Soul Thief-Demon Trappers 2 (28 page)

“I’m good with weird. Come on, how about it? I need a little excitement right now.”

“I’m not so sure, Peter. If something goes wrong…” Maybe she was being selfish, but Riley wanted him to come along. Still, he had to know what he was getting into. “When I say weird, I really mean it.”

He debated for a moment, then extracted his cell phone. “I have to let Dad know where I am. It’s part of our agreement. So how late and where?”

What would Ayden think if she brought him along?

Riley gave in. “Little Five Points and”—she consulted her own phone for the time—“I’m thinking we’ll be done by eight.”

“You’ll drop me home?” When she nodded, he stepped a few paces away and dialed his father. As Peter pleaded his case, which did not include mentioning that they were going to visit a real live witch, Riley took that opportunity to check her text messages. She’d heard one arrive during class but she knew not to check it. Mrs. Haggerty was not into modern technology.

It was from Ori: MEET ME AT THE MARKET AT NINE?

Her fingers sent a YES before she had time to think.

Peter gave a thumbs-up. “Good to go,” he announced, rejoining her. “Dad says I shouldn’t get arrested or I will end up in Illinois sharing a bed with the twins.”

“That’s a brutal threat,” Riley replied.

“Totally brutal. The ghouls have been known to wet their bed.”

T
WENTY-FIVE

Riley had expected she’d have to do a lot of explaining about Peter’s presence, but Ayden only arched one eyebrow when they were introduced.

“Cool phoenix tattoo,” Peter said, admiring the colorful artwork that spread from the witch’s neck downward into her cleavage. Unlike Simon, he did allow his eyes to linger.

Phoenix?
“Ah, what happened to the dragon tattoo you had?” Riley asked.

“I changed it,” Ayden replied, still studying Peter intently as if she were weighing his soul. “It’s easy when you wield magic.” She shifted her full attention to Riley. “You sure about this summoning?”

“I’m good. It might get some of my questions answered. If this doesn’t work, I’m out of options.”

“So be it.” The witch led them on a journey through the interior of the Bell, Book, and Broomstick, where they walked past displays of crystals, spheres, and all sorts of metaphysical goodies. The store reeked of incense. It was hard to pick out which scent was stronger than another, so it all became a nose blur. Once they reached the back room, Ayden loaded them up with boxes of candles and other paraphernalia. Peter got to carry a sword, which pleased him immensely.

“Is this like a real one?” he asked, gripping the scabbard tightly.

“No point in owning any other kind,” Ayden said, her head deep in a closet. Out came a velvet cloak in rich purple. She draped it over her arm and then herded them toward the rear door. As they exited the building, their escort flipped a switch, illuminating a large courtyard with floodlamps.

“Do you know Mortimer Alexander?” Riley asked as her eyes adjusted to the garish light. “He lives down the street. He’s the Summoners’ Advocate.”

“I’ve heard of him,” Ayden replied. “Witches and summoners don’t socialize.”

“Because of the magical war?”

Ayden gave her a look. “How’d you hear about that?”

“Mort mentioned it. He said there’d been bad blood between you guys.”

“Still is. Some of the necros are pretty decent, but their leaders have their heads up their butts. But then so do some of us witches.”

Peter had wandered ahead and now stood transfixed by a circle of stones. There were twelve of them—old, stark white, and sticking upward about two feet out of the red Georgia clay. The whole circle was about thirty feet in diameter and included a fire pit and a stone altar.

“This is so unreal,” he explained. “Like out of a movie or something.”

While Ayden laid out her gear, Riley took the opportunity to check out the courtyard. The windows in the building to the left were bricked up, the roof too steep for anyone to climb up and see what the witches were up to. The buildings to their right and in front of them did have windows. Not a private site, but still better than most inside the city. A wall of concrete blocks, probably about six feet tall, surrounded the entire courtyard. Three-quarters of the wall was covered in a giant mural.

Riley wandered over to the closest section and studied the images. At first it just looked like an ordinary forest scene, then she spied the figures.

