Daughter of the Spellcaster (15 page)

She reached up unerringly, plucking out a tiny bundle of white sage and sweet grasses, dried and twisted together with a few of their own strands. When she touched the ends to a candle’s flame, the dried herbs flared to life, snapping and sizzling. Flames leapt high and hot. She gave it a beat or two, then blew out the fire. Now the herbs wafted fragrant smoke in spirals and swirls.

Her mind grew calm and her body relaxed, nerves uncoiling. She carried the smoking herbs to the little table near the window, picking up the vulture feather that rested there. Illegal to possess, she knew, but the huge turkey vulture had dropped it for her, so she considered it a gift, one she could not refuse. Picking it up, she used the feather to wave the smoke around her body, bending to waft it over her feet and up her legs, moving the smoking bundle behind her and then in front again, lifting it higher, until she reached the top of her head.

When she felt perfectly cleansed of every negative vibe, she moved around the room, still wafting the smoke with the vulture feather, sending it into every corner, nook and cranny, and ending where she had begun. Then she tapped the bundle almost out in a little dish and let it lie there, a few ribbons of smoke still winding up from it.

With her hand held palm out, she projected energy. It wasn’t imaginary. It wasn’t visualization. It was genuine energy. She could almost see it beaming out of her palm, painting a path of white light as she cast a circle in the room.

Here, in this room, she never took the circle down, just reinforced it every time she needed to work magic. This room was sacred space, and nothing evil could get inside. Only goodness. Only love.

By the time she finished her preliminary steps, she was feeling very calm, very peaceful. She went to the cabinet again and took out the chalice Bahru had given to her. Since her first experiment with it had been almost frightening, she decided to cleanse it and bless it, which she did quickly and easily, as any seasoned witch could. It didn’t require a big elaborate rite. She wafted a little smoke from the still-smoldering sage bundle over the cup. Then she moved the cup through the candle’s flame. She drizzled it with holy water and sprinkled it with sea salt, and then she held her hand over it and beamed that same white light energy into it. And it was done.

“You serve the gods now, little cup, and likewise you serve me. Nothing evil, only love. Now show me what I need to see.”

After pouring a bit more holy water into the chalice, she sat down on the floor, her legs crossed, the cup in the crook of them, and gazed down into the water. Her breathing slowed and softened, until it was nearly impossible to tell where inhale ended and exhale began. It was all one flow, like the waves of the ocean. She felt the air swirling around her nostrils, rushing along her windpipe, filling her lungs, dancing out into the room again. Focusing on that allowed all other thoughts to cease. When they tried to return, she gently tugged her attention back to the breaths moving in and out, in and out. Her eyes relaxed, her vision going blurry.

Soon she felt herself sinking into that beautiful, blissful state of oneness with the All. Her body was no longer an individual being but rather a vantage point for spirit. A vehicle for spirit to ride in during its journey through the physical realm.

Clouds formed in the cup, swirled and parted.

“Show me what I need to see,” she whispered.

And then she was no longer in her temple room but in her bedroom, floating on the ceiling, looking down at her own body in the bed. She was sweat-damp and straining, and her knees were pointed ceilingward and parted, toes curling and digging into the mattress as she pushed.

Doc Cartwright was there. Nurse Eloise, too. And Mom, but she was in a chair in the corner, slumped to one side. Sleeping?

Dead?

Panic clutched at Lena’s heart, but she ignored it and fought to stay focused.

Ryan was there, Bahru right beside him. Thank God. She would be all right. And the house ghost—he was there, too, hovering in the corner like a thick, vaguely human-shaped pillar of black smoke. He was far denser than he’d ever appeared before, and much more
real
looking. Less like a shadow. More like a being.

Then she was both hovering by the ceiling and in her body in the bed, and she was in pain. The baby was coming. She felt her little girl’s head pressing through her into the world, felt as if she was being torn in two. And the ghost in the corner opened his eyes, like darkness parting to reveal fiery red orbs.

Suddenly she was afraid. She looked up, saw Ryan pulling that golden blade from its sheath and raising it above her, point down. His eyes were red, and he was wearing a crystal on a silver chain around his neck.

