"You can't not risk it,” Laurie said.
Paul aimed a look of pure hatred at her. “You have no say in this."
"Paul!” Kate took back his attention. “Now you listen to me. If I fail, then you run. You fight. You do whatever, but don't give in to him."
Paul ran a hand through his wet hair, his eyes rolling back. “There is no fighting him, Kate."
"Then run."
"He finds me."
Kate had heard the same excuses over and over from her clients. “You have to fight him, Paul."
"How?” Paul's eyes flared with a wild light. He began pacing back and forth across the kitchen tiles. “That house I live in? Owned by Sander. He has a web of corporations and holding companies. Untraceable. He pays the taxes, he answers the assessments, and no one in this little town notices that the same man,” he jabbed fingers into his chest, “has been living there, unchanged, for all these years. The money I live on comes from Sander. It's very difficult nowadays to get a job without a social security number, which I don't have, since I was born about fifty years before there was a Social Security Administration!"
"I have dozens of people I could call, Paul. You could get a fake..."
"Don't you think I've tried!"
Kate flinched from the frustration in his shout.
"I have tried to get false documents, I have tried to get jobs. But he finds me, eventually, and ruins them. Do you realize how much money and power and influence a man like Sander Wald can accumulate in a hundred years?"
He stopped pacing, grabbed her shoulders, and put his face into hers. “I spent seven months in Paris in 1964, seven months before he found me. That's the longest I was ever truly free of him. Seven months in a hundred years.” He laughed, a bitter sound. More raindrops spattered from his hair onto her face. “There was an old excommunicant in Paris, older than I should have been, a veteran of Rome. For seven months, we tried to find a way to break the curse. When Sander finally found me, he had the old man burned like a heretic.” He shook Kate's shoulders in time with his words. “In front of me."
The unspoken practically screamed through the suddenly silent kitchen. What would Sander do, if he got his hands on Kate? Even for the second it took to transfer magical energy?
Paul pressed his mouth against her temple. His breath snagged roughly in her ear. His body was hot and wet, almost steaming. She felt surrounded by him. “Please, Kate. Let me do this my way."
He'd have a year of love with Kate. And he'd never be Sander's slave.
She felt her heart crack, for him and for herself.
"Please, Kate."
She could let him kill Sander. She could avoid facing death. Paul and Vern were right. She had a good chance of dying. And if she ended up dead, Paul would be left alone and worse than dead.
Paul's lips moved down to her ear. “After Sander is gone, we can take as much money as we need to live that year where we want, do what we want. And after that, you'll have the rest for when..."
Temptation tugged her. A year of paradise.
"Please, Kate. If you love me...” His fingers clenched in her curls. His mouth groped for hers, and he kissed her through the words. “I can't risk you. I can't risk ... that."
Kate teetered on the edge of giving him the promises he wanted. Her lips caught his and clung. She took in his breath, and he took in hers.
"Kate...” He closed his mouth over hers, forcing his tongue inside her as if he could put obedience into her mouth with a kiss.
An image grew in her head, coming into focus like an old Polaroid: next November, the first snow, her own figure standing among the skeletonized trees, alone.
She rejected it physically, a wave of chills washing down over her. She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him away. Paul stumbled back a step. He watched her, panting for breath, fear in his eyes.
"I love you, Paul."
Hope broke across his face.
Kate closed her eyes on it. “But you are mistaken,” she said stiffly, “if you think I am going to lie in your bed and watch you give up your life."
When she opened her eyes again, his back was turned. She saw his shoulders rise and fall, heard him laugh—an ugly sound.
"Fine.” His voice was rusted iron. “You weren't all that great in my bed anyway."
She felt the slap of the words, the flush rising over her face, the tears rising in her eyes.
Paul whirled. “You are not going to do this!” His voice held the absolute, chauvinist command of a man who'd been born and nurtured in the nineteenth century.
Kate's hackles prickled straight up. Get a calendar, buddy, it's been a while since women had the vote.
