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“What?” Meadow almost snaps impulsively, startled by her gesture and I begin tapping my foot on the floor as anxiety overtakes me. My blood rushing to warm my skin with her sudden outburst.
“It’s not the spell…. it’s who wrote it. She’s a witch.” Sierra turns the book, sliding its heaviness around to face us again and taps at the bottom right of the second page somewhat excitedly; at a little symbol that looks like it was burned into the page with hot metal. It’s tiny, a small flowing L and C surrounded by a vine design that wrap it into one continuous form and is unusually pretty.