by M K Mancos
In dire emergencies, I had no beef with fast food. However, I preferred to get waited on and sit and relax. A town this size had to have a few that stayed open after dark.
We drove the two miles to a house that looked like it came straight out of The Addams Family. When I rang the doorbell, I expected to hear a foghorn going off and a tall, gaunt butler named Lurch to answer the door.
To say I was disappointed was putting it mildly. Not only did Lurch not answer the door, but Rallie didn’t either. Despite a few lights being on in the house, it appeared no one was home.
“You wanna try the location spell?”
Colvin reached into his pocket and pulled out a small blue candle and a lighter, embossed with a pentagram on the side. I wanted to laugh. Convenient way of getting around the fact real witches used matches.
I took a piece of chalk from my pack and started to build the spell for translocation onto her sidewalk.
That was when the lightning struck.
Ten
Kells
Mathilda held the book like a talisman across her chest—a shield against the forces of darkness. I’m a bit tongue in cheek about it, but that’s exactly what she did as she marched up the stairs behind me.
“After dinner, we’ll look up who could have opened those time wells. Only a few entities are able, and they’re generally up to no good when they do.” This was given in a rather authoritative manner.
I got the distinct impression she’d been on the receiving end of a few of those instances. “All right. Anything you say. I’m used to country magic, not this big city several-decades-removed brand.”
Bea set a serving dish in the middle of the dining table. “You’d be surprised how potent country magic is—more nature-bound than what you find in a city.”
Made sense. Unless one grew their own herbs like Kara St. Ives. She’d made living in the city work for her and hadn’t let the lack of fresh vegetation slow her down.
We ate dinner as Mathilda perused the grimoire for whatever it was she sought. Halfway through dessert, she held up her hand. “I got it.” Her triumph was short lived as her face fell and mouth turned down at the corner. She shook her head. “Oh, this is not good.”
I leaned as far over as I could to try and read the book upside down. “What does it say?”
“It’s referencing dark worlds. The encroachment of that dimension into ours.” She ran her hand down the page, her mouth moving as she silently read. When she got to the end, she looked up. “Oh, this is going to be rather complicated, but not impossible. But I’m afraid, I was correct. We’ll need a full coven.”
I looked from one to the other. “Is that a problem?”
“In Manhattan, it’s a bit hard to come by. But not in the other four boroughs. We’ll have to put out a call.” Mathilda’s face had taken on a thoughtful expression.
Bea added butter and jam to her biscuit. “We could always take a ride up to Fox Run. It’s so pretty this time of year with the trees changing their colors.”
A bottle rocket went off in my soul. Fox Run. I’d have loved to have seen it in the 1920s. However, I didn’t think we had the time to travel there. A trip that only took two hours up the thruway might take three or four on old country roads and slower vehicles.
I had a sneaking suspicion that Fox Run was a nexus of magical energies. If Bea and Mathilda wanted to manipulate energies to fight back dark magics, then they’d do no better than to use the natural pools and eddies in Fox Run. However, the decision wasn’t mine, and Mathilda didn’t seem quite comfortable with anything above my power range. For all I’d stayed with them a few weeks and had gotten to know their business, I didn’t know the extent of their abilities.
Sounded to me like there was much more going on with the dark worlds than a couple of kitchen witches and a farseer could banish.
Mathilda tapped her finger on the page as if the number of times was part of some arcane ritual meant to deduce the chances of finding a full coven in the immediate area.
Perhaps it did. Nine for a full coven, six taps. Plus, the three of them. Nine. A number divisible by three.
I let out a breath as the numbers continued to run ‘round and ‘round in my head. I didn’t care what we did, just so long as we figured it out.
“Huh.” Mathilda made a noise in the back of her throat and turned to another section of the book. “I cross-referenced time wells with legends regarding shadow realms. There have been reports of widespread time wells in 1830, 1863, 1912. It ends there. This part of the grimoire was added in 1918.”
My heart jumped. I’d come across those particular years in my research of the Doran family. Clarissa Doran was hanged from a tree at the local church in 1830. In 1912, Melody Doran fled to Fox Run, New York.
I didn’t know about the other years, but I’m sure they correlated somehow with events in the Doran family. Without my computer with genealogy and timeline, I had to rely on only those dates that stood out in my mind.
It might have been a slim connection, but it was one nonetheless.
Mathilda stood. “I have messages to send.”
Unfortunately, I had nothing else to do. No research notes with me but a few in my notebook that I’d jotted down as they came to me. I stood as well and started to clear the table.
“I’ll clean the dishes.” I scraped all the leftovers onto one plate then stacked them. Sometimes doing mundane chores helped to keep my powers at bay. I never knew when they were going to flare. Not knowing anyone who had similar abilities made it difficult to figure out how to learn to control them. I called this centering exercises.
I carried the dishes to the kitchen and started the water in the sink. For the most part, Bea was meticulous when she cooked, cleaning as she went, so by the time dinner was over, there were only the plates and serving dishes that needed washing. The type of refrigeration of the day totally skeeved me out, and I hated putting leftovers away in a box that literally had a block of ice keeping the contents cool inside. Living out of a cooler on a picnic I could handle. Doing so on a daily basis seemed rather unsanitary and risky in the extreme.
