Beau and his crew did an outstanding job for the rest of the day. By sundown, the crowd around the courthouse was back up to full strength. George and Irma were flipping burgers like pros, and I can’t even imagine how many tons of pizza were being sold over at the Stone Hearth.
The news crew was back, and there were even more vans scattered around the square bearing the logos of paranormal investigative groups. I finally shoved the last customers out the door around 7 o’clock, flipping the “Open” sign over to “Closed” and vehemently shaking my head at a small knot of people begging me to relent.
Turning off the last of the store lights, I descended to the basement where Darby had laid out supper for us. The minute the heavenly scent of pot roast hit my nostrils, I realized I was starving.
As I joined Tori at the table, I was pleased to see she was eating heartily. It was one thing to see my BFF scared, but if she pushed back the supper plate, we were really in trouble.
Myrtle was sitting at the table, too, but she wasn’t eating. I wasn’t even sure she needed to eat.
“So, what’s the plan?” I asked, reaching for the mashed potatoes.
While we’d been shamelessly making money off of this whole mess, Myrtle had been studying Alexander Skea’s journal.
“I have devised a potion that will make Tori something of a . . . beacon,” Myrtle explained. “As soon as she drinks it, her blood will call out to Brenna.”
“How do you know Brenna will answer?” I asked.
“She will answer,” Myrtle said gravely. “Hers is an old and fervid ambition.”
“And we’ll be ready for her?” Tori asked, buttering a biscuit.
“Yes,” Myrtle said. “Before you use the potion, Jinx will follow my instructions to create a magic circle around Knasgowa’s grave. When Brenna comes to you, she must be standing inside the circle when you close it.”
“How do we do that?” Tori asked, chewing.
The answer made her choke on her biscuit. I had to lean over and thwack her on the back several times until she could breathe again.
“I have to do what???” she finally managed to ask.
With forced patience, Myrtle repeated herself. “You will slice the palm of your hand with a ritual dagger and drip the blood onto the earth. The magic in your blood will seal the three of you inside the circle, and render Brenna temporarily powerless. Jinx will recite the spell, and Brenna will be bound.”
Uh-huh. That sounded just a little too easy. Well, okay, not the slicing part but the rest of it. When I pointed that out, Myrtle said, “Well, to steal a line from Dylan Thomas, she may not go gently into that good night.”
Yeah. I passed high school English.
“Isn’t there another line in that poem that goes, ‘Rage, rage against the dying of the light?’”
Myrtle sighed, “Once the circle is closed, Brenna will be deprived of her magic only. She will, undoubtedly, attempt to fight you. If you cannot hold her back and she succeeds in pushing Tori over the boundary of the circle, its protection will be shattered and you will be facing Brenna and her powers at their full strength.
Fantastic. We were about to play a circular version of Red Rover with a chick who was undoubtedly a big ole cheater.
“And if that happens?” I asked.
“Then I am afraid you will have to . . . improvise,” Myrtle said.
This was just getting better and better.
“Fear not,” Colonel Longworth said, materializing on the stairs and walking toward us, “you will not be alone.”
Uh, yeah, we would.
“No, Beau,” I said, holding up my hand when he started to protest, “no arguments. You’re staying in town. What could you do against Brenna anyway?”
“Wel, I . . . I . . . ” he spluttered indignantly.
“Exactly,” I said.
To my horror, the old gentleman actually looked hurt.
I shoved my chair away from the table and went to him, grateful that I could actually touch him in Myrtle’s presence.
“Beau,” I said softly, “you are the bravest man I know. Thank you for wanting to be there to protect us, but I need you to handle the rear guard action.”
Yep, that was me being all military. I’d been studying the lingo. When you talk to a Civil War soldier as much as I do, it’s necessary.
“But Miss Jinx,” he said reproachfully, “I have always ridden toward the sound of the guns.”
