Page 71 of Demon and the Raven

“So am I,” he murmured. “Now before we go meet Father Dennis, I think you need to mix up a bag of whatever to take with us to the cemetery.”

I turned my head to look at him. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Everyone has been dead a long time out there, Lorne.”

“I don’t care about the dead people. I care about the demon walking around Osprey,” he declared. “So whatever you need to mix up, you go do, and as soon as you’re done, we’ll go get some dinner.”

“Mix up what?”

“I have no idea.” He kissed my cheek and stood up. “Maybe ask the cottage for some guidance and⁠—”

The wind that blew through the house smelled both grassy and faintly of orange and musk. I knew exactly what it was. “My grandmother’s rue blend,” I stated.

“Is that what that is?” Lorne asked, breathing in deeply. “What is rue?”

“It’s an herb that protects against spirits and bad magic and…demons.”

“Huh,” he replied with a smirk. “Imagine that.”

I groaned as I got up from beside him, then left the living room and walked into the sunroom, taking a moment to let the breeze blow around me.

“You like to stand in the wind,” Lorne said, smiling at me as he leaned on the frame of the archway.

“I do. It cleans me off,” I said, opening and closing drawers until I found a satchel with a flap. I put a small bottle of my grandmother’s rue-oil blend in, along with a jar of ground cardinal flowers, another of white wormwood, palmarosa oil, dried lavender, dried lemongrass, citronella, and cinnamon. I also packed lemon balm, ginger, and vetiver.

“I really think that should all be mixed up instead of you carrying all those with you,” Lorne insisted. “If something happens, you won’t have time to do what you did last night and mix up some magic in the air.”

I glared at him. “Some of these, like the palmarosa oil, I can’t grow in my herb garden and harvest myself. Amanda orders this for me, and it takes⁠—”

“And you’re worried if you don’t need it and mix it, then it was a waste.”

“Yes.”

“Well, guess what? I don’t care. We’ll get you some more, mix it now.”

“I really don’t think⁠—”

The door to the greenhouse suddenly slammed shut, which startled me enough to make me gasp.

As we both watched, it opened again—which it must have done moments ago without us noticing—and then banged closed a second time.

Lorne cleared his throat. “Yeah, the cottage would appreciate if you did what I said and made with the mixing.”

I could only stare at him.

“Always best to be prepared.”

Apparently, my home more than agreed.

Lorne crossed his arms. “G’head, I’ll wait.”

I got out my mortar and pestle and a small cauldron. Lorne seemed to enjoy the process, watching me hang the cauldron over the flame in the hearth, adding ingredients to boiling water, reducing it down, and then grinding that all up again; sprinkling in the rue and palmarosa oil, mixing again, and then finally pouring the new, finished oil into a bottle with a stopper with the final words, so mote it be. There wasn’t that much when done, perhaps four ounces, and when I passed it to Lorne, he did not appear impressed.

“What?”

“All that work for this much?”