Ruby Shadows (Born to Darkness #3)(112)

“What’s all that?” Gwendolyn’s face looked uncertain in the greenish-blue light.

“It’s everything you need, my little witch,” I told her. “Come help me—we are going to do a summoning.”

* * * * *

Gwendolyn

“A what?” I frowned as I saw the things he was unloading. A small folding table… a rich burgundy cloth with golden designs embroidered into it…one large white pillar candle and four smaller colored ones… “And why did you bring all this stuff with us instead of just conjuring it?”

“I wish to keep all my power intact in case of a confrontation,” he said obliquely as he helped me down from Kurex’s back. “I trust you understand my meaning, Gwendolyn.”

“Of course.”

I felt a chill go through me as I remembered the HellSpawn that was tracking me. I wanted Laish at full strength too. But why had he brought all the necessary equipment for a summoning spell? As I watched he withdrew a golden chalice and a silver athame—a ceremonial knife used in many witchcraft rituals.

“Who are we summoning?” I asked as he led Kurex to the edge of the magical tunnel and told him to stay. The big horse stood quietly, not even flicking an ear when a prehistoric beast that could have swallowed him in two bites glided by not three inches from him.

“Never mind that yet,” Laish beckoned to me. He had already set up the small folding table and draped it with the burgundy and gold cloth, creating a makeshift altar. Upon it he placed the chalice, the candles, and the athame. “Call the circle, Gwendolyn,” he told me.

Feeling strange, I did as he said. I drew a circle in the sand, wide enough to encompass both Laish and myself and the small altar. Then, taking the first colored candle, I lifted it. Laish hadn’t provided me with a lighter so I gave it to him with a raised eyebrow. Smiling a little, he blew on the wick and it lit, the small flame blooming in response to his power.

I took the lit candle a little way away and stood it upright carefully in the sand. As I did, I spoke the words of the ritual, calling the circle.

“Hail to the guardians of the watchtowers of the East. Spirits of Air, powers of Thought. I call upon you to lend your essence to this rite.”

I took the next candle and Laish lit it. This one I buried in the sand a little way back in the direction we had come.

“Hail to the guardians of the watchtowers of the South. Spirits of Fire, powers of Will. I call upon you to lend your essence to this rite.”

And then the next candle. “Hail to the guardians of the watchtowers of the West. Spirits of Water, powers of Emotion…”

It was the same spell I had used to summon Laish himself, so many months ago when I’d thought he was just a minor demon who couldn’t hurt me. Now I knew better—much better and I wasn’t afraid of him anymore. At least, I wasn’t afraid he would hurt me physically. But all his talk of dying and his insistence that I wear the cursed dagger at my hip made me extremely nervous. I had to admit that it would hurt to lose him—a pain worse than any physical torture he might have inflicted if he was a different kind of demon.

“Hail to the guardians of the watchtowers of the North,” I said, taking the last candle from Laish. I used it to light the large white pillar candle on the altar and then placed it at the head of the circle. “Spirits of Earth, powers of Stability. I call upon you to lend your essence to this rite. I conjure ye, O Circle of Light to be a temple between the worlds, in the name of the Goddess who binds us all together. Wherefore do I bless and consecrate thee. So Mote It Be.”

It’s not always necessary to call the circle in order to do magic—in fact, it’s mostly just for high rituals like the Great Rite. But it felt right to do so now, though I couldn’t have said why. I still didn’t understand why Laish had asked me to do it but I trusted him when he said it was necessary.


“Raise a cup to the Goddess,” he murmured to me. He was already pouring water from my battered Zephyrhills bottle into the golden chalice as he spoke.

“It would be better if it was wine,” I remarked.

“That can be accomplished.” Lifting the silver athame, he held it out to me.

I took it automatically, not understanding what he wanted until he held his hand, palm out, over the cup.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I protested.

“Do, it Gwendolyn. It’s necessary.”

He nodded insistently until I very reluctantly pressed the sharp tip of the athame into the heel of his hand. A single ruby red droplet welled up and fell into the chalice filled with water. At once the ruby color spread to the water and a rich, fruity aroma began to rise from it.

“Oh!” I looked at it uncertainly and then sniffed it.

“It’s wine—a very good wine, I think,” Laish murmured. “Now you must add a single drop of your own blood as well.”

“Why?” I wasn’t sure why he wanted me to—it wasn’t the usual ritual. In fact, the only ritual I could think of that required a drop of each of the participants’ blood in a cup consecrated to the Goddess was the handfasting rite. It was a binding together of the male and female spirits—a kind of marriage in a way. But I was certain that wasn’t what Laish was after—was it? “Why do you need my blood in the cup too?” I asked again when he didn’t answer.