Page 25 of Demon's Bluff
“Rynn Cormel’s dating guide? I think it’s great.”
“It’s superlative, but you’re not thinking beyond short-term personal satisfaction,” Al said distantly. “It’s a textbook on vampire blood sex. When she opens it to do a little light reading, which you know she will, she will see through the glamour. A transposition charm changes what the outside looks like, not the inside. Not to mention it won’t smell right. The book containing Kisten’s curse reeks of burnt amber, does it not? You do not want to give yourself away because of someone’s nasal clarity.”
“Now that you mention it, it did not,” I said slowly, and Al looked at me over his blue-tinted glasses in question. Either the coven found a way to deodorize it, or it had left the ever-after before it became a polluted burnt-amber hell.
Jenks darted in from the kitchen, clearly having heard our conversation. “So? She needs to learn that Rachel is better than her,” the pixy said as he landed on the eight ball, his dust briefly turning it silver.
“No, he’s right.” Disappointed, I began to roll the pool balls into the pockets. “I’ll just glamour something she has there.” But yeah. It would have been nice to have thumbed my nose at her.
The last of the balls went rolling out of sight, and I turned to Al. “Okay. What do I need to link the curse to my visual cortex?”
A wide, truly pleased smile found Al. He was, at his heart, a teacher, and he didn’t have much of a chance to indulge himself now that he wasn’t abducting high-end magic users and training them to be demon familiars. “Other than a suitably large space to work on?” Back straight, he began to tick things off on his fingers. “Salt with which to scribe, white sage and rosemary to help promote purity and remove negative energy. A copper or rosemary stylus, saffron-infused wine, magnetic chalk…”
His red, goat-slitted eyes met mine over his glasses again. “And yourblood,” he intoned, his overdone drama quickly dissolving into a smirk. Blood was a common ingredient in spells, charms, and curses to link the magic to the user—and it still scared the crap out of humans for some reason.
“You sure you don’t want to do this in the kitchen?” I tried one last time. “That’s where most of my stuff is.”
Al ignored me.
“Pool table it is,” I muttered as I walked away. It wasn’t an extensive list, but as sure as hell is hot, it wasn’t complete. He’d left out much of what I’d need to prep the charm, leaving it to me to figure out as part of his ongoing instruction. Stuff like a bowl, and a ceremonial knife to get the blood from my finger. “Jenks, we got any saffron?” I shouted over my shoulder. I knew we had saffron. I just wanted him to stop making annoying circles around Al.
“On it,” he said eagerly as he flew past me and into the kitchen.
My pace slowed as I followed him into my brightly lit kitchen, the space a wonderful blend of a state-inspected facility and home-spelled chaos. The recent rebuild had focused on keeping our emergency paranormal shelter status. It was mostly for the tax break, but it also meant the city had subsidized both the twin stoves and ovens as well as the huge fridge we used only a third of, apart from the solstice and the Super Bowl. There was a large center counter to bake at, and a long eat-at counter that looked out onto the porch through a wide pane of glass. French doors opened to the covered porch, which was really more of a three-walled room, with the original fireplace taking up one entire rebuilt wall. It could be used as additional eating space in a pinch, which was how we sold it to the city, but most times it was a pleasant place to sit outside with all the comforts of inside.
Beyond the porch, the damp, windy night had turned the garden into a black expanse of nothing. Al had left a light on at his wagon/van amid the tombstones, and it made the night seem even colder.
“Jenks?” I called, not seeing the pixy. “Ever-loving pixy piss, you didn’t go outside in this, did you?”
“No, I didn’t go outside,” a high, muffled voice came from inside the cabinets. “I stashed the saffron in here away from the fairies.”
Jenks exploded out from a drawer, his dust flying when he sneezed. “Saffron,” he said as he set a glass vial the size of his thigh on the counter. “Apparently they think it’s an aphrodisiac.”
“Ah, thanks.” I took the vial and dropped it into a pocket.
“That’s why you can’t ever find any.” Jenks’s downward angle to alight on the counter bobbled when a loud ripping sound came from the sanctuary. I wasreallyglad Ivy wasn’t here, and as Jenks went to watch Al, I got the wine and three-pound bag of spelling salt from the pantry. The copper stylus was in a drawer, and I grabbed my silver snips just in case. The magnetic chalk was in a coffee mug with a bunch of pens and pencils, and from the herb pantry I got a sheaf of white sage and a sprig of rosemary. At the last moment, I dug through the junk drawer for a fingerstick in case I didn’t need the knife.
“He didn’t say you needed the fingerstick,” Jenks said as he darted back in, wings pink in anticipation. Unlike Ivy, he liked my witchy magic.
“He didn’t say I needed the knife, either.” Hands on my hips, I studied the growing pile and tried to anticipate. Sage meant smudging—which meant fire. I’d probably need something to burn it in, and I added a crucible—the copper one, since he’d made a point of asking for a copper stylus. Nodding, I put it all in my largest spell pot, then added my Srandford bowl because of the wine, a length of silk to dust the free ions from the table with, and finally Ivy’s spray bottle of enzymatic blood remover—for not-so-obvious reasons.
Jenks snickered, and I included a spray bottle of salt water to remove any residual spells from the slate. One last look, and I grabbed the roll of paper towels and a second black scarf.
“That’s all I can think of,” I said as I shifted the pot to my hip and headed for the sanctuary, wincing as a second, longer rip echoed through the church.
Jenks flew ahead, his sour comment an inaudible nothing as I passed the two bedrooms and adjoining his and hers bathrooms now convertedinto a communal bath on one side, and a more family-oriented bath and laundry on the other.
“Tink’s titties,” Jenks said as I entered the sanctuary, his hands on his hips as he hovered over the damage. “You couldn’t just magic it off? Even Hodin had the decency to magic it off.”
“You should leave,” Al practically growled. Cutting the felt from the bumpers was Al’s only recourse, seeing as he couldn’t tap a line yet—thanks to me. Al insisted that burning his synapses to unuse was a small price to pay for imprisoning his brother, but he’d done it to protect me while I’d done the actual imprisoning—and I still felt bad. Hence me not complaining about him setting up in the garden.
And still, I had to stifle my annoyance as I took in the damage. It was Kisten’s table and everyone kept shitting on it.
“It is what it is, Jenks,” I said, more to me than him, as I set the bowl at one end of the table. “Al, do I need to change into a spelling robe or am I good?”
“You are fine as you are.” Al sniffed, clearly surprised—and grateful perhaps. “We are not working with auras. It’s a simple spell. Minimal smut.” Red eyes narrowing, he squinted at Jenks. “Keep your dust clear of the table or I will put you in a box.”
Flipping the demon off, Jenks flew backward to land on the tip of my pool cue.