"Fine.” Her tone sifted sugar and drizzled honey over the word. “Fine. You do what you want. Kill Sander after the ritual. It really won't matter, because I will have broken the curse by then."
She saw her words hit back. Emotions swirled across his face, a spiraling vortex of shock and fear and anger and bitter, bitter betrayal. She wanted to cry. He wanted to cry, she could see it. But she clenched her heart, forced back the tears. She saw the emotions on his face freeze into iron and ice.
"I won't let you die,” he said.
"You can't stop me."
"Oh yeah?” Paul flicked a glance at Laurie and Vern. “You do your little magic tricks. But it won't matter.” He looked back at Kate. “I'll go kill Sander now."
He turned on his heel, stalked out of the kitchen. The front door slam reverberated through Kate's heart.
If he killed Sander before the ritual, the demon would overwhelm him at dawn. Forever.
Kate stared down the hallway. They all three stared, silently, for many deep breaths.
"He won't really,” whispered Vern.
Outside, the Mercedes engine roared to life.
"Will he?"
"No.” Kate believed it, because she had to believe it. “He won't.” She turned back to Laurie, even though every instinct in her body urged her to run after Paul. “He won't. So now ... tell me what I have to do."
Chapter Twenty
Silence squirmed in the kitchen as neither witch would meet Kate's eyes.
"Laurie?"
Laurie stared past Kate, fixed on some point in the distance where Paul might be. Kate turned her attention to Vern, but he sat with his head cradled in his hands. He was muttering softly to himself. Kate couldn't make out the words, but she recognized the tone of despair.
"Come on, people,” she said in her best professional tone, “there's work to be done."
Laurie flicked her a glance, then lowered herself back into her chair. “He may do it. I've never seen him like that."
"He's not going to do it,” Kate said and meant it. She'd worked with a lot of people who alchemized fear into negative action. Paul had had a lifetime to kill Sander. He wouldn't do it now. She had to believe that. As within, so without.
Vern rolled his head from side to side, and she sensed it wasn't in agreement. “Does it matter what Paul does? The key here is that you can't pull this off."
The flat denial stilled Kate for a moment, and then ignited her instinctive rebellious response. “Yes, I most certainly can pull this off. Laurie?"
Laurie looked down.
"What happened to as within, so without?"
Vern came out of his chair. “Kate.” He took off his glasses, and gave her a tight, sad smile. “We appreciate how brave you are. But..."
But nothing. She was going to defeat Sander. She was going to save Paul. The expression of their doubts made it impossible for Kate to feel hers.
"Sander Wald is very nearly a force of nature.” Vern's eyes were kind, but his tone patronized. “He's had a century to develop his skills."
He's lecturing me. Kate felt all the stress of the last two days drill into a very focused point, right behind her breastbone. My life, Paul's life, the demon's life is at stake, and this little nerd is lecturing me.
"If we can't deal with him, someone like you..."
&nb
sp; "Someone like me?” The laser-sharp point of emotion inside her began to bloom outwards and upwards, like a mushroom cloud. “Someone like me?"
Vern squared his shoulders. “Yes, someone like you. You have no training, you hardly believe—Kate, even your best will just not be enough."
Vern's eyes popped open wide. That's how Kate knew she was moving. She felt nothing but a white burn of rage so hot that it seemed to disassociate her mind from her body. She watched, filled with fury and satisfaction and dark amusement, as her hands took Vern's right arm and jerked it behind his back. Face-first into the wall went Vern. The impact startled her awareness back into her body. She felt the delicious sensation of his squirming against her, trying to free himself. She felt back in control again, and only reasonably afraid.
Kate put her chin on his shoulder. “Are you ready to help now?"
"Get off me! Are you crazy!?!"
Kate grabbed his hair with her other hand, jerked his head back.
"Enough, children, enough!” Laurie came to her feet. She was laughing. “Vern, please note Kate's point."
Kate released him and took a step back. She didn't know she had a point.
