Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
Addy had put me on mid-shift the following day, so I spent the rest of the evening and into the wee hours of the morning researching the ritual Tiegan had given me.
If I figured this out, maybe I could figure out what the hell had happened when Beckett was attacking me.
I’d never seen magic that color from anyone.
And the word I’d uttered—Ardere—confused the hell out of me.
I knew some Latin, but I’d never used that word in any of my spells, nor had I ever made anyone’s skin bubble and slough off.
Whatever that magic was, it saved my life. As disturbing as the power might be, I couldn’t look a gift horse like that in the mouth.
At first glance, everything in the ritual seemed almost laughably simplistic. I had all the herbs involved and the magnetic chalk required to draw the necessary circle. The blood needed for the test was easy enough to get since it belonged to me—but one big thing gave me pause.
For this particular spell, angelic or demon blood was required to set the circle. This confirmed that the theory that angels and demons might be the same or very similar held serious water. If both could be used to set the circle for an angelic ritual, that made my job fifty percent easier.
Well, in theory. I couldn’t very well walk up to either one and ask them for a vial of O-positive.
And this was not something I kept in my apothecary.
While I was well stocked in the gray and occasionally black areas of magic, I didn’t make a habit of keeping things that would one hundred percent get me killed.
Only a fool or an extremely dangerous supernatural above the law kept things like those. I specialized more in poisonous herbs and rare creatures used for potion ingredients, and I had the skill to create potions most witches wouldn’t dare touch.
This spell was only out of my wheelhouse because of the lack of blood supply, and I was very aware that if I wanted a good, reliable source, I’d have to pay out the wazoo.
Going to the dark web and trying to source there was dangerous.
You never knew when you’d get a dubious seller trying to pass off shifter blood as angel blood, and you would only find out when your ass blew up inside the circle.
Far too risky. I’d have to make some quiet inquiries using the small net of contacts I’d made during my years running the apothecary.
For now, though, I could get everything ready, including drawing the required circle. This spell required a modified version of the permanent one on my floor, and I wasn’t going to risk damaging mine by performing unfamiliar magic inside.
I had a large open area in the basement with a cement floor where I practiced drawing circles and glyphs.
I never went into new magic without practicing drawing the symbols until they were perfect.
This particular one was a lot different from the cord-cutting ceremony, so I’d need at least a week of practice before I felt confident enough to make one for the ritual.
It’d take me far longer to source the blood, so I had plenty of time to get it right before moving forward.
Once I double-checked I had all the herbs I needed, I swept the floor well and dug out my chalk. With Tiegan’s email pulled up on my laptop, I got down on my hands and knees and slowly recreated the circle.
As I worked, a feeling triggered inside me, a flash of recognition or a deep-seated knowing, and the chalk flowed easily as my fingers sketched the sharp curves and lines of the circle.
My breath evened out, and all the stress I’d been under the last few days fell away.
Even the ache in my forearm faded to a dull throb as I worked.
When I connected the last sigil to the edge of the circle and stepped outside to inspect my work, I sucked in a sharp breath.
My circle work was perfect.
No crooked lines, no dips or hills in the sigils, no hesitation in any of the lines I’d made. A chill ran down my spine. My mouth went dry as I went to my knees, fingers perched at the edge of the circle.
I’d been doing circle work since I was a child, learning at my mother’s knee, but my skills had always been acceptable at best. I could make a circle with sigils for use in herbcraft and use it with no issues.
I’d modified a normal circle to use for the angelic cord-cutting ceremony because Mom told me I wouldn’t be able to make a proper angelic one.
And yet here I stood, staring at impeccable circle work.
Angelic circle work.
Disturbed, I picked up the spray bottle and washed the circle away, scrubbing at the marks with my good arm.
When I finished and the floor was dry, I picked up the chalk once more.
That was a fluke. Nothing more.
Three circles later, and I was close to having a nervous breakdown. I couldn’t call Mom and tell her, even though she would have known what to do. Blaze and I hadn’t switched numbers, not that I could trust her either.
Tiegan was still an unknown.
“Shit,” I breathed, staring at the perfectly drawn circle on the floor. Every line was sharp and ruler straight. Every circle was perfectly formed, not a wiggle or squiggle to be found. The thing looked like it could be on the cover of Witches Monthly.
And that was worrisome.
I scrubbed the circle away once more and went to the bookshelf, pulling out an old text Mom had given me full of different witch circles. I chose one I’d never done before and started drawing.
Half an hour later, I wanted to cry. The thing looked like a toddler had gotten ahold of my chalk and gone to town on my floor.
Deeply unnerved, I scrubbed the circle away and put away both my chalk and my book.
I printed out Tiegan’s ritual and tucked the copy into the desk drawer.
My brain was working overtime as I tried to figure out why I was so adept at that particular circle and not the ones I’d been drawing all my life.
I had no angelic or demonic texts to flip through to find the answers I needed as to why I could draw those so easily, and those kind of books weren’t exactly easy to find for a normal witch. But I wasn’t normal. Not exactly.
I pulled my laptop over and messaged Cat, the woman who handled my couriers for the apothecary. We weren’t friends—hell, we were barely acquaintances—but Cat knew the dark side of the web probably better than I did. She’d know where to start.
I was just about to shut everything down when a message came through from Cat.
She’d attached a link in the email and told me exactly what to offer for the books I needed, cautioning me to use a fake name and address. She provided a P.O. box about ten miles away and told me to use the name Simian Niles.
Then she did something I never expected. She asked me to get lunch with her.
My fingers hovered over the keys as I thought of a response, but I couldn’t bring myself to type a message back to her. Telling her no outright seemed rude, especially given what she’d just helped me with, but no was always my initial kneejerk response.
Maybe I should try something else.
Maybe I should open the door just a crack and see what was out there.
I’d love to get a late lunch sometime. How about Saturday?
I hit send and closed my laptop, my heart pounding against my ribs. Gods, why was I so weird about shit like this? It was lunch. We weren’t suddenly going to be besties who braided each other’s hair.
I’d just blown out the kerosene lamps when my phone dinged.
Cat had responded. With shaking fingers, I opened the message.
I’m in! Two p.m. at Strikers?
Good choice for lunch. Strikers had the best burgers in town and catered to the supernatural population. Their milkshakes were to die for, and it was also located in a busy spot downtown. Even Beckett wouldn’t dare strike there.
If I were going to meet my silent partner, Strikers was the perfect choice.
I sent her back a quick note telling her I’d be there, then turned out the lights in the basement and trudged upstairs.
But as I shut the door behind me, I realized I wasn’t nervous so much as filled with anticipation.
I’d done something completely out of the norm, and I was looking forward to lunch. Cat and I didn’t know much about each other, but I’d always admired her knowledge and how smoothly she helped me handle the shipping portion of my apothecary.
We’d met online and had hit it off right away, but neither of us was too willing to share much information about ourselves.
Why would we when were both involved in illegal magic?
We both had the opportunity to get the other into a shitload of trouble, Cat more so than me because she had my actual home address, whereas she was a random and ever-changing IP number, almost impossible to pin down.
But she hadn’t given me up. And wasn’t that a beautiful way to start a new friendship?