by Kim Harrison
“I checked it.”
His arm landed across my shoulders, and together we navigated the narrow hallway to the kitchen. Robbie was eight years older than me, a sullen babysitter who had become an overly protective brother, who had then vanished four-plus years ago when I needed him the most, fleeing the pain of our dad’s death. I had hated him for a long time, envious that he could run when I was left to deal with Mom. But then I found out he’d been paying for Mom’s psychiatrist. Plus some of my hospital bills. We all helped the way we could. And it wasn’t like he could make that kind of money here in Cincinnati.
Robbie slowed as we entered the kitchen, silent as he took in the changes. Gone was the cabinet with its hanging herbs, the rack of dog-eared spell books, the ceramic spoons, and copper spell pots. It looked like a normal kitchen, which was abnormal for Mom.
“When did this happen?” he asked, rocking into motion and heading for the coffeemaker. It looked like a shrine with its creamer, sugar, special spoons, and three varieties of grounds in special little boxes.
I sat at the table and scuffed my feet. Since Dad died, I thought, but didn’t say it. I didn’t need to.
The silence stretched uncomfortably. I’d like to say Robbie looked like my dad, but apart from his height and his spare frame, there wasn’t much of Dad about him. The red hair and green eyes we shared came from Mom. The earth magic skill I dabbled in came from Mom, too. Robbie was better at ley line magic. Dad had been topnotch at that, having worked in the Arcane Division of the Inderland Security, the I.S. for short.
Guilt hit me, and I glanced at the application peeking out from under the napkins.
“So,” Robbie drawled as he threw out the old grounds and rinsed the carafe. “You want to go to Fountain Square for the solstice? I haven’t seen the circle close in years.”
I fought to keep the disappointment from my face—he had been trying to get tickets to the Takata concert. Crap. “Sure,” I said, smiling. “We’ll have to dig up a coat for you, though.”
“Maybe you’re right,” he said as he scooped out four tablespoons, glanced at me and then dumped the last one back in the bag. “You want to go to the concert instead?”
I jerked straight in the chair. “You got them!” I squealed, and he grinned.
“Yup,” he said, tapping his chest and reaching into a pocket. But then his long face went worried. I held my breath until he pulled a set of tickets from a back pocket, teasing me.
“Booger,” I said, falling back into the chair.
“Brat,” he shot back.
But I was in too good a mood to care. God, I was going to be listening to Takata when the seasons shifted. How cool was that? Anticipation made my foot jiggle, and I looked at the phone. I had to call Julie. She would die. She would die right on the spot.
“How did your classes go?” Robbie said suddenly. His back was to me as he got the coffeemaker going, and I flushed. Why was that always the second thing out of their mouth, right after how tall you’ve gotten? “You graduated, right?” he added, turning.
“Duh.” I scuffed my feet and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. I’d graduated, but admitting I’d flunked every ley line class I had taken wasn’t anything I wanted to do.
“Got a job yet?”
My eyes flicked to the application. “I’m working on it.” Living at home while going to college hadn’t been my idea, but until I could afford rent, I was kind of stuck here, two-year degree or not.
Smiling with an irritating understanding, Robbie slid into the chair across from me, his long legs reaching the other side and his thin hands splayed out. “Where’s The Bat? I didn’t see it in the drive.”
Oh . . . crap. Scrambling up, I headed for the coffeemaker. “Wow, that smells good,” I said, fumbling for two mugs. “What is that, espresso?” Like I could tell? But I had to say something.
Robbie knew me better than I knew myself, having practically raised me. It had been hard to find a babysitter willing to take care of an infant prone to frequently collapsing and needing shots to get her lungs moving again. I could feel his eyes on me, and I turned, arms over my chest as I leaned back against the counter.
“Rachel . . .” he said, then his face went panicked. “You got your license, didn’t you? Oh my God. You wrecked it. You wrecked my car!”
“I didn’t wreck it,” I said defensively, playing with the tips of my hair. “And it was my car. You gave it to me.”
“Was?” he yelped, jerking straight. “Rache, what did you do?”
“I sold it,” I admitted, flushing.
