Spells and Sorcery

Chapter Eight

Gavon was obviously telling me the abridged, G-rated version of the Separation.

The book had been written by one of John Chase's seven sons, and he'd gone into painstaking detail—from the lives lost at each battle and skirmish to the minutes from each of the Council meetings. One event that stuck out in gory, graphic detail was the account of the great potion-maker massacre in May 1692. Riley and his faction had obtained a list of all the potion-makers in the village and marked them for death. They took out almost two hundred people in one night, including fifty children. Knowing that Nicole would've been one of his targets, I was very glad that Riley and his idiots had been banished to the other world.

But, in my opinion, the Council of Danvers went a little overboard in preventing the recurrence of such a traumatic event. Some of the rules didn't really apply to me, especially as they related to potion-making, but there was a really big one that confused the hell out of me: No more specialties. All the Warriors, Healers, Empaths, Potion-makers, Charmers, Enchanters—they lost their unique magic and became the mishmash of powers that I had. The Council said it was to prevent another Guild of Warriors from rising, one which could wreak havoc like Riley's did.

So then why were my sisters a healer and a potion-maker? The only thing I could think of was that perhaps, over the four hundred years since it was first enacted, the council's decrees had become less potent.

"Whatcha doing in here?" Nicole asked, walking into the kitchen. As usual, her eyes danced everywhere except the spelled book on the table.

I opened my mouth to ask about the Separation, but that might invite more questions about how I'd suddenly become so knowledgeable about magical stuff. Nicole was usually on my side, but she also wasn't above telling on me. And somehow, I didn't think Jeanie would approve of me meeting with a strange guy in a park to practice magic out in the open.

"Just thinking about stuff," I said, after a few minutes of working my jaw.

"Uh-huh. What kind of stuff?" Nicole asked with a genuine smile.

"Like...do you have a job?"

Nicole quirked a brow. "What kind of a question is that?"

"I mean, you say you do, but with magic—"

"Yes, I have a job," Nicole said with a laugh. "As do Jeanie and Marie. And if you want to save for college, you might want to think about getting one soon, too."

She pulled one of the three barstools from the middle island over to the fridge with a loud scrape. I winced and asked, "What are you doing?"

"Getting the big pot down."

My heart leaped to my throat. "Are you gonna make another potion?"

Another quirked brow. "I was going to make dinner. Feeling like some beef stew tonight."

I closed my eyes and released my magic, finding the pot in the cabinet and retrieving it. It was heavier than I anticipated, and fell out of my hands, clanging loudly on the floor.

"Lexie, really," Nicole said, climbing off the stool and taking the pot I sheepishly offered to her. "You can't just...use magic whenever you feel like it."

I frowned and sat back down on the stool.

"I'm sorry," she said after a moment. "That was really great, what you did. Just be more careful. I don't want you to hurt yourself."

"How is summoning a pot out of the cabinet going to hurt me?" I asked, pointedly. "And how am I supposed to know what to do if no one will help me?"