Three firm knocks on the door yanked her out of the vision. She dropped back into her body so abruptly that she felt the impact as if she had physically fallen to the floor.

She gave her head a shake and tried to catch a final glimpse of the vision in the cup, but there was only water. She’d lost it.

Sighing and fighting not to allow anger into her sacred space, she parted the energy curtain with a sweep of one arm before opening the door.

Ryan met her eyes. “Did I do something to make you angry?”

“I’m busy right now.”

His gaze darted past her, taking in the dancing candles, the smoke hanging in the air, then the chalice on the floor. “Wow, that’s...that’s something. That cup. Where did you...?”

“Your father left it to me.”

His brows went up. “He did?”

She nodded.

“Does it...
do
anything...you know...unusual?”

Lena blinked. How could he know that? “What an odd question. Why do you ask?”

“Humor me. I’m opening my mind about all this, and I have a good reason for asking. Trust me.”

Unfortunately, she
didn’t
trust him. Not enough. Yet she didn’t see any harm in being honest about the chalice. “It’s pretty amazing, actually. I use it for scrying.”

“But that’s nothing you haven’t done with other cups and mirrors and stuff, right?”

“True. I’ve done it all my life.”

“But with this cup, it’s different?”

“Yes, it is.” Lena frowned. “It’s more powerful. Even a little scary at times.”

“Yes. Scary,” he said softly, nodding. “So what do you do about that? When it’s scary, I mean.”

“Just keep working with it, same as I would with any new tool. The more you use it, the more it becomes like an extension of you. Like driving a car, you know?” Her irritation with his interruption was quickly being pushed aside by her love of talking about her favorite subject and her genuine pleasure at his interest, which still seemed sincere. She leaned against the door frame. “Remember being sixteen and behind the wheel for the first time? How you felt completely out of control behind the wheel? Maybe you were even all over the road. But now you drive almost without thinking. It’s automatic. You’ve sort of melded with the car, like it’s an extension of your body. Magical tools are like that.”

“I’d never thought of it that way.”

“Of course, I cleansed it first.”

“Cleansed it?”

“Yeah. I mean, I do it with any new tool, but especially one that feels at all...scary. It’s a simple rite to get rid of any negative energy that might be clinging to... Why are you so interested in my chalice all of a sudden, Ryan?” She suddenly wondered if he was wearing a hidden recorder, trying to gather evidence of her nontraditional beliefs to use against her in a custody battle.

Stupid thought. He would never.

Oh, yes, he would. The guy he was back in New York would, anyway. The prince he’d been in a former life? Not in a million years. The guy he was trying to convince her he was now? Well, that remained to be seen.

He shrugged. “You’re the mother of my child. I think it’s important that I understand your...belief system.”

“The same belief system you once called ‘cute’?”

He nodded. “I’ve apologized for that. More than once, I think.”

She just stood there, waiting.

He finally sighed. “Look, I don’t know what happened downstairs, but...I don’t have a single regret except that we were interrupted. And I want—”

“I’m not ready, Ryan.” She shook her head, sighed, looked at her feet, then met his eyes again. “Okay, I suppose it’s obvious that I still have feelings for you. And the fire between us...that hasn’t gotten any smaller, either.”

“Bigger, I think.”

She wanted to bask in that reply. But she clenched her jaw and resisted. “Ryan, you know how I am about honesty, so I need to be honest with you now. The truth is, I don’t trust you. I don’t know what the hell you’re really doing here, or what you really want from me, and I’m just not ready to put my heart or my child into your hands. Not yet. I need to take this slow. Okay?”

He studied her eyes for a long time. “Okay. I guess I deserve that. But...Lena, is it that you think I’m only pretending to still have feelings for you, because of the baby? Because that’s not true. Even Bahru will tell you that’s not true. I’ve been miserable since you left. I wish my father was still here. He’d tell you.” He looked at the chalice. “Maybe you could ask him yourself.”

“Maybe I will.”

