6

MOON DUST

Dru raced through the front door of the Crystal Connection, intending to put about six things into motion at once. As she came down the main aisle, she plucked crystals and potion ingredients off the shelves, gathering up an armful of ideas that just might help defend them against the wraith.

Rane marched along behind her, slowing down only barely enough to help Salem limp along. Outside, Greyson issued a command to Hell-bringer. “PATROL,” he said, in a deep voice that would make anyone jump to attention. Engine growling, Hellbringer swung away from the curb and prowled down the street.

Dru headed into the back room, worrying with every step that she was about to lose her balance and send her load of magical ingredients crashing to the floor. With her luck, all of the little clinking glass containers she was carrying would shatter, and the wrong essential oils would mix with the wrong crystals, and probably set fire to half her shop.

She hated it when things got set on fire. Especially since it happened all the time.

Opal was waiting for her in the back room, leaning over a leather-bound book bigger than a jumbo pizza box and twice as thick. She looked up, horrified. “That’s your date outfit? Honey, have you listened to nothing I’ve ever told you?”

Dru stopped short. “What? What’s wrong with it? The blue stripes match my new glasses.”

Opal sighed. She put a warm arm on Dru’s shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. “Listen, sweetie. You need to come by my place and borrow some clothes. Normally I don’t say that to anyone. But right now I am begging you, for your own good.” She sniffed the air. “What is that?”

“I smell like chicken soup,” Dru said in a small voice, and clutched the armload of jars and crystals closer. “It’s not my fault.”

Opal was kind enough not to ask any more questions. “I know. It’s all right.”

Salem limped past them, leaning heavily on Rane’s arm. With a pained groan, he sank down into one of the ugly plaid armchairs wedged between dusty stacks of books and cardboard boxes of crystals.

Rane regarded him with a mixture of worry and impatience, then glanced at Dru. “D, do you have a spare cane or a crutch or something?”

“I don’t need a crutch,” Salem snapped.

“Fine,” Rane said. “Haul your own cranky ass around, then.”

Opal, with a wicked smile, crossed the room and held out a tapered glass bottle to Salem, filled with a fizzy orange potion exactly the color of smoked salmon.

His gaze fastened greedily onto it. Wordlessly, he took it and held it in his lap for a moment, as if steeling himself to drink it.

“You’re welcome,” Opal said, and crossed the room back to the giant book.

Dru set down her armload of stuff, and carefully set down the icy cold apocalypse scroll. So much depended on this one ancient artifact. But she couldn’t carry it around forever. It would be safe for the moment on her workbench. She pushed her glasses back up into place and came over to lean close to Opal.

“What’s in that potion?” Dru whispered.

Opal flashed her a mischievous smile. “Just between you and me? It goes like this: one vanilla protein drink, a packet of orange vitamin powder, a Red Bull, two splashes of margarita mix, and a can of salmon. Blend and serve.”

Dru couldn’t keep the revulsion off of her face. “Oh, my God.”

“I’ve been telling that boy for years that he needs to eat properly. Rane kept going on and on about protein and vitamins one time, and I thought, you know what? He’ll drink this if he thinks it’s magical.”

Dru glanced back over her shoulder. Salem had just finished chugging down the frothy orange concoction. He made a gagging face, and then nodded to himself in satisfaction. He belched. Rane retreated, waving her hand in the air.

“Five minutes from now, he’ll be back to his sunny old self,” Opal assured her.

“But why salmon?”

Opal gave her a no-nonsense look. “The day he starts talking to me respectfully, I’ll stop putting fish in his energy potion. Till then?” Her stern expression made it clear what would happen until then.

“Ick.” Dru regarded the book Opal had been studying. “Hey, this isn’t the Tristram book.”

“Do I look like a reference librarian?” Opal said. “This is the best I can do on short notice. You do realize we have over a thousand books back here? And half of them aren’t even logged into inventory, much less alphabetized. The word ‘disorganized’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

“I just bought all those books about getting organized.” Dru looked around the mess for the brightly covered paperbacks she’d forgotten about. “Where did I put them?”

Opal snapped her fingers and pointed at the wrinkled old pages spread wide before her, easily the size of a newspaper. “Take a look at this. Wraiths can’t be out in the sunlight.”

