My somber moment was shattered as Eris said cheerfully, “All right. Let’s get this party started.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Nana sat on the couch that Lance wasn’t sitting on. I joined her. Zhan moved a dining room chair to the front door.
Eris patted the table top. “Off with your shirt and lie down.”
Johnny pulled the black long-sleeved tee over his head and dropped it aside. My appreciation had to show. Johnny had ripples and bulges of muscle in all the places that screamed of strength and sex appeal. For all the beauty in the art that graced his skin—and I took a moment to acknowledge the artistic talent my mother possessed—these lines and curves and colors also condemned his flesh to the magic bound within.
We were here to liberate him from that sentence.
Eris whistled approval. “You sure grew into those,” she said. “I hoped you wouldn’t grow up to be a scrawny fella.” She moved close to him, inspecting her work.
I bristled, but bit my tongue lest I say something stupid.
“Turn around.”
Johnny revealed his back.
“Lord and Lady,” Nana breathed. The red foo dog and black dragon tattoos were as intricate as any I’d ever seen.
Eris’s finger traced the curved spine of the black dragon. “The colors have remained bright. Good. Good.”
My jaw clenched. If I didn’t grind my teeth together I would have shouted for her to keep her hands off my boyfriend. That would have been stupid. She had to touch him to undo this. It was just that she seemed to be appraising him with a regard that wasn’t entirely professional.
“On the table,” she said. “Head here.” She indicated the end of the table closest to the TV as she twisted the blinds shut on all the windows in the long room.
“Why?” he asked.
“This is north.” With the room dimmed, she cranked the thermostat, then grabbed a remote from beside the entertainment center and powered up the sound system around the big HD set. Mystical harmonies over drum circle rhythms flowed into our ears. She took the box of supplies and unpacked it all underneath the table, keeping the stones together, candles together, and so on. She returned to her “woogie room” and carried out a thatch broom on a birch staff.
Johnny didn’t lie down on the table. He crossed his arms and said, “Earlier you claimed you couldn’t do this.”
“Impulsive magic isn’t always the best.”
“But you are going ahead with it.”
“I lied. You called my bluff and said you weren’t leaving until I fixed this.” She shrugged. “We can do this another time if you’re getting cold feet.”
“No. I just want you to look me in the eye and tell me you can do this.”
She didn’t hesitate. “I can do this and I want to do this.”
Johnny lay down on the table.
Eris placed the broom on the floor, and proceeded to cleanse the space with earth, air, fire, and water. “Ground and center yourself,” she said to Johnny, with a light touch on his shoulder. “The rest of you observing should ground and center also.”
We all took cleansing breaths and did as told.
Eris took longer to do this than the rest of us, but that was probably because we were watching her. Stop being snide, I chided myself. Focus on positive things. She’s probably taking extra time to be assured she is calm. This is a significant ritual, and calmness is essential.
She had scattered salt across the floor as part of the earth cleansing, but now she made a wide circle of salt encompassing the table and all of the carpet.
“I cast this circle round,
and conjure this sacred space.
Between the worlds are we,
safe in this curved embrace.
Here, magic is potent,
in a realm of day and night.
Here, raised power’s contained
where birth and death unite.
Here, magic is possible.
Here, magic is possible.”
She lit a tea light candle and bent down to place it on the eastern edge of her salt circle.
“This circle must not be broken until I am done. And no one should interrupt a spell in progress.” With that, Eris faced east and held her arms wide open in welcoming. “Watchtower guardians of the east! You are hereby summoned! Stir as I beckon to you. Come to me. Witness this rite. Protect this sacred space.” She placed an incense burner, dragonfly charms, and feathers with a tea light candle at the inner edge of the circle.
She continued, calling on all the watchtowers in order. At each compass point she placed a candle and a representation of the correlating element. For fire she used a fist-size chunk of tiger iron, cinnamon sticks, and a round red candle. For water, she opened a glass bottle of water and placed a dolphin carved of aquamarine. For earth she sat out a bowl of salt, chestnuts, and colorful dried leaves and dried wheat tied together with a brown ribbon.
“Frigg, Queen of the Aesir, wife of Odin the shape-shifter, look down from Asgard, where you sit before your wheel in Fensalir spinning golden thread.” Her arms slowly lifted as she spoke. “Don your lovely cloak of falcon feathers, transform and fly your inspiration to me. Though you will tell no fortunes, you peer into the universe, you know the fates of men. You know what I must do.” She took a deep breath. “Come to me, attended by your creative maidens, and fill me. Guide me! Steer me truly, that the destiny your golden threads weave may be served by my actions.”
I now understood why Great El’s slate had given me her name in runes. She connected to the Norse pantheon. It indicated a severing of ties to the blood affinity her family had for the Greek pantheon, but a witch should answer the call of what pantheon calls to her, as that is the root of the spiritual connection.
Eris lowered her arms but kept her palms above Johnny’s body, over his chest and bellybutton.
My attention flicked down to the items collected beneath the table, settling on the black-handled dagger I’d packed for her. I should be in there with him. She could cut me a door and let me in… . No. I will give her my trust in this.
“I now initiate the undoing of what was done before. What these hands once instated in magic upon this man, will now be rescinded. What captivity I cursed him with, I now release him from. What chains of confinement I placed upon him, I will now break.”
Arms at her sides, her shoulders bunched just a little. Her fingers splayed, clawlike. It was very much the same pose the fairy Fax Torris had used to call and control her superheated beam of light.
“Answer my call … come to me … I draw you up, up from below. Power! Fill my circle. Seal my circle.”
With the first gentle wave of energy, her hair lifted on the current. The second wave surged up before the first had ebbed, and as it tossed her hair around like thousands of snapping whips, sparks crackled from the tips.
This was ley line energy. This was sorcery.
Nana had taught me that sorcery was to be undertaken only as a “last resort,” something to be used when immediacy demanded it. Right now, I could agree that Johnny’s need was urgent.
But.
The power of the ley, the power of sorcery, was, as Nana would say, “like a bull in a china shop.” It was eager, mobile, and brutish. It required strength of will to hold it, contain and control it.
I’d touched ley magic. I’d felt its sting at the first burning bite of contact. It was meant to protect, to keep the weak from tapping the line. I used a drop of that energy to power my house wards. That “drop” could numb my whole arm instantaneously. If more than a drop was being used—like it was here before us—the sensation faded too quickly into a euphoria that could render an unprepared or unlearned sorceress unconscious, either releasing that power unchecked, or leaving her helpless as it consumed her.