Of that, I had no doubt. Something told me Beauregard T. Longworth never backed down from a fight in his whole life, and he wasn’t about to start sounding retreat after his death either.
“I know that, Beau,” I said, intuitively understanding part of what was bothering him. “This is not like what happened to your men. Tori and I will be fine. You did not let your boys down, and you won’t be letting me down if you stay in town tonight. This is where I need you to be.”
That wasn’t quite the truth. I didn’t want my ghostly friend anywhere near magic designed to consign a spirit to limbo.
Beau looked at me for a long moment. “You are so like my daughter,” he said finally. “I cannot bear it if you are harmed, Miss Jinx.”
Tears filled my eyes. “It’s okay, Beau,” I said. “You can help me more by staying here and keeping everyone’s attention off that graveyard. Please?”
He nodded. He wasn’t happy about it, but he would do as I asked.
I turned back to Myrtle. “Okay, so I get the plan with Brenna, but what about the spirits I raised? What will happen to them?”
“I believe they will be returned to their graves when you recite Alexander’s spell,” Myrtle said.
“You believe?”
She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “Truthfully, Jinx, I’m not sure how you raised them in the first place, but restoring the pre-existing state of Knasgowa’s grave is our best chance of fixing that situation as well. That is, as you say, all I’ve got.”
Well, okay, at least she was honest about it.
I looked at Tori. “You good with this plan?”
“Yes,” she said, “but do we have time for pie, first?”
27
We were used to the cemetery bustling with otherworldly activity at night. Now it was dark, deserted, and decidedly spooky — which I guess anyone else would have called “normal” for a graveyard.
Tori and I were working at Knasgowa’s grave. Myrtle had explained to us both how to draw a circle around the plot with a simple stick. I had been hoping for a magic wand, but apparently the magic is always in the practitioner, not in the props.
Once the circle was complete, I used the stick to carefully trace off a series of symbols at the four points of the compass. Tori followed along behind using the LED on her cellphone to check my work for accuracy.
At the stroke of midnight, I held a small glass bottle with a cork stopper out to her. “Okay,” I said, “here you go. Bottoms up.”
She took the bottle and met my eyes. “Remember what you said to me that night at the tree?”
“I asked you to pull me out of there if I got in trouble.’”
“Same deal?” Tori asked.
“Same deal,” I said. “I’ll be right here with you.”
Working the cork out of the bottle, she sniffed the liquid and made a face. “Dear God,” she said, “I hope it tastes better than it smells.”
“Don’t count on it,” I warned. “Take it like a tequila shot.”
Uh, yeah. We’ve chased the worm a few times.
In one smooth motion, Tori upended the bottle and gulped down the dark liquid. Even taking the potion at top speed, she started to cough violently.
“Don’t spit,” I ordered. “Myrtle said take it all.”
Tori nodded, her face screwed up in revulsion.
“Bad?” I asked.
“You have no idea,” she croaked.
“How do you feel?”
She looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “Like I’m gonna hurl,” she
said.
“Yeah, I got that part. What else?”
She considered the question. “Kind of hot,” she said, “you know, like how the moms bitch about their hot flashes?”
“Is that all?”
Tori shook her head. “Pretty much,” she said. “Do you think maybe it didn’t work?”
A sultry voice spoke in the night.
“I assure you, it worked.”
We both jumped. Brenna Sinclair stepped out of the darkness. She was still dressed all in black and her dark red hair flowed down over her shoulders, but the dramatic cloak was gone. I blinked and looked closer. She was wearing black jeans, high-heeled black boots, and a matching silk tunic.
“Well,” I said, “look at you going all fashion modern. Can’t say much for your color sense though. Have you had your chart done?”
The talk was tough, but I was shaking like a leaf.
Brenna gave me a slightly more feral version of the smile I’d seen that first night through the store window. “Bravado becomes you, little witch,” she said.
Then she turned the weight of those green eyes on Tori, sending her gaze traveling over my friend with a kind of lurid interest that made my blood run cold. “Hello, granddaughter,” Brenna said.
