Aidan gave me a crooked grin, his blue eyes twinkling, and then he ignored my question.
“Your father and I helped Becker come up with a plan of exorcism. Gave him the necessary tools, and the ritual. We hoped to stay out of the actual conjuration, but that connection was enough for the demon to know us.”
“My father? He helped as well?”
Aidan just nodded.
“And you sent me in there alone, without my knowing?”
“I couldn’t be sure what was going on. Jerry Becker came back recently, told me he thought the demon was loose again. But I didn’t know whether to believe him—he did have a dramatic streak. I didn’t want you to go in with ideas and accidentally conjure the nasty fellow. You know how these guys are. I can’t so much as say the name without summoning him. Anyway, I knew you were strong enough to deal with whatever you encountered.”
I wished people wouldn’t assume I was so doggoned strong all the time.
Besides . . . something else occurred to me.
“It’s not that. You weren’t sure which side I’d go to,” I said.
Aidan raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “What can I say? The seductiveness of the demon is strong indeed. And we both know about your father.”
“Yes. We do.”
“Those nuns, the ones who invoked him all those years ago, they died in that room. They sacrificed themselves for his benefit. That’s powerful stuff. Luckily, someone realized what was going on and trapped him.”
“I think it was one of the other nuns, a sister one who escorted them back to the convent. She had been disciplined for ‘practicing pagan something or other’ at one point. But I think she was just trying to stop whatever was going on.”
“Lucky for all of us.”
I nodded. “So, how do I stop him this time?”
“There’s no one way to do it. It’s like the rest of what we do, Lily. You do whatever it takes to channel more power than he can. It’s heart, not any particular dogma.”
One last question occurred to me as I turned to leave.
“Aidan, how did Sailor get his psychic abilities?”
“We made a deal.”
“What kind of deal?”
“I thought you understood I couldn’t discuss issues about my clients.”
“He was a client?”
“In a manner of speaking. Anyway, why are you so interested in Sailor?”
I shrugged. “He’s . . . enigmatic.”
“Aren’t we all, my dear Lily? Aren’t we all?”
Tonight was the dark moon, which boded well for a demonic exorcism. Ginny’s deteriorating condition had given me a sense of urgency. I had taken Hervé’s words to heart, and now I added Aidan’s. I would memorize the recommended method for conjuring and binding the demon from the Lesser Key of Solomon, but most of all I would rely on my powers . . . bolstered by all the help I could muster.
When I got back to Aunt Cora’s Closet, Bronwyn told me she had arranged a meeting with Wendy and another priestess, Starr, at a Haight Street café named Coco Luxe. We sat and talked over creamy mochas and homemade marshmallows.
“Have a praline,” said Wendy, holding out a small plate of candies.
“Mmm, thank you. But, just for the record, these aren’t pralines. They’re caramels with pecans,” I said.
“But Coco-Luxe pralines are famous!” said Starr.
“Real pralines aren’t caramels,” I said. “My mama used to make them.” I took another bite. “They’re incredible, all right. They just aren’t pralines.”
“Told you,” said Bronwyn with a smile. “Our Lily’s a praline purist.”
Starr turned to me, a serious look on her face. “Bronwyn tells us you need help with a demon. What does she mean?”
“I always thought demons were invented by the church hierarchy,” said Wendy. “You know, to scare the crap out of people so they’d be good and go to church.”
“
That’s what
I
said,” said Bronwyn.
“I’m afraid not. I mean, I have no idea where they come from, whether they’re connected to some entity called the devil, or any religious tradition. I just know they exist, and there were writings about them long before Christianity arose. They cross historical as well as religious traditions.”
“What are the risks involved?” Wendy asked.
“There’s always some risk, but in this case it should be minor. You won’t even enter the building. I just need the coven’s powers for the setup. I’ll be doing the actual exorcism. The demon won’t be able to touch you, but he might try to tempt you.”
“What should we look for?” Bronwyn asked.
