shaking his head. “You’ve already taken everything I can give you. Expended a lot of it. Now you have to be the one to go to the source. The well, so to speak. Draw your own powers, my dear. Draw it from the ether. Wear it as a garment of your own making, not a borrowed cloak.”
“See?” she said, aiming a hard glare his way and crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s the problem. When you speak, poetry is natural. When I try, the words that come out are complete crap.”
“It’s not how pretty the words sound, Cait. It’s the depth of feeling, the energy your emotions give the incantation.” He waved a hand. “But you’re right. This spell is more than words. Because you’ll be defying time and death, you need something to focus the power, an object.”
Cait thought hard. “Like the bellows I used to suck the demon out of Leland?”
“Exactly. Any ideas?”
“This is all about time. About defying it. A watch?” She glanced at her wristwatch with its digital face. Definitely not the candidate. “Something old. With hands.”
“A pocket watch?”
She nodded and then sat back in her chair. Uncertainty edged her thoughts. What powers did she really have? She should have been practicing for this all her life. “Are we kidding ourselves that I can make this work?”
“How much do you love Sam?”
Cait held her breath against the instant tightening in her chest. A tightness that threatened to choke her. Just the mention of his name opened a new wound. “More than anything or anyone. Morin, if this doesn’t work…”
“No more ‘if.’ Doubt will leach away power, corrupt it. And pretty words and a pocket watch aren’t enough. An offering must be made. A proper tincture. Ceremony and pomp. This ritual is important, and you have the time to do this right. The Powers will demand a sacrifice, whether it’s tangible and bloody or simply measured in effort. This is the reason why the gods demand trials.”
“Like Psyche’s trial in the Underworld—”
“Hercules’s twelve labors.”
Naming what she had to do eased her mind. She smiled across the table. “Thanks. I was beginning to panic. Afraid there wasn’t a solution.”
He braced his arms on the table and leaned forward, his gaze intense. “But don’t go thinking that every time you lose something to death that you can drag it back.”
“I know.” She inhaled and let out her breath slowly. “I might have only one shot—if The Powers grant it.”
“They might extract a payment. Some future travail.”
From a distance, the sound of the kettle whistling called.
Morin’s head tilted toward the sound. “I’ll be right back. Be thinking of ingredients, ones that are relevant, symbolic.”
With a task to accomplish, the sense of panic disappeared. She nodded and pulled the lantern closer. The golden light flickered in the glass like it had in Sam’s eyes a moment before he’d faded away.
A movement at the corner of her eye had Cait glancing over her shoulder. But no one was there. “Hello?” she called out, thinking it was too soon for Morin to return.
She was tired and jumpy, that was all. She shook her head and bent over the old book, fingering the edges of its yellowed page.
A breeze, warm and scented with jasmine, brushed against her cheek. Instinctively, she leaned toward the scent. She closed her eyes, remembering her mother’s perfume. “Mama?” she whispered, then opened her eyes, but no figure appeared.
A thump sounded right behind her, and she jumped in her chair, pulse kicking up. Looking back over her shoulder, she spotted a book resting on the floor. Had the breeze dislodged it from the case? She hadn’t been careful replacing books as she’d taken them down, one at a time in her desperate search.
Sighing, she pushed up from the table and walked toward the book. The moment she reached down, the cover flew open, the pages flipped, sounding like the shuffling of a card deck, until one page stood straight up and fell.
“Right here. Hungry again? You only ever sound like that when you’re famished.” Morin stepped closer. “What is it?”
“Read this,” she said, shoving the book at his chest, her finger holding it open to the page.
Morin scanned the words, his features sharpening. He read it again, and when he glanced back up, he said, “That’s it.”
Cait grinned. A tiny kernel of hope bloomed deep inside. But she hesitated to give it a voice.
An answering smile stretched across his face. “I think it might work.”
“And you were right about that watch.”
He shook his head. “I must have read it at some point. Using it makes sense.” His eyes rounded. “Is there still time? The spell must be cast within twelve hours.”
She glanced at her digital watch, which had frozen on the time when she’d entered his shop. “We still have three hours left. I only need a few minutes. I can get back to the hotel and wind it back…”
Morin touched her shoulder, his fingers moving in a light caress. “You know it’s just a chance. Not a certainty.”
“That’s more than I had when I came here.” Feeling like a weight had lifted from her shoulders, she covered his hand with hers and squeezed. “Now, I have hope.”
“I’ll gather ingredients. Looks like we’ll be combining spells—”
“Layering them to make this work. No one size fits all.”
“Casting them will be complicated,” he warned, his gaze narrowed.
“I’m okay with that.”
“You’ll need a helper to make it back.”
“That’s going to be the tricky part. But I’ll worry about it after we’ve got all the parts prepared.” One step at a time.
Morin held still a moment. “I wish I could go with you.”
“If this works, we’ll know there’s hope for you too. We just need the right combination.” She emphasized her words, wanting her mentor to share in the new potential.
“The right sequencing.”
The painful knot that had lodged securely in her chest the moment she’d lost Sam in the fog eased.
A soft wistfulness crossed Morin’s face. “I’m glad I’m the one helping you, Cait. I’ve missed you.”
Cait gave him a faint smile, not ready to rush into his arms by any stretch of the imagination. Morin was still Morin. Flawed. Selfish. Clever.
“I’ll hold up my end of the bargain,” she murmured.
He winced. “I swear I wasn’t thinking about that. Not that I’m a huge fan of Sam Pierce. But I recognize how much you need him in your life. He gives you balance. Holds your feet to the ground.”
“Sam’s not up for discussion with you, Morin. I don’t mean to be rude, but you and I, we have a past.” She looked past his shoulder, her gaze focused on the wall of books. “I’m just not comfortable talking about him with you.”
“And Sam wouldn’t approve,” he murmured slowly, shaking his head. “He wasn’t too happy that mine was the first face he saw when I summoned him. Said he wondered if he’d landed in Hell.”
A smile tugged at one corner of her mouth. “Yeah, that sounds like him.”
“He couldn’t move fast enough getting to you. Forced me to shout my warnings about how long he had.”
“How did that spell work anyway? I didn’t know it could be done, bringing someone back to life.”
Morin shrugged. “You know that some cultures believe it’s possible for a soul to become corporeal for short periods of time. Usually shamans or witches casting to allow a spirit to walk for one day.”
