“Bud, we’ve talked about this. I’m good. I’ll let you know if I need your help, okay?” I met his glare.
“Your house was on fire, Cookie. Our house. Don’t you think you need help with that? Or let me put it this way. I’d really like to help you, so please let me while I still have the chance.” His eyes were a little glassy, driving a stake into my chest.
I wasn’t a kid, but he considered me his child. Bud and I had an understanding. He generally stayed out of my decisions unless I asked him. But this—he was acting like a parent here, wanting to support me if I’d let him.
“I’d really love help with the house stuff, but Freddie is driving us down, so maybe meet up with us later? I’ll need you for paperwork and phone calls.”
“Got it.” His tight-lipped stance had blossomed into a grin. He loved to “help” me, and giving him permission was like a Yule present, even if he didn’t technically need it.
Ranth’s eyes met mine, and my heart soared. Ori grinned at us, her silent happiness bursting. “So, what else do we need for the ritual? Now that we don’t have Rose’s shop available, we might have to find sources.”
“I don’t know, exactly,” Ranth replied, fingering a pearl button on his shirt like it was a worry stone.
“What?” Ori and I said together. “How can you not know?” I added.
“Because I’ve never done this spell. I don’t even think I can do it alone, now. Sorrel will have to be part of it.” He twined his fingers through mine. “It took centuries of being trapped to find you.” Hummingbirds swooped through my stomach.He’d found mehad way more meaning.
Ori stifled a giggle.
“Why don’t you start with a list of what you think we might need, and we can go from there?” Rose suggested with a huge silly smile on her face.
Ranth rubbed the scar on his neck, and my fingers twitched. The scar was smooth and puckered slightly at the top edges. Now I knew where he’d gotten it and what it meant. The story embedded in his skin and, now told, changed the way I saw it.
“We’ll need the Temple’s incense and elements for a purification ritual. The same things we used for the finding spell—but no goat’s milk or wine. Instead, we will use storax, a resin from bark,” Ranth replied.
Rose walked over. “He means Styrax. It’s similar to benzoin. That’s going to be a challenge to get out here.”
“Also, some herbs,” Ranth added.
“List them?” I already felt the weight of not being able to use our normal sources.
Ori typed as Ranth listed off a bunch of names that Ori translated into wormwood, balm of Gilead, lotus, and bay leaves.
“I can get those if you need them today,” Bud said sheepishly.
“Really? And where would that be from?” I tossed my hair back, curious as to Bud’s mystery resources.
“I have a friend who dabbles in herb craft.”
I laughed. This really shouldn’t have surprised me. “Great, we can pick them up on the way out of town.”
“Sure, Cookie,” Bud replied, scribbling down the address. It was just like Bud not to ask questions. Easy to love him even more for it.
Ranth sat up straighter. “We still need the incantation.”
“I thought you could remember some of it,” I replied.
“I can but I’m not certain it will work. I was thinking about Harold’s books. Perhaps he might have something to help us.”
“At a price.” I grimaced.
“A price I must bear if that’s what it costs. There is much at risk.” Ranth lightly squeezed my hand under the table.
I nodded, gripping him and not letting go. “Okay, that seems logical. We can go see him first. Anyone else think of something we might need?”
Ranth shook his head. “If we have an incantation and the artifacts are powered, that should be enough.” He stroked up my arm, burrowing his hand up my sleeve, which sent a wave of wetness between my thighs.
The realization that the tattoo would be involved hit me. “Speaking of artifacts, do we have a strategy about how this works and whether it will go away once you return?” I pulled my arm up, then pushed up my sleeve. Bud choked on his yerba. “Is that a tattoo? You promised you’d tell me before you got inked.” His forehead crinkled above his shaggy brows. I tugged the fabric down to cover it up, but the guilt of not giving him the whole truth gnawed at me.
