Sand on a beach… Johnny.
My chest felt tight at that memory, but I forcibly mastered myself again.
Sorcery, Nana had taught me, was to be used only as a last resort in moments when immediacy absolutely demanded it. The power was overly eager for release and wild when loosed. As if that weren't enough, its effects could be intoxicating. Many witches tasted it and became addicted, finding more and more excuses to use the immediate and instantly gratifying sorcery, working until it consumed them.
At home, the ley line in the grove powered my wards and I wasn't afraid of it—that was a simple redirection, a mere droplet of power. That droplet had the power to numb my whole arm for the moment it took to use. And I'd learned that while the initial touch of a ley line is prickly and sizzling, like putting your hand into boiling water, that sensation quickly turned into numbness. Extended exposure led to the next phase, where that heated «almost-pain» then dulled to an intoxicating warmth. You got a not-quite-inebriated feeling, a slightly euphoric buzz. I understood how that could take hold and create an addiction.
So, I was wary. Venefica Covenstead, like all covensteads, was built on a ley line nucleus, an intersection of lines. It had far more power to offer than the single line I tapped.
Even as I thought about it, the energy acknowledged me with a tiny pulse. It whispered and I understood it was deep, a monster buried in the lowest subterranean depths to protect the world. It was caged, trapped power, slowly being poisoned by its captivity. It begged to be called on, to be touched and loosed, to flow free and roil with ecstasy. It would become contaminated, polluted, if it did not flow, if I did not hurry and release it.
The ordovia's waxy seal snapped as my fingers applied pressure, and the scroll's thick paper unrolled in my hands.
I am your buried treasure, the whispering power said. Like the chest you selected and opened with your key, you recognize the potential in what is not seen by others, you recognize what we could be together… and I recognize what others do not see in you, Lustrata! Call on me, raise me up! I will do your bidding and we will be infinitely potent.
"Shut up," I whispered back. The grove's line was not a manipulating power. But then, it wasn't confined either. Nuclei, clearly, were far chattier than lines.
The paper was blank.
Remembering the heat of my hand had made the clues appear on the other scroll, I held this one nearer the candle flames. Sure enough, the letters sparkled and appeared.
PROTREPTICUS
Summon a Spirit.
Procure its permission.
Bind it to your bauble.
Seal it safely in.
It sounded so easy. Like a recipe: mix, pour, bake. But it left out the ingredients, the amounts, the bake temperature, and the time. This was not going to be a simple task.
The items on the table were pretty standard stuff for such an unstandard spell. My plan started forming. Stones, black thread, chalk… but nothing to write on.
The floor.
Summon a spirit.
With the chalk in hand, I sank to my knees and drew a rectangle on the wooden floor. Inside, I wrote the letters of the alphabet in two rows, numbers below those rows, punctuation marks below that. Drawing a large deosil circle, big enough to enclose me and the rectangle, I stepped outside it and drew another larger circle beyond it. Beyond it, I drew a third circle.
Studying the items on the table, I considered the herbs first. Honeysuckle and basil. Both had protective properties, but basil aided astral travel, which I wanted to avoid, and it was banishing, whereas I needed to bind. Honeysuckle aided psychic power, intuition, so I chose it and left the other behind. Transferring items from the table to the inner circle, I took the salt and water, the orange candles and the white candles. Lastly, I appraised the stones; all were beneficial, so all were moved to the inner circle.
I placed an onyx in the north, turquoise in the east, sunstone to the south, and jade in the west. Each got a white tea light candle, lit from the taper on the table, before I took up the bowl of salt. I spun, tossing salt wide across the floor.
"Triple rows and sealed up fast,
my hallowed circle now is cast."
After using the honeysuckle bundle as an asperging tool to flick water in each direction, I then held the orange candle up in salute to each compass point and said,
"Earth from the North, Eastern Winds, Southern Flames,
Water from the West…
Elements—hear me! — keep my circle blessed.
Safely shut me in, please,
Shut all else out.
Protect me now.
Truly I speak, truly I see.
So mote it be."
With the protective niceties in place, I sat and put my hands to the chalk circle containing me.
Reaching out for the ley line, I called to it, humming.
It was there, far below. Hunkering, hiding in the dark, yet watching me like a starving animal watches someone enticing it with meat. It had been waiting, yearning for someone to call it and here I was, alive and strong, searching for it. But the other contestants, they were searching for it also. It was suspicious.
They locked me away, it whispered. So far below.
"Open for me," I whispered back.
Unlock me. Unleash me!
"I have no key."
No key! The despair in that whisper was pitiful.
What kind of lock would Vivian use? My mind ran through various magical seals, all of which I discarded for their ease or lack of effectiveness for something as big as a ley line nucleus. Vivian had access to the Codex. She could have altered many sorcery-laden locks beyond anything I knew. But that would be no good to any contestant.
Contestant. The line had said «they» locked it away, not "she."
I had an idea.
"I have a key," I pulled the skeleton key on the white string from under my shirt.
That's it! Touch me.
