“So this is how you do your magic? With spells and recipes?”
“Yes, that’s right.” Lyla resisted the urge to shift nervously under his scrutiny.
“And you’re doing this to help Elizabeth.” It was not a question, but Lyla answered anyway.
“Yes, of course. Anything I can do to help.”
“And do you pledge to me, Lyla, that you will never use it against my pack?”
Lyla licked her lips. “I do. I don’t really use it against anyone. I don’t really, um, approve of that kind of magic.”
He nodded thoughtfully and stood, moving away from the chair. He gestured for her to take the seat with one graceful motion, then stood over by the window seat, gazing out. “Where are you now, Mari? You have left the throughway?”
Lyla couldn’t hear what Mari answered, of course, and busied herself with arranging her supplies on the table. But she felt like she and Lucas had come to some kind of understanding. Still, she wasn’t quite ready to start giving him orders— like Elizabeth did sometimes. She stood, planning to go around the room and close all the curtains.
“What do you need, Lyla?”
“Um, we will need it dark in here. I was just going to close the curtains.”
“I will do it. You sit.” Lyla watched as Lucas proceeded to close the blinds and curtains around the room.
“Oh. Duh. I need a candle.”
Lyla hurried back to the closet. She was positive she had a box of candles. And a good candleholder. She dug in the second bag. Yes. Here they were. And a lighter. She took them and went back to the table. She was just sinking down into the chair when Aaron arrived holding the bowl out in front of him, a large wet splotch on his shirt.
“Okay, good. We’re ready. Put the bowl here, Aaron, please,” she said, indicating a spot next to the grimoire. “Don’t spill it on the book though. That’s all we need.”
Aaron carefully put the bowl down and stepped back. He looked a little anxious. Lucas closed the last of the curtains, and the room went from shadowed to gloomy. She glanced up as Lucas joined them, hovering over the coffee table. He had a look of grim determination on his face. Lyla wiped her hands on her slacks and tried to quiet her nerves. Nothing like performing under pressure. She’d never done a spell in front of anyone who wasn’t a witch.
She lit the candle and placed it in the candle holder. “Okay. Maybe you should put Mari on speaker? You guys can sit, you don’t have to hover around making me nervous.”
“I’ll stand,” Lucas said, a note of finality in his voice. Well, that was that, apparently.
Aaron moved around the table to silently stand behind her, just to the right of her chair. Well. Apparently, that was that.
Lucas did put the phone on speaker though, and down on the table.
“Okay, so, let’s see. A pinch of marigold,” she said, suiting actions to words. “A pinch of mugwort. Add the pen.” The pen plunked down with an audible splash. “And now, three drops colloidal silver.” She opened the bottle, and with the eyedropper on the handle, squeezed out one drop, carefully holding her hand about a foot above the water so the tiny splash the drop made was still contained within the bowl. She waited for the ripples to still before adding the next drop. It seemed to take forever, the ripples getting smaller and smaller.
The room was dark and silent, only the flickering light of the candle illuminating her workspace. Lyla could feel the tension growing. She had a terrible urge to start intoning Shakespeare’s “eye of newt, and toe of frog…” in a high, cackling voice, but resisted.
Finally, the ripples stilled and she added the second drop. The hair on her arms tingled and stirred as the power began to build. The ripples seemed to expand forever, stretching out to the edge of the bowl and bouncing off into gentle waves, back toward the center. The air hummed and Lyla sat perfectly still, as if by not moving herself, she could slow the movement of the water that much sooner.
Finally the water quieted, becoming a flat shinny surface reflecting the dancing light of the candle. She took a deep breath and dropped in the last drop. The clear surface shattered, and energy surged up out of the bowl. Lyla barely managed to contain her flinch as power raced up her arms and over her face in waves, running down her back and torso all the way to her feet. Never had she felt such power. She cast a quick glance around the room, but Lucas and Aaron were watching the bowl expectantly. As if nothing had happened.
She forced herself to lean forward and softly, carefully, began to chant the lines of the spell.
