Realms of Mirrors and Demons: Fae Witch Chronicles Book 4

by J. S. Malcom

  Even if I did attempt to search the Inversion inch by skin-crawling inch, I'd have to do so in very small increments of time. That would be my only hope for avoiding detection. Not exactly practical. On top of that, I have no idea what the high demon could possibly do to me while I'm in a non-corporeal form. She shouldn't be able to do anything. Then again, she shouldn't have been able to sense me to begin with. Either way, in that form I can’t help Bethany anyway.

  So, basically, I have no idea what I'm dealing with. Compared to the Inversion, Faerie seems like a walk in the park. Hence my depressed state.

  As for the anxiety, that's from what I experienced outside that house last night. The good news there is that, thanks to Julia's abilities, she was able to come up with an address. Well, roughly, anyway. She envisioned three possible sets of number combinations, but the street name jumped into her mind vividly as I told what I remembered. From there, she called the police, who dispatched a car to the neighborhood. Strangely, all of this took less than twenty minutes, my jump back into my body having taken no time at all. At which point, I called Julia immediately. From there, we got to work.

  As for the police, they were left clearly confused. They later called Julia wanting to know how she could possibly report a crime, across town, that was literally happening at the time. Because, yes, they caught the guy and took the girl to the hospital. Those were all the details we got. Julia simply told them she was a psychic who gets flashes on things. The police can doubt her all they want, but Julia doesn't care. Obviously, she isn’t connected to the case in any way, and she saved that girl. The police will have to get over it. Or, better yet, maybe a few will end up more open-minded when it comes to psychic phenomenon.

  All in all, that part worked out well. Still, my anxiety will take a while to fade. It's just hard touching that kind of darkness. Especially while remaining helpless. Despite all I've been through, there’s nothing quite so disturbing as the ugly side of human nature. Humans are just creepy—demons, vampires and body snatchers notwithstanding. Unfortunately, I’m limited to expelling the bad dead ones from this realm. The bad ones who remain alive, I’m stuck with just like everyone else.

  ~~~

  The hours keep passing, the shadows grow longer, and I need to get moving. Maybe it's the helplessness I experienced last night, my frustration, or my lingering anger. Quite possibly, all three. Either way, I make a phone call. Partly, I think I just want to feel in control of something. Mainly, I want to test a theory. I need to determine if what happened last time was random or personal. Well, that and I also need the cash. Rent is due next week, and I have exactly… none of it so far.

  Two hours later, Martha Sanders welcomes me back into her home. Like before, her manner is cordial, but she has no reason to be unfriendly. Yes, I let her down, but it’s not like it cost her anything. In fact, she might even be feeling a little smug for having me sign that waiver.

  “So, you’ve been doing a bit of research,” she says.

  As we walk down the hall, I take a quick peek into her living room. The paintings aren’t yet askew, but that’s not what I’m worried about. I was checking on the mirror, which has since been removed. The drapes have also been closed.

  “That’s right,” I say, since I couldn’t very well tell her the truth. “I think it’s worth a try.”

  We go into her kitchen, where Martha has closed all of her mini-blinds. She even took the time to tape cardboard over the stove window. Good for her. I’m not sure I would have thought of that one.

  “Well, I did as you asked,” Martha says. “Does everything look okay?”

  Understandably, she’s confused. She’ll be even more confused if she walks past my car and notices my mirrors covered with duct tape. I couldn’t exactly drive here with my windows covered, so hopefully it’s not just any reflective surface. While covering the stove window was a good idea, if it comes to that I’m screwed.

  “Everything looks great,” I say. “How about I call you in an hour?”

  Which is my way of saying it’s time for her to skedaddle. Martha takes the hint and gets her coat from a hook by the door. She puts that on and picks up her purse.

  “By the way,” she says, “I keep finding eggs in my shoes.”

  How she manages to keep a straight face, I can’t imagine. Then again, that first egg must not have been fun to discover. Either way, I wonder if that’s Dorothy’s way of turning up the heat. Or, maybe she’s just getting bored with hiding fruit in Martha’s underwear.

  “I have a good feeling about this,” I say.

  By which I mean I have a really bad feeling about this. Because if my theory proves true, I’m going to be seriously creeped out. After all, pretty much every time I take my clothes off there’s a mirror nearby. But I’ll deal with that later. Right now, I need to focus my efforts on a drunken asshole of a ghost.

