Chapter 6

Chapter

6

"You want to twist a visual-cortex curse where?" I dropped the book I wanted to leave at Elyse's onto the small slate table in the sanctuary with a dull thwap . It was the vampire dating guide, and I thought it the perfect thumb in your face for when Elyse figured out I'd gotten my book and left a dud in its place.

"The pool table." Al stood before it, his feet spaced wide as he dramatically pondered the table set in the corner of the sanctuary. My cue sat propped against a window frame, a cube of chalk on the sill. I didn't play often, and not at all since Lee had cracked it. It was Kisten's table, and it reminded me of him. It was also why I kept paying to get it fixed.

"Is this a problem?" Al drawled, elegant voice mocking.

"It's cracked. The slate table on the porch is pretty big. It won't take me maybe a half hour to get a fire going out there. Warm it up. Or we could bring the table in here."

The demon spun, but the fast movement lacked his usual pizzazz without his customary long frock-coat tails. "It will take a good day for the stone to warm up and lose the moisture from being outside. No." Al gestured at the pool table. "This is perfect. Crack and all."

Peeved, I scuffed closer. I'd used the table to spell on before. The slate was from an ancient lake and it made for a very nice surface. That Al wanted to rip the felt off made me glad that Ivy had gone to borrow a car for the evening. Apart from her memories and an urn of ashes, the table was all she had left of Kisten.

Al stared at the green felt as if it was an insult. "Your choice of a replacement book leaves much to be desired," he intoned, and I quashed a flash of annoyance.

"Rynn Cormel's dating guide? I think it's great."

"It's superlative, but you're not thinking beyond short-term personal satisfaction," Al said distantly. "It's a textbook on vampire blood sex. When she opens it to do a little light reading, which you know she will, she will see through the glamour. A transposition charm changes what the outside looks like, not the inside. Not to mention it won't smell right. The book containing Kisten's curse reeks of burnt amber, does it not? You do not want to give yourself away because of someone's nasal clarity."

"Now that you mention it, it did not," I said slowly, and Al looked at me over his blue-tinted glasses in question. Either the coven found a way to deodorize it, or it had left the ever-after before it became a polluted burnt-amber hell.

Jenks darted in from the kitchen, clearly having heard our conversation. "So? She needs to learn that Rachel is better than her," the pixy said as he landed on the eight ball, his dust briefly turning it silver.

"No, he's right." Disappointed, I began to roll the pool balls into the pockets. "I'll just glamour something she has there." But yeah. It would have been nice to have thumbed my nose at her.

The last of the balls went rolling out of sight, and I turned to Al. "Okay. What do I need to link the curse to my visual cortex?"

A wide, truly pleased smile found Al. He was, at his heart, a teacher, and he didn't have much of a chance to indulge himself now that he wasn't abducting high-end magic users and training them to be demon familiars. "Other than a suitably large space to work on?" Back straight, he began to tick things off on his fingers. "Salt with which to scribe, white sage and rosemary to help promote purity and remove negative energy. A copper or rosemary stylus, saffron-infused wine, magnetic chalk…"

His red, goat-slitted eyes met mine over his glasses again. "And your blood," he intoned, his overdone drama quickly dissolving into a smirk. Blood was a common ingredient in spells, charms, and curses to link the magic to the user—and it still scared the crap out of humans for some reason.

"You sure you don't want to do this in the kitchen?" I tried one last time. "That's where most of my stuff is."

Al ignored me.

"Pool table it is," I muttered as I walked away. It wasn't an extensive list, but as sure as hell is hot, it wasn't complete. He'd left out much of what I'd need to prep the charm, leaving it to me to figure out as part of his ongoing instruction. Stuff like a bowl, and a ceremonial knife to get the blood from my finger. "Jenks, we got any saffron?" I shouted over my shoulder. I knew we had saffron. I just wanted him to stop making annoying circles around Al.

"On it," he said eagerly as he flew past me and into the kitchen.

My pace slowed as I followed him into my brightly lit kitchen, the space a wonderful blend of a state-inspected facility and home-spelled chaos. The recent rebuild had focused on keeping our emergency paranormal shelter status. It was mostly for the tax break, but it also meant the city had subsidized both the twin stoves and ovens as well as the huge fridge we used only a third of, apart from the solstice and the Super Bowl. There was a large center counter to bake at, and a long eat-at counter that looked out onto the porch through a wide pane of glass. French doors opened to the covered porch, which was really more of a three-walled room, with the original fireplace taking up one entire rebuilt wall. It could be used as additional eating space in a pinch, which was how we sold it to the city, but most times it was a pleasant place to sit outside with all the comforts of inside.

