A Local Habitation
Page 62
I smiled back. “Get ’em up against the walls.” Moving to an empty table, I started to push. Connor and Quentin nodded before doing the same.
The tables proved to be surprisingly light; plastic is a wonderful thing. We worked in comfortable silence for a while, moving the tables against the walls and stacking the chairs in tidy piles. I was going to need a lot of space if I wanted to make a circle large enough to be secure.
We were almost done when Elliot pushed open the cafeteria door, Gordan close behind him. Both of them were carrying armloads of dried flowers; Gordan had almost vanished behind her heap of foliage, leaving nothing but the white-topped crest of her hair visible.
Looking up, I nodded. “Great. Put those on the counter.”
“I’m sorry it took so long, but your list was very specific, and—”
“It’s all right. We still have . . .” I glanced up at the clock over the door. “Almost an hour before the sun goes down. That’s plenty of time to set up the circle.” I straightened, planting my hands in the center of my back as I stretched, then walked over to pick up the sea salt. “Quentin, get the candles. Connor, the juniper berries.” They nodded, moving to do as they’d been asked.
Elliot and Gordan watched me draw a wide circle of salt in the center of the cafeteria floor, making it large enough for me to sit in comfortably. Quentin followed me, handing me candles whenever I reached back toward him. I arranged all but one around the rim of the circle, using small piles of salt to hold them up. The last candle went into the circle just before I sealed it. There was no need to speak; Quentin understood the basics of ritual magic as well as I did, and he could see the shape of what we were making.
Finally, Gordan asked warily, “What are you going to do?”
“Connor?” I held out my hand, and he pressed the jar of juniper berries into it. I began walking around the circle, scattering berries as I went. “Well, most likely, I’m going to get myself carried off by the night- haunts. If that doesn’t happen, I’m going to find out why they aren’t taking your dead.”
“What?!” Elliot stared at me.
Even Connor eyed him strangely for that outburst. I put my free hand on my hip, saying, “You knew I was calling the night-haunts, Elliot.”
“You never said anything about them carrying you away!”
“What, you thought the night- haunts would be friendly? They don’t like to be disturbed, but the circle should protect me, if I’ve done it right.” I moved to pick up the silk-swaddled mandrake. “This is the sacrifice. Connor, get the feathers, would you?”
“Got ’em.”
“What are the feathers for?” asked Gordan.
“They’re the lure.” Connor handed me the packet of feathers, and I shook them loose, tossing them into the air. They landed helter-skelter all around the circle’s edge, but not a one crossed the barrier of salt. “Ravens are psychopomps. They have a connection to dead things. So their feathers will help me get the attention of the night-haunts.”
“And the flowers?”
“They’re more death that used to be something beautiful.” I knelt, placing the mandrake root in the circle, next to the last candle. “Before you ask, they need to be dried because otherwise, they’re too close to being Titania’s, and the night-haunts might be offended.”
“Are you sure the night-haunts will come when you call?” Elliot again. He didn’t look happy about the idea. That was all right; neither was I.
“I have the things I was told to get and a ritual to follow,” I said, straightening again. “Now I just need it to work. All of you, help me get the flowers piled around the circle. Don’t scuff the salt.”
Working together, the five of us were able to get the flowers arranged as needed with time to spare. Not much time, but time. I measured the circle with my eyes and said, “You can go now. I’ll take it from here.”
Connor put a hand on my shoulder. “Are you sure you’re going to be all right?”
“I’ll tell you later, okay?” I ducked out from under his hand and walked to the coffeemaker, pouring myself a cup with surprisingly steady hands. “Keep an eye on Quentin for me.”
“Toby . . .” Quentin protested.
“No, really. You have to go.” I looked back at him, smiling wanly. “It’ll be okay. I’m pretty tough, remember?”
“I don’t like this.”
“Again, neither do I. Now go, all of you.” My expression hardened. “I need to get ready. Lock the doors when you go.” I didn’t need to add that what they found when they came back in might not be pretty. We all knew that part.
“I won’t forgive you if you die,” said Connor sternly, walking over and hugging me.
“Understood.” I returned the hug, enjoying the familiar solidity of him almost as much as I enjoyed knowing that my pleasure in the gesture was real; no magic required. What I felt for Connor was genuine in ways that Alex could never understand. “I’ll be fine.”
“Don’t lie. Just don’t die on me, either.”
“I promise it’s not a goal.”
He released me, turning to follow Elliot out of the room. Quentin lingered, looking at me anxiously before ducking out, pulling the door shut behind him. The bolt clicked a moment later. If I survived, I could shout for my freedom.
It was going to be a long night.
I drank my coffee slowly, savoring it, but decided against another cup. When I tired of pacing and worrying about what was going to happen I stepped into the circle, settling carefully into a cross- legged position. Breaking the protective seals wouldn’t be the dumbest thing I’d ever done, but it might be the last. Time to wait.
If dawn is human-time, sunset belongs to us. I can’t always feel it coming—it’s subtler than sunrise—but sitting in the middle of a half-started ritual, I couldn’t miss it. It didn’t feel like enough time had passed when the air started to tingle around me, signaling the sun’s descent. It was time to start. Oak and ash preserve me.
I removed the bandages from my left hand, grimacing at the state it was in—the broken glass had already done a number on it, and I was about to make it worse. Drawing Dare’s knife, I placed it across the midpoint of my palm. I hate the sight of my own blood, but the Luidaeg was specific: it had to be the blood of the summoner, or it wouldn’t work. I couldn’t even choose a less essential extremity. My choices were hand and heart, and of the two, I knew which was more likely to be fatal. I just had to hope I wouldn’t need any fine dexterity in the next few days.