“Fairies!” she said. “There’s like a zillion of them!” There were tall, stately fairies riding magnificent horses with flowing silver manes and tiny fairies peeking out from under mushroom caps and leaves. Some held swords, and others, chalices filled with golden nectar. Everywhere she looked there was a little face peering back at her. They were all unique. Farther down the wall the scene changed to marshy grassland. She soon found the fairies among the grasses and reeds, though they looked different than the ones in the forest scene.

Peter joined her at the wall and she pointed out her discoveries. “Aren’t they amazing?”

“You really think they exist?” he asked.

“They do,” Ayden replied as she placed a goblet and a ritual knife on the altar.

“You’ve seen them?” Riley asked.

“Sure,” Ayden replied, in the same tone of voice as if Riley had asked if she’d ever seen a UPS truck.

“No way. They’re just make-believe.”

The witch cocked an eyebrow. “You mean like demons?”

“Oh.” Maybe there was a lot more to this mystical-world stuff than Riley realized.
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
was one of her favorite Shakespearean plays, mostly because of the fairies.

“Are they really cool? I mean, like Oberon and Titania cool?”

Ayden didn’t reply until the brazier came to life, flicking pillars of flame into the air. “The Fey are a lot like us. They can be arrogant and vindictive or kind and helpful, if they’re in the mood. The problem is you never know which mood they’re in until it’s too late.”

“Are we going to see any of them tonight?” Peter asked hopefully.

“Not likely. If we were out in the country, maybe.”

“Who painted this mural?” Riley asked, trailing her fingertips over the painted wall. The images almost seemed alive.

“I did, along with a couple of the others in my circle.”

“
Your
circle?”

“I’m a High Priestess,” Ayden replied.

You never told me that.

“So what’s going to happen here?” Peter asked as they moved to join the witch in the center of the circle.

“I will set a circle and call up Paul Blackthorne’s spirit.”

“So no big deal, huh?”

“It could get lively,” Ayden replied.

Peter chewed on that for a time. “Define
lively,
please.”

Ayden continued her preparations, setting a green candle on the ground, then about ten feet away she put down a yellow one. “It all depends on what type of magical landmines I trigger.”

“So we could get hurt?”

“Perhaps, but if you remain inside the circle you should be okay.”

“
Should
…” Peter frowned. “If you were me, would you stay or take off?”

“Depends on your freak factor,” Ayden said, rising to her feet and dusting off her hands. “If you can handle creepy stuff, then I’d say it’d be worth staying. If not, best to wait inside the building. It’s warded so you’ll be safe there.”

“Warded,” he murmured to himself.

“Peter, you don’t have to do this,” Riley said.

He screwed his face up in thought. “Yeah, I do. Count me in.”

“Then let’s get this done,” Ayden replied. “First, I will honor the four elements, lighting the candles that represent those elements.” The witch adjusted the white tapers in the center of the altar. “Then I’ll light two that represent the God and Goddess.”

“Is that where we do the ritual sacrifice?” Peter joked, uneasily.

“Volunteering, are we?” Ayden asked. Peter clamped his mouth shut.

The witch turned and frowned at the building behind them like she’d forgotten something. “Could one of you turn off the outside lights? The switch is just inside the door.”

Riley took care of the problem. As she returned to the circle, her nerves kicked into high gear. Her very best friend in the whole world was here. What if something went wrong? What if Peter got hurt?

“It’ll be okay,” she whispered as she crossed through the stone circle. “It has to be.”

Ayden wore the velvet cloak now, her russet brown hair flowing over her shoulders. A circlet nestled among her curls, braided silver with delicate leaves. In a fluid movement born of practice, the sword slid out of its scabbard. The witch raised it reverently toward the sky like an ancient queen from an Arthurian tale. The light of the brazier threaded a thin, molten line of fiery gold along the blade’s edge.

Ayden turned, pointed the tip of the sword toward the yellow candle at one of the four corners. In a clear voice, she said, “I call forth the Element of Air. Protect all within this circle from those who would do us harm.”

Riley blinked when the candle burst into life. Ayden hadn’t struck a match. She couldn’t with the sword in her hands.

How did you…?

Peter waggled his eyebrows and mouthed “Cool!” Maybe it was good she’d brought him along. He hadn’t acted this happy about anything for a long time.

