Lost Souls (A Caitlyn O’Connell Novel) (26 page)

She gave her head a shake and rolled her eyes. “Do you ever give it a rest? I’m not getting naked with you again to draw down the moon.”

His chuckle was rich, a jarring sound in the pall that had fallen over them as they’d searched. He sat back, shaking his head. “You’ve already taken everything I can give you. Expended a lot of it. Now you have to be the one to go to the source. The well, so to speak. Draw your own powers, my dear. Draw it from the ether. Wear it as a garment of your own making, not a borrowed cloak.”

“See?” she said, aiming a hard glare his way and crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s the problem. When you speak, poetry is natural. When I try, the words that come out are complete crap.”

“It’s not how pretty the words sound, Cait. It’s the depth of feeling, the energy your emotions give the incantation.” He waved a hand. “But you’re right. This spell is more than words. Because you’ll be defying time and death, you need something to focus the power, an object.”

Cait thought hard. “Like the bellows I used to suck the demon out of Leland?”

“Exactly. Any ideas?”

“This is all about time. About defying it. A watch?” She glanced at her wristwatch with its digital face. Definitely not the candidate. “Something old. With hands.”

“A pocket watch?”

She nodded and then sat back in her chair. Uncertainty edged her thoughts. What powers did she really have? She should have been practicing for this all her life. “Are we kidding ourselves that I can make this work?”

“How much do you love Sam?”

Cait held her breath against the instant tightening in her chest. A tightness that threatened to choke her. Just the mention of his name opened a new wound. “More than anything or anyone. Morin, if this doesn’t work…”

“No more ‘if.’ Doubt will leach away power, corrupt it. And pretty words and a pocket watch aren’t enough. An offering must be made. A proper tincture. Ceremony and pomp. This ritual is important, and you have the time to do this right. The Powers will demand a sacrifice, whether it’s tangible and bloody or simply measured in effort. This is the reason why the gods demand trials.”

“Like Psyche’s trial in the Underworld—”

“Hercules’s twelve labors.”

Naming what she had to do eased her mind. She smiled across the table. “Thanks. I was beginning to panic. Afraid there wasn’t a solution.”

He braced his arms on the table and leaned forward, his gaze intense. “But don’t go thinking that every time you lose something to death that you can drag it back.”

“I know.” She inhaled and let out her breath slowly. “I might have only one shot—if The Powers grant it.”

“They might extract a payment. Some future travail.”

From a distance, the sound of the kettle whistling called.

Morin’s head tilted toward the sound. “I’ll be right back. Be thinking of ingredients, ones that are relevant, symbolic.”

With a task to accomplish, the sense of panic disappeared. She nodded and pulled the lantern closer. The golden light flickered in the glass like it had in Sam’s eyes a moment before he’d faded away.

A movement at the corner of her eye had Cait glancing over her shoulder. But no one was there. “Hello?” she called out, thinking it was too soon for Morin to return.

She was tired and jumpy, that was all. She shook her head and bent over the old book, fingering the edges of its yellowed page.

A breeze, warm and scented with jasmine, brushed against her cheek. Instinctively, she leaned toward the scent. She closed her eyes, remembering her mother’s perfume. “Mama?” she whispered, then opened her eyes, but no figure appeared.

A thump sounded right behind her, and she jumped in her chair, pulse kicking up. Looking back over her shoulder, she spotted a book resting on the floor. Had the breeze dislodged it from the case? She hadn’t been careful replacing books as she’d taken them down, one at a time in her desperate search.

Sighing, she pushed up from the table and walked toward the book. The moment she reached down, the cover flew open, the pages flipped, sounding like the shuffling of a card deck, until one page stood straight up and fell.

Well, that was weird.
Cait held her breath, picked up the book, and held it with both hands so she could read the opened page. As her gaze scanned the text, her heartbeat pounded. “Morin!”

“Right here. Hungry again? You only ever sound like that when you’re famished.” Morin stepped closer. “What is it?”

“Read this,” she said, shoving the book at his chest, her finger holding it open to the page.

Morin scanned the words, his features sharpening. He read it again, and when he glanced back up, he said, “That’s it.”

Cait grinned. A tiny kernel of hope bloomed deep inside. But she hesitated to give it a voice.

