Holidays are Hell(4)

"You think so?" Robbie shot back.

"I know so."

It was silent apart from my foot tapping the chair leg and the ticking of the clock. I folded up the application and snapped it down between us like an accusation. Reaching for my coffee, I took a swig, trying not to grimace at the taste. I don't care how good it smelled, it tasted awful. I couldn't believe people actually enjoyed drinking this stuff.

Robbie stood, startling me as the chair scraped and bumped over the linoleum. "Where are you going?" I asked. Not home for five minutes, and we were arguing already.

"To get something," he said, and walked out. I could hear him talking under his breath, and the harsh sound of a zipper as he opened his suitcase. His bedroom door slammed shut and the familiar stomp of his feet in the hall as he came back was loud.

I knew I was wearing that same unhappy, ugly look he had when he dropped a heavy book on the table in front of me. "Happy solstice," he said, slumping into his chair.

I waited, not knowing what to say. "What is it?"

"A book," he said shortly. "Open it."

I scooted closer and tucked my hair behind an ear. It was as big as a dictionary, but the pages were thick, not thin. The stark brightness told me it was a new book, but the charms in them… I'd never even heard of them.

"That's an eight-hundred-level textbook from the university in Portland," he said, voice harsh. "Now that you have your two-year degree, I wanted to ask if you would come out with me to take classes."

My head came up. He wanted me to go out to the West Coast with him?

"Mom too," he added, and then his expression shifted to pleading. "Look at those spells, Rachel. Look what you can do if you apply yourself and invest some time. If you go into the I.S., you won't ever be able to do charms like that. Is that what you want?"

Lips parted, I looked at the pages. I was okay with earth magic, but these looked really hard. "Robbie, I—"

My words cut off and I stared at the page. "Oh wow," I breathed, looking at the charm.

"See," Robbie coaxed, his voice eager. "Look at that stuff. It's yours if you want it. All you have to do is work for it."

"No, look!" I said, shoving the book across the table and standing to follow it around. "See? There's a charm to summon the wrongfully dead. I can ask Dad. I can ask Dad what he thinks I should do."

Robbie's mouth dropped open. "Let me see that," he said, bending over the book. "Holy shit," he breathed, long fingers trembling. "You're right." He was wearing a smile when he pulled his gaze from the pages. "Tell you what," he said, leaning back with a look I recognized, the one he used to wear when he was getting me into trouble. "You do this spell to summon Dad, and ask him. If it works, you do what he says."

My pulse quickened. "You said it was an eight-hundred-level spell."

"Yeah? So what?"

I thought for a minute. "And if he says I should join the I. S.?"

"I'll sign the application myself. Mom gave me your guardianship right after Dad died."

I couldn't seem to get enough air. It was a way out. "And if I can't do it? What then?"

"Then you come out to Portland with me and get your master's so you can do every single charm in that book. But you have to do the spell yourself. Front to back. Start to finish."

I took a deep breath and looked at it. At least it wasn't in Latin. How hard could it be?

"Deal," I said, sticking my hand out.

"Deal," he echoed. And we shook on it.



* * *





Chapter 2





Squinting, I crouched to put my gaze level with the graduated cylinder, knees aching with a familiar fatigue as I measured out three cc's of white wine. It was this year's pressings, but I didn't think that mattered as long as the grapes had been grown here in Cincinnati, in effect carrying the essence of the land my dad had lived and died on.

My mom's light laughter from the other room pulled my attention away at a critical moment, and the wine sloshed too high. She was cloistered in the living room with Robbie under the impression that I was making a last-minute solstice gift and the kitchen was totally off limits. Which meant I was trying to figure out this crappy spell without Robbie's help. See, this was why I wanted to be a runner. I'd be so damn good, I could afford to buy my spells.

I grimaced as I straightened and looked at the too-full cylinder. Glancing at the hallway, I brought it to my lips and downed a sip. The alcohol burned like my conscience, but when the liquid settled, it was right where it was supposed to be.

Satisfied, I dumped it into Mom's crucible. She had gone over it with a fine-grit sandpaper earlier this afternoon to remove all traces of previous spells, as if dunking it in salt water wasn't enough. She had been thrilled when I asked to use her old equipment, and it had been a trial getting everything I needed amid her overenthusiastic, wanting-to-help interference. Even now, I could hear her excitement for my interest in her area of expertise, her crisp voice louder than usual and with a lilt I hadn't heard in a long time. Though Robbie being home might account for that all on its own.