everything’s fine. i was just imagining things, so please, don’t waste your time with me and my delusional ghosts. tag sends his apologies. he’s just feeling pressured at work. i’ll talk to you later—but really, please, just forget the whole business.
I showed Wager the text. “This, after she watched the ghost beat the crap out of me.”
“Either he’s really got her under his thumb, or she’s doing her best to block out her fear.” Wager stared at the text. “Something feels forced about that text. I’ll see what I can come up with, but if we find anything, what are you going to do? If you’ve been disinvited to their house and removed from the case?”
“I don’t know. But now, I just want to know everything I can about what’s going on. So I’ll muddle through and figure it out.” I finished my soup and took another long drink of the latte. “What about you? How’s business? Are you seeing anybody?”
“Business is steady, and no, I’m not. I stopped looking a few months ago. I’ve had so many bad dates that I decided to take a year off. I’m focusing on my career and on helping one of my friends. She’s human, and she’s developed multiple sclerosis. I’m helping renovate her house to make it accessible. I’m also catching up on my reading.” He paused, then gave me a long look. “I’m not going to ask you out, Raven. Don’t worry about that. Maybe sometime, when we’re both in a better space, but right now I’m smart enough to know you need time to process your loss. And I need time to lose some of my cynicism about relationships.”
I finished my sandwich and wiped the crumbs from my mouth with a napkin. “Thank you, Wager. I really like you. I always have, but I think we’re much better off as friends. For both of us, to be honest.”
“You could be right. There’s usually a reason why timing never coincides.” He laughed. “So, we’ll be friends and keep in touch more often?”
“I’d like that. How much is your retainer fee? I’m paying you for this job.”
“The hell you are. Consider it my contribution to ridding the world of asshole ghosts.”
He refused to take my money, and so we finished lunch and talked about what we’d been doing the past year or so, and finally, as I was getting ready to leave, Wager took my hands and held them, gently.
“I’m sorry about Ulstair,” he said. “I liked him, even when I didn’t want to.”
“A lot of people liked him,” I said. “He was just that kind of man.”
With a promise to call me as soon as he found out anything, Wager walked me to the door and saw me out. I quickly made my way out of the Catacombs. While I wasn’t all that claustrophobic, being around so many vampires was unnerving, even if they did have a healthy fear of me.
Before leaving the market, I stopped to buy flowers for myself. I loaded up on the mums, and added some zinnias and dahlias and late-season hydrangeas. Carrying more blossoms than I had vases for, I returned to my car and headed home. Wager had been a breath of fresh air, and the fact that I was doing something about the ghost—even if it was just checking on the background of the house—made me feel better.
Chapter Seven
I spent the afternoon in my ritual room. Every week, I took some time to recharge and commune. With Ember and Angel coming over in a few hours, I figured I should get done early.
My house had four bedrooms—one for me, one for the ferrets, one was a guest room, and the fourth I had turned into my temple, so to speak. I also had a den where I met with my clients.
I entered the room, quietly shutting the door behind me. My temple chamber never failed to calm me. The room was spacious—all the bedrooms were, which was one of the main reasons I had purchased the house. I had painted the room in subtle shades of gray, a silvery sheen with pale lilac accents. It reminded me of the seashore, of the mist rising from the water. It spoke of twilight and moonbeams.
Opposite the door was a large window over which I had hung heavy black draperies. Velvet, they were gathered back, held open by silver swags. Beneath the curtains, thin lilac sheers covered the glass. Flush against the windowsill sat my main altar, a long, narrow walnut credenza. I had draped a black and silver cloth over it. In the center was a smoky quartz sphere the size of a cantaloupe on a silver stand. To either sides of the sphere stood candleholders, carved from quartz crystal into the shape of skulls. One taper was black, the other white. A votive candleholder in front of the sphere held a red candle, and in front of the votive rested a pentacle, eight inches in diameter and made out of brass.
To the left of the pentacle was my official ritual dagger, with a handle of bog oak. The pommel and crosspiece were bronze, engraved with runes that predated most known languages in the world. To the right sat my wand, a long copper tube studded with garnet, smoky quartz, peridot, and moonstone. On either end of the table was a bronze statue—to the left, a statue of Arawn, the Lord of the Dead. To the right, Cerridwen, Lady of the Cauldron of Rebirth.