I washed a plate and dunked it into the rinse sink. The water shifted. Tiny waves lapped at the porcelain. Images moved beneath the surface, working their way up from the bottom. As the waves quieted, the fragmented reflections coalesced into the face of Malachi Sayer.
I had a hard time making out where he was, only that it was dark. Wet hair that had been blond in the sunlight looked brown as it stuck in a thick lock over his forehead. Frustration and weariness wavered around his aura. I dipped my hand into the water as if I might be able the brush the hair from his brow. A subtle shock moved along my fingers as I came in contact with warm skin and silky hair.
His gaze shot to mine.
Oh, God. He'd felt my touch. The water worked as a portal. Question was could I get to him if I dived into the sink?
I stuck my hand back into the water, reaching for him. The picture shattered, and I staggered back. The kitchen rug rolled under my feet, and I fell on my ass in the middle of the floor.
"Kells!" Either Bea or Mathilda called from the other room. I didn't know which, and as I lay there staring up at the ceiling, I didn't care.
My heart pounded, and breath sawed in and out as if I'd had the fright of my life. Honestly, I might be able to see portals, but I'd never opened one willingly. The thought I may have developed the ability both excited and scared me. But then, I'd always excelled at letting my imagination run ahead of the situation.
The kitchen door swung open, and Bea stood there with her hand on her mouth. "Child, what happened?"
"I tripped." The confession came out about as bewildered as I felt. At that moment, I didn't know if I was going to tell her if I'd managed to touch a person through a water portal.
Bea reached down and lent me a hand up. My back and butt ached where I'd smacked it on the hard floor.
"I told Mathilda we needed to tack that down." She used
the toe of her shoe to flip the end of the rug back. "She never listens to me."
"It was my own clumsiness. I stepped back and tripped. That's all."
Bea stared straight through me. "Is it now?"
I swallowed. The look in her eyes told me she knew exactly what had gone on in here. Most portals let off an odor when they opened and closed. I didn't smell one this time. I don't know if it was because it was under the water.
Didn't seem to matter to Bea. She knew. Oh, boy did she know.
She walked to the sink and stuck her hand in the water, then swished it all around. "Oh, there was something here all right."
I stood behind her, trying to see over her shoulder. "What did you find?"
"Portal energy. Trace. It's fading as the water cools." She looked at me over her shoulder and the tops of her glasses. "How did you manage this in the kitchen sink?"
The question was legit. Unfortunately, I didn't have an answer for her.
"I don't know. What's in the dish soap you're buying?" I gave a shrug.
"Don't be impertinent." Bea grabbed my arm and changed places with me. "Turn the water back on and stick your hands in. You might be working as a conductor."
I stuck my hand back into water. "That's probably not outside of the realm of possibility since I do have the ability to see them. How much harder can it be to make them?"
I splashed around for a moment, but nothing happened. It remained a solid sink with water and a few soap bubbles left over from rinsing off the plates.
"A lot harder," Mathilda said from the doorway. She snapped the grimoire closed and came farther into the kitchen. "The odds of having all the correct elements in place to push one open unwittingly is astronomical."
"As astronomical as the U.S. outlawing liquor?" I quipped. All right, I've always thought the ratification of the Volstead Act was one of the biggest mistakes in the history of our government, and that was saying quite a bit.
Mathilda made a face. "You've got that right. But then, I've never been a teetotaler."
"Glad to hear it, but how does me unwittingly opening a portal help us?" Really, we needed back on track. "Control of when I go is very important."
"Did you recognize the person you saw?" Bea had her hands on her ample hips. "Or was it a stranger?"
I blew out a breath. This cut too close to the bone. My feelings for what I knew about Malachi Sayer in the future were a jumble. The fact I had only seen him in a diner for less than a minute in real time didn't account for me saying I knew him. Not in any real sense of the word.
Then a thought struck me, and I looked Bea. “I never said I saw a person.”
She made a face and played innocently with the necklace at her throat. Let her keep her secrets.
"What if I said I’ll know him in the future. And not just my time, but my future as well?" I stuck my hands into my apron pockets.
Mathilda set the grimoire on the counter. "You seem to be under the impression that it matters? Time isn't as linear as you're making it out to be."
I knew that, I was just rather surprised an apothecary in 1920s New York knew that.
Bea elbowed her friend. "Well, explain it to the girl."
"Just like there can be multiple time wells in a place, there can be multiple points on that timeline existing concurrently." Mathilda moved to the chalkboard they used to write down grocery items. She erased part of the list, earning her a hiss from Bea. “Hush, I’ll fill it back in when I’m done.”
Mathilda drew a strand that looked more like the double helix of a DNA strand. Now, I knew from my undergrad studies that DNA wasn’t even discovered until 1953, thirty years from where I’d landed.
“Time rather twists on itself, like a pig’s tail. Somewhere in the bend.” She pointed at the curve. “The time streams intersect. It’s these twists that allow the time wells to operate, astral projection, future prophecy, and seeing into the past.”
