Rebecca settled herself more comfortably on the large cushion, while Avryl and Moira fussed over preparations. She gazed distantly out the window, where some time before the sun had set in a glory of colour and only stars remained.
Within, the only colour lay in the designs painted meticulously on a large black square of pure silk, some five feet on a side. Avryl, Moira, and Duayne had spent many hours and some expense on it, but Rebecca had to admit that in any number of ways it was preferable to coloured sand or chalk all over the wood-tiled floor. The entire coven was, of course, in black. Karl, like Rebecca, was sitting out of the way, though he looked indulgent rather than bored; technically, there was nothing stopping a wolf from being involved in this sort of magic, but neither had much interest in doing so. Being present through it was, for the most part, tedious enough.
Avryl set a black candle in a clear glass holder at each point of the star, while Moira busied herself with the incense. Rebecca wrinkled her nose, but resigned herself to enduring it.
Personally, she thought they spent much too much time worrying about finicky little details; most magic was simply will and so-called “spells” were merely to help focus will, so why should this be any different? Duayne, however, insisted that there was power inherent in the actual symbols and the ancient words in Sumerian or Arabic or whatever it was.
If they wanted to do all that extra work, well, why argue?
Hopefully midnight would come before she fell asleep.
She amused herself by thinking about the past few months. Kevin's black wolf pet didn't seem to notice any fences or chains; perhaps, she mused, this was to him freedom in contrast with what he'd known before. The unspoken truce between Whitethorn and Sundark did make life a little calmer, and it made matters peaceful between the members of Whitethorn.
More peaceful, at least; the demon-summoning games were becoming more and more of an obsession with her non-wolf coven-mates. Karl made it very clear that though he considered it a waste of time, he also considered it their right to waste it that way if they so chose. Calling demons had taken over from plans of so-called revenge as the new issue of heated discussions within Whitethorn. Certainly it was useful, and kept her coven happy and busy, but this was perhaps being done too often for the reasonable safety of all concerned. The many stories of the dangers involved were probably not all exaggeration by frightened sheep.
Midnight, finally.
Avryl and Moira and Duayne spaced themselves evenly around the pentagram and began the calling. Rebecca found it extremely difficult to concentrate on words she could make no sense of, words that sounded to her like they were mostly consonants, but she focused her gaze on the nearest candle and disciplined her thoughts into the proper quietness.
As the invocation ended, the demon came, stepping out of air as though through a door they couldn't see. It chose this time the form of a tall blonde man with great golden wings for arms. It examined its prison, determined that it could not escape, and turned its attention to its captors.
“What do you seek?” it demanded.
“There is a book,” Avryl said. “Written by Zayda and Isak Maridas. The Transcendent Wisdom of the Elementals.” Though her back was to Rebecca, the wolf could envision easily enough the glow in her eyes at the thought of yet another book to feed her hunger. “I want it.”
“There will be a price, mistress.”
There always was, and usually it involved the death of some animal; it had progressed, as the tasks grew more difficult, from mouse to chicken to rabbit.
“What price do you ask?” Moira said.
“There is one who interests me, mistress, yet he is well protected and my curiosity remains unsatisfied.”
Rebecca frowned to herself. One thing to turn over an animal or two, already destined to be food, to a demon, but to hand over a person? That seemed like a lot of risk and trouble over a book—and cold-blooded murder was an uncomfortable thought.
“Who?” Avryl asked calmly.
“I cannot speak his name. He is that one about whom you have asked many questions of me, mistress.”
This she liked less. Break the truce between Whitethorn and Sundark?
“What exactly do you want us to do about him?” Avryl sounded not at all disturbed by the thought.
“Drive him from this place, out where I can see him clearly. Drive him from those who shield him. Swear this to me, mistress, and you shall have what you ask.”
“That's not going to be easy,” Moira said doubtfully.
Avryl made a dismissive gesture. “Yes it will. It will, however, require a way to neutralize wolf immunity to poisons without letting him know.”
