Their voices echoed against the metal, making them impossible to decipher.
He focused on the pendant again. It burned his skin. Made him feel like something was crawling over him. Into him.
He couldn’t move. All he could do was think, and even that wasn’t easy.
But there were two things he knew.
Magic was real.
And this pendant was bad.
But the thought registered in the same way that he might think about whether to have his club sandwich on white or wheat.
It was just a fact. Nothing more. Because there was nothing he could do about it. No way to make himself react. The dark force prevented it.
He drifted lower, and the light above him faded a little more. The sounds grew farther away as he sank deeper into the darkness.
He imagined most people would retreat to their happiest memories at a time like this, but he didn’t have many of those.
His days on the force. Those were good. Those were happy. But a lot of them were sad, too. That was just part of the job. The people, he thought. The people he’d worked with. They were good. His brothers and sisters in blue.
And then there was Marigold. Bright, smiling, sunshiny Marigold. She was a happy memory. The happiest.
So he thought about her. Marigold the beautiful. Marigold the mother. Marigold the florist. Marigold the witch.
She was a witch. She’d told him that. He tried to understand what that meant. Tried to speak the word. “Witch,” he whispered.
But maybe he hadn’t said anything at all.
Marigold whipped around to look at Wyatt. “What?”
Across from her, Pandora shook her head. “I didn’t say anything.”
Marigold frowned. “No, I think Wyatt did.”
She and Pandora were with him in the back of the delivery van. Their mother was driving, and Charisma was in the passenger seat. Marigold leaned down, putting her ear to his ivy-covered mouth. “Say it again.”
But he was silent.
“Maybe you just thought you heard it.” Pandora put her hand on the van’s metal side. “It’s noisy back here without insulation or carpet to deaden the road noise.”
Marigold nodded. “It’s a delivery van. No need for that stuff.” She put her hand on his chest again. The magic felt stronger. Angier.
Her heart ached. They had better rescue Wyatt fast. In a way, the need to hurry was good. It meant less time to think about what was going to happen.
How she wasn’t going to be a witch anymore. She stared at his ivy-covered form, the green blurring as tears filled her eyes.
“Hey,” Pandora said softly. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
Marigold nodded. “Yes. I can’t let him die.”
“No, of course not. We won’t let that happen. It’s just…”
“I know,” Marigold said. She gave herself a mental shake. Lots of people went through life with no powers or magical gifts. Pandora had done it for years. She smiled at her sister. “It’s not that big of a deal. You survived without usable magic.”
Pandora gave a little half-smile. “Yeah, I did. But I didn’t have the added difficulty of knowing what good, working powers were like.”
Marigold shrugged one shoulder. “I’ll get to live on both sides of things. If I need anything magic, you guys will help me.”
Pandora leaned in enthusiastically. “Oh honey, you know it. You just call me any time. I mean it. And if this guy doesn’t appreciate what you’re doing for him, then I swear, I will turn him into a—”
“Pandy, he doesn’t have to appreciate it. I’m sure he will, but that’s not why I’m doing this.”
Pandora sighed and sat back. “I know. But still. He’d better.”
Marigold laughed softly. Sisters were the best.
“I’ll mentor Saffie if she wants me to.”
“You’re already mentoring Kaley.”
“I can handle two.”
“No,” Marigold said. “Kaley is about to be your stepdaughter. You need to give her all your attention. Mom can help Saffie.”
Corette looked over her shoulder. “That is a task I will gladly take.”
Pandora looked a little weepy again. “You’re such a good person, Mari. You don’t deserve this.”
Marigold spread her fingers in the ivy, feeling the sting of the dark magic but unwilling to break contact with Wyatt. “Neither does he. It’s going to be okay.”
Pandora reached out and put her hand on Marigold’s, then sucked in a breath and yanked it back. She rubbed her thumb against her palm. “Yikes, what is that?”
“The pendant’s darkness.”
Pandora grimaced. “Do you think Wyatt can feel that or just us because we’re already attune to magic?”
“I hope just us. Because otherwise, he’s in a lot of pain.” Pain Marigold would soon release him from.
Then she would have a different kind of pain to deal with. One that would be with her for the rest of her life.
Alice met them at the side entrance of Elenora Ellingham’s large estate. It was the same entrance Marigold brought flowers through every year for the Black and Orange Ball. The grand ballroom was past the kitchen (which was about the size of an entire one-bedroom apartment) and directly ahead. But Alice took them left down a hall and then led them through parts of the house that Marigold had never seen before.
They were headed to what she guessed was Alice’s room. Pandora and Marigold followed behind Alice, carrying Wyatt in his ivy wrappings just as they had before. Behind them came Charisma and Corette.
Upon arriving, Marigold realized Alice didn’t have a room. She had an entire wing.
And once they were through the double doors that accessed Alice’s apartment, it was as if they’d entered another dwelling entirely.
While the furnishings were well crafted and clearly fine quality, the luxuriousness of the rest of the house was gone. Elenora’s extravagant taste didn’t exist here. Alice’s rooms reflected her simple, no-nonsense personal style. Clean straight lines, modest fabrics, with a lot of dark wood and stone. Very little existed in the way of personalization, which also seemed very much like Alice.
