The Source (Witching Savannah #2)

“How so?” I asked. After waiting a lifetime, I had finally made it to the inside track of the world of magic. In spite of other concerns, I wanted to soak up as much information as I could, as quickly as I could.

“Well, because the witching hour has never had anything to do with a certain time on a clock. It isn’t midnight. It isn’t three in the morning. It’s simply the time when the majority of conscious minds are sleeping. Reality becomes a bit more pliant, more flexible, when the world around a witch is dreaming. It made it easier for him or her to work magic, imprint his or her will on reality using much less energy. Now folk are up at all hours. The world is always awake—calculating, measuring.” She consulted her list. “Sage, lavender, and cedar oils.” She looked at me. “You do get that these things have absolutely no effect on spirits, leave alone demons, right?”

“Then why are we using them?”

“They might not have any effect on the bogeys,” Oliver chimed in, “but they affect the people who enter the environment where the spirits have been.”

“Okay,” I said, shaking my head at the same time to show I didn’t follow.

“Sage doesn’t chase away spirits,” Iris continued, “but it does mask their scent. Spirits carry an ozone scent, and demons smell like sulfur or rotten eggs. A person might not even consciously register the smell, but they’ll sense it on some level. It’s that awareness that the spirit can use as a doorway to return to the environment.”

“So you are telling me that what you don’t know really can’t hurt you.”

“Only after the spirits have been removed, sweetie,” Ellen said. “The herbs and oils just make the place more pleasant. The less creepy the vibes are in a place, the less likely a person is to go looking for shadows and inadvertently invite them back in.”

“Now salt does affect demons directly,” Iris said, and Oliver chuckled, as though her words had summoned up a memory. “When one does manage to materialize in our reality, it usually starts out quite small, with a body made up of a mucus-like substance.”

“Think snails or slugs,” Oliver said, shaking the box of rock salt that Iris had placed on the counter.

“Ugh,” Ellen said. “I always hated salting. That sizzling and whining sound those things make.”

I stood there staring in disbelief at the three of them. “Your grandfather used to take us out with him when he went hunting, as he liked to call it,” Iris explained.

“Ellen was a bit too girly to enjoy the finer aspects of the catch,” Oliver said. She waved off the memory, giving a shudder. “Your mama, on the other hand, she was what the itty-bitty baby demons had nightmares about.”

They all laughed at once, and then said, “The old saw mill,” in unison. I loved these three so much, and they seemed to love my mother so much . . . I kept forgetting that she herself had implied that they’d kept her from me. The affection they appeared to share for my mother didn’t at all match her version of events. I felt sure there was enough love there to right Ginny’s wrongs. That was if I could ever manage to get my family all together. But there would be time to reflect on that later. Within the hour, I’d be facing a demon. I set all thoughts of my mother to the side.

“Honestly,” Ellen said, “I wish we didn’t have to deal with this now. We have enough on our hands.”

“I feel the same way,” Iris said, “but the people renovating that place are the ones setting the schedule. We need to dispatch Barron before Candler is turned over to its new purpose. I wouldn’t want to risk what he might do otherwise.”

Emmet entered the room, carrying a dusty box that looked like it had been rummaged from a far corner of the attic. “I beg you all to reconsider the wisdom of the jocular tone of these preparations. You should not risk lulling Mercy into a false sense of security about dealing with Barron. It’s true that he is not the greatest evil this world has ever known, but he is a parasite that preys on the weak and the young, those who cannot defend themselves. Remember, Mercy, this demon feasts on children.”

“You’re right,” Iris said. “It is certainly not our intention to make light of the evil this demon has done, but I have already made it clear to Mercy how dangerous it will be to deal with him.”

“It’s only that we are so happy to have her with us,” Ellen said, “as one of us.” I knew what she meant. I felt it too. For the first time, they could include me, rather than mislead or misdirect me for my own protection.

“But you are right, Sandman,” Oliver said. “Fun and games aside, this is serious business. Are you sure you are up for it, Gingersnap?”

“She is ready,” Emmet answered for me. He raised his chin and looked down at me proudly. My efforts with Ryder had impressed him much more than they had myself. All the same, I’d asked him not to share the details about our encounter at Magh Meall with the others. We’d share our agreed-upon version of events when we were through dealing with Barron. “But she needs your sober example.”

Oliver looked at me for a response anyway. “He’s right,” I said. “I’m ready to do this. I know it is serious, dangerous, but we will do this together.”

“All right then.” Iris addressed Emmet, “Have you chosen a poppet for us?”

“Yes,” Emmet said, producing an antique porcelain doll from the box he had been carrying. He placed it on the counter next to the supplies Iris had gathered together. I noticed that the doll’s hands had been bound with a red ribbon. “It is ready for animation, but I feel it’s best to wait until we are closer to the time of use.”

“Oh,” Ellen said. “Do we have to use that one?”

“It’s the only one made entirely of clay. The vessel must be made of earth.”

“Wait,” I said, “what are we doing with the doll?”

“Your grandfather trapped Barron in the hospital,” Emmet said. “We need a vessel to transport him to his new home. An enticing vessel. A living vessel.”

“You are going to bring the doll to life?”

“To a semblance of life,” Iris said.

“In much the same way my body was at first animated,” Emmet said.

“We’re all going to give it a share of ourselves, Gingersnap, just enough for the combined energies to confuse Barron, making him believe it’s a human child.”

“And then?”

“Then,” Iris said, “when he comes to take the child, we will trap him inside the doll. Then we can remove your grandfather’s spell, free the spirits trapped there, and remove Barron to a safer location until we figure out how to return him to where he lived when Gilles summoned him.”

“And you are okay with this?” I asked Emmet. It sickened me that we’d be using as bait something so close to what Emmet had been.

“What else would you propose?” Iris asked. “That we use a flesh-and-blood child? Or that we visit the pound and find a puppy?”

“Of course not,” I gasped. “But Emmet . . .”

“I am touched by your concern, but this doll will not contain the vital spark that the line has given me. It will be as I was before the line touched me, an empty vessel. Nothing more.” I still wasn’t sure how I felt about it. Even before the line had coalesced the nine essences of Emmet’s makers into a single personality, I had considered him more than just an “empty vessel.” Had my own feelings led me to project more onto him than had truly existed? Had my own perception of him influenced the line to free the golem as it had?