The bakery, then.
I sheathed my knife, envisioning my beautiful kitchen. My haven of stainless steel. The feel of the tile underneath my feet. The scents of icing sugar and vanilla, the taste of moist chocolate cake.
My stomach growled a second time.
I ignored it. I also shoved down another round of aching panic that was boiling in my belly, threatening to spread through my torso.
Nothing else happened.
I envisioned my bakery pantry. The tidily stocked shelves. The lingering scents of spices and cocoa. The door that led to the basement and the portal.
Nothing happened.
I focused on my bedroom. The double bed against the wall. The neatly folded knitted afghan from Gran on the chair in the corner of the room. The art tube that contained Rochelle’s engagement present propped against the bureau.
Nothing happened.
My grandmother’s house. The library. The living room. The beach I’d just seen in the picture on my father’s bedside table.
It wasn’t working.
It wasn’t going to work.
All this magic, all this power hanging around my neck, and I was trapped.
Trapped.
I pressed my fingers to my forehead, to the scar. The reminder of what Reggie had done to me, of what she’d made me do, the people she’d made me hurt only days after we’d gathered together in the Whistler bakery and celebrated —
The baked-potato magic of the necklace perked up suddenly. Becoming … receptive.
Usually it wasn’t a good sign when magical items demonstrated feelings. Or, even worse, when they offered opinions — as Warner’s knife often did when I held it. But I would go down that rabbit hole if it got me closer to rescuing everyone I loved. Willingly. Eagerly.
“The Whistler bakery,” I whispered. The tiled kitchen. The long countertop that bisected the room, white granite thinly veined with gray. Double ovens and a walk-in fridge on one side across from the —
The magic of the necklace exploded outward, wrapping backward over my shoulders and torso and literally crushing me. My bones crunched. My insides churned. My mind went fuzzy.
I couldn’t breathe.
Everything went black.
Something I couldn’t see through the haze of magic holding me clattered to the ground a few feet away. Calling my knife into my hand instinctively, I lunged forward, ready to deflect whatever assault was coming my way.
I blinked rapidly. The teleportation magic snapped back into my necklace. My surroundings came into view.
A dark-haired woman wearing a brown-ruffled apron emblazoned with a white Cake in a Cup logo was standing before me. She appeared to be frozen in place, her mouth hanging open in surprise and fear.
Bryn.
I had teleported into the Whistler bakery. Into the kitchen, to be specific. White and gray granite counters, stainless steel appliances, and all.
She was standing beside the swing doors that led to the storefront, one hand still raised to push the door open. An entire tray of beautifully frosted cupcakes had dropped at her feet. Love, Lust, and Hug in a Cup, as far as I could tell, all of them scattered across the tiled floor.
“Jade … I … I … you … look …”
“I can explain,” I said. Except as soon as I said it, all the possible ramifications of that explanation flashed through my mind. I really didn’t have the time. Bryn wasn’t magically inclined. And the Adept world was crazy secretive. I didn’t want to get my friend and business partner’s mind scrambled. I wouldn’t have wished that fate on my worst enemy — not now that I knew what it felt like myself.
“Actually … I can’t explain. But … can I borrow your car?”
Maia stuck her head through the swing doors. The skinwalker had her braids twisted up on top of her head and was wearing a gorgeous beaded and feathered necklace over her brown Cake in a Cup T-shirt. She glanced around, taking in the destroyed cupcakes, then scowling at me. “Oh, it’s just you. I heard a noise.”
“She … she just appeared!” Bryn cried.
“Oh, yeah.” Maia waved her hand offishly. “Magic is real. Jade has a lot of it. Though I didn’t know she could teleport.” Then she exited back into the storefront without another word.
I could hear a murmur of conversation, most likely Maia greeting a customer. Cake in a Cup Too was open, but Bryn was still baking. So it was probably midmorning. It felt to me as though only a couple of hours had passed in the nexus at most, but unfortunately, that didn’t mean it was still December 29 on the Pacific West Coast.