“Bite me,” Tori snapped.
Brenna threw her head back and laughed. The sound of her voice was like a living thing, dancing around us with such presence I resisted the urge to take a step back.
“Oh,” she crooned, “I do so enjoy it when you pathetic little creatures posture. When I show you what the force of real magic is like, Victoria, you will become as magnificent as I am.”
No self-esteem issues there.
“You want me, lady?” Tori asked. “Then come get me.”
Brenna’s green eyes glittered. “Don’t you think I know what you’re doing? You want me to step across your adorable little circle. Fine, I’ll come to you, but you’ll never be strong enough to hold me.”
She couldn’t have been more than a dozen steps away from us, but in the length of time it took her to cross that distance, I knew exactly how a mouse feels staring up into the jaws of a cat.
Even if she hadn’t been a sorceress, Brenna was formidable. Her tall, lean body moved with a contained energy that was seductive and repellent all at the same time. She stopped just outside the boundary of the circle.
“Ready to play with Mommy?” she purred.
“Bring it,” Tori said, through clenched teeth.
As Brenna stepped over the line, Tori pulled out the dagger Myrtle had given her and used it to gash her palm. The instant the blood drops hit the ground, we were encased behind walls of prickling energy.
Brenna lunged for Tori, and to my surprise, Tori raised the knife and drove it in the woman’s shoulder.
“Jinx,” Tori yelled, “get busy!”
I started chanting the words Myrtle forced me to memorize as Brenna pulled the dagger out of her shoulder and wiped the blade on the sleeve of her silk blouse.
“That wasn’t very nice,” she said in a reproving singsong voice. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to pay for that.”
But instead of attacking Tori, Brenna swept the knife toward me.
I wasn’t ready, but I managed to get my arm up and deflect the blade anyway. I knew she’d cut me because I felt the warm trickle inside my sleeve, but I’d bought enough time to back away — or so I thought. No sooner did I start to move than I tripped on a root and fell.
Truthfully? The biggest advantage I have in life is dumb luck.
The cut on my arm was deeper than I realized. When I landed, my blood splattered the ground over Knasgowa’s grave mixing with Tori’s blood.
Bolts of blue lightning shot through the circle, the same blue lightning I’d once used to drive back an angry spirit.
A look of horror came over Brenna’s face. “What have you done?” she cried.
As we watched, the lightning bent and strained, wrapping around Brenna until it formed a pulsating coil. Although she struggled against the electric restraint, Brenna Sinclair could not move.
Tori edged around the struggling woman and helped me up. “How bad are you hurt?” she asked.
“Don’t worry about that,” I said. “I know what we have to do. Put your hand over the cut on my arm.”
“What?!”
“Just do it, Tori,” I insisted.
“But, I don’t understand . . . ”
“The blood,” I said fiercely. “Our blood.”
Comprehension filled her gaze. She clamped her hand over my arm. The magic in our bloodstreams fused and her eyes began to glow the same blue as the lightning. I saw my own eyes reflected in hers and we turned as one toward Brenna.
“Oh, Mommie Dearest?” Tori called out. She waited until Brenna’s head snapped toward us to finish. “Time for you to go to hell,” she said.
A roaring sound rose around us, the blue light building to blinding intensity, and then we were standing there alone in the cemetery, caught in the last swirling breaths of a dying wind. Tori was still holding my arm and I sagged against her a little as a wave of dizziness overtook me.
“Jinksy!” she cried, snaking her arm around my waist to hold me up. “Stay with me.”
I shook my head to clear it as Tori led me over to a stone bench. Sinking down gratefully, I watched as she peeled off her over shirt and used it to wrap my arm. “We need to get you to the emergency room,” she said.
When I didn’t answer her, she raised her voice, “Hey, you’re not going into shock on me, are you?”
“No,” I finally answered, “look.”
