Summoning the Night (19 page)

Dressed in a black corduroy blazer, Dr. Spendlove was a trim man sporting a gray mustache twirled into points at the corners. He wore his silver hair pulled into a short, tight braid at the base of his neck. His deep blue halo nearly matched the wall color.

“Guess I've been busy,” Lon replied, shaking his hand.

The psychiatrist turned to me, smiled, and offered his hand. “Lawrence Spendlove.”

“Arcadia Bell.”

“Lon mentioned you on the phone. So wonderful to meet you. Please, sit.”

Lon and I settled into two chairs in front of the desk as Dr. Spendlove unabashedly stared above my head. “I'm sure you get asked this all the time,” he said, “but would you mind telling me about your halo? It's quite intriguing.”

Lon rushed to speak. “Cady, wait. Dr. Spendlove is—”

“I'm not demon. I'm a magician,” I blurted out over Lon's words, fast as a snakebite.

“O-oh,” Dr. Spendlove cooed with excitement. “Fascinating.”

“He's a truth sayer,” Lon finished. “I forgot.”

“Oh, God,” I moaned. I'd heard of that knack but had never been on the receiving end. “You can force the truth out of people?”

“Not ‘force' exactly. My patients just open up a little more for me. Don't feel uncomfortable. I promise not to ask anything about your sex life,” he said good-humoredly.

That was the least of my worries. “You . . .
forgot
?” I
murmured to Lon. Dear God. I was going to murder him when we got out of there.

“Please don't push her about her background,” Lon said.

The doctor raised his hands in surrender. “Not here to judge. But I am interested in your halo. Can we talk in generalities about it? Knack free. Cross my heart. It's just that I don't meet many magicians. Certainly none with halos.”

“Demons and magicians, natural enemies,” I said lightly.

“You're certain you don't have any Earthbound further back in your bloodline?”

I nodded.

“Hmm. Well, you've got something rather Æthyric bonding with your DNA or you wouldn't have a halo.” He tilted his head to the side, pondering. “You were born with it?”

“Yes.”

“I have seen one or two anomalies in my thirty-some years of practice. Tell me this: have you yourself conjured anything Æthyric?”

Of course I had. It was just oddly chilling to talk about it with someone outside the occult community. “A few Æthyric demons, a Hermeneus spirit.” Poor Priya, my lost connection to the Æthyr. The Hermeneus spirit who was once my guardian promised that it would regenerate and link itself to me again, but it could take years. . . .

Dr. Spendlove crossed his legs and leaned into one side of the chair. “Fascinating! So you know firsthand that there are indeed other Æthyric beings besides demons.”

“People in my esoteric order believe there are multiple Æthyric planes and that demons inhabit only one of them,” I said. “Then again, who knows how accurate that is. Most magicians don't even believe that Earthbounds exist, because they can't see halos.”

“But
you
can,” he stated, studying my face.

“Yes.”

“She co-owns the tiki bar in Morella,” Lon said.

“Ah! So you're
that
girl. Yes, I've heard people make mention of you from time to time. Beat and bind, as they say in fencing, yes?” His cheeks were ruddy with interest.

“En garde,”
I replied flatly.

He laughed like Santa Claus, minus the jiggling belly. “Indeed, indeed. Lon's always shown a sharp interest in magick—since he was a small child, in fact. So it doesn't surprise me that he'd connect with someone like you.”

A thrumming panic was surfacing. Not out-of-control panic, but it was there. Sweat was beginning to make my hair itch at the nape of my neck. Lon reached for my hand and threaded his fingers through mine.

Dr. Spendlove didn't seem to notice my fear. “I once had a young patient from a small town in northern India with a dark orange halo,” he said, circling his hand in the air around his own in demonstration. “Never having seen another person with a halo, he lived his whole life thinking he was mentally ill. Had been prescribed antipsychotic medications. When he was eighteen, he came to the states for a job, right here in La Sirena, and
voilà
!” He clapped his hands together then spread his arms dramatically. “Halos, as far as the eye could see. He began seeing me to wean him off his medications, which I did. But I was never entirely convinced that he was
demon
. Earthbound like the rest of us, yes, but Earthbound
what
, exactly?”