Bryn was gazing at me as if utterly wounded. Even betrayed. “Magic? Is that how you get your icing so fluffy?”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. I held myself upright on the counter bisecting the kitchen, laughing until I was weeping.
“Well, you don’t have to be an asshole about it,” Bryn said crossly, crouching to retrieve the fallen cupcakes.
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” I wiped tears from my face, fairly certain they were tears of relief. “I don’t mean to be rude. You know I just whip the buttercream more than you do.”
“So you say,” Bryn said stiffly, crossing into the office and retrieving a mop. “That’s some outfit. And … knife.”
I glanced down at myself. I did look completely different than usual. Then Bryn made a soft noise of concern, abandoning the mop and crossing to look at me more closely. She reached up, hovering her fingers over my forehead, but not touching the scar puckering my skin.
“You’re hurt, Jade.”
“I’m okay, Bryn. But … other people might not be.”
“Right. Right. My keys.” She threw her arms around me, hugging me fiercely, then releasing me just as quickly to hustle back to the office and dig through her purse. “I spoke to Gabby this morning. She called to clarify the amount of cocoa in the Blitzen in a Cup. She said you were on vacation.” She crossed back out of the office, keys in hand. “And now, I just remembered the last time you went on an extended vacation without warning.”
I nodded. Bryn was referring to the first time I’d crossed through into the nexus. When the far seer wouldn’t let me return. When Sienna had kidnapped Mory, for the second time. And then I’d hunted her through Europe and back home again.
“Magic, eh?”
“Yeah, magic.”
“And Maia?”
I smiled. It wasn’t my place to out the skinwalker.
Bryn snorted. “This explains a lot.” She reached for the mop, then looked back at me with a dawning look of dismay. “Please tell me that Kett isn’t a vampire.”
“Um …”
“Damn it. Why do all the really good-looking guys come with such heavy baggage?”
I laughed, pressed a kiss to Bryn’s cheek, and took her keys. “I’ll take care of the car.”
“And text me on the hour.”
“Deal.”
I hustled over to the door, but then turned back. “Oh, Bryn? Get Maia to text me anything her grandmother knows about elves, would you? I asked her to ask before … um … I went away. Again.”
“Elves?”
I grimaced. “Yeah. Elves. And … maybe let her know that her people might want to stay away from Vancouver for a bit?”
Bryn glowered at me. “Her people?”
“I’m not being racist. I just … um …”
“You’ll explain later.”
“Yeah. I’ll explain later.” I grinned.
She smiled back begrudgingly.
I looked forward to a chat all about the Adept world over cupcakes with my business partner and friend. Right after I convinced Gran that it was ridiculous at this point to not have Bryn in the loop, and that there was no need for any mind wiping to occur. Even with her away from Vancouver so much while running the second bakery, I’d feel better about not having to hide the truth from her anymore.
Bryn sighed, flapping her hand at me. “Go, go.”
Feeling my mood lighten more than it had
in days, I exited through the back of the building and hightailed it to Bryn’s car.
5
I had driven halfway to Squamish before I realized that I’d forgotten to grab cupcakes while at the bakery. So apparently, I did rank something as more important than chocolate and treats — specifically, rescuing friends I’d personally put in mortal peril. Good to know.
The console of Bryn’s car helpfully provided me with the date — December 30. So I’d lost another day messing around in the nexus. The time was 11:23 a.m., but when I tried to double-check that with my phone, I realized I should have grabbed Bryn’s cell as well. Mine was still safely tucked into the side pocket of my satchel, along with some cash — but it was completely fried from having crossed through multiple portals without being in its lead-lined case. So much for texting Bryn on the hour like I’d promised. Or receiving any insider information from the skinwalkers.
I would have blamed the treasure keeper, except I was fairly certain I wouldn’t have healed from carving the gemstone out of my forehead without his intervention. Though I might have managed to free Warner before collapsing myself.
