Incubus (86 page)

unguarded front door. Much easier than the waiting. Each second of those two hours had been a

torture; all I wanted was to get back home and figure out how to open the box. Until I saw the vessel

with my own eyes, I wouldn’t be able to relax.

Seth was pacing the foyer when I returned, clutching a borrowed robe around his skinny frame.

When he saw the bronze chest in my arms he looked at me curiously.

“It’s locked,” I whispered. Dad was asleep upstairs.

Seth frowned, his dark eyes clouding with worry. He beckoned me back to his room. When I set

the chest down on his bed, something heavy shifted inside. Seth eased the door shut until the lock

clicked. Then he turned to me, face tight with anxiety.

“Now what?” he asked.

“We figure out how to open it.”

We examined the chest for over an hour. The surface was inlaid with an array of different stones

that worked in and around the symbols with an elegant grace. One part of me appreciated the artistry

with which it had been constructed. But most of me was ready to smash it to get at the vessel I could

only hope was inside.

“Forget it,” Seth said when we’d made no progress. “No keyhole, no hinges that I can see.”

“We can’t give up.” My voice was strained, but I’d come too far to turn back now.

“Does your dad have a crow bar?”

“In the garage,” I said, eyeing the ancient chest. As sad as the thought of destroying it made me, I

was right there with Seth. If we couldn’t do it any other way, we had to find a way to force the chest

open.

Seth eyed the chest, then sighed. “Okay. We’ll grab the crow bar on the way out. We should get

over to the mission. It’s going to be dawn soon, and we want to make sure we’re ready when it’s time

to start the ritual.”

I nodded as Seth flipped the light switch off.

“Seth,” I breathed.

A small patch of the inlaid stones seemed to glow in the darkness of his room. Seth stood next to

me, awed. “It must be some kind of phosphorescent mineral or something,” he said.

“But it wasn’t glowing in the basement.”

“You said it was buried in the floor?”

I nodded.

“Phosphorescent stuff needs light to charge it up,” Seth said. “The light in my room must have

given the stones just enough energy to glow.” He looked at me eagerly. “Do you have a bright

flashlight somewhere?”

“Yeah, we keep one in the kitchen.”

“Get it.” Seth looked back at the box, eyes fixed on the faintly gleaming stones.

I returned with the flashlight a minute later. Seth flipped it on and shined the light on the lid of the

chest for a minute or so. When we were done, the glow was stronger, and I could see a pattern.

“The rose,” I murmured. Seth looked at me, confused. I pointed to the surface of the chest. The

tiny, distinctive shape gleamed on one corner of the box; you wouldn’t notice it if the stones weren’t

glowing. “It’s the same as the carving that tour guide showed us in the mission,” I said.

“What carving?” Seth asked. I looked at him, remembering he hadn’t been with us on the field trip

to the mission. He hadn’t seen the secret door, or the rose carving that unlocked it.

“Doesn’t matter,” I said. I ran my fingers over the stones making up the rose. The petals radiated

out from a central stone. I pushed, and the stone depressed into the surface of the chest. The chest’s lid

pivoted over an inch or so. I tried to slide it over farther, but it wouldn’t move. “Give me the light,” I

said.

Seth handed the flashlight over without a word. I held it up to the chest, examining every side.

There was another tiny rose-mosaic on the back, containing another release—this time a petal. I

pushed it and heard a faint click. The lid of the chest lifted under my hand. As I opened it, I saw that

we would have had a difficult time prying it open with a crow bar. Two edges of the lid were lined

with metal braces that curled up under the reinforced lip of the base. Sliding the lid to the side also

slid those hooks away from the lip so they couldn’t hold it closed. The second latch had released

something in the chest’s complicated hinge, allowing the top to lift up.

“You did it,” Seth said.

I stared into the chest. Inside, a small vase was covered with an almost chalky green patina, but I

could still make out the symbols carved into its surface. The vessel. It was real. It was here. My heart

swelled with anticipation. After today, my hopes could be realized. After today, I could become

human.

We hid the bronze chest under Seth’s bed, behind a few spare blankets. It would take more than a

cursory glance to find it there.

“We should get going,” Seth urged.

“Wait.” I grabbed some pillows and stuffed them under Seth’s covers, repositioning them until

they could pass for a sleeping Seth. I’d already done the same in my room upstairs, on the off chance

Dad decided to check in on me in the middle of the night. Seth gave me an appraising look, but didn’t

say anything.

We bundled the vessel and the ingredients we’d prepared for the ritual into a duffle bag. It was

still dark outside, but the birds were starting to sing. Dawn was approaching.

I stopped on the porch, stricken. “If we take my car, Dad will know we’re gone,” I said.

“Only if he looks outside before we get back,” Seth said. I started to protest, but Seth held up a

finger. “If we do this right, we’ll be back here by seven—worst case scenario by eight. With any luck,

no one will have missed us. We can sneak back into the house and carry on like nothing happened.”

Seeing my hesitation, Seth frowned in exasperation. “What? You want to call a cab?”

I shook my head. We moved quickly to my car. But as I opened the driver’s side, Seth put a hand

on my arm.

“The spotters,” he said.

“Oh,” I breathed. Goose bumps prickled up along my arms. “I can’t go. They’re watching the roads

out of town.”

“You have to go,” Seth said. “Your blood—” He looked at me, his eyes pleading. “It has to be

fresh.”

