But when he frowned over his shoulder, I didn't know.

My fingers were slow with cold, and in the new darkness, I twisted the ground-glass stopper out, gave the bottle a swirl, then dumped the potion. It silently settled, ripples disappearing markedly fast. I couldn't risk standing up and possibly kicking snow into it, so I could only guess by the amount of noise that the seven lucky people were now in place.

"Hurry up!" Robbie hissed, glancing back at me.

I jammed the empty bottle in a pocket and fumbled for the finger stick. The snap of the plastic breaking to reveal the tiny blade seemed to echo to my bones, though it was unheard over the noise of the crowd.

Then they went silent. The sudden hush brought my heart into my throat. They had started the invocation. I had moments. Nothing more. It was in Latin—a blessing for the following year—and as most of the people bowed their heads, I jabbed my index finger.

My fingers were so cold, it registered as a dull throb. Holding my breath, I massaged it, willing the three drops to hurry. One, two, and then the third fell, staining the wine as it fell through the thinner liquid.

I watched, breathing in the heady scent of redwood now emanating from it. Robbie turned, eyes wide, and I felt my heart jump. I had done it right. It wouldn't smell like that if I hadn't.

"You did it!" he said, and we both gasped when the clear liquid flashed a soft red, my blood jumping through the medium, mixing it all on its own.

Behind us, a collective sound of awe rose, soft and powerful. I glanced up. Past Robbie, a bubble of power swam up from the earth. It was huge by circle standards, the shimmering field of ever-after arching to a close far above the fountain it spread before. In the nearby distance, the faint resonating of Cincinnati's cathedral chimes swelled into existence as the nearby bells began resonating from the magic's vibration, not the bells' clappers.