Amuletto Kiss (The Magic & Mixology Mystery Series Book 5)

by Gina LaManna

  “This is delicious,” she said to Lucy. “What’s in it?”

  “Oh, nothing.” Lucy leaned forward and squinted at Poppy. Then she turned her gaze to me. “Huh. Interesting.”

  “What?” I swiveled around to face her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she said with a quirky smile, averting her eyes down to a carton of milk between her fingers. “Just excited for you.”

  “Why?” I looked at Poppy, then back to Lucy.

  “Your love will be here sooner than you think.”

  I blinked. “Me? I have a love already—are you talking about Ranger X?”

  “Oh, honey, I’m not talking about you,” Lucy said dryly. “You’re practically a married woman—Aphrodite’s work with you is done, my friend. I’m talking about her.”

  “Me?” Poppy sucked in a breath and nearly inhaled her coffee. “Oh, no. No, I don’t think so. No prospects on the horizon for me. I’ll die an old maid, I’m certain of it. Nobody wants to marry a vamp.” She blushed as she finished but stood by her word as she glanced my way. “What? It’s true.”

  “It’s not true!” I blurted. “Not at all. Poppy, I never knew you felt like that.”

  “Don’t waste your breath reassuring her,” Lucy said. “Love’s on its way to find her, and there ain’t nothing she can do to stop it.”

  “Yeah,” Poppy breathed, half-dreamily, half-depressed. “We’ll see about that.”

  “Come on,” Lucy said, patting the counter as if she could tell we were spiraling away from her happy conversation. “Let me show you something.”

  “Where?” I asked. “We have, ah—some business to take care of, and—”

  “Don’t y’all want to see what it is we do here?” Lucy raised her eyebrows, knowing the question was irresistible. “Who we are?”

  “Yes,” Poppy said quickly. Then gave me a sheepish look. “I do, at least.”

  “Great. Follow me,” Lucy said. “And Poppy, let me top off that Love Brewin’ in a To-Go cup.”

  LUCY WALKED US DOWN the street at a pace so quick it was hard to see much of anything. Beyond the supernatural feel, the rest of Olympia seemed to be a traditional looking small town.

  On the main drag sat an inn, a few restaurants, and a marketplace with small shops hawking their wares. Through it all, people shouted greetings to one another and stopped for chats in the middle of sidewalks.

  We walked past all of it until Lucy came to a stop in from of a somber looking building at the end of the hubbub. The structure itself was huge—easily the largest in the entire Olympia zone that we’d seen so far. It rose above the city with a drab sort of grandness that came from decades old cement walls and promises of cold, empty chambers within.

  “Come along inside,” Lucy said in the reverent tones mostly reserved for churches. “You’ll be wanting to see this.”

  We followed Lucy down an unadorned cement hallway. Shadows bounced off the walls and a soft dampness permeated my very clothes as we made our way through. The far end of the hall opened into a cavernous chamber with rounded ceilings that reached higher than most trees.

  “What is all of this?” I understood Lucy’s quiet tones as I surveyed the space around us and the statues that filled it. “Who are these people?”

  “The Greats,” Lucy said, gesturing to the twelve largest statues—stone carvings that towered over us, ten times our size at least. “These sitting on thrones are the original Olympians. The rest...” She drew a sweeping hand across hundreds more statues, all standing in neat rows as if prepared for battle. “The rest of the gods stand at attention.”

  I stepped closer to one, ran my hand along its leg, and felt the cool stone beneath my fingers. I bent to study the nameplate at the bottom and saw the label Dionysus etched deeply into the metal. A cluster of stone grapes, each one the size of my palm, dripped from his hands and towered over my head.

  “Those of us who live in Olympia are all direct descendants,” Lucy explained. “And it’s our main duty to carry out the work of our ancestors.” While I processed this, she began to stroll through the rows, gesturing for us to follow. “Gerry will probably be annoyed I showed you this before he did. He takes pride in this place. He set it up a few centuries back.”

  “How old are you?” Poppy gawked. “Er—are all of you centuries old?”