“This I can do.” The demon looked just a little too eager to help. “There is a way. I can fetch for you wine from... elsewhere, mistress. Wine which will affect him as strong wine of your world reaches a human, and reduce his resistance greatly while it remains within his body.”
“No wolfsbane taste?”
“None, I promise. The wine and the book, and you will drive him out of this place, mistress?”
“Maybe we should think about this,” Moira cautioned. For the first time in a while, Rebecca agreed completely with the mage.
Avryl, though, was too caught up in the fire, the hunger for ever more knowledge. “The wine and the book in return for our best effort to chase Jesse out of Haven without his friends,” she said. “Sworn.”
Rebecca felt a cold chill shiver along her spine. Breaking bargains with demons was a distinctly unwise thing to do; Avryl had just bound them to it.
Anger surged. Just who led this coven, anyway? How dare Avryl make a commitment like that for all of them? For Rebecca?
“May I go, mistress? The wine will take a short time. The book may take longer to find and bring to you.”
Avryl nodded curtly. “The wine tonight. The book as soon as you can.”
The demon bowed as best it could, and slipped away through its unseen doorway.
Seething, Rebecca held her tongue until Avryl and Moira and Duayne had completed the ritual.
Then she rose and advanced on Avryl. The witch spun around when Rebecca slapped a hand down on her shoulder.
“How dare you,” Rebecca hissed. “I lead this coven, or have you forgotten? Who gave you the power to make such a promise in the name of all Whitethorn?”
Avryl blinked at her in confusion. “It's only Jesse. You weren't terribly concerned about his wellbeing when you tricked him into a circle with us. I can take care of this, you won't need to do anything. What's got your tail tied in a knot?”
Rebecca shoved the witch hard enough that she stumbled and fell on the couch. Fists clenched, Rebecca stood over her.
“Don't you ever, ever, swear anything for all of us again, is that clear? Or do you have a problem with that, human?”
Duayne laid a hand pacifyingly on Rebecca's arm. “Come on, Becky, calm down. It's not a big deal. There's no time in the middle of a ritual to stop and hold a coven discussion.”
Rebecca whirled, and slapped him hard. Duayne retreated a few steps, one hand flying to his abused cheek.
“It is a big deal! This is my coven! I risk my damned life to keep you safe, and I get no gratitude other than lip-service thanks! I stay here in this cage instead of going farther north, somewhere I can run free, and you try to add a leash as well as the cage!”
“You're making an awful big fuss over Kevin's little pet,” Karl said lazily. “You wouldn't be going soft on us, would you?”
“This isn't about him! This time, we will do as her royal highness Avryl swore us to do. If anything like this ever happens again, I'll stand back and let predators eat the whole lot of you. Unless, Karl, you really think you stand a chance alone?” Silence. “Do whatever you have planned, Avryl, just don't expect any help from me. Then you'd better enjoy this book it brings you, because it will be the last until I say otherwise. Is all of this getting through?” She glowered at Avryl until her eyes dropped, did the same with Duayne and Karl and Moira.
She strode to the kitchen door, and flung it open, not caring that the January wind swept into the house and the warm air made its escape while it could; she shifted to wolf, and trotted out to the road. On its cleared surface, she lengthened her strides to a run, then pushed herself faster still, pouring all her fury into the smooth rhythm of the exercise, her joy in her own body. She rounded a corner, and a hare looked up in surprise, without even time to bolt before she was on it, tearing at it.
The hare's hot blood and flesh were a cleansing of sorts; calmer, she loped away, still reluctant to return to the house just yet.
For that matter, maybe she'd just sleep outside. She was wolf, she'd be fine, she'd spent colder nights than this curled up with her face between her hind legs and her tail over her head, more comfortable than any human would understand.
Not just yet, though, she'd run more first, work off the extra energy, then later she'd find a place to sleep. If her coven—she would have laughed in derision if this form allowed it; her coven—wondered where she was, that was their problem. She did whatever she pleased, and answered to no one. That was how things were meant to be.