Ceri’s green eyes pinched in worry, telling me she had. “Nothing serious?”
I shook my head, thinking it could turn real serious real fast if Skimmer worked at it.
At that, the lithe elf smiled, sashaying to the cupboard for two plates as if it were her kitchen. “I’d love to eat lunch with you. Keasley would be happy with fish sandwiches every night, but honestly, the man wouldn’t know fine food if I put it on his tongue and chewed it for him.”
The chatter about nothing lured me into a better mood, and, relaxing, I fixed two plates of pasta in white sauce while Ceri made herself tea with the special leaf she kept over here. Jenks sat on her shoulder the entire time, and, watching them together, I remembering how Jih, his eldest daughter, had taken to Ceri. I couldn’t help but wonder if elves and pixies had a history of coexistence. I’d always thought it odd that Trent went to such great lengths to keep pixies and fairies out of his personal gardens. Almost like an addict removing the source of temptation, rather than my first guess, that he simply feared they might literally smell him out as an elf.
It was with a restored calm that I followed Ceri to the sanctuary with my wineglass and plate to take advantage of the cooler space. Her tea was already on the coffee table between the suede couch and matching pair of armchairs in the corner. I didn’t know how she could stand the stuff when it was hot, but, seeing her in her lightweight dress, I had to admit she looked cooler than I was in my shorts and chemise, even though I had more skin showing. Must be an elf thing. The cold didn’t seem to bother her either. I was starting to think it grossly unfair.
Set to the side was my scrying mirror to etch the calling pentagram on, my last stick of magnetic chalk, more of that yew, a ceremonial knife, my silver snips, a little white bag of sea salt, and a rude sketch Ceri had earlier drawn using Ivy’s colored pencils. Ceri had brought out the bucket from the pantry, too. I didn’t want to know. I really didn’t want to know. The circle was going to be different from the one she had drawn on the floor just this morning: a permanent connection I wouldn’t have to invoke with my blood every time I wanted to answer it. Most of the stuff on the table was meant to get the curse to stick to the glass.
The soft clatter of our plates was pleasant as we arranged ourselves, and I collapsed into one of the cushy chairs, wanting to pretend for a few moments longer that this was just three friends getting together for lunch on a rainy summer’s night. Minias could wait. I slid my plate onto my lap and picked up my fork, enjoying the quiet.
Setting the entire bottle of untouched red wine on the table beside her, Ceri took her teacup in her bandaged fingers and sipped graciously. Nervousness started to tickle and wind its way through my spine, ruining my appetite. Jenks was heading to the honey Ceri had put in her tea, and the woman capped it, putting it firmly out of his reach. Grumbling, Jenks flitted to the plants on my desk to sulk.
“You sure this is safe?” I asked, gaze flicking to the para-phernalia. I didn’t understand ley line magic and therefore distrusted it.
Ceri eyebrows rose as she tore a chunk from her herbed bread—a strand of her hair drifting in the breeze from the open transom windows above the fixed stained glass, dark with night. “It’s never safe to ask for a demon’s attention, but you don’t want this unsettled.”
My head bobbed, and I wrangled another blob of pasta on my fork. It tasted flat, and I set my fork down. “You think Newt will come with him?”
A soft flush showed on her. “No. In all likelihood she doesn’t remember you, and Minias won’t allow anyone to remind her. He’s reprimanded when she strays.”
I wondered what Newt knew that was so terrible she had to forget it to stay halfway sane. “She took your circle. I didn’t think that was possible.”
Ceri delicately dabbed the corner of her mouth with a napkin to hide her fear. “Newt does what she wants because no one is strong enough to hold her accountable,” she said. My anxiety must have shown, for she added, “It’s skill in this case. Newt knows everything. It’s just a matter of her remembering it long enough to teach someone.”
Maybe that was why Minias stuck with her despite the dangers. He was picking things up, bit by bit.
Ceri reached for the remote and pointed it at the stereo. It was a very modern gesture for such an old personality, and I smiled. If you didn’t know she’d spent a thousand years unaging as a demon’s familiar, you might think she was a set-in-her-ways thirty-something.
The soft jazz lifting through the air cut off. “The sun is down. You should rescribe the calling circle before midnight,” she said brightly, and my stomach twisted. “Do you remember the figures from this morning? They are the same.”
I stared at her, trying not to look stupid. “Uh, no.”
Ceri nodded, then made five distinct motions with her right hand. “Remember?”
“Uh, no,” I repeated, having no idea what the connection was between the sketched figures and her hand motions. “And I thought you would do it. Scribe it, I mean.”
Ceri’s breath escaped her in a long sound of exasperation. “It’s mostly ley-line magic,” she said. “Heavy on symbolism and intent. If you don’t draw it from start to finish, then I’ll be the one who gets all the incoming calls—and, Rachel, I like you, but I’m not going to do that.”
I winced. “Sorry.”
She smiled, but I caught a grimace when she didn’t realize I was watching. Ceri was the nicest person I knew, giving treats to children and squirrels and being polite to door-to-door solicitors, but she had little patience when it came to teaching. Her abrupt temper didn’t mix well with my scattered concentration and haphazard study habits.
Flushing, I set my plate aside and slid the cool, sinking-into-my-legs feeling of my scrying mirror onto my lap. I wasn’t hungry anymore, and Ceri’s impatience was making me feel stupid. I reached for my magnetic chalk, nervous. “I’m not very good at this,” I muttered.
“Which is why you’re doing it in chalk, then etching it in,” she said. “Go on, let’s see it.”
I hesitated, looking at the big blank expanse of glass. Crap.
“Come on, Rache!” Jenks coaxed, dropping down to land on the mirror. “Just follow me.” Wings going full tilt, he started to pace in a wide circle.
I arranged myself to follow his lead, and Ceri said, “Pentagram first.”
I jerked my hand from the glass. “Right.”
Jenks looked up at me as if in direction, and I felt a sinking sensation. Ceri set her plate down, her disgust obvious. “You don’t know a thing about this, do you?”
“Jeez, Ceri,” I complained, watching Jenks flit furtively to steal the smear of honey on Ceri’s spoon. “I haven’t actually finished any ley-line classes. I know my pentagrams suck dishwater, and I have no idea what those symbols mean or how to draw them.” Feeling dumb, I grabbed my wineglass—the white wine, not the red Ceri had brought out—and took a sip.
“You shouldn’t drink when you work magic,” Ceri said.
Frustrated, I set the glass down almost hard enough to spill. “Then why is it out here?” I said, a shade too loudly.
Jenks eyed me in warning, and I puffed my air out. I didn’t like feeling stupid.
“Rachel,” the woman said softly, and I grimaced at the chagrin in her voice. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t expect you to have the skills of a master when you’re only starting out. It’s just …”
“… a stupid pentagram,” I finished for her, trying to find the humor in it.
She