“Usually some offer of power or wealth, youth or beauty. But he’ll probably realize that won’t work with the coven, so I’m guessing he’ll try something else. Beware of sensuous feelings; feelings of love, of being wanted, desired. It’s like being high on booze or drugs; the feeling is real, but it’s not based on anything tangible. Draw strength from one another, as you always do within the circle. I’ll be there, too, to battle with him if I need to. But unless I miss my guess, he’ll wait for me to come to him.”
Starr looked at Wendy, and Wendy at Bronwyn. They nodded.
“Okay,” declared Wendy, “but we’re gonna need some more marshmallows.”
These were my kind of Wiccans.
Chapter 22
“I missed out on
marshmallows
?” Oscar whined when I returned to my apartment to brew. My mind was so focused that I had forgotten to bring him a piggy bag.
“Sorry, Oscar,” I said. “I’m a little under the gun at the moment, but I’ll make it up to you. I promise. Just as soon as I have this demon under control.”
Oscar shivered, and I did the same. Just the thought of that demon would scare any sane person or pig.
I laid a clean white cloth on the counter, placing upon it my
athame
, a few sprigs of Sorcerer’s Violet, a segment of sacred rope, a selection of crystals, a handful of enchanter’s nightshade, and three apples sliced horizontally to display their secret pentacles, or stars. After opening my Book of Shadows to tonight’s spell, I filled my cauldron half with springwater and half with fresh goat’s milk, then set it on the stove to boil.
I sliced another apple for Oscar, and while the pot came to a boil, I placed a call to my
abuela
, my adoptive grandmother, Graciela. A formidable woman of few words but great powers, she had taken me in during the dark, frightening days of my out-of-control youth, just as she had my father before me.
Years ago she had lost my father to the wrong side of the power, and I knew she was angry with me still, as well. When circumstances conspired to make me leave my hometown of Jarod, Texas, Graciela had sent me to finish my training with a powerful friend of hers in Chiapas, but instead I had gone looking for my father. Big mistake.
Graciela and I still hadn’t talked about our estrangement; in fact, I had spoken to her for the first time just a couple of weeks ago, when I needed her advice and help to go up against
La Llorona
. And here I was asking for help yet again. Graciela quickly outlined what she thought I would need to brew for optimal strength and focus during an exorcism.
She also told me, in no uncertain terms, that if San Francisco was as rife with spirits as it appeared to be, I’d better finish my training in the craft, and soon.
“I can’t come back home, though,” I said. “You know that.”
“We could make it so. We could alter things.”
“I’m not willing to do that, or have you do that. It would be wrong. It’s dangerous.”
Silence on the other end of the line.
“Would you be willing to come here? You could have the bedroom—it’s a really nice place,” I asked, hope in my voice but not in my heart. I knew she’d refuse. Like many powerful women, she was connected to the land, to her patch of dirt. She had worked her garden for decades, as had her mother before her. There was magick in the red earth.
“I don’t fly on airplanes.”
“I could meet you outside of Jarod and drive you from there to San Francisco.”
“I don’t ride that far.”
“You could. For me.”
There was shuffling on the other side of the line. After a moment, I heard her say, “Find a man named Aidan Rhodes.”
“I already know him. How do
you
know him?”
There was a pause.
“Era amigo de tu papa
.
”
He was a friend of your father’s.
Graciela always reverted to Spanish when she was being discreet, as though her phone were tapped, and as if half the world didn’t already speak Spanish.
“Yes, he told me that himself,” I replied. “Is he . . . Can he be trusted?”
“Only as far as you trust your father.
Con poca confianza
.”
Not really. Super.
“But he’s very skilled,” Graciela continued. “Very powerful. Very well trained, by
tu papa
.”
“Aidan was trained by my father?”
“
Basta ya
. That’s all I will say on the subject.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“One more thing: Never forget,
m’hija
, the difference between evocation and invocation.”
And with that she hung up. Graciela didn’t like the phone any better than I did.
