Circle Magic by Madeline Freeman

Author:Madeline Freeman [Freeman, Madeline]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Young Adult, Fantasy
ISBN: 1230000527507
Amazon: B00VYNF1O2
Barnesnoble: B00VYNF1O2
Goodreads: 25484159
Publisher: NOOK Press
Published: 2015-07-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Instead of hitting snooze two or three times when my alarm goes off Friday morning, I wake and dress quickly before settling at my desk to read the grimoire.

I stayed up until after one in the morning reading it. At first, I just read Jodi’s entries. Some date back to when she first started practicing magic with her circle in high school. She recounts successes and failures—mostly failures—the group had while attempting spells from Crystal Taylor’s family’s grimoire. She reflects on her conflicted thoughts on the matter of sharing this book with the others, her main fear being Crystal would insist she be the one to look after it. It’s strange seeing Jodi’s thoughts from when she was my age, but it’s also comforting, like part of her is still here with me.

After reading through her entries several times, I ventured back to earlier pages. Some are so faded and worn I can barely make them out, and others are stained by spills of dark-colored liquids or illegible due to the spidery handwriting, but still others are clear. Before I finally went to bed—only because Mom called up to say my light was keeping her awake—I found spells for everything from “inviting the affections of a gentleman (or lady)” to ones involving flatulence—relieving it and causing it in others.

I glance at the time on my phone before carefully easing open the book. I still have at least half an hour before breakfast. I flip through a few pages I read last night until I find a new one: “A Spell for the Confinement of a Living Thing.” Like many of the other entries, this one is accompanied by a brief description of what led to the creation of the spell. Apparently this particular ancestor had a goat that kept wandering off and getting into mischief. She had tried every nonmagical means she could think of to contain the goat, but it always managed to get free. Finally, she adapted a spell from one a man named Thatcher Harrison taught her. Her modification would allow certain living things—herself, her chickens, her husband and children—to pass, but that would keep the goat contained. I read through the spell, which seems straightforward enough. When this is all over and things are back to normal, maybe I can finally convince my parents to let me get a dog. I always wanted one when I was younger, but they both had childhood sob stories about their own dogs running away never to be seen again. If I could master this spell, though, that argument would be a moot point.

I smile at the idea, starting to weigh the pros and cons of different breeds, but before I can follow the line of thinking too far, something in the air changes. The mood of the house shifts from peaceful to heavy and filled with dread in the span of a second.

Something’s wrong.

I open the desk drawer and tuck the grimoire inside before descending the stairs. Is

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