When the dust cleared, the only thing left in the crucible was a heap of powdery white ash.
Mercy cocked her head to the side. “I don’t think it worked.”
“I … I thought I got the proportions right,” Dawes said, her confidence dissipating with the smoke.
“Hold on,” Alex said. There was something down there. She bent over the edge of the crucible, reaching. It was deep enough that the lip dug into her belly and she had to tip forward off her toes. But her fingertips brushed
something solid in the ash. She dragged it out and dusted it off. A salt sculpture of a snake nestled in the palm of her hand, sleeping in a circle, its flat head resting against its body.
“A talisman,” said Dawes, her cheeks glowing with pride. “It worked!”
“But what does it—” Alex choked back a gasp as the snake uncoiled in her hand. It spiraled around her forearm, all the way up to her elbow, then vanished into her skin.
“Look!” Mercy cried.
There were gleaming scales all over Alex’s bare arms. They glowed brightly and then dimmed, leaving nothing behind.
“Was that supposed to happen?” she asked.
“I’m not sure,” said Dawes. “The spell Mercy found—”
“It was just a guardian spell,” Mercy finished. “Do you feel any different?”
Alex shook her head. “Battered, bruised, and full of quality soup. No change.”
Tripp reached into the crucible, nearly toppling into it. Turner grabbed him by the waistband of his shorts and hauled him back. There was some kind of bird in Tripp’s hand.
“Is it a gull?” he asked.
“It’s an albatross,” Dawes corrected, her voice troubled.
As they watched, its white salt wings unfurled. It took flight, circled once around Tripp, then landed on his shoulder, folding into his body as if it had found the perfect place to roost. A pattern of silvery feathers cascaded over Tripp and disappeared into his skin.
“They’re amazing birds,” said Mercy, her hands flapping as if she too were about to take flight. “They can lock their wings in place and sleep while they fly.”
Tripp grinned, arms outstretched. “No shit?”
“No shit,” said Mercy. It was the most civil exchange they’d had.
Hesitantly, Dawes reached into the ash. “I … What is that?”
The tiny salt creature in Dawes’s hand had enormous eyes and strange hands and feet that looked almost human. It sat as if it were hiding its face.
“It’s a slow loris,” said Mercy.
“It’s adorable is what it is,” said Alex.
The salt loris peeked out from behind its hands, then climbed up Dawes’s arm, its movements graceful and deliberate. It nuzzled her ear and then curled into the crook of her neck, dissolving. For a moment, Dawes’s eyes seemed to glow like moons.
Turner didn’t look impressed. “Is it going to kill those demons with cuteness?”
“They can be deadly,” Mercy said defensively. “They’re the only primates with a poisonous bite, and they move nearly silently.” “How do you know all of this?” Alex asked.
“I was a really lonely kid. The advantage to being unpopular is you get a lot more reading done.”
Alex shook her head. “Boy, did you come to the right place.”
“I’ve read about the loris,” said Dawes. “I’d just never seen one.
They’re nocturnal. And they make terrible pets.”
Alex laughed. “Sounds about right.”
Turner sighed and peered into the heap of ash. “There better be a fucking lion in there.” He drew a sculpture out of the crucible. “A tree?” he asked incredulously.
Tripp burst out laughing.
“I think it’s an oak,” said Dawes.
“A mighty oak?” offered Mercy.
“Why did everyone else get something good and I got a damn plant?”
“The spell indicated the guardians would come from the living world,”
Dawes said. “Beyond that—”
“An oak is alive!” Tripp giggled, doubling over. “You can acorn your enemies into submission.”
