All Our Hidden Gifts by Caroline O’donoghue (books for 10th graders .TXT) 📗

summon and call you to witness and protect the rites of our circle.”

She looks at me. “Oh, right,” I say, trying to remember the line. “Hail to the watchtowers of the South, Lords of Fire. I do summon and call you to witness and protect the rites of our circle.”

“Hail to the watchtowers of the East, Lords of Air,” Roe says. “I do summon and call you to witness and protect the rites of our circle.”

“Great,” says Fiona. “I think we did really well there.”

“Are we supposed to talk?”

“There’s no rules not to talk. Maeve?”

“Oh, right.” I open up my refill pad and take out the chants I prepared. “Repeat after me and cut the satin.”

I take a deep breath. “I cut this cloth so I may find: a rope to pull, a rope to bind.”

I hold up my knife and slash through the material. The blade falls through softly, making a satisfying rip in the cold night air. It will be easy. So easy. And if I do it quick enough, it won’t hurt at all.

Fiona repeats what I say, cutting her section. Roe does the same, until we each have a pair of long ropes. I take out my tarot cards and start shuffling.

“I’m going to call upon the energy of three cards to help us in this.”

“Oh, cool,” Fiona says excitedly. “Which ones?”

“The Three of Pentacles, for teamwork.” I take it out from where I had stacked it, face down on the top of the deck. I place it in the centre of the circle.

“The Chariot, for mastering our power.” I flip the card towards them again.

Fiona is nodding so hard now I feel like her head might fall off.

“And the Eight of Wands, for safe, quick travel from … wherever Lily is.”

Pleasant cards. Cheerful cards. Nothing too dark or foreboding. As if I am telling the Housekeeper, “Look, we can keep this simple. No harm, no foul.”

“Now with the cards in place, we start tying,” I say authoritatively. “I want us all to keep tying knots, concentrating on only the knots. Concentration, visualization and intent are the most important part of any spell.”

Are they? Really? Or am I just trying to distract my friends?

“As we tie, we’re going to chant this: ‘I tie these knots so I may find: a rope to pull, a rope to bind.’ Because we’re pulling in Lily but we’re also binding the Housekeeper, right?”

“Right,” says Fiona. “I tie these knots so I may find: a rope to pull, a rope to bind.”

“That’s it.”

“Roe.” I turn towards him. “Remember: concentration, visualization, intent. We have to believe we’re roping in Lily. We all have to work together.”

“OK,” he says, but he is still looking at me warily.

And so we begin. We tie and we chant. The candles burn and burn. The oil on my forehead begins to dry. It feels sticky and cracked, like a scab. All we can see is the three tarot cards and our four narrow beams of light, illuminating our hands and shining bright yellow on the Beg.

Our chanting rises to a din. At first, Fiona and Roe were making an effort to enunciate every syllable, loudly and clearly. Then the simple sentences fall into a burble, each word said mechanically and hushed, like a prayer. A bud of hope starts to open up inside me. I can feel the energy changing, the vibrations in the air getting higher. It is as though we are surrounded by a thousand bees, and only I can hear them. This is what being a sensitive is, I realize. This is what Fionnuala was talking about.

Maybe, just maybe, I won’t need to sacrifice anything. Maybe the strength of our combined magic is good enough. As we keep reminding ourselves, Lily isn’t even dead. Just sleeping. There is no life-for-a-life here.

The buzzing gets louder, and I shift my weight slightly.

“We’re going to change it slightly,” I whisper. “We’re going to imagine throwing the rope around Lily. Lassoing her, like in a western. We’re all going to focus, and we’re not going to break the chant – we’re just going to change it, OK?”

Roe and Fiona don’t stop chanting, but they both nod in recognition. Their voices vibrate all around me like a plucked guitar string.

“Close your eyes. Imagine the rope falling around her. Deep breaths. Hold on to the rope tightly. We’re not literally going to throw it, just figuratively. Now chant: ‘I throw this rope so I may send: a friend to home, a foe to end.’”

“I throw this rope so I may send: a friend to home, a foe to end.”

They both repeat it, strongly at first. Soon it settles into the steady chime of a few minutes ago. The candles are low now. The “Y” in my LILY candle is about to burn out, and the night is the darkest it’s going to get.

We can do this.

“I throw this rope so I may send: a friend to home, a foe to end.”

We can do this.

“I throw this rope so I may send: a friend to home, a foe to end.”

I don’t need to sacrifice anything! If I did, I would know by now! We can do this!

“I throw this rope so I may send: a friend to home, a foe to end.”

I open my eyes slowly. Fiona and Roe are deep inside the spell, nestled into it like babies into sleep. A soft blue phosphorescence surrounds them, a glittering navy current of light that is looping around their bodies. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

I keep chanting, my eyes open, unable to look away from the luminescence of my friends. My brilliant, brilliant friends.

“I throw this rope so I may send: a friend to home, a foe to end.”

The current of light begins to change colour. From dark blue, to sea green, to a sickly yellow, to gold. Strands of it start to pull away from Roe and Fiona and into the centre, where the tarot cards