“Oh. Goody. So if we can make it through the night, we’ll be safe.”

“Safe?” Opal said.

“Well, safer, anyway. Until tomorrow night.”

Opal shook her head. “Not according to what I’m seeing. All a wraith has to do is come into physical contact with you, and that’s all she wrote. Its touch can drain your life force in seconds. Bam, like that. You’re dead.”

“Bam?” Dru bent down and squinted at the heavy, dense columns of handwriting. “This doesn’t sound good.”

“No. I have to agree with you on that one.”

“But look at this here.” Dru skimmed over the giant pages, growing more excited as she went along. “It says here that dust can render the wraith corporeal. Right now, it’s ghostly, and that makes it nearly impossible to defeat. But dust can make it solid again. That means we can physically fight it, and maybe even win. That’s what we need to know. What is this book, anyway?” Dru struggled to lift its heavy front cover and read it. “Is it a reputable source?”

“It’s the Codex of Gormsley Manor,” Opal said with finality. “That’s as real as it gets.”

The name carried chilling connotations. “Gormsley Manor. Didn’t those guys all drop dead on New Year’s Day in, what, 1564?”

“Their bodies were found on New Year’s Day,” Opal said ominously. “After that, the manor was wall-to-wall haunted by wraiths for about eighty years, until Orlo the Elder dug up the bodies and found out they hadn’t decayed one bit. Then he destroyed the bodies and burned the manor down. He documented pretty much the whole thing in this Codex.”

“Yikes. Good for Orlo.” With some effort, Dru managed to lift the left-hand pages enough to read the title page aloud. “A Boke or Counseill Against the Un-Dead Soule, Commonly Called the Shade, or Spirrite.” She settled the heavy old pages down again. “‘Spirrite?’”

“Spirit,” Opal said. “They didn’t have spell check.”

At that moment, Greyson entered from the front of the shop. His glowing eyes scanned every corner, every shadow, as if watching for threats. Only when he was satisfied did he turn to Dru. “I don’t see anything outside. I’ve got Hellbringer patrolling the neighborhood, looking for that thing.”

She studied the set of his stubbled jaw, trying to glean his thoughts. Just his presence comforted her, but at the same time the thought of a wraith coming after Greyson made her throat tighten in fear. “Can you sense any danger? Anything coming our way?”

He stared off into the distance. “It’s out there. I can’t tell how close it is.”

“But it is coming,” she said, hoping she was wrong.

He took her shoulders in his strong hands. “I’m going to keep you safe. No matter what happens. We all will.”

She nodded. Part of her knew that it was more likely she’d be the one keeping him safe. But another part of her needed to hear that from him, and welcomed the strength that his presence gave her. Together, they could take on so much more than they ever could separately. “Listen. I need you to check all the doors, all the windows. Make sure everything is locked up tight. We don’t want even a draft getting in here.”

He nodded once and gave her a quick kiss before he strode away. The heat of his lips lingered after he was gone, and she found herself unconsciously touching her mouth. The warm feeling vanished as soon as she felt Salem’s twitchy gaze studying her with almost scientific scrutiny, as if she were some kind of exotic insect. His long fingers toyed with the empty potion bottle.

“Are you honestly considering making some sort of remember-the-Alamo last stand here, in the back of your little crystal shop?” He said it as if only an idiot would consider a plan so monumentally stupid.

Apparently, the fish potion had worked.

Dru squared her shoulders. “Well, things didn’t work out so well at your place.” She took a moment to compose herself and use her well-honed customer service voice to carefully ask, “Why, do you have a better idea?”

Mild annoyance flashed over his features. “Haven’t you been paying attention? I always have a better idea. Let’s start with handing over the scroll to the most qualified person in the room.” He held out one long-fingered hand.

Opal put one hand on her hip, obviously puzzled. “Scroll?”

Dru went over to her workbench and picked up the ice-cold apocalypse scroll. As she held it up, an electric charge seemed to suffuse the room, tickling her hair. Somehow, the ancient artifact made the air feel thicker, and the light in the room seem dimmer, as if the world itself was warped by its very presence.

“ This,” Dru said quietly.

Opal’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “I thought Salem was going to lock that away in a vault.” She gave him an accusing look.

“We already had that conversation,” Dru said, as Salem’s eyes flashed with irritation. “He insists there was a misunderstanding.”

