Witch on Second: A Jinx Hamilton Mystery Book 5 (The Jinx Hamilton Novels)

by Juliette Harper

  “You did not,” Tori said, laughing in spite of herself and standing on tiptoe to kiss her tall mother’s cheek.

  “I did, too,” Gemma answered, handing me the pies and giving me a quick peck before hugging my mother. “Hi, Kells,” she said. “Everything good?”

  The moms are best friends and fiercely protective of one another. Gemma knew what a strain the Connor situation put on mom, and mom understood Gemma’s pain over the estrangement with Scrap. The two of them can say an awful lot to each other without really saying anything at all.

  Mom returned the embrace, nodding her answer, and holding on just a few seconds longer than usual. I couldn’t tell if she was drawing off a bit of Gemma’s no-nonsense strength for herself or sharing some of her resolve with her friend.

  If Beau found anything odd about the exchange, he didn’t offer any comment. Instead, he held out Mom’s chair and then did the same for Gemma. Tori and I sat across from them, and Beau took his place at the head of the table.

  That position seemed to make him happy. I think it reminded him of the days when he presided over his own family meals enjoying the company of his wife, daughter, and the two sons he lost at Gettysburg.

  At the opposite end of the table, Darby had thoughtfully set out diminutive doll’s plates for Glory and Rodney as well as fixing a place for himself.

  To an outsider, we might have looked like an unconventional entourage, but I felt a surge of love for all the people sharing that meal. We kept the conversation light and relished the excellent food. No one watching us that night would have suspected all the hidden undercurrents flowing around the table.

  When we were done eating, Darby handled the clean-up while Glory and Rodney settled into the pink convertible. They were still stuck on Blue Hawaii, and I thought I’d scream if I had to listen to “Can’t Help Falling In Love” one more time, but I managed to hold my tongue.

  Beau worked at the rolltop desk taking notes from an ancient text bound in soft calfskin while Tori and Gemma played in mounds of flour. Mom and I were drilling on the target range when Festus came limping into the lair.

  “Evening all,” he said, stopping beside Mom and watching as I threaded a slender energy bolt perfectly through the eye of a large needle.

  Mom clapped her hands in delight when I wrapped the energy back onto itself and tied it in a pulsating knot. “Honey!” she said. “That’s wonderful!”

  “She’s as good as her grandmother,” Festus observed appreciatively. “Remember how Kathleen used to make those glowing yellow chains on the tree at Christmas?”

  “Oh!” Mom said, breaking into a smile. “I had forgotten about those. And remember the peppermint sticks that danced to Winter Wonderland?”

  Festus chuckled. “Those were fun to bat off the tree,” he said. “Kathleen loved all the holidays. This close to Halloween, she’d have had the whole house smelling of pumpkin pies and baked apples.”

  As I listened to them talk, I felt a pang of jealousy. I remembered my grandmother, but only dimly as an old woman who attended church faithfully and cranked up the volume on the TV to hear her “programs.”

  When Chase and I broke up, I didn’t know how our estrangement would affect the group dynamic, but at least in Festus’ case, nothing changed. He regularly joined us in the evenings, usually curling up on the hearth or playing chess with Tori on a low table by the fire. If anyone else felt the awkwardness of Chase’s absence, they had the good grace not to mention it.

  The aleuromancy experiment resulted in the only hiccup that evening, one big enough it almost stopped my heart in my chest. While mom and I were still practicing, we heard a frustrated exclamation from the direction of the work tables. I looked up to find both Tori and Gemma engulfed in a cloud of flour.

  “Hey!” Festus cried indignantly. “Watch it, you two! You’re getting that crap all over my fur.”

  “So groom already,” Gemma barked. Turning to Tori, she said, “Young lady, I told you to pour the flour, not drop it.”

  “I didn’t drop it,” Tori shot back. “I think the bowl is mad at us. We’ve asked it the same question so many times that it wants to talk about something else.”

  Mom and I exchanged a bemused look. “What’s going on over there?” she called out.

