The Witch with No Name

No you aren’t, I thought, but was smart enough not to say it. Damn it all to the Turn and back, people were crap. How can you respect a group who sacrificed babies to lengthen their own pathetic lives?

“Aspen rod,” I said, setting the pen down with an accusing snap. “Then what?”

Landon was eyeing me in distrust, and I gave him a sarcastic smile. “You do the same with the egg white, anointing the arms of the pentagram first, and then the recipient’s palms.”

“Using the same wand?” I guessed, and he nodded, flushed. “Can I use a chicken’s egg?”

“Not if you want it to work,” he muttered, and I took that as a fact. Eggs were a symbol of rebirth, but the Mayans used to believe that hummingbirds were the souls of warriors and would make an even closer tie. I could probably pick up one at one of the more exclusive charm shops.

“So let me guess,” I said, pulling the paper to me. It looked funny seeing the clearly old charm on fresh white paper. “Step three is to anoint the point of the pentagram and his forehead with his own blood?”

He grimaced, shifting from foot to foot. “I’d use the same wand again.”

“Then what?”

Landon hesitated, as if trying to decide only now if giving me this info was a good idea.

“What next, Landon . . . ?” I intoned, and he tugged the paper back to himself.

“Roll the scarf into a cylinder and run it through the Möbius strip. Both loops.”

Big Möbius strip, check. I had one of those. I had two of them, actually. “What’s it made of?” I asked, and I almost saw him kick himself.

“Shit, I forgot that part,” he muttered. “Copper. Yes, copper.”

My fingers drummed on the counter. “You know what? I think I’ll just go to the library and find a nice reincarnation spell. Take my chances.”

Landon glared. “I know how to do this.”

“You sure?” I snapped, and both of us looked to the hallway at a pixy guffaw. No one was there, but a tiny whisper of pixy dust was slipping down.

Landon rolled up the paper, clearly ready to take his ball and go home. It was the lure of being the one who brought down the vampires that kept him here, kept him honest. “Most of this is all just to get the Goddess’s attention. It’s the thought that counts.”

I sobered at the reminder of the Goddess. Newt had assured me that the mystics and the Goddess herself wouldn’t recognize me even if I stood in a ley line and shouted for her, but she wasn’t called a goddess because she was impotent. “Okay, run the pentagram through the Möbius strip. Then what?”

My sudden meekness bolstered Landon’s mood, and I frowned when he tucked the paper into an inner pocket and went to get his hat from the table. “The scarf finds a neutral flow from the copper ions it picks up, so now you can shake the salt out and drape the scarf over the recipient’s face, blood spot at the forehead right where you anointed him. From there, you simply open the container holding the soul. Chanting the phrase will draw it forth, and the soul should go to him and fix into place. At least until he dies again. Burn the scarf to break the pathway and prevent the soul from escaping the body.”

He put on his hat, clearly ready to go. I nodded, still uneasy in that he might have forgotten something—intentionally. “You never said where the spiderweb fit in.”

“Oh! Right.” He hesitated in the archway. “Drape it over your shoulder for protection against an aggressive soul.”

Aggressive soul. Yes, I’d run into one of those before, but Al hadn’t used spiderwebs to help protect against them. Come to think of it, I’d never seen a spider in the ever-after, and I thought it pathetic that the elves and demons had polluted their world to the point where even a spider couldn’t survive.

“Ellasbeth, are you ready?” Landon called as he stood in the threshold between the kitchen and the hallway, and I heard her ask him for a moment. Frowning, Landon leaned against the frame of the opening.

“You sure you don’t want to add anything else?” I said, trying not to look at the pocket he put the charm in. I wanted it, wanted it bad.

“No.” Mood sour, he looked into the living room, then pushed himself forward. Steps fast, he came three paces in, eyes intent as he pulled the paper from his inner pocket, taunting me with it. I jumped when he tugged on the line out back, tossing the paper into the sink and igniting it with a single word.

Son of a bastard, I thought, grimacing at the sudden rush of shoes in the hall. Trent slid to a halt when he saw Landon standing over the fire in the sink, and he exhaled in relief. Ellasbeth click-clacked in behind him, coat over her arm, and Trent frowned. “Thanks for your help. You both have a flight out of here tonight, right?” Trent asked, clearly eager for them to leave.

Landon chuckled, turning the taps on to wash even the ash into the sewer system and out of my reach. “I’ve got a reservation at the Cincinnatian. Ellasbeth tells me it’s the only decent live-in hotel in the area.”