Chapter Eighteen
The Scheme Team
We meet in the back corner of the library the next night so Soren can draw the rune on my arm and the five of us can discuss next steps. He unravels an aged sheet of paper, which Tomorrow abruptly snatches from him and flattens out on the table.
“It’s a list of what the spell will require,” Soren explains. “I believe it will be a combination spell: potion, ritual, and incantation. The Grimoire du Mage should clarify that.”
Tomorrow scans it with a scowl while Tuesday moves silently to stand behind her shoulder. “By the way, love your new hair, Mika,” Tuesday smiles, peering down at the list. “It matches your aura.”
“Oh, uh, thanks,” I say, frowning.
“Where did you get this list, Soren?” Tuesday looks up at him questioningly, a small frown disrupting her features.
When he doesn’t immediately answer, Tomorrow offers her most threatening look. “Do you want our help or not, Cain? Because if you do, you’re going to have to be honest about at least some of it.”
“It’s a theoretical model for a partially conceived Emperor's Spell.”
Tomorrow snorts. “The Emperor's Spell? Everyone knows that doesn’t exist.”
She’s right. The Emperor’s Spell is a myth that’s been part of witching legend for as long as anyone can remember—put together the perfect ingredients for power, and you can make yourself a god, immortality and all.
I eye Soren, noting that he’s rerouted us instead of actually answering the question. But I also know better than to think he will. First rule: no questions.
“I don’t even know what some of this is,” Tomorrow mutters. Lifting her hand as she scrutinizes the list, she flicks her fingers once, and a book comes soaring.
The sizable thud is impossible to ignore as the book collides with someone’s head, and I venture a peek over Tomorrow’s frame. It’s the same redhead from the other day, who casts an incensed look in my direction. I move subtly back into place, the twins’ bodies obscuring me from view.
“Oops,” Tomorrow says to us. She’s not sorry.
“Blood of the Broods.” I begin to read the list aloud for Sabbath. “Julienned tongue of Varanus komodoensis, dried and powdered Desmoxytes purpurosea, hyssop oil, six seeds of shadowmoss, one heap from a newly dug grave, unicorn component...”
Tomorrow wheels her eyes up to Soren. “There’s a suspicious lack of gore on here for soul magic.”
“The darker elements will be in the Grimoire du Mage, which is why we need access to it,” he explains. “But before we go after the grimoire, I want us to gather as many of the things on this list as possible.”
Soren’s doing it; he’s testing us. Seeing how many resources we have between us, how discreet we can be before we traipse into Paris unarmed with basic teamwork skills.
“How sure are you that these things are going to match up with what’s in the grimoire?”
“Very certain,” Soren answers Sabbath. Never mind that his answers bring more questions.
“I can get these,” Tu says, pointing at the seeds and oil.
“And the animal byproducts should be easy enough with a necromancer,” Tomorrow shrugs. “Sabbath, can’t you get some of that?”
“Yes...” she answers slowly and warily, looking to me for help.
“Blur the good witch line just slightly,” I propose. She looks away. Clearly, I am no help at all.
“The only thing that will be difficult here is the unicorn—”
“Bonsoir…” A French accent says, and I watched Sabbath slide further into her seat. Turning, I see it belongs to one of my least favorite people in the world. “What is this strange little study session all about?” Amandine stares around at our strange mélange, surely attempting to formulate any logical reason why the four of us could be gathered next to Soren Cain.
Tomorrow snatches the list, stuffing it into her bag just as Amandine’s eyes fall to the table.
“None of your business, Amandine,” I retort.
Amandine smiles pleasantly at me, smugness smeared across her face as she comes to stand way too close to Soren’s broad frame. I hate how they look standing so close together, her twiggish body so small and feminine next to his height. It’s gross.
“So sorry to hear about you and Enz, Meeks,” she coos, pushing her lower lip out a bit.
I hate her for using Sabbath’s nickname for me. That is not allowed.
“I am so sure,” I say, with fake cheeriness.
“Well, it’s for the best, of course. Wouldn’t do to be with someone whose skills are against your ethics.” Amandine’s eyes briefly dart to Sab. A little on the nose for someone with no ethics at all, if you ask me.