  ~~~

  Since last time I went right to it, I’m not sure that tactic will work again. Instead, I try the relaxation approach. I plunk down on the sofa in Martha’s family room and pick up a magazine. People still read Better Homes and Gardens? Who knew? I’m actually kind of getting into an article about creating a backyard getaway when I see something in the corner of my eye. Just a quick flash, but enough to make me look up. Dorothy staggers past the doorway taking a slug from her decanter. Then she does it again, this time flipping me off.

  I sigh and put down the magazine. “You know, I can see you.”

  Dorothy staggers back into the doorway. “Can you, now? Well, isn’t that intimidating?”

  She flips me off again and shuffles down the hall.

  I pick up the magazine, thinking I’ll finish the article. I mean, Dorothy has been here for a hundred years. What’s the rush? I read less than a paragraph, when something catches my eye. This time, it’s just Dorothy’s arm sticking out into the doorway. Yes, she flips me off again.

  I toss down the magazine, get up and go out into the hall. Naturally, she’s gone. I stand there listening until I hear cackling in the kitchen. I go in there to find Dorothy dumping brandy onto the floor. Of course, she thinks she’s refilling her decanter. The strange part is I can see that too. Even as brandy keeps sloshing onto the floor, the level of ghost-booze in Dorothy’s decanter keeps rising. So, at least I’m having a new experience.

  “Are you planning to clean that up?”

  Dorothy squints at me. “Clean what up?”

  That’s what I figured. Which leaves me to wonder about the other stuff she dumps out, like pasta and rice. Is it possible that, at those times, she perceives herself to be cooking? That might be, so I can sympathize a little there. Then again, she can’t possibly imagine herself to be cooking eggs in Martha’s shoes. Not to mention the whole underwear salad thing. That’s just plain weird.

  “Never mind,” I say. “Listen, you might think about having a cup of coffee.”

  Dorothy raises her eyebrows. “What the fuck for?”

  Wow, she really has brushed up on modern expressions. “You know, to sober up a little first.”

  Dorothy stares at me for a moment, and then bursts out laughing. She staggers back and passes through the wall, which I’m pretty sure wasn’t intentional. All the same, I have to take the long way around. I meet up with her again in the living room, where she’s making her rounds tipping pictures. Maybe she’s just starting her day.

  I suppose I could just open the veil and give her a shove. It’s definitely tempting. Although, even for Dorothy, that seems a little cold. I mean, there must be a reason she became this way. Probably because she spent her life slaving away for pennies. She also mentioned dying in this house. So, it seems doubtful she died surrounded by loved ones. If, in fact, anyone loved her.

  I clear my throat, trying to regain her attention. When that doesn’t work, I warm up my magic by righting the pictures she’s just tipped. All of them at once. Amazingly, Dorothy doesn’t seem to notice that either. She just keeps going until she reaches the blank s
pot on the wall. “Where’s my mirror?”

  She’s not talking to me, but I still answer. “I think that may be what messed me up last time.”

  Dorothy spins around to leer at me. “I can see where you might not like mirrors,” she says. “Have you ever considered doing something with your hair?” Apparently, she finds that hilarious, since she bursts out laughing.

  Okay, that’s it. Magic flares inside me, confirming that it’s never smart to piss off a veil witch. At least not this one, since my natural reaction is to light up an orb or a fireball. While I’d love to go with a fireball, that’s not really an option.

  “Oh, look at that,” Dorothy says “You’re doing that little trick with your hands again.”

  I narrow my eyes and say, “You might want to prepare for some changes.”

