A Touch of Mistletoe (17 page)

"Good idea." M.C. slid off the bed. "I need to start planning some possible exorcism rituals based on what we know."

"I'll keep digging for more info." An-An reached for her laptop as she stood as well.

"You can stay here and get some sleep." M.C. looked back at her from the door and An-An shook her head.

"I'd rather be useful."

M.C. shrugged, but was smiling as they led the way down the hall towards the stairs.

The fire was still lit in the hearth when they got the living room. An-An folded herself onto one of the leather couches while M.C. knelt on the floor, muttering as they began to trace patterns across the floor. An-An watched them fondly for a few moments before turning back to her laptop.

There was also a lot of folklore about werewolves that revolved around the holiday season. For instance, people born on Christmas had once been thought to run a higher risk of becoming werewolves. When she searched the spell craft databases and archives, though, she found very little that was of use. Folk tradition seemed to be all there was as far as holiday related demons were concerned. The more institutionalized traditions of spell craft were pretty much silent on the subject. And none of the demonology databases gave anything useful regarding demons that fit with what she'd experienced in the woods.

After about an hour of digging with very little to show for it, An-An put her laptop aside and stretched. Climbing off the couch she ambled towards the kitchen in search of a cup of tea.

She shifted the kettle onto a lit burner and leaned against the counter while the water heated. Maybe she should take another look at the folklore. Generally in school she'd been taught not to treat folklore or 'folk magic' as reliable sources or legitimate forms of spell craft. But she knew revisionists were beginning to call that attitude into question, so maybe it was time to reevaluate what she already had.

The clock over the stove read a few minutes after midnight. An-An rubbed her hands over her face, letting her eyes drift shut. There was a singing in her head, sweet, high, and clear like a bell or a choir of voices. It grew louder, filling An-An's head and muffling her thoughts.

She crossed the room and pulled open the back door. The wind beat against her, pummeled her with ice and snow, but she didn't feel it. Nor did she feel the snow seeping through her socks as she stepped out onto the lawn. The floodlights went on, blindingly bright, but the sudden illumination didn’t stop her or even slow her down.

The singing filled her head to bursting until she found herself kneeling on the ground along the snow. Then it stopped. An-An could feel something else now, something coming up behind her, huge and looming. The smell of wet fur filled her nose, and hot breath blew across her neck.

An-An tried to drag in a lung full of breath, but it was like trying to breathe through a mouthful of mud. The stench of it grew sharper, like rotting leaves, mold and dead flesh.

Hands closed around her shoulders, burning hot against her chilled skin, long and slim hands, attached to a body An-An leaned against. Her eyes slid shut as the hand slid across her shoulders, caressed down her arms and chest. The touch was both soothing and sensual; An-An leaned into them.

The wolf would strike soon, tear at her throat, rip through her flesh, devour her. She could feel the power of it already. The ferocity, the hunger, its need to hunt and consume her, body and soul. Even if she'd been capable of resisting, it would overpower her easily.

She could feel its hot breath on her face. The hands stroked up her chest again, pulling her closer to the hard body at her back.

Then suddenly the hands jerked away, the body pulled back so fast An-An fell. There was a low, feral growl as she pitched forward, eyes flying open and hands coming out to break her fall.  

The snow and ice stung her palms, knocking her out of her trance. Making her painfully aware that she was surrounded by bitter wind and snow in nothing but her jeans, plaid shirt and socks. Her feet were numb, legs beginning to lock up from the cold. She squinted against the blowing snow and saw a figure running towards her from the house. An-An could just make out the sound of Latin chanting as they ran.

Blue flames burst from the snow in a circle around her. She heard the snarling growl again, but it came from a distance. Comforting, but not comforting enough, because it was still angry and a lot less exorcised than she would like.

"Are you all right?" M.C. dropped down to kneel in the snow beside her.

An-An nodded, still feeling shaky and weak, her stomach churning at the memory of it, the feel of the hands against her skin, the knowledge that she was about to be eaten alive. "I'm okay."

"Come on." Arms went around her and An-An sagged against M.C's side. "Let's get you back inside."

