The Spell of Rosette - Kim Falconer [23]
‘Full of enthusiasm, aren’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘You fancy yourself a witch?’
‘Yes.’
Nell closed her eyes. ‘Why?’ she asked, keeping them shut.
Rosette put down her bread. ‘I just know it.’
‘You just know it,’ Nell repeated. ‘Good. Now tell me, how so?’
‘Because something…something is calling me, like the woods of Espiro Dell Ray, and the whispers of stones and the wind in the arroyos, and lately, it’s been more than a call.’
‘More than a call?’
‘It’s been a holler.’
Nell laughed, her eyes popping open. ‘And you want to answer the call?’
‘I do.’
‘Then you shall.’ She started eating again and nodded to Rosette to do the same.
‘Does that mean you’ll initiate me?’
‘It does.’
Rosette beamed a smile. ‘When can I start?’
‘There’s no rush.’
‘Nell, please. Give me a hint!’
‘You’ll have an entire lunar cycle—from waning to new, new to full, and waning again in the sign of the Water-Bearer—to prepare.’
‘On my lunar return?’
She nodded. ‘By the time the moon returns next month, you’ll have sought and acquired your initiation name.’
‘Rosette’s no good?’
‘Rosette’s fine. Very lovely. It’s perfect for all you meet and everything you do overtly. Your name as an initiate is different. It’s known to you alone, or shared only with another you fully trust.’
‘Okay.’
‘It’s sacred, Rosette. When you find it, keep it occult.’
‘I will.’
‘You must also choose the design of your initiation tattoo.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Though it’s more likely that it will choose you.’
Rosette’s eyes went wide, looking closely at the symbols on Nell’s bare arms—the raven on the left and a stout tree with serpents entwining the trunk on the right.
She sucked in her breath. ‘I’ve already done that.’
‘You have?’
Rosette glanced over to the bookcase where an onyx statuette of a temple cat sat, slender, regal and fey. The animal had large, pointed ears, the left one pierced with a golden ring. Its face was chiselled, limbs refined, the tail wrapped around its front feet.
Nell followed her line of sight and smiled.
‘Basta, mother of the ancient temple cats?’
‘I’ve always known it would be her.’
‘Wonderful choice.’
Rosette smiled back. ‘I knew years ago, on my first visit. I held that statue in my hands and for a second, it came alive.’ She took another bite of bread, sucking drops of honey from her fingers. ‘After my tattoo, then what happens?’
Nell patted her hand. ‘Under the eyes of great Ishtar…’
Rosette held her breath.
‘…we do the ritual.’
Rosette nodded, a shadow crossing her face.
‘What, child?’
‘Mamá and John’ra would not have approved, and now they’re…’
‘They would have wanted you to survive, Rosette, and studying witchcraft is the surest way to protect yourself. Besides, it’s in your blood.’
‘Get the whitest ones you can find.’ Nell sketched the shape of the root on a drawing pad. ‘No smaller than this. You can only see the tips sticking out from the snowbanks at this time of the year, so you have to dig deep.’ She handed Rosette a copper trowel to pack in her backpack.
The summer after Rosette’s initiation had fled by; the smell of the woods and the warm sun baked away her fears and eased the sadness. Her arms had tanned a dark honey-brown as she’d tended the gardens, and her intuition had sharpened as she’d hunted at the edges of the woods by day and studied herbs and star-craft by the fire at night.
Now winter was here, and it was time to collect the Snow Root—Symphytum officinalia—that Nell used in her potions, particularly the one that kept joints supple and bones warm through the long dark nights.
‘How many?’ Rosette tucked the talisman Nell had given her as an initiation gift—a silver pentagram nestling inside a crescent moon—under her sweater and buttoned up her coat.
‘At least five, more if time allows. Take only the top half of the root and replant the rest. It’s sacred, and we don’t want to deplete it.’
Rosette nodded.
‘Get away from the woods well before