I bit my lip and looked at the car. “You drive. I’ll hide in the trunk.” Seth looked like he wanted to

argue, but I didn’t give him a chance. I unlocked the trunk and climbed inside. It was a tight fit, and I

had to hug my knees.

“You’re sure you’ll be okay in there?” Seth asked. He studied the cramped quarters anxiously, but

there wasn’t time to discuss it.

“Just watch out for potholes,” I said, giving him a grim smile.

Seth’s lip twitched in response, but he didn’t look amused. Resigned, he closed the trunk.

For the record: not my favorite way to travel. I could tell Seth was taking it easy. He handled the

turns slowly, but I still had to brace my hands against the side of the trunk to avoid knocking my head

at each corner. Unable to see where we were going, the drive seemed much longer than I remembered.

When I heard the crunch of gravel under the wheels I let out a breath of relief. We were almost

there. Seth slowed even more for the rough climb up the foothills to the mission, but the unpaved road

made for a nauseating ride. When the car finally came to a stop, I was squeezing my eyes shut,

battling the urge to vomit.

Seth unlocked the trunk and fresh air flooded into my lungs. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I answered. He reached a hand out to me and I took it, eager to escape the cramped prison.

I drew the cold morning air into my lungs, one bracing breath after another, while Seth pulled the

heavy duffle bag out of the car. After a minute or so, my nausea subsided. “Did you see any spotters?”

I asked.

“Not a one. Maybe they’re farther out.”

“Or maybe they’re watching the road, just looking for girls,” I said.

This thought seemed to make Seth uncomfortable. He glanced back down the road. “Yeah.

Maybe.”

The sky to the east was a rosy pink. Dawn wasn’t far away. Seth and I each took one handle of the

heavy duffle and hurried to the mission’s doors. They creaked as we pulled them open.

The sanctuary was dark, even though the broken window had been replaced with new glass. Seth

and I moved into the silence of the place and hesitated. There was a power here; I could feel it. We set

the duffle down. Seth walked to the front of the sanctuary. When I didn’t follow him, he turned back.

“Help me with the pews?”

“Right.” I shook my head, trying to dispel the sense of foreboding. I told myself it was the

memory of last winter solstice, nothing more. Seth and I dragged several rows of pews toward the

back of the sanctuary until the seal was uncovered.

“Ready?” Seth looked at me, eager.

“Ready or not,” I said, “let’s do this.”

Seth returned to the duffel and dragged it closer to the seal. He dug out the vessel, handling it with

a grave reverence. I felt a pang of empathy; Seth had as much invested in this ritual as I did.

Everything he did now, he did to honor his mother. Seth placed the vessel on the center of the seal.

When it connected with the stone, the vessel rang like a bell. The tone was rich, deeper than I would

have thought possible from such a small object. Seth glanced back at me. Another rush of goose

bumps climbed my arms. Seth walked back to the duffel bag and pulled out a small camping stove.

“Here goes nothing,” he said. He pulled the metal pot we’d pilfered from my kitchen out of the bag

and set it on top of the small stove. “Could you hand me the distilled water and the flour?” he asked,

lighting the stove. I pulled a thermos and the bag of flour we’d measured earlier out of the bag. The

heat from the fire made a nice contrast to the cold stone floor, but didn’t do much to alleviate my

unease. Seth poured the water and flour into the pot. “We need to whisk it until the mixture thickens,”

Seth said. “Do you mind?”

“No problem,” I said. I searched the bag for the whisk I’d stashed there. By the time I turned back

to the pot, the flour was already clumping together. I started whisking the mixture, breaking up the

clumps as best I could. I was suddenly aware that Seth was the one with the detailed notes about the

ritual. I had no idea how it was meant to be performed, beyond the ingredients we’d collected

together. “What’s next?” I asked.

“Salt.” Seth dug in the duffle bag and pulled out a large container of salt. “Salt focuses the power

of the ritual. We need to keep it directed at the center of the seal.” He peeled the seal off the spout,

then upended the container over the vessel. It took three containers to fill the vessel. Seth leveled the

salt off at the rim of the vessel, taking great pains not to spill a single grain. He pulled a good-sized

wooden bowl and a wooden stirring spoon out of the duffle.

“Where’d you get that?” I asked. I didn’t recognize it; it wasn’t from our kitchen.

“The mall.” He met my gaze and smiled. He pulled a metal tin out of the duffle and carefully

eased the top off. We’d spent hours grinding dried chamisa blossoms into a fine yellow powder. Seth

poured the powder into the wooden bowl and I sighed. All that effort, for so little final product. Seth

pulled another small package out of the duffle bag. “This was a little harder to find.”

“Your special order?” I asked. I’d known he ordered something, but I hadn’t seen it arrive.

“Yep. Hydrated lime powder.” Seth bit his lip, concentrating. He measured out half a cup and

mixed it into the yellow powder. “Now the tinctures.” He fished the two small tincture vials out of the

duffle. Uncorking first one bottle then the next, he added a few drops of each into the powder mixture.

He took up the wooden spoon and started folding the mixture together, gently distributing the

moisture from the tinctures throughout the bowl. “How’s the flour coming?”

My arm was starting to get tired, so it was a little disconcerting to see there were still several

clumps of flower moving through the mixture. “Needs more work,” I said.

Seth gave me an encouraging smile. We worked together in silence for 15 minutes or so, then I sat

back.

“I think it’s done,” I said. Seth leaned over my shoulder to look into the pot. The flour mixture was