M.C. Helped An-An to her feet and then they both staggered toward the house again. The back door stood open and M.C. guided her through to the kitchen and sat An-An down at the kitchen table. M.C. then shut the door behind them and headed for the hallway. "I'm going to get you a towel."

As the warmth of the kitchen started to penetrate the icy cold, An-An began to shiver all over, wrapping her arms around herself as she shook on the wooden kitchen chair.

"Here." M.C. came back carrying a huge fluffy towel and a blanket. They wrapped the blanket around An-An's shoulders and dropped to their knees before peeling off An-An's socks. Her feet had started to go blue. M.C. rubbed them briskly with the towel until they began to tingle painfully. 

An-An hissed at the sudden pain and shifted on the chair. "I'm sorry. It shouldn't have been able to catch me twice."

"Nonsense." M.C. straightened up "I should have been paying better attention. We both knew it would come after you."

An-An stayed silent at that because as much as she hated it, M.C. was right. M.C. was a powerful exorcist and spell caster. An-An had degrees in spell craft and researched demonology, but she had no natural magic ability of her own. Any demon they encountered would always target her rather than M.C. Knowing that didn't make her feel any less helpless and useless.

Her hand drifted up to the sprig of mistletoe to find it still pinned in place, albeit now crookedly as well as slightly crushed. Her mind went back to the way the demon had recoiled from her. Hadn't its hand been right about there at the time?

"I think the mistletoe saved me." An-An swallowed. "I think it was going to eat me and I couldn't fight back. I felt heavy, like the in the woods. Foggy, and the way it touched me it was hypnotic… but then it touched the mistletoe and pulled away. I think the mistletoe hurt or weakened it somehow."

 "It touched you?" M.C. jaw set.

"Yeah." An-An rubbed a hand through her hair; it came away wet and cold, covered in melting snow. "Caressed, really, it was weird and creepy as fuck." She grimaced. "But at least we know how it gets them out of the house and why they don't make any noise while it's tearing them apart. It felt hungry more than anything else. I think it's just going after whoever is available instead of targeting specific people."

M.C. looked furious as they stood. "I brought more mistletoe."

The grocery bags still sat abandoned on the counter, and M.C. rummaged through them, eventually pulling out several handfuls of green leaves and small white berries. "I'll put them up over the doors and windows."

"Okay." An-An made to stand and M.C. pushed her back into the chair.

"Rest. I'll do it."

That stung her pride a little bit, but An-An supposed M.C. was probably right; her feet still ached and her body still trembled with cold.

She tottered after M.C. into the hall and watched as M.C. affixed sprigs of mistletoe over the door and knelt to chalk a ward onto the floor.

An-An crossed her arms over her chest. She should have been the one chalking wards. The fact that M.C. had decided to do it without An-An's assistance made her feel even more useless. "I need to change." She headed up the stairs.

"Wait." M.C. stood and held out one hand. "Give me your hand."

When An-An placed her hand in M.C.'s smaller one, M.C. reached out to the table next to the door and picked up a ball point pen. They drew a slightly slanted and less-than-perfect protective ward onto An-An's hand and concentrated for a moment. A faint flow appeared above the symbol and An-An's hand felt warm for a moment before it faded.

"There." M.C. let go of An-An's hand, and she stepped back.

"Thanks."

"Be careful." M.C. said as An-An turned back to the stairs and headed up to their room. "And remember to pin the mistletoe onto whatever shirt you put on."

Was it always going to be like this? An-An pulled off her jeans, sitting on their bed. Her getting targeted by demons and M.C. protecting her? Was she always going to be more of a hindrance than a help? She'd worked with other exorcists before, but she'd always kept a distance. She hadn't been as hands on or done as much work in the field until she'd started working with M.C.

Would M.C. eventually get sick of the constant distraction and leave An-An at home? An-An's stomach knotted; if M.C. decided they couldn't work together professionally, how would that impact their personal relationship? Would M.C. come to realize that they'd rather be with someone who could share the work?