Of course, if I’d been splayed on the floor at Warner’s feet, dead or dying, even he might not have been able to fight his way through a dozen or more elves.
And either way, I could still be angry about Pulou’s lousy timing.
In the end, being behind the wheel of Bryn’s sporty sedan meant I didn’t want to stop, not for a single moment. And certainly not for a cellphone or a chocolate bar. Thankfully, the car had a full tank of gas, and it wasn’t snowing, so the roads were clear. And my disregard for speed limits didn’t draw any attention.
My first glimpse of the city while speeding along the Upper Levels Highway produced confusion, then shock. The highway spiraled down from Whistler, through Squamish and into West Vancouver, and as it cut along the North Shore Mountains, it offered a gorgeous view of Vancouver on the other side of Burrard Inlet from multiple vantage points. But I wasn’t beguiled by the pretty steel-and-glass skyscrapers, or the bridges spanning the deep gray-blue waterway, or the large evergreen-filled park along the edge of that water.
I was thrown by the massive dome of blue magic encasing the entire city.
Yep. As far as I could see in a glimpse — while speeding in a car that wasn’t my own and looking for my exit — it appeared as though the witches’ grid had been transformed into a magical boundary.
I had to check my speed down Taylor Way — the West Vancouver police were big on handing out speeding tickets. Then instead of making the turn and trying to head over Lions Gate Bridge, I pulled into the upper-level open lot at the north side of Park Royal Mall and parked Bryn’s sedan.
Stepping out, I stared. Tracing my gaze along the span of the massive green-painted steel suspension bridge leading into Stanley Park, I stared some more. Then I peered at the city beyond. More specifically I gaped, utterly dumbfounded at the sight of the magic covering … everything. It sealed the exit from Lions Gate Bridge into the park, running along the entire shoreline on either side of the bridge.
I had no idea whether I’d be able to drive through that boundary. I mean, I was fairly certain Bryn’s car would pass through the magic without issue. Vehicles were coming and going in and out of the city along the bridge, just like normal. But cars weren’t magical. And though I’d been tied to the first incarnation of the witches’ grid — back when it was just being used as a magical detection system — I wasn’t going to blithely assume that I could pass through the barrier it had turned into now.
Adding two and two and getting completely brain fuzzled, I began to get the feeling that the glowing blue dome was the reason I hadn’t been able to teleport into the bakery, or to Gran’s, or to anywhere else in Vancouver. And if that was the case, it was an easy guess that this massive shield was why the elves had been so focused on the witches’ grid right from the time they’d broken out of Pulou’s prison. As soon as Reggie had sensed the grid in the park that night, she must have recognized its potential.
So it was going to be safer all around to approach on foot, rather than attempt to drive the car through. Because what was the possible alternative? Hitting the boundary and getting ripped out of the vehicle through the back window, even as it continued along on the causeway driverless?
That seemed a bad idea on multiple levels. There was no way it wouldn’t cause a massive accident — and most likely expose the Adept world in the process. And even beyond that was the fact that I wasn’t completely healed yet, and I wasn’t certain I’d survive that kind of impact — let alone being hit by numerous cars in the aftermath.
After locking Bryn’s sedan, I zigzagged in a light jog through the mall parking lots, upper and lower. Then I darted between the tall glass-fronted apartment buildings that stood between me and the bridge. I eventually found the stairs that I hadn’t totally remembered the location of, down at the base of the northern bridge entrance. Lions Gate Bridge had always had sidewalks for pedestrians, but a number of years before, it had been widened to include a bike lane as well.
I jogged up the steel stairs. Even though it was only midday, the traffic was practically bumper-to-bumper as it merged from four lanes — two from North Vancouver and two from West Vancouver — onto the two lanes of the bridge. That included the reversible center lane that allowed flow in both directions, to or from the city. Its direction was switched at certain times of the day to help mitigate rush hour traffic, and it was currently open in favor of the North Shore.