An answering smile stretched across his face. “I think it might work.”

“And you were right about that watch.”

He shook his head. “I must have read it at some point. Using it makes sense.” His eyes rounded. “Is there still time? The spell must be cast within twelve hours.”

She glanced at her digital watch, which had frozen on the time when she’d entered his shop. “We still have three hours left. I only need a few minutes. I can get back to the hotel and wind it back…”

Morin touched her shoulder, his fingers moving in a light caress. “You know it’s just a chance. Not a certainty.”

“That’s more than I had when I came here.” Feeling like a weight had lifted from her shoulders, she covered his hand with hers and squeezed. “Now, I have hope.”

“I’ll gather ingredients. Looks like we’ll be combining spells—”

“Layering them to make this work. No one size fits all.”

“Casting them will be complicated,” he warned, his gaze narrowed.

“I’m okay with that.”

“You’ll need a helper to make it back.”

“That’s going to be the tricky part. But I’ll worry about it after we’ve got all the parts prepared.” One step at a time.

Morin held still a moment. “I wish I could go with you.”

“If this works, we’ll know there’s hope for you too. We just need the right combination.” She emphasized her words, wanting her mentor to share in the new potential.

“The right sequencing.”

The painful knot that had lodged securely in her chest the moment she’d lost Sam in the fog eased.

A soft wistfulness crossed Morin’s face. “I’m glad I’m the one helping you, Cait. I’ve missed you.”

Cait gave him a faint smile, not ready to rush into his arms by any stretch of the imagination. Morin was still Morin. Flawed. Selfish. Clever.

“I’ll hold up my end of the bargain,” she murmured.

He winced. “I swear I wasn’t thinking about that. Not that I’m a huge fan of Sam Pierce. But I recognize how much you need him in your life. He gives you balance. Holds your feet to the ground.”

“Sam’s not up for discussion with you, Morin. I don’t mean to be rude, but you and I, we have a past.” She looked past his shoulder, her gaze focused on the wall of books. “I’m just not comfortable talking about him with you.”

“And Sam wouldn’t approve,” he murmured slowly, shaking his head. “He wasn’t too happy that mine was the first face he saw when I summoned him. Said he wondered if he’d landed in Hell.”

A smile tugged at one corner of her mouth. “Yeah, that sounds like him.”

“He couldn’t move fast enough getting to you. Forced me to shout my warnings about how long he had.”

“How did that spell work anyway? I didn’t know it could be done, bringing someone back to life.”

Morin shrugged. “You know that some cultures believe it’s possible for a soul to become corporeal for short periods of time. Usually shamans or witches casting to allow a spirit to walk for one day.”

“Like Día de Los Muertos.”

Morin nodded. “Sam’s still tethered to this world. Dragging him in wasn’t hard. Now, making him physical again… Well, that took real magic. I’ll show you sometime.”

Cait thought about his offer but then shook her head. “I might skip that lesson. Too tempting. Next thing you know, I’d be reanimating vics to find out who killed them.”

“And spells that strong always take a toll.” Morin’s mouth drew a thin line, and his gaze fell away. “I’ll find the watch.” He turned to move to the other side of the shop.

“Hey, something strange happened. I didn’t find that passage by myself.”

Looking over his shoulder, he spoke as his brows rose high. “Oh?”

“The book fell off the shelf, and the pages opened to that precise page.” She rested a hand on her hip. “Do you know anything about that?”

Morin shrugged. “Heavenly intervention?”

“You don’t believe in Heaven.”

He cleared his throat. “No, I don’t. Perhaps we should save this discussion for another time?” He turned again and hurried toward the staircase.

Cait’s gaze followed him, narrowing. She left the library, winding her way behind the shelves to the small kitchen in the back. The kettle sat on a trivet next to Morin’s earthen pot. She touched the side of the pot, found it still warm, and then took two cups and saucers from his cupboard. Holding a strainer over each cup, she poured the tea. She added honey to hers, a splash of milk to his. Then she glanced at the worktable where the rose quartz crystal ball sat.

He’d said the ball needed charging. If she failed in her quest, at least he’d be able to watch her actions and tell Celeste what had happened.

