by J A Campbell
“She gave us the option. Do as she asks. Or die.”
Hagatha looked between the two. Both looked resolved.
“I’m gathering neither of you have taken her offer?” she said.
“She’s doing her damnedest to destroy my father,” Elise said. “I won’t be a part of that.”
“Neither will I,” Melanie said. “He’s done a great kindness to me offering me training in your House instead of forcing me to go to Faery or a JM School. I’m not repaying it with hurt. And I don’t believe that her demands on us will stop—once she’s gotten us to acquiesce, we’re hers.”
“So this is my part of the deal,” Hagatha said. She looked at the two of them, took a steadying breath, and drew the strings that’d open the pouch.
“You’re supposed to use these items, then find Marcus,” Elise provided the instructions. “We’re not sure precisely what they do other than hurt him.”
A lock of ash blonde hair tied with a lavender ribbon fell out first among a small pile of be-spelled tokens. Hagatha recognized the color. It could have been her own tresses before the accident, but just the slightest touch with a fingertip and she knew it to be her mother’s. She even smelled her perfume, a mix of citrus and English rose.
How had Valonna gotten...?
Her eyes squeezed shut. She’d eschewed her heritage, the ability to summon ghosts, but this time the heritage would not be denied. Her mother’s specter reached out for her with a caress of cold hands, her blue-grey eyes imploring her desperately to listen and heed what she had to say. Goddess, she ached. She’d only known her birth parents in death.
“Elise, capture this,” she choked out the words before the vision took her. They’d taken such testimony to the JM before and gotten a conviction. Valonna had escaped, as she had several times before.
This. Must. Happen.
Pain shot through her body. She lay crippled on cold hard stone staring up in horror at the kinswoman who’d pushed her.
A gleaming knife appeared in Valonna’s hand.
Her eyes rolled to the side as she saw Valonna pull a handful of her long blonde hair, silvered by the moonlight, and cut it from her head.
Then, laughing wickedly, Valonna’s hand grasped her head, the only part of her body she could feel, and twisted it.
Hideous pain.
Her spirit rose above the dark figure laughing mockingly at her broken body and fled. She’d done everything she could in getting both her child and Marcus’ free of the fire and free of Valonna.
“She killed my mother.” Hagatha choked out the words, feeling Melanie’s steadying hands hold her. “She pushed her off the balcony and—when she’d landed, broken and paralyzed on the flags below—Valonna came down to cut off a lock of her hair, then finished the job by breaking her neck when she was completely helpless.”
Her world upended. The floor fell from beneath her feet, propelling her body downward. Sobs tore from her, broken and rasping.
Why would the Goddess give her such an image, when it would be the only one of Agatha Macrow she’d ever get?
“Hagatha!”
Her arms ached as the two women on either side grabbed her and held her upright. She could feel her feet touching the carpeted floor now, her bottom on the hotel chair, but the feeling of paralysis with just her face in contact with the chill mix of granite and quartzite flags persisted.
“This,” Hagatha pointed to the hair with a shaking hand, “turns me into my mother so I can seduce Marcus, no doubt to reveal the heartbreak at some convenient and publicly humiliating occasion. I’m also fairly certain that Valonna didn’t think I had the talent to summon my mother’s spirit from it, or she would never have handed us such an incriminating piece of evidence.”
“I don’t understand,” Melanie said, her gentle blue eyes offering comfort.
Hagatha realized that part of the joy of this enchantment for Valonna was revealing the sordid truth of their House’s past to Melanie. She looked at Elise, who nodded. The time for secrets was long past.
“They were lovers,” Hagatha said. “Marcus said he wanted to have a child with her, but the Breeding Committee…”
Melanie turned startled dark eyes from one to the other.
“When he became Lord, Marcus disbanded the Breeding Committee except as an advisory service,” Elise explained. “Macrows historically are not wed. We are bred to one another to keep the magic pure and strong. Thus, one Macrow could have children with several eligible partners throughout their long lives. Valonna and Marcus were matched for this purpose despite the fact that they were mortal enemies. Elise is the last of Marcus’ children living.”
