Carry On Wayward Son(18)
SEVEN
“What the hell were you thinking?”
Eric slammed the door of the Jag and stalked toward Simon. They had driven around the block after limping away from the Victorian. With the house on a rise, it was still in sight, while they were safely hidden by the house behind it.
Standing next to his van, Simon waited for Eric to do—whatever he felt he needed to do. When the fist came at him he caught it with his left hand, grabbed the front of Eric’s shirt with his right.
“I saw the power of whatever is with them in that house.” Simon waited until Eric relaxed, and let go, running one hand over his hair. “In a word, it was awesome. And I can’t take the chance of pissing it off with them trapped inside.”
“Right—I know you’re right. But, damn it, I didn’t want to leave them like that.”
“You and me both.” His cell chimed. Digging it out of his pocket, he turned to face the back of the Victorian as he recognized the number. “Theresa—I want you to stay out of—”
“Too late, Simon. I’m here.” He heard a car engine in the background. “In fact, I’m driving past the house now—”
“Keep moving. Don’t slow down, don’t look at the house.” He forced down the panic clawing at him. “Just keep going, and turn right when you get to the corner. You’ll find us.” Ending the call, he swore under his breath and headed for the corner.
“You should have told her to leave,” Eric said, catching up to him.
“She’s even more stubborn than her father.” Grief at Bertram’s death, along with the guilt that he helped cause it still dragged at Simon, kept him awake nights. Along with all the other blame he carried. “I’ll send her on an errand—one that’ll keep her well out of danger.”
The sedan inched around the corner, then darted forward, screeching to a halt inches from the Jag. They both flinched. Theresa burst out of the car, running straight at Simon. He wrapped his arms around her when she hugged him, happy to see her, and wanting her gone as quick as he could get her out of town.
“Hey, Eric.” She flashed him a shy smile. “So—what’s happening?”
“Sorry to disappoint, sweetheart, but there’s no ghost.” When she opened her mouth he held up one hand. “You can do both of us a big favor, and gather up some supplies. Claire is doing cleanup work at the house, and will need some herbs to finish the job.”
“Cleanup, like—witchcraft? I thought—”
“She can perform simple cleansing rituals. I’m going to hang around, in case she wants a more spiritual cleansing. And he,” Simon pointed at Eric, “just won’t go away.”
“Not without Annie. We have a date,” he said to Theresa, flashing a smile. “She’d skin me and hang what was left on the wall as a trophy if I left without her.”
“Okay.” She crossed her arms. “What’s really going on?”
EIGHT
Claire held the rag doll while Annie attached the hair Claire literally pulled off Zach, tying a physical part of him to what would be their poppet for the binding.
When she finished, Annie wiped both hands on her jeans, and cast a circle around the makeshift altar set up on the small side table before picking up the paper with the spell. Claire had written it step by step, knowing Annie would be overwhelmed if she had to work the spell in one go. It was bad enough that she had to work something so manipulative to begin with; Claire wanted to make it as easy as possible for her.
“I’m ready—I think.”
“Are you certain—”
“Don’t give me the no option, please. I might take it.” Annie blew out her breath. “Okay—how fast am I going to have to be?”
“I can,” Claire mimed winding the red embroidery thread in her hand around the doll. “Say it low and fast—and be sure. You won’t be able to stop. And there is no guarantee this will even be effective.”
“And isn’t that excellent news.” Annie flashed a weak smile. “Okay, enough stalling.” She spread out the paper, lit the white candle—the only candle they could find on short notice—and whispered, so low Claire had to strain to hear her.
“Blessed be, thou creature made of art.
By art made, by art changed.
Thou art not cloth
But flesh and blood.
I name thee Zach
Thou art he, between the worlds, in all the worlds,
So mote it be.”
Claire started wrapping the doll with the red thread, working quickly as Annie continued.
“By air and earth, by water and fire,