“You what!”
“I sold it.” Turning my back on him, I carefully pulled the carafe off the hot plate and poured out two cups. Sure, it smelled great, but I bet it tasted as bad as the stuff Mom bought.
“Rachel, it was a classic!”
“Which is why I got enough from it to get my black belt,” I said, and he slumped back, exasperated.
“Look,” I said, setting a cup beside him and sitting down. “I couldn’t drive it, and Mom can’t keep a regular job long enough to get a month’s worth of pay. It was just taking up room.”
“I can’t believe you sold my car.” He was staring at me, long face aghast. “For what? To be able to dance like Jackie Chan?”
My lips pressed together. “I was mad at you, okay?” I exclaimed, and his eyes widened. “You walked out of here after Dad’s funeral and didn’t come back. I was left trying to keep Mom together. And then everyone at school found out and started pushing me around. I like feeling strong, okay? A car I couldn’t drive wasn’t doing it, but the gym was. I needed the money to get my belt, so I sold it!”
He looked at me, guilt shining in the back of his eyes.
“You, ah, want to see what I can do?” I asked hesitantly.
Robbie’s breath came in fast, and he shook himself. “No,” he said, gaze on the table. “You did the right thing. I wasn’t here to protect you. It was my fault.”
“Robbie . . .” I whined. “It’s not anybody’s fault. I don’t want to be protected. I’m a lot stronger now. I can protect myself. Actually . . .” I looked at the application, my fingers cold as I reached for it. I knew he wouldn’t approve, but if I could get him on my side, we might be able to convince Mom—and then I wouldn’t have to wait. “Actually, I’d like to do more than that.”
He said nothing as I pulled the paper out like a guilty secret and shoved it across the table. My knees went weak, and I felt the hints of lightheadedness take over. God, how could I ever hope to be a runner if I didn’t have enough nerve to bring it up with my brother?
The sound of the paper rasping on the table as he picked it up seemed loud. The furnace clicked on, and the draft shifted my hair as I watched his gaze travel over the paper. Slowly his expression changed as he realized what it was. His eyes hit mine, and his jaw clenched. “No.”
He went to crumple the paper, and I snatched it away. “I’m going to do this.”
“The I.S.?” Robbie said loudly. “Are you crazy? That’s what killed Dad!”
“It is not. I was there. He said so. Where were you?”
Feeling the hit, he shifted to the back of the chair. “That’s not fair.”
“Neither is telling me I can’t do something simply because it scares you,” I accused.
His brow furrowed, and I grabbed my cup of coffee, sliding it between us. “Is this why you’re so hell bent on those karate classes?” he asked bitterly.
“It’s not karate,” I said. “And yes, it puts me ahead of everyone else. With my two-year degree, I can be a full runner in four years. Four years, Robbie!”
“I don’t believe this.” Robbie crossed his arms over his chest. “Mom is actually letting you do this?”
I stayed silent, ticked.
Robbie made a derisive noise from deep in his chest. “She doesn’t know,” he accused, and I brought my gaze up. My vision was blurring, but by God, I wasn’t going to wipe my eyes.
“
Rachel,” he coaxed, seeing me teetering in frustration. “Did you even read the contract? They have you forever. No way out. You’re not even twenty yet, and you’re throwing your life away!”
“I am not!” I shouted, my voice trembling. “What else am I good for? I’ll never be as good as Mom at earth magic. I’ve tried flipping burgers and selling shoes, and I hated it. I hate it!” I almost screamed.
Robbie stared, clearly taken aback. “Then I’ll help you get a real degree. All you need is the right classes.”
My jaw clenched. “I took the right classes, and I have a real degree,” I said, angry. “This is what I want to do.”
“Running around in the dark arresting criminals? Rachel, be honest. You will never have the stamina.” And then his expression blanked. “You’re doing this because of Dad.”
“No,” I said sullenly, but my eyes had dropped, and it was obvious that was part of it.
Robbie sighed. He leaned to take my hand across the table, and I jerked out of his reach. “Rachel,” he said softly. “If Dad was here, he’d tell you the same thing. Don’t do it.”
