designs meant anything to me.
I turned my concentration to the signature of its magic, which tasted like
wine and had the sound of ripe wheat blowing in the summer wind.
“Okay,” I said at last.
My aunt placed her fingers on the back of my hand. “Now, imagine your
hand completely empty. Unburdened.”
I focused my mind on envisioning an empty palm, and my aunt began to
chant. Her magic flowed along the symbols she had drawn and down into the
knife. The scent of nutmeg and the sound of bees filled the air, and then the
lines of black runes she had inscribed on my palm began to glow with purple
light.
Suddenly, with a swirl of mist, the dagger and symbols disappeared.
I gasped. “It’s gone!”
I turned my hand over, looking for any trace of her magical runes.
Nothing.
“Now, the trick is to bring it back. Remember exactly how it was, how it
felt in your grasp.”
I closed my eyes and brought to mind the image of the knife. Every
detail. Not just how it looked, but its weight and the way it fit in the palm of
my hand. I imagined I could feel the signature of its magic, wine and rustling
wheat.
With a puff, the knife appeared, and my hand sank with the weight.
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
I looked from Casey to my aunt. “I mean, this is crazy powerful. I
imagine airport security is impossible.”
My aunt laughed. “Well, yes, but show me the terrorist who wants to pull
a knife on a plane full of werewolves, vampires, and sorcerers.”
Fair point.
She pushed away from the table. “And with that bit of hocus pocus, I’m
headed to bed. I want to hear more, though, in the morning.”