Sins of the Flesh (Half-Breed Series Book 2) (27 page)

He nodded, swallowing painfully. “Yes, the next morning. I didn’t think anything about the other fires until yesterday when my trees started to get sick again. I figured maybe I didn’t offer enough pineapples. So I listened to the police scanner, and when I heard about the fire last night, I went there to make another offering.”

Irix eased up on the man’s arm, and we exchanged puzzled looks. Pele certainly seemed greedy, but I doubted all this was over a bunch of pineapples. Once again I examined the sick tree. Three of them, after the fungus was eradicated from the entire grove. How could that have happened so quickly?

“Tell you what. I’ll cure this tree in return for the spell book you used.”

Irix let the man go, and he rubbed his shoulder before replying. “You don’t exactly look like a pesticide rep, or one of those fungus scientists. How is a college student going to fix my tree?”

I pointed. “This one. Right here, right now. Do we have a deal?”

His expression turned calculating. “I’ve got three sick trees. Heal all of them and you’ve got a deal.”

I’d healed a diseased tree in New Orleans, but it had taken a terrible toll on me. Even though I was humming with energy, healing three trees would put me at a significant disadvantage if I had a Cleo run-in this afternoon.

“One. If you help us get rid of Pele and her fire servants, then I’ll cure the other two.”

The farmer glared. “How do you expect me to get rid of her? I gave her the pineapples. I don’t know why she’s still here.”

I didn’t know why either. Hopefully once I got the spell and conveyed it to Kristin, she’d have a solution. “We may need you to do the ritual to reverse this. I don’t want you disappearing, so it’s one tree now and the other two after.”

“Reverse it?” Hayworth picked up his sprayer and headed for another tree. “Forget it. I don’t want to
reverse
the spell. I’ve got no idea what happened and how, but my trees are better than they have been in years. I don’t care if she runs around burning up restaurants; there’s no way I’m reversing that.”

I looked at Irix, and he punched a fist into his palm, nodding toward the farmer. I shook my head, not quite ready for brute force.

“I cure one tree for the spell book. How’s that.”

Hayworth laughed, hosing bark with the sprayer. “Knock yourself out, girl. It’s not like I’m going to turn into a witch or something. You cure a tree, and the book is all yours.”

I approached the tree and placed a hand on it. The fungal infection hit me like a fist, knocking the breath from my lungs. I’d never felt anything so strong. Leaves, twigs, fruit buds – the fungus rarely caused permanent damage, but this particular strain seemed determined to whither this tree to nothing. I could even feel the cankers that were a few weeks away from forming on the trunk. Whatever benefit Hayworth had received from his ritual, the disease had come back ten times stronger.

I opened, letting the blackness pour into me and leaving the tree a clean vessel. My vision swam with the intensity of it, my stomach knotting in pain. Hungry, the disease spread through me, trying to take hold and claim my body for its own. I struggled to fill my lungs then closed my eyes to concentrate as I breathed out and took control.

They were like small ‘c’ shaped worms, immature ones still attached to the hyphae. Conidia, asexual chlamydospores. These fungal spores spread through mitosis and wreaked havoc on plants and fruit. They were also hardy little suckers. I burst each one, tearing them down into simple atomic structures, then further, into a sort of primeval energy. The anthracnose had made me feel filthy and nauseous, made me want to scrub with bleach, inside and out, until I bled. Now, instead of filled with foulness, I was filled with something else – energy I struggled to hold and control. I panicked, instinctively knowing if I wasn’t careful, I could blow up an acre of this guy’s orchard.

“Steady,” Irix murmured against my ear. I felt him as if he were part of me. His being took the weight of the energy, helping me keep it contained.

Feeling like an overripe melon about to burst, I concentrated on channeling the energy, transforming it into healthy cellular structure and nutrients as I pushed it back into the tree.

The last speck of energy left me, and I clung to the tree trunk for support. I didn’t feel like I was on the verge of puking anymore, but a nap sounded really good. A nap right here, right now, under this pineapple tree. Irix’s arms went around me. His lips pressed to the side of my head, and he sent a trickle of energy through my skin. It was like cool water on a hot day, and I smiled at him in gratitude.

“Wow. Just... wow.” Hayworth’s voice sounded like he was a few-hundred yards away — and in a wind tunnel. He touched the tree’s bark. “And you even cured the fruit. That’s amazing.”