“If Dad was here, he’d drive me to the I.S. office himself,” I said. “Dad believed in what he did with his life. He didn’t let danger stop him; he just prepared for it better.”
“Then why did he let himself get killed?” Robbie said, an old pain in his pinched eyes. “He’d tell you to expand on your earth witch degree and find something safe.”
“Safe!” I barked, shifting back. Damn it, now I’d never convince Mom. I needed her signature on the application, or I’d have to wait until I was nineteen. That meant I’d be twenty-three before I was actually making money at it. I loved my mom, but I had to get out of this house. “If Dad was here, he’d let me,” I muttered, sullen.
“You think so?” Robbie shot back.
“I know so.”
It was silent apart from my foot tapping the chair leg and the ticking of the clock. I folded up the application and snapped it down between us like an accusation. Reaching for my coffee, I took a swig, trying not to grimace at the taste. I don’t care how good it smelled, it tasted awful. I couldn’t believe people actually enjoyed drinking this stuff.
Robbie stood, startling me as the chair scraped and bumped over the linoleum. “Where are you going?” I asked. Not home for five minutes, and we were arguing already.
“To get something,” he said, and walked out. I could hear him talking under his breath, and the harsh sound of a zipper as he opened his suitcase. His bedroom door slammed shut and the familiar stomp of his feet in the hall as he came back was loud.
I knew I was wearing that same unhappy, ugly look he had when he dropped a heavy book on the table in front of me. “Happy solstice,” he said, slumping into his chair.
I waited, not knowing what to say. “What is it?”
“A book,” he said shortly. “Open it.”
I scooted closer and tucked my hair behind an ear. It was as big as a dictionary, but the pages were thick, not thin. The stark brightness told me it was new, but the charms in them . . . I’d never even heard of them.
“That’s an eight-hundred-level textbook from the university in Portland,” he said, voice harsh. “Now that you have your two-year degree, I wanted to ask if you would come out with me to take classes.”
My head came up. He wanted me to go out to the West Coast with him?
“Mom, too,” he added, and then his expression shifted to pleading. “Look at those spells, Rachel. Look what you can do if you apply yourself and invest some time. If you go into the I.S., you won’t ever be able to do charms like that. Is that what you want?”
Lips parted, I looked at the pages. I was okay with earth magic, but these looked really hard. “Robbie, I—”
My words cut off and I stared at the page. “Oh wow,” I breathed, looking at the charm.
“See,” Robbie coaxed, his voice eager. “Look at that stuff. It’s yours if you want it. All you have to do is work for it.”
“No, look!” I said, shoving the book across the table and standing to follow it around. “See? There’s a charm to summon the wrongfully dead. I can ask Dad. I can ask Dad what he thinks I should do.”
Robbie’s mouth dropped open. “Let me see that,” he said, bending over the book. “Holy shit,” he breathed, long fingers trembling. “You’re right.” He was wearing a smile when he pulled his gaze from the pages. “Tell you what,” he said, leaning back with a look I recognized, the one he used to wear when he was getting me into trouble. “You do this spell to summon Dad, and ask him. If it works, you do what he says.”
My pulse quickened. “You said it was an eight-hundred-level spell.”
“Yeah? So what?”
I thought for a minute. “And if he says I should join the I.S.?”
“I’ll sign the application myself. Mom gave me your guardianship right after Dad died.”
I couldn’t seem to get enough air. It was a way out. “And if I can’t do it? What then?”
“Then you come out to Portland with me and get your master’s so you can do every single charm in that book. But you have to do the spell yourself. Front to back. Start to finish.”
I took a deep breath and looked at it. At least it wasn’t in Latin. How hard could it be?
“Deal,” I said, sticking my hand out.
“Deal,” he echoed. And we shook on it.
TWO
Squinting, I crouched to put my gaze level with the graduated cylinder, knees aching with a familiar fatigue as I measured out three cc’s of white wine. It was this year’s pressings, but I didn’t think that mattered as long as the grapes had been grown here in Cincinnati, in effect carrying the essence of the land my dad had lived and died on.
