He’d had time to think . . . or perhaps had at last begun to think instead of obsessing over the lump or denying it existed. Cullen had assured him that the anecdotal evidence of a link between a too-young sensing of the Change and the wild cancer was highly exaggerated. Very well. But Rule could see no connection between that assurance and Cullen’s sudden need to fly here and speak to him in person.
Unless Cullen could see the early appearance of the cancer. That was possible. The cancer was magically wrought. Cullen saw magic. Maybe the assurances he’d offered were true, but he still wanted to check Toby out.
Wouldn’t he have told Rule that, though? Why would he—
“Mr. Turner?”
Rule dragged himself back to the present. They’d reached the gate to Justin and Talia’s yard, and it was just as well his protection hadn’t been needed. He’d been too deep in thought-circles to notice anything less than a machine gun fusillade.
At the moment Cullen was handing Talia a piece of chalk and talking about the need for a physical component. Rule looked down at her brother’s worried face. “Yes?”
“Do you believe in God?”
Oh, God, Rule thought—and noticed the irony of his irreverence, but didn’t smile. “Yes.” Probably not the human-like deity the boy had been taught to believe in, but there was certainly a Source.
“Why does He let bad things happen? I asked Mom and she said everything happens by His will, but I don’t see why He’d want those people to get killed or Mr. Hodge to get possessed. Daddy said we’re not supposed to question, but have faith, but that doesn’t help.”
“Well.” If there was a God—the sort of personal, got-a-plan-for-you God so many people believed in—Rule felt sure She was having a good laugh at him right now. “As I said, I believe in God. I don’t try to define Her.”
“Her?” Justin was shocked.
“A personal bias,” Rule explained. “I tend to think of deity in the feminine, which I’m sure is no more accurate than defining deity in the masculine.”
“I have no idea what you just said.”
Rule grinned and tousled the boy’s hair. “I used fancy words to say that I don’t know why bad things happen.”
“Oh. Me, neither. Do you believe in prayer?”
“Ah...”
“Daddy says God always answers prayers, but sometimes the answer is ‘no.’ I think,” Justin confided, “the answer is mostly no, ’cause God hardly ever does what I ask Him to. But Mr. Seabourne told Talia to pray when she sets her circle. He said God always helps if you ask Him to when you’re making a circle.”
Rule managed not to shoot Cullen a startled look, but it was a near thing. “I wouldn’t turn to Cullen for spiritual advice, but he knows magic. If he says prayer will help her, it will.”
“Oh. Okay.” Frown and worry faded. “I didn’t know if he—wow!”
Cullen was turning in a quick circle, pointing at the ground—and drawing a thin ring of fire with that pointing finger. “There. Come closer, and don’t be distracted by the fire—that’s just the quickest way for me to set a circle. Concentrate on the air around me. What’s different about it?”
Talia squinted at what looked like perfectly ordinary air to Rule. “I don’t see anything,” she said, disappointed.
“Different Gifts respond to a circle different ways. You might hear it, or feel warmth or discomfort, or just sense a different energy.”
“Oh—you mean that humming? I can barely hear it. That’s your circle?”
“Yes. Now put your hand through the air above the circle.”
She stretched out a tentative hand. The fire vanished. “It’s gone!”
“Very few circles can withstand anything physical, and once something crosses a circle, the magic dissipates. But now you know how to tell when you’ve set your circle correctly. That’s your goal—to set a circle that hums to you.”
She looked dubious. “Okay.”
“You won’t set your circle the way I did. I draw on Fire. Your element is spirit.” He smiled. “I want you to try it now. Draw your circle . . . Wait.” He grabbed a stick from the ground and handed it to her. “Use this. Draw your circle, sit in its center, close your eyes, and ask for help. Then imagine that humming sound coming from you, surrounding you, protecting you.”
Talia did as he said, scraping the outline of a circle in the dirt, then folding thin, caramel-colored legs to sit tailor-fashion in the red dirt. She closed her eyes. To Rule’s vision, absolutely nothing happened.
Justin frowned, fidgeted, and said, “What’s she doing?” “Hey!” Talia’s eyes snapped open. “You ruined it. I had it—at least, I think I did . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“You cast a circle.” Cullen was as certain as the girl wasn’t. Of course, he’d have seen it. “It was thin and dissipated quickly, but to get one on the first try is excellent. Now all it takes is practice.”
“Why do I need to practice if God’s helping me?”
“Didn’t say God would do it for you, did I? Do you know how to ride a bicycle?”
“Of course I can!”
“You weren’t born knowing, though. I’ll bet someone taught you, helped you. Your mom? Your dad?” She nodded to the second guess. “He didn’t help by hopping on your bike and riding it himself. What did he do?”
“Ran along behind me and pushed until I could balance and pedal at the same time.” Her eyebrows squinched down. “You mean that’s how God will help, too. I have to get on the bike—I mean, cast the circle—myself, but He’ll push.”
“More or less. For now, I want you to work on balance, not worry about pedaling.” He gave her the easy smile that charmed females of every age. “The good news is that it doesn’t take much pedaling to keep out a ghost. They’re weak.”
“Even the screaming ones?”
“Even them. I told you, Talia, the ghosts are using your Gift to speak to you—even when they scream instead of talking. With a circle you deny them access to your Gift. Without it, they can’t do much.”
She got up, dusting off the seat of her shorts—a useless effort, since the damp red clay stuck like glue. “I can do this.”
“Certainly. You started up a circle right away. You’re a natural.” He bent and whispered something in her ear. She grinned.
Rule watched his friend talk with the girl. He’d made her comfortable with her Gift, comfortable enough to cast a spell she’d need for protection. He would, Rule thought, make a good father when the time came. With children, the notoriously impatient sorcerer had endless patience.
Normally Rule did, too. Today he wanted to drag Cullen away. The girl needed instruction, but it could wait until after Rule spoke to Cullen and heard . . . whatever it was he had to hear.
He didn’t grimace. The habit of concealment went deep enough to prevent that, but he gave himself a mental bitch-slap. Sure, Talia could wait, and Cullen could come back here later . . . knock on her parents’ door and explain that he needed to see their eleven-year-old daughter alone for a while. Yes, that would work.
Rule took a slow breath. And waited.
At last Cullen told the kids to go in before their parents wondered what was keeping them. The second the gate closed behind them, Rule strode down the alley, heading away from the Appletons’ house.
He knew he couldn’t run away, not figuratively or literally, but movement helped. Still, the first question he asked was, “You didn’t want the girl to try casting a circle to protect her from the wraith. Would it be capable of crossing circles, then?”
“Any she could cast, yes. I could set one it couldn’t cross, but to be sure of that, I’d want prep time. Spur-of-the-moment circles wouldn’t be strong enough.” He glanced at Rule, easily keeping up. “Are we going somewhere in particular?”