“Oh, silver pond,
Oh, window clear,
Show me the sight,
Bring it near,
The one whose token,
This bowl contains
Give her location
Make it plain.”
As she completed the last words of the spell, the energy seemed to coalesce around her in a pregnant bubble and then flow back down into the bowl, stilling its surface.
Images began to form. Elizabeth. Tied to a chair. The view expanded, showing her in what looked like a basement and—
Lyla sucked in a breath. A man with a gun stood in front of Elizabeth. He was talking, saying something, but Lyla couldn’t hear what. He was waving the gun around as he spoke, more like he was using it for emphasis than threatening her with it. But still, it did not look good.
“Okay.” Lyla drew in another breath. “At least she’s okay so far.”
“You can see her?” Cray’s tinny voice exploded from the phone on the table, making Lyla jump. She had forgotten it was on speaker. “Where is she? What do you mean she’s okay so far?”
“She's in a basement, it looks like. Tied to a chair. But it doesn’t look like they hurt her.” Yet, Lyla thought. But she didn’t say it.
“Where? What basement?” Cray’s impatience came through the speaker loud and clear.
“I’m not sure exactly where. I’m trying to figure this out. This isn’t like Google maps, Cray. It’s not like I can just zoom out—”
Or was it? She tried imagining zooming out of the picture and got an image of the roof of a house. Okay, this was good.
“Well, what good is that? I can feel her to the north and east of me,” Cray said, “but it would really help to have the address, Lyla.”
“Working on it.” Lyla bit her lip. Sweat beaded on her forehead. When she tried to will the image to shift to the street and zoom in closer, pressure built behind her eyes, but nothing happened. She could only zoom in on Elizabeth and back out to the roof.
She zoomed back in on Elizabeth, hoping for a clue. Elizabeth looked pissed. And scared, Lyla had to admit. She tried several times, but switching focus wasn’t possible. Her temples began to throb. She glanced up to find both Lucas and Aaron staring at her rather than the bowl.
“Um, there has to be more to this spell. A way to get the location…” She looked down at her grandmother’s scribbled notes at the bottom.
Concentrate on the aspect of location you are interested in to make it appear in the bowl. Example: if you are looking for the street name, concentrate on that.
“I’m going to try to get the street name.” She had to close her eyes for a moment and gather her strength. She opened her eyes and concentrated. Sweat broke out on the back of her neck. On her chest. The image shivered and cleared. And then a picture of a tree appeared in the center of the bowl. Just the image of a tree, floating in the water.
“That’s weird. I’m trying to get the name of the street and it shows me a tree? What kind of tree is that?”
She glanced up to meet Aaron’s gaze, then Lucas’s.
“Lyla, there is no tree.” Aaron sounded almost apologetic.
“What? You don’t see the tree?”
“No,” said Aaron. She glanced at Lucas. He shook his head.
“But you saw Elizabeth, right?” Her voice sounded a little high, a little strained, but no one seemed to notice. One glance told her they hadn’t.
“What does th
e tree look like?” Cray sounded desperate, even through the phone.
Lyla regarded the tree. “Well, it looks tall, and… green.” She rolled her eyes. That was helpful. She rubbed her sweaty palms on her slacks. Her hands were trembling.
“Cray, look for street names with trees in them,” Lucas said while pulling out his phone. “You are still in the Plattsburgh area, yes? Gage has GPS. Check that. Aaron, pull up a map on your phone too.”
There was a short pause. Lyla concentrated on taking slow, even breaths.
“I think I have it.” Cray said, his voice oddly flat. “There's a development with trees for all the street names, just to the northeast. Lyla, do you think you could describe that tree just a little bit more?" He was obviously trying for calm.
"Um..."
"Deciduous or evergreen?"
"Oh! Deciduous."
"Tall and skinny, or more of a ball shape?"
"Um, actually, I would say more like a triangle?"
"Triangle. Good. That’s good, Lyla."
Lyla let out a breath, ridiculously relieved to be useful. There was a short pause.
