“No witch would combine all the things she did and then add steel to it,” T. Laine said. “Steel is disruptive to magic. And no witch leaves behind focals. When the working is done, they end the circle and take all the goodies away.”
“Steel. Black walnut,” I said, trying to make sense out of it. “That wood is somewhat toxic. Is it possible that she was going to go back later to gather the focals and make sure the working was really completed, but we got there first?” I asked.
“That’s as good an idea as any,” T. Laine said, sounding grumpy. “Too bad I didn’t think to put up a freaking camera or two.”
“Occam, what can you tell about the gauze?” JoJo asked. “Is it blood?”
“Yes,” Occam said, “but what species I can’t tell. It’s years old.”
“So why did she leave all her focals behind? This stuff has to be hard to gather. Was the witch a novice,” Jo asked, “untrained and trying to make it up out of nothing?”
“Maybe she didn’t know she was calling a black leopard and Rick scared her off?” I suggested.
“Hmmm. I don’t think so. The circle was powerful. All the power had been emptied out, used up, but the traces of the working were there, so strong they practically sizzled. For all I know, more powerful focals may have been taken when the witch left. But the strangest part of the circle is the runes.” T. Laine propped her tablet on its stand so we could see the rendering on the screen. The unit’s witch had re-created the circle but made it of dotted lines, so there was no way to accidently invoke it. “Every single rune was merkstave—reversed—and none of them are traditionally used together. There were twelves spokes on the circle and four runes, each used three times. There were merkstave versions of Uruz, Fehu, Thurisaz, and Wunjo, all of them calling for awfulthings to happen to the person being spelled. For instance, Fehu reversed means greed and slavery and bondage and failure.” T. Laine looked around at us, making sure she had our attention. “It was a curse circle. It was powerful. And Rick happened to be nearby. If the working had been intended for him, he’d never have called us because he’d have been dead. This is why I think Rick’s attraction to the circle was an accident of proximity.”
Occam asked, “What happens when the local witch coven finds the caster?”
“She’ll be put in a null room for a long time. This circle was very,verybad business,” T. Laine said.
“Rick’s hair looked whiter this morning. Did this spell age him even more?” JoJo asked. Rick’s hair had been turning white for the last few months, and no one really knew why.
“I don’t know,” T. Laine said. She scrubbed her head with both fists as if trying to knock something loose from inside her brain. “I don’t know about the witch or her focals. I don’t know much of anything. Rick’s been aging, but he’s only been emotionally weird off and on for the last few months. I can’t tell what’s causing the aging, or if the problems with his magics have resulted in the white hairandmade him more likely to be called.”
“Did you scan Rick for latent magic, something left over from the spell and not part of his own magics?” Jo asked.
“First thing. His magics look the same in a... let’s call it aninspectionworking, one that lets me see overlays of magical energies. Nothing is clinging to him. Whatever the circle was, thecurseworking had dissipated before he got there.”
“Occam,” Jo asked, “did you feel anything from the circle when you were there or anything like a calling last night? A need to go catty?”
“Not a thing. It was a peaceful night.” His eyes traveled slowly to me, and when they met mine, he gave me a Mona Lisa smile, his expression reminding me what we had been doing when the call came in. “Very... peaceful.”
“Stop it, Occam,” Tandy said, clearly embarrassed. “Please.”
“Yeah. It’s hot enough in here already without you two starting up whatever you were doing last night when I texted you,” JoJo said.
“Ummm. Details later, bestie,” T. Laine said to me.
Blood fought to heat my cheeks. The women in the church never talked about the night before on the day after. It just wasn’t done. I didn’t know how to respond and so simply lowered my eyes, mortified.
“So Rick was the only werecat called,” Jo went on, either oblivious to my embarrassment or ignoring it.
I pushed away my discomfort and said, “We know that Paka bound him magically and that she used were-magic in her binding. I sorta bound him in some way to heal him. Twice. It’s possible”—almost certain, but I didn’t want to say that—“that I tied him to Soulwood. And maybe, through his own cat and the tattoos, and the were-magic Paka used, he’s more susceptible to spells that deal with cats?”
“I like,” T. Laine said, her eyes going unfocused and distant.
“And why don’t we just ask him?” I added.
Both T. Laine and JoJo hooted with laughter. Jo said, “The boss doesn’t talk about his tats. Like notever.”
Occam was still giving me that faint smile and I couldn’t meet his eyes. My awkwardness about the previous night, added to my prevarication about tying the werecats to the land, was amusing to him. He could feel the pull on his magics; he knew I had tied him and Rick both to the land when I healed them. When I brought him back from the dead.
“Back to your comment about him being susceptible to cat spells. Twisty, but possible,” Jo said, taking a slice of toast. “And in my opinion, tied to your land is better than being dead.”
T. Laine said, “My personal worry is that his unfinished tats and blood magic, mixed with our old friend Paka’s spells, may have created a magical opening into Rick’s soul, an opening that’s still there.”
Occam sat up, swinging his feet to the wood floor, sliding Cello to his lap. “You’re telling me Rick’s psyche might be open? That any witch worth her salt, or maybe any fanghead strong enough, can reach in and take him over?”
“Yes,” JoJo said.
