that once belonged to his mother. As he ground the dried flowers, a silver thread
bounced between his bowl and my grandmother's dish, stringing them together.
I poured the small, dark brown and red chunks of dragon's blood into my
bowl, and a tiny spark of fire sizzled. It continued sparking as I crushed it into a
red powder. When the silver thread grew from the residue, I felt static in the air
along with the strong presence of the elements around me.
With a powerful voice, Gram said, “Goddess, we prepare this spell with pure
hearts and a strong determination to protect the sacred magic you have granted
us. We ask your blessing and guidance.”
My grandmother swirled her white candle just above the greenish-brown
powder. The fine dust rose and began to follow the circles she made as the tip of
the wick greedily consumed the ground juniper needles. When her vessel was
empty, she set the candle down on the table in front of her.
Cole and I met eyes and began to recreate the same magic that Gram had by
circling our candles above our bowls. Just as hers had, our candlewicks siphoned
up all of the powder we had made. When every speck of dust was absorbed, we
set the candles in front of us on the table, as well.
Gram handed each of us a pale-yellow nut from the bottle, labeled White Oak
Acorn. She then set the biggest yellow candle centered in the middle of us before pressing its three wicks down. Cole and I watched while she ground the acorn nut into a tan powder.
This time, Gram was more methodical in turning the seed to dust. She started
to the right before returning to the center. Then, she ground the pestle towards herself and returned to the center. Continuing this pattern, she worked clockwise.
We followed her movements. As we turned the acorn into a powder, it
changed to a silver color and rose from the bowls. The three wicks of the candle
stood up as if summoning the acorn dust. The fine lines of particles arched and
trailed from our containers to one of the tapers. Once again, the candle greedily
siphoned all of the powder we had created.
With the candles prepared, Gram handed me the bottle of rue petals. “Only
take two small petals. We want the truth, not to kill him.”
Suddenly feeling scared about the possibility of killing Elliott, I handed the
bottle to Cole. “You pick the petals. I'll grind them.”
Carefully dumping the petals into his hand, Gram and I watched as he sorted
through them, putting the larger petals back. Holding a palmful of small, yellow
pieces out towards me, he said, “Mara, trust yourself like you taught me.”
As I ground the smallest petals, I focused on thoughts of my father. The man
I remembered from my childhood — the man who loved me. Closing my eyes, I
prayed to the Goddess. When I opened them again, the yellow ash I had made was above me in the shape of a butterfly.
Gram held out a small crystal vial, and the yellow image flew into it.
Corking it, she closed her eyes. “Thank you, Goddess, for your blessings."
When she reopened her eyes, Gram began clearing the table as if nothing
