood—not from a real dragon, of course—as she did in almost all her potions. She loved the smell, and it always felt like a kick of extra power to her.

Her mom, who’d been a witch since she’d been in college, which was a long time ago, had taught Lena to trust her instincts.

They let the cauldron simmer for exactly thirteen minutes, then Lena blew out the candle that was heating it from underneath its three long legs and let things cool for thirteen more. Then she dipped a soft cotton ball into the concoction and used it to wash Mamma’s magic mirror.

It was Samhain, the perfect time for divination, and her mom wanted to teach her how to scry. Lilia had said it would be easy and promised to help.

Once the black mirror was all gleaming and wet with the potion, Mamma placed it in a stand, the kind you would use to display a special plate, and turned Lena’s chair so that she could look directly into it.

“Now you probably think you’re supposed to look at the mirror. But you’re not, really,” Mamma said. “Just let your eyes go sort of sleepy. Let them be aimed at the mirror but not really looking at it. It takes time and practice, Lena, but eventually you’ll—”

“Something’s happening!”

Mamma blinked at her in that way she had. Lena didn’t see her do it, but she knew. “What’s happening, Lena?”

“It’s all… foggy.”

“Good. Just relax and see if the fog starts to clear.”

“Oh, look!” Lena pointed at the images that were playing out in the mirror as clearly as a movie on TV.

“I can’t see what you’re seeing, Lena. Tell me about it as it unfolds.”

She thought she heard a little bit of doubt in her mom’s voice. Sometimes, Lena knew, her mom thought she was making things up, or at least stretching them out with what she called her turbo-charged imagination. But she was seeing that stuff in that mirror. Not in her imagination. But for real.

Go on, tell her what you see, Lilia whispered.

“There are three girls, all dressed up like Jasmine from Aladdin. Hey, I think one of them is Lilia. It is! It’s Lilia!”

“Your imaginary friend?” Mamma asked.

“Yes! Oh, my goodness, that one is me. Only… way different. I’m all grown up in there. And my hair isn’t red like now. It’s black.” Lena giggled. “I’ve got boobies.”

“What am I ever going to do with you, witchling?” Lena could hear the smile in her mom’s voice, but she couldn’t look to see it for herself. She just couldn’t take her eyes off of the images in the mirror.

“It’s getting dark, and I’m sneaking out. Gosh, look where I live. It’s like on that show, I Dreamed about Jennie?”

“I Dream of Jeannie.”

“Yeah. You know, how it looks inside Jeannie’s bottle? It’s like that.”

“Makes sense. You said you looked like Jasmine.”

“Oh, and there’s a boy. A man, I mean. A prince! A handsome prince. Just like in one of my books.” She frowned, then blinked hard. “Oh, no.”

“What, baby?”

“I’m crying. He’s going away. But he says he’s coming back for me soon, and that we’ll live happily ever after. Oh, and he’s kissing me like in a grown-up movie!”

“I think that might be enough for now, Lena.”

One more thing, Lilia whispered.

“Wait, Mom. There’s one more thing.” Lena blinked and relaxed back in her chair, because the fog had returned. It cleared again, though, and she leaned forward and stared eagerly, but then she sighed. “It’s just a cup. It’s just a stupid cup. Not a story. Just a cup.”

“What does it look like?” Mamma asked.

“Fancy. Silver, with jewels all over it.”

“Sounds like a chalice.”

“As the chalice is to Alice,” Lena chirped. It was a secret joke just between the two of them. See, there was this thing in witchcraft called the Great Rite. In it, a witch lowered her athame—that was a fancy knife—into a chalice. She was supposed to say “As the rod is to the God, so the chalice is to the Goddess.” It never made much sense to Lena, though her mom said it would when she got older. It was supposed to be a powerful rite, one of the most powerful in the Craft, and it was done right at the beginning of every ritual.

Lena had once commented that “As the rod is to the God” rhymed, so the second line should, too. And then she changed it to “So the chalice is to Alice.”

Some witches got really mad over that, so she wasn’t allowed to say it in front of them anymore. Mom said some witches just had no sense of humor at all, but that she thought the Goddess would find it funny as hell.

That was just the way she said it, too. “Funny as hell.”

“Lena,” Mamma prompted.

Lena was still staring at the cup in the mirror. “It kinda feels like I’ve seen it before, Mom, but I don’t know where.”

Then the fog returned, and in a second the mirror was just a black mirror again. She sighed and lifted her gaze to her mom. “Did I do all right?”

Mamma looked a little worried. “You did great, honey. I’m very surprised. Most people try for weeks and weeks before they can see anything in the mirror. And then it’s usually shapes in the mist, maybe an image or two, but not a major motion picture.”

“It’s ‘cause I’m so young,” Lena explained to her. “Grown-ups have spent too much time forgetting how to believe in magic. I haven’t forgotten yet. That’s what Lilia told me.” She frowned and lowered her eyes, a sad feeling kind of squeezing her heart. “My prince never came back, though. At least, I don’t think so.”

He will, darling. He’ll come back to you, just at the right time. And so will the chalice. You’ll see. And the curse will be broken, and everything will be right again.

“What curse?” Lena asked Lilia very softly.

But Lilia only smiled softly before disappearing.