"Okay, that's got to be Alder Street. Heading over there now. Gage, left up here. You said you could see her, Lyla? And a man with a gun? Can you see if there is only one person?”
Lyla concentrated hard, trying to get the bowl to show her who was with Elizabeth. She clutched her thighs with her hands to keep them from shaking. It felt like she was pushing something heavy up a hill. Slowly, a schematic of a house appeared, with three glowing men-shaped images in red. It was like something from a video game. Elizabeth was green.
“There seem to be three of them, Cray, one down in the basement with her and one up on the second floor, watching the street. The third one is on the first floor in the back, probably watching the back yard.”
But wait a minute. That gave her an idea. She tried to imagine a map with Elizabeth as the X that marks the spot. It took a minute. She had to grit her teeth and strain, but finally a map appeared, faintly at first, then growing stronger.
“I’ve got it! She’s at 324 Alder Street. Can you get that on your GPS?”
“Got it.” Cray no longer sounded defeated. He sounded like a man on a mission. “Lyla, you keep an eye on those three guys. Let me know if they change location.”
“Um. Okay.”
Lyla squeezed her eyes closed. The headache had spread from her temples down to the base of her skull. Sweat coated her body, and slight tremors shook her. She forced her mind to form the image of the house. It was almost like a blueprint. She opened her eyes and the surface of the bowl shimmered, smoky images washing across its surface. She concentrated harder, forcing the image to form. Gradually, it took shape. Glowing red outlines of men contained in the blue outlines of an architectural structure, Elizabeth still in the basement, depicted in green.
“Okay, Cray. They haven’t moved.” Lyla’s voice sounded distant to her own ears, but Cray didn’t seem to notice.
“Good, Lyla. Let me know if anything changes.”
Chapter 25
Elizabeth sat in the chair watching Sammy the Goon wave his gun around and talk about everything he planned to do to her once the big boss arrived. She tried not to listen, aware that it was just a technique to soften her up, so that once they started asking questions, she’d be all too eager to talk. She had a feeling, from the glint in Sammy’s eye, he’d be only too happy to follow through. He seemed like a man who really enjoyed his work.
But what could you expect from a man named Sammy the Goon? Not that that was really his name. One of the other guys had called him Sammy. Elizabeth had added the Goon on her own. It seemed like a good gangster name.
This little game she was playing with herself wasn’t really helping to distract her as much as she’d like. She could feel Cray getting closer. He’d been getting close for the last half hour, she guessed. But would he get here before someone decided it was time to shoot her kneecaps? She winced and tried to shift her thoughts elsewhere. Sammy had described, in great detail, about some guy who had held out for the first kneecap, but caved when they shot the second one. Too late. Because by then, he’d never walk again without crutches. Not that she thought that was a problem for him. She doubted the guy was walking at all…
“You were doing pretty good hiding, too.”
That caught her attention. How had they found her? That was one thing she could not figure out. She knew better than to ask. Better than to show any interest at all. Maybe if she stayed quiet—
“Imagine our surprise when the wedding of Ms. Elizabeth Brown to Mr. Crayton Long was announced in the New York Times.” Elizabeth went cold. So that was why her parents wanted that picture. “The New York Times!” He chuckled. “Might as well take out an ad. Oh, wait.” He smirked at her. “You did.”
Elizabeth felt a jolt of recognition. That was it. That was what had been nagging at her. Because, duh, why would her parents want a picture?
She closed her eyes and tried to block everything out. She could feel Cray getting closer. Feel his determination coming strong through the bond. It hadn’t wavered once since that horrible moment when she was sure she was saved—only to be hit with a blast of anguish so strong it would have knocked her over—if she hadn’t already been lying on her side on the floor of the van.
The realization that Cray wasn’t actually about to burst into the van like some kind of superhero was almost too much to take. Feeling him getting closer and closer, only to sail by like some kind of misfired arrow, had nearly crushed her. Feeling him speed farther and farther away had been worse. She’d lain there unable to decide if not being able to see where she was going made it worse— or was actually a blessing.
