Hallowed Circle (27 page)

At home, the ley line in the grove powered my wards and I wasn’t afraid of it—that was a simple redirection, a mere droplet of power. That droplet had the power to numb my whole arm for the moment it took to use. And I’d learned that while the initial touch of a ley line is prickly and sizzling, like putting your hand into boiling water, that sensation quickly turned into numbness. Extended exposure led to the next phase, where that heated “almost-pain” then dulled to an intoxicating
warmth. You got a not-quite-inebriated feeling, a slightly euphoric buzz. I understood how that could take hold and create an addiction.

So, I was wary. Venefica Covenstead, like all covensteads, was built on a ley line nucleus, an intersection of lines. It had far more power to offer than the single line I tapped.

Even as I thought about it, the energy acknowledged me with a tiny pulse. It whispered and I understood it was deep, a monster buried in the lowest subterranean depths to protect the world. It was caged, trapped power, slowly being poisoned by its captivity. It begged to be called on, to be touched and loosed, to flow free and roil with ecstasy. It would become contaminated, polluted, if it did not flow, if I did not hurry and release it.

The
ordovia
’s waxy seal snapped as my fingers applied pressure, and the scroll’s thick paper unrolled in my hands.

I am your buried treasure,
the whispering power said.
Like the chest you selected and opened with your key, you recognize the potential in what is not seen by others, you recognize what we could be together … and I recognize what others do not see in you, Lustrata! Call on me, raise me up! I will do your bidding and we will be infinitely potent.

“Shut up,” I whispered back. The grove’s line was not a manipulating power. But then, it wasn’t confined either. Nuclei, clearly, were far chattier than lines.

The paper was blank.

Remembering the heat of my hand had made the clues appear on the other scroll, I held this one nearer the candle flames. Sure enough, the letters sparkled and appeared.

PROTREPTICUS
Summon a Spirit.
Procure its permission.
Bind it to your bauble.
Seal it safely in.

It sounded so easy. Like a recipe: mix, pour, bake. But it left out the ingredients, the amounts, the bake temperature, and the time. This was not going to be a simple task.

The items on the table were pretty standard stuff for such an unstandard spell. My plan started forming. Stones, black thread, chalk … but nothing to write on.

The floor.

Summon a spirit.

With the chalk in hand, I sank to my knees and drew a rectangle on the wooden floor. Inside, I wrote the letters of the alphabet in two rows, numbers below those rows, punctuation marks below that. Drawing a large
deosil
circle, big enough to enclose me and the rectangle, I stepped outside it and drew another larger circle beyond it. Beyond it, I drew a third circle.

Studying the items on the table, I considered the herbs first. Honeysuckle and basil. Both had protective properties, but basil aided astral travel, which I wanted to avoid, and it was banishing, whereas I needed to bind. Honeysuckle aided psychic power, intuition, so I chose it and left the other behind. Transferring items from the table to the inner circle, I took the salt and water, the orange candles and the white candles. Lastly, I appraised
the stones; all were beneficial, so all were moved to the inner circle.

I placed an onyx in the north, turquoise in the east, sunstone to the south, and jade in the west. Each got a white tea light candle, lit from the taper on the table, before I took up the bowl of salt. I spun, tossing salt wide across the floor.

“Triple rows and sealed up fast,
my hallowed circle now is cast.”

After using the honeysuckle bundle as an asperging tool to flick water in each direction, I then held the orange candle up in salute to each compass point and said,

“Earth from the North, Eastern Winds, Southern Flames,
      
Water from the West …
Elements—hear me!—keep my circle blessed.
Safely shut me in, please,
Shut all else out.
Protect me now.
Truly I speak, truly I see.
So mote it be.”

With the protective niceties in place, I sat and put my hands to the chalk circle containing me.

Reaching out for the ley line, I called to it, humming.

It was there, far below. Hunkering, hiding in the dark, yet watching me like a starving animal watches someone enticing it with meat. It had been waiting, yearning for someone to call it and here I was, alive and strong, search
ing for it. But the other contestants, they were searching for it also. It was suspicious.

They locked me away,
it whispered.
So far below.

“Open for me,” I whispered back.

Unlock me. Unleash me!

“I have no key.”

No key!
The despair in that whisper was pitiful.

What kind of lock would Vivian use? My mind ran through various magical seals, all of which I discarded for their ease or lack of effectiveness for something as big as a ley line nucleus. Vivian had access to the Codex. She could have altered many sorcery-laden locks beyond anything I knew. But that would be no good to any contestant.

Contestant. The line had said “they” locked it away, not “she.”

I had an idea.

“I have a key,” I pulled the skeleton key on the white string from under my shirt.

That’s it! Touch me.

With the key in hand, I visualized reaching my left hand down, down through the Covenstead floor, through the basement levels, through the foundation, through layers of earth and rock and there … there were the ley lines, low and deep, tingling in the palm of my hands, scraping like a flint about to spark. I stopped and visualized a buffer around my hand, a static kind of glove for handling the cords of a nucleus. The visualized ley lines were white-hot cords and suddenly in my mind’s eye I could see them all interconnecting, six lines joining and dropping into the earth, like strings of Yule lights knotted and impossible to unravel.