A loveseat sat against the back wall, with two bookcases on either end. They contained my magical grimoires. Opposite my altar was a desk, and next to that—an apothecary table containing a hundred different tiny drawers, each labeled with the spell components I kept stored within. There were two lights in the room. Overhead was a Tiffany-style fixture, with a soft white bulb to gently diffuse the light throughout the room. A banker’s lamp sat on my desk, with an LED lightbulb so I could see easier when I was making my notes.
I had taken up the carpet to expose the gorgeous hardwoods below, polished to a high sheen. On each wall was a painting that matched one of the elements. All in all, it was a magical retreat where I could focus my practice.
I crossed to my altar and sat down on the bench that I had bought to match the credenza. Lighting the candles, I paused for a moment to collect my thoughts.
I brought up my handpan, setting it on my lap. Slowly, I began to beat out a rhythm against the metal, my fingers tripping lightly over the instrument.
The handpan was shaped like a UFO, looking very much like the flying saucers in the pictures from the 1950s. The instrument was unlike any I had ever heard, and when it first hit the market around 2000, I had recognized the potential for using it in my magic. I had commissioned one to be made, a Saladin in the scale of D. It had a melancholy sound, ancient and haunting, and it helped me open portals, focus my energy, and slide into a deep trance. As the notes began to flow from the disk, I gathered them up, focusing on recharging my powers.
The energy worked its way up my arms, through my body, tingling as it flowed along. It was both soothing and yet invigorating, smoothing over the ruffled edges that my encounter with the ghost had wrought. My body inhaled the energy like I inhaled air, and its pulse filled all the nooks and crannies inside that felt empty and dry. Ten minutes later, I felt calm and peaceful, renewed and ready to go. I set aside Laralea—I had named my handpan shortly after I bought it—and turned to the altar.
“Blessed Arawn, Lord of the Dead, guide and guard me in my journeys. Blessed Cerridwen, Keeper of the Sacred Cauldron of Rebirth, guard and guide me in my journeys. Teach me to walk in the shadows without fear, for I am the Daughter of Bones, speaker for the dead. Guide me through the Aether as I perform my duties. Strengthen me, swallow my fear, let me walk with confidence and surety. Blessed be the Guardians of the Underworld. So Mote It Be.”
I felt the gentle hush that always signified my prayers had been heard. I opened the drawer to the console table and took out a small dish carved out of garnet. Taking up my dagger, I pressed my finger against the tip until blood welled up, then squeezed three drops into the dish and set it in the center of the table. I conjured a wisp of flame to sizzle against the liquid. As the blood boiled up and vanished into smoke, I knew my offering had been accepted. Taking a deep breath, I slipped out of the chair and bowed to the statues. Then I turned and left the room.
“Raj eat?”
I glanced down at Raj, who was standing next to me. I had just pulled four fresh loaves of French bread out of the oven and was decidin
g whether to dive in, or to wait for Ember and Angel to get here. I had made the bread for our get-together, but it smelled so good that it took everything I had not to dive in and devour a loaf all by myself.
“Oh, what the hell. They won’t be here for another half hour. And I made extra.” I laughed and said, “Raj, we’ll have some fresh bread and butter, how about that?”
He let out a satisfied mrrr—very much like the purr of a cat, but more vocalized than internalized.
I cut the loaf in half, then sliced each piece into half lengthways and spread it with thick butter. I added parmesan to mine, but not to Raj’s. He wasn’t that fond of cheese.
“Eat it in here, and if you spill anything, tell me so I can clean it up.”
“Raj eat.” His eyes grew wide as I handed him the slices of bread. As he set to eating, I carried my plate to the table and dug in. The yeasty, buttery crumb melted in my mouth and I lost myself in my joy over how good it tasted. Food was pleasure to me, as good as sex depending on the day, and I wasn’t into denying myself. I was a decent cook, but bread? Making bread was my specialty.
