Kindling the Moon (Arcadia Bell #1)(36)

“Only if you have something to hide.”

“I don’t.”

“You sure about that?” he asked with a suggestive smile that sent an unexpected ripple through my chest. Christ, could he sense that?

“So sure,” I answered, forcing away the unwanted feeling. “How does this ward work?”

He studied me for a moment longer, the corners of his mouth twitching once, then dropped his eyes. “It emits a strong suggestive vibration. Anything that comes within a couple of feet of it with the intent to do you harm will be dissuaded. Most will just give up and leave.”

“And if they don’t?”

“If they cross the barrier completely, first you’ll see that the ward’s been breached. A network of blue lines will appear. Then a high-frequency sound will drop them to their knees. It’s like a dog whistle—you won’t hear it, but they will. If they persist, the sound will incapacitate them.”

“Hmm, sounds good. Now tell me how you charged a ward this big.”

He bent down over the white bucket and made repetitive digs around the lid with a small metal object to slowly pry the lid off. “I hooked myself up to a small electrical generator.”

“What? You shocked yourself with a generator? Are you joking?”

“Nope.”

“That’s … insane. You could have been killed, you know?”

“Yep.”

“You can’t pull electricity on your own?”

“Not well enough to kindle the amount of Heka I needed to charge the ward sufficiently.”

“I’m speechless.”

“I didn’t bring a generator this time. After seeing how well you pulled from my car last night, I was kinda counting on you being able to kindle enough Heka by yourself.”

He finally got the lid of the bucket open far enough to leverage it off. I took a few steps closer, I peeked inside, smelling it before I saw it—pig’s blood. It had already started coagulating.

I puffed up my cheeks and held my nose while backing away. “Good God almighty.”

“You’ve never worked with pig’s blood?” Lon said.

“Not that much of it. I buy it by the pint!”

“It’s not so bad when you get used to—” He turned his head to the side and winced. His eyes began watering. “Fuck, I forgot how bad this reeks in big batches.”

“Is it rotten?”

“No. I got it straight from the slaughterhouse this morning.”

“Are we going to need all of it?”

“Maybe. If you’ve got any circles you need to make with the leftovers, feel free.” He coughed once, then backed up another step toward me.

I eyed it with greater interest. “Now that you mention it, I could use a couple of new imp portals. I burned up my last one at Mrs. Marsh’s house the other night.”

“Come on. Let’s finish this first before it gets too dark.” He held his hand out, requesting the shovel, then dipped a large metal can inside the bucket and began scooping blood into the wheelbarrow with the hematite powder.

“What do you want me to do?”

“See that jar over there?” He nudged his elbow at the grass behind me. “Be careful when you’re opening it. Sprinkle two or three spoonfuls into the wheelbarrow. Don’t get it on your skin or let it blow in your face. There are gloves and a surgical mask inside my truck if you want them.”

I cautiously picked up the large mason jar. The contents were black. “What’s this?”

“Ashes.”

“What kind of ashes?”

“Don’t ask.”

“You didn’t kill someone, did you?”

“Not so far, no.”

I donned the gloves and mask and followed his instructions as he mixed up the nefarious concoction with the tip of the shovel. It churned together into a thick, dark paste.

“Tell me what you found out in San Francisco,” he asked while he worked.

I related the story of my visit to the Tamlins in great detail until he started shooting me impatient scowls; after that, I sped up my narration. I followed behind him while he began shoveling the dark red paste around the base of my house, making a foot-wide border.

“Do you have to put it right up next to my house?” I complained.

“I’m going to cover it up with pebbles. Would you rather have an unexplainable ring of pebbles a few feet away from your house, or right next to it?”

I sighed. “Go ahead.”

It seemed unfair to let him do all the labor, so I picked up the second shovel and offered to help. He instructed me to scoop up the nasty paste and sling it on the ground a few feet ahead of him; he followed and packed it down. As we worked, I continued my story until I got to the part about the glass talon.

He dug the shovel into the ground, leaned on it, and furrowed his brow. “No shit?”

“I know.” I pulled the surgical mask down to hang around my neck. “If they’re right and not crazy, then the bad news is that the albino demons you already found—”

“Probably aren’t the right ones.”

“That’s if the Tamlins aren’t insane,” I reminded him.

“I wonder if there’s any way to find a photo of the glass knife anywhere, to see if it looks like it could’ve been a talon.”