I laughed. “Not as impressive as you might think. I’ll fill you in later. But first, what do you know about bokors and priestesses?”
“I’ve been doing some digging. We have a crappy satellite feed, which gives me spotty Internet, but it’s been enough to gather some information that may help. It seems they are fallible, which is good news.”
“I have some good news too,” Marcy chirped as she strode up behind Nick, James right behind her, his hand at her waist. “Lookit what I managed to brew up last night.” She shook a bag. “Goodies for defeating a bokor.”
“Are they dark spells?” I asked, peering into the bag.
“No,” she replied with a wink, “but they will be soon.”
10
“Stop wiggling,” Marcy commanded. “All I need is a few more drops. Quit being such a baby.”
I was perched at an awkward angle over a small fire she had kindled, my hand wrapped around her body so I didn’t have to witness the cutting. “I’m hardly being a baby. This is the fifth time you’ve sliced me open with a hunting knife, the kind used for skinning large prey. It’s not exactly like a needle prick,” I grumbled.
“If you’d stop healing the moment I poked you, we’d be golden. We need your blood. It’s the only thing that will cement these spells and make them strong enough to go up against the bokor’s magic.” She readjusted her grip on my wrist, tugging it over the pot. “And I just need a few more drops. Hold still.”
I gritted my teeth. “Hurry up.” My wrist throbbed. Marcy had brewed the initial spells at her camp but had to get them bubbling again to add my blood.
We were losing time.
She poked me again and I flinched. “No go. Nada. Healed up already. What are you anyway? Hercules? Who heals so fast a single drop of blood can’t drip out? I’ll have to make the gash longer and pray for just one little red bead.”
I closed my eyes as she slashed again. Even though I healed the wound almost instantaneously, it still burned like crazy. “Healing this fast is new for me,” I commented through a clenched jaw as she sawed on me one more time. “I had no idea, because I haven’t had the pleasure of encountering a hunting knife since I’ve been back from the Underworld.”
Rourke watched with his arms crossed. “I’m losing my patience, witch. One more time and you’re done.”
“It can’t hurt that bad. I’m not severing your arm,” Marcy said as she sliced and squeezed. “There, I got one. Just need one more. Calm your cat down. Lie and tell him it doesn’t hurt.”
The pain wasn’t actually that bad. “I think my human side is making it worse, if that makes any sense. I’m anticipating how badly it should hurt. There’s a burn, but then it eases up fairly quick—ow!” Marcy slashed deep and a single drop of blood plunked down into the pot, and the entire brew sizzled like water sprinkled on hot oil.
“Done.” Marcy chanted something under her breath. “Your blood is behaving like nothing I’ve ever seen before. My pot is popping with action. I’m considering that a win. There’s an old witch’s proverb: The stronger the blood, the more potent the spell.” The pot continued to sizzle as Marcy leaned over it. “I’ve just never seen blood this concentrated.” She released my arm and I brought it back to my side.
“That doesn’t sound like a proverb.”
“Fine, you got me. I just made it up. But look at it go.”
I peered over the bubbling pot. She was right. It looked like it was full of Pop Rocks.
“What spell are you brewing now?” my brother asked from his spot on the other side of the fire, leaning over to investigate. “It smells like moth balls crossed with grapefruit. Stale citrus.”
“It’s a protection spell,” Marcy answered proudly. “If Jessica explodes this, a five-foot wall of protection will erupt around her like a shield.”
“How long will it last once I use it?” That sounded like something I needed.
“You’ll be lucky if it lasts three minutes.” She chuckled. “If this bokor is extremely powerful, she may be able to bash through it in less than three, but for an average opponent, this spell, mixed dark with your blood, would give you upward of ten minutes. Too bad you’re not fighting a regular sorceress. But it’s better than nothing.”
“What other spells do you have?” Nick asked curiously. He stood near Tyler. Marcy had quite an audience. “And how did you make them with such limited resources?”
I had to admit, I was impressed too.
“All of these spells”—she gestured at the array of pots around her—“are made with simple organic material. Witches’ magic is made of the earth, and these are what we call base spells. You can substitute things on hand for these kinds of spells. It’s only when you start getting technical do you need ‘a single Balm of Gilead bud picked under the new moon’ or the like. Those kinds of spells are hardwired to do something exact. These”—she waved her arm in an arc—“are broad. Last night I had the wolves at our camp hunt for a few things, and then James took me out on the boat. The Everglades is certainly not like shopping at the local alchemy store, but I made it happen.”
“According to that sizzle, you certainly did,” I commented. “Are you almost done? We need to get a move on.”