My mom’s light laughter from the other room pulled my attention away at a critical moment, and the wine sloshed too high. She was cloistered in the living room with Robbie under the impression that I was making a last-minute solstice gift and the kitchen was totally off limits. Which meant I was trying to figure out this crappy spell without Robbie’s help. See, this was why I wanted to be a runner. I’d be so damn good, I could afford to buy my spells.
I grimaced as I straightened and looked at the too-full cylinder. Glancing at the hallway, I brought it to my lips and downed a sip. The alcohol burned like my conscience, but when the liquid settled, it was right where it was supposed to be.
Satisfied, I dumped it into Mom’s crucible. She had gone over it with a fine-grit sandpaper earlier this afternoon to remove all traces of previous spells, as if dunking it in salt water wasn’t enough. She had been thrilled when I asked to use her old equipment, and it had been a trial getting everything I needed amid her overenthusiastic, wanting-to-help interference. Even now, I could hear her excitement for my interest in her area of expertise, her crisp voice louder than usual and with a lilt I hadn’t heard in a long time. Though Robbie being home might account for that all on its own.
I leaned over the textbook and read the notes at the bottom of the page. WINE AND HOLY DUST ARE INVARIABLY THE BUILDING BLOCKS OF CHOICE TO GIVE SPIRITS SUBSTANCE. Scratching the bridge of my nose, I glanced at the clock. This was taking forever, but I’d do anything to talk to my dad again, even if the spell only lasted until daybreak.
It was getting close to eleven. Robbie and I would have to leave soon to get a good spot at Fountain Square for the closing of the circle. My mom thought Robbie was taking me to the Takata concert, but we needed a whopping big jolt of energy to supplement the charm’s invocation, and though we could find that at the concert, the organization of several hundred witches focused on closing the circle at Fountain Square at midnight would be safer to tap into.
I had really wanted to go to the concert, and sighing for the lost chance, I reached to snip a holly leaf off the centerpiece. It would give the spell a measure of protection. Apparently I was going to open a door, and holly would insure my dad’s essence wouldn’t track anything bad in on the soles of
his feet.
Nervousness made my hands shake. I had to do this right. And I had to do it without Mom knowing. If she saw Dad’s ghost, it would tear her up—send her back to the mess she was in almost five years ago. Seeing Dad was going to be hard enough on me. I wasn’t even sure by the description of “desired results” how substantial a ghost he’d be. If we both couldn’t see him, Robbie would never believe that I’d done it right.
Standing at the table, I used my mom’s silver snips to cut the holly leaf into small segments before brushing them into the wine. My fingers were still shaking, but I knew it was nerves; I hadn’t done enough to get tired, low fatigue threshold or not. Steadying the crucible with one hand, I ground the holly leaves with all my weight behind it. The lemon juice and yew mix I had measured out earlier threatened to spill as I rocked the table, and I moved it to a nearby counter.
Lemon juice was used to help get the spirit’s attention and shock it awake. The yew would help me communicate with it. The charm wouldn’t work on every ghost—just those unrestful souls. But my dad couldn’t be resting comfortably. Not after the way he died.
My focus blurred, and I ground the pestle into the mortar as the heartache resurfaced. I concentrated on Robbie’s voice as he talked to my mom about how nice the weather was in Portland, almost unheard over some solstice TV cartoon about Jack Frost. He didn’t sound anything like my dad, but it was nice to hear his words balanced against Mom’s again.
“How long has Rachel been drinking coffee?” he asked, making my mom laugh.
Two years, I thought, my arm getting tired and my pulse quickening as I worked. Crap, no wonder my mom quit making her own charms.
“Since you called to say you were coming,” my mom said, unaware it was my drink of choice at school as I struggled to fit in with the older students. “She is trying to be so grown up.”
This last was almost sighed, and I frowned.
“I didn’t like her in those college classes,” she continued, unaware that I could hear her. “I suppose it’s my own fault for letting her jump ahead like that. Making her sit at home while she was ill and watch TV all day wasn’t going to happen, and if she knew the work, what harm was there in letting her skip a semester here or there?”