by Sandy Wright
He tilted his head back to peer at me. "You read Latin?"
"No. Mr. Ravenscroft translated it."
Nicholas put the little volume carefully on the table and turned full around to face me. "Ravenscroft?"
"Yes. Noah Ravenscroft. Odd little man. Do you know him?"
He patted the chair next to his. "Sit. Tell me your conversation with him. Please. Word for word."
I ran through the same list with Nicholas.
"You accomplished a lot with little help from me," he commented when I finished. "Maybe I can contribute a bit now. At the Black Mass, they praised someone or something called Nukpana. The demon's name perhaps?"
"Now if we could just find instructions on how to lure it to the Underworld," I said. "Do you suppose there's anything in your grimoire besides the one binding spell?"
"Haven't you read the whole thing?" Nicholas teased. "You had it long enough."
I flipped him off. "I copied it all. But a lot of it I couldn't read."
"Show me."
I turned pages in the book until I came to one with the strange lettering.
"Theban," he said. "The witch's alphabet." He pulled a sheet from his notepad, swiftly writing the alphabet from A to Z in a column on one side of the page. Then he started a second column and filled in the corresponding stick letters.
"It appears you've used Theban before?"
He nodded. "We all do. For our grimoire, spells, or anything else we'd prefer to keep private."
"This seems like a lot more work than simply writing in English."
"That's the point," he said. "The more effort you put into writing a spell, the more effective it will be. The concentration of translating every word focuses your intent and makes your working stronger."
He handed me the sheet and grimoire with a wicked grin. "Consider this your next assignment. Translate each page, just enough to know what it pertains to. See if you find any reference to Nuin or Dark Ones. Los Oscuros." He paused, flipping through his own book. "Also Hell or demons."
"And curses," I added.
Nicholas read, taking occasional notes in his spiky script, while I translated pages. It was painfully slow at first, but the translations became easier as the ornate script became imprinted on my brain.
Finally I stopped and stood to stretch my back. "Something bothers me in this whole scenario. Why would Nuin accept certain death to be a host for this thing? What does he get out of it if he's going to die almost immediately?"
Nicholas looked thoughtful. "I believe he thinks he has found a way to strengthen himself, to withstand the possession."
"Really? Do you know how?"
"Unfortunately, yes," Nicholas said. "He's stealing magickal power from his victims. By eating them."
Chapter 52: Blood Bonds
We worked feverishly through the night and into the next day, taking turns sleeping on the couch in the library. Constantly, we felt the pressure of our time ticking inexorably closer to New Year's Eve. Four more days…three more days.
Mid-afternoon I hit pay dirt on the translations. "Nicholas, I found it!" I squealed.
To Lure & Banish a Demon
Mix yew leaves into mercury
With blood from a victim of this evil spirit.
Stir with a silver spoon, times nine
And touch the mixture to the beast.
"I can make the potion," Nicholas said, "but I'm not sure how either of us will be able to get close enough to the demon to actually touch it."
"What do you mean you can make the potion? You don't have blood from a victim."
"I'll worry about the potion, you finish translating, Nicholas ordered, disappearing from the room.
As I got to the translations at the back of the grimoire, it became apparent these entries were earlier even than Renard.
"Nicholas, what was Renard's mother's name?" I asked when he returned.
"Her mother and father were both French. The mother's name was Elise I believe."
"Was Renard born in France?"
"Yes, but they came to the states when she was a little girl."
I got out my laptop and pulled up the family tree program I'd been working on. "Here you go. Henri and Elise immigrated to New York from Paris in 1928. Renard was thirteen."
Nicholas looked up in surprise. "You've researched my family tree?"
"Yes. When I discovered our names were anagrams, I was curious and began digging. If you had called me back when I left messages, you could have saved me a lot of time. But I found something interesting in the grimoire that may tie into my family tree."
Nicholas moved over to look at the screen, as I pulled up the 1930 census record.
"See, it shows all the Corbeau family members." I pointed to the last two names. "But there are two additional family members listed as domestics."
