by Alys West
This must be something she’d been working on in the weeks before she died. Scanning each of the spells on those pages, Jenna’s hands tightened around the book when she saw the one which required fennel.
“Breaking a coercion spell.
To be used with caution. The recipient may suffer a strong reaction when the spell is released. If at all possible, try to determine how the spell has been placed on the recipient and destroy the charm used at the same time.”
A list of ingredients followed including fennel and the hair or nails of the person under the coercion spell.
Mum had been trying to do this spell only days before she died. But who had been coerced? And why was Mum trying to break the spell? Because this should have been dealt with by The Order. It was up to them, as a group, to deal with misuses of magic.
She had to show Winston. It was exactly the kind of clue they’d been looking for. She’d take both grimoires home with her and go through them page by page to make sure they’d not missed anything. But first she had to figure out how to get them out of here without Dad suspecting.
Returning to the bookcase, she replaced all of the books and the model of Thor. Slipping off her jumper, she wrapped both books in it. She glanced at her watch. Ten to ten. Her car keys were in her pocket. If she was quick she could get the grimoires in the boot of her car and be back to say goodbye to Dad before he settled down to watch the ten o’clock news.
Chapter 29
Winston turned the page. He’d read to the end of this chapter then go to bed. He’d picked up the latest Ian Rankin novel at the airport during the two-hour delay before the flight to Kirkwall was finally called. He’d been driving himself crazy with the waiting and fiction had seemed a better distraction than the Oxford Journal of Archaeology which he’d stuffed in his rucksack for in-flight reading. Nudging one of the many fancy pillows that Cathy, the owner of the B&B, insisted on piling on his bed into a more comfortable position, he yawned and picked up his phone to check the time. Nearly quarter to eleven.
A message flashed up on the screen. From Jenna. “You awake? Got something to show you.”
Now? It must be important for her to be contacting him at this late hour. But did he want to see her? He’d walked six miles around Pollock Park this morning and he still didn’t know how to deal with this mess of emotions. Because however much he might like her and want her, and there was some relief in admitting the second bit at least, she wasn’t the kind of woman who did friends with benefits. If Jenna was in a relationship she’d want it all and before he knew it, he’d be meeting her dad and hanging out with her friends and having to be nice to the bloody Viking. That was never going to happen.
But she wanted to see him. At quarter to eleven on a Sunday. That wasn’t like Jenna. The least he could do was find out what she wanted. There was no harm in that.
Instead of texting back, he rang her. She picked up on the second ring.
“What’ve you got?” he asked after she’d said hello.
“Something Mum wrote. I need to show you. Can I come round?”
“Now?”
“I know it’s late but yes, it’s important.”
It must be. “Alright. Where are you?”
There was a beat before she said, “I’m actually parked outside the distillery wondering which of the B&Bs on this road is yours.”
Something flared within him for a bright second before he stamped on it. She’d found something about Rachel. That was all. This wasn’t a booty call.
“Spinnaker House. It’s got a red sign outside. I’ll come down and look for you.”
She rang off and he rolled off the bed. At least the room was tidy. Cathy had used his absence to give it a very thorough clean and he’d not been back long enough to mess it up. From the rucksack he’d taken to Glasgow, a dirty t-shirt and his washbag spilled out. Picking the rucksack up, he tossed it into the wardrobe.
He jogged downstairs and opened the front door as her black Clio turned into the drive. He patted his pocket to make sure he’d got his keys and went out to meet her, the concrete sharply cold under his bare feet.
“Hi,” she said, as she got out of the driver’s seat. She looked tired. Dark circles beneath her eyes, lines of strain marring her face. “You don’t mind, do you? I thought you’d want to see this but it could have waited until tomorrow.”
“Always a pleasure, Miss Henderson.” He deepened his voice, gave it the full Sean Connery resonance. It hid the twist in his chest because he wasn’t teasing her. He’d told her the God’s honest truth. And he’d not the slightest idea how to handle it.
She walked to the car’s boot, took out two large books and slammed it shut.
“Are those Nina’s grimoires?” he said. When she nodded, he added, “How did you get them past your dad?”
“Don’t laugh. I wrapped them up in my jumper and snuck them out while he was watching TV.”
“You’re becoming more underhand by the day, Miss Henderson. I’m impressed.” He stood back to let her go first, gestured at the stairs when she hesitated. For once, he kept his gaze fixed on her ankles as she climbed the stairs. If he looked at her lovely rounded arse then he was in even bigger trouble.
She waited for him on the narrow landing and he swung open the door to his room, feeling strangely tongue tied. She was so close and he couldn’t touch her. However much he wanted to she’d made it abundantly clear she wasn’t interested. The irony wasn’t lost on him. A taste of his own medicine Finn would say. Except he’d no intention of telling Finn. Or anyone else.
Jenna stepped inside. The room had never seemed big. There was only enough space for a single bed, a table under the window that had his laptop on and a chair he habitually draped most of his clothes over. In the corner were the tiny sink and an old-fashioned tea-tray on legs. It was enough and, as some of the volunteers at the dig were camping, he was grateful every time it rained for four walls and a roof. But with Jenna in it, the room seemed very small indeed.
