“This is fantastic,” I said, fingers running enviously over the magnetic chalk-ready slate counters as a smile of delight eased the tension from my forehead. I could tell there were no electrical lines, no pipes, no phone, no TV, nothing to break a circle. It was a fortress by way of lack, like an island.

“So, you think you can work here?” Trent said, beaming at my awe.

I nodded, eyes on the open notebooks with works in progress carefully detailed in my mom’s handwriting. She was spelling again, and it made me feel good. “Absolutely.”

Trent went to the spelling library, his fingers running over the spines with the fondness he reserved for the horses in his stable. “Rachel, your mom has been sandbagging. She has a fabulous collection.”

I fingered the key in my robe pocket, knowing that anything I could ever want would be here. Trent knew the charm, and I could tweak it so Ivy could invoke it as needed. The rest would fall into place. Finally something was going our way.

“It’s going to take some trial and error, though,” Trent said, surprising me anew with his stubble and disheveled appearance.

Smiling, I leaned against the counter, hardly able to wait to get started. It was a beautiful room, a pleasure to work in. “Maybe we should get dressed first if we want to save the world.”

Trent’s grin was wide as he came back, tugging me to him. “And a shave, maybe. Sounds good to me. I love watching you work.”

I swayed into him, my eyes on Takata’s little piece of the room and wondering if Trent was going to claim it, but by the gleam in his eye, I thought not.

He was going to help, whether I wanted him to or not, and that was the best feeling in the world.

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The sound of the water through the open windows echoed my intent as I sat cross-legged atop the slate counter within a protective pentagram and carefully etched an ever-smaller spiral into the bottom of the tiny bottle. I barely breathed, my entire world cycled down to the golden glow of glass and the thin tracing of silver flowing from the stylus. The shushing of the waves was the heartbeat of the world, ever present, seldom noticed, and linking every moment together from before there was life to now.

To say it felt as if I was connected to the all, to everything, was an understatement.

I reached the center. The stylus lifted, but I didn’t want to move. I was content, still, and I knew with an unshakable certainty what was important and what wasn’t.

Ivy, I thought, and a stab of fear broke through my muzzy peace. A drop of silver quivered at the tip of the stylus, and I held my breath as I moved the pen from the bottle.