  Dorothy takes a slug, wipes brandy from her chin and staggers sideways. “Just like last time, I suppose. Did I mention that I can light my—”

  I hurl the orb and her eyes go wide with shock. She becomes engulfed in light. A moment later, she’s gone, and it’s just her decanter left rolling across the floor. After a moment, that fades too.

  “Right, I remember,” I say. “You can light your farts on fire. Sorry I didn’t get to see that.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Silas Present Day

  Silas watched the witch as she left her kitchen and settled into her chair. Her chores done, she put her feet up. Sighing, she opened a book, seemingly oblivious to the time. It was well past midnight, but that was something Silas had noticed about witches. They liked to stay up late. Maybe that was because they spent so much time hiding who they were during the day. Maybe they needed that dark and solitude to let themselves fully relax, or maybe that was simply when they felt most comfortable practicing their magic. Either way, that aspect of staying up late seemed consistent with their kind. Inwardly, Silas corrected himself. Not their kind, his kind. After all, he too was a witch, and he was no different. He’d always been one to stay up half the night, in his case pondering the strange energy humming within his veins. Only now, he finally understood the source of that energy. As well as why he’d always felt it so keenly.

  He knew this because of Vintain, of course. The same man who’d provided him with the name of the witch Silas now observed. Why or how she was part of the plan, Silas didn’t know. He figured it wasn’t for him to question. What he did know was that the plan would change everything. It would take him to a place he’d always been meant to reach. Of course, without Vintain he never would have known that either.

  At first, his mind had been full of questions. Just as it had been difficult to wrap his brain around the fact that Vintain had been the one to set him up with money and an apartment. That Vintain had, until recently, lived in the human realm and gone by the name of Grayson Lonsdale. That bit of news would have been mind-blowing enough, but Silas’s mind had already been blown at the time. He’d just followed a hot chick with wings through a glowing tunnel to find himself standing inside some sort of palace. He’d stood face to face with a guy who looked straight-up like something out of a horror movie, with pale white skin, long platinum hair and pointy ears. Not to mention a scar across his face and green eyes that seemed lit from within. Silas had been unable to tear his eyes away from the man’s face. He’d kept looking at those pointy ears, thinking he’d probably soon wake up from a dream.

  Vintain had snapped him out of it by saying, “Can I get you something to drink? I wouldn’t mind a glass of wine myself.”

  He’d smiled, relaxed amusement showing in his eyes, and Silas got the message. Vintain recognized his state of disbelief. He was trying to help him relax, just as Nepheras had done before.

  Still, it took a few moments for Silas to find his voice. “Who are you?” He looked around again at his opulent surroundings, and then past Vintain to the window at which the man stood. It had been night before, but now he saw the sun setting in a violet sky. “Where am I?”

  Vintain shrugged, the casual gesture making him seem more human, more relatable. He kept his tone casual. “I’m Vintain. Like yourself, a being with magical powers.” He gestured to the windows and said, “Welcome to Faerie. Now, how about that glass of wine?”

  After a few more stunned moments, Silas managed a smile of his own. “Okay, why not?” On one level, he meant the glass of wine, while on another he meant what Vintain had just said. After what he’d been through in his life, why not Faerie? Sure, it was impossible, but the definition of what was possible had hugely shifted lately.

  “Wonderful,” Vintain said. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

  He gestured to a sitting area where a sofa and several plush chairs surrounded a large oval coffee table. Vintain clapped his hands and, across the room, doors opened to admit another stunning woman. She had long blonde hair and purple eyes. She too had pointy ears. She moved with the grace of a dancer, bearing a tray holding a decanter and three glasses, which she set upon the coffee table. She didn’t speak, but her exotic eyes lingered on Silas’s for a moment before she turned and walked away. Silas kept watching her until she disappeared through the doors again.

  “Please.” Vintain gestured toward the chairs once more, but that amusement lingered in his gaze. Yes, he’d noticed Silas watching the woman, and the look in his eyes told Silas it was fine. The message being, Of course you stared. How could you not?

