Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Ranth rattled out ingredients in old languages. With some searches and descriptions, I narrowed it down to what we could use from the pantry: basil, bay leaves, cloves, and cumin, plus the forty-pound bag of rock salt. “Hey, can you help me with the salt—” I almost got the word “sack” out before…
Pop!
A portal had opened in the dining room. “Flipping foxgloves, not again!” Wrist spikes out, I peeked around the corner as two more Essifers poured out in a puff of pink smoke.
I raided the herb stash in the kitchen cabinets and hauled out braids of garlic, sage, garlic oil, mace, and a bag of elderflowers. Ranth crouched beside me as I draped a sage wreath around my neck. “Do you have syrup of dates?”
“Molasses? Brown rice syrup? Maple syrup?”
“I don’t know what those are, but you need to hurry.”
Blackstrap molasses was in the closest cupboard.
I twisted the top off and thrust it at him as the Essifers ambled into the kitchen.
Chanting or cursing in words I didn’t recognize, Ranth slowly poured a triangle of molasses around us as I opened a bag of maca root.
He had half a triangle drawn out when the Essifers closed in.
Ranth squatted, smearing brown goo into a solid line.
The Essifers stopped and looked around the kitchen as if we’d disappeared.
“What does this do?” I asked, but the demons locked on to my voice, moving closer. Ranth brought a finger to his lips. I pushed a piece of maca at him, making the motion of clamping it between his teeth, but he shook his head.
He held up his hand, signaling for me to stay put. Instead of wasting energy and time yelling at him, I dropped a garlic wreath over my head. Wielding the other wreath of garlic, he stood up and stepped out of the circle before I could stop him.
I crouched, ready to go planar, but waited to see what he was going to do first.
He stilled as the Essifers locked on to him.
They rushed forward. He raised his hand, and his arm shimmered and grew longer.
Green-gold layers of sigils rose up and rotated around his molasses smeared wrist and forearm.
With the sigil-swirling arm, he dropped the garlic wreath over the first Essifer.
The demon froze and dropped to the floor as if it had been made of ice.
Then with the same hand, Ranth ripped out the insides of the second one.
Ranth staggered back as the pink smoke dissipated, and he used the wall to hold himself up.
I stepped out of the triangle and bit down on the maca.
The whoosh of the change blurred my vision for a second.
I hit the Essifer frozen on the floor with a fuzzy silver energy ball.
The demon dissipated, leaving the sour scent of burned garlic behind.
Garlic was a protector, but it shouldn’t have a direct attack effect on demons. Ranth had stuff to tell me.
I slid on the molasses, spat out the maca, and helped Ranth to a kitchen chair. “These portals have to stop—now. What do we need to protect the house?” I asked, surveying the smeared triangle of smoking garlic and molasses. Clean-up was going to suck.
Ranth’s eyelids drooped. Right, he needed energy.
I ran to the fridge and pulled out protein bars and the jug of ginger-laced carrot juice I’d made before I went to Brenda’s.
I shakily poured a glass and returned to him.
He was looking better and sitting up, but there was a slowness to his movements that concerned me.
He rambled about protection herbs as he wolfed down the second bar. By the time he’d chewed the last bite, he was standing up.
“Happy you’re feeling better. How did you touch the demon? How do you make the green stuff, and what is Darseenee?”
The answers to the first one and second were illuminating. The power he funneled was enhanced by the gold of the bracelet. Because it was existing both elsewhere and this world, he could use it to connect with demons out of the plane. It also made the green leafy energy possible.
Searching the internet, I found the common names for archaic terms like the Darseenee, Baabooneh, and Jowz Booaa—which were cinnamon, chamomile, and nutmeg. About ten minutes later, I stared at the pile of herbs, eggshells, and salt on the kitchen table, suddenly seeing the connections.
“We’re making a salt pillar, right?”
He poured himself another glass of carrot juice. “An obelisk is a kind of pillar. You’ll need one in the center of the house to tie the wards together. Otherwise, the wards won’t hold back the Essifer.”
“And the spices blend with the herbs to do what?” I was already pulling out mixing bowls.
“We are grounding the house using all parts of the earth. Flower, nut, seed, gum, and bark.”
“Fruit and leaf. Gotcha. But if demons can portal in here, then why haven’t demons come in here before? You said Essifers are special, but you didn’t really explain it.” I scooped salt rocks out of the sack into the bowl.
“I did explain. Essifers are like hunting creatures controlled by their masters, the Derellers.”
“Why don’t the Derellers just come themselves?”
“It takes energy to come through the portal. Demons, as you may have realized, don’t like to lose energy. They want to gain it.”
“The Derellers use the Essifer as their minions, basically?”
“The Essifer are created from their energy, but it is finite. They have locked on to the energy of the gold. With the Dereller’s energy collectively driving them, it allows the smaller Essifers to wander places that other demons cannot access.”
I nodded. “But why do the Derellers want to kill you? Hand me the cinnamon sticks.”
He passed me the bag of rolled bark. “Not kill, but capture. They are likely being promised something they wish to have, by another entity who wants the gold I wear.”
“Entity? Another demon type?” I broke up the finger-sized sticks into smaller pieces and got up to get a knife and cutting board.
