Mark waved his right hand in a little dismissing gesture and then motioned for her to get on with it. He still winced slightly at the first touch of the cold paste to his bare skin, but that was all. Riordan found the whole process fascinating and wished he could see it again under better circumstances. Questions itched at his throat, but he swallowed them back, unwilling to distract Lucinda.

 

The magic circles Lucinda used were different than the ones he’d seen based on Jewish Kabbalah or pattern and symbol heavy methods of the traditional African magic. Hers seemed to be a mix of blocky natural symbology and European hermetic division of space. Most magic circles seemed to use writing of some sort to help define parameters or intention of the effect. As with the language she’d used when casting earlier, Riordan did not recognize the alphabet she used. It looked like a handful of symbols rotated to different orientations with additional markings added at seeming random. He certainly couldn’t figure out the pattern to it in the small samples included in the circles.

 

He couldn’t help himself. The question slipped out. “What language is that?”

 

To his surprise, Lucinda actually answered, her tone offhand and distracted as she focused on drawing. “Anishinaabemowin. You might know it better as Ojibwe. Frankie is part Ottawa and uses the language to keep spell casting separate from conversation and taught both Mark and I.”

 

That startled Riordan. He’d never actually thought about why spells always sounded foreign and fancy, but also didn’t all sound the same. He could totally cast in English if he wanted then, especially since it wasn’t even close to his first language, but then anyone who spoke English and was listening would know what he was casting. Since the words existed to help the caster form intent, it only mattered that the caster knew what they meant. He wondered how that might work with someone learning spells by rote after someone else had written them in a strange language. Was it enough to know that the words and symbols were supposed to constrain a spell without knowing why and how?

 

Riordan had never really wondered about all of this. Some of his friends growing up were fascinated with magic and how it worked, embracing the awe and wonder of being able to impose their will on the fabric of the world. Only the shaman learned to work active spells, but they also hadn’t stopped anyone from listening in to the lessons if they wanted. His pack had known the dangers of cultural erasure. It was easy to get complacent, to assume that a handful of long-lived lore keepers were enough, and then to lose entire swathes of history in one heart-wrenching disaster.

 

Now though, he smelled the sharp pungent odor of the herb paste and watched as flecks of power were pulled from the ambient mana in the air into the circles as Lucinda finished them. He thought of how Lucinda had listed the purpose of herbs earlier, seeing hints of how the free mana arranged itself on the pattern. Had the herbs done that or the circle or just Lucinda’s intent?

 

The questions flew from Riordan’s mind as Lucinda put down the brush and cleared her throat, her intense gaze boring into him. She pointed to the first and largest circle, drawn on Mark’s abdomen. “This is a shield for his well and core. You can see how the circle is split but interconnected, representing the separate but one nature of those magical elements. I used porcupine elements to both support and get support from his animal form and the flowing water elements in order to filter his magical system without restricting it.”

 

She moved her hand to the next circle, this one in the middle of Mark’s chest. “This guards his spirit and therefore has both strong human and porcupine elements. When working with shifters, it really helps to know their animal form, since it ties magic to them stronger and protects the whole of them.”

 

The last circle was smaller and drawn on Mark’s forehead. His hair was already trying to flop into it, but the paste remained unsmudged. “Obviously, this will guard his mind. The sun and moon symbols here are to represent cyclic rest and part of this circle will guide him into deep sleep, but also make him easier to wake up when the time comes. The circle in the middle represents thought and a contained self, to prevent outside influence.”

 

Riordan tried to commit the meanings of the circles to mind. He knew there were more layers to it, based on arrangement and division of space and specific symbols for her, but he also knew she was telling him the basics so that he could support her casting as she intended it to go. He nodded to make it clear he understood.

 

She studied him a moment and then nodded back, asking, “Have you ever used echo casting before?”

 

“No,” Riordan answered honestly, “Active magic was never my thing. I’ve seen it done. I don’t speak Anishina-- Ojibwe though.”

 

“I figured not,” Lucinda waved a hand to dismiss that concern and then held both of her hands out over Mark, palms up. “I’ll cast in English since I know we share that language well enough. I’ll say a line and you repeat it back to me, putting your intention to protect Mark into the words and circles. This is a stopgap measure, so I’ll keep it simple.”

 

Riordan nodded and waited for her to start. She rolled her eyes and moved her hands slightly. “Put your hands over mine, Riordan. Palms down.”

 

Blushing, Riordan complied. Her hands were pale and cool beneath his own larger, darker ones. Mark was paler yet past their hands, both naturally and from the pain. Riordan was impressed that he had kept the spirit armor up this whole time.

 

“Mark,” Lucinda prompted and got an acknowledging noise in return, “Drop your armor.”