“I bet he does,” Opal said out of the side of her mouth.

“And no, I don’t want to give it back to you, sorry,” Dru told him.

“Oh, my mistake,” Salem said. “I must have given you the impression that I care what you want.”

“I have a plan.” Carefully, Dru set down the scroll again, clearing the clutter away so that nothing else was touching it. “You tried to build a protective circle, and hey, it really was an A-plus effort. But the wraith’s spells were about to go right through it. So, obviously, we don’t want to repeat that experience. Instead, let’s draw the wraith straight to us, and fight it on our own terms.”

Salem’s eyes widened. “Using the apocalypse scroll as bait?”

“It can’t actually come inside and get it. The crystal grid will stop it at the door. Right now, it’s ghostly, and that makes it nearly invincible. But once we know where it is, we can turn it corporeal, and once it becomes solid, we can focus all of our efforts on destroying it. I’ll use my sunstone crystal, you use your powers, and Rane, you hit it as hard as you can.”

Rane folded her arms. “I’m good with that.”

Salem clearly wasn’t buying it. “And how exactly do you intend to render it corporeal?”

“We sprinkle it with dust.” Dru turned to Opal. “Am I wrong about this?”

With an uncertain sigh, Opal turned the giant crackling pages, shooting a couple of worried looks at Dru while she found what she was looking for. Her perfectly manicured finger slid down a faded column of handwritten text. “According to this, you can make a wraith corporeal for a few moments by throwing dust on it.” Then she shook her head and straightened up. “Oh, nope. You can forget about that angle. It has to be moon dust.”

“Moon dust? You’re kidding.” Dru felt an uneasy quiver in her stomach. Nothing was ever easy.

Salem flung up his hands. “Using the scroll as bait. Do you actually need me to tell you how insane that sounds?”

Rane sat down on the arm of the chair next to him, making it creak dangerously. “Yo, somebody want to fill me in? What the hell is moon dust? Some kind of herb?” She mimed smoking.

Salem patted her bare thigh. “It’s dust, darling. From the moon.”

“Unfortunately, he’s right,” Dru said.

Salem gave her a sour look. “Unfortunately?”

Dru ignored him. “Opal, do you remember the time we busted the poltergeist that was bugging the professor? Remember that thank-you gift he gave us?”

Opal looked nonplussed. “You’re talking about Professor Harvey, the man with the plaid patches on his elbows? Yeah, we’ve still got that box around here somewhere. Why?”

“Because inside that box is the tiny little lunar meteorite he gave us. It’s a chunk of actual moon rock. If we grind up that bad boy, voila, instant moon dust.”

“This night just keeps getting weirder,” Opal said, but she was already digging through the shelves.

Dru turned to Salem and Rane to explain. “Harvey didn’t work for NASA, but he worked for the Colorado School of Mines. Which, per capita, is probably at least as IQ-dense as the rocket scientists at Cape Canaveral.”

“Not Cape Canaveral,” Opal pointed out, her voice muffled by the shelf. “NASA is actually in Washington, DC.”

“Yes, thank you, Carmen Sandiego,” Salem snapped. Wincing in pain, he rose out of his seat. “This whole defend-the-scroll strategy is all well and good in theory, and I’m saying that with as much generosity as I can possibly muster. But has it occurred to you that the best way to take this thing out is to simply”—his voice dropped to a whisper—”go take it out?”

Dru traded curious looks with Rane. “What do you mean?”

“Just a little while ago, I had this wraith ninety-nine percent destroyed. All I need to do is find it, squeeze in an extra one percent, and it’s a done deal.”

“Except for the part where you fell over like an empty beer bottle,” Rane said, elbowing him.

“Easy, Buttercup. There were extenuating circumstances.” With a swish of his hand, Salem indicated the bandages on his head and chest. “On any other given day, that wraith wouldn’t have even made me late for dinner. Even you have to admit that.” This last part was directed at Dru.

“Okay, maybe,” Dru said. “But we all have to work together to—” “No.”

Salem leaned closer. “Not together. And definitely not here”

“Well . . .” Dru looked to Rane for support.

But Rane nodded toward Salem. “Well, I did kick ass on those tentacles. Once I take them out, he can blast the thing, and then it’s Miller time.”