Beyond the porch, the damp, windy night had turned the garden into a black expanse of nothing. Al had left a light on at his wagon/van amid the tombstones, and it made the night seem even colder.

"Jenks?" I called, not seeing the pixy. "Ever-loving pixy piss, you didn't go outside in this, did you?"

"No, I didn't go outside," a high, muffled voice came from inside the cabinets. "I stashed the saffron in here away from the fairies."

Jenks exploded out from a drawer, his dust flying when he sneezed. "Saffron," he said as he set a glass vial the size of his thigh on the counter. "Apparently they think it's an aphrodisiac."

"Ah, thanks." I took the vial and dropped it into a pocket.

"That's why you can't ever find any." Jenks's downward angle to alight on the counter bobbled when a loud ripping sound came from the sanctuary. I was really glad Ivy wasn't here, and as Jenks went to watch Al, I got the wine and three-pound bag of spelling salt from the pantry. The copper stylus was in a drawer, and I grabbed my silver snips just in case. The magnetic chalk was in a coffee mug with a bunch of pens and pencils, and from the herb pantry I got a sheaf of white sage and a sprig of rosemary. At the last moment, I dug through the junk drawer for a fingerstick in case I didn't need the knife.

"He didn't say you needed the fingerstick," Jenks said as he darted back in, wings pink in anticipation. Unlike Ivy, he liked my witchy magic.

"He didn't say I needed the knife, either." Hands on my hips, I studied the growing pile and tried to anticipate. Sage meant smudging—which meant fire. I'd probably need something to burn it in, and I added a crucible—the copper one, since he'd made a point of asking for a copper stylus. Nodding, I put it all in my largest spell pot, then added my Srandford bowl because of the wine, a length of silk to dust the free ions from the table with, and finally Ivy's spray bottle of enzymatic blood remover—for not-so-obvious reasons.

Jenks snickered, and I included a spray bottle of salt water to remove any residual spells from the slate. One last look, and I grabbed the roll of paper towels and a second black scarf.

"That's all I can think of," I said as I shifted the pot to my hip and headed for the sanctuary, wincing as a second, longer rip echoed through the church.

Jenks flew ahead, his sour comment an inaudible nothing as I passed the two bedrooms and adjoining his and hers bathrooms now converted into a communal bath on one side, and a more family-oriented bath and laundry on the other.

"Tink's titties," Jenks said as I entered the sanctuary, his hands on his hips as he hovered over the damage. "You couldn't just magic it off? Even Hodin had the decency to magic it off."

"You should leave," Al practically growled. Cutting the felt from the bumpers was Al's only recourse, seeing as he couldn't tap a line yet—thanks to me. Al insisted that burning his synapses to unuse was a small price to pay for imprisoning his brother, but he'd done it to protect me while I'd done the actual imprisoning—and I still felt bad. Hence me not complaining about him setting up in the garden.

And still, I had to stifle my annoyance as I took in the damage. It was Kisten's table and everyone kept shitting on it.

"It is what it is, Jenks," I said, more to me than him, as I set the bowl at one end of the table. "Al, do I need to change into a spelling robe or am I good?"

"You are fine as you are." Al sniffed, clearly surprised—and grateful perhaps. "We are not working with auras. It's a simple spell. Minimal smut." Red eyes narrowing, he squinted at Jenks. "Keep your dust clear of the table or I will put you in a box."

Flipping the demon off, Jenks flew backward to land on the tip of my pool cue.

Please stay there, I thought as I began unpacking the bowl. Jenks didn't entirely trust Al, but I did. And truly, it wasn't that long ago that spelling with a demon would have scared the crap out of me. Al, though, had mellowed when he regained the ability to come and go freely in reality—all the demons had—and with the pain had gone a lot of their need to punish. Al was an exceptional teacher, and I'd caught him calling me Ceri on more than one occasion. I took it as a compliment, seeing as the powerful elf had been his student and companion for over a thousand years before she died protecting Ray and Lucy from a demon bent on dominating two realities.

But what I think I liked most about Al's teaching style was how it forced me to think. His list had been everything I'd need even as it was absent on what I'd use for technique. I'd have to think through the spell, decide if silver snips would work better than iron, or if I could use a fingerstick instead of a ceremonial knife. Copper bowls gave you a different result than, say, a walnut one, but sometimes it didn't make a difference. Knowing when it did was a matter of instinct, and developing that instinct would ultimately lengthen my lifespan. A poorly twisted curse could kill you. Not to mention that most demons left things out of their written spells and curses as a way to keep their secrets. The ability to parse out what wasn't written down was priceless.

Which was why I took the time to layer a heavy spray of Ivy's enzymatic no-blood on the entire de-felted table.