As I sat there, I received another text. It was Lana again. I still hadn’t answered her.
raven, is everything all right? you aren’t mad at me, are you? it’s just that tag pointed out how ridiculous i sounded and he’s probably right. please don’t be angry.
“Damned right I’m angry. I’m angry at your scumsucking boyfriend who treats you like dirt.” I scowled at the phone, wondering how to respond. I wasn’t about to lie, but neither did I want to make her feel bad. I opted for silence, again. At least until I could figure out how to approach her without hurting her feelings.
The doorbell rang and I licked my fingers, then headed to answer it.
“Hey, lady,” Ember said as she carried in two grocery bags. “We come bearing gifts of food and all things decadent.”
Ember was half–Dark Fae, half–Light Fae. She had faced a lot of crap over her heritage, but she held her head high and ignored the haters. As she stepped through the doorway, I heard Raj lumbering in from the kitchen. He had developed a fondness for the pair, Angel in particular.
Ember shrugged off her leather jacket, hanging it on the coat rack. She was wearing a pair of dark blue jeans with a V-neck sweater in cobalt blue, and a low-slung leather belt that cinched in the sweater. Her hair was caught back in a ponytail. It was black and wavy, down to mid-back. Her eyes were vibrant green, and they glowed against her pale skin.
Angel, on the other hand, was wearing a quilted jacket over a pair of white culottes. She had tied her pink and gold blousy shirt at the waist, leaving it unbuttoned over a dusty rose camisole. The colors gleamed against Angel’s dark skin, and her hair was swept back on both sides with cloisonné barrettes.
Ember held up the bags. “We brought homemade cookies and cupcakes, a fruit salad, and chips. Have you ordered the pizza yet, and what smells so good?”
“I made French bread. Go ahead and help yourself—it’s in the kitchen. What do you want on your pizza?” I pulled out my phone. “I plan on buying three. That way we can each order what we like best, and then mix and match to suit.”
Ember licked her lips. “Fresh bread. Yum. I want sausage, pepperoni, and mushroom.”
I turned to Angel. “And you?”
“Chicken, olives, artichokes, and feta with a white sauce.” She arched her eyebrows. “I’m getting some of that bread before Ember eats it all.”
I called Wicked Johnny’s—a pizza place near my house. After giving their orders, I added my own. “Pepperoni, sausage, extra cheese, pineapple.”
After he promised a thirty-minute delivery, I hung up and joined them. They were petting Raj, who looked like he was in heaven. As I entered the kitchen, Angel began to set out the cupcakes and cookies, and I found a big bowl for the chips. Ember pulled out three dessert dishes for the fruit salad and we loaded up trays of snacks and headed for the living room. I returned to the kitchen for a pitcher of iced water and three champagne flutes.
“So, this is Stygian absinthe?” Angel picked up the bottle. The liquid within was dark green with a gold hue to it. The seal was unbroken. “What exactly is this?”
“It’s absinthe, but it was made by priests of Hades.” I grinned. “Don’t worry, it’s not poisonous, but it packs one hell of a punch.” I plugged my phone into the speakers. “Music, anybody? I thought we’d have a throwback night to the 1960s and 1970s.”
Sonny and Cher came blasting on, singing “The Beat Goes On.” Angel began to dance, swaying to the music. I popped the top to the bottle and the fragrance of anise and fennel rose to cloud my senses. I could feel the magic resonating through the bottle.
Ember held the glasses as I poured three shots into the flutes, measuring carefully. I motioned for her to put them on the coffee table, then I placed absinthe spoons over the top of each glass and added a sugar cube to each spoon. Slowly, I drizzled the ice water over the top of the sugar cubes until they melted into the liqueur, diluting it to just the right proportion.
“That’s some ritual,” Angel said.
“Have you ever had absinthe?” I asked.
She shook her head, her earrings clattering as she did so.
“Absinthe on its own tastes…medicinal. But this dilutes it and adds just enough sweetness. Stygian absinthe is a lot stronger, and it’s also magical, so this is going to pack a punch.” I lifted one of the glasses, raising it. “To good friends. To strong women. To magic.”
Ember and Angel raised their glasses.