I darted right. Walking, but quickly. I was slightly concerned that jogging alongside slow-moving traffic and zigzagging around cyclists and other pedestrians would draw too much attention — particularly while swathed in black leather and a chain mail sweater. It was chilly but thankfully not raining.
Lions Gate Bridge arced up over the first narrows of Burrard Inlet, which was speckled with freighters, float planes, and intrepid boaters not averse to being on the water in winter. The view was breathtaking, but I didn’t spare it more than a glance. I had eyes only for the thick layer of blue witch magic tracing the edges of the park in either direction for as far as I could see. The dome even encased the skyscrapers that dominated the downtown core to my immediate left.
As I passed the midpoint of the bridge and started downhill toward the Stanley Park entrance at Prospect Point, I spotted two men of similar heights standing just in front of the magical boundary. On the bridge side, with me.
One was dark haired. The other was golden blond. The dark-haired, darker-skinned male was slighter than the suntanned male. But both were arrayed in leather armor similar to mine, though without the pretty chain mail sweater. I couldn’t taste a single drop of magic from either. But both men turned to greet me with matching grins when I was about fifty feet away.
The healer. My father, the warrior.
Waiting for me.
“I’m not going back!” I yelled, picking up speed as I jogged downhill.
“Of course not.” My father chuckled.
A cyclist zoomed by, nearly shoulder checking me off the sidewalk, then passing through the shimmering blue boundary line as if it didn’t exist. Followed by vehicle after vehicle, the cyclist sped off down the causeway that cut through Stanley Park. Because for him and everyone else on the road, the boundary simply didn’t exist. But as I watched them go, I wondered just how much magic a person needed to wield to be thwarted from coming and going from the city? And what if a person didn’t know they were magical?
How many freaking traffic accidents had occurred since the boundary had been erected? What kind of massive pile-up would result by the concrete lions that guarded the entrance to the bridge if one did?
Something terrible must have happened for the witches to have raised the barrier. For my Gran and Scarlett specifically …
My pace slowed as the sum total of what had actually occurred, what had precipitated the witches erecting the boundary, hit me.
Of co
urse something terrible had happened.
Reggie had taken control of me. And I had taken out three of the most powerful magical beings in the city — plus a guardian dragon — without breaking a sweat.
I started firing questions at my father from about twenty feet out. “Are you waiting for me?”
“Yes.”
“If you were coming to the city, then why the hell did I have to break out of the nexus?”
“I have no idea. You were already gone when we came to find you.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“How did you get out of the nexus?” Qiuniu asked.
“Never you mind.”
My father laughed, reaching for me with both hands. I closed the space between us. He grabbed my shoulders, gripping me too tightly, but then brushed a soft kiss to my forehead. “You look magnificent.”
“I’m supposed to look intimidating.”
“That you do,” the healer said. I could hear the humor in his tone, though. “You were supposed to wait for another healing, dragon slayer.”
“I’m on my feet.”
“So I see.”
“What’s with the boundary?” I gestured toward the magic shimmering only a few feet away from us. It soared overhead so high that I couldn’t see the curve of the dome from my vantage point.
“Impressive,” my father said, not remotely answering my question.
“I mean, is there a reason you’re just hanging around on this side? Is the boundary why I couldn’t teleport into the bakery?”
“Teleport?” Qiuniu asked. “I was unaware that teleportation was within the wielder’s arsenal. That is disconcerting.”
Again, I was fairly certain he was teasing me. I gave him a scathing look for his effort.
“The guardians have been concerned about entering the city and damaging the witches’ casting.” My father scanned the magic of the dome. “Pulou was willing to punch through, but only after you’d breached the elves’ wards encasing the stadium. Even then it was … risky.”
Gemstones, Elves, and Other Insidious Magic (Dowser 9) Page 8