  “We’re doing something wrong,” Gemma groused. “This damned bowl keeps saying someone down here is going to make a secret journey tonight.”

  Just as she said those words, I was directing an energy bolt toward a lantern sitting 15 feet away. I jerked my hand, sending the stream of power ricocheting off a steel file cabinet. As it shot past my head, I ducked and yelled, “Fire in the hole!”

  Festus dove under one of the leather chairs by the hearth as the blue flame flew between Gemma and Tori heading straight for Glory’s dollhouse. At just the last second, Beau snatched up the wastebasket by his desk and fielded the energy, which immediately ignited the papers in the trash can.

  Thankfully, Gemma appeared beside him and sprinkled some powder over the flames accompanied by the magical command, “Extinctus!”

  Festus poked his head out and looked around. “Is it safe?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Gemma said, turning toward me. “What the heck was that?” she demanded.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Guess I’m just tired.”

  “Then quit before you burn the place down,” she ordered. “Give us a few minutes to clean up this flour and we’ll start the movie.”

  My heart hammered in my chest as I watched them gathering up the scattered flour, which was, as I predicted, turned over to Darby to make the biggest batch of chocolate chip cookie dough I’ve ever seen.

  Fortunately, however, my accidental pyrotechnics distracted everyone from the “secret journey” prediction, which wasn’t mentioned again.

  Festus grumbled through a long grooming session before settling down to nap by the fire. Beau excused himself and carried his books and papers off to his bachelor pad, no doubt having had quite enough metaphysical artillery barrages for one night.

  Glory and Rodney were snoring in the front seat of the Barbie convertible. Darby disappeared after setting out heaping plates of gooey cookie goodness hot out of the oven.

  Embracing the whole slumber party vibe, the four of us piled onto the two sofas Tori and I recently added to the lair’s furnishings. Since our numbers seemed to be growing, the lack of comfortable group seating had started to be a problem.

  We both agreed we should have gotten the urge to redecorate before Myrtle left, since she could have put the sofas in place with a snap of her fingers. In fact, that thought came to us as we maneuvered down the stairs with the first bulky piece of furniture. The idea triggered a fit of nearly hysterical giggling. Tori later told me that was the first time she heard me laugh since Myrtle went away.

  That Friday night the moms voted to watch Titanic on our other new addition; a flat screen TV that drops down from the ceiling at the touch of a button. That one I can’t take credit for. Chase installed it, since we could hardly explain to the guy from Best Buy why we would have wanted such a thing in what would have appeared to him to be a dirty, cluttered basement.

  Neat trick, huh? There’s an enchantment on the staircase. When we come down, we pass into the lair, which exists in the area of time and space called the “in between.” Anybody else comes downstairs, they’re in a scary basement that looks like it could be home to predatory, man-eating spiders.

  Earlier I’d used fatigue as an excuse to cover my botched energy bolt, but now everyone else truly was exhausted either from work or worry. About half an hour into the movie, I started catching the first signs — nodding heads that jerked awake only to start bobbing again in five minutes. My Mom lost the battle first, then Gemma, and finally Tori.

  I waited an extra 15 minutes, set the movie to repeat so no one would wake up, left my fake note, and silently rolled one of the bikes out of the circle of light cast by the lamps.

  As I pedaled into the sta
cks toward the portal to Shevington, I noticed the time. It should take me three hours to get to the Valley, visit the stables, and get back — provided I didn’t run into Chase.

  The thrill of excitement that ran through me pushed that risk to the back of my thoughts. I was about to see my brother for the first time. Nothing was going to stop me.

  7

  Chase was used to hearing his father make outrageous statements, but the suggestion that Chase go to the Valley to discuss gnats with a fairy took things to a new level. At least until Festus explained that GNATS stood for “Group Network Aerial Transmission System.”

  Chase listened in fascination as Festus described the Brown Mountain Guard’s latest tool to expand the scope of their patrols — micro drones. A single grain of fairy dust powered each of the machines that mimicked both the size and appearance of the common gnat.

