"I need you to grab me nightshade, wormwood, or mandrake,” Madeline instructed, her tone brisk as she examined a table cluttered with magical tools.
“Got it.” Irene moved toward the table lined with glass jars, each labeled in a precise, spidery script. She scanned the names until her fingers brushed against the cool surface of the jars containing the herbs. Carefully, she picked them up, but as she turned back toward Madeline, her elbow caught the edge of a precarious stack of books.
“Shit!” Irene muttered as the books toppled, scattering across the floor. With a sigh, she set the herbs back on the table and crouched to gather the fallen tomes.
As she reached for one of the books, her gaze froze on a particular volume. Unlike the others, this one was bound in rich, dark leather, with intricate golden embroidery snaking across its cover. A polished moonstone gleamed at its center, catching the dim light of the cave and refracting it in a faint, mystical glow. Irene hesitated, her hand hovering over the book as an inexplicable pull urged her to open it.
“What’s taking so long?” Madeline’s voice broke the silence, startling Irene.
“God, you scared the hell out of me!” Irene exclaimed, jolting upright.
Madeline chuckled softly, a sound both amused and knowing. “It seems you’ve found what we need—and a bit more than that. That’s a grimoire.”
Irene rose to her feet, brushing dust off her knees, and handed the grimoire to Madeline before retrieving the herbs from the table. They walked together toward an area Madeline had prepared for the spell. A sense of ancient ritual hung in the air. Black salt formed a careful circle on the ground, surrounded by black and white candles whose flames flickered like tiny, restless spirits. A mortar and pestle sat nearby, along with a small vial of silver dust that gleamed faintly in the dim light.
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“Hey, Madeline, can I ask you something?” Irene ventured, breaking the quiet.
Madeline smirked as she began arranging the ingredients. “You do a lot of that, but go ahead.”
“You said earlier that the spell keeping you in your human form only lasts a few hours. We’ve been here for longer than that. How are you still in your human form?”
Madeline paused, her fingers brushing lightly over the moonstone on the grimoire. Her expression softened, tinged with a hint of something Irene couldn’t place—weariness, perhaps, or reverence.
“Here’s the first thing you need to know about spells,” Madeline began, her voice even but layered with meaning. “Every spell needs a source of magic to fuel it. The bigger the source, the stronger the spell.”
Irene nodded, her curiosity growing. “And what about the spell you’re using? How does it work if you don’t have enough magic for it?”
Madeline’s eyes flicked toward the shadows deeper in the cave. “This forest, this cave—they’re brimming with magic. Old magic. They’re the only reason I can maintain this form. Without them…” She trailed off, letting the weight of her words settle.
Irene studied her for a moment, a shiver running down her spine. The cave suddenly seemed more alive, the air heavier with unseen energy. “So, the cave is keeping you human?”
“For now,” Madeline said, her tone clipped but not unkind. “But remember this, Irene—magic always comes at a cost. Even borrowed magic.”
The warning hung in the air between them as Irene glanced down at the grimoire in Madeline’s hands. It seemed to hum faintly, as though it held secrets too powerful to be spoken aloud.