Hagatha watched as Melanie’s face changed color at an alarming rate from tomato red to bloodless white to a sickly creamed asparagus soup green. She reached for the trash can just in case she needed to throw up and set it next to Melanie’s chair. The fae girl shook her head, swallowed hard enough for Hagatha to hear it, and gestured for them to continue.
“My mother’s a psychopath,” Elise confessed. “She revels in causing people pain. In particular, Marcus is her target. That’s the reason he’s been so circumspect about your engagement—careful to announce it’s only a political alliance and to keep you at arm’s length. It’s for your safety and perhaps sanity.”
“Valonna feels no remorse,” Hagatha started to explain the pathology as carefully and clinically as she could, hoping to ground the girl with facts.
Melanie nodded. “My mother’s a sociopath. I understand.”
Hagatha glanced at Elise. Her cousin didn’t seem overly surprised. Hagatha suppressed her anger. Elise had taken the time from the beginning to talk to the fae girl. Hagatha had been so entranced by her musical talent, she’d convinced her to sing and play during much of the time they should have been getting to know each other.
“Doc’s a surgeon.” Melanie’s own voice took on an oddly clinical tone, which Hagatha suspected was an unintended mimicry of her mother that helped the highly empathetic fae girl to deliver difficult or bad news. “It’s common in the field and often helpful if you can think about tough decisions which can change or end a person’s life. She can cut on a person without feeling the empathy that I’d experience…Her parents realized something was wrong with her and taught her the rules early. She mostly sticks by them. Goddess help anyone who tries to hurt one of us, though.”
“Did she ever try to kill someone?” Hagatha asked.
“I’m sure she’s closed patients with serious illnesses she discovered she couldn’t help in surgery,” Melanie said. “She supports physician-assisted suicide for the terminally ill, but that’s not legal in Texas.”
“Not quite the same.” Hagatha felt like she was on safe ground to point out that revelation. “No,” Melanie said. “From what you’re not saying, you do not consider Marcus to be a psychopath.”
Hagatha shook her head vehemently. Marcus had walls upon walls around his heart, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have feelings. It just meant he’d learned after centuries to protect himself.
“Absolutely not,” Elise said, always her father’s champion. “He’s a badass, but he wouldn’t hurt an innocent, and he certainly would not sanction harming women or children.”
Hagatha felt the tension ease in the room. Melanie had been hurt before. She was terrified that’d happen again.
“What is the rest of this lot, then?” Melanie asked.
“A love potion.” Hagatha looked at a vial of pink-tinged fluid. “With a fertility spell.”
“And sex,” she said as she held up the purple-trimmed black lace garter. “So she wanted me to pretend to be my mother and seduce my cousin. Should I send my regrets or would destroying this stuff be sufficient answer?”
She hastened to the bathroom, poured the potion down the toilet, and then dropped the vial on the edge, so the delicate glass would shatter against the porcelain. Then she flushed about a dozen times and threw cupfuls of water to wash it down and dilut
e whatever effects it might have possessed.
She paused, looking carefully at the garter. Hagatha’s lips spread in a grin, and she held up the item for all to see. “We have more of Valonna’s power in this item. We strip the raw power, place it into one of the battery stones I have left, and shield it.”
She did so before either could argue and placed the stone in a shielded pouch she always carried on her person for dangerous items. Then she unstrung the garter and set the fabric on fire in an ashtray after disarming the smoke alarm. It made a fierce stench in the room, but it was satisfying to see Valonna’s efforts go up in smoke.
“When we get home, my next task is to work on figuring out precisely how to use Valonna’s power against her,” Hagatha vowed. “She’s been a thorn in the side of House Macrow and magekind for centuries.”
