Blood Witch_ Book Three - Cate Tiernan [9]
After that we saw brass bells that helped charge energy fields during a circle, and Cal pointed out magickally charged twine and thread and ink. These were everyday objects, but they had been transformed. Like me, I thought. I almost laughed aloud with pleasure. Magick was in everything, and a truly knowledgeable witch could use literally anything to imbue spells with power. I’d had glimpses of this knowledge before, but with Cal here—really showing it to me—it seemed more real, more accessible, and infinitely more exciting than it ever had before.
And everywhere there were books: on runes, on how the positions of the stars affected one’s spells, on the healing uses of magic, on how to increase one’s power. Cal pointed out several he thought I should read but said he had copies and would lend them to me.
“Do you have a magickal robe yet?” he suddenly asked. He gestured to one on a rack near the rear of the store. It was made of deep blue silk that flowed like water.
I shook my head.
“I think that by Imbolc we should start using robes in our circles,” he said. “I’ll speak to the others about it. Robes are usually better than street clothes for making magick: you wear them only when you’re doing magick, so they don’t get contaminated with the jangled vibrations of the rest of your life. And they’re comfortable, practical.”
I nodded, brushing my hand against the fabric of the different robes. The variety was astounding. Some were plain; some were painted or sewn with magickal symbols and runes. But I didn’t see any that I felt I absolutely had to have, though they were all beautiful. That was okay, though; Imbolc wasn’t until the end of January. I had plenty of time to find one.
“Do you wear a robe?” I asked.
“Uh-huh,” he said. “Whenever I do a circle with my mom or by myself. Mine is white, a really heavy linen. I’ve had it a couple of years. I sort of wish I could wear it all the time,” he added with a grin. “But I don’t think the people of Widow’s Vale are ready for that.”
I laughed, picturing him casually walking into Schweikhardt’s drugstore in a long, white robe.
“Sometimes robes are passed down from generation to generation,” Cal continued. “Like tools. Or sometimes people weave the cloth and sew them themselves. It’s like anything else—the more thought and energy you put into something, the more it stores up magickal energy and the more it can help you focus when you do spells.”
I was beginning to understand that, although I knew I would spend a lot of time meditating on how I could start applying it to my own magickal doings.
Cal stepped across the aisle and reached for something on an upper shelf. It was an athame: a ceremonial dagger, about ten inches long. The blade was made of silver, so brightly polished, it looked like a mirror. Its handle was carved with silver roses. There was a skull joining the handle and the blade together.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Cal murmured.
“Why does it have a skull on it?” I asked.
“To remind us that in life, there is always death,” he said quietly, turning it in his fingers. “There is darkness in light, there is pain in joy, and there are thorns on the rose.” He sounded solemn and thoughtful, and I shivered.
Then he glanced up at me. “Maybe a certain lucky someone will get it for her birthday.”
I wiggled my eyebrows, looking hopeful, and he laughed.
It was getting late, and I had to get home. Cal checked out, buying some green candles, some incense, and the book on gardening for me. I felt Alyce’s eyes on me.
“Nothing for you?” she asked in her gentle way.
I shook my head.
She hesitated, then cast a quick glance at Cal. “I have something I think you should read,” she said to me. Moving with surprising grace for a short, round person, she left the counter and walked down the aisle of books. I shrugged at Cal—and then Alyce was back, her lavender skirts swishing. She handed me a plain, dark brown book.
“Woodbane, Fact and Fiction,” I read aloud. A chill shot through my body. The Woodbanes were