Vern put his back against the wall and rubbed his shoulder. “She's crazy, that's her point."
Kate crossed her arms and glared. “I'll give you crazy."
Laurie banged her cane against the floor for their attention. “Vern! Don't you see? You have, I have, worked so long only with magic that we forget there are other forces in the world.” Laurie captured Kate's gaze. “No doubt Sander has the same weakness."
Vern edged past Kate, still rubbing his shoulder. “Well, the only force that will beat Sander Wald is magic."
"Magic will get her in the door,” Laurie said, her voice taking on a far-away softness that raised the hair on Kate's arms. “But it isn't magic that will win the day. Not this time."
Kate sensed Vern go very still, almost reverent. He whispered, almost so soft Kate couldn't hear the words.
"So mote it be."
After a moment, Vern nodded decisively. “Tell me what to do,” he said, the whining and despair scoured from his voice.
Laurie tilted her head towards the stairs. “Prepare the bath."
Obediently and instantly, Vern moved.
Astonished, Kate watched him go. “How did you do that?"
"Discipline is a big part of being a witch."
"Ah.” Kate looked at Laurie, who stared back with a mix of challenge and respect in her eyes. “Whips and chains and stuff like that."
Laurie showed her teeth in a grin that pulled her skin tight over her skull. “You are an amazing woman. I wish I'd gotten hold of you ten years ago."
The idea sent a tickle of a chill down Kate's spine.
"Let's get started,” Laurie said, and started upstairs.
Kate followed. “What do I do?"
"What you're told. Pay attention. Learn as much as you can. When I say you can ask questions, ask. When I tell you to be quiet, stay quiet."
Staying quiet had never been her strong suit. But she did, as Laurie led her upstairs.
"Like I told you before, this is the process,” Laurie said. “First we make you a blank slate."
Laurie opened a door at the end of the hallway. A rush of steam, scented with lemon and rosemary, billowed against Kate's face.
"We do that with a ritual bath."
The room was not a conventional bathroom, Kate saw. The tiles on the floor, ceiling, and walls gleamed a clean, crisp white. The tub would have made Vanessa weep: more of a pool, really. Low white candles ringed the steaming water. On the other side of the room, Vern was lighting a line of tall green pillar candles.
Laurie hobbled to the tub and checked the progress of the water. “Okay, off with the clothes."
Kate shot a glance at Vern. “What about him?"
Vern lit the last candle and glared back, obviously still fuming over being beaten up by a girl.
"Vern needs to cleanse himself as well,” Laurie said, arching him a significant glance which made him look at the floor.
Kate inspected the tub. It probably could hold two. “He's not...?” She looked at Laurie, then back at the tub. “He's not."
Laurie shook his head, as obviously amused as Vern was outraged. “He can purify himself without the benefit of the water. You, on the other hand, need all the sympathetic help you can get."
Sympathetic? “Does that mean I'm deserving of pity?"
Vern walked past her, snickering, to a yoga mat on the floor near the door. He pulled his shirt over his head, and Kate looked quickly away.
"You are not deserving of pity,” Laurie said. “Sympathetic magic harnesses the natural power inherent in everything.” She sniffed, her nostrils flaring delicately. “Rosemary and lemon purify. Water purifies. That is what we need to do to you."
Laurie gestured impatiently. With one last glance at Vern, who was completely nude and sitting cross-legged on the mat, Kate pulled her own shirt over her head.
"We must purify you. For the magic."
Nude herself, Kate slipped into the water. The tub was deep. When she reclined, only the tops of her shoulders broke the scented surface.
"Good.” Laurie took a seat on a chair near the bank of flickering green candles. “Now close your eyes."
Kate couldn't help glancing over at Vern again. His eyes were already closed.
"Kate."
Obediently, she closed her eyes.
"Imagine white light. The brightest, whitest light you can imagine. Keep imagining it, and listen. Don't speak unless I ask a question you can answer. Imagine the light. Listen."