"Idle," Nicholas read. "As in unemployed at the time?"
"No, I don't think so," I said, "I believe it's a misspelling. I wrote I-D-O-L on the notepad. "Idol is my great grandmother's last name. I think she worked for your great grandparents as a domestic in Brooklyn. In fact, I think my great-grandmother was Renard's nanny. And your family schooled my grandmother in magick." I opened the grimoire to the page I'd marked in the very back.
"I have found a playmate of the magickal persuasion for Renard in our new home. Have adjusted the lessons to include both of them. What do you think?"
Nicholas pursed his lips.
"It is possible. In the old days, a family would occasionally accept a nonfamily member as part of their magickal practice. I know in Grandmother's case, she was a late child. Both of her older sisters died when she was young; complications during childbirth if I remember the history correctly. Soon after, her parents moved from France, to get away from the memories of their lost daughters."
I closed the grimoire. "I cannot think of another family I would rather be related to." I met his eyes. "Although I'm relieved it's not by blood."
"As am I." He reached out and drew me against him. After all my fretting about how I would handle this moment, it was so effortless. A subtle shift and we were fitted together, angle to angle. Every inch of my body felt the jolt.
"Oh," I murmured. "Uh-oh."
A smile flickered at the corners, and then his mouth pressed mine lightly. The kiss was a slow, deliberate seduction, and his hands slid down my back, taking their sweet time. When he eased back, I moaned for him to continue, a soft, helplessly pleasured sound.
"Samantha."
"Mmm."
"Stay with me tonight. We'll put the research aside, for the whole night."
I sighed. "It's the week before New Year's, one of my busiest seasons. I have to work tomorrow." Still, I couldn't resist nipping at his sexy bottom lip of his while I said it.
"Shame. I have so many plans for you." He kissed my neck, nibbling from ear down to collarbone.
"So good, that's just…uhm." I angled my head to give his lips better access. "Maybe we could just pare it down a bit, to say, a couple of hours?"
His eyes darkened and he slid his hands under my bottom, lifting me onto the table. But my hip knocked over the wine glass, shattering it against the dinner plate and slicing my skin. I rolled off the table with a cry of pain.
"Damn it! Not again!"
I moaned, as Nicholas knelt beside me a moment later, smearing antibiotic on the cut and covering it gently with gauze.
He leaned around my knees and gave me a deliberately pro-vocative look. "You do this often?"
To my embarrassment, tears welled in my eyes. "There's something I didn't tell you," I felt a catch in my throat. "The night of Maya's party, I…well, I left with Nuin."
Nicholas removed his hands from my leg and looked away. "I see."
I didn't have to see his eyes to know I'd hurt him, I heard it in his voice. "I was angry because you were with Lilith. It was a stupid thing to do."
"Why are you tel
ling me this now?"
He doused a cotton ball with alcohol and pressed it against the cut, with more pressure than was necessary. I flinched.
"The broken glass flashed me back to that night. We had a fight and broke some wine glasses."
"Lovers' spat, what a shame."
I wiped my tears on the sleeve of my, no Nicholas's, shirt. "Stop it, Nicholas. You're the one who showed up with Lilith, you have no right to judge me. Besides, it wasn't a spat. He made a pass. I told him "no," and he…he attacked me."
Nicholas clenched his jaw but said nothing. Finally, he squatted again in front of me and held out a hand. "Let me see your foot."
I held up my foot and he took off my tennis shoe and sock. The foot was still swollen, and red streaks radiated out from the wound in a miniature star. Nicholas got a pan from the cabinet, filled it with disinfectant and water, and put my foot in to soak.
"I've been doing the same thing," I said, "but it keeps getting worse."
He looked concerned. "Have you felt ill?"
"I've had trouble walking and I'm running a low-grade fever." I flashed on my nights of tossing in bed, hearing voices. "It's made for some bizarre dreams."
"Do you remember any of them?"