Al, though, frowned at the scent of citrus. "What," he said flatly, "are you doing?"

I didn't feel even a twinge of overkill. "The charm links to me through my blood, right?" I said as Jenks snickered knowingly from the tip of my cue stick. "Do you have any idea what Kisten and Ivy have done on this table? You want me to get the black light?"

The demon hesitated. "Continue," he muttered.

"Thought so." But the mist had puddled long enough, and I used the paper towels to soak up the excess before putting another layer of salt water down.

Al sighed impatiently as I wiped it dry and threw the waste into the empty copper pot.

"Hey, you're the one who wanted to use a nonspecific spelling table to spell on," I said.

"Rache, I gotta get some air." Jenks hovered before me, his dust a fading gray. The citrus scent was getting to him, and I nodded. Path bobbling, he flew to the kitchen.

"If we may begin?" Al intoned, and I snapped the black silk scarf out, carefully dusting the entire table for free ions.

"Absolutely," I said as I tucked the silk into my waistband, and he rolled his eyes.

"You are being excessive," he said. "Don't expect brownie points."

I stood at one end of the table with my things, he at the other. "You said it is Newt's charm, yes? And I'm trying to connect it to my visual cortex? My brain, basically? I don't want to screw it up because I was in a hurry. And besides," I whispered, "it got rid of Jenks."

Al shot a glance at the empty hallway and nodded. "So it did." He took a slow breath, and I could almost see his teaching hat go on. "The charm is already contained in the stone. What you will be doing is utilizing three pentagrams to firstly burn away its previous link to Newt, secondly to reconnect the stone to yourself, and finally to seal the spell so it does not unravel. To destroy Newt's connection, you will need to prepare a pyre of three smudge sticks made of white sage wrapped with a binding of rosemary. To apply your own link, you will need to make a paintbrush of your hair and the copper stylus. And lastly, you will need to soak that saffron in about a quarter cup of wine to carry your linkage into the stone. If you can warm it, all the better."

Of course I could warm it, but as Al went to drag a cushy chair closer, I used my magnetic chalk to draw a line just under the crack from one still-felt-clad bumper to the other, in essence dividing the table into one-third prep space and two-thirds spelling.

"What are you doing now?" Al said in wonder as he finished arranging his chair.

My motions to wipe the chalk from my fingers faltered. "Visually separating my work area from my spelling area. Why?"

The demon frowned. "I've never seen anyone do that before except—"

His words cut off, and his focus shifted to the stone amulet on the table.

"Who?" I said as I handed him the bottle of wine to open.

"Never mind," he said, his wispy voice holding a tired annoyance. "Continue."

It could be that I was bringing up unwanted memories. No need to pry. "A quarter cup?" I asked to distract him when he set the open bottle at my elbow.

"As I said." Annoyed, he settled himself where he could watch, one knee atop the other.

The saffron would have to soak, so leaving the smudge sticks for later, I poured an estimated quarter cup of wine into my Srandford bowl. It was glass and consequently neutral, and my brow furrowed as I took up the tiny glass vial. There weren't that many strands in there, but that wasn't the reason I shook only three out into my palm. The charm involved three pentagrams to remove the old, install the new, and seal the charm. Three aspects, so therefore three strands.

"Three?" I guessed, and he made a pleased-sounding grunt and a frivolous wave for me to get on with it.

My exhale was louder than I'd meant it to be, and I dropped the saffron strands in and warmed the wine with a quick thought.

Making the paintbrush was next, and I used my silver snips to cut a lock of hair, then plucked three long strands to tie the bundle to the copper stylus with three different knots. Finished, I glanced at Al to see if the three knots should have been the same, but he didn't seem to care—which meant it didn't matter, or I had done it right, or he was going to let it blow up in my face.

Mood sour, I soaked the makeshift paintbrush with a heavy layer of salt water to get rid of the hair straightener charm on it. The entire wad immediately twisted into a perfect curl, but at least I knew it was clean, and I blotted it dry with the ion-free scarf.

"Adequate," Al said, his nose again in my Witch Monthly , and I felt a wash of relief. I needed this to work and not be simply a lesson on what not to do.

Satisfied, I took up the white sage and began plucking leaves from all but three of the dried stems, then tightly folding the picked leaves into a packet around each and binding them with a denuded stem of rosemary. "Gordian knot?" I guessed, wanting to be sure.

"If you can manage it," Al said superciliously, a single finger slowly turning a page.

Obviously I could, and the very fact that he wasn't watching meant I was doing it right, but he put the magazine down and stood when I levered myself up to kneel on the table, chalk in hand. Eyeing the open space before me, I set the three smudge sticks down at the top to give myself room to draw three pentagrams total.