  If Festus had understood Ironweed correctly, the GNATS also replicated the energy signature of their namesake insect, which would make them perfect to surveil the Ionescu compound.

  The walk to the Valley improved Chase’s spirits. When he stepped through the portal, the verdant greens of the lower meadow worked like a balm on his aching heart, and he found himself struck anew by the incredible beauty of Shevington.

  When he was a boy, his grandmother once warned him that all magic carries risks, but if used wisely, it also conveys great rewards. To be a part of this complex otherworld and to experience life on a richer level, the cost appeared to mean accepting that as a werecat, he could not be with the witch he loved.

  Railing against the unfairness of the situation wouldn’t help. Festus was right. All Chase could do was accept the situation and do his job. Hopefully, Jinx would forgive him in time and they could be friends. If she didn’t? He had to do his job no matter what.

  Once through the city’s main gate, Chase merged with the pleasant, early morning bustle on the High Street. He exchanged greetings with townsfolk and stopped for coffee at Madame Kahveh’s before making his way to the fairy guard base.

  The command center sat at one end of the drill field. From the outside, the building appeared to be just marginally larger than an old-fashioned phone booth. Inside, however, the structure housed a high-rise warren of fairy-sized offices, ceiling clearance around 8-10 inches for the command higher ups.

  The offices were arranged around a central, human-sized atrium. Visitors could carefully step into the space and locate the office they needed, but most preferred to speak with the fairy personnel in the adjacent courtyard thoughtfully outfitted with furniture on a more normal scale.

  Chase, however, loved the interior of the command center. It felt like literally stepping into a beehive, albeit one where the bees wore black commando fatigues, combat boots, and purple berets. Rather than rely on elevators, the fairies used their incandescent wings to move from floor to floor.

  Major Aspid “Ironweed” Istra, the Commander of the Brown Mountain Guard, kept an office at the back of the building positioned to observe his troops during flight drills over the field.

  At the entrance to the command center, Chase punched the intercom button. A fairy guardsman barked through the speaker, “State your business, sir.”

  “I have an appointment with Major Istra,” Chase said.

  “Roger that, sir,” the guard said briskly. “Interior or exterior?”

  “Interior,” Chase replied.

  “Step into the airlock, please.”

  Chase opened the door as instructed and waited patiently for the panel to the atrium to slide to the side. Opening the main door on windy days could cause an internal tornado and a lot of seriously hacked off fairies.

  Careful to avoid any collisions with the miniature inhabitants, Chase approached the back wall. Reaching over the walkway railing, he tapped on the door of Ironweed’s office with his index finger.

  “Come!” Ironweed barked.

  “Kinda hard to do,” Chase answered. “I’m six feet tall.”

  Behind him, a group of fairy secretaries gathered by the water cooler giggled. Chase flashed them a smile. “Good morning, ladies,” he said.

  “Quit flirting with the women, McGregor,” Ironweed ordered sternly, leaning against the door of his office with his arms crossed. “Stick to your own weight class.”

  “You’re a fine one to talk,” Chase shot back.

  “I’m a man of special attributes, ole boy,” Ironweed said, settling his beret at a rakish angle on his head and fluttering his wings to rise to Chase’s eye level. “Let’s take this conversation outside so my people can get some work done.”

  Chase pivoted carefully and moved toward the door. Around them, fairies snapped mid-air salutes, which Ironweed returned with crisp, military efficiency.

  The guards activated the airlock panel without asking, and Chase and Ironweed stepped back out into the daylight. The diminutive major, who was flying alongside Chase’s head was instantly all business.

  “From what Festus tells me, this should be kept on a strictly need-to-know basis,” he said. “Let’s go to the viewing stand at the field.”

  “Good idea,” Chase agreed, crossing the field and climbing to the top of the bleachers. He purposefully chose a seat a level below the top so Ironweed could perch on the edge of the bench by his head.

  “Did Dad explain the situation to you?” Chase asked.