“I’m going to hunt this thing down,” Salem said, showing teeth. “Destroy it. Lay it to rest. Then I can get back to more important things.” His gaze darted over to Rane, watching her closely. “Are you ready?”

She tossed her head to the side, making her blonde ponytail bounce. “Hells, yeah. Let’s bust this thing.”

“Excuse me,” Opal said loudly, as she pulled the little white box of lunar meteorite off the shelf. “Did nobody else hear the part about where the wraith touches you and you die?”

“It will never get that chance,” Salem said with finality. “We’re leaving. With the scroll.” He motioned for Rane to get it.

Dru put a protective hand on it. “No. The crystal grid in this shop is the only thing securing the scroll right now. I can’t let you leave with it.”

“Oh, come on,” Rane said.

“No! You saw what happened at Salem’s place. That was too close. We need to do this here, at the shop. I’m dead serious.”

Rane turned from Dru to Salem. “Dude, she has a point.”

“And she has the unfailing habit of being wrong,” he snapped.

“Hey,” Dru said. “I’m standing right here.”

“Let’s just leave that thing here with Dru,” Rane said. “You and me can go.”

“Not empty-handed.” There was a dangerous edge in his voice.

A tense silence fell over the room as Salem glared at Rane, and she glared right back. “Don’t push this,” she said. “When it comes to doomsday stuff, I’m on Team D. You should be, too. Don’t get all so wrapped up in your own head. She knows what she’s talking about.”

“Except when she doesn’t.” Salem’s black-outlined eyes twitched. “This is exactly the sort of overconfidence and blind faith that almost got me crushed beneath those rocks.”

“Well, maybe if you hadn’t been running around with that tramp Ember—”

“She at least has self-control!” His voice rose. “And a healthy dose of skepticism where amateur sorceresses are concerned.” Dru frowned. “Again, standing right here.”

Opal fluttered a hand in her direction. “He can’t possibly mean you.” “Both of you!” Salem roared, earning a venomous look from Opal. Rane jabbed a finger at him. “Hey! Hey! Don’t be such a buzzkill! You don’t know everything. You don’t know how to kick this thing’s ass.”

He bristled. “I know exactly how.”

“Bull,” Rane spat. “You can’t. If you could, we wouldn’t have had to carry your candy ass out of there.”

Salem’s fingers spasmed, making sorcerer-ish clawing motions at his sides.

Dru realized the two of them were dangerously close to activating their powers and having an actual fight. It had happened before. She stepped in between them, arms out like a referee. “That’s it! No more! Not in my shop!” She glared at both of them, but mostly at Salem. “We can’t fight amongst ourselves. This is too important. We all need to work together.”

“That’s never going to happen, so you can just save your breath.” Salem paced in a quick circle and motioned to Rane. “Let’s go.”

Rane folded her arms. “I’m staying right here, dude.”

His nose wrinkled. “You’re choosing her?”

“You don’t like it, then don’t make me choose,” Rane said flatly.

An unspoken ultimatum passed between Salem and Rane, and seeing it made Dru ache inside. An invisible crack had appeared in the tenuous power balance that bound them together, and she knew it would only spread wider, until it split them apart. She had seen this happen before, more than once, and she wished that there was something she could do to stop it from happening again.

Salem’s darkly lined gaze held Rane’s. “I have better things to do,” he ground out through his teeth.

“Better go do it, then,” Rane said, with steel in her voice.

He stared her down a moment longer, and then he abruptly turned away and limped toward the back door.

Rane didn’t move to follow. Her hands curled into fists, as if she wanted to break something. “D. Maybe we should give it to him, so—”

“No,” Dru insisted. It broke her heart to say it, but she couldn’t let Salem’s arrogance land the apocalypse scroll in the wraith’s clutches. “The scroll stays here.”

Rane shot her a hurt look, then turned and stomped into the front of the shop, heading in the opposite direction from Salem. Dru watched her go as Salem shuffled out the back door into the night, alone. The door slammed.

Dru exchanged worried glances with Opal, who flung up her hands as if to say, None of my business.

As much as it hurt to see her friends fighting, that wasn’t the worst part. It made her guilty to think in purely pragmatic terms, but regardless of Rane’s feelings, the truth was that Dru didn’t know how they could possibly defeat the wraith without Salem.