The tables proved to be surprisingly light; plastic is a wonderful thing. We worked in comfortable silence for a while, moving the tables against the walls and stacking the chairs in tidy piles. I was going to need a lot of space if I wanted to make a circle large enough to be secure.
We were almost done when Elliot pushed open the cafeteria door, Gordan close behind him. Both of them were carrying armloads of dried flowers; Gordan had almost vanished behind her heap of foliage, leaving nothing but the white-topped crest of her hair visible.
Looking up, I nodded. “Great. Put those on the counter.”
“I’m sorry it took so long, but your list was very specific, and—”
“It’s all right. We still have . . .” I glanced up at the clock over the door. “Almost an hour before the sun goes down. That’s plenty of time to set up the circle.” I straightened, planting my hands in the center of my back as I stretched, then walked over to pick up the sea salt. “Quentin, get the candles. Connor, the juniper berries.” They nodded, moving to do as they’d been asked.
Elliot and Gordan watched me draw a wide circle of salt in the center of the cafeteria floor, making it large enough for me to sit in comfortably. Quentin followed me, handing me candles whenever I reached back toward him. I arranged all but one around the rim of the circle, using small piles of salt to hold them up. The last candle went into the circle just before I sealed it. There was no need to speak; Quentin understood the basics of ritual magic as well as I did, and he could see the shape of what we were making.
Finally, Gordan asked warily, “What are you going to do?”
“Connor?” I held out my hand, and he pressed the jar of juniper berries into it. I began walking around the circle, scattering berries as I went. “Well, most likely, I’m going to get myself carried off by the night- haunts. If that doesn’t happen, I’m going to find out why they aren’t taking your dead.”
“What?!” Elliot stared at me.
Even Connor eyed him strangely for that outburst. I put my free hand on my hip, saying, “You knew I was calling the night-haunts, Elliot.”
“You never said anything about them carrying you away!”
“What, you thought the night- haunts would be friendly? They don’t like to be disturbed, but the circle should protect me, if I’ve done it right.” I moved to pick up the silk-swaddled mandrake. “This is the sacrifice. Connor, get the feathers, would you?”
“Got ’em.”
“What are the feathers for?” asked Gordan.
“They’re the lure.” Connor handed me the packet of feathers, and I shook them loose, tossing them into the air. They landed helter-skelter all around the circle’s edge, but not a one crossed the barrier of salt. “Ravens are psychopomps. They have a connection to dead things. So their feathers will help me get the attention of the night-haunts.”
“And the flowers?”
“They’re more death that used to be something beautiful.” I knelt, placing the mandrake root in the circle, next to the last candle. “Before you ask, they need to be dried because otherwise, they’re too close to being Titania’s, and the night-haunts might be offended.”
“Are you sure the night-haunts will come when you call?” Elliot again. He didn’t look happy about the idea. That was all right; neither was I.
“I have the things I was told to get and a ritual to follow,” I said, straightening again. “Now I just need it to work. All of you, help me get the flowers piled around the circle. Don’t scuff the salt.”
Working together, the five of us were able to get the flowers arranged as needed with time to spare. Not much time, but time. I measured the circle with my eyes and said, “You can go now. I’ll take it from here.”
Connor put a hand on my shoulder. “Are you sure you’re going to be all right?”
“I’ll tell you later, okay?” I ducked out from under his hand and walked to the coffeemaker, pouring myself a cup with surprisingly steady hands. “Keep an eye on Quentin for me.”
“Toby . . .” Quentin protested.
“No, really. You have to go.” I looked back at him, smiling wanly. “It’ll be okay. I’m pretty tough, remember?”
“I don’t like this.”
“Again, neither do I. Now go, all of you.” My expression hardened. “I need to get ready. Lock the doors when you go.” I didn’t need to add that what they found when they came back in might not be pretty. We all knew that part.
“I won’t forgive you if you die,” said Connor sternly, walking over and hugging me.
“Understood.” I returned the hug, enjoying the familiar solidity of him almost as much as I enjoyed knowing that my pleasure in the gesture was real; no magic required. What I felt for Connor was genuine in ways that Alex could never understand. “I’ll be fine.”
“Don’t lie. Just don’t die on me, either.”
“I promise it’s not a goal.”
He released me, turning to follow Elliot out of the room. Quentin lingered, looking at me anxiously before ducking out, pulling the door shut behind him. The bolt clicked a moment later. If I survived, I could shout for my freedom.
It was going to be a long night.
I drank my coffee slowly, savoring it, but decided against another cup. When I tired of pacing and worrying about what was going to happen I stepped into the circle, settling carefully into a cross- legged position. Breaking the protective seals wouldn’t be the dumbest thing I’d ever done, but it might be the last. Time to wait.
If dawn is human-time, sunset belongs to us. I can’t always feel it coming—it’s subtler than sunrise—but sitting in the middle of a half-started ritual, I couldn’t miss it. It didn’t feel like enough time had passed when the air started to tingle around me, signaling the sun’s descent. It was time to start. Oak and ash preserve me.
I removed the bandages from my left hand, grimacing at the state it was in—the broken glass had already done a number on it, and I was about to make it worse. Drawing Dare’s knife, I placed it across the midpoint of my palm. I hate the sight of my own blood, but the Luidaeg was specific: it had to be the blood of the summoner, or it wouldn’t work. I couldn’t even choose a less essential extremity. My choices were hand and heart, and of the two, I knew which was more likely to be fatal. I just had to hope I wouldn’t need any fine dexterity in the next few days.