With the key in hand, I visualized reaching my left hand down, down through the Covenstead floor, through the basement levels, through the foundation, through layers of earth and rock and there… there were the ley lines, low and deep, tingling in the palm of my hands, scraping like a flint about to spark. I stopped and visualized a buffer around my hand, a static kind of glove for handling the cords of a nucleus. The visualized ley lines were white-hot cords and suddenly in my mind's eye I could see them all interconnecting, six lines joining and dropping into the earth, like strings of Yule lights knotted and impossible to unravel.
Ahhh, yesssssss.
All these lines were energy, all had the ability to access the dead, some more than others. Among these cords was a highway to the Summerland, a threaded conduit for traveling—if you weren't bound to a physical body, that is. In astral travel, where the spirit leaves the body, a sorcerer could visit the dead, other entities, and perform all kinds of nonphysical tasks. Of course, there had to be protections in place so that nothing slipped into the sorcerer's body while the spirit was absent. This bit of chalk, salt, and water wasn't up to that level of protection. I had to call spirits to me.
Which cord was it? Which string to pluck?
Spirits have a certain feel. The nerve endings just below skin discern them the same way they gauge temperature. Though intangible, the information registers in the brain. Most people wouldn't recognize the texture of a spirit, as they discern more strongly on the reaction they have to it: the hair on the nape of their neck rises and, possibly, goose bumps rise. Anyone who's ever been in a truly haunted house knows that the malign variety of spirit also strokes their flight response.
With the static buffer covering my palm, I sorted through the cords; patiently searching for that texture, like steam and silk, the one that evoked the reaction in me. Finally, I found it. Visualizing the static glove holding tight to that cord, my hand slipped a measure away—no sense risking getting pulled in.
"Arise spirits, hear my call,
Arise between the drawn walls.
Listen now and hasten near!
I've an offer for you to hear."
Reaching for the little stones with my right hand, I came up with a rainbow moonstone in my palm. As an afterthought, I grabbed the carnelian and sat it before me, for courage. Using the moonstone like a mini-planchette on my makeshift witchboard, I began to spell the words.
Am making a protrepticus.
A spirit-house.
Who will live in it?
I watched the edge of my circle. The ring just outside this one shimmered as if there were dust in the air illuminated by flickering sunbeams. Spirits came and peeked in, little orbs flashing by, more than I could count.
Who is willing?
The parade of orbs continued; it was fascinating. In my heart, I began to hope that Lorrie would come by and be willing. It would be a way for Beverley and her to communicate and stay in touch. But that was an exponentially long, long shot.
What was I thinking? I was supposed to fail this round.
Go now.
Never mind.
I had participated. The Elders could not punish me if I lost my nerve, if I sabotaged myself, or if it appeared that no spirits would take me up on my offer.
Thank you.
A light glistened on my face.
An orb was hovering about three feet off the ground in the outer circle. It remained steady. Others did not follow, did not pass through. This one waited.
Go on. Return.
From the little collection of stones, a pointy quartz crystal trembled and slid across the wood floor to the chalk letters before me. I lifted the moonstone out of the way. The crystal looped along in little circles, pausing briefly to spell out:
Too late for that.
Oh shit.
Proceed.
Concentrating on the orb, I whispered, "You give permission?"
You did not ask for it.
"I just did."
Verbally.
Great. A difficult spirit. "You want me to spell it?"
Offering.
My brows hunkered down. Right. To take something from the beyond, I have to balance it by giving something back to the beyond. This was where, in ancient cultures, the sacrifice came in. But I had no animal to trade, and wasn't sure I would have been able to if I did. I had stones, herbs, chalk, and candles; all tangible items.
"What offering is appropriate?"
Your soul for mine.
"No way. Absolutely not."
Ha ha.
What the hell? A difficult, jokester spirit? "No deal."
Promise me vengeance.
"Vengeance?"
Avenge my wrongful death.
"I don't know the details, or even the era of your death. I cannot promise vengeance, but I can promise to investigate to the extent of my abilities."
More than investigation. Action! Punishment!
My curiosity was piqued. As Lustrata, this would be acceptable. "What if you are lying?"
Was murdered!
"Yes. I will investigate and if you are wrongfully dead and if a course of action exists that I can take to avenge your death—without harming me and mine—I will."
The crystal spun in place three times.
Agreed.
"You will be housed in this." I held up the cell phone, hoping it would decline to live in the contraption.
Agreed.
Now all I had to do was bring the spirit into the middle circle, put it in the cell phone, bind it there, and seal it in. The «easy» part was done. The next part would bind me to this phone, and to this spirit who wanted vengeance.
I really didn't want to be the high priestess.
Chapter 23
I drew a little square in the air just above the ground at the edge of my circle. "Open now the door." I pushed the cell phone through into the space. "Sealed again is the door." No sense taking the risk of a nasty spirit getting to me and having to fight unnecessarily.
I drew another door, higher up, and orb-sized, imagining it opening in the wall of the circle beyond.
"Spirit, there is the door.
Pass now, from outer circle into mid.
Spirit, enter now the door.
Come forth, as ye will and as I bid."
The orb floated forward, pushing through the space where I had indicated the door should be. It entered the middle circle.
