Marcy was a powerful witch, but she was extremely new to being a foot solider in this war. If she got hurt, I didn’t need James’s wrath—I’d never forgive myself anyway. But maybe there was a way around it. “Let’s split the odds,” I said. “Rourke, Tyler, and I will continue to investigate, but not engage, while you and Danny search for a doorway. Whoever finds what we’re looking for first is the way we go.”
“Okay, I can live with that.” Then her voice fell a few octaves, to just above a whisper. “And, just so you know, if we run into serious trouble, I can make my magic dark if need be. I have ways to make it more potent, and if we’re stuck between a possessed python and a hard place, that will give us a better edge. It would just take me a little time to get it ready, but once I was done, it would pack a punch.”
“And how exactly would you make your magic dark?” I asked, my head inclined toward her. I didn’t like where this conversation was headed.
She shrugged. “I’d use blood.” She tried to make it sound blasé, like she used blood in all her spells, but it didn’t work.
I threw my arms up. “Marcy, you can’t be serious! I’m not letting you practice black magic under my watch. Not only will James rip me limb from limb, but your aunt will have my head if she finds out I sanctioned such a thing. No way in hell is that happening.”
“Cool your jets, Glinda the Good Witch,” Marcy countered. “I said it would take time to get it ready. I’m talking about brewing a dark spell, not sacrificing a chicken. Blood brewed in spells is different than ingesting it. Blood gives magic strength no matter what, but one way it’s given freely and in another it’s taken by force. If I drank your blood or ate your heart, and then gathered my magic from the blood sacrifice through my body, my magic would be jet black. But if I used a few drops of blood in a brewed spell, it gives it potency, but it doesn’t make it black.”
“But you just said your magic would be dark,” I said. “Dark is bad.”
“Yes, dark. But not black,” she huffed, her long red hair streaming down around her shoulders in a mass of beautiful curls. It was quite a stark contrast to our current environment. “I’m not insane. Once a witch nose-dives into black magic, there’s very little that can bring her back. Blood magic is like smoking crack for witches. It makes them feel invincible—and many times they are, because their magic becomes super strong. But it also makes them crazed, which is why it’s banned in every Coven in the entire world and has been for a thousand years. If all witches were walking around hopped up on blood magic, the world would’ve come to a grinding halt eons ago.”
“So how exactly are you going to brew dark spells here?” I asked, gesturing around me. “We’re in the middle of the Everglades in an alternate reality.”
Marcy glanced around at the barren landscape. “Well, I never said it was… ideal. I just said I could do it if pressed. But, really, I only need a few things to make a simple protection spell. I always carry a vial of fleur de sel on me.” She reached into her pants pocket and withdrew a small container of salt. “I can make fire, no problem, and I can spell the area to find other raw materials I need. I’d just need a pot of some kind to cook the spells in.”
“Well,” Tyler said, coming up to us, “that sounds easy enough to procure. I bet there’s a Walmart on the other side of those dead trees.” He gestured in the distance. “I’ll be back in a few minutes with your cookware.”
Danny elbowed him in the stomach. “Quit your grousing. You’re not thinking craftily enough, mate. I think what she’s talking about is a recon mission. If we can’t find an exit, we go to plan C, which would be find the priestess’s abode in this hellhole. She’s bound to have a house—or at least someplace she can scuttle off to. And if she does, she has to eat. Eating means pots. We break in, steal one, and we’re back before you know it.”
“That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever—” Before Tyler could finish, there was a loud buzzing coming from Marcy.
All eyes went to her as she slowly reached around to her back pocket and pulled out her cell phone. We gathered around her as she placed it out in front so we could see:
GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!
The message ran across the phone over and over again, ticking by so fast it was hard to read.
Rourke roared into the air, “And exactly where do we GET OUT?”
A heavy breeze laced with malice and intent rushed through the trees. Dead leaves rattled and shook, and low growls began to erupt from all around us.
“We’re surrounded!” Tyler yelled. “She called in her wolves while we were debating cooking utensils.”
Sure enough, red eyes began to light up the area as the possessed wolves crept closer through the trees on the other side of the circle.
“How many are there?” Rourke said.
“At least eight from my count,” Tyler answered. “They’re coming from all sides except behind us.”
“Marcy, does the phone say anything else?” I said as I got down into a low crouch stance. “Keep looking.”
“It says nothing!” she cried. “I’m shaking the dang thing and the message won’t change.” She held the phone up to her mouth and yelled into the speaker, “Listen, Jessica’s neighbor, we know we have to get out, but you need to give us a little more help than this!”