  “I’m two hundred twenty-nine,” she said with a grin, “but I say I’m not a day over forty-four.”

  “Sorry, but what does this have to do with the Master?” I asked. “Are these statues...to protect him?”

  “Speak of the devil,” Lucy said, coming to a stop. “Look where we are.”

  I looked up, and Poppy followed suit. Before us stood more statues, but these were smaller. Just barely larger than us, less formidable, more...refined. Modern.

  “Welcome to the Hall of Masters.” Lucy pointed to the one nearest us. “The most recent Master of Magic passed on—oh, I don’t know. Seven hundred years ago? Give or take.”

  I blinked. “That’s some lifespan.”

  “Yes, and it’s a grueling one. Anyway, have a look around. There’s not a ton to do in town when it comes to killing time, so I figured you might as well see the history of this place while you’re waiting for the Master.”

  Poppy and I proceeded to wander through the statues. Poppy favored the statues of the twelve, while I studied the Masters—analyzing, wondering, thinking what they could possibly need from me.

  All of the statues were men, most of them old and wizened. There was one near the back that looked no older than a child, but before I could ask more about it, Lucy gave a low whistle and called us back to her side.

  “I have to get back to the cafe now,” she said. “So, I’d like to set you up with a room at the inn.”

  “Oh, that’d be great,” I said, then stopped, feeling my cheeks turn red. “One problem—do we need money?”

  Lucy just laughed. “No, we’ll take care of you, baby. Come on now, let’s go.”

  “Wait,” a voice spoke from the darkness, from the back of the Hall of Masters. “Let me take Lily.”

  I froze, listening. The voice was familiar, and the second time it sounded, the man it belonged to stepped into the light. Short and small and frowning. Gerry.

  “C’mon, Gerry, stop doing that,” Lucy said, annoyed. “You’re startling the guests.”

  Gerry ignored Lucy and turned to me, his eyebrows furrowed and his voice reverent. “Lily, the Master is ready to see you.”

  Chapter 24

  POPPY AND LUCY HEADED in one direction to get settled at the inn and find something to eat for dinner. I promised Poppy I’d find her when my meeting finished. So, while they headed back toward town, I turned to follow a quick-moving Keeper who didn’t have a lick of patience for my more-human-style speed.

  We came to what seemed to be a dead end behind the Hall of Masters. Or it was until Gerry rested his hand against an unmarked patch of cement wall, and a door sprung open to reveal a rickety old staircase curling upward.

  I sighed as we began the climb. It was a steep spiral staircase, and the top of it was nowhere in sight.

  “Keep up,” Gerry said. “The Master is waiting.”

  I groaned, picking up the pace. I’d never gotten that bite to eat at Lucy’s, and I keenly felt the gnaw of hunger. At least Poppy had let me sleep on the ride here, or else I’d be a walking zombie. Unfortunately, my improved attention allowed me to focus more directly on the sounds coming from my stomach.

  “So,” I said, gasping as I tried to make conversation. “What is he like?”

  “He’s...” Gerry hesitated, searching for the right words. He shook his head as we climbed. “There’s nothing I can say that’ll do him justice. You’ll just need to find out for yourself.”

  “I’ll find out if we ever reach him,” I retorted. “Are we almost there?”

  We hadn’t actually left the Hall of Masters; we’d merely gone above it. Up, and up, and up, until my legs threa
tened to give out. I understood they needed to protect the man, but jeepers. An enemy’s legs would fall off before they got to his front door.

  Gerry merely frowned at my complaint. “Here we are,” he said. “Brush your hair. It’s horrendous and makes you look like a witch.”

  “I am a witch, Gerry.”

  “Don’t call me Gerry.”

  I ran my fingers through my hair, tugging it into place. Gerry positively twittered with anxiety, wringing his hands and stomping back and forth before the door.

  “Fine, it’s fine,” he muttered when I asked if I looked decent. “Be careful not to offend him. Don’t say a word. Don’t...oh, I meant to ask you. Who did you try and bring with you?”