The sharp scent of the lemon and rosemary filled Kate's lungs as she breathed deeply. Her memory offered a childhood image: a sparkler lit on the Fourth of July, shimmering against a summer night sky.
"Sander Wald uses ritual magic, not sympathetic magic."
At the mention of his name, the sparkler image faded. Kate saw the dark hair, the sharp nose of her enemy.
"The light, Kate,” Laurie chided gently.
Kate called the memory back and focused on it.
"That means Sander has learned to develop and use his own personal energy, instead of using the energy around him. He's very good at it. He's been doing it for over a hundred years."
Bright white light.
"It will be up to you, once he starts the ritual, to distract him, to disturb his own personal flow of energy. There are ways."
Kate breathed in the lemon and rosemary. The water held her, warm and gentle. The light she imagined stopped being a representation of the memory of a sparkler. It widened, filling her mind's eye completely.
"He won't be expecting physical violence, like Vern didn't expect it. Do you own a gun, Kate?"
The light flickered. “Yes."
"Remember. He can't die if shot, but you can. So be careful with it."
Kate took in a deep lungful of scented steam.
"And then there's wild magic, Kate: sex and blood. When you bring sex and magic together, the energy from the sex is very powerful. It's energy that Sander can't access. And an unexpected blood-letting during a spell is always disruptive. Always."
Sex, violence, and blood. Kate focused on the white light. It had grown out of her imagination into something real. It filled her up, making itself a part of her.
"But we aren't going to rely on wild magic. What Vern is going to do is turn you into an uncharged battery. You touch Sander or Sander touches you, and you will absorb some of his energy. For a time you'll be able to use that power for yourself. It should be enough to get through the wards."
What were wards? She didn't have time to ask.
"Open your eyes,” Laurie ordered.
Kate did, to find a naked Vern at the edge of the tub holding out a thick, white towel. His expression was serious, all traces of condescension and doubt gone. Kate stood up, stepped out of the water, let Vern wrap her in the soft terrycloth.
Laurie pulled herself up and stood straight. The scented steam seemed to have lent her strength. “Remember, Kate. There are only two forces in this world: fear and love. Sander uses fear. You use love.” She took a deep breath, exchanged a quick look at Vern. “No more talking. If it seems an answer is called for, speak from the heart. We only have one chance at this, before sunset."
Kate dried herself. Vern took away the towel. He caught her eye, and Kate saw an unspoken apology and a spark of honest friendship. Then he caught her hand and led her downstairs.
The thick rain clouds outside allowed little light to penetrate the windows. Gloom darkened the hallway. Kate could see the soft gleam of candlelight spilling from the ritual room. The thud of Laurie's cane created an uneven rhythm behind her.
Vern took her to the center of the chalked circle, beside a low table draped in white cloth. On the table burned a simple white candle. Beside it, Kate saw an artist's paintbrush and a small silver dish of clear liquid. “Stay here,” he whispered. “Keep your eyes open. Don't close them again until the circle's broken."
Kate nodded.
Vern hesitated, then took her hand again. “I do believe you can do it. I just wish it could be me."
Kate squeezed his fingers, kissed his cheek. “Thank you."
Vern squared his feet under his hips, then raised his arms. He held that position for a moment, then crossed his arms across his chest. After taking a deep breath, he dropped his arms to his sides again. Moving to stand near the yellow candle, he turned to his right and, with measured steps, walked the inner perimeter of the chalked circle clockwise three turns.
"In perfect love and perfect trust, from all we see and that's unseen, from this world and that, we are between."
Taking the lit white candle from the altar, Vern returned to light the yellow taper. “The East I call, the wind of thought, bring us clarity in what we've taught."
He moved clockwise to the next candle: a red one. “The South I call, the power of fire, aid us now in our desire."
He moved around the circle one more quarter turn. He lit the blue candle. “The West I call, the rain of love, quench our fear from hearts above."
He lit the last candle, a green one. “The North I call, the strength of earth, grow our courage, nurture our worth."
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