He nodded. “Okay, I... You take your time. I’m not going anywhere. And, um...I’m sorry I interrupted your...ritual.”

“It’s okay.”

“Okay. Well. Good night, I guess.”

“Good night, Ryan.” She closed the door, swept the energy curtain together again. “I want to believe him so, so freaking bad,” she whispered.

* * *

Ryan took her rejection on the chin and told himself he just had to work his way past it. Hell, he’d only been there a couple of days. He couldn’t expect her to believe in the new and improved Ryan two-point-oh he was trying to sell her in so short a time. He’d spent way too much time selling her the old version. Ryan one-point-oh. Or one-point-a-hole, which he figured was probably more accurate.

It was going to take some time.

Meanwhile, he thought she’d given him some massive insights into what to do about that crazy-ass magic knife his father had left him. He needed to practice with it, to master it. But first he needed to cleanse it.

She’d started getting suspicious about all his questions, so he’d had to let that part go. But he knew where he could find the answers.

In the attic, in those boxes upon boxes of books he’d carried up there only a couple of days ago. So that was where he headed. Part of him wanted to get back to work on the nursery, but he couldn’t really paint until the primer was dry enough, which meant tomorrow morning, so he had nothing but time on his hands tonight.

He found a handy spot on the attic floor and then began pulling the volumes out of the boxes, one after another, flipping through them in search of an explanation on how to “cleanse” a magical tool.

An hour later he’d found what he needed, a list of numerous methods of cleansing objects.

1. Tie the object up tight in a netted bag, like the kind onions come in, and drop it into a running stream. Weigh it down with rocks or tie it to something so it won’t float away, and leave it there for three nights.

Well, that was simple enough, but it would take too much time.

2. Bury the object in salt, or in the earth itself, and leave it overnight.

That might work.

3. Bathe the object in an infusion of mugwort and—

No, that wasn’t any good. He wouldn’t know a mugwort from a toad’s wart.

4. Lay the object out in direct sunlight for three full days.

Too likely it would be seen. And too much time again.

5. Cleanse and consecrate with holy water, sage smoke, candle flame and sea salt inside a ritual circle.

He didn’t know enough to do that.

It looked like number two was the one. He just needed a small shovel, and he prayed he could find a patch of ground that wasn’t too frozen—though that shouldn’t be a problem, given the mildness of the winter. He already knew where he was going to start looking for the right spot. That little patch of trees out back, at the edge of the lawn, where he’d first experimented with the blade. That was it.

* * *

Lena frowned at the computer screen where she had uploaded the photos from her mom’s cell phone and clicked the “enhance” button. There was clearly a fire, and there were several figures standing around it, but they were all covered from head to toe in dark, hooded robes. Like monks’ robes.

She glanced at the stairs, then at the front door. The computer desk was nestled in the little bank of bay windows in the deepest part of the living room. Ryan had gone out. He hadn’t taken the truck, so he was either out walking or he’d gone over to see Bahru. Not very likely.

He wasn’t around, though, so she minimized the photo-editing software, opened a private browsing tab, so there would be no trail in the history, and then typed
P. Reynolds Attorney
into the search bar. Her finger hovered over the enter key. Should she do this? It was an invasion of privacy. And yet, if he was laying the groundwork to fight for custody of their daughter, she needed to know, right?

Lena hated dishonesty, along with lying and sneaking and covert actions of any kind.

But for her baby, she figured she could put her values just very slightly aside. Decision made, she tapped Enter. In seconds the search results came up. The very first one was Paul Reynolds, Family Law Attorney, specializing in Marital and Custody Law in New York, N.Y.

“Son of a—”

The door opened, and she closed the screen so fast anyone would have thought she’d been caught watching porn. Then she looked up at Ryan, her heart breaking. Because it was true. He was talking with a custody lawyer. Damn him for getting her hopes up. She tried not to look guilty, even though she’d obviously had good reason for her snooping.

Then she realized he was looking guilty, too. Avoiding her eyes and wiping his hands on his jeans for some reason.

“What have you been up to?” she asked him.

“Just walking around, looking at the stars, thinking.”