I laughed uneasily. "Christmas Eve. I was flying." I leaned over to look at my foot, bubbling in the peroxide solution. "Aren't flying dreams usually caused by fever? Anyway, I flew over this old church; it was surrounded by a circle of blood."
Alarm flickered across Nicholas's face. "I want you to think very carefully, Samantha. Think back over every single encounter you've had with Nuin, no matter how fleeting. Remember every time he touched you, anything he may have put on you, anything he may have kept after your meeting that would have a trace of your essence. Hair, saliva, oil from your skin. Anything at all."
I closed my eyes and slowly ran through my first encounters with Nuin. There was the full moon ritual. He'd taken my arm at the diner, and then, of course, tried to kiss me and gave me the necklace. My hand automatically went to the moonstone charm around my neck.
Watching me, Nicholas looked slightly sick. "Have you worn it often?"
I nodded. "He got after me once when he saw me without it."
"Bastard!" Nicholas went into the bathroom for a towel and held it open. "Take it off and give it to me."
He strode out the front door, carrying the necklace wrapped in the towel. I watched through the window as he dug a shallow trench in the back yard, dropped the bundle into the trench, and covered it with some loose branches from the tree above.
Stomping his feet on the doormat, Nicholas came inside and sat down beside me. "Okay," he said, his voice tired and resigned, "now let's talk about blood."
* * * * *
"So you think they used my blood in the Black Mass?" Nicholas had certainly had a different Christmas Eve than my solitary one. No wonder my foot was taking so long to heal. I shuddered, suddenly feeling the need for a long, hot shower and a whole bar of soap.
"This changes things, Sam," he said soberly. "They have a tie to you, the strongest one can have with a witch. As the Priest said, a witch's power resides in the blood. With it they are capable, through a collective consciousness, of summoning you and bending your will to their wishes."
I trembled. "What are we going to do?"
Nicholas put his arms around me and whispered, "You can break this hold. But it will take some preparation." He cupped my face in his hands. "Go home. Talk to Rumor tomorrow; make sure she can handle things for you the next couple of days. And don't make any outward show of nervousness or a change in routine." He paused, his expression grim. "But get a bag packed and come to stay with me for the weekend. I'd like to keep you near me for these last few days before the blood moon."
Chapter 53: Sacred Dagger
"Ravenscroft Rare Books," the voice on the phone answered.
"Blessed greetings, Noah," Nicholas said to his friend. "This is Nicholas Orenda. It has been a long time since I've seen you. How are you and your family?"
Ravenscroft laughed softly. "I have two grown daughters. I am ever watchful. How is your business in the United States?"
"Business is going as well as can be expected. But I have need of your expertise."
"How may I help you, my friend?"
"Samantha says she has been researching demonology with you."
"One of my favorite subjects, as you know. She's a quick study."
"Yes, well. I'm curious to know if you have a magickal tool I read about in your little book. Particularly effective against supernatural entities. It is called a Phurba. Tibetan, I believe."
There was silence on the line. "I do not normally trade in dark magic tools." Another pause. "But since our families have been in alliance for so many years, I could make an exception this once."
"And I will be in your debt," Nicholas replied, groaning silently. "I appreciate your assistance. When may I pick it up?"
"Come now. I'll teach you how to attune it to your powers before you attempt to use it. They tend to develop their own will, you know."
"Thank you," Nicholas said softly, and hung up.
* * * * *
Nicholas called me as I was packing, sounding distracted. "Could you leave soon—quite soon—meet me at Ravenscroft's?
He came out to the truck to meet me when I arrived. Dark stubble covered his cheeks and his shirtsleeves were pushed up above his elbows.
"Are you all right?" I asked. "You look a little, I don't know, harassed."
"I hope so." He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "I've just been having a bit of a tussle with a new magickal tool I bought. Come inside."
Nicholas opened the front door of Ravenscroft's. I stopped in surprise. It looked like a tornado had come through the store. The pretty green banker's lamp on the front desk lay on the floor in pieces. Beyond, books were strewn on the floor. In the middle of the mayhem lay a three-sided iron dagger, nearly ten inches long. The handle had three grim demonic faces on it, contorted in a variety of snarls and leers.