It was. Leaves that had been covered with brown, twigs with black spots, misshapen and stunted fruits – they were all the glowing picture of health. It was as if they were part of a horticultural exhibit. Or as if an elf had worked her magic.

I caught my breath and managed to stand more upright. “Now, the spell you worked?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, of course.”

We followed Hayworth through the field and into the house. He went to the shelf with the touristy, brightly illustrated Hawaii books and pulled one down.

“Here.”

It didn’t look like any grimoire I’d ever seen. The ‘spell book’ was paperback, colorful scenes of luau entertainment on the cover.
Harnessing the Power of Hawaii
, by Celestina Starlion.

What. The. Fuck. “This...
this
is what you used for the ritual?”

“Yep.” He pointed to a jagged strip of sticky note protruding from the top. “A deal is a deal. The book is all yours.”

Irix and I exchanged baffled glances.

“And you didn’t do anything else?” I asked. “Didn’t pay a sorcerer you found on the internet to help you?”

“Nope. I was ready to abandon the farm and move back to California with my sister. I figured this was worth a shot. I put my whole retirement savings into this place, but it’s worthless with the grove diseased.”

“Well, you’ve got a fresh start now. I’d recommend you destroy the two infected trees. And your tree spacing is a real problem, as are your irrigation sprayers. With that constant dampness on your leaves, you’re going to be susceptible to anthracnose. Thin your grove, change to drip irrigation, and in the fall, rake and burn all fallen leaves and twigs, and this fungus won’t come back.”

He nodded. “I’ll consider it. Now, if you’ll excuse me... .”

Normally the dismissal would have irked me, but I was anxious to get back and see what Kristin could tell me about the ritual this man used – and hopefully how to put Pele and her servants back to rest.

Chapter 22

I
rix dropped me off at the resort and left to pick up supplies for our fire-protection ritual tonight. Kai met me in the lobby, and we went to my room to eat room-service lunch and wait for Kristin to return my call. Once we’d tucked into our burgers, I pulled the spell book from my bag and tossed it onto the table between us.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Kai said, regarding the book with disdain. “
Harnessing the Power of Hawaii
?”

“Here’s the ritual.” I turned to the marked page.

She scanned it. “Kalanimainu’u is a lizard goddess. She doesn’t have anything to do with agriculture.”

Kalani-what? No wonder Hayworth couldn’t pronounce her name. I leaned over and looked at the book upside down. “Who should he have called? Haumea? Or Lono?”

“Maybe Lono.” Kai shrugged. “Like I said, Haumea does childbirth. Lono has some minor responsibility for agriculture, but he’s not really a plant deity. He’s the god of peace and winter rains.”

“Rains?” I winced. Aranthcnose was exacerbated by wetness, so calling on a rain god probably would have been just as bad as a volcano goddess. Or a lizard goddess.

“Yeah. Which is why he’s occasionally attributed as a harvest and fertility god. The winter rains are key to the growing season here.”

“So Celestina Starlion should have probably made the ritual for Lono?”

“He’d be one of the better ones to appeal to for a good harvest. He’s not as well-known as other gods and goddesses, but, in a way, he’s as popular as Pele. Nearly everyone on the island has a Ti plant near the entrance of their house. It’s a kind of blessing, to bring the home peace and good luck.”

The red Cabbage Palm I’d forcibly grown during the fire at the ranch was also called a Ti plant. How poetic that I smothered a destructive fire with a symbol of peace.

Kai smiled nostalgically. “The coming of Lono begins with the rise of the Pleiades. It’s kind of a four-month-long Hawaiian new year that we call the Makahiki season. A Lono figure is created and carried around from district to district. Long ago, war was forbidden during the Makahiki season, and all work was halted while the Lono-Makua was in your district. Now we just party it up – lots of games, sporting events, and feasting. It’s a total blast.”

Drat. Too bad I wasn’t dealing with him instead of Pele. Lono was easy to pronounce. What a shame Hayworth hadn’t invoked him instead of the volcano goddess.

“Well, the farmer substituted Pele for your lizard goddess, and evidently offered her pineapple in return for curing the blight in his orchard.”