To most people, including the coven, she was an enigma. She was respected for the power she wielded and for the tragic history she’d escaped in Salem so many years ago, but she was also feared. No one, except maybe Elenora, really knew Alice Bishop.
Or knew what she was truly capable of.
No one seemed willing to be the one to figure that all out, either.
The story that was often shared about her in whispered tones was that when Elenora had saved her from death in Salem, Alice had somehow absorbed all the power of the witches that had already met their fates.
Whether that was true or not, no one knew. And no one was going to ask.
But it certainly gave Alice a status that had remained unchallenged for as long as she’d been in Nocturne Falls. Still, questions remained. How powerful was she? Was she immortal like the vampire who’d saved her?
Marigold didn’t think they’d ever know.
“Here.” Alice pointed to the center of a large slate-floored room where a rug had been rolled up and set off to the side to clear the space. An enormous fieldstone fireplace occupied one wall. The rest of the walls were lined with wooden shelves filled with books, bottles, and boxes. Near the fireplace sat a chair upholstered in worn tapestry fabric with a small stand next to it that held a slim volume.
But the thing that drew Marigold’s gaze was the plain wood worktable, scarred and stained with use, positioned by one of the tall, arched windows that let light in.
Some tools of the craft—a thick leather-bound book, a few bits and pieces of nature, a copper bowl, and a variety of jars, sacks, and containers were scattered over the table’s surface.
Marigold realized they were in Alice’s practice. The space she used for her craft. Most witches had one. For Marigold, it was her greenhouse. A practice was a sacred spac
e, one rarely shared.
Her mother and sisters must have realized it too, because they were uncommonly quiet.
“Put him here,” Alice repeated.
Pandora and Marigold lowered Wyatt to the floor.
Alice went to her worktable and opened the book. It was obviously a grimoire and a very old one, judging by the yellowing of the pages. Marigold peeked over Alice’s shoulder just a little. Had she written all those spells herself? It wasn’t Marigold’s business, but the book was impressive. Her own grimoire was anemic by comparison.
Marigold glanced at her mother and sisters. They shrugged, also unsure of what to do next. Marigold cleared her throat softly. “Should I unbind him?”
“Not yet,” Alice said without turning. “Best he’s contained until we’re ready.” She leafed through the book until she came to a page marked with a strip of red leather. She flattened the book to those pages, smoothing her hand over them with care.
Then she faced the women again. “Who among you is going to provide the power to save this man?”
Marigold lifted her chin. “I am.”
Alice looked her over, but her gaze was not unkind. “You know what’s required of you?”
Marigold nodded. “I do. But he’s in this fix because of me.”
Alice frowned. “The jaundiced eye was created many, many years ago. That’s not even remotely your fault.”
“But it’s here now because of me. It crossed his path because of me.” She shook her head. “I promise that I willingly accept what I’m about to do.”
Alice stared at her a second longer, then did something that almost knocked Marigold off her feet. She put her hand on Marigold’s arm, her touch gentle. “Your sacrifice won’t be forgotten.”
Before Marigold could really process what Alice meant by that, the woman took a burlap sack about the size of a five-pound bag of sugar off the table and held it out toward Corette. “Mark the circle.”
Corette took it and untied the twine at its neck. Salt. Of course. She started at Wyatt’s head and went clockwise, drawing a large circle around him with a thick line of salt.
Alice held another sack out to Charisma. “Seal the circle.”
With a nod, Charisma went to work. Her bag held ashes.
Marigold pondered that. Salt was standard. Chalk was too. One or the other was typically used to draw a casting circle, because both were of the earth. Ashes were a strange choice, but her mother had said the pendant was blood and ash magic. Marigold glanced at Alice, almost afraid to ask the question burning in her mind. “Are you going to require my blood?”
Alice smiled a little. “No, child. We want to drive the pendant’s magic out, not give it more power.”
“But you’re sealing the circle with ash.”
“So that the pendant’s power cannot escape.”
Marigold nodded, reassured. “Thank you. I’m a little nervous.”
Alice moved to stand by Marigold’s side. “I would be too. You’re giving up a lot for him. He will owe you. Whether he realizes it or not.”
“He’s already saved my life.” Maybe a slight exaggeration, but in this instance, she didn’t care. “This just makes us even. He won’t owe me a thing.”
Alice made a little argumentative noise in her throat. “Your magic will be in him. You will be bound to him for the rest of your lives. No matter what you do, where you go, who you choose to spend your life with, a thread will run between you.”
Marigold hadn’t considered that, but so be it. A thread wasn’t such a noticeable thing. “Live and let live, freely take and freely give.” She whispered the lines of an old poem in answer.
Alice’s smile returned. “True enough for us. But he may feel differently. He wasn’t born into this life. That changes things.”
With that, she went back to the table and picked up a collection of things, then moved past Marigold to lay the items at the compass points. A black feather tipped in silver at north, a dagger of rock crystal at east, a bundle of cat’s whiskers tied with red silk at south, and a thick beeswax candle at west.
In her hand remained a bundle of herbs.
