He glanced at me, expression grim. “Both.”
I walked across and stopped beside him. The jars that had caught his interest looked far newer than any of the others that sat nearby. Those were covered in a thick layer of dust and obviously hadn’t been touched for years, if not decades. Of the four jars that had caught Azriel’s interest, two had a light coating of dust that was smudged in various places, indicating more recent usage. The other two had a heavier coating, but it was nowhere near the thickness of the other jars on the shelf. Unfortunately, the glass was smoky, making it difficult to see the contents.
“The resonance from the recently used jars is an echo of your own,” Azriel said. “The other two are reminiscent of your mother.”
So she had been spelled. There could be no other reason for her resonance to linger in these jars. I blinked away the tears that were both remorse and anger, and glanced at Rozelle. “There’s no spell lingering on these things, is there? They’re safe to pick up?”
Rozelle nodded, her concentration more on the water line she was creating around the base of the stairs. “The only magic that now resides in this chamber is that within the ritual table.”
“Thanks.” I plucked the nearest bottle off the shelf and unscrewed the lid.
Inside sat a solitary earring. It was simple in design—a perfectly circular dark pearl in a gold setting. I couldn’t remember ever seeing Mom wearing something like this, but maybe Mike had stolen it when I was little more than a baby. I tipped it out into my palm and for an instant heard an echo of my mother’s warm laugh, felt the kiss of lips across my cheek. Impossible, I knew, because she’d long ago moved on.
Not so impossible, Azriel said, mental tone soft. Not when her resonance lingers.
And this solitary earring, I realized suddenly, was the only piece of her jewelry I had left. Everything else she’d left me had been stored in the safe at our apartment and was now little more than a sprinkling of dust in a hole filled with ash and destruction.
Yet I couldn’t regret my actions and certainly wouldn’t have altered them even if I had a chance to do it all again. Mom lived on in my memories and in my heart, not in material things. And she would be the first to call me foolish for mourning the loss of such unimportant things as jewelry.
Still . . .
I closed my fist around the earring, holding on to it fiercely as I reached for the next jar. This one held more personal items—hair, nail clippings, and several other bits and pieces that I couldn’t actually guess at. But these sorts of items were all used in placing a geas or spell on someone.
I swore softly and handed the jar to Azriel. He shoved Valdis’s tip into it, and in very little time, the contents were ash. Mom might be dead, but I still wasn’t about to risk leaving the things in that jar here. If it was possible for the Raziq to call me back from the dead, then it was also very possible that Lauren could do the same. She’d been hanging around Lucian long enough to learn at least enough Aedh magic to get herself onto the gray fields without his aid, so heaven only knew what else he’d taught her.
As Azriel placed the jar back on the shelf, I reached for the first of the more recently used ones—and wasn’t exactly surprised to find it contained hair, nail clippings, and whatnot. I gave it across to Azriel, then opened the second jar. Silver gleamed back at me from the bottom of it. I frowned, tipped it into my palm, and realized with a sense of shock that it was a baby’s bracelet. My baby bracelet. I’d seen pictures of it over the years and had eventually asked Mom what had happened to it. She’d shrugged and said she had no idea. And maybe she didn’t. Maybe she’d handed it over to Mike at some point and then had been prompted to forget about it.
I stared at it for a moment, then took a deep breath and released it slowly. I couldn’t keep it, as much as I might want to. Just as I couldn’t keep Mom’s earring, no matter how much I might want to. The earrings might not have any sort of spell on them, but they’d been in Lauren’s possession for a long time, and I had no idea whether she could trace me through either of them. Better to be safe than sorry. I dangled them into Valdis’s flames and watched the silver and pearl slowly disintegrate, until there was nothing left.
I resolutely turned away and inspected the rest of the shelves. I couldn’t see anything else of either mine or Mom’s.
I glanced at Azriel, and he shook his head. “Which does not mean she has nothing else of yours, just that it is not kept within this ritual room.”
I swung around and said to Rozelle, “Would she have more than one ritual room?”
“No.” She drew her athame from the second of the bags, then met my gaze. “It takes strength and time for a sorceress to attune such a table to her psyche.”
“Does that mean she can’t create spells wherever the hell she currently is, or simply that she can’t create any major spells?”
“The latter. If the spell involves blood magic, then it must be performed here, on this table. Other magic—and not necessarily minor—she can perform anywhere she can create the appropriate protection circle.”
“Damn.”
“Indeed.” Her smile was grim. “However, the destruction of the table will impinge on both her strength and her ability to perform any sort of magic. Which is why we must hasten its destruction.”
“Then we’ll get out of your way.” I hesitated. “You do remember you’re dealing with someone capable of taking on any form, don’t you?”
Her smile grew, though there was still very little in the way of amusement in it. “Which is why the very first thing we did, before we even attempted to access this room, was create a spell that was not only a barrier against evil, but would reveal the true form of anyone coming into this basement.”
“Which won’t stop a human type of assassin coming down here and shooting the lot of you.”
“It does when we are guarded against all evil—human or otherwise.” She half shrugged. “It is not dissimilar to the magic that guards the Brindle.”
“Then good luck with the table destruction.”
“Luck is not something the Brindle has ever relied on,” the taller witch commented. “It is far too fickle a beast.”
Well, that was certainly true. We headed out of the basement and went back through the warehouse, until we were once again standing outside. I stretched weary limbs, but before I could say anything, my phone rang. The tone told me it was Uncle Rhoan, and my stomach tensed again. Even if he’d said he’d track down what information the Directorate had on Lauren’s other aliases, there was something deep within me that said two calls in such a short amount of time could not be good.