Ant mewed as she came into the kitchen.
“Hey there, fluffy-kins,” I said, bending over to pet her. She rubbed against my legs, and then I replenished her food and water. Ant began to eat, and I picked up the cutting board and knife.
“There are other world creatures who are not demons,” Ranth said.
I turned to him with the chef’s knife in hand. “Like?” My blood rushed to my ears.
“Immortals. Those who walk the other worlds.”
“Wait. There are other WORLDS, plural?” I sat heavily in the chair and set the knife down.
“Where do you think the demons come from?” He raised his eyebrows.
“A version of hell, which I assumed was another plane. Spirits are the only ones that go to another world, a final resting place. I didn’t think there was more than one.”
“You were wrong.”
His words sank in as I cut up the broken sticks. I was wrong—there were other worlds. Where did the Sisters of Luce come from? Another world.
“What would happen then if a mortal was taken to another world?” I mixed the cinnamon in with the salt.
“I don’t know. I’ve never been to one, but they would cease to exist here.”
“Then is it possible to world travel?”
“I believe so. It has been described, though I have never done it.”
I grated the whole nutmeg into a fragrant dust, the spices and herbs infusing the air with protection. “If my mother’s spirit was stolen, could she exist in another world?” The words seemed to slow, as if saying them changed something.
“Her spirit would naturally travel to the spirit world, but if it were imprisoned elsewhere, then yes.”
“And that could happen?”
“Entirely possible, in theory, but it’s not worth the risk to you. You need to stop thinking about that as an option. It is not an option.” His voice lowered.
“You can’t say that and don’t you dare tell me what I can’t do. It’s my mother, and I’d do anything to have her safe. Have her back with me.” I sat back, the anger flaring bright around me.
Ranth leaned over me, picking up some of the nutmeg, his musk blending with the spice. He sniffed his hand. “Your love for her drives you to consider dangerous choices. You must listen to your heart but not forget who you are.”
“And who is that?”
He rubbed the ground nutmeg between his fingers. “The daughter of her heart. She would not want you to follow her.”
I flicked my braid over my shoulder. “And how would you know what she wants?” I snapped as I began to grate again.
“Mothers want their children to be safe.” He caught my hand and raised the nutmeg I held to his nose.
My breath hitched as tingles arced up my arm.
His eyes held stars. “Your choices also matter to me. Our hearts beat together, so if yours ends, so do I.” His voice had faded to a whisper, stroking me in places only feelings can touch. The anger, the sadness, and the sweetness blended into a heart-piercing arrow.
He let go of my hand and picked a nutmeg out of the jar. “This spice is not as potent as it could be if it was fresher. We will need a little more.”
I began to grate more spice, but the fire he’d started had flared with his words. Now I couldn’t think of anything else.
He ran his fingers through the salt mixture. “To bind this, we should use Naaranj,” he said as if nothing had happened. But his skin touching mine jittered through me. I’d never had this kind of physical connection with a man I barely knew.
“You mentioned that before. Bitter orange, right? It’s okay.
I got this.” The movement back to the task was a welcome distraction.
I held up a gallon-sized baggie of Buddha’s hand peels.
“This etrog citron should work instead. But once we pour in the water, this is going to take awhile to dry.” I got up and picked up the bowl.
“We can fix that. Where is the center of the house?” he asked.
“Dining room,” I replied, walking through the kitchen door with the bowl. I spread out a towel and scooped out some of the syrupy salt, herb, spice, and water mixture onto it. Forming the base first, I built the obelisk out of the salt mixture. It smelled amazing, but it kept falling apart.
“The binder isn’t strong enough,” I said, waving at it.
Ant mewed from the door and circled in, brushing Ranth’s leg as she walked by.
“What do we do with this?” I asked, motioning to the fragrant mess on the towel.
“You spread it out on the floor without shaping it. We can do this together.”
I paused, considering him. This was what I’d always wanted. With a gush of excitement, I upended the rest of the bowl onto the floor. “Now what?” The salt mess was oozing out of the binder. I shoved the crumbling bits back up on top to keep it from spreading off the towel.
“Leave it and stand back. I can help you form it, but you’ll have to make the spell yourself since it’s your house.”
“And how do we do that?”
“May I connect with your skin?” He reached out a hand.
“What?” Now he was asking?
“Skin contact will help me show you how the spell works. Please, give me your hand?” His eyes were intense and focused on me.
“First, tell me what we are going to do. Exactly.” Anticipation bubbled like kombucha ferment as I played with my silver necklace. The memory of his touch painted all colors of danger. There was something between us, and touch made it manifest. I wasn’t ready, even if it seemed a simple sacrifice.
“You’re going to pretend you are setting a ward, but you are going to bind this ward to the obelisk that we will form while we do the spell. Then you will connect this ward to the other ones with salt lines.”
“I don’t see how that’s different. I’ve done that in the garden, and the portal still opened.”
“The garden is open to the sky, and you used a ward—a protection spell—not the binding we need.”
“Oh. Oh! Like binding a protection spell to the obelisk and amplifying it through the wards so it covers the house?” How could I have not thought of that? My moth wings flapped toward his bonfire of knowledge.
I held my arm out, and his fingers slid over my skin like silk.