Al shook his head, his gaze at the center of the space. "You will be nesting the pentagrams," he said, and I made a small noise. This was something new. "Hence needing the large table," he added. "Put the first in the middle of your space."

"Okay. Thank you." Grateful for the new technique, I set the three unlit smudge sticks in the center. Nodding once sharply, Al set the stone with the hole atop them.

"Keeping your work small, sketch a pentagram of purity around the stone," he directed, and I jumped when he dropped the bag of salt beside me. "Use salt for clarity."

I should have known that, and I tucked the magnetic chalk into a pocket before stretching for my black silk cloth and working it quickly into a cone. Using it like a pastry bag, I carefully traced a small pentagram around the stone. "Runes?" I asked, relieved when I'd finished. I wasn't good at free-drawing pentagrams, but I was getting better.

"Yes, of purity at the points," Al said, nodding in satisfaction when I started at the bottom right leg and moved clockwise. "Very good. The pentagram surrounding it will be of connection," he continued as I worked. "The glyphs commonly used in calling circles are sufficient. Use your blood without the paintbrush. It will not work if the lines of the first pentagram touch the lines of the second."

Finished, I reached for my silver knife.

"And if you use that damned silver knife, I will be most disappointed," he added, throwing something at me.

It was a knife as well. I caught it by instinct and took a moment to study it. Unlike mine, it was copper, the soft metal almost useless. I didn't have one of these. "Jupiter finger?" I guessed. The point was dull, but it would work if I used enough pressure.

"Of course," he drawled.

It took some doing to open the skin enough to get a good flow. Finger moving, I sketched a blood pentagram around the first. Most practitioners equated them with illicit magic, but if it was my blood, what was the hurt? It would make a very secure connection to me, and that was more important than what everyone thought.

The glyphs I could sketch in my sleep, and I inched off the table and wiped my finger clean using the black silk cloth. The final pentagram would be enormous, and I could sketch it with my feet on the floor. "Good?" I said, asking for the next step, not his approval.

"As before, it is adequate." But the smile quirking his lips said different. "You have left yourself barely enough room to sketch the third and final pentagram of permanence around it using the magnetic chalk."

It felt almost done, and I hadn't tapped a line yet other than to warm up the wine. The smudge sticks, though, would need to be lit, and I set a faint ribbon of my awareness into the lines, relishing the warm tingle of power as I drew the final pentagram.

"Ahh, crap," I whispered when I noticed that I'd stained the chalk with my blood, and Al made a noncommittal huff. The pentagram was okay, but the chalk itself was ruined. Fortunately there was about a quarter inch unsullied with which to finish the spell.

"Wait," Al said when I reached to scribe the glyphs of permanence.

"I have another chalk in the kitchen," I said, and he shook his head.

"The chalk is fine. You will scribe the runes mid-spell." Al hesitated. "Can you tell me why?"

I thought about it for a moment, frowning. "Because if I do it now, the permanence will adhere to the table, not the spell? Seeing as it's nested?" I guessed, and the demon grunted in satisfaction, his thick fingers reaching to tug at lace that wasn't there.

"Correct!" he said. "You will now begin the spell. Do not work ahead of what I tell you to do. You have set it up properly, and as a reward, I will ensure that you finish it such that you have a functioning transposition charm."

I couldn't help my grin. "Thank you." And whereas showing any appreciation had once been fraught with a sullen annoyance, it now was laced with true gratitude. It felt like a win even if this last part was going to be fed to me as if I was a child. If I hadn't shown the level of proficiency he expected me to have, he would have let me screw it up. He had before. Once. And then I learned to think.

Al came closer, the scent of redwood and burnt amber a pleasant mix. "Light the three smudge sticks with your thoughts, but do not contain the smoke in a circle. Leave it free to disperse as it will—because…" he prompted.

I had no idea. "To allow for the impurities to escape?" I guessed.

His held breath slipped from him. "Possibly. Try it and see."

Al had already assured me that I would end up with a functioning charm, so I pulled deeper on the ley line, letting the tingling potential fill me until I pushed a wad of the energy into my hand and flicked it at the smudge sticks. "Flagro," I said softly to harness the black-and-red-smeared ball of energy arching through the air, giving it agency and focus. Giving it magic.

The spoken spell hit the smudge sticks, and they burst into a bright flame, which quickly dulled into a billowing black smoke.

"Ah, the smoke detector…" I said, surprised at how fast it was burning.

But then I realized that the smoke and ash were settling only within the area defined by the second pentagram, in effect rubbing out the lines of the first.

