Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 92996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
“We weren’t friends, but I’m sorry she died that way.”
“So am I,” he murmured. “Now before we go meet Father Dennis, I think you need to mix up a bag of whatever to take with us to the cemetery.”
I turned my head to look at him. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“Everyone has been dead a long time out there, Lorne.”
“I don’t care about the dead people. I care about the demon walking around Osprey,” he declared. “So whatever you need to mix up, you go do, and as soon as you’re done, we’ll go get some dinner.”
“Mix up what?”
“I have no idea.” He kissed my cheek and stood up. “Maybe ask the cottage for some guidance and—”
The wind that blew through the house smelled both grassy and faintly of orange and musk. I knew exactly what it was. “My grandmother’s rue blend,” I stated.
“Is that what that is?” Lorne asked, breathing in deeply. “What is rue?”
“It’s an herb that protects against spirits and bad magic and…demons.”
“Huh,” he replied with a smirk. “Imagine that.”
I groaned as I got up from beside him, then left the living room and walked into the sunroom, taking a moment to let the breeze blow around me.
“You like to stand in the wind,” Lorne said, smiling at me as he leaned on the frame of the archway.
“I do. It cleans me off,” I said, opening and closing drawers until I found a satchel with a flap. I put a small bottle of my grandmother’s rue-oil blend in, along with a jar of ground cardinal flowers, another of white wormwood, palmarosa oil, dried lavender, dried lemongrass, citronella, and cinnamon. I also packed lemon balm, ginger, and vetiver.
“I really think that should all be mixed up instead of you carrying all those with you,” Lorne insisted. “If something happens, you won’t have time to do what you did last night and mix up some magic in the air.”
I glared at him. “Some of these, like the palmarosa oil, I can’t grow in my herb garden and harvest myself. Amanda orders this for me, and it takes—”
“And you’re worried if you don’t need it and mix it, then it was a waste.”
“Yes.”
“Well, guess what? I don’t care. We’ll get you some more, mix it now.”
“I really don’t think—”
The door to the greenhouse suddenly slammed shut, which startled me enough to make me gasp.
As we both watched, it opened again—which it must have done moments ago without us noticing—and then banged closed a second time.
Lorne cleared his throat. “Yeah, the cottage would appreciate if you did what I said and made with the mixing.”
I could only stare at him.
“Always best to be prepared.”
Apparently, my home more than agreed.
Lorne crossed his arms. “G’head, I’ll wait.”
I got out my mortar and pestle and a small cauldron. Lorne seemed to enjoy the process, watching me hang the cauldron over the flame in the hearth, adding ingredients to boiling water, reducing it down, and then grinding that all up again; sprinkling in the rue and palmarosa oil, mixing again, and then finally pouring the new, finished oil into a bottle with a stopper with the final words, so mote it be. There wasn’t that much when done, perhaps four ounces, and when I passed it to Lorne, he did not appear impressed.
“What?”
“All that work for this much?”
“That’s a proper amalgam there,” I assured him. “And I don’t need to hose down the entire cemetery with this.”
His grunt did not sound in any way happy. “I’m starving. Let’s go eat.”
“Why don’t you call Father Dennis and see if he wants to join us,” I offered.
“Because I don’t want to get invited to eat at the rectory ever again,” he grumbled. “Once was enough, thank you.”
“When did you eat there?”
“The first week I was here, Father Dennis kindly offered to have me over. I think he wanted to get to know me, which was nice.”
“But?” I prodded him.
“But Sister Andrea cannot cook at all. I wondered why there was a huge bottle of ketchup in the refrigerator, and I figured it out that night.”
“Maybe Father Dennis should learn to cook for himself.”
“Apparently, he makes a mean grilled cheese, but he used to be at a much bigger church, and there were several younger priests who worked under him, and the nuns there took really good care of all of them.”
“And here everyone feeds him and Sister Andrea, Sister Catherine, and Sister Maria.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, maybe all the sisters are busy. Just call him.”
Lorne begrudgingly made the call and was pleased to find out that everyone was gone except Father Dennis, who could, in fact, break bread with us. Before we left to pick him up, we told Argos where we were going and to please stay home. He regarded me blearily and went back to sleep.
Halfway there, Lorne pulled over on the side of the road.