  “With me? You must mean Poppy, my cousin. She drove.”

  “No, the one who followed you and got left behind at the tunnel.”

  My blood went icy cold. “What are you talking about? I didn’t—couldn’t—tell anyone where we were going. It was just us.”

  “I know, that’s the Gag Spell—prevents you from spilling information you shouldn’t. But that can’t be right.”

  “It is right,” I repeated. “Are you positive there was someone behind us?”

  “I thought it was one of your little friends.”

  “No. You did say another person will join us—a third. Could it be that person?”

  “No, your third guest is not due until tomorrow. That’s when her access begins.” Gerry put a finger to his lips. “This is curious. I don’t like it.”

  “Well, where are they now? Should we find this person?”

  “They’re outside; they were bounced.”

  “Bounced?”

  “The boundaries succeeded in keeping them out, though they got further than I would’ve liked. Only the tunnel stopped them. You should have been more careful. Obviously, someone followed you.”

  “Nobody followed us here! We were careful.”

  Gerry shook his head like I was an idiot. “Seriously, you witches.” He composed himself, straightened the little bowtie—the only adornment on his custom-sized suit—and cleared his throat. “No matter, I’ll take care of it. Are you ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  Gerry swung the door at the stop of the staircase open. The result was wildly anticlimactic. Seeing as we’d been climbing for what felt like hours, I imagined we’d have a spectacular view of...something.

  Instead, there was only a tiny room with a rickety little desk sitting right in the middle of it. One arched, stained-glass window cast a dim, dusty glow over the room. Fractures of colored light played against the bare surfaces, glinted off the few framed artifacts and documents against the walls. Dented floorboards ran below my feet, and a few half-dead plants starved of sunlight sat on abandoned shelves.

  Peculiar arrangements of books sat haphazardly forgotten in every direction, some stacks towering up to my waist. The very air in the cramped space felt heavy with specs of dust that glinted royal blue and jungle green and murky red. Last, but not least, was the man sitting behind the desk.

  The man who I presumed to be the Master of Magic was old, his eyes a clear, pale gray, the color of stone. His hair was white, unstyled—left to wisp in any which way it wanted, a bit eccentric.

  He held only a pen in hand. A roll of parchment sat on the table before him. While he’d spared a look up at our entrance, he turned almost at once back to the desk before him and resumed scribbling.

  I attempted to peek at the figures he wrote, but it was pointless. Not only were the marks on the page in no language I’d ever seen before, but they seemed to quiver and move before my eyes, making me nauseous.

  Gerry caught me staring and hissed through his teeth for me to step back. I hadn’t realized I’d stepped forward, ever so slightly, to peer over the desk. I tried to keep my eyes averted, but the draw toward his work was too much, and I disobeyed. I glanced down again, watching as more and more figures appeared, trembled, and then set still as the ink dried.

  We stood there for quite some time, watching and waiting and listening. I couldn’t be sure which I was supposed to be doing, so I tried to do them all. Every time I breathed too loudly or shifted my weight too quickly, I earned a look of scathing dismay from Gerry.

  I was bottling up the courage to speak when finally, the silence broke.

  “That’s all for today,” the man behind the desk said. “Good evening.”

  If Gerry was surprised by this development, he didn’t show it. I, meanwhile, couldn’t battle back the surge of frustration that leapt forth from a place of gritty darkness I’d let fester.

  “Sorry?” I said, trying to understand. I’d set my life on hold, driven for hours across the state, left my fiancé without any explanation, and dragged my cousin from safety—all to protect a man who wouldn’t so much as look at me? “Excuse me, but we came a long way today. Maybe I can introduce myself at least.”

  “He said that’s enough.” Gerry’s hand squeezed my wrist, and he tugged. “Lily, it’s time to go.”

  I ignored the quiver of nerves in his voice and pulled my hand free from Gerry’s. “I have to talk to him—I need information. Time’s ticking, and I’m not here to sit around; I’m here to help.”

  “Lily.” This time, Gerry made it clear he’d given me a direct command. “Come with me.”