But it hadn’t been long before the van slowed and backed into a driveway. And then they were dragging her through the side door of an unremarkable house with aging white vinyl siding and down the stairs to the basement where she was now. Duct-taped to this chair.
But Cray was getting closer again. A lot closer. And that determination never wavered.
A door opened overhead and footsteps trotted down the basement stairs. She couldn’t see who was coming because her back was to the stairs— which was just driving her crazy. But then he spoke, and she thought it was Guido. She didn’t have a good gangsta name for him yet. All she had come up with so far was Guido the Cheeto, but it just didn’t have the right ring. Even if he was kind of short and lumpy.
He said something to Sammy that had him standing up and tucking away his gun. She wasn’t one hundred percent sure what he’d said because he wasn’t speaking actual Italian. It was some kind of dialect, probably Napolitano, but it sounded uncomfortably like someone was coming. Arriving. Arriva. That was clear enough. And not good news.
And then Sammy confirmed it. “Well, it looks like the boss will be here soon. Twenty minutes or less. Better say your prayers.” He reached into his shirt and pulled out a gold cross on a chain. He held it up and then kissed it theatrically, smirking at her. What a creep. Elizabeth barely held back a shudder. She wanted to say something about being careful that he didn’t burn his lips, but managed to hold that back too.
Guido came into view and said something to her that she didn’t catch, nudging Sammy in the ribs like he had made a great joke.
Sammy grinned. “You get it?” He repeated the words. “Nu sputà 'ncielo ca 'nfaccia te torna.” That was the thing about Napolitano, it sounded so beautiful, but she doubted the sentiment matched.
“Don’t spit at the sky, it might come back and hit you in the face. You shouda just kept you mouth shut. Then none of this would be happening. And I wouldn’t be stuck here in fucking upstate New York on a Tuesday night.”
She gave him a sweet smile. “Poor Sammy.” She shook her head. “You missing Tuesday night bingo?”
Sammy lunged at her and Elizabeth flinched away violently, knocking the chair over and—
Oh, fuck!
Pain exploded up her arm and
shoulder. Her arms were tied around the back of the chair, and she had just landed on one. She was pretty sure it was broken.
She was vaguely aware of Guido saying something to Sammy, pulling him away, but the pain rose up in a tide, sending her spinning down into blackness.
Chapter 26
Cray pounded the dash. “Go, go, go. Right up here. We’ll park a block away and cut through the yards to the back of the house.”
Gage shot him a look in the rearview but didn’t comment. Cray didn't blame him. It wasn’t like he could drive any faster. Cray just couldn’t contain his impatience. Gage screeched around a corner and slowed to a reasonable speed.
“We are two blocks away, Cray. Now we go quietly so we don’t attract attention, yes?”
“Yes. Fine. Just hurry.”
Gage rolled his eyes. “Mari, we will stop on the next block, under those trees. Do you see? I want you to hide in the back. Don’t draw attention.”
“Um, dude,” Mari said, unsuccessfully trying for Gage’s French accented surfer imitation. “I’m not hiding in the back. It’s broad daylight. Like that’s not going to look suspicious if somebody comes by walking their dog.” She crossed her arms militantly over her diminutive chest. Cray ground his teeth.
“I’m sittin’ right up front in the driver’s seat. I’m drivin’ the getaway car.”
Lucas’s voice came through the speaker. “Mari. You must hide in the back like Gage says. You cannot take the chance—”
Cray’s eyebrows shot up as Mari viciously disconnected the call. “I’m drivin’ the getaway car,” she said distinctly into the phone, as if Lucas could still hear her.
“Mari. Give me the phone.”
She looked up and met Cray’s eye. She bit her lip and handed it over. “Sorry, Cray. Got a little carried away.”
Gage pulled in under the trees and parked. He said nothing as he slid out of the truck. Cray was aware of Mari sliding from the back of the SUV and climbing into the driver’s seat. He heard the locks click as he reconnected the call to Lyla.
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