  “Yep,” Ironweed said. “Festus says you’ve got yourself a Strigoi problem and you’re in need of intel. Preferably without Barnaby knowing what you’re doing for the moment.”

  “Is that last part a problem?”

  “Not if all you want me to do right now is look,” Ironweed replied.

  “That’s all I want,” Chase said. “Can you get in there with these drones of yours?”

  “Can we get in there?” Ironweed laughed. “Let me show you something.”

  Ironweed reached into one of the front pockets of his fatigue pants and drew out a minuscule tablet. He tapped in a few commands and a magnified holographic image of the mountains around Briar Hollow projected upwards from the device.

  Chase let out a low whistle. “Nice,” he said. “That’s video from the GNATS?”

  “Correct,” Ironweed said. “Let me give you an idea what these babies can do.” He extracted a walkie talkie from another pocket and keyed the mic. “Red Dragon One to GNATS Ops. Come in.”

  “This is GNATS Ops Command, Red Dragon One,” a voice said through the speaker.

  “Deploy GNAT Flight 32 low over sector 26.”

  “Roger that, Red Dragon One.”

  As Chase watched the images on the hologram, the drones changed direction and came in low over Briar Hollow from the south. They dropped in altitude until they were flying just above the rooftops, entering the courthouse square at the corner across from George and Irma’s grocery store.

  “GNATS Ops Command,” Ironweed said. “Assume surveillance altitude over the courthouse.”

  The drones surged upward, settling in place around the clock tower on the building’s roof. Chase could see the front of Jinx’s store as well as his own cobbler shop. He watched as the women from the historical association draped orange and black crepe paper around the entrance to the courthouse. The building would stay open that evening so festival goers could have access to the restrooms, thus decorations were in order.

  “How do you overcome the time difference between Shevington and Briar Hollow?” Chase asked.

  “Simple,” Ironweed said. “The drone control center is on the slopes of Brown Mountain. The signal you’re looking at is trans-dimensional.”

  “Wow,” Chase said. “You can do real-time video at that resolution with a single grain of fairy dust?”

  “Brother,” Ironweed said, “you do not want to know what I can do with a single grain of fairy dust, and if I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

  Chase started to laugh and then thought better of it. Festus had a point about not underestimating fairies. It just encour
aged them to shoot for even greater heights of crazy, daredevil behavior.

  “So,” he said, “you can handle the Ionescu thing?”

  “Absolutely,” Ironweed said. “We already have the coordinates.”

  “You do?” Chase said with surprise. “How?”

  “We get security briefings from IBIS,” Ironweed said. “We’ll need more time to really put together a picture of what goes on out there, but let me have the boys do a preliminary fly over now.”

  Ironweed spoke into the walkie talkie again. He and Chase watched the display change as the drones headed out of town and started up into the mountains.

  After several minutes, Chase said, “Good Lord, are you sure you have the right coordinates?”

  “Yep,” Ironweed said, “verified them myself. These Strigoi seriously want to be left alone.”

  Finally a grouping of buildings appeared in the trees. A high fence surrounded the compound comprised of multiple neat homes and manicured lawns. “Place looks like somebody picked up a perfectly normal suburb and dropped it in the middle of nowhere,” Ironweed said.

  Then he squinted at the hologram and picked up the walkie talkie. “GNATS Ops Command, zero in on those small sheds behind the houses.”

  The display split as two individual drones broke off from the swarm and dived lower. One hovered above the backyard of a home on the edge of the compound while its partner flew into a shed sitting a few feet behind the residence. The camera instantly switched to black-and-white night vision for a sharper look at the interior.

  “Holy freaking power consumption,” Ironweed said, “would you look at that generator? That thing could light up a human high rise much less a three bedroom ranch.”

  The drone duo went on to examine six sheds, finding high-capacity generators in each one.

  “Well,” Chase said. “Dad did say they feed on electricity.”

  “If they’re eating that much juice,” Ironweed said, “you are about to cross swords with some seriously powerful bad guys.”

  “The point,” Chase said, “is to not cross swords with them. How long before you can give me a full report?”