Crows of a Feather

23. Spider-Ram, Spider-Ram, does whatever a spider can

A scream brought me back to reality.

Amelia was being attacked by a harpy. It had lifted her off the ground, clawing at her arms and shoulders and cackling as she half struggled to get free, half tried to hold on for her dear life.

"Let her go!" Charon yelled. He was standing underneath, as if he could catch Amelia without either of them taking any damage.

"Or what, little boy?" the harpy screeched. "Can't charm me, can you? Lousy excuse for a siren, you are!"

I looked for Amelia's potion in my pockets only to remember that I wasn't wearing my own jeans. "Shit," I muttered. In my peripheral, I could see Ewart and Elvira still fighting, harpies flying all over, and— there! Tusk was laying Killian on one of the benches. The spell-book was on the floor next to him.

"Hey, what's that?" I asked and pointed at a random spot behind Fiona. The second she looked away, I kicked her shin and sprinted.

Uncle Killian was barely breathing when I got to him. Tusk was applying some sort of a serum to the worst injuries, and told me to open a purple-tinted glass bottle and pour its contents into Killian's mouth. I did what I was told. I couldn't tell if it was helping.

"I need to learn a spell. Fast," I said once I was done.

"We don't exactly have time for magic lessons," Tusk said. He was wrapping white bandage over a nasty cut on Killian's arm.

"It doesn't need to be a lesson, I just—"

Something bright and hot shot past me, right above my head. Fiona had thrown a fireball at us. Her teeth were bared and her hands were smoking. So much for being a family again.

"Just let me have the book!" I told Tusk. He abandoned Killian's injuries for half a second to toss me the spell-book.

The second the cool leather of the book touched my hands, I felt calmer. My magic settled, just enough to let me focus. I cracked the book open at a random page, praying for something useful, and landed on a text titled A simple invitation, written by A.G.

I read it out loud impatiently: "Every witch should master at least one or two invitation spells. These are more often than not simple everyday spells to reach faraway objects. The further away the object is, the harder one must focus on the spell. Naturally, moving objects and living things— Jesus, how much longer does this person go on?"

Uncle Killian opened his eyes and reached out to touch the book shakily. He took a couple of deep, raspy breaths and said: "Ancum. Look at the object, and... command it. Like a pet or a child. Be strict."

"Like a pet or a child. Right," I said shakily. "Got it. Just hang on tight, uncle."

Moving objects and living things were more challenging, sure, but I only had to distract the harpy. If I could just get it a little bit closer to the floor so Amelia wouldn't get hurt from falling... I looked at the harpy intently. I imagined it was a misbehaving cat, about to smack an expensive wine glass off a table with its paw. In the most commanding voice I could muster, I said: "Ancum!"

Before, magic had always burst out of me violently. Now, I was able to only let a little bit out, let it flow through me and direct it. I felt almost like a vessel for the magic, like it was coming from someplace else and I was just filtering and moulding it.

The harpy jerked my way. It looked extremely confused. I repeated the spell again, and in order to regain its balance it dropped Amelia. Charon caught her clumsily and they both fell on the floor, but neither of them looked badly hurt.