The witch turned toward the south and the red candle. “I call forth the Element of Fire. Guard us and warm us in our journey.” That candle blazed. When Ayden completed the invocation with the remaining two candles, there was a weird popping sensation, like they’d been enveloped by some sort of force field. Riley knew how this worked: It was like when she’d set the candle circle at the cemetery to protect her father’s grave.

Ayden carefully laid the sword on the altar then lit the two white candles with a match, invoking the presence of the deities in a clear voice. If Simon were here he’d be having kittens by now. Raising her arms in the air, the witch called for protection, for wisdom, and for knowledge. Then she waved Riley and Peter forward.

Edging close to the altar, Riley shot a quick look up at the window above them. Gazing down at them was a white-haired lady, her elbows resting on the windowsill.

“She likes to watch,” Ayden explained.

“Is she a witch?”

“No. Just curious what kind of mischief we might be up to.”

Knowing Ayden, there wouldn’t be any. She took this stuff way serious.

“I’m going to cast the spirit summoning now. I want you to visualize your father. Try to pick a happy memory. That might make it easier to call him.”

Riley’s mind returned to one of the last moments they’d spent together. They’d been in the car after the emergency Guild meeting. They’d talked about a movie night, just the two of them. It wasn’t the best memory, but the strongest right now. A sharp pang of loss cut through her, but she pushed it aside, focusing on her father’s voice, his smile. How good it felt when he was around and how much she missed him.

As she held that single memory close to her heart, she could hear Ayden chanting something. There was the smell of aromatic herbs, then more chanting.

The air around them shifted as a strange prickle danced across her face and hands.

“We ask that Paul Blackthorne’s spirit come to us,” Ayden called out. “Come to his only child so that we may know that he is safe.”

The prickling sensation increased, almost to the point of discomfort. Riley blinked open her eyes to find the stone circle around them glowed a soft white. Peter’s eyes were wide in amazement, and his mouth had dropped open.

“Riley?” a voice said. It glided across her mind like a soft breeze.

“Dad?” she called out.

Paul Blackthorne stepped out of nowhere, like through a hole in the air. He wasn’t in the suit he’d been buried in but in his Georgia Tech jacket, jeans, and a sweatshirt—the clothes he’d been wearing the night he’d died.

“Welcome, spirit of Paul Blackthorne,” Ayden said solemnly. “You are much missed.”

He gave a grave nod, then turned those sad brown eyes on his daughter. She was trembling now.

“I miss you, Riley,” he said, his voice dry and thick.

This was as bad as when Beck had come to her door to tell her she was an orphan. “I want to get you back, Dad. I need to know who took you. Was it Ozymandias?”

No reply.

Maybe he doesn’t understand.
“We’re being blamed for breaking the ward at the Tabernacle. The hunters are in town now. You’ve got to tell them the truth.”

“Not yet,” he replied.

“Is there anything you
can
tell us?” the witch urged.

Her father’s eyes flicked to Ayden and then back to his daughter.

“I love you, Riley. You’re stronger than you believe. I’m sorry for what has happened and for what will happen. It is my fault.”

Then the spirit of Paul Blackthorne began to fade.

“Wait! No, don’t go!” Riley shouted.
After all this and he’s taking off?

Ayden chanted again and the vision stabilized. The air just behind Riley’s father began to boil in a red and gold maelstrom. Then something materialized in that very spot.

Towering over them was a dragon, at least twenty or more feet high. It was probably the one from the cemetery.

“Oh, my Goddess.” Ayden latched on to Riley’s arm and then did the same with Peter’s. “Don’t move. Don’t break the circle!”

There was a screech of shock, and their spectator slammed her window shut, as if a single pane of glass would be any protection against this monstrosity.

“Can you make it go away?” Riley whispered.

Ayden didn’t reply, murmuring under her breath. Riley caught the word
protection
more than once.

A low growl issued from the thing’s cavernous mouth, sending a trickle of brilliant iridescent flames into the night air. “Cease!” the creature bellowed, and the witch fell silent.

Ayden clamped her eyes on the beast. “What do you seek, dragon?” she asked, her voice firm and level.

The creature ignored her, its glittering eyes only on Riley. “Blackthorne’s daughter,” it said. “Do not fail us.”