Kai gave me an odd look. “I can see Pele taking an offering of fruit. When the volcanoes were active, farmers used to leave offerings at the base to try to persuade her not to burn their fields. It doesn’t make sense that she’d respond to a request to rid trees of a fungus. It’s not within her area of control or expertise.”

So why had she responded? That was another question I’d need to ask Kristin.

“What makes Pele back off in the legends? What has appeased her in the past? Because these pineapples don’t seem to be doing the job.”

“Her temper eventually burns out, so time. Lots of groveling and worshipful adoration. Or we could go find Kamapua’a.”

“The pig god?” There were several areas in central Maui named for Kamapua’a – usually ones where there was an abundance of mud.

“The pig god. He and Pele had a very tumultuous and somewhat tragic relationship. Pele was attracted to Kamapua’a because he was stronger than she was. She’s all about control, and he’s the one lover she never could force into obedience. Their affair ended badly, but she still loves him. They’re both too proud to ever make any attempt at reconciliation, though.”

My heart wrenched for the pair of them. “Where is Kamapua’a? Do you think there’s any way we could get them back together?”

Kai shrugged. “He could be anywhere. Some say he’s with the wild pigs in southern Maui. Others say he left the islands once Pele broke things off. I’m not sure I’d want the pair back together again anyway. There’s a lot of screaming and thrown objects in that sort of relationship, if you know what I mean.”

I did. “We may not have enough juice to put Pele back to rest. I’m looking for any angle I can find to negotiate our way out of this. Brute force is a last resort.” And a suicide mission. Brute force would most likely result in us dead with Pele still burning everything in sight.

Kai pulled the spellbook closer. “Speaking of juice, I’m done working for the day and could seriously use a drink if we’re going to discuss vengeful goddesses and magical spells.”

“Coming right up.”

Kai snagged a fry off my plate and paged through the book, reciting several spells out loud as I mixed up a batch of rum, pineapple, and mango juice.

“Who
is
this woman?” Kai flipped the book over to read the back copy. “It’s like she read a Wikipedia entry on Hawaiian gods and churned it in a blender with a bunch of neo-pagan spells.”

“Read the ritual the farmer used.” I handed her the drink.

She turned to the marked page and read:

“Circle of life turn day to dusk

Strength and health through seed and husk

Two halves as one make life anew

A piece of each joined through and through

I cast this spell that more shall live

To seal our pact this offering I give

E Kalanimainu’u, e taumaha wau ‘ia ‘oe

Kalanimainu’u, I call on you to bless my endeavors to grow and multiply

“Sheesh. That’s just awful. And it isn’t any kind of Hawaiian prayer.”

“Isn’t that one phrase Hawaiian?” I peered over her shoulder.

“Well, yes, but it reads funny, like it’s been lifted out of something else.”

“Like what?”

Kai shook her head. “I don’t know. It translates to ‘Oh, Kalanimainu’u, I offer this to you.’ It’s ceremonial in tone. Maybe it came from a history book? A museum booklet?”

“So the incantation isn’t traditional. What about the ritual tools? ‘An egg or the item you seek to multiply or heal, sage and lemongrass as incense, and four green candles.’

“They’re not traditional either. A thousand years ago, we didn’t have candles or sage or lemongrass. An egg might have been included in an offering, but the rest? No.”

“And he substituted,” I mused. “Kalanimainu’u became Pele, and the offering was a pineapple.”

The phone rang. I dove for it, thrilled that Kristin had managed to call me back. “You’re on speakerphone, girl. Kai is here as my friend and Hawaiian-mythology expert.

“Cool. I just got off work and read your e-mail with the ritual.” I could hear traffic in the background.

“And?” I prompted

Kristin laughed. “You’re joking. Aside from the few phrases at the end, it’s a Wiccan fertility ritual. And it’s not for plants or wealth; it’s for pregnancy — hence the egg. Is your farmer pregnant?”

“If so, he’d be giving birth to a gecko. Kalanimainu’u is a lizard goddess. But wouldn’t the change in deity name alter the results?”

“Not really. In Wicca, power comes from within the practitioner. Results from invocation are strongly influenced by what the
caster
believes the deity or spirit can do for them. You can substitute Thor, Pele, Quetzalcoatl, or Zeus in there, but if the caster believes they’re getting fertility help, then it’s still a pregnancy ritual.”