same afterward. It was probably when she’d figured out I wasn’t a witch, but a witch-born demon.
“It’s o-o-o-okay,” he said around a long yawn. “New mirror?”
I touched the beautiful thing as if it were a kitten. “Yep. How’s my aura?”
Bis blinked his sleepy red eyes, struggling to focus. “Great. You got most of it back.”
I nodded, pleased. Ceri had cautioned me not to use a new mirror for twenty-four hours to allow for “aura replenishment,” but if my aura was there, where was the harm? “I’m going to see if it works,” I said as I let my protective circle drop and blotted the last of the wine from the mirror before setting it on my knee.
Bis slumped to fall asleep again as I stayed where I was atop the counter and placed my hand so my fingers touched the glyphs. Slowly, until I knew that my limited aura would protect me, I eased a sliver of ley line energy into my hand, and then into the curse to awaken it.
“Ow,” I whispered when a not-unexpected soft burning seemed to light behind my eyes. The curse was good. I’d done it right. The pain was only because I was trying to use the mirror with a patchy aura. It was tolerable, though, and I allowed more energy to flow. With a ping I could feel, the curse that existed both in the mirror and in me became one—and I was in the collective.
“Ow,” I said louder as it felt as if my skin was on fire, but the half-heard whispers of semiprivate conversations were a balm, and I hung there, easing back on the energy flow until I could handle the soft burn. It was very much like a crowded party with everyone talking, and as I felt the beginnings of a sneeze begin to threaten, I marshaled my thoughts into a clear statement, dropping it into the collective like the annoyed shout it was.
Rachel here. Who in hell has been trying to reach me? I have a cell phone, you know.
A prickling of interest circled. I caught a faint hint of amusement, and then an unfamiliar thought crashed into my mind, expanding my awareness with the breathless sensation of two intellects lightly becoming one. Just as fast, the burning sensation seemed to halve, and I got a wisp of irritated emotion, and then, Rachel Mariana Morgan? I have to talk to you. In person.
Dali? I thought as I recognized his absolute confidence, then quashed a flash of self-preservation. The ofttimes arrogant entity was the self-appointed leader of the demons. What did he want with me? Uh, sure, I thought, feeling his presence uncomfortably within mine. God! It was like he was pressing me against the wall, if a wall had existed.
Is now good? he persisted. I’ll bring you through, seeing as your gargoyle is asleep.
No, wait! I thought frantically, not sure if I’d end up across town or across the continent. I just made a scrying mirror, and my aura is patchy.
My fingers eased their pressure on the glass as I felt him draw back, a new understanding and perhaps a smidgen of chagrin as to why I hadn’t answered him earlier. What happened to your old one? he asked suspiciously.
Al broke it. Look, I don’t want to talk about it.
No doubt, Dali thought, and I glanced at Bis, the little guy now snoring to sound like rocks in a blender. Embarrassed, I pressed my hand harder into the red-tinted glass until the tingles of a weak connection vanished. If Al had a boss, it was Dali. That Dali now worked for Junior, or Mark, rather, slinging coffee in Cincinnati was just weird. It gave me hope that the demons were going to play by our rules, but the reality was that being a barista probably gave Dali the opportunity to sell the odd curse.
I’m working today, I thought, trying to hide my embarrassment. I’ll come see you tomorrow. You’ll be at Junior’s, right?
Where I’ll be working, Dali thought back, mental tone sour.
So take a coffee break. Mark won’t mind.
A wash of irate annoyance and impatience coursed through me, only half of it mine. Tomorrow, Dali thought, and then I jumped, hand springing from the glass when I seemed to lose half my mind. I hadn’t of course, but Dali was gone.
I sat up, shaking off the last of the haze of being in the collective. “Dali wanting to talk to you is never good,” I whispered, expecting to