  I hesitated, glancing at the Master of Magic to no avail. He continued to scratch drawings onto the page as if I wasn’t in the room. “But...” I hesitated. “I don’t understand. We’re here to help.”

  The crack of magic sent a jolt through my spine, and the next thing I knew, Gerry and I stood on the first floor of the building just inside the Hall of Masters. Gerry closed the door to the staircase and sealed it with a touch of his hand. Without further ado, he stomped off.

  “Where are you going?” I called after him. The sun had dropped while we’d been inside, and the wink of stars came out above our heads. “What happened in there?”

  “An embarrassment,” he said, whirling around. “Everything I asked you not to do, you did. And your hair is still horrendous, you witch.”

  “Where are you going? Where should I go?”

  “I don’t care.” Gerry turned to face me. “The inn’s around the corner, and your room will be ready. I’ll let you know tomorrow if the Master requests your presence further, or if you’re done here.”

  “You can’t kick me out!” I raised my hands in frustration. “I’m trying to understand, trying to help. The Master of Magic is in trouble—can’t you feel it? Couldn’t you see those storm clouds on The Isle?”

  Gerry shifted uneasily. “Let me show you something.”

  When Gerry rested his hand against the wall again and the staircase appeared, I groaned. “I’m sorry, I am not climbing up there again. I’m dead on my feet.”

  Gerry gave a resigned grimace, then reached for my hand, squeezed, and the crack of magic sent us spiraling away once more. This time, we returned to the same floor as the Master of Magic. The door of his office stood partially ajar, but it appeared he would be ignoring us again.

  “This way,” Gerry whispered, turning to the staircase. There was one more level to climb. At my intense expression of dismay, he scowled. “We can’t Evaporate to this level.”

  I hauled myself up the staircase, following closely on Gerry’s heels. He took soft, reverent steps, as if whatever waited behind the small, crooked doorway was a near-religious experience.

  The paneling on the door itself was made from old driftwood-style material. A small crack above one of the wood’s imperfections gave us a preview into the room. It appeared to be black, completely dark, until a bright, blinding flash of light clapped from the inside and bled outward. I watched, curious, as colors morphed and mutated from a pure white light into splinters of vibrant greens and blues and reds.

  Gerry caught me gaping, and for the first time, looked pleased. “Maybe you’ll have a greater appreciation for our Master of Magic after you
see this.”

  On the last note, he pushed the door open and stepped through. I hauled my body up the remaining two stairs before the entrance and stopped once I’d joined Gerry inside. It was difficult to feel awe over the waves of confusion at the sights before me.

  We stood on an observation deck of sorts. A glass cube with walls that ran only as high as my waist, and no ceiling. As I stepped onto it, Gerry rested his hand on the side of the glass and closed his eyes. The second he did, we jolted forward and began to move along with the platform.

  Terror didn’t come close to describing the sensation of standing on an utterly clear glass platform with an open top and an angry little man beside me. I had nightmarish visions of the floor cracking, or a fall over the ledge. I couldn’t see where I’d land because beneath us was only a black abyss.

  It took all the bravery I had in my body to look down. It wasn’t that I had a fear of heights so much as a fear of falling into the unknown. It was a long way down, judging by the number of stairs we’d climbed—and I had no idea what might be at the bottom.

  Then, the darkness broke.

  The blackness cracked beneath my feet, little fissures in the seams of the atmosphere that allowed in brilliant streams of light.

  Magic.

  Delicate, exquisite rays of it. The finest threads of it, so slim they were barely visible. Quivering, trembling heartstrings. Like a musical instrument—a harp, a violin, a piano. These miniscule beams of light and magic moved to a silent dance, crisscrossing below us like a complex laser display—strangely beautiful, wildly mesmerizing.

  As I watched, my heart rate slowed to a steady thump. A pulse to match that of the whispers of light below, the web that twisted and turned downward as far as the eye could see and beyond.

  “This is where he works,” Gerry said softly, serene as he gazed downward. “This is the core lifeblood of our universe. The heart of magic, if you will. It’s his.”