“Hey there, fluffy-kins,” I said, bending over to pet her. She rubbed against my legs, and then I replenished her food and water. Ant began to eat, and I picked up the cutting board and knife.
“There are other world creatures who are not demons,” Ranth said.
I turned to him with the chef’s knife in hand. “Like?” My blood rushed to my ears.
“Immortals. Those who walk the other worlds.”
“Wait. There are other WORLDS, plural?” I sat heavily in the chair and set the knife down.
“Where do you think the demons come from?” He raised his eyebrows.
“A version of hell, which I assumed was another plane. Spirits are the only ones that go to another world, a final resting place. I didn’t think there was more than one.”
“You were wrong.”
His words sank in as I cut up the broken sticks. I was wrong—there were other worlds. Where did the Sisters of Luce come from?Another world.
“What would happen then if a mortal was taken to another world?” I mixed the cinnamon in with the salt.
“I don’t know. I’ve never been to one, but they would cease to exist here.”
“Then is it possible to world travel?”
“I believe so. It has been described, though I have never done it.”
I grated the whole nutmeg into a fragrant dust, the spices and herbs infusing the air with protection. “If my mother’s spirit was stolen, could she exist in another world?” The words seemed to slow, as if saying them changed something.
“Her spirit would naturally travel to the spirit world, but if it were imprisoned elsewhere, then yes.”
“And that could happen?”
“Entirely possible, in theory, but it’s not worth the risk to you. You need to stop thinking about that as an option. It is not an option.” His voice lowered.
“You can’t say that and don’t you dare tell me what I can’t do. It’s my mother, and I’d do anything to have her safe. Have her back with me.” I sat back, the anger flaring bright around me.
Ranth leaned over me, picking up some of the nutmeg, his musk blending with the spice. He sniffed his hand. “Your love for her drives you to consider dangerous choices. You must listen to your heart but not forget who you are.”
“And who is that?”
He rubbed the ground nutmeg between his fingers. “The daughter of her heart. She would not want you to follow her.”
I flicked my braid over my shoulder. “And how would you know what she wants?” I snapped as I began to grate again.
“Mothers want their children to be safe.” He caught my hand and raised the nutmeg I held to his nose.
My breath hitched as tingles arced up my arm.
His eyes held stars. “Your choices also matter to me. Our hearts beat together, so if yours ends, so do I.” His voice had faded to a whisper, stroking me in places only feelings can touch. The anger, the sadness, and the sweetness blended into a heart-piercing arrow.
He let go of my hand and picked a nutmeg out of the jar. “This spice is not as potent as it could be if it was fresher. We will need a little more.”
I began to grate more spice, but the fire he’d started had flared with his words. Now I couldn’t think of anything else.
He ran his fingers through the salt mixture. “To bind this, we should use Naaranj,” he said as if nothing had happened. But his skin touching mine jittered through me. I’d never had this kind of physical connection with a man I barely knew.
“You mentioned that before. Bitter orange, right? It’s okay. I got this.” The movement back to the task was a welcome distraction. I held up a gallon-sized baggie of Buddha’s hand peels. “This etrog citron should work instead. But once we pour in the water, this is going to take awhile to dry.” I got up and picked up the bowl.
“We can fix that. Where is the center of the house?” he asked.