She walked to the table and picked up the ball from where it sat atop a three-legged silver stand. At the first contact, her palms tingled. Curious now, she walked to the gas
stove, turned a knob to light a burner, and held the ball in front of it to watch the flame flicker in the rosy depths.

“Are you here, Mama?” she whispered, casting a glance over her shoulder to make sure Morin hadn’t snuck into the room. The last thing she wanted him to know was that she felt drawn to look. He seemed to think any witch would be eager to expand her skills. The fact she’d turned her back on magic for so long was unfathomable to him. Power was to be embraced, celebrated, envied, according to Morin.

But Cait wasn’t drawn to magic because of any power it might bring to her. Magic was a tool. If misused, it was a dangerous one. Not something she would ever take for granted. She’d seen the damage magic could do.

Her mother had ended her own life, by accident, leaving Cait alone to fend for herself and filled with loathing for the man who’d instigated the spell. She’d only lately acknowledged that Morin wasn’t completely to blame. Cait thought maybe some of that loathing was misplaced. Her mother had taken matters into her own hands and tried to perform a powerful spell.

Had she simply poisoned herself? Or had The Powers decided she’d overstepped her bounds? The possibility was something to consider as she moved forward with her own plan to conquer a demon and defy natural law to take back what had been stolen.

Flames flickered brighter in her ball, and she leaned closer, watching the red and orange light flicker and then swirl, the ball bending light in the natural occlusions of the rock, blending the flame with its pink hues, then flaring again.

She half expected the ball to grow hot but held it comfortably in her grasp, turning it to watch the display of blending light.

“I should ask a question, shouldn’t I?” she asked the ball.

Light continued swirling in seemingly natural movements, apparently unimpressed.

“You don’t like ambiguous questions, do you? I should be more specific. Did my mother show me the book?”

No answer magically appeared, not by vision or changing color.

“Don’t like yes-and-no questions,” she mused. What else could be accomplished by a scrying ball? “Show me the moment.”

The center of the ball darkened, the colors growing murky. Slowly, a picture formed in dancing shadow and light—of her, cheeks a faint rose flame, her eyes flickering green.

Behind her stood a shadow, a figure peering over her shoulder, with long hair trailing downward as she bent.

Her mother. Cait had no doubt from the slender frame and the particular cant of her head. A pose she’d seen often as Lorene O’Connell bent over the kitchen counter while she cut vegetables or ground ingredients for a spell.

Cait held her breath as the figure whipped around, glided gracefully to the bookcase, and lifted a finger to curl over the spine and tip the book to the floor.

“Did you find any answers, Cait?”

Surprise ripped a gasp from her throat. She nearly dropped the ball, lowering it to her waist as she met Morin’s lazy smile. “You wanted me to charge it.”

“I didn’t ask you to. I merely mentioned I couldn’t watch.”

“Well, now you can.”

“No need to get snippy.” His mouth twisted in a rueful smile.

Cait walked back to the workbench and gently replaced the ball on its silver stand. No flames swirled, no colors other than its soft pink hues glinted back.

“Did you see her?”

Cait shot him a glance. “You know my mother’s here?”

A shoulder lifted in a shrug. “I’ve felt her presence. Smelled jasmine at times. She’s here.”

“Why here?” Irritation tightened her hands and she forced them to relax. “Why not with me?”

“I can’t answer that.”

Before she could stop herself, she vented her frustration. “Why doesn’t she show herself to me? I talk to strange ghosts, ones I never met in life. Why not her?”

“Perhaps that’s the question you should ask the ball.”

Cait shook back her hair. “Did you find the watch?”

He held out his hand. A man’s gold pocket watch sat in the center of his palm.

“Is it gold?”

“It’s valuable, yes.”

“A sacrifice?”

“For me. Not you.”

She picked up the watch and stared at the white mother-of-pearl face. The gold hands that clicked through the seconds. The ornate engravings of vines and grapes that surrounded the clock face. “Where did you get it?”

He shrugged. “I’ve forgotten, it’s been so long.”

Not for one second did she believe him, but she let it go. “How do I charge it? If I do it now, will the energy last?”

“Not here.” He shook his head, his dark hair waving against his cheeks. “Charge it once you’re in the hotel. Perhaps even in the elevator. No use letting any energy dissipate before you put it to work.”