  Silas took a chair, as did Nepheras and Vintain, who filled a glass for each of them from the decanter. Vintain lifted his glass. “To friendships and new beginnings,” he said.

  Silas had never tasted anything like that wine before. Just as he’d never seen women as beautiful as Nepheras, who sat beside him, or the blonde who’d brought the wine. His senses had never felt more keen and alive. As if he’d always been meant to come here. He felt it in the blood rushing through his veins. He also felt himself finally start to relax. He settled back into his chair, crossed his legs and said, “So, what are we beginning?”

  “You,” Vintain said. “This is where you start.”

  ~~~

  The witch had been reading before, but now she looked up. She drew the belt of her robe tighter, as if sensing she was being watched. Again, Silas wondered why she’d been chosen. She didn’t look like someone the sisters would know. She was too old, for one thing, probably pushing sixty. But it wasn’t just that. After all, they were close to one witch about the same age. But this woman carried a different kind of energy. Guarded and watchful, her forehead creased with lines that must have been brought on from years of suspicious frowning.

  After a few moments, the witch went back to her reading. That didn’t last long. Soon, she closed her book, set it down and rose to her feet. It took a few moments, but finally she noticed something in her peripheral vision. She turned to look, her mouth dropping slightly open as, within the mirror across the room, she saw something. An image that seemed plucked from her mind. One of her parents, long dead, but still young and alive within that framed glass. Silas felt warmth spreading through him as he summoned his magic. He didn’t have to look down to know that the serpent tattoo wrapped around his arm—the mark Vintain had placed there, connecting his magic to Silas’s own—had begun to glow a fiery orange. Instead, he kept his eyes on the witch as, slowly, she walked toward where he waited.

  CHAPTER 28

  The following night, I sit waiting for the coven meeting to start. It’s the first I’ve actually attended. In the past, I’ve left those to Autumn. She’s just more of a people person, for one thing. But, hey, you can’t blame me. I spent half my life without my body. There’s bound to be a few issues with being properly socialized. Still, this time I had almost no choice but to attend. Halfway through my shift at Grimoire, Phoenix called urging me to go. He didn’t exactly impart good news.

  Another witch had been discovered missing, this time Isabel’s friend Erica. On one level, I saw the implications. We know her, of course, so maybe these occurrences aren’t random a
fter all. Or maybe they still are, and this is just another coincidence. Or maybe the entire point is to drive me crazy guessing.

  “We also don’t get along with Erica,” I said to Phoenix.

  Understatement of the year, actually. Erica may be Isabel's friend, but she's nothing like Isabel. Whereas Isabel is kind and accepting, Erica is naturally guarded and suspicious. From the start, she did nothing to conceal her disdain for both me and my sister. We were veil witches, and therefore not to be trusted. End of story, as far as she was concerned.

  “Exactly,” Phoenix said. “And it’s not exactly a secret.”

  He didn’t have to say more.

  The coven meeting is being held at the home of none other than Sarah Wellingsford, although it took me a moment to place the name. Then I remembered where I’d heard it before. She’s somehow related to Alec. Anna and Lissette described her as being a powerful witch, from a long line of other full-blood witches. Evidently, her family also has a history of making serious cash, given where she lives.

  Essentially, Sarah lives on an estate—one comprised of many acres, the property borders marked by an impressive stone wall with a high iron gate. The house itself is a massive Gothic construction, behind which there’s an atrium that could probably double as an airplane hangar. That’s where I now sit, flanked by Phoenix and Isabel, on one of many matching white chairs arranged in a circle. Through the glass ceiling above us, the stars are spread across the sky. Just beneath that ceiling float almost as many candle flames as there are stars, none of those flames requiring candles to burn. An elegant touch, I have to admit. One aspect of magic I’ve yet to master is subtlety. Then again, subtlety would only come in so handy in my line of work.

  “Nothing yet?”