“Chair or bed.” He gestured at each. “The choice is yours.”
She took the bed, perching on the edge of it as if she was afraid it would bite.
“Do you want a drink?” Swinging the chair round, he gestured at the tea-tray.
“No, thanks. I’m not staying. I just wanted to show you this.” She waited until he sat down and then handed him the larger of the two grimoires. It naturally fell open at a page on psychic protection. He slid the leather bookmark out of the way and scanned rituals for protecting against magical attack.
“Turn over.”
He did as she instructed. Tucked between the next two pages was a flyer for the demonstration against the Nethertown development. As he read what was beneath it, he blew out a low whistle.
Coercion spells were real. Spellworkers kept really quiet about that. But this was about breaking one and if Nina had marked it with this flyer then it must have been something she was looking at immediately before she died.
He looked up. Her blue eyes met his. “The really important bit’s on the back of the flyer,” she said.
He turned it, read the words written there. “Bloody hell!”
“Exactly.”
Looking back at the book in his hand, he read the spell again.
“Any ideas?” Jenna said.
“Until five minutes ago, I didn’t know coercion spells actually worked. So no, not many.”
“We need to find out who was being coerced.”
“And why it was important enough to Nina that she tried several times to break the spell,” he said. “Got any ideas?”
“No. You?”
“I don’t think this is to do with Rachel. She was new to spellwork and this is really advanced magic.”
“You’re saying there was someone else on Orkney doing magic? Someone who did this coercion spell?”
“I think we’ve got to consider the possibility. You’d know better than me but would they actually have to be here to make this work
? I thought spellwork wasn’t geographically limited. That’s what you’ve got over mere druids. We’ve got to be near whatever we want to use awen on.”
“I guess. This kind of magic is way beyond anything I’ve ever been able to do.” She leaned forward to look at the book. “Is there anything in there about how to do a coercion spell?”
“There must be if there’s instructions for breaking one.” He turned the pages.
“It might be called binding instead, I think.”
There were several pages on binding. The first spells were about stopping people doing harm to themselves. Over the page was one on how to bind a person to your will. He swivelled the book so that Jenna could read it with him. The instructions required the making of a poppet which you had to fill with a piece of smoky quartz and the bones of a crow.
Jenna’s hand shot out a second before his own, pointing at the text. Their fingers brushed. He glanced up but her gaze was fixed on the book.
“You have to have the hair or nail clippings or a photograph of the person you want to bind,” she said.
“But if someone got those for you, could you do the spell from anywhere?”
“I guess. We’d need to ask Grace or someone who’s capable of doing this kind of magic to be really sure.”
He sat back in his chair. She wasn’t going to like this but he couldn’t avoid telling her. “I spoke to Grace earlier.”
“Oh?” More frown lines showed on her forehead.
“She couldn’t remember much else about Rachel. Nina had been excited about working with her, about her potential. Grace hadn’t considered Rachel as a suspect. She said there was no reason for her to do it. She needed Nina too much.”
“Oh.” Jenna crossed her arms. “I’d not thought of it like that.”
“If she was at the ‘oh shit’ stage of her magical education then I think Grace’s got a point. You wouldn’t murder the person who was teaching you, no matter how much they pissed you off, as you need them too much.”
“Are you speaking from personal experience?”
“Too right. I wanted to strangle Cam on a fairly regular basis over those first few years but I knew I’d be totally lost if he wasn’t there.” He glanced at her, risked a grin. “And even at Glenard, they frown on patricide.”
As her gaze met his, she managed a half-smile. “How very conventional of them.”
“Isn’t it?” She was too easy to talk to. That was half the problem. That and the fact she’d got those great big eyes and a bottom lip that was tantalisingly kissable.
“What I don’t understand is why Mum was trying to break this coercion spell herself.” As she spoke, Jenna ran her pendant up and down its silver chain. “Why didn’t she get The Order involved?”
“Unless it was personal? Something she didn’t want the other members of The Order to know about?”
She leaned back as if she didn’t want to hear the words. “Like what? Mum wasn’t one to break the rules. It’d have to be really important for her to try to deal with this alone.”
“I’m guessing, okay, so don’t leap down my throat but what if it was something to do with you or your dad?”
“It wasn’t me.”
“I think the whole point of binding and coercion spells is that you don’t know it happened. Did you make any unlikely or irrational decisions back then?”
“Other than dating Hal, you mean?”
He didn’t need the edge to her voice to recognise the pain. The fact that she’d said it could only mean one thing. “You asked him?”
She nodded. “This afternoon. And you were right. Cassie’s coming over. In two weeks’ time.” Bowing her head, she wrapped her arms around her middle. “I wasn’t going to tell you. I don’t know why I did.”
There was such pain on her face. There was only one thing a guy could do. Especially if he’d take any excuse to hold her. Moving to sit on the bed, he put his arms out and gathered her to him.