“We have to keep the hair.” Elise laid her hand carefully on the silvery blonde strands that lay on the table between them. “We can take this to the JM, and I can summon your mother’s ghost there to testify again. It’ll be painful, but I think we’ll need it to be certain to convict Valonna.”
Something eased in Hagatha’s chest. She knew how vulnerable people were to hair being used for various foul purposes. Some of the Native Americans around Neutral and Boring who used the same barber she did swept up their hair after a haircut and took it home to burn it so no others could have it.
“It’s better than having the uncertainty for all these years,” Hagatha agreed. “We all need closure.” She looked at Melanie. “You’ll be there for Marcus?”
“Do you think he needs me?” Melanie’s expression was startled.
“He does,” Elise said assuredly and Hagatha nodded.
“Of course,” Melanie said.
Despite the hideous stench from the garter, Hagatha felt cleansed for the first time since she’d been with Lord Clarion.
“You don’t suppose Clarion and Valonna,” she said, realizing that Valonna had probably used her plentiful charms on the man. Sex was, after all, her stock and trade.
“Oh yes, I do think.” Elise’s eyes narrowed. “And, of course, he could send us out on this mission. He and Father have never gotten along. No matter what motions Marcus brings to the JM, they’re always going to have one vote against them. Clarion’s.”
“That isn’t all. I remember that well from when Marcus tried to get Grayson affiliate status,” Melanie said. “The man’s blocked us at every turn. He’s also the one who forced me into a corner with my magical education. I didn’t realize how much Marcus risked stepping up and offering himself as a betrothed instead of Clarion.”
Hagatha winced. So part of Clarion’s issue was that Marcus got the prized fae princess, too. Men.
“What’s next?” Hagatha looked at her two companions, feeling a kinship and solidarity she hadn’t experienced in a while. She stood up, grinning jauntily. “The three musketeers ride?”
Melanie chuckled. Elise grinned broadly. The fae girl tossed her a gleaming fae metal bracelet like the one she wore.
“Welcome to the order,” she said. “I have mastered one piece of enchantment, and I gift it to you.”
Hagatha caught the bracelet, gestured, and a saber with a blue blade rested in her hand. She waved the sword, feeling giddy and delighted as her two companions brought forth their own weapons.
“We are going to kick some dragon ass,” Elise proclaimed. “And then we’re going after Valonna. Only her own power can kill her, but we can make her suffer.”
“All for one…” They clashed the blades together. “And one for all.”
“I’m going to find Darien,” Elise announced once Melanie finished with their magic lesson regarding use of the fae multitool. The girl may not know their magic, but she was brilliant with the small bits of her own. And, unlike Hagatha, Elise was an excellent teacher who didn’t get sidetracked.
“I need a nap.” Hagatha finished off the tea-and-whiskey with just a bit more whiskey topper. “I promise I’ll be onboard in just a bit.”
“You had a lot to deal with,” Elise said.
Melanie followed her out of the room.
“You need backup,” she said once they’d gotten out in the hallway.
Elise looked down at the smaller woman, her mouth open to demur, and realized it wasn’t a question.
“I could use a friend.”
“And as your future wicked stepmother,” Melanie said, “you might even need an ally.”
Elise laughed. “Marcus has never really interfered before, and I’d trust his judgment.”
“Fair enough,” Melanie agreed.
Elise sensed the unspoken question and opted to trust her to answer. “No, I don’t trust my judgment at the moment.”
“I do,” Melanie said. “Unlike me, you’re one of the most level-headed people I know.”
“Marcus chose you,” Elise told her. She knew for a fact the man had options. She’d seen some of the befurred and bejeweled beauties he’d had on his arm before, staring up at him adoringly. “He didn’t just do that to protect you, though when I see what you can do with the multitool, I’m thinking he was right not to let you go to Faery for sure.”
Melanie let out a breath that misted in the air.
“King Oberon didn’t even want that for some reason,” Elise continued. “And there were offers. Marcus calls the fae lords odious save for their king.”