“First shot, we knock back. Second, we savor. Third, we sip.” With that, I tossed back the shot of absinthe, the pungent taste almost making me cross my eyes. Then the magic within the drink took hold and the flavor mellowed as it rolled down my throat. I caught the faintest hint of honey and peppermint.
Ember let out a long breath. “Wow…that’s…fire in the belly.”
Angel set her glass down, looking a little blurry eyed. “Strong—strong!”
I laughed. “Feel the magic? The priests infuse it with the magic of dreams and visions.” The swirling energy from the drink began to hit my head. I didn’t get drunk easily, but Stygian absinthe wasn’t just any drink, and it was woven with powerful magic.
Nodding, Ember poured three more shots. “I feel the strength in it, too.” She gave me a coy grin as the music switched to Donovan, with “Sunshine Superman.”
Angel set the spoons on the glasses, then added the sugar cubes. I trickled the ice water over the sugar again, and we waited as it melted into the drinks.
“Ember, your turn for a toast.” I lifted my glass, waiting.
“To the gods, may they always be on our side.” She held up her glass. Angel and I met it, the crystal clinking gently.
I took a long sip, then closed my eyes as it went straight to my head. From the distance, I heard the doorbell. Frowning—who could be coming over this time of night?—I suddenly remembered the pizzas.
“Oh!” I jumped up and answered the door, handing the delivery boy a fifty. “Keep the change,” I said, accepting the three large pizzas. As he blinked, staring at the bill, I waved him off and shut the door, locking it behind me.
“Pizza!” I carried the pies over to the table, then knocked back the rest of the drink before opening them. The smell filled the room, and Raj came out, staring at me hopefully. He didn’t speak around anyone but me, and I never let on that he could talk, but I could read his expression. “Let it cool down a moment or you’ll burn your mouth, and I’ll give you a piece.”
Raj let out a soft sound and then headed over to curl up on the cushy dog bed I’d bought for him. I waited a few moments for the pizza to cool, then gave him three pieces of pizza. He happily set to eating.
I turned back to find Angel setting up a third shot for us.
“You like the absinthe, do you?” She was looking awfully tempting right now, but I kept myself in check. I knew she didn’t swing both ways, and I didn’t wa
nt to intrude on her space without an invitation.
She nodded, a soft smile on her face. “It opens the doors, doesn’t it?” She paused, closing her eyes. “It feels like my empathic abilities are stretching out, that I can feel…” She froze, then turned to me, her eyes wide. “You have spirits in your house.”
I realized she had touched on the ferrets. Even though they were in ferret form, they were still spirits. But I didn’t feel like telling her about them at the moment. So I just said, “I’m a bone witch. Of course there are going to be spirits around me.” I winked at her and quickly changed the subject. “All right, who wants to dance?”
We began to dance to the Rolling Stones, and then to David Bowie, swaying to the rhythm, moving in unison. Then Angel was back at the table, pouring out another shot of Stygian absinthe. Ember and I joined her, and we did three more shots. Everything took on a misty feel, the magic of the absinthe hitting us hard.
Stevie Nicks began singing “Gold Dust Woman” and the energy in the room took on a definite edge. The mood shifted again as David Bowie launched into “Fame.”
I spun, swinging my hips, letting my body sway to the beat. Ulstair and I had often danced, and dancing had always led to sex, which I missed dreadfully. I was good with my own hand, but it wasn’t quite the same as having a partner.
Angel was getting her groove on, and Ember was laughing at something. A mist began to rise in the room around us, thin and wispy, and it seemed to be responding to the dancing and our mood. I reached out my hand, and a ball of vapor settled on my fingertips. I brought it close to my face. The mist was sparkling, and I blinked as it suddenly shot up and darted across the room.
“Woohoo!” Angel shouted. “Too bad the boys aren’t here.” She reached out and took Ember’s hands and they began to dance together. I could see the threads of energy that connected them—the bonds of their friendship ran deep. A pang of loneliness rang through me, but before I could dwell on it, Angel reached out to me, inviting me into their dance. We wove in and out, letting the music direct our steps.
Witching Hour: A Wild Hunt Novel, Book 7 Page 9