Caitlin frowned at her flowers. Maybe there was something there, a calming feel, a wisp of dust? “What do we need charms for?”
Love and happiness were always welcome, sure. But protection? “What do we need protecting from?”
Beryl leaned forward and sniffed a rose. “Don’t you know by now? The gods of Annwn want his chair.”
The words hit Caitlin hard as if the tree branch overhead had collapsed on her head. She felt faint, and was glad her friend hadn’t brought this up while she was driving. “Why would any— I don’t understand. How can you think that?”
“Look at it, Cait. The horses, the writing he’s carved into the arms and back.”
“What writing? There’s scrollwork, but no writing.”
“Yes there is,” Heather said, “if you look close.”
She shivered. “What’s it say?”
Beryl pursed her lips. “Enough for me to know it’s got all the signs to attract what wants attracting.”

Caitlin pictured the chair in her mind. “No. They’re nothing more than designs, like the ones in his sketchbook.”
“What designs in a sketchbook?”
She led them upstairs to the attic and showed them Trevor’s sketchbook. Spiraling tornadoes, prancing horses and snorting bulls covered the pages in elegant and bold ink lines. Beautiful drawings that simultaneously awed and scared her.
Beryl shut the book quietly. “I amend my earlier statement.”
“What do you mean?”
“We don’t just have work to do. We have a ton of work to do.”

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