Chapter 11
You know, most of my family’s buried here,” Miles mentioned conversationally as he helped Gabriel unload supplies from the trunk of Charlee’s car.
They’d parked underneath a tree bordering the Thistle Cemetery gate, deep shadows cloaking the vehicle from potential passersby.
“Because we’re normal people who don’t have a private graveyard out back. ”
“I must have missed the part where I had any say in that.” Gabriel pulled out the bag Charlee had brought back from Nadia’s shop. It was comically cheerful, covered in colorful little cartoon cats wearing absurd hats. No one would ever guess its gruesome contents.
“I just wanted to remind you how weird it is.”
“At least I won’t have to compete for a spot with the rest of Thistle’s dead if your premonition comes true. Perhaps I should pick one out and let Edmund know, just in case.”
Jesus. “Wow, that’s… disturbingly morbid.”
“We’re breaking into a cemetery to summon a ghost because we’ve seen each other die in various grisly fashions. I’m simply embracing the theme.”
“Someone’s cheerful tonight,” Charlee muttered. She nudged Miles out of the way to dig into her trunk.
“I wasn’t aware you even knew what cheer was,” Gabriel snipped.
Charlee pulled a battered shovel from the depths of her car. Miles was worried she was going to whack Gabriel over the head with it, but she just gave it a considering look, then slung it over her shoulder.
“We’re not digging anything up,” Miles told her.
She gave him an incredulous look and slammed her trunk closed. “Never go into a cemetery without a shovel.”
The groundskeepers might have something to say about that.
A tinkling bell rang out, and Emily emerged from the darkness on her purple bike. “Hey! Am I late?” She hopped off and leaned it against the trunk of the tree, adjusting her backpack. She’d taken the stealth factor of tonight very seriously, dressing head to toe in dark colors.
Charlee handed her a camping lantern. “Just in time to help us haul everything over.”
“Thanks again for coming,” Miles said. “You didn’t have to.”
“I’d never miss all the excitement.”
They trekked through the creaking gate into the dark cemetery, leaving the glow of the streetlights behind.
It smelled like freshly mown grass, neat lines running between the graves to guide their path.
Sightless eyes of looming angels and more than one Virgin Mary watched them as they passed, pale stone turning silvery in the moonlight.
Miles shivered as the midnight wind picked up, rustling dried flowers and faded wreaths placed among the headstones.
They didn’t have to walk far, only until they found a tombstone wide enough to set up the ritual on. Emily put her lantern down, illuminating the engraving. Miles hoped Travis Carroll didn’t mind his marker being used as a table.
They unpacked, bags crinkling and glass bottles clinking as a foggy mist crawled its way through the graves.
Between that and the plummeting temperature, Miles was starting to wish he’d listened when Gabriel had protested doing the summoning ritual here.
It was the safest choice—they didn’t know where Jocelyn’s body was, so they might as well hedge their bets by picking the place with the highest dead-body-to-square-foot ratio in Thistle—but he was seriously regretting the added creep factor now.
Once all the supplies were lined up with the few stems of wolfsbane left in Miles’s mom’s garden, he dug the containment box out of his backpack.
When he opened it, Emily’s whole face scrunched. “What is that?”
“The grimoire.” He removed it gingerly. “Sorry, I should’ve given you a heads up. It’s pretty nasty.”
The first time he’d shown Charlee, she’d nearly thrown herself out of his room in her haste to put distance between herself and the book. It repelled everyone it came into contact with—except Gabriel.
“That’s an understatement.” Emily leaned in for a closer look, visibly torn between disgust and curiosity.
Miles passed the empty box to Charlee—her job was grimoire containment duty if things started to go wrong. He hated the idea of her touching it, but she’d insisted she wasn’t scared of the musty old thing. She had something to prove after it’d spooked her so badly.
When Gabriel held out his hand, Miles shook his head. “I’m going to read it.”
“We agreed it would be me.”
Unless Miles had blacked out, they absolutely had not agreed that. “It affects you worse than anyone else. The last thing—”
“I’m the one who’s already cursed.” Gabriel grabbed for the grimoire, and Miles dodged, nearly slipping in the damn grass.
“You for sure getting messed up versus me possibly dealing with magical repercussions… I know which is less of a risk.”
Gabriel glowered. “You’re delusional. Hand it over, or I’ll leave right now.”
Please. Like Miles was gullible enough to believe that.
“Holy shit,” Charlee griped, zipping her jacket to her chin with a sharp yank. “Give it to him, Miles. This was his idea. He can deal with whatever happens.”