“Speaking of which,” Amandine lights up, “not ethics, but potions.” She withdraws a small sparkling bottle and wags it at Soren. “Have something we can try Friday night, courtesy of the Potions Master. Meet me for dinner then? Enzo would love some feedback before he starts selling.”
Yep, no ethics at all. Not a drop.
“Aren’t you supposed to be a die-hard Spellfall legacy? Why are you so into a Burnbrighter, Amandine? Desperation isn’t a good look on you,” Tomorrow taunts, managing an unbelievable “Sorry,” in Soren’s direction.
“She’s not sorry,” I mouth at him, and he smirks.
“It’s not desperation if it’s achievable, Tomorrow. But I guess you wouldn’t know that.”
Amandine flicks one last suspicious glance our way, before slipping the potion into Soren’s hand and sauntering away, her long dark hair flipping silkily against her back.
As soon as she’s out of view, Tomorrow clears her throat, and we all snap out of the spell that is our shared hatred for Amandine.
Returning to her seat, Tomorrow growls, “Shame she’s a legacy. We’re not all such a pain in the—”
“You’re legacies?” Soren asks, looking between the twins with mild surprise on his face.
“Yes, Evanora Banks. Great-great-grandmother. Tu takes after her.”
“Evanora Banks?” I repeat.
I’m shocked to see Soren’s face is actually emoting something other than brood. It looks vaguely like admiration. “As in, the witch who penned the Shadekey?” he asks. “You’re related to one of the most influential spellwriters of all time?”
“Yes! The Shadekey is our family grimoire,” Tuesday pipes up, smiling.
“Bet Amandine didn’t feed you that handy little piece of information. Feel bad about insulting us, yet?” Tomorrow’s face is all satisfaction.
Soren tilts his head slightly, taking in this information with his mouth slightly agape. I want to very helpfully close it with a whack, but I restrain myself.
“Was there anything else, Soren?” Tomorrow demands. “I’m going to be late for the Rune Dragoons meeting.”
“What are the ‘Rune Dragoons’?”
“Spellfall’s alliance of unofficial runers. I’m their leader.”
I fold my lips together so I don’t accidentally laugh at the look on Soren’s face.
Finally letting go of whatever judgmental thing he meant to say, he leans forward, sighing. “The unicorn we’ll have to figure out together. It’s not something any of us could do on our own.”
The proof that we are or aren’t capable of Soren’s spell apparently lies in the hooves of a unicorn.
“Right,” Tomorrow agrees, shoving all her books into her bag. “Let’s meet for dinner Friday and talk about the unicorn.” Words I never thought I’d hear uttered from Tomorrow’s mouth. “Oh, and Soren? I don’t care what little deal you have between the three of you,” she states dangerously, bending down and stirring her finger around the air to indicate the ‘between’ area. “If you bail on dinner to take prohibtions with that wench, Amandine, I’m out. Morbid soul magic or not.”
She stalks off, leaving us all blindsided in her wake.
“I’m not sure that would entirely be a bad thing,” Soren grumbles.
“Um, did you not just witness the Queen of the Rune Dragoons?” I ask. “Better Tomorrow Jones for us than against us. And she’s right,” I say. “Don’t you screw it up.” Especially for Amandine, I want to add.
We look to Tu, who’s grinning mischievously. “What is it?” Sab asks.
“You might not be able to tell, but Tomorrow actually loves unicorns. She’s very excited.”
“That was excitement?” Soren’s voice breaks with exasperation.
“Amandine is a sore spot with Tomorrow.”
“Amandine is a sore spot with everybody,” I clarify, looking over at Sabbath. “Don’t let her become... a Sore-en spot.”
“Ha-ha,” he rolls his eyes. “I get it, ‘Amandine is, like, thaworst.’”
It’s the first time I’ve seen Soren Cain break character, mocking us with his stupid mimicry of a female voice. It’s almost a relief to know he has a side other than Brooding and Feuding.
“See you Friday,” he says gruffly, stalking off impolitely.
I find myself even more relieved that despite this fleeting lapse, Soren still remains exceedingly punchable to me.
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