"What's the first?" I asked before I remembered I really didn't want to know.
"The death of self-will," she said, and my expression froze at the ugliness in how casually she said it. "Letting me escape, knowing how to be my own familiar, was a mistake," she said. "Al would kill me if he could to cover it up."
"He can't?" I said, suddenly frightened that the demon might try.
Ceri shrugged. "Maybe. But I have my soul, black as it is. That's what's important."
"I suppose." I didn't understand her cavalier attitude, but I hadn't been Al's familiar for a millennium. "I don't want a familiar," I said, glad Nick was so distant he couldn't feel any of this. I was sure if he was close enough, he would've called to make sure I was okay. I think.
"You're doing well." Ceri sipped her tea and glanced at the dark windows. "Al told me it took me three months to get to where you are now."
I looked at her, shocked. There was no way I could be better than her. "You're kidding."
"I was fighting him," she said. "I didn't want to learn, and he had to force me into it, using the absence of pain as a positive reinforcement."
"You were in pain for three months?" I said, horrified.
Her eyes were on her thin hands, laced about her teacup. "I don't remember it. It was a long time ago. I do remember sitting at his feet every night, his hand soft on my head while he relaxed as he listened to me cry for the sky and trees."
Imagining this beautiful wisp of a woman at Algaliarept's feet suffering his touch was almost too much to bear. "I'm sorry, Ceri," I whispered.
She jerked, as if only now realizing she had said it aloud. "Don't let him take you," she said, her wide eyes serious and solemn. "He liked me, and though he used me as they all use their familiars, he did like me. I was a coveted jewel in his belt, and he treated me well so I would be useful and at his side for a longer time. You, though…" Her head bowed, breaking our eye contact and pulling her braid over her shoulder. "He will torment you so hard and so fast that you won't have time to breathe. Don't let him take you."
I swallowed, feeling cold. "I wasn't planning on it."
Her narrow chin trembled. "You misunderstand. If he comes for you and you can't fight him off, make him so angry that he kills you."
Her sincerity struck me to the core. "He's not going to give up, is he?" I said.
"No. He needs a familiar to keep his standing. He won't give up on you unless he finds someone better. Al is greedy and impatient. He'll take the best he can find."
"So all this practice is making me a more attractive target?" I said, feeling sick.
Ceri squinted apologetically. "You need it to keep him from simply stunning you with a massive dose of ley line force and dragging you into a line."
I gazed at the darkening windows. "Damn," I whispered, not having considered that.
"But being your own familiar will help in your profession," Ceri said persuasively. "You'll have the strength of a familiar without the liabilities."
"I suppose." I set my mug aside, gaze unfocused. It was getting dark, and I knew she wanted to be home before the sun set. "Do you want me to try it alone?" I prompted hesitantly.
Her attention flicked to my hands. "I'd advise a small rest. You're still shaking."
I looked at my fingers, embarrassed that she was right. Curling them into a fist, I gave her a sheepish smile. She took a sip of her tea—clearly willing herself to be patient when I had no control over the situation—and I jumped when she whispered, "Consimilis calefacio."
She had done something; I had felt a drop in the line, even though I wasn't connected to it. Sure enough her gaze meeting mine was bright in amusement. "You felt that?" she said around a beautiful laugh. "You're getting very attached to your line, Rachel Mariana Morgan. It belongs to the whole street, even if it is in your backyard."
"What did you do?" I asked, not wanting to delve into what she had meant by that. She held her cup up in explanation, and my smile grew. "You warmed it up," I said, and she bobbed her head. Slowly my smile faded. "That's not a black charm, is it?"
Ceri's face lost its expression. "No. It's common ley line magic that acts on water. I will not add to the smut on my soul, Rachel. I'll be hard pressed to get rid of it as it is."
"But Al used it on David. It almost cooked him," I asserted, feeling sick. People were mostly water. Heat that up and you could cook them from the inside. God, I was sick for even thinking of it.
"No," she reassured me. "It was different. This one works only on things without auras. The curse strong enough to break through an aura is black and needs a drop of demon blood to twist. The reason David survived was because Al was drawing on a line through you, and he knew you couldn't handle the lethal amount—yet."
I thought about that for a moment. If it wasn't black, there was no harm in it. And being able to warm up my coffee without the microwave would blow Ivy away. "Is it hard to do?"
Ceri's smile blossomed. "I'll walk you through it. Give me a moment; I have to remember how to do it the long way," she said, extending her hand for my mug.
Oh, gotta slow to the witch's pace, I thought, leaning forward and handing it to her. But seeing as it was most likely the charm she used three times a day to cook Al's meals, she could probably do it in her sleep.
"It's sympathetic magic," she explained. "There's a poem to help remember the gestures, but the only two words you have to say are Latin. And it needs a focal object to direct the magic where to go," she explained, and took a sip of my cold coffee, making a face. "This is swill," she muttered, her words awkward as she spoke around the drop on her tongue. "Barbaric."
"It's better when it's hot," I protested, not having known you could hold a focal object in your mouth and still have it be effective. She could do the spell without it, but then she would have to throw the spell at my cup. This was easier, and less likely to spill my coffee, too.
Her face still showing her distaste, she raised her thin, expressive hands. "From candles burn and planet's spin," she said, and I moved my fingers, mimicking her gesture—I suppose if you used your imagination, it kind of looked like lighting a candle, though how her suddenly dropping hand related to spinning planets was beyond me. "Friction is how it ends and begins."
I jumped when she brought her hands together to make a loud pop, simultaneously saying, "Consimilis."
Similar, I thought, thinking it might be a catch phrase for sympathetic magic. And the pop might be an audible show of air molecules undergoing friction. In sympathetic magic, it didn't matter how nebulous the relationship was as long as it was real.
"Cold to hot, harness within," she continued, making another unfamiliar gesture, but I recognized the next finger movement from when I used a ley line charm to break the Howlers' bat in practice. Perhaps it was the motion that tapped into the focal object for direction. Huh. Maybe there was some sense to this ley line stuff after all.
"Calefacio!" she said happily, invoking the charm and setting it all into motion.
I felt a mild drop through me as the charm pulled energy from the line to excite the water molecules in the cup, warming the coffee. "Wow," I breathed when she handed me back my mug, softly steaming. "Thanks."
"You're welcome," she said. "You have to regulate the ending temperature yourself by how much line energy you put into it."
"The more energy, the hotter it gets?" I took a careful sip, deciding it was perfect. It must have taken her years to gain this much proficiency.