This only made Miles more certain he was right. She didn’t understand what the grimoire did to Gabriel. If there was a repeat of what had happened in the tunnels, Miles wasn’t sure he could save him again.
“I don’t know…” Emily twisted the end of her chestnut-brown ponytail. “Miles has a point. If it’s less of a risk for him, he should do it.”
That earned her the ultimate dirty look from Gabriel. “No one asked you.”
“She’s right. Plus, I’m the experienced one,” Miles pointed out. “All sorts of things can go wrong during your first ritual.”
“Miles.” Gabriel caught his gaze, hooking him and refusing to let go. “We both know if this goes badly, the magic is going to come for me, no matter who reads from the grimoire. I need you free of distractions if that happens.”
He didn’t say it, but Miles could see it in his eyes. You promised you’d have my back. Prove it.
“Fine,” he caved. “But be careful.”
“I will.”
Gabriel took the grimoire, flipping a few pages in as Emily lifted the camping lantern for him. Where the light caught Gabriel’s hair, it gleamed like a crow’s wing.
Heed My Call
Spell to summon living or dead, spirit or flesh
Offerings:
– Sap from the manchineel tree
– Queen of poisons (fresh)
– Baby teeth of a firstborn son
– Nails from a tainted coffin
– Bone of a black cat
Lay the offerings before you on a piece of linen. Add parchment written with the name of the intended. Wet offerings with the blood of the summoner. Gather into a bundle and tie linen closed with twine. Burn until extinguished.
Best performed at witching hour on nights of a waxing moon.
The things this ritual required were so far from what Miles typically used. It was grotesque.
He scanned the inky sky. The witching hour wasn’t for a while still, but they had the waxing moon for a little extra oomph.
“What’s the best way to approach the blood step of the ritual?” Gabriel asked, then reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a knife.
“Jesus!” Miles’s heart leaped into his throat. “What the hell are you doing carrying that around in your pocket? You could’ve stabbed yourself.”
“I’m not an imbecile.” It was a small kitchen knife, the kind chefs in Miles’s mom’s favorite cooking shows always used to peel apples. “The ritual needs blood and I didn’t want to cut myself open on anything we’d find at a filthy cemetery.”
“Because a filthy kitchen knife is better?”
“Obviously I cleaned it first.” Gabriel had the gall to sound exasperated. “Tell me how to do this. Should I simply—?” He swung the knife down towards the palm of his hand.
Miles caught his wrist. “What did I tell you about not believing things you see in movies? If you slice your hand open, it’s going to hurt like hell and take forever to heal.”
Charlee muttered something that sounded suspiciously close to “Amateur.”
Ignoring her, Miles explained, “Cut the back of your arm and keep it shallow.”
“How much?” Emily interrupted.
“What?”
“How much blood does it need?”
“Uh, it doesn’t say. Enough to… mix in, probably.”
“Then how about we put the knife down?” She passed Miles the lantern and swung her pink canvas backpack off, crouching to dig through it. “Give me a second.”
Gabriel got the rest of the ritual ready, laying out a piece of linen cloth.
In the center of it, he laid the wolfsbane, three rusty coffin nails, two yellowed bones, and a couple of baby teeth shaken from a grimy jar.
Nadia had assured Charlee that most of these ingredients were fairly common for darker rituals, but it still skeeved Miles out.
Gabriel held up the glass bottle of manchineel sap. “Should I pour it on?”
“I guess so.”
It dripped out thick and viscous, honey slow.
In the damp grass, a stickered blue water bottle, creased soccer jersey, and a brush piled around Emily. “Found it!” she announced, holding up a zipped pouch.
“What is it?”
“My sewing kit. One of my electives is fashion design, so I’ve become the designated torn-jersey mender.” After digging through the pouch, she triumphantly held up a slender silver needle. “Perfect. Give me your hand.”
Gabriel grimaced. “Don’t tell me you’re going to stab me with that.”
“You were about to slice yourself open with a knife, but a little needle is too much? I’ll only poke you. A few drops of blood should be fine.”
Gabriel reluctantly held out his hand, flinching when she jabbed the tip of his pinky. A bright red bead of blood immediately welled up.
“So nasty,” Miles muttered as Gabriel applied pressure, dripping crimson onto the cluster of offerings.
“Disgusting,” Charlee agreed, not sounding remotely bothered.
Blood added, Gabriel gathered the corners of the linen, bundling everything in a little sack. He clumsily tied it off with a piece of twine, then grabbed the lighter.
The linen caught easily, the fire hungry as it devoured the thin cloth. Gabriel set it down, snatching his fingers away to watch the flames burn blue, then a deep purplish red.