Kelly looked up at her taller friend. “Doing all of that isn’t only for us,” she said seriously. “Anton was right. The girls are monsters now. He wanted to free them and couldn’t. We have to do it for him, Gemma. We may not have been responsible for their first deaths, but we have to see them truly dead, once and for all.”
Gemma made a sour face. “Can I let them eat Scrap first?” she asked.
Kelly couldn’t help giggling. “You don’t know that he’s seeing someone. Scrap is perfectly capable of being clueless enough to buy perfume for you that you hate.”
“Okay, fine,” Gemma said grudgingly. “My husband is as thick as one of his two-by-fours, but he better come up with some damned convincing answers or Seraphina and Ioana won’t be the only ones winding up at the bottom of this cliff.”
Tori and I stood on the side of the road over the wreck site with Greer while the Moms moved off to one side. I knew the experience of visiting the scene had to be emotional for them both in a way only they could share.
For years they believed — or at least Mom believed — Seraphina and Ioana died from a spell cast to make the girls late for cheerleader tryouts. It wasn’t true, but the ramifications of the car crash were still far reaching and tragic.
Greer was talking to us about realigning our conception of time, suggesting that we not see it as a linear progression but rather as a data stream that could be accessed at given points. Suddenly, and without warning, she laughed. Tori and I exchanged a “look” of our own.
“What’s so funny?” Tori asked.
“Your mother,” Greer replied, “having a bit of sport with my vampiric senses at a distance. She and Jinx’s mother will be joining us shortly. I believe they are processing being on this spot for the first time with an awareness of their innocence involving the automobile crash.”
She was right. We didn’t have to wait long for the Moms to join us. As they walked up, I looked at Greer and said, “Okay, now what?”
“We already know the four of you can merge your powers,” she said. “None of you possess temporal magic. I suggest you meld as you did night before last and then bring me into the joining. When we are united, you should be able to use the essence of your psychometric power to see how, and when, Irenaeus Chesterfield was here.”
Gemma nodded. “Coven magic,” she said simply.
“Yes,” Greer replied, “a standard matter of course for witches.”
Yeah. Maybe other witches. Back at the beginning of the summer, Aunt Fiona told me that one of my jobs was to rebuild the Briar Hollow coven. Thankfully, that task had been shoved on the back burner because I had no idea how to round up additional witches to swell our numbers to thirteen.
“Tori and I have never worked with a coven,” I admitted.
Mom reached for my hand. “Gemma and I have,” she said. “You know how to do this, honey. Coven magic is what we used to call the lightning. Open your heart and mind. Your power will find the right conduit.”
With that, she reached for Gemma’s hand, and I reached for Tori. The instant we all made contact, our combined magic began to hum distantly at the edge of my consciousness. I let the tone rise. With the growing volume came the sense of a wavering light. Dropping all my barriers, I allowed both fully formed into the heart of my