The spirits came from all directions. They were so peaceful, they almost looked like they were sleepwalkers heading back to their warm beds, which is really more or less what they did. One by one they found their graves, stretched out, and simply melted back into the earth. It took almost an hour.
The weeping woman from the courthouse bench was one of the last ghosts to return. She paused for just a moment in front of us and studied my face. “Thank you,” she said.
“Your daughter couldn’t hear you,” I said. “It’s not that she didn’t love you.”
“I know,” the woman said with a smile. “I didn’t before, but I do now. Good night.”
“Good night,” I whispered as she glided past and slipped back into her grave.
That’s when I saw the mountain lion again, sitting at the edge of the graveyard just watching us. Just as they had done the night before, his amber eyes met mine. As crazy as this sounds, I felt like he was telling me I’d done a good job. After a few seconds, the big cat stood up, turned, and padded away.
Tori drew the shirt back to check my cut and gasped.
“What?” I asked.
She pulled the fabric back and I saw that my arm was completely healed. There was nothing left from the wound but a pale, fine scar.
“Let me see your hand,” I said.
Tori turned her palm up. Her cut was healed as well. She sat down beside me on the bench. “Did all of that just happen?” she asked.
“I think so,” I said.
“Is Brenna gone?”
“I really don’t know,” I admitted, “but at least the spirits are back where they belong.”
“What about the others?” she asked anxiously. “Our friends?”
“There’s only one way to find out,” I said. Screwing up my courage, I called out, “Beau?”
To my immense relief, the Colonel materialized in front of me. “Are you both unharmed?” he asked anxiously.
“We’re fine,” I said. “What happened in town?”
“The spirits all looked up at the same time as if someone had called to them,” he said. “They began streaming away from the square. I assume they came here?”
“Yes,” I said. “They all returned to their graves, and you’re still here.”
He looked down at me and smiled. “I am where I wish to be.”
“And the rest of
the regulars?”
Before he could answer, I heard a happy yelp and watched as Duke, the ghostly coonhound, came galloping into the graveyard. He dropped a glowing tennis ball at Beau’s feet, looking up at him expectantly.
As the old soldier bent to pick up the ball and throw it, he said, “I would say all is back as it should be.”
28
It’s tempting to say everything went back to normal, but there’s a lot of truth to the saying that “normal” is just a setting on the dryer. So much has changed — yet again — in such a short time that Tori and I both have some adjusting to do.
For starters, what we did in the cemetery when we fused our blood only seems to have strengthened the bond between us. I won’t say that we can exactly read each other’s minds, but we’ve come close a couple of times. Myrtle says that may be the beginnings of a telepathic connection or it could be temporary. She isn’t sure.
We haven’t heard anything else from Brenna Sinclair and I can’t see Knasgowa again until the moon is full, so we’re just hoping for the best on that one. Alexander Skea’s bones are safe in the basement along with the silver cup. We had a kind of second funeral for him, putting the strong box in a crypt set in the wall. Darby keeps fresh flowers in a sconce nearby.
As for the little guy, he and Tori are deep in plans for the coffee house. All the renovations are finished, the equipment is installed, and we’re set to have a grand opening party in about a week. Amity and Chase are keeping their shops open the night of the party. We’re hoping to host these events on a regular basis.
One thing we didn’t anticipate was that Howard McAlpin flat refused to go back into his grave. He is now the courthouse ghost in residence, but I have to tell you, he sucks at the job. The guy still can’t materialize anything but single body parts, but at least he’s quit calling for his death to be avenged since the truth about his crooked fishing victory is out.
Things at the cemetery are business as usual with one major change; the ghosts are free to come and go as they please. Most of them choose to stay where they are, but Beau is a regular in the shop and on the courthouse square. He now regards himself as a vital part of the Briar Hollow economy.
Witch at Odds: A Jinx Hamilton Mystery Book 2 (The Jinx Hamilton Mysteries) Page 19