"Sealed again is the door."
Now… how to fail?
"Spirit!" The Eldrenne's voice made me look up. She stood three steps beyond my set of circles. I glanced at the other contestants. Hunter was working; Maria looked frustrated. As an afterthought, I shot a glance at the dais and wished I hadn't. The Eldrenne still sat on her throne.
And yet she was here as well.
Bi-location. Probably only I could see her here; she might have had mirror images with each of the other contestants as well.
"Do you understand the purpose of a protrepticus?" she asked the spirit.
The crystal slid around the floor and spelled:
Triple three fold.
The Eldrenne nodded sagely. She asked me, "Do you understand the ownership of a protrepticus?"
"No," I said honestly.
"You will keep it with you at all times" — she held up a hand—"you do not have to take it into the shower, but it must be within six yards of you. Water will not harm the spirit, but if the spirit's house rusts, you'll deal with rust in your pockets, so tending it properly is expected. The item will not require an actual electrical charge but it will feed off your energy; the more you use it, the more it will take. Until you get used to it, be careful."
"Will it take a significant amount of energy?"
"You're holding a spirit in this world and sustaining it, in an item."
"That's a yes?"
"Yes."
My intake of breath was telling.
"Are you unwilling?" she asked sweetly.
"Do I have a choice?"
The Eldrenne's mouth quirked up on one side. "Proceed or be Bindspoken."
"That's a no, then."
"What do you choose, Persephone Isis Alcmedi?"
"I choose to ask what 'triple three fold' means, specifically."
She laughed. "I like you, Persephone." She clasped both hands around her staff and said, "There are three souls involved here, yours, the spirit's, and mine. The protrepticus does three things to each of the three of us. It binds us, obligates us, and allows us. It binds spirit to object, witch to spirit, and Elder to witch. It obligates the spirit to work on your behalf, obligates you to tend the object and sustain the spirit, and obligates me to allow you admittance to any and every WEC meeting and grants you a voice and a vote. And, lastly, it allows the spirit to continue participating in 'existence, allows you access to Council Elders, spells, and information as needed, and it allows the Council to communicate directly with and locate you if necessary."
Consensual SM aside, for most people bondage is a bad thing. Magical binding is no different. In fact, the binding of anyone to anyone else or anything is, generally, frowned upon by witches. All bonds tamper in some way with freedom and that's always a negative. It was why the stain made me feel dirty and angered me so much. In order to avoid more of that, and to preserve the secrecy of the stain I already had, more questions needed to be asked.
"What exactly do you mean when you say it binds me to the spirit and you to me?"
"The spirit must be sustained by you, it must be nearby at all times."
"What if I forget it at home? What if it falls out of my pocket and is run over by a car? What if my dog eats it?"
The Eldrenne shook her head. "If the protrepticus passes beyond the realm of six yards from your aura, the spirit's connection will be severed and the spirit will return to the other side. If your dog eats it, you must remain within the distance until it is passed through the dog's system, and then you must collect all the pieces. I would suggest you then wash them thoroughly." Ick. "The same if it were run over by a car; gather and p
lace the pieces into a leather pouch and keep it with you."
"That's it?"
"I will know, so no, that won't be 'it. »
Aha. "Okay. And the 'binding of you to me' part?"
Despite blue film on her rheumy eyes, I'd have sworn she stared right at me. "It is equivalent to claiming you into my lucusi, my sacred grove… my own coven."
So. This was supposed to be an honor. I didn't know her policies, so I didn't know if I agreed with them, but I undeniably liked her. And if being bound to her didn't reveal the stain, then maybe she could help me not succumb to Menessos. They had a history. I was sure she knew things I'd want and need to know. Nana told me to watch the Elders and see who the Lustrata thought was worthy of being called on. Of the five Elders, I'd have to choose the Eldrenne.
"You hesitate, child?"
"How is the binding to be done?"
"I bind myself to you exactly when you bind yourself to the spirit and object, and I do so in the same manner, so it is a binding of your choice. If you choose to proceed."
I wondered how many Bindspoken witches there were out there, who had opted out at this moment.
There was no such thing as a «loose» binding. Layers of it, but none were loose. The vampire mark was a binding; if he marked me again it would be like adding another layer of control and connectedness, until it had the capacity to be complete. It's an all-or-nothing kind of thing. But how to do it to keep her from seeing or feeling the vampire's binding? I wasn't sure that was possible. But if I stopped, I was surely Bindspoken. To be the Lustrata, I couldn't be Bindspoken. The only chance of avoiding that was to proceed and hope she didn't come to know of it.
"I will proceed."
Grasping the black thread from the items I'd moved to the smaller circle, and then taking up the crystal the spirit had used to spell with, I stood and closed my eyes. Boosting my personal shields, I said:
"My inner circle wall is dropped,
But this spell is not stopped."
Imagining the barrier between myself and the spirit and phone dissipating, my eyes opened. The spirit remained hovering where it was, glowing softly, and waiting. It made no move of aggression. Good. Good sign. I moved closer and went down into a crouch with one knee on the floor, the other up should I need to move fast.
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