her fingertips against the key and its two diamonds. Even with her eyes open, she could sense Athena’s energy rippling from the nearest diamond, warm and sunflower-scented. “Sweet friend.” She closed her eyes and focused on the sensations. “Is there a spell within this book that can heal the brain damage caused by a near drowning?”
The warmth transformed into a rhythmic heartbeat, murmuring against her fingertips.
After a moment, Athena’s voice whispered, “I have not seen all the spells, sweet coven-sister… all the words and incantations. I can translate for the voice of the dead, for Emily. I can help her understand the old language as she turns the pages…” Her voice floated in the air, faded and then returned. “The line is fine between dark and light. Work the great wizard’s magic with care. Blessed be, Chandler, new high priestess of the Northern Circle.”
A crushing sense of sorrow overwhelmed Chandler. She hugged herself and rocked forward to ease the ache. Athena. Her dear friend. Her best friend. The friend she’d admired since they’d first met at Greylock Academy. The woman who had supported her decision to not tell Peregrine’s father about his child. The woman who had offered her a place to start her life over. The witch she’d gladly called her high priestess, had just called her by that very same title.
Chapter 6
According to Isobel Lapin—an herbalist with an extensive knowledge of the arcane, having descended from both Isobel Gowdie and Compere Lapin—the spores of the fungi Calvatia caeus can be treated with Hyoscyamus niger to efficiently deliver and induce twilight sleep.
—Journal of Athena Marsh
Less than an hour later, Chandler pulled her Subaru into a parking space around the corner from Church Street. Gar was riding shotgun with his camo cap tugged low over his eyes. Devlin and Peregrine were in the back. She really hadn’t wanted to bring Peregrine with them, but Chloe and Em wouldn’t have made any progress with him around. Plus, Gar and Devlin thought having Peregrine come would be a good learning experience for him.
“This is the photo I took last Sunday.” Devlin held his phone over the seat so Gar could look. “It shows The Thinker in front of City Hall.”
Gar frowned. “I can’t believe you didn’t sense he was a shapeshifter.”
“At the time, I was busy trying to resist the Shade’s magic and leave a trail of photos online so Chloe could follow us.” His voice toughened. “The last thing I was paying attention to was the vibe of a seemingly innocuous street performer.”
Peregrine scooched across the seat toward the phone. “Let me see.”
Chandler gave him the evil eye. “Remember, young man, you need to behave and stay close to us. Tell us if you see The Thinker but do it quietly. He could be dangerous.”
Peregrine huffed. “The shapeshifter’s dangerous. The journalist’s dangerous. Everything fun is dangerous.”
“Peregrine,” she said warningly. “I’m not kidding.”
Devlin handed the phone to Peregrine. “Listen to your mom. We don’t know anything about this guy.”
Peregrine nibbled his lip, studying the photo. “He doesn’t look scary to me. He looks like a woman.”
Devlin snatched the phone back. He squinted at the screen. His forehead wrinkled. “You’re right. It could be a woman.”
“Not all women are skinny.” Peregrine tsked. “My mom isn’t. She’s strong, like a grizzly bear.”
Despite the admiration in her son’s voice, self-consciousness swept a prickle of discomfort through Chandler. She’d never been petite or as thin as a fashion model. And she’d gotten only more broad-shouldered and muscular from hauling around scrap metal and creating her sculptures, but she was hardly a grizzly bear. Still, there was another issue here. “Peregrine, just because a woman is small, it doesn’t mean she isn’t muscular. Strong comes in all shapes and sizes and isn’t just about being able to fight or lift a lot of weight.”
Gar chuckled. “You can say that again. Em’s no bigger than a flea and she’s as fierce as a T. rex.”
“If everyone’s ready we should get going,” Chandler said, pocketing her car keys. It was better to put an end to this conversation before Peregrine started his usual stream of questions and it morphed into an extended lesson about appearances, shapeshifting, and gender.
She got out and waited by the parking meter. The sidewalk teemed with people headed into restaurants and stores. Sunshine gleamed off the car windshields. Overhead, a plastic Fall Festival banner snapped as a breeze whipped down the street. It was a truly glorious Indian summer day. A welcome change after the cool weather they’d been having, including a round of slushy snow last week.
Peregrine wiggled his hand into her grip and whispered, “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll be careful.”
She squeezed his fingers. “Love you.”
“Love you more than chocolate chip cookies and ice cream,” he said.
She let go of his hand and slipped her fingers inside her sweater jacket to make sure her wand was still safely tucked into the waist of her wraparound pants. Hopefully it was an unnecessary precaution. The wand could magnify her energy tenfold, but the last thing the coven needed was to have one of them seen using magic in public, and worse yet in the presence of a Council investigator. Gar might not want to say anything that could hurt the coven. But the Council didn’t hold back when it came to interrogating employees. And an hour in one of the Council’s infamous interrogation cells was reputed to crack even the toughest resistance.
Gar caught her eye and nodded approvingly toward where her wand lay hidden. He patted his forearm, indicating that he was armed as well. Most likely with his dart gun and a supply of potion-tipped darts.
Her worry about Peregrine’s safety deepened. Clearly, Gar was also concerned that they might be walking into trouble.
Devlin stepped close to Gar. “Smell anything?”
Gar took off his cap and put it on backward. He lifted his head and sniffed, like a wolf scenting the air. “Hotdogs. French fries with cheese, poutine, my favorite… patchouli with an undertone of pot, not my favorite.”
“No loup-garou?”
“Not a trace.”
With Peregrine beside her, Chandler followed Devlin and Gar to the end of the block and out onto Church Street. The term “street” was a misnomer. Decades ago, the street had been closed to car traffic and transformed into a wide pedestrian space flanked with businesses and dotted with street vendors. Music from a flute and harp drifted in the air from somewhere up the street. Close by, laughter and the clank of dishes echoed from a sidewalk café.
Chandler drew up her magic, then released it slowly, letting it fan out as she searched for any trace of uncanny energy. She sensed a nearby pulse, but it emanated from a display of geodes in the window of a jewelry store.
“Mama.” Peregrine tugged her sleeve. He pointed past a coffee stand. “Is that him—I mean her?”
Chandler craned her neck, looking between the stand and the people waiting in line for drinks. Sure enough, a hundred or so yards beyond that, The Thinker sat in front of City Hall as motionless as the statue she depicted, exactly like in Devlin’s photo. Metallic shades of teal and black paint covered every inch of her muscular and seemingly naked body. It was impressive how closely she resembled the original statue, though Chandler did pick up on a hint of bound breasts instead of defined male pecs.
“Not a loup-garou,” Gar stated bluntly.
Chandler studied the shapeshifter again, this time using her artistic eye to see creative possibilities. She took in the elongated lines of the shifter’s spine and skull. The negative space between her hunched shoulders and belly. The distance between her dark eyes. The curl at the sides of her