“He’s a tosser.” He whispered the words against her hair. She didn’t pull away. That was progress of a kind.
There was a time limit on how long he could hold her. As the blood exited his head and headed to his groin, he let go.
She looked at him, her eyes glazed with unshed tears. “I hate that you were right.”
“I shouldn’t have told you the way I did.”
“An apology, Dr Grant?” She managed a weak smile as she blinked the tears away. “That’s twice in one day.”
Was it only this morning that he’d woken her up when she’d been having a lie in? It felt like months ago.
“Enjoy it.” Her thigh was pressed against his. He shifted slightly to put some space between them. “It might never happen again.”
“I asked Hal about Rachel.” She yawned, hiding it behind her hand.
“What did the tosser say?”
She did smile then. “Are you going to keep calling him that?”
“Probably.”
“He said Rachel and Kenny were together for a long time. He couldn’t remember how long exactly but they split up a couple of years ago and Kenny started seeing Amy who was Rachel’s best friend.”
“And you doubted me.” He nudged her gently. “I said the wedding was at the bottom of this.”
“It gets worse. Kenny was seeing both of them for a while. Hal said it got pretty ugly.”
He whistled, long and low. “I bet it did! And if that’s not motive for destroying a wedding then I don’t know what is.”
“I know, that’s what I thought. Hal didn’t know her surname. He’s going to ask his gran and let me know.” Jenna yawned again, making less effort to hide it. “I should go. I’ve got work tomorrow.”
“Any time.” He stood, picked up the larger grimoire. “Do you mind if I keep this? I want to have a proper look at these spells.”
“Sure.” She picked up the smaller grimoire. “How about if I go through this one and then we compare notes?”
“That’s the one written on black paper? Yeah, you’re welcome to it.”
“Thanks.” She shot him a look that was pure prickly Jenna.
“Are you free tomorrow evening? We could meet up again then.”
What was he doing? He never saw a woman two nights in a row because then she’d think it was serious. Only the usual rules didn’t apply because they weren’t sleeping together. Until they were, if they ever were, he could see her as often as he could stand.
“Yeah, if you like. Although I’m not sure how much of this I’ll have deciphered by then.” Her hand brushed the leather cover of the grimoire.
“You get extra time.” He opened the door, stood back to let her go first.
“You can come over, if you like?” she said, as she headed down the stairs. “I’ll cook us a bite to eat and we can see where we are with everything. I’m starting to feel I can’t see the wood for the trees anymore. It’s like the more we stir the pot the harder it is to see anything.”
“Nice metaphor mixing.” He grinned as she turned round to glare at him. “No, I’m going to stick with it. We have to keep stirring and hope the wood floats to the surface.”
“What if it’s nothing but trees?”
“Then we stir harder. Sooner or later we’ll find some wood to hold on to.”
“So long as we don’t sink in the process.”
She sounded worn out. She looked up at him as they reached the front door. Her eyes were heavy lidded, the dark circles beneath them more pronounced in the dim light.
“Want me to bring anything?” He unlocked the door, swung it open.
“Beer. I’m pretty sure we’re going to need a drink.”
“Some would say beer won’t help us separate wood from trees.” Stepping in, he dropped a kiss on her cheek. “Luckily for you, I’m not one of them.”
She laughed quietly, a light, low sound in the quiet hall. “About 7.30? Although knowing your timekeeping I should say 7 and then there’s some hope you’ll be there by half past.”
“Harsh, Miss Henderson.”
“Then prove it, Dr Grant. Be on time for a change.”
She walked down the drive to her car and got in. He blinked in the sudden glare of the headlights. Jenna reversed quickly onto the main road, raised her hand once and then was gone.
Chapter 30
Jenna dumped the bags on the kitchen worktops. Why on earth had she’d let herself in for this? It’d been good to see him last night, a relief to share what she’d found in the grimoire but was that enough to invite him for tea?
After she’d stuffed the beef and vegetables into the fridge, she tossed a clove of garlic from hand to hand and scanned the room. She’d just enough time to tidy up before she got changed and started prepping the stir-fry. It wouldn’t take long to cook once he got here. He could use the time to read the smaller of the two grimoires. Let him have a go at deciphering the cramped handwriting on black paper.
After whipping around the room with the hoover, tidying the books and newspapers into neat piles and plumping the cushions on the sofa she headed to her bedroom to get changed. The what-to-wear dilemma confronted her as soon as she opened the wardrobe. Jeans were the obvious answer and she tossed her best pair on the bed. Finding a top to go with them was a whole different matter. She didn’t want to look like she was making an effort, like this invitation meant something. She pulled out a shirt that she used to wear to work at Holyrood. It had small blue flowers on it, was severely cut and more appropriate for a business meeting. Nothing about it said ‘date’.
She was half way into her jeans when the doorbell rang. Damn the man! He was twenty minutes early. Was this what she got for challenging him to be on time? Once she’d yanked her jeans up, she stomped through the hall and threw the door open. Andrew stood there.