Johnny considered it. “I don’t know. I don’t know what it would feel like to be alive and soulless.”
“If you were alive and soulless you’d be a zombie,” Menessos said plainly. “Many think vampires are soulless, but I say not. It is why we do not rot as zombies do. I say vampires’ souls leave them at dawn, yet are tethered to them still, and return at dusk bringing consciousness back.”
“Like astral travel?” I asked.
“Similar, but in astral travel the soul is aware like a dream. Vampire souls are simply dormant.”
“And while the soul is dormant and absent,” Johnny pressed, “what do your people claim the experience of that is like?”
Menessos’s head snapped toward me sharply.
Johnny’s words had implied that Menessos wouldn’t know himself. “Yes. I told him you’re alive.” I defended my actions, saying, “No one should go into this ritual without knowing the truth.”
Johnny snorted. “She did swear me to secrecy first.”
The vampire was nonplussed, but it was done. I hoped he could concede that my logic was valid.
“They claim it is a second of nothingness,” he said. “Vampires die, and they ‘instantly’ awaken knowing hours have passed but without a true sense of them. It renders the impression of near-constant life.”
“And sharing souls? How does it work?”
“I have not experienced it before,” Menessos said irritably as he rose and paced.
“If I had to guess”—Johnny came to his feet—“I’d say that psychic stuff like telepathy touches on what we’re attempting, but what we’re doing is more permanent.”
Menessos stroked his chin contemplatively.
“And,” Johnny continued, “I don’t want either of you in my head.”
I had a thought. “This ritual is in the Codex, right? Didn’t you perform it with Una and Ninurta?”
“Una would not.”
“Why?”
“She feared the repercussions. She thought that souls are the handiwork of the gods and that, should we play at separating and dividing our essences, we would all die.”
Guardedly, I asked, “What do you think?”
My question lingered, unanswered. Then Menessos disappeared into the black chasm doorway. A minute later, he came back with the Trivium Codex and placed it into my hands. “A silver ribbon marks the proper page. If, after studying the ritual, you still wish to perform it, return here an hour before dusk.”
Wordlessly, I pleaded with him to answer.
He stroked my cheek. “I think the goddess favors you above all others.” Then he departed into that blackness again.
I followed Johnny out.
I couldn’t call Nana to decipher this for me. So, I called Dr. Geoffrey Lincoln. It being Saturday afternoon, the veterinarian was out of the office. The recorded response supplied an “emergency number” which I promptly dialed and left a message. After answering Johnny’s “where’d you get that phone?” questions, I worked translating things via the Internet, doubting the accuracy of every syllable. A half hour later, as Johnny served up lunch, I’d succumbed to the idea that the doc wasn’t going to call back. I commenced an internal dialogue of how to broach the subject with Nana.
Then the phone rang.
For the next two hours, I read passages to Dr. Lincoln, Johnny snapped phone photos and e-mailed them to him, and slowly we interpreted and deciphered the ritual. Dr. Lincoln promised to bill me.
I sat down to study the actual spell. Though I knew how Beau’s ingredients would work, I didn’t see how the willow wand fit in.
An hour before dusk, we gathered in Menessos’s chambers around the altar table where Aquula’s dead body had lain.
It was just after four in the afternoon. The sun would set at the startlingly early time of five-nineteen. Tomorrow would be the first Sunday in November, and daylight saving time would officially kick in at two A.M. tonight. All things considered, we have about fifteen hours.
The altar held the Trivium Codex—open to the proper page—the supplies Beau had provided, and the standard supplies, too. My wands, old and new, marked my place at the table. Menessos’s was marked by his black-handled athame. For Johnny, Menessos had placed an onyx carved in the shape of a howling wolf. Though he would not call or shape the magic, Johnny would be a participant in this spell, and it was a nice gesture on the vampire’s part. I was pleased that Menessos had respected him enough to consider it.
We were all here. Ready or not. I reached for the salt to get this ritual under way. Menessos beat me to it, taking the salt neatly before I could. He walked around casting about this representation of the element of earth and cleansing the space.
I picked up the paper with the sigils for the spell, studied it once more, then set it to one side. Johnny picked up the corked bottle I’d been given at Wolfsbane and Absinthe. “What is this?” he whispered.
“Something Beau gave me.”
Johnny lifted the bottle, tilting and examining it. “Is this made with water or whiskey?”
“Water.” I hope. I hadn’t opened it.
“Is that a peach pit?”
“Yes. For love and wishes.”
“And the other stuff floating in there?”
I thought back.
Menessos replaced the salt on the altar, then smoothly took the incense and a feather and cleansed the space with the element of air.
“Moss, willow, and orchid petals,” I said to Johnny, fingers trailing along the secondary wand, the willow branch with moss. “Moss is for luck, and is protective. Willow is for love and protection.”
“And the orchid petals?”
“Love.”
“And?”
“Just love.”
“There’s a lot of love in that bottle.”
My cheeks warmed.
Menessos put back the incense, then made a trek around the circle with a red candle, cleansing the space with fire.
“Protection, too,” I said, holding up the prickly holly leaf. “Protection and luck.”
Johnny cocked his head a little. “Do we need that much protection, luck, and love?”
“For what we’re about to do, yes.”
He shot a glance at Menessos, then shifted back to me with brows raised, as if silently asking, Him too?
Making my expression entirely soft and full of compassion, I nodded.
He pointed to the paper on which I had drawn. “Those?”
“Sigils and symbols. The cross-number-two thing is the symbol of Saturn, and since it is Saturday we’ll tap the humility, authority, and respect associated with this day. However, we are at a crossroads here, so we’ll also call on the energy of Scorpio, the current zodiac house, and since the moon is waning we’ll concentrate on being rid of the dangers and doubts and . . .” I let it trail off. Johnny’s eyes had kind of glazed over, as if I’d started speaking Chinese or something.
Menessos replaced the red candle and took up the seashell filled with water.
Johnny studied the lines and curves of the next, a sigil, and gave me a polite nod.
“You’re thinking it’s just a scribble, right?”
“Actually, I was thinking it’s like fan blades that have had Silly String sprayed on them.”
Maybe he won’t change after all. “You’ve sprayed Silly String on a fan before?”
“Of course. Haven’t you?”
“No.” Inspecting the sigil again, I had to agree it was as good an interpretation of the lines as another. “Your ‘fan blades’”—I traced with my finger—“are two S’s, see?” I’d drawn them with glue and silver glitter, one at a forty-five-degree angle, the second ninety degrees from the first so they crossed in the center. “They represent soul sharing, which is what we are doing. These are each of our initials, M, J, and P.” These were centered among the glitter. Purple and red ink from standard office-supply Sharpies highlighted the drawing.
Menessos finished with the cleansing, opened the altar energies, and lit the illuminator candles. With a nod at me he said, “Your turn.”