I walked over to take a closer look.
"Don't touch it!"
As Nicholas strode over to take my arm, the dagger rose into the air and hung suspended for a moment. The nearest face on the handle appeared to be watching him.
"Don't – you – dare," he said to the dagger. It remained, throat-high, in a momentary standoff, before sinking slowly back to the rug.
"What is this thing?" I asked, kneeling several feet away.
"It's a Tibetan ceremonial dagger called a Phurba," Nicholas said, "a tantric magickal dart. I just got it today. We were getting to know one another."
"What are you planning on using it for? I wouldn't rely on any tool that appears to want to stab you in the throat as much as this thing does."
Nicholas ran his hands through his hair again, another nervous gesture I had come to recognize in this man who so rarely revealed he was bothered by anything.
"I planned to use it to sever your binding to Nuin. Severing bonds is one of the most effective uses of the tool." He shot me a pointed look, "along with capturing demons. Remember, the book said the entity is only susceptible to magickal weapons." He sagged into a chair, clearly frustrated. "But over time, the Phurba tends to develop a will of its own. It must become familiar with the personal power of the user, and agree to work cooperatively." He scowled at the dagger. "This one is not cooperating."
"Did it come with instructions?"
"It was made in the eighth century, Samantha."
"Hmmm." I stood and walked carefully to the dagger, sitting down cross-legged beside it, studying the angry faces on the handle.
Then I picked it up. Nicholas raised his hands in alarm and the dagger jittered in my hand. I twirled it gently between my palms and it quieted.
It was surprisingly heavy. I cradled it in both hands. "What's it made of?"
"Meteoric iron." He answered without taking
his eyes off the blade, again pointing in his direction.
So that's why it's so heavy. "How would you know if it has agreed to cooperate?"
"It appears to have accepted you. I wonder why?" Ravenscroft eased behind the chair next to Nicholas, his movements slow and deliberate. "The blade itself is morally neutral to start with. The affinity for either good or evil comes about as the result of the user's state of mind and intent. If it accepts you, you then ground it in a pot of soil or rice, depending on what your planned use is for the tool."
"I would think soil," I mused, turning the Phurba in my hand. It vibrated slightly, like an animal twitching as it sleeps.
"I agree." Nicholas gestured behind his head to a clay pot sitting on the demolished bookshelf. "But I never got that far."
I carried the Phurba over to the pot. Pushing the blade into the soil up to the hilt, I smiled. "Okay, I think we're good to go."
Nicholas stared at the hilt sticking out of the pot, and then turned his gaze to me. "You amaze me, Sam." The astonishment was evident in his voice. "You really do."
"Now and then," I replied softly. "Now and then."
Chapter 54: Spirit Ways
Sinclair packed and tied his bedroll and added some wood to the fire. He could feel the Dark One coming, had felt its ominous presence for several days now.
He knew this being had been good once, long, long ago, in the days when the land was more alive and rocks and trees spoke freely to men. But Man's spirit had decayed, and the Dark One became angry, a mirror of Man's bitterness. Now the Dark One had no heart but ice, a heart of death and destruction.
Sinclair was deeply offended that sacred land was to be the site for the conflict, but he wasn't surprised. The Underworld creatures were drawn to spiritual energy, and this site had steeped in centuries of ancestral spirits. Their blood, their bones, and their tears, had nourished this land. So no, he wasn't surprised. He did think it foolish, however, for the enemy to encroach on his turf, the land he knew so well. He loved it, and it supported him in return.
As wicasa wakan, a shaman, his role had always been to keep his People safe. Now that he could see how the prophecy would unfold, he had an added human to protect. He must ensure the newest member revealed in the prophecy—the Caller he had been watching for, waiting for—had all the powers possible on her side. This evil ice, it can be captured in rock, the shaman thought. Wakan Tanka, Mother Earth protects herself.
