Gemma Draconica

Chapter 15

The relentless California sun pierces through my bedroom's glass ceiling, casting shadows that stretch long and thin.

Today was chaos clashing with this weekend's hurricane. I feel like a ship lost in a storm. No harbor in sight. And I'm trapped underwater, gasping for breath, reaching for the surface.

I toss my bag onto the sofa in the center of my bedroom, catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror by the closet, and freeze. The girl staring back looks like a ghost, hollow and shadowed. Her eyes—my eyes—are empty where there used to be laughter and light. I press my hand to my chest, grounding myself in the steady rhythm of my heartbeat. It's there, a small but vital reminder: I am still here. Still standing.

But beneath my skin, there's something else. A tingling warmth spreading through my veins, stirring, pushing. My magic. The thought sends a shiver down my spine, equal parts fear and awe. It's alive, growing stronger with every breath I take. Itching to be let out, like the ocean pushing against the shore, relentless and unyielding.

With the weight of the day still pressing on my shoulders, I peer out through my bedroom window into the wild embrace of Big Sur's redwood forest. I hesitate for a moment, caught between two worlds—the mundane reality within these walls and an ancient call whispering to me from the forest.

I grab the old grimoire YiaYia gave me, a pouch of salt, incense, and a small collection of gemstones before heading outside. The cool evening air greets me as I step into the backyard, the distant crash of waves against the cliffs mingling with the rustle of the redwoods.

The forest calls to me, its ancient presence grounding and unshakable. As I step into its embrace, the air shifts—cooler, richer, filled with the scent of damp earth and pine.

Each step quiets the storm inside me until I find a clearing surrounded by towering redwoods. The space feels sacred, vibrating with a quiet energy, as if it's been waiting for me to arrive. A sanctuary untouched by the chaos of my day. Its ancient stillness promising the balance I so desperately need.

I shrug off my shoes, letting the cool soil press against my bare feet, grounding me. The grimoire rests open before me, its ancient words a lifeline, a bridge between my fear and the magic waiting to be claimed. I take a deep breath, drawing strength from the earth beneath me, and begin.

Using a stick, I trace a circle in the dirt, followed by a pentacle and the sigil for Earth. Each line purposeful, etched with care and focus. I sprinkle salt at the five points of the star; the grains catching the light like scattered stars, before lighting the incense and whispering a prayer:

"Demeter, goddess of the harvest, guardian of Earth's bounty, I call upon you. Through this sacred circle, grant me balance. Steady my heart, guide my hands, and root me to the strength of the Earth."

The words flow from my lips with a rhythm that feels as though I've spoken them a thousand times before. I place jasper, agate, and hematite within the circle, each stone resonating with a quiet, grounding energy.

Sitting cross-legged, I close my eyes and focus on the base of my spine, envisioning a wheel of deep red light spinning there. The light glows in my mind's eye, connecting me to the Earth like the roots of the redwoods around me. My palms rest flat against the soil, and I feel its heartbeat—a slow, steady pulse that matches the rhythm of my own.

"Demeter, in your wisdom, let my magic bloom. Teach me the balance of seed and soil, the cycle of growth and decay."

I scoop a handful of soil, letting it sift through my fingers, feeling the grit and life in each particle. Energy surges through me, a wave of warmth and strength leaving my fingertips tingling and my breath caught in my throat.