And An-An would miss it. Working with M.C. was great. An-An had never enjoyed exorcist cases when she'd worked them with other people. M.C. treated her as an equal even though she couldn't cast spells, and had even before they'd become a couple.

She buttoned her new shirt and made sure the mistletoe was pinned in place before heading back down the stairs. M.C. was back in the living room, sitting on one of the couches with their computer on their lap.

"I made you tea." M.C. pointed to a steaming mug without looking up, fingers flying over the keys.

An-An picked the mug up, relishing the heat that soaked into the palms of her hands, and took a sip. A spicy green taste filled her mouth and she frowned and looked up at M.C. "What is this?"

"Thistle tea, it'll help protect you from demons."

An-An raised her eyebrows. "Herbal teas and remedies aren't considered 'legitimate' magic."

"Practicing corporate, or sanctioned, magic is useful. The degrees, the good job, the membership in secret societies—all that brings money, legitimacy and power. But I've never fooled myself into thinking that it’s the only kind of magic out there." M.C. looked up at her finally, gaze strangely intense. "The practice of using herbs to work spell craft, to protect, curse, and heal might be considered hedge magic and superstition, but I've seen it work."

"High spell craft has been institutionalized while folk spell craft is still suppressed." An-An perched on the arm of the couch, cradling her cup between her hands. "I've always thought it was interesting, folk spell craft, but I know so little about it since it's not taught in any practical sense at colleges or universities. I minored in it but all our folk magic classes were history and anthropology, not hands on."

M.C. grunted in agreement as they finished up whatever they were typing. "I barely manage to get away with using known western rituals for exorcism, but it has to be codified; it has to have been tested, approved and peer reviewed. Which a lot has been at this point, although still you'll find most of us exorcists chanting Latin because that's what's expected and most acceptable. I'd probably get fired if I were to use some kind of folk tradition exorcism, the kind that's only been passed on orally." They patted An-An's thigh. "Drink your tea." 

An-An took another sip. At least the heat felt nice. "Do you have any ideas for an exorcism?"

"Some." M.C. seemed to ponder. "The demon is most certainly more powerful than I had originally thought, but not a high demon, still a lesser one without an agenda beyond feeding."

"Do you think whoever originally set the spell up wanted revenge?"

"They certainly wished ill will on someone in this house."

"The kind of ill will where you want someone to be eaten by a wolf," An-An muttered, remembering the creature, its hunger and power, how it yearned to tear at her flesh. Who would wish that on someone?

Outside, the wind flung snow against the panes and made low hanging tree branches bang against the side cabin. An-An slid off the arm of the couch to curl next to M.C., pressing close against them. M.C.'s arm slid around her, and An-An let her eyes slide shut as she sipped her tea. She then rested against M.C.'s shoulder. It was Christmas Eve after all—they might as well enjoy it.

Sudden banging on the door made them both jerk upright. It sounded like someone large and strong was pounding relentlessly on the door, causing it to shake in its frame with every blow.

An-An's gaze swept down the door to the markings on the floor, which had been begun to glow, but flickered with each heavy knock.

"The wards are failing." An-An was up off the couch and digging a piece of chalk out of her pocket as she went. It was pretty crushed, but there was enough for her to use as she knelt next to the ward and began chalking a bigger, more powerful one in its place. "Come over here and activate this."

M.C. knelt beside her and placed their hands just above the marks, closing their eyes and chanting. The air filled with power, dancing along An-An's arms, and the ward glowed bright and strong.

The pounding continued for a moment longer and then stilled. M.C. and An-An looked at each other—and then M.C. started when the banging began on the back door. They both stood and sprinted for the kitchen.

An-An's sock-clad feet slipped on the tiles. M.C. had laid down a ward on this door, but it was beginning to bend under the demon's onslaught. If not for the mistletoe…

An-An dove for the door, fingers fumbling with the chalk in her haste to get down the symbols for the ward. M.C.'s power slammed up like a wall, the symbols glowing to life as fast as An-An could write them. The last rune lit with power and the banging was abruptly cut off, silence filling the house.

An-An strained for even the barest sound, but the only thing she could hear from outside was the wind.