“I haven’t met any, save for my grandfather and godmother,” Melanie confessed. “Both have been kind to me for some reason.”
“Don’t take it for granted,” Elise warned. “They have a bad rep.”
“I know,” Melanie looked worried. “My only experience with them has been in storybooks—and a friend had them try to change their daughter for one of theirs. They fought them, with Grendel’s help, and ended up with twins.”
They approached the bakery, hoping to find Darien there again. It was later than usual, but she hoped he’d be there, and she hoped he had a good answer for having Hagatha’s emerald in his possession.
The boisterous crowds Elise was used to first thing in the morning had thinned down to a handful of people in line. Most of the café-style tables were available, though a few were occupied by what Elise suspected were regulars: a pair of octogenarians, silvered heads bent over a chess board with a competition timer ticking away; two young lovers holding hands; and a triad of black-robed priests with thick volumes stacked between their coffee mugs and laptops set out in front of them.
Passing close enough to see the titles, Elise noted they dealt with possession. Her eyes shifted to Melanie, who nodded acknowledgement. Were they talking about the church or some other matter?
“Your friend, he waited for you an hour or more,” the man who’d first served them said. “He seems to be quite fond.”
Elise’s face heated, and not from the multiple ovens running.
“Did he say where he was going?” She looked hopefully at him.
He shook his head.
“He’s local. Do you know where he lives?” Elise asked after she’d placed her order and paid.
The man raised a salt-and-pepper colored brow and turned to a woman who was occupied icing a chocolate cake to ask.
“They’re not local,” she called out loud enough for the entire room to hear. “I’ve just seen them lately and thought they were students, with so many different races among them. But students usually come in the summer when the historical sites and geography are free of snow. They miss fewer of their other classes that way, too.”
Elise felt sunk until the old man called out, “Anyone know about the dark-skinned young man and his friends who started coming in here a few days ago?”
One of the chess players raised his eyes from the board and spoke in a British accent. “Think their family are gypsies or tinkers of some sort. They’re going around to the shops selling all manner of things. I’d watch my wallet, young lady.”
Elise did her best to keep the convivial smile pa
sted on her face. She couldn’t believe Darien would steal anything. He had kind, honest eyes.
“I think our next stop is the rock shop,” Melanie suggested.
Elise nodded, grateful that Melanie offered no judgment.
They grabbed a couple of the last scones, a box of assorted pastries for Hagatha, and a hot tea apiece in paper cups, which would keep their hands warm while they walked through the Alpine cold.
It was no surprise the lady at the rock shop had every single one of Hagatha’s original stones, plus a couple she’d lost in the last clash with the dragons.
“These were stolen from our kindred,” Melanie spoke up, turning over the rocks to show the runes Hagatha carved on the bottom of each.
The woman looked like she’d swallowed a dill pickle whole.
Melanie pulled out her phone, her eyes narrowing in consideration.
“I’ll sell them to you for what I paid,” the woman spat. “But that doesn’t pay me for polishing and cleaning. They were all covered in salt.”
If they’d had any doubts prior to that, they were all gone now.
“Do you have an address for the person who sold them to you?” Elise asked.
For a moment, the woman balked, her expression shuttering.
“There’s been an issue of ownership of stolen goods,” Elise pointed out. “You already sold that citrine to Don Giovanni. You couldn’t mistake it for another. Should we tell him it’s back in your possession and for sale?”
The woman’s face went white. She grabbed her books in shaking hands and ripped out a receipt with the seller’s name, Jun Zhang. She made several disparaging remarks about Asians. Then she confessed in a breathless and angry voice that the girl was hocking valuables all over town.
Elise shook her head as they left the shop. They had the names and addresses of a number of businesses to visit; one in particular was a jeweler’s, where Melanie suspected her engagement ring might be for sale if they hadn’t shipped it to a bigger town. The thrift stores, or “jumble shops” as Melanie called them, were safe according to the rock shop owner, but the jewelry shop was owned by La Famiglia.