Corette and Charisma completed their circles and returned the pouches of salt and ash to the table.
“Now we take our places.” Alice walked to the fireplace. It flared to life as she approached. She tossed the bundle of herbs in. Soft curls of fragrant smoke wafted out. She went to the cat’s whiskers, then pointed at Pandora. “You take north.”
Pandora nodded and went to stand behind the black feather.
Next, Alice gestured to their mother. “West for you, Corette. And for Charisma, east.”
The women got into position. Marigold stood outside the circle, waiting.
Alice nodded at her. “Once you step into this circle, any turning back will have dangerous consequences. Do you understand?”
“I do.”
“Then enter and kneel at his left side.”
Marigold walked forward, carefully stepping over the lines of salt and ash to take her place by Wyatt’s side. He hadn’t so much as grunted since she’d thought she’d heard him whisper something in the van. She hoped they weren’t too late to save him.
Alice raised her hands. The beeswax candle flickered to life. Corette, Charisma, and Pandora lifted their hands as well as Alice spoke. “Bind this circle. Protect our sister in her sacrifice. Contain the dark spell already cast.”
Corette, Charisma, and Pandora repeated the words. The candle flame sparked brightly, then settled down.
Alice dropped her hands to her sides. “The circle is sealed. Marigold, you may unbind him now. Once he is freed and at my command, your mother and sisters will hold him in place so the power of the jaundiced eye does not harm either of you further.” She glanced at the other women. “Understood?”
All three nodded.
Alice returned her attention to Marigold. “Release him.”
Marigold called up her magic, most likely, she realized, for the last time, and pushed it into the ivy. The leaves quivered at the touch of her magic. She urged them to unwind themselves from Wyatt.
They did as she asked, snaking away until he lay on a bed of ivy vines, completely free.
He shook himself and started to sit up. “You’re going to pay for that, witch.”
“Now, sisters,” Alice commanded.
In unison, the three women thrust their hands toward him and spoke. “Stagnacio!”
Wyatt went as still as a statue. Then he jerked and a snarl bent his mouth. A deep, guttural growl came out of him.
Marigold looked at her mother. “I thought you had him.”
“It’s the pendant,” Alice said.
“Yes,” Corette agreed. “The pendant’s magic is fighting us. The magic is very strong.”
Alice snapped her fingers. “Put your hands on him, Marigold. We must do this now.”
Marigold flattened her palms on his chest, one on either side of the jaundiced eye. The pendant seemed like it was staring at her, and the dark magic chewed at her skin the moment she made contact. She grimaced.
“You can feel the power of it, too, can’t you?” Alice asked.
“Yes,” Marigold hissed through clenched teeth. “I felt it earlier when we were bringing him here, but it’s already gotten stronger.”
“Then we have no time to lose.” Alice crouched down and dug her fingers under the pendant’s chain where it lay on the back of Wyatt’s neck. She hissed as she touched the metal, and Marigold felt a slight lessening in the pain in her hands.
Alice gripped the chain so hard her knuckles went white. “There will only be a moment when the eye loses its hold on him. And only if you are successful in transferring your magic to him. When I feel that moment come, I will strip the pendant from him.”
“But how do I transfer my magic into him? I’ve never attempted this before.”
“The circle will make it possible. He is as open and receptive as he will ever be. You’ll see. Feel for w
hat’s inside him. Find the part of him that’s the most vulnerable. Everyone has a place like that, but some are hidden better than others. Let the magic be your guide. Once you find that part of him, you’ll know where to direct your magic.”
Marigold closed her eyes and did as Alice had told her. She called up every ounce of power within her and pushed forward into Wyatt.
A picture formed in her head. Wyatt. With a dark gaping hole in the center of him. Below his heart. The space wasn’t really empty, though. A host of emotions filled it. Pain, longing, fear, loneliness, loss, hope, desire.
She summoned her magic with all the courage and love she could muster and directed it to fill that spot in him, to shove all those dark emotions out and replace them with her power.
The pain in her hands turned to fire. She winced and let out a soft cry.
“Hold strong, child,” Alice urged. “I feel it too. We must fight the darkness.”
Marigold nodded and pushed harder. The darkness pushed back. The pain burrowed into her palms and dug into the bones of her hands and wrists. She breathed openmouthed, trying not to pass out.
Self-doubt filled her. She wasn’t strong enough to do this. Her magic wasn’t capable of defeating such a powerful force. The pain in her hands was almost unbearable. Why had she even attempted this? She couldn’t even hold on to the father of her child, how could she expect to make this—no. She shut the negative voice down.
That was the pendant talking. The jaundiced eye thrived on the weakness of others. She refused to let it intimidate her.
She was absolutely powerful. She could do this. She would do this. She was a green witch, bursting with earth magic. The insignificant influence of blood and ash was no match for what lay within her.
Magic poured out of her and into Wyatt. The emptiness inside him was no longer dark, but glowed green. Her power shoved out every last shadow the pendant had cast on him.
The jangle of metal registered distantly.
Then suddenly, there was nothing left in her to give. The pain disappeared from her hands. She opened her eyes.
The Detective Wins The Witch (Nocturne Falls Book 10) Page 17