He paused dramatically, arching a brow, as if reading the tagline for a movie featuring a nefarious conspiracy theory.

“That's . . . interesting, but I think my halo is related to magical ability,” I said, “and not some long-lost Æthyric race.”

“Have you met other magicians with halos?”

“No,” I admitted.

“You know,” he said, “many ancient cultures didn't believe in a distinction between demons and gods. They saw them as a higher level of beings. About twenty years ago, I read an essay theorizing that the origin of magick stemmed from godlike beings called Sekhmets, who taught their skills to a select group of ancient Egyptian priestesses.”

“Sekhmet is an early Egyptian war goddess,” I corrected.

“Or”—he leaned low over the desk, eyes dancing with intrigue—“was she merely named Sekhmet after another race of beings? A race who shared with humans their specialized knack for harnessing Heka, to prepare them for a prophesied future war between the planes?”

He slowly nodded his head, as if he was certain that he'd just blew my mind. He hadn't. I'd already heard every crazy crackpot esoteric theory out there. Most of the people in my order went a step further, proclaiming that magicians
were
gods, or at least descended from them. A King Kong–size ego was necessary for at least two positions of power in this country: presidential candidates and upper-echelon officers in any magical organization.

I shrugged my shoulders high. “I doubt it's something we'll ever know, but I didn't mean to get us sidetracked,” I said, generously, since I wasn't the one who'd gotten us on this tangent. “I'm sure you're busy, so let's talk about Jupe.”

Dr. Spendlove grinned, then enthusiastically slapped his palm on the edge of his desk. “Yes, certainly, my dear.” He pulled the computer keyboard toward him and typed as he talked. “So, the last time I saw Jupiter, he was three years old—but little Jupiter isn't so little anymore, is he? I ran a few standard tests on him . . . coaxed some truth out of him . . . and it appears his knack is manifesting a year or so early. Not unheard
of. About ten percent of Earthbound children manifest before the age of fifteen. On the other hand, a quarter of all Earthbounds never even manifest a talent at all—did you know that?”

I certainly didn't know the percentage was that high. Lon didn't either, from the way he shook his head.

“These figures are based on my own studies, mind you, combined with figures from a few of my colleagues.” Spendlove typed, squinting at the screen in front of him. “However, what's more interesting about Jupiter isn't the timing but rather the knack itself. Now, you are an empath, Lon. And according to Jupiter, his mother was a beguiler.” He paused and looked up. “I do remember her. Was she really that lovely, or was it all ‘allure'?”

Lon grunted.

Spendlove didn't seem to notice. “Well, as you know, Earthbound offspring almost always manifest one or the other parent's knack. But there are rare cases in which this doesn't occur. In those, the anomalous knack can usually be traced further back on the family tree. Let me just look at your records. . . .”

“My parents were both empaths, though not as strong as me,” Lon volunteered.

“Yes, I'm well aware of that,” he said with gentle amusement. “Your father and I were friends, you'll remember. I was looking up your in-laws. The Giovanni family, from Oregon . . .” he read off the screen.

“On Yvonne's side, her father had no ability. Sister doesn't either.”

“Yvonne's mother?”

The woman who talked Lon into leaving her own daughter. Ballsy. And kind of awesome that she was still actively involved in Lon and Jupe's lives after all these years.

“Her mother is clairaudient.”

“Oh? That's not common. What kind of range?”

“About ten feet or so, but she can hear through walls.”

Wow. I was certainly glad Jupe hadn't inherited
that
knack. According to Jupe, Gramma Giovanni was the bees' knees and could do no wrong—same as her other daughter, Jupe's aunt Adella. Jupe talked to them every Sunday and saw them several times a year, apparently. Multiple photos of them were scattered around Lon's house.

“Hmm. Interesting, but that doesn't give us Jupe's knack, does it? What about great-grandparents?”

“I'll ask Yvonne's mom.”

