Soheila was gone in a gust of clove-scented air. Three minutes later a miniature tornado blew into my office, whirling every paper on my desk into the air and knocking a dozen books off the shelves. The tornado landed by Frank’s side and resolved into Soheila, dark hair tossing like a stormy sea, a glass perfume bottle in her hand.
“Hold this,” she told me, handing me the bottle. “I’m going to take the heat away first.” She gently slid one hand under Frank’s injured one, leaned over it, her shapely rose-red lips parted, and blew. Frank stiffened for a moment as the air touched his burned skin, and then he relaxed. His eyes fluttered closed and the lines of pain melted away from his face. He took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. Soheila held out her free hand for the bottle, and I opened it. The air was suddenly filled with the delicious warmth of a rose garden on a sultry summer afternoon. I handed the bottle to Soheila, and she poured a few drops of the oil onto Frank’s hand. Instead of rubbing it in, she gently blew again, spreading the oil across his palm. She repeated the process three times. Each time, Frank sighed and his burns faded from red to pink, then shiny white.
“Is he going to be all right?” I asked.
“The burns will heal, but …” She dipped her finger in the oil and touched it to Frank’s forehead above and between his eyebrows. A shudder passed through her body. “That monster touched his mind. Healing him will take time.” She turned to me, her usually rich olive skin faded to the color of old parchment, her graceful hands trembling. “It’s just, I’m afraid …”
“Afraid of what?” I asked, thinking of all the terrors we’d faced in the last few months together. Up until now, Soheila had been fearless in the face of it all. What could make her tremble?
“I’m afraid that if I get this close to him, I might not be able to keep from falling in love with him.”
I nearly laughed, but I restrained myself and told her in all seriousness, “Soheila, honey, that boat’s already sailed. Of course you love Frank—and he loves you. I know you’re afraid you’ll hurt Frank, but he’s a big boy—and a powerful wizard—who can take care of himself. It’s time you gave it a chance. Take it from me, you might not get a second one.”
Luckily, I’d brought my car to campus, so I was able to drive them both to Soheila’s house. I’d never been there before and was surprised to find that she lived in a modest 1960s ranch, tastefully but sparely decorated in bleached-wood Scandinavian furniture and muted earth tones. Its only real extravagance was plush wall-to-wall carpeting the color of desert sand. The overall effect was restful—like the Sahara in the moonlight. When I helped Soheila carry Frank to her guest room, I resisted the urge to lie down on the carpet and go to sleep.
“Will he be okay?” I asked.
“I think so,” Soheila replied, running her hand over Frank’s brow. He murmured under her touch but remained unconscious. “The nephilim barely touched his brain. In time I should be able to heal him.”
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” I said, getting up from the bed.
Soheila looked up. “But what about you, Callie? The nephilim touched you, too. I can help—”
“No, I’m fine,” I said. “Frank stopped him before Duncan could do any real damage.” The hideously ruined face of William Duffy leered up at me inside my head. I flinched, but Soheila had already looked away, back to Frank.
“What an idiot,” Soheila said fondly. “Imagine taking on a nephilim with a baseball bat!”
“Imagine,” I said, trying very hard not to think of anything at all.
“But where are you going?” Soheila asked when I was halfway to the door.
“To find another witch for our circle.”
I had only forty-eight hours to find a replacement witch. I’d start with the witches I knew. I got in my car and called Moondance on my cellphone. When I told her what had happened, she was silent for so long that I thought I might have lost the connection, but then she said, in a hushed voice that sounded not at all like the robust woman I knew, “He was able to get into Delmarco’s mind?”
“Yes,” I admitted, “but Frank was distracted. He was trying to save me.”
“Still, Delmarco is one of the most powerful wizards I know. If Laird was able to get through his defenses, there’s not much hope for any of us.”
“Which is why I need to become the hallow door on Sunday night,” I reminded her. “So I can find the angel stone and get rid of these creeps. But we’ll need another witch. Is there anyone else in town?”
“No,” Moondance replied curtly.
“I don’t understand. I thought Fairwick was a refuge for witches. Why are there so few?”
“There was an incident back in the fifties that cleared out a lot of witches. That was before my time, so I’m not sure what happened. Ann would know …” Her voice trailed off wistfully.
“Do you think there’s any chance Ann could be persuaded to rejoin the circle?”
“I don’t know. I’ve tried calling her. The last time, she answered the phone but didn’t say anything. She might listen to you, though.”
“Why me?”
“I think she feels bad about what happened to Bill … Anyway, it’s worth a shot.”
Moondance gave me Ann’s number. Then I recalled seeing Ann and her daughter coming out of their house on Mulberry Street, just a couple of blocks away from my house. I decided to drive there instead of calling. I drove slowly down the street, hoping I’d recognize Ann’s house, but at night all the houses on Mulberry looked rather alike—quaint 1930s bungalows with low overhanging porches that seemed to close the houses off from the lane. I recalled that the path to Ann’s house had been lined with flowers, but then it had been summer … I stopped in front of a house whose path was lined with jack-o’-lanterns. A dozen cardboard gravestones sprang up from the lawn, along with a gruesome rubber hand. An entire family of imaginatively carved pumpkins squatted on the porch steps. This couldn’t be it, I thought. Not only was the taste far too garish for Ann, it wasn’t likely she would decorate for Halloween while in league with the nephilim.
Still … the house looked just like the one I remembered from this summer. I parked the car and walked up the path. About halfway up, one of the jack-o’-lantern tops opened and a screeching black cat popped out. I jumped and let out a high-pitched squeak. From inside the house came the faint titter of giggles.
Regaining my composure when I ascertained that the cat was an animatronic creation of wire and fake fur, I continued up the path. On the porch steps, a goblin erupted from a pumpkin and a diaphanous ghost flew out of the shadows. I yelped obligingly and brushed past spider-laden cobwebs and dripping green ectoplasm to ring the doorbell. Deep moans and chain rattling ensued. The door was swung open by a witch in green face paint.
“You’re early!” she screamed gleefully. “Halloween’s not for two more nights.”
I easily recognized Ann’s daughter, Jessica, from her eager smile and the epicanthic fold in her almond-shaped eyes.
“Early? Clearly I’m too late! I was looking for Jessica Chase and her mother, but I suppose you’ve already turned them into frogs and eaten them!”
Jessica collapsed into giggles. “Silly, I’m Jessica!”
“No! Are you sure? The Jessica I know works at the newspaper and saves lost cats. She’s not a witch.” But her mother is, I thought. I wondered how much Jessica knew about her mother’s vocation.
“You can be both!” Jessica crowed. “And I can be anything I want to be,” she added a bit more defensively.
“Yes, you can,” Ann said, coming up behind Jessica. Although not in costume, Ann was wearing an orange turtleneck and a necklace made up of plastic pumpkins. “Can I help you, Dr. McFay? Jessica’s right that it’s a little early for trick-or-treating.”