Holidays are Hell(5)

I leaned over the textbook and read the notes at the bottom of the page, WINE AND HOLY DUST ARE INVARIABLY THE BUILDING BLOCKS OF CHOICE TO GIVE SPIRITS SUBSTANCE. Scratching the bridge of my nose, I glanced at the clock. This was taking forever, but I'd do anything to talk to my dad again, even if the spell only lasted until daybreak.

It was getting close to eleven. Robbie and I would have to leave soon to get a good spot at Fountain Square for the closing of the circle. My mom thought Robbie was taking me to the Takata concert, but we needed a whopping big jolt of energy to supplement the charm's invocation, and though we could find that at the concert, the organization of a several hundred witches focused on closing the circle at Fountain Square at midnight would be safer to tap into.

I had really wanted to go to the concert, and sighing for the lost chance, I reached to snip a holly leaf off the centerpiece. It would give the spell a measure of protection. Apparently I was going, to open a door, and holly would insure my dad's essence wouldn't track anything bad in on the soles of his feet.

Nervousness made my hands shake. I had to do this right. And I had to do it without Mom knowing. If she saw Dad's ghost, it would tear her up—send her back to the mess she was in almost five years ago. Seeing Dad was going to be hard enough on me. I wasn't even sure by the description of "desired results" how substantial a ghost he'd be. If we both couldn't see him, Robbie would never believe that I'd done it right.

Standing at the table, I used my mom's silver snips to cut the holly leaf into small segments before brushing them into the wine. My fingers were still shaking, but I knew it was nerves; I hadn't done enough to get tired, low fatigue threshold or not. Steadying the crucible with one hand, I started grinding the holly leaves with all my weight behind it. The lemon juice and yew mix I had measured out earlier threatened to spill as I rocked the table, and I moved it to a nearby counter.

Lemon juice was used to help get the spirit's attention and shock it awake. The yew would help me communicate with it. The charm wouldn't work on every ghost—just those unrestful souls. But my dad couldn't be resting comfortably. Not after the way he died.

My focus blurred, and I ground the pestle into the mortar as the heartache resurfaced. I concentrated on Robbie's voice as he talked to my mom about how nice the weather was in Portland, almost unheard over some solstice TV cartoon about Jack Frost. He didn't sound anything like my dad, but it was nice to hear his words balanced against Mom's again.

"How long has Rachel been drinking coffee?" he asked, making my mom laugh.

Two years, I thought, my arm getting tired and my pulse quickening as I worked. Crap, no wonder my mom quit making her own charms.

"Since you called to say you were coming," my mom said, unaware it was my drink of choice at school as I struggled to fit in with the older students. "She is trying to be so grown up."

This last was almost sighed, and I frowned.

"I didn't like her in those college classes," she continued, unaware that I could hear her. "I suppose it's my own fault for letting her jump ahead like that. Making her sit at home while she was ill and watch TV all day wasn't going to happen, and if she knew the work, what harm was there in letting her skip a semester here or there?"

Brow furrowed, I puffed a strand of hair out of my face and frowned. I had been in and out of the hospital so often the first four years of public school that I was basically home-schooled. Good idea on paper, but when you come back after being absent for three months and make the mistake of showing how much you know, the playground becomes a torture field.

Robbie made a rude noise. "I think it's good for her."

"Oh, I never said it wasn't," my mom was quick to say. "I didn't like her with all those damned older men is all."

I sighed, used to my mom's mouth. It was worse than mine, which sucked when she caught me swearing.

"Men?" Robbie's voice had a laugh in it. "They're not that much older than her. Rachel can take care of herself. She's a good girl. Besides, she's still living at home, right?"

I blew a strand of my hair out of the mix, feeling a tug when one caught under the pestle. My arm was hurting, and I wondered if I could stop yet. The leaves were a gritty green haze at the bottom. The TV went loud when a commercial came on, and I almost missed my mother chiding him. "You think I'd let her live in the dorms? She gets more tired than she lets on. She still isn't altogether well yet. She's just better at hiding it."

My shoulder was aching, but after that, I wasn't going to stop until I was done. I was fine. I was better than fine. Hell, I'd even started jogging, though I threw up the first time I'd run the zoo. All those hills. Everybody throws up the first time.