“Yes, good idea. Let me know when you find out so I can update Jupe's file.” He swung the computer screen around to show us a color-coded diagram. “I've divided up all known knacks into seven main families: sense, transform, move, repair, destroy, illusion, and miscellaneous.”

I saw abilities I knew, and many more that I'd never heard of or could even begin to guess. All told, he'd documented more than fifty verifiable knacks. Most of those had varying levels of skill, including Jupe's—persuasion.

“I've only run across persuasion twice in my practice, and neither manifestation was quite like Jupe's. One patient was only able to persuade other males, and another was able to influence people only temporarily. Based on Jupe's answers to my questions, his influence appears to be lasting. However, to determine exactly
how
lasting, I'd suggest that you do some supervised experiments with him at home. If you aren't comfortable with that, he can undergo some tests here, of course. But it's less stressful in an environment where he's relaxed and comfortable. It's important that children coming into their knacks are encouraged to
use them in a positive, healthy manner, without shame or pressure.”

“What kind of experiments?” Lon asked.

Spendlove shrugged. “Ask him to use his knack to influence your favorite color, perhaps. See how long you continue to believe it. Things like that.”

Lon grunted again, this time more thoughtfully. Changing someone's favorite color sounded far less stressful than forcing a carnival ride operator to put people in danger.

Spendlove continued. “Persuasion is grouped under the ‘Sense' family of knacks, you might be surprised to learn. Which makes it related to abilities like your empathy. I believe it to be the next step up, so to speak. For example, if you can
sense
people's emotions, the natural progression is the ability to
manipulate
emotions. Just as being able to sense honesty is a step below those who can foster honesty, like me.”

“Yes,” Lon said quickly, dropping his eyes.

We both knew Spendlove's theory was on the mark because of Lon's ability to transmutate. Speaking of which, neither that nor the bloody Hellfire Club had come up yet, so I was assuming Spendlove didn't know about either.

“Anyway, that's why I'm more inclined to think Jupe's knack is something inherited from your side.” Spendlove settled back into his chair. “Still, it's hard to be certain.”

“I'm worried about it going to his head, getting out of control,” Lon said.

“Sure, that's a legitimate concern. It certainly has more potential for greater consequences than psychokinetics, say. But it's like anything else that can be abused—money, good looks, status—all you can do is teach your kids right and wrong, provide positive reinforcement, and lead by example. The rest is up to them.”

This seemed to calm Lon's nerves. He unlaced his fingers from mine, rearranging our hands to clasp palm to palm, and gently stroked my knuckles.

“Jupe's ability might undergo some changes as it manifests,” Dr. Spendlove said. “Growing pains. It's not uncommon for a young knack to be easy one day, harder the next, and for the results to vary wildly. He might experience headaches or other side effects after using it.”

I could relate to that. I knew all too well about side effects and varied results from using magick.

“By the way, he has a bit of a ‘tell' when he's using his knack,” Dr. Spendlove said.

“Squeezing whatever he's holding in his hands with a viselike grip?” I guessed, thinking of how he acted at the carnival.

The doctor laughed. “That will pass when he's able to better master it. I'm talking about the rapid eye movement—REM, like when you're dreaming. If you watch his eyes, they flick like this.” He moved his finger back and forth like a pendulum to demonstrate.

Lon and I looked at each other and nodded. Good to know. Very good. Worth the whole damn doctor visit, if you asked me.

“The best advice I can give you is to be patient, and to pay attention to him,” he concluded. “Have him practice the right and wrong way to use it around you, and monitor his behavior carefully. Severe shifts can be warning signs. If he becomes withdrawn and depressed for no reason, or if he becomes inappropriately wild and begins taking too many risks, you might want to bring him in to talk to me.”

I wondered if the incident on the amusement park ride would be considered “inappropriately wild,” but said nothing
while the appointment concluded. On our way downstairs to retrieve Jupe from the waiting room, Lon stopped short in front me.

“What's wrong?” I said.

“Nothing's wrong. I just had an epiphany.”

“About Jupe?”