"Oh! Cool," I said, unabashedly delighted as I glanced at Al. Nested and self-erasing.

Al leaned forward to eye the settling soot. "Newt's connection is now gone and the stone is open. Seeing as the outer pentagram is not sealed with glyphs and the innermost is nulled, you may enter the middle pentagram and use the copper stylus to apply your blood to the stone, thus creating an additional point of connection to you."

"One side okay?" I asked, seeing the logic behind it. I pricked my pinky this time, using my homemade brush to apply three drops of blood to the stone.

"One side is sufficient." He tapped the Srandford bowl to make the wine ripple. "Douse it. Saffron filaments and all."

The wine would probably carry my blood into the stone. It was going to make a mess, though. Wincing, I poured the quarter cup of wine onto the blood-painted, ash-smeared stone.

"Good," Al said, a hint of pride showing when the wine flooded the middle pentagram, the outermost…and then stopped at the chalk lines. It had defined the outermost pentagram while washing away the second. "Now apply the runes of permanence."

I knew them, obviously, and I quickly put them at the points, whispering their names and feeling the strength of the ley line grow as a stronger link was forged between me and the stone.

"All that is left is reciting the three phrases used to make the charm work," Al said, and then quietly pushed a strip of paper to me.

I smiled when I took it up, quickly reading and recognizing the Latin as the same inscribed on the stone. But the thrill that spilled through me was because he had trusted that I was going to do this right, so much so that he had written down the words ahead of time.

"A priori," I said, hoping my pronunciation was right. It meant "from the former," and a quiver went through me when I saw the glyphs engraved upon the stone begin to glow. "A posteriori," I added, and the glyphs brightened. "From the latter"—easy enough.

"Omnia mutantur," I said, nodding. It meant "everything changes," and I remembered it from another transference curse I had used before.

The writings on the stone burst into a horrific brightness, and my pulse quickened when a pinging sensation seemed to arch into me, quickly fading.

Al reached for the stone, rubbing the last of the ash from it before handing it to me. "It's yours," he said. "And yours alone." He hesitated, then added in a lighthearted voice, "Well done. A glamour can be seen through by anyone with a sharp enough intuition, but to break it entirely, use finis . Because it's linked to both you and the collective, you can glamour more than one thing at a time. I would be cautious in that regard. I've always found less is more."

I couldn't stop my grin. The stone was warm in my hand, and I wanted to try it out.

"Go on." Al waved a hand at me as if shooing chickens. "Tap a line, look at the object you want to lift the image of through the stone, and recite the first incantation."

What to copy… I spun a slow circle, raising the stone to my eye when I saw my Witch Monthly magazine. "A priori," I said, and a quiver of line energy rippled through me.

Al dropped the vampire sex guide onto the table with an attention-getting smack. "Gaze upon what you want to disguise and recite the second."

Beaming, I peered through the hole at it. "A posteriori," I said, then lowered the rock. It hadn't changed.

"And invoke it by speaking the third phrase through the hole, thereby carrying the spell to it?" Al suggested, and I felt myself warm.

Of course. "Omnia mutantur," I whispered through the hole. My breath streamed through the stone, pulling a haze of energy straight from the ley lines to settle over the book and soak in.

Slowly my smile faded. "It didn't work," I said, disappointed, but Al chuckled and swept Cormel's dating guide up, riffling through it in interest.

"It did," he said, lingering over an illustration as he turned the book on its side. "Since you cast it, you can't see the changes unless you look through the stone."

Curious, I brought the stone to my eye, excitement tingling to my toes as Al was suddenly holding a magazine. "So it's kind of a spell checker, too," I said, and the demon snorted.

"It's a transposition charm. You see things that are transposed. Magicked things appear as they truly are, and things the stone has glamoured appear as everyone else sees them. Don't ask me how it knows. It's like a thermos." He let the book drop with a thud that a magazine never would have been able to manage. Expression pleased, he grabbed the open bottle of wine and started for the kitchen. "I suggest you put it on a lanyard, but don't run anything through the hole. You'll ruin the spell."

"Thanks, Al," I said, getting a half-assed wave as he continued on, shoulders hunched.

Tickled, I opened my fist and ran a finger over the warm stone. I'd loop some wire around it and put it on a length of chain. "Hey, Al?" I called after him. "Do you think someone might have disguised the Atlantean mirror with a glamour?"

Al drew to a halt in the hall, his silhouette ominous as he half turned to me. "No. You can't transpose things that reflect. I'm sorry, Rachel. You have until June, and then it's Alcatraz, the coven, or me."

And as he spun to go out to his wagon in my graveyard, I began to wonder why I was working so hard to stay here.