I held the list out to her. “Get your supplies.”
As Eris moved about the room, opening the plywood cabinets, I took note of how organized she was. She collected the candles first, grouped them in a Baggie, then gathered the various stones.
Zhan drew my attention as she stepped up behind me and whispered, “All clear.” I nodded and Zhan took a seat at the table facing the door.
When I turned back, my mother was holding a blade, unsheathed.
She wasn’t threatening me with it, merely inspecting the naked blade. It was tarnished; real silver. She put it back and brought out another, checked it. Gleaming stainless steel with a black handle. Nodding to herself, she placed it with the other items.
In that moment I realized that if she’d meant me harm, she had weapons in this room to do so. If she’d meant Johnny harm she could have used the silver blade in the ritual.
I wondered what I would have done if deep desperation claimed me and left me with one chance to make a new life for myself … and all I had to do was ruin the life of one other person.
I’d staked Menessos in desperation. It didn’t just ruin his life, it robbed him of it. The whole thing had been his idea. He had willingly submitted to it. Still, I’d felt plenty guilty over it.
And here was the one chance for my mother to absolve herself of her guilt. As an extra bonus, in doing so, she could prove her good intentions and try to gain a place in my life.
We were different enough that the places where we drew the line and declared our limits were miles apart … but we were alike in other ways. In her place, wouldn’t I do everything I could to fix this mess?
I thought of Amenemhab. Sometimes only forgiveness will do.
I swallowed. Maybe.
Where to begin. Baby step. “Can I help?” I asked.
Her surprise was evident, but it changed into a warm smile meant for me, the one that as a child I’d tried so hard to earn. “I’d like that.” She pointed to a box. “You can put this stuff in there.”
I began filling the box.
She brought out the herbs. Some were already ground and some were in bulk form. She hefted a marble mortar and pestle to the table and ground the cinnamon and rosemary together. “Are you going to do this in one of the tattoo rooms?”
“I’d rather do it up here. I have an old massage therapist’s table. We can move the furniture out of the way and have more room, and ensured privacy. Some of the artists have keys to the shop.”
Once she was satisfied with the herb blend, she drew an equal-armed cross in the air over it, murmuring. Next, she dumped the mixture into a snack-size plastic bag and labeled it before passing it to me. She wiped out the mortar and combined the eucalyptus and myrrh next. I labeled the next Baggie while she worked.
“I often wondered if Nana taught you magic like she taught me,” she said, her voice a little thick. “When I saw you on the news I knew she had. I am so proud of you.” She seemed quite calm, immersed in the grinding of herbs.
“Most mothers wouldn’t be.”
“Well, we both know I’m not like most.” Those syllables were laced with guilt. “But an Erus Veneficus … vampires don’t want a lightweight. You have to be powerful to gain their consideration, and a Quarter Lord is even more demanding. It’s no light honor.”
“WEC considers it selling out.”
“Of course they do.” She repeated the gesture, murmuring over the mortar’s contents, then emptied them into the plastic pouch I’d prepared, and took up the cloth to wipe it out for the next batch. “They have to stigmatize it. They’re losing their best and brightest to a more glamorous world.”
My heart was warming. What child doesn’t want to hear that her parent thinks she’s among the best and brightest?
After sealing and labeling the third Baggie, I said, “WEC is trying to update the image of the covens. Giving favor to the telegenic priestesses with marketing skills, appointing approved witches to the position of ‘spokeswoman’ in places of high media coverage.”
“Doesn’t surprise me at all.” She was now pulverizing dried basil leaves and allspice.
“Do you belong to a coven?”
“No. Not in a long, long time. I prefer being a solitary.”
Another thing in the “alike” column.
I thought back to the night the slate had given me the name Arcanum. It could have simply given me the name, but instead it gave me a reading, one that I now saw was an explanation. Nana had defined the problem: Someone wanted what was best for them and all my plans had to change. True. She left me and my childhood was nothing like normal. Factors: Poor judgment and chance encounters. True again, according to her account of the events. Advice: Think twice before taking action and masculine forces. Okay. I’m trying. Result: My take on it was “a spiritual, emotional, or material need.” Nana’s version was to “seek good advice.” I’ve talked to Amenemhab, but I don’t know if I can forgive her. She still hasn’t said she’s sorry or asked me to forgive her. All I can do is give her the chance to absolve herself.
By the time we had all the items gathered and moved into the living room, Zhan conveyed utter boredom.
“I’m going to get that table,” Eris said, stepping out of sight.
Zhan gave me a single nod to indicate that was okay. “No way out back there.”
I retrieved the satellite phone out of the inner pocket of my borrowed jacket, hit the speed dial I’d assigned Johnny, and asked him to double-check the front door lock, turn out the lights in the shop, and join us upstairs. In moments Eris returned as Lance and the wæres clamored up the metal stairs and came in. Johnny entered last, trailing Nana. I gave him a grateful nod; he knew she wasn’t as steady on the stairs anymore.
After sharing the room-rearranging plan, the wæres moved everything in minutes. “You should go home,” I said to the artist.
Lance shook his head. “I’m not leaving. Without her, AIE would fall apart.”
“Then sit over there.” Johnny pointed to the far corner of the couch. “Be silent and stay out of the way.” The couches were now both tucked against the wall with the short side of the rustic coffee table separating them.
Eris moved the area rug to be centered in the open space, then placed her folded massage table and set it up. “The other wæres will have to leave soon,” she said.
Johnny gave Todd and Kirk the go ahead. Kirk clasped Johnny’s forearm. He said, “As agreed,” then asked Zhan, “I didn’t get a good view of your pistol. You packin’ a ladies’ .28, or was that a .38 you put to my head?”
“It’s a .44.”
“Oooo. That really kicks.”
“Three hundred and ten foot-pounds of energy.”
He regarded her appreciatively, then pointed at Johnny. “You know your stuff, China Girl. It’d be a shame to kill you, but if anything happens to him … you won’t see me when I come for you.”
“The Domn Lup’s not my charge.”
“Consider it a mandate. I carried your master to dark safety twice in one morning. You owe me this.”
“Tell me, Wolfman Wang, are you saying you’re a team player?”
Kirk glanced in my direction, then back to Zhan. “If my Domn Lup wishes, it is so. Can you say the same?”
“I can,” she said with conviction.
Kirk gave Zhan a wink and exited.
Johnny and I shared a look that was multifaceted in its understanding. We’d both been shown the loyalty of our people. They’d confirmed that they could extend that allegiance to others; no light commitment considering how the various “nonsters” disliked and distrusted each other. Knowing their trust in us could bridge that rift felt good, if terribly heavy. Good, because there was unending hope in that. And terribly heavy because too many good people had already died.
Watching Zhan, I repeated a silent prayer to Hecate that such loyalty wasn’t rewarded with death.