The Dragon of Rosemont High

"Stars of the sky and spirits of the land, we call upon your aid."

Zoe lays out her paten—not the one Lacroix stole, but the big one she keeps at home—and starts to set out a bunch of colored candles. She's using some app on her phone to align them. Not against the compass points; Eli thinks maybe it's stars or something astrological, but doesn't ask.

Once the candles are in place, Zoe pulls out a little jug. It looks like the sort of thing her dad uses to pour fancy olive oil over sourdough, except when Zoe tilts it, a line of salt trickles out. Using the salt, she draws the symbol from her grimoire onto her paten, lines linking each of the candles in a complicated pattern.

When she's done, she places the peryton feather in the centre, then huffs out a breath.

"Okay," she says. "You ready?"

Eli, who's sitting across from her on the far side of the stone, nods. "Yeah."

"You have to help me," Zoe says. "This is powerful magic."

"Okay."

"I mean it, Ee." Zoe looks anxious, eyes flicking between Eli and the feather. "I've never . . . I mean. I've never tried anything this big a deal before. I don't know what will happen." Then, softer, "Maybe nothing."

"I believe in you, Zee," Eli says, because he does. "Whoever's doing this, summoning this monster and killing these people, you can find him." Your little witch friend, Widow Adeline had said. Widow Adeline, who spoke to dragons and kept a grotto full of faeries. If she believed in Zoe . . .

Zoe takes another deep breath. "Okay," she says. "Okay, so. Close your eyes"—Eli does—"and I want you . . . I want you to imagine the peryton for me."

"No problem there." Honestly, Eli's been having trouble not imagining it; all sharp claws and stench and shrieking.

"Now imagine someone behind it. Not any particular someone. Just . . . whoever's summoning the monster. Like, the idea of them, or whatever."

"Okay." Eli imagines a figure, shrouded by a black robe, summoning monsters. He figures black robes are a must for evil sorcerers.

"Okay," says Zoe. "Okay, so . . ." She clears her throat. Then, louder, if not more confidently: "Stars of the sky and spirits of the land, we call upon your aid. We beseech you, lend us your wisdom that we might find the master of this foul beast whose feather we have offered. Um . . ." A snap, then the smell of a lighter flame.

"By the tread of his feet, o spirits of Earth, lend us your strength so he might be found.

"By the sweat of his brow, o spirits of Water, lend us your wisdom so he might be found.

"By the gust of his breath, o spirits of Air, lend us your guile so he might be found.

"By the beat of his heart, o spirits of Flame, lend us your rage so he might be found."

And the thing is, Eli . . . Eli feels it. When Zoe speaks, at each candle she lights (because, yeah, Eli peeked) he can feel something stirring in the forest around them. A rumble of stones, a burble of water.

"It's working," he whispers, every hair on his body standing on end.

Zoe has three more candles to light. When she speaks, her voice is shaking.

"B-by the scent of his soul, o spirits of Void, lend us your smell so he might be found.

"By the whisper of his mind, o spirits of Aether, lend us your hearing so he might be found."

One final candle. By now, Eli's eyes are wide open, and he meets Zoe's own, terrified gaze across the altar. Whatever's happening, she feels it too as she says: