Phantom Quartz

by Barbra Annino

  “Not a problem.”

  “You go now, eh? I can take her home.”

  I didn’t question this decision, just went with it wondering what lie Cinnamon had concocted to make her mother so calm.

  In the parking lot, I turned the engine over in my Jeep, wondering if Cin had lied to me also just now. I stared up at the window of where I thought Cin’s room had been. “What secrets are you keeping from me, Cousin?”

  The white rabbit hopped over to the front of the car, its red eyes searching mine. We idled there for a while. Me letting the car warm up. The rabbit attempting to tell me something. I reached for the locket, hoping to extract an answer, but an ambulance came blaring through the parking lot, startling the rabbit, who scurried away without revealing its message.

  It wouldn’t be long before I figured out what it was trying to tell me. And when I did, it changed everything.

  Chapter 10

  I drove home completely exhausted. It had been a long, trying day, and all I wanted to do was order Chinese food and snuggle on the couch with my man and my dog and watch Christmas movies.

  But the universe is clearly run by the trickster god Loki, because none of those things happened.

  The sun had faded into the horizon by the time I got home, but before I pulled up to the driveway, a floodlight blared across my front porch, revealing a dark figure hunched in front of the door. I cut the headlights and coasted further up the street, scanning the property to see if Thor had come home, but there was no sign of him. I had no backup to take down whoever the intruder was.

  I watched as the person studied the light. An arm reached up and the floodlight winked out.

  Having parked the Jeep around the corner, I ran through a neighbor’s yard, crouching down and side-stepping across the barren landscape. Whoever was on my porch stopped fiddling with the lock for a second and fumbled through coat pockets. I took cover behind a pine tree between the driveway and the front yard to assess the threat. There was an athame in my boot, the locket around my neck, but aside from that I was unarmed.

  The person was taller than me, but not by much. A bit bulkier too, although that could have been attributed to the heavy winter gear. Wearing a thick black wool coat and black snow boots, although there wasn’t much snow to warrant them, the figure paused and straightened its black knit hat with gloved hands.

  There was no weapon that I could see, but weapons could be discreetly hidden. People themselves could be weapons. A hand liberated something from the right coat pocket. The person tilted toward the lock again. Whoever it was seemed determined to break in.

  That’s when I made my move.

  Athame in hand, I charged as fast and stealthily as I could. The porch was beneath my feet in seconds, but before I could secure the blade to the trespasser’s throat, two strong arms clamped onto mine. With a double twist of my limbs, and a lightning-fast pivot, I found myself airborne as the attacker claimed my athame and swept my legs out from under me. I landed on the cold hard ground with an “oof!” as the wind rushed out of my lungs for a second.

  The intruder came at me again—wearing a ski mask no less—and I scrambled to get up. My foot caught one of Thor’s squeaky toys and I slipped, landing on my ass again. The attacker lunged and I reached for a rock behind me, but I was too far away to grip it.

  The shiny steel of my own damn knife came rushing at me. So this is how it ends. The great Seeker of Justice is about to be snuffed out by a common criminal and a rubber hedgehog. Badb will never let me hear the end of it.

  Badb is a goddess who took great pleasure in torturing me. Funny how it’s only women who make my life a living hell. Well, and this guy.

  I latched onto the right wrist in a last ditch effort to prevent the lunatic from filleting my face. As I struggled with that, my other arm reached up and tore off the ski mask.

  “I knew I hadn’t lost my touch.” She smiled wickedly at me. “I thought you had been trained better than that. Some Seeker.”

  I sighed, releasing my hold. “Hi Mom.”

  She stood and held a gloved hand out to me, I accepted it. She hoisted me to my feet, dusting the snow off my backside. For good measure and to show off, my mother twirled the knife a few times between her fingers before offering it to me by its grip.

  I took the athame and tucked it back inside the sheath in my boot shaking my head. It was always a test with these people. “You know, most mothers set up spa days to spend time with their daughters. Maybe go out to lunch. Play tennis. You don’t usually find a B&E on the agenda.”

  She tilted her head, and her crimson locks fell into a bob. “Now, kiddo, you and I both know we’re not like most mothers and daughters. Besides, I was cold.”

  “You would have been a lot colder with a knife to your throat.”

  “I would have, but that didn’t seem to be an issue.” She passed a critical eye over me. “Which reminds me. I’ll have to speak to your grandmother about who she’s appointed to train you. You shouldn’t be so slow. People could get killed.”

  I brushed passed her and unlocked the keypad on my front door. “You shouldn’t be sneaking around my house in a ski mask dressed like a lumberjack. You could get killed.”

  She scoffed. “Not the way you move.”

  Oh, she could be as infuriating as Birdie! I angled toward her while I punched in the combination. “It’s been a long day and my arm is sore from Cinnamon crushing it like a walnut. Besides this coat is cumbersome.” I looked down at my clothes, then at hers. “Why are you dressed like you’re taking a trip to the North Pole anyway?”

  “Being locked up in a castle in Ireland for fifteen years thins the blood. It’s freaking freezing here.” She held up her arms, the coat-sleeves impossibly long. “Borrowed all this from Aunt Lolly.”

  The door yawned open and we stepped inside my cottage. “Of course. You she dresses for the weather. Me she dresses for a Comic-Con convention.” I paused in the foyer, scraped my eyes over my mother, reading her. There was something different about her since the last time we’d spoken via the scrying mirror. Something magnetic. “You knew I was there, didn’t you?”

  She gave me a sheepish grin. “It’s getting stronger now that I’m here. The connection to you.” That was my mother’s gift. Besides being an expert at potion-making, and apparently electricity, judging from the way she snuffed out my floodlight, she had once been an expert on me. It was her gift, and her curse. The very reason she ended up imprisoned in the first place.

  “What gave me away?”

  “Your scent. You always liked vanilla. I smell vanilla and I see your hand.”

  “Holding the athame.”

  She nodded. “Pretty cool, huh?” She bobbed like a giddy teenager. It was unsettling.

  I started to shrug off my coat, but she stopped me. “Don’t get too comfortable. Just drop your bag and let’s go.”

  “Go where?”

  Mom tapped her foot. “We’re having dinner with the whole family, even your grandfather. Cinnamon’s relatives too. At least the ones who are staying at the inn. Angelica wanted to spend time with Cinnamon, so she set it up with Birdie.”

  That sounded like a dinner I not only wanted to avoid, but one that I’d pay to skip out on. I whined, “Mom, I’m tired. I don’t feel like a whole family drama scene tonight.”

  “Oh, don’t be such diva. When do we ever have drama?” She took a scarf from the hook in the hall and proceeded to wrap it around my neck.

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re messing with me right? The Geraghtys are like the cast of a Greek tragedy with more secrets than the CIA.” Which reminded me that I had to talk to her about the whole Uncle Deck thing. I couldn’t do that in front of Birdie though. If he was alive, and if my mother had even an inkling about it, there would be hell to pay. “Mom, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  “Later. Now we go.” She tied the scarf in a bow at my neck and patted my head like a dog. Which gave me an idea. “Thor. I ha
ve to go find Thor.”

  “Already taken care of. He’s resting in front of the fireplace in the living room.” She pulled the bag from my arm and hung it on the hook where the scarf had been. “Great familiar, by the way.” She winked. “You should see what your great aunt dressed him like.” Mom pulled the door open and shoved me through.

  I felt like I was being marched into the lion’s den. Which I was. Only these lions had longer claws and louder roars.

  “Fine. But you owe me a flood light,” I said as we stepped off the porch and headed towards the Geraghty Girls house.

  She stopped, pivoted, and pointed at the bulb, which glared to life. I stared at my mother, wondering where this new surge of power had come from. She grinned. “Told you I was getting stronger.”

  But how? My mother was a potion maker who could weave a spell into any liquid, but that was the extent of her abilities as far as I knew.

  A troubling thought surged through me. Was I leaking energy? Seeping magic? Is that how she had just bested me? I thought of Cinnamon and her intense reaction to the phantom quartz. Her trance-like state. The swirl in her eyes. Were the women in my family absorbing my power? Or the power of the Seeker’s amulet?

  I wondered, as we trudged through the side yard and made our way through the back door of the Geraghty house, if that was the case, how vulnerable did it leave me?

  Chapter 11

  The Geraghty Girls house was an old Victorian painted lady built by my great-grandfather. Birdie and her sisters Lolly and Fiona grew up here, as did my mother and her brother. The house featured ornate woodworking and oak floors throughout. It was dressed with the kind of wallpaper you might find on a Hallmark card and the kind of rugs that cost hundreds of dollars to clean. There was a meandering flow to the old girl that began in the front foyer, jutted off to the parlor, on to the library and through the dining room until it finally rested all the way back in the large, warm kitchen where we were now.

  Because it was a guest house, there was always food in the oven, refreshments in the parlor, and frequently someone playing a tune on the piano. The place was predictably decked out from top to bottom for every holiday you can possibly imagine, but from November through January, it looked simply spectacular. Yule was one of Lolly’s favorite sabbats and my great-aunt couldn’t help but outdo herself every year.

  Lolly was pulling a fresh batch of sugar cookies from the oven as I untangled myself from the scarf my mother had hog-tied around my neck. I was having a heck of a time unwrapping the bow, although from the looks of things, Lolly was worse off.

  Her eyelids were coated with a thick layer of gold shadow, and a shock of rouge circled her cheeks like a Raggedy Ann doll. She had pulled her copper hair into a severe bun, presumably to highlight her jewelry, which consisted of two ornaments dangling from her ears and a sleigh bell jingling around her neck. Not ornament-shaped earrings, mind you, but actual big shiny balls of silver fastened to her lobes by those cheap hooks you use to secure them to the tree branches. The Christmas tree skirt I bought her last Yule was wrapped around her waist and safety pinned on one side (which I was thankful for), pointy green elf shoes with even more bells jangled on her feet, and her top was a plain red turtleneck strung up with blinking battery-powered lights and silver tinsel. Although I couldn’t see a battery pack, so maybe the lights were all Lolly.

  My mother’s mouth dropped to the floor as Lolly danced from the stove to the cupboard to the tune of Elvis Presley’s Blue Christmas.

  “What’s gotten into her?” Mom whispered.

  I slid my eyes to her. “You’re kidding, right? This is Lolly we’re talking about. She’s been like this ever since I can remember.”

  My mother shrugged off her outer layers revealing jeans and a Bears sweatshirt. She whispered again, “I mean, she seemed fine earlier.”

  “Oh, right. We’ve sort of developed a holistic medication plan for Lolly’s episodes.” I held up a finger. “Allow me.”

  The Bailey’s Irish Cream I kept in the pie safe next to the door was still half full. I filled a coffee cup with it, topped it off with a splash of the hot coffee from the pot on the counter, and walked over to Lolly, who still hadn’t noticed us.

  I reached around and slipped the mug next to the snowman platter as she was assaulting a flag-shaped cookie.

  Lolly instinctively reached for the beverage and knocked back a healthy swig.

  Mom raised an eyebrow.

  I shrugged. “Booze clears her head. We can’t figure it out.”

  Lolly spun around to place the cookie platter on the counter. “Oh, girls! You’re here.”

  “Hi Lolly,” we both said.

  Seconds later, my grandmother burst through the kitchen door smelling of rosemary and wrath. She said in her I-am so-going-to-strangle-somebody voice, “There you are!” She pitched her hands in the air.

  My mother and I exchanged a look. “She’s talking to you,” we both said.

  I held up a hand and said, “First of all, I’ve done nothing wrong for at least two months. And second—stop doing that.”

  My mother said, “Well, Mom, which one of us has done something to deserve your fury?”

  Birdie eyeballed the both of us and I briefly wondered why my mother got to call her Mom when I was only allowed to call her Birdie.

  “That depends. Which one of you nitwits invited Oscar to dinner?”

  I side-stepped away from my mother and thumbed at her. “She did.” Because I certainly hadn’t.

  Mom slid a glance in my direction and narrowed her emerald eyes. “Remind me to never get held captive with you.”

  Birdie pinched the bridge of her nose. “Sloane, you’ve only just arrived and already you’re trying my patience.” She pulled her burgundy velvet jacket down tighter over her matching pants and sighed. Then she eyed us again and her face grew redder than it had been a moment ago.

  “And why are you dressed like you’re heading off to a kegger?” she said.

  I snorted. “I can’t believe that.”

  Birdie said to me, “What, that I expect my daughter to dress nice for company?”

  “No. That you know what a kegger is,” I said.

  Mom met Birdie’s glare. “Lolly promised to doll me up.” She thumbed at me. “I have no idea what her excuse it.”

  “Hey! I just found out about this. I didn’t know it was formal.” I aimed a finger at my mother. “And that captivity crack you made? Ditto.”

  Birdie snapped. “Leave Stacy alone, Sloane. She’s had a long day.”

  This was new. Birdie was usually trying to corral me, not defend me. I liked it. I grinned at no one in particular.

  Mom pulled up a chair and snagged a cookie. “I’ve noticed she’s not as up to snuff as she should be. Especially now, as the Seeker.” She bit the head off a giraffe. “She could use some sharpening. More training. Maybe even a camp.”

  “You know I’m right here, don’t you?” I said.

  Birdie said, “She’s come a long way in a short time. But yes, she could use improvement. She relies far too much on technology and gadgets.”

  “Seriously, sitting right in front of you.”

  Mom shrugged. “Your grandmother has a point.”

  “I’m not going to any camp,” I said.

  Birdie looked at me blankly. “Since you’re here, there are a few things we need to discuss.”

  My heart sank. Guess I wasn’t going to see Chance after all.

  Birdie, as if reading my mind, pointed at me and said, “You, invite your young man if you like.” She pointed to my mother. “You call your father back and tell him not to come.”

  Lolly said, “I invited him, Birdie, and you’ll do no such thing.” She was just putting another batch of cookies into the oven. She didn’t even bother to turn around.

  Lolly was the oldest Geraghty Girl and every so often, she made sure the other two knew it.

  Birdie chewed her lip, but she didn’t reply.

  Mom st
ood. “Oh come on. Why can’t my parents spend one evening together under the same roof?” She put the cookie down and brushed the crumbs from her hands into a napkin, and looked at Birdie.

  My grandmother stood there, thinking. Her shoulders sagged a bit. I could tell she was softening, so I tried something new. “Yeah, come on, grandma. It’s only one evening.”

  Birdie glared at my mother, then me. “My name is Birdie.” Without another word she spun on her heal and disappeared through the door.

  “Well that was a bad idea,” my mother said.

  “You gave me the idea,” I grumbled.

  “Yes, but I’ve not been around for a while, so her tolerance for my missteps is higher.”

  I looked at her deadpanned. “I don’t think we just witnessed the same conversation.”

  Lolly came up behind us with two mugs of Bailey’s and coffee. “Oh girls, when will you ever learn?” She set them on the table. “Don’t poke the bear.”

  Chapter 12

  People often used to tell me how young my mother looked. There was a very good reason for that. She was young. Mom met Dad when she was eighteen and he was twenty-one. She was working at the inn, trying to earn some money to start her own herbal potion shop. This was back when Gramps was heavy into real estate and owned quite a few buildings in town. He offered to rent one of his Main Street properties to her, dirt cheap, so that she could jumpstart her business, but she still needed a good chunk of change for supplies, so she waited tables during the week and helped out at the inn on the weekends. It was one of those weekends that my mother met my father. He was on his way to a job interview with a newspaper in Chicago, having just graduated college and stopped off to rest for the night in Amethyst.

  Dad took one look at mom and decided there was nowhere else he wanted to be.

  He had received a hefty inheritance when his parents died, so he opted to turn down the columnist job in the city and set his sights on the town’s quiet, failing newspaper—and my mother. From what I was told, it was a whirlwind romance. A year later, I came into the world. It was all picture perfect. Until he died.