 

That request scared Riordan. It made sense in retrospect. Mark’s spirit armor would interfere with outside influences, especially since he was unlikely to be able to divide his attention further to let them in. However, dropping the armor meant the blood spell would be able to spread unimpeded until Lucinda and Riordan finished this casting. They had to be fast and their shield had to work.

 

His panic had no time to settle in before the translucent clothing over Mark flickered and vanished. Immediately, some of the pain lines on the man’s face smoothed out and he sighed in relief, slumping further into the seat. The black and green magic on his arm began creeping further and further up with every heartbeat.

 

“Alkanet, for purification and protection, to repel venom and heal wounds,” Lucinda began, her words taking the cadence and weight of casting as she put her intention behind it. The words weren’t what Riordan would have expected but he echoed them back into the spell, holding the three circles, the words, and their fervent desire for Mark’s wellbeing in the forefront of his mind.

 

“Palo santo, to ward off calamity, to ease the flow of energy and protect from evil spirits.”

 

Magic trembled in the air, shifting in response to their words and to the stream of magic Riordan felt twining out from each of them to coil in the circles.

 

“Bay leaf, for purification and protection, to strengthen his mind and magic.”

 

The shaking magic began to draw in faster, knitting itself into shapes over and through the circles

 

“Sage leaf, to ward off evil, to improve the mind and bring wisdom.”

 

New threads spun off from the magic circles, sinking into Mark.

 

“Lavender, for purification and protection, to heal the mind and spirit.

 

The spell was weaving itself faster and faster inside of Mark now, making shells around the various points of their protection. For a brief moment, Riordan thought he saw the whole of Mark’s magical system. He made sure his voice didn’t waver and the image was gone when he blinked.

 

“Thyme, to ward off the unbearable, for strength and courage.”

 

The shells solidified, flexible but sturdy. The draw of magic into the circles slowed but didn’t stop.

 

“Rosehips, for healing, to call in good spirits.”

 

The magic on the circles began to swirl gently, forming a loose funnel that pulled in magic from around them to support the shields. Threads still came from Riordan and Lucinda to each circle, providing the starting power like the occasional push to keep a merry-go-round spinning.

 

“Please, keep him safe.”

 

Such a simple phrase, almost a prayer more than a spell, but heavy with intent. Riordan got the words out without choking on them, pushing intent behind that heavily. As the last sound faded, the casting settled into place, easing but not ending the draw on them. He knew that it would slowly drain them to maintain the shields, but the herbs and circles helped supplement their power with ambient energy and the echo casting split the cost between them both.

 

Lucinda dropped her hands and rocked backwards, examining their work with a critical eye. Riordan didn’t feel qualified to assess their shields, his own focus going instead to the creeping shadows. In the short time required for the casting, the blood spell already covered all of Mark’s left arm and into his shoulder and neck. The level of aggression reduced with the absence of the armor, leaving the spell seeming almost anemic afterwards. Riordan wondered how much Mark’s efforts to fight it had drained the power from the spell.

 

Either way, spreading clearly diffused the magical effect, though Riordan still held his breath as the leading edge of the shadow brushed the shield on Mark’s mind. The man himself was asleep now, but frowned and grimaced at that contact. A small spark flared as the spells met. Compared to the conflict with the armor, the glow was far reduced and the accompanying pain probably was as well. That didn’t mean it would be a pleasant sensation and Riordan was glad Mark was unconscious for this.

 

Watching the progress showed that the spell’s effect concentrated in Mark’s head, oozing around the mental shield. Other tendrils brushed against the magic and spirit wards without the same intensity of purpose. Whatever the spell was supposed to do, Riordan was pretty darn sure at this point that it targeted Mark’s mind. They definitely were not dropping the shields until the curse was addressed.

 

After five minutes of observation, Lucinda nodded, apparently satisfied that their shields were holding. She handed him the bag with the blade.

 

“Hide this somewhere out there,” she ordered, “We shouldn’t bring it with us, but perhaps we can come back if it’s truly needed.”

 

Riordan took it from her without argument. In this field, Lucinda was the commander and Riordan fell back into the role of obeying and supporting with an ease that made him uncomfortable to contemplate. Twenty years and his patterns hadn’t changed. Riordan promised himself that he would not follow blindly this time. He hoped he could keep it.

 

He partially shifted and dug a quick hole into the side of the drainage ditch, up above the current low water level. The bag and the knife it held slipped in easily. Riordan made a quick attempt to cover it and then clambered back up to the road and the van. By unspoken agreement, he moved around to the driver’s side and took the seat next to Mark.

 

Lucinda took the wheel, taking a moment to send a series of texts to Vera, and then they hit the road again, heading towards Traverse City and the airport there.