Ahhh, yesssssss.

All these lines were energy, all had the ability to access the dead, some more than others. Among these cords was a highway to the Summerland, a threaded conduit for traveling—if you weren’t bound to a physical body, that is. In astral travel, where the spirit leaves the body, a sorcerer could visit the dead, other entities, and perform all kinds of nonphysical tasks. Of course, there had to be protections in place so that nothing slipped into the sorcerer’s body while the spirit was absent. This bit of chalk, salt, and water wasn’t up to that level of protection. I had to call spirits to me.

Which cord was it? Which string to pluck?

Spirits have a certain feel. The nerve endings just below skin discern them the same way they gauge temperature. Though intangible, the information registers in the brain. Most people wouldn’t recognize the texture of a spirit, as they discern more strongly on the reaction they have to it: the hair on the nape of their neck rises and, possibly, goose bumps rise. Anyone who’s ever been in a truly haunted house knows that the malign variety of spirit also strokes their flight response.

With the static buffer covering my palm, I sorted through the cords; patiently searching for that texture, like steam and silk, the one that evoked the reaction in me. Finally, I found it. Visualizing the static glove holding tight to that cord, my hand slipped a measure away—no sense risking getting pulled in.

“Arise spirits, hear my call,
Arise between the drawn walls.
Listen now and hasten near!
I’ve an offer for you to hear.”

Reaching for the little stones with my right hand, I came up with a rainbow moonstone in my palm. As an afterthought, I grabbed the carnelian and sat it before me, for courage. Using the moonstone like a mini-planchette on my makeshift witchboard, I began to spell the words.

Am making a protrepticus.

A spirit-house.

Who will live in it?

I watched the edge of my circle. The ring just outside this one shimmered as if there were dust in the air illuminated by flickering sunbeams. Spirits came and peeked in, little orbs flashing by, more than I could count.

Who is willing?

The parade of orbs continued; it was fascinating. In my heart, I began to hope that Lorrie would come by and be willing. It would be a way for Beverley and her to communicate and stay in touch. But that was an exponentially long, long shot.

What was I thinking? I was supposed to fail this round.

Go now.

Never mind.

I had participated. The Elders could not punish me if I lost my nerve, if I sabotaged myself, or if it appeared that no spirits would take me up on my offer.

Thank you.

A light glistened on my face.

An orb was hovering about three feet off the ground in
the outer circle. It remained steady. Others did not follow, did not pass through. This one waited.

Go on. Return.

From the little collection of stones, a pointy quartz crystal trembled and slid across the wood floor to the chalk letters before me. I lifted the moonstone out of the way. The crystal looped along in little circles, pausing briefly to spell out:

Too late for that.

Oh shit.

Proceed.

Concentrating on the orb, I whispered, “You give permission?”

You did not ask for it.

“I just did.”

Verbally.

Great. A difficult spirit. “You want me to spell it?”

Offering.

My brows hunkered down. Right. To take something from the beyond, I have to balance it by giving something back to the beyond. This was where, in ancient cultures, the sacrifice came in. But I had no animal to trade, and wasn’t sure I would have been able to if I did. I had stones, herbs, chalk, and candles; all tangible items.

“What offering is appropriate?”

Your soul for mine.

“No way. Absolutely not.”

Ha ha.

What the hell? A difficult, jokester spirit? “No deal.”

Promise me vengeance.

“Vengeance?”

Avenge my wrongful death.

“I don’t know the details, or even the era of your death. I cannot promise vengeance, but I can promise to investigate to the extent of my abilities.”

More than investigation. Action! Punishment!

My curiosity was piqued. As Lustrata, this would be acceptable. “What if you are lying?”

Was murdered!

“Yes. I will investigate and if you are wrongfully dead and if a course of action exists that I can take to avenge your death—without harming me and mine—I will.”

The crystal spun in place three times.

Agreed.

“You will be housed in this.” I held up the cell phone, hoping it would decline to live in the contraption.

Agreed.

Now all I had to do was bring the spirit into the middle circle, put it in the cell phone, bind it there, and seal it in. The “easy” part was done. The next part would bind me to this phone, and to this spirit who wanted vengeance.

I really didn’t want to be the high priestess.

I drew a little square in the air just above the ground at the edge of my circle. “Open now the door.” I pushed the cell phone through into the space. “Sealed again is the door.” No sense taking the risk of a nasty spirit getting to me and having to fight unnecessarily.

I drew another door, higher up, and orb-sized, imagining it opening in the wall of the circle beyond.

“Spirit, there is the door.
Pass now, from outer circle into mid.
Spirit, enter now the door.
Come forth, as ye will and as I bid.”

The orb floated forward, pushing through the space where I had indicated the door should be. It entered the middle circle.