I continued to grasp the receiver, as though still connected to Graciela, and pondered her final words. When we invoke energy or spirits, we create a personal connection to them, which, in the case of destructive energy, can be terribly dangerous. Invocations invite energy to build up within one’s soul. The energy is discharged through one’s aura, creating a strong link to the target—in this case, the demon. This is what had happened with Ginny, Luc, and Walker. Each had invoked Sitri simply by not knowing how to avoid him. Demons are tricky that way.
I sighed, wishing Graciela were here. I wanted to sit at her feet and place my head on her knees. I loved California and was happy to make my life here. I had found a home in San Francisco, in the Haight; a like- mindedness, if not with regard to witchcraft or magick per se, at least in terms of openness and respect for others and for beliefs that differed from one’s own.
But there was a place in my heart for the hard-packed red dirt of my hometown, from which I had coaxed my first plants as a young child; for the hot, humid air that wrapped around my arms and legs like a damp blanket, caressing my skin; for the stern voices of my grandmother, and even my mother.
Time to cook Cajun again—just as soon as I brewed up a little exorcism tonic, packed a few haunted dresses into the van, and trapped me a nasty demon.
Eleanor Roosevelt once said,
Women are like tea bags. We don’t know how strong we are until we’re in hot water.
I saw that quote as I flipped through my Book of Shadows. I had copied it down years ago when I read her biography. It seemed like the perfect sentiment for the night ahead of us.
After all, the water of my life was boiling, without a doubt.
I didn’t question my abilities. I had found out not too long ago that I was made of stronger stuff than I would have imagined. Especially with the coven, and Graciela, and Oscar all on my side, working as backup.
But Sitri knew my father. That gave me serious pause. Was it just a coincidence that I had become involved in this whole mess? Could Sitri have somehow orchestrated this, to bring me in, to tempt me? Had he known I would come? Those were his mares that had been harassing us at night, I was now convinced. Any of us mucking around in the school’s business seemed to be afflicted.
Oscar helped me load the van with the clothing from the closet, the music box, a shovel, and my cauldron.
Then I packed my special supplies: I decanted the brew I had prepared earlier into three jars, then pulled together various herbs, resins, salts, and sacred rope. Suddenly I realized I was out of cinnamon. Despite the urgency of the situation, I had to smile. Wouldn’t it be something to blow an exorcism of this import because of a common baking supply?
I brought my backpack downstairs to the main shop floor and looked through Bronwyn’s botanical stand, finding a whole jar of fragrant, curling cinnamon bark.
“Don’t go.”
I had been so absorbed in my task that I didn’t even hear the bell tinkle on the door. I whirled around to see Max standing just inside the shop.
“
Max
. When did you get here?”
“I’m serious, Lily. We’re not just talking your safety here, but your sanity.”
“I take it someone filled you in on what’s going on?”
“I got it out of Bronwyn.”
I sighed. “Great.”
“Don’t blame her—I’m a trained journalist, remember?”
“Oh, I remember. Wait,” I said, suddenly alarmed. “Where’s Luc?”
“He’s fine. He’s with my dad in Mill Valley. I hid the car keys.”
“I’d feel much better if you were actually there with him. Physically.”
“I’m headed there now, while you’re headed for, what, an
exorcism
? This whole thing is crazy, Lily; don’t you see that? Don’t do this, I beg you.”
My heart sank. I had been dreading this conversation, hoping fate would cut me a break. Max Carmichael did not believe in—nor approve of—witches. If I acted like a witch—if I was true to myself—I risked losing him.
“You seem to think I have a choice.”
“Don’t you?”
“This is what I am, Max. I’ve tried to explain that to you. There aren’t many of us around, you know. If I abdicate my responsibilities . . . it’s not as though there’s anyone to step in and take my place.”
Max started to say something but stopped when Sailor opened the front door and poked his head in. The men exchanged glares but said nothing.
“You ready?” Sailor asked me.
“I am.” I nodded, not too surprised to see the reluctant psychic at my door. Aidan must have sent Sailor in his stead. Nice to have minions to do your bidding. I packed the last few items in my bag and slung it over my shoulder. “Sailor, would you wait for me outside for two seconds, please?”