I sat staring at her drawing and not believing my ears. Witches, even in the 1920s, had it going on. They were well ahead of the curve here, even further than most physicists of the time.
“This is impressive. And explains quite a lot.” I ran my hand through my hair. “But again, how does it help us?”
Mathilda set the chalk back on the ledge and turned. “You already know him. Have a strong connection with him. No matter if you’re here in the past or in your far-flung future. It’s that connection we’ll use to get you back to your time.”
What was I supposed to say? I didn’t know if Malachi would mind me being flung at him from the past.
I shrugged. “So when do we try?”
Eleven
Malachi
My head continued to tingle where she touched me. One moment I stood there in the rain watching the chalk on the sidewalk wash away the runes as fast as I wrote them, the next I stared into a faint portal and the most beautiful face I’d ever seen.
Her power was greater than I’d originally thought. The heat from her fingers brushed my forehead as she’d moved my hair from my eyes. Such a tender expression of compassion. My body ached to know her, but there were so many questions I needed answered—like where and when in the hell was she? Unfortunately, the vision hadn’t lasted long enough, nor encompassed a wide enough scope to give any indication of her surroundings.
The fact she’d reached out to me was encouraging.
I continued to try and place the runes on the ground. The driving rain had slackened to a constant drizzle. The ground was still too wet to take the special chalk used for such work. I let out a growl of frustration and stood.
“This isn’t going to work.” I reached into my pack and got out a pen and paper. “When all else fails, use the mundane.”
I took a few minutes and wrote the runes out on paper then stuck them in my circle, using rocks from the graveled driveway to keep them in place. The incantation I chanted only worked to compel Rallie to come home. It didn’t have the power to pull her back to the spot immediately. Nor did I want it to. Translocation took a hell of a lot of power, and after the day I’d had, I was at the last of my reserves. Also, doing so wouldn’t help to bridge an introduction with her. However, seeing the runes on her walkway might make her nervous. Not that witchcraft was going to upset her, but an unknown source of magic on her property…well, that would give any magical practitioner pause.
It might get the one putting them down a defensive attack as well. I was all for staying away from any attacks on this trip; though, even here on the other side of the mountain from Cooper’s Mill, I felt the pull of the opening to the shadow realms.
I continued the chant and watched with amusement as Colvin mouthed the words along with me. Honestly, I didn’t know how much talent he had, but I was finding out he wasn’t without a fair amount. The help was greatly appreciated in a time when I needed it the most.
“What’s going on here?” came a voice from behind me. As far as female voices go it sounded as if it had consumed a lot of local whiskey and cigarettes over the course of a lifetime. The edge of power in it couldn’t be denied.
The words of the spell died on the air as I turned around and smiled. “Rallie Inskeep?”
She took a step forward. “Yes? And you are?”
“I’m Malachi Sayer, and this is Colvin DeLorenzo. We’ve come to help you find your niece.”
Her gaze moved to the paper runes growing ever soggier in the rain. She waved her hand in their general direction. “I’ve tried that. I can’t pick up anything of her on this plane.”
I stuck my hands in my pockets. “Um, that was to compel you here, not to find Kells.”
The look she sent me could only be labeled annoyed. “You’ll clean that up before you leave.”
“Of course.”
She gave a grunt and started away. “Well, you two might as well come in from the rain. I’ll put on some water for tea.”
She showed us into the house, and I immediately felt the love and comfort coming from every wal
l and surface. She’d done an amazing job of filling the space with every positive emotion possible in humankind.
Along with Rallie’s unmistakable energy, Kells’ essence wandered faintly through the rooms like a tethered ghost. I closed my hand into a fist inside my jacket.
Rallie pointed to a coatrack by the door. “You can put your wet coats there to dry, then go on through to the living room. I’ll put the water on and join you in a minute.”
I admit, I felt awkward walking through a complete stranger’s house when she was stationed in the kitchen, but then perhaps she saw something in Colvin and me that she trusted. At least I hoped so. The life of her niece depended on it.
We hung our coats, and as I walked by the paper towel rack, I was tempted to grab one to run through my hair and dry it. I didn’t want to drip water all over her floors.
“Yes, you may.” She hadn’t even turned from the stove, nor had I mentioned my want aloud. “And don’t worry about the floors. They’re hardwood and have been in place since 1918. Believe me, they’ve had more than water spilled on them in a hundred years.”
“Thank you.” A little disconcerted that she’d read my mind, I tore off a paper towel and handed it to Colvin, then took one for myself.
We moved on through a short hallway, both of our attention riveted by the decorations. The walls were covered in a rusty red paper. Paintings, pictures, and works of art covered every imaginable surface, but oddly the room didn’t look crowded. It lent the space more of a busy museum quality. Subject matter varied from religious iconography to wild animals. Most of the works were power pictures done in various mediums. My favorites were the mosaics. Words can’t adequately describe the beauty and soul-gripping quality of the lifelike portraits she managed to create with tiny tiles.
I stopped in front of one of Kells. The picture was old, and when I lifted my hand to examine the energy coming off the portrait, it felt a lot older than it looked.