Okay, that impressed me. That I understood; I mean, Arthur and his men had sought the powerful pearl-edged cauldron, and he had considered the Grail one of the holiest of holy relics. “But I’ve never heard of the Trivium Codex.” Or the Lustrata, for that matter.
“That’s my fault, I suppose.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“No. I mean it. I never told you our legends and fables, witches’ lore.”
“Why not?”
She sighed heavily, and I could feel her anger dispersing with the sigh. “That was your mother’s job.” She put her hand on mine. Nana wasn’t a touchy-feely kind of person. Not that she never hugged me; she did. She’d just never been overly physical with her affections. So the simple gesture meant a lot. “I did the best I could by you, y’know.”
“I know, Nana.” But I hadn’t known she resented my mother’s leaving as much as I did.
“If I’d known…if I’d seen then what you could become, I’d have prepared you better.” She pulled away and carefully took another cigarette out of her case.
“I’m not sure I believe this whole Lustrata thing anyway.”
She stared at me as she lit the cigarette. The angry bounce of her leg had returned. “I can only take so much guilt, you know.” She blew smoke at the ceiling. “If I’d told you the stories, you’d be proud to step into the role, but as it is—you’re blind.” She paused. “The Elders Council will never believe it. The Codex and the Lustrata in the same day.”
At the mention of the Council, my appetite disappeared. “You haven’t called anyone, have you?”
“Not yet.”
“Don’t.” I stood and took my bowl to the sink.
“But Seph—”
“Don’t, Nana. I mean it. Just don’t. Swear to me.”
“But why not?”
“The last thing I need right now is more people staring at me like I just sprouted tentacles and they’re not sure if they should be fascinated or horrified. And Vivian indicated that there were less-than-honest members among the Elders, that they were involved in Lorrie’s murder. I don’t need to blatantly identify myself to them.”
“I don’t believe a word she says.”
“Just keep it to yourself. All right?” Without waiting for an answer, I walked away. I might have felt better if Nana had at least scolded me for accepting the contract on Goliath. Did being the Lustrata nullify the need for guilt? If so, that was proof that I wasn’t the Lustrata. And if not, then the Lustrata must learn not to feel anything. If that’s the case, count me out.
Nana followed me. “What is wrong with you?”
“I feel like I’m playing some nightmarish game of tag. Everyone keeps telling me I’m it and nothing can undo the fact. I don’t want to be it. Being it scares me.” As a kid, playing that game, I’d always hated being it. When running after the others and trying to tag them, I always felt like we were running from some monster and I was in the back, the first one the monster was going to get.
“Why does that scare you?”
“I don’t know.” It sounded weak because I did know: I didn’t want the responsibility. “Even in my ignorance, I know there’s a lot that comes with that title.” I shouldn’t have said it—I mean, on some level I knew what saying it would lead to—but my totems had me in the habit of being honest.
“Like what?”
“Like responsibility. I don’t know if I’m ready for—”
Nana interrupted me with abrupt laughter. “If you were voted the class clown, it would be because you already were the clown. This is no different, Persephone. You already were you. You already took justice into your own hands with Lorrie’s stalker and were prepared to do it again to avenge her. You know that if you do something once, it’s a mistake, but do it twice and it’s either a habit—” She took another drag from the cigarette.
I rolled my eyes. I really hated that old saying.
“—or a vocation,” she finished.
My head shook back and forth.
“Why are you doubting yourself now? You agreed to the contract. You—”
“I screwed up! Theo may die because of it!”
“You have already taken on the responsibility for that mistake, and you have learned from it. I’m confident you’ll perform the ritual accurately and save her.”
That stunned me. “Me? But I thought you would lead and I would support you—” I stopped when she smiled.
Johnny had told me this, had said I had to do it. I’d thought he meant “you have to do it” as in “you witches have to perform the ritual.” But they all expected me to run the circle, and it had been obvious to everyone but me until just now.
Chapter 18
I sat with Theo while Johnny made some breakfast for himself. While I waited, I changed out of my pajamas and ripped robe into a button-up linen vest that had a trim-but-comfortable fit and old jeans. I combed out my hair, put it up, let it back down, put it back up with a different clip. Aggravated, I took the clip out again. What was I thinking? I never messed with my hair, and here I was messing with my hair, because Johnny was going to be back in a few minutes.
Dr. Lincoln came in first, though. “I was wondering about Vivian. I heard the others talking about your kennels in the cellar. Should we put her in one of those or something?”
“No,” I said flatly.
“But she’s been in that chair for how long? And, well…”
“I appreciate your concern, but I don’t trust her. She’s a witch, and she’s marked by a vampire. She might be able to chant the locks open, maybe even bend the bars. I want her in the middle of things so she can be observed, to be sure she’s not doing anything we don’t want her doing. And if she’s uncomfortable, I’m sure I can show her my baseball bat and explain that she’ll be even more uncomfortable with broken bones.”
“Okay then,” he said, mollified, and left.
I began studying Nana’s translation of the ritual, but I didn’t get far. Beverley awoke and pelted me with a dozen questions. After I’d given her a rundown on what she’d missed, which wasn’t much, she went downstairs to get some breakfast. I turned back to the pages but before I could read more than two words, Johnny walked in with a heaping bowl of Lucky Charms. It wasn’t even in a cereal bowl, but a small mixing bowl. “Hungry?” I asked.
He smiled, crunching. “Second bowl,” he said.
“I hope you bought a case of that stuff.” I smoothed a hand over my hair. If I’d gotten up earlier, I could have showered and washed it by now. I could have done that much. “You did leave some for Beverley, didn’t you?”
“Of course. How are you this morning?”
“Tired. Confused. Worried.”
He grinned. “Oh, good, so all’s normal.”
I grinned back. “You?”
“I’m having breakfast with you—well, in your company, anyway. I couldn’t be better.” He munched another bite, saw my spell notes. “You’re absolutely certain this is safe?”
“According to these notes and Nana, it all makes sense, so I want to say yes, but truthfully, I’ve never done anything on this scale before.” I stood and handed him the papers to look at.
“Why is Nana translating this into English?”
“Because I don’t know much Latin.” Just as she’d neglected to teach me witchcraft lore, Nana had been lax when it came to my instruction in ancient languages. “It’s important that I understand each nuance of the spell and be comfortable with every word.”
Johnny’s look still held questions.
“Nana’s a careful translator; she’ll get it right.” I went to Theo’s bedside. “If it’s any consolation, what we’re doing is more like sorcery and less like witchcraft.”
“And the difference is…?”
“I’m sure the council members have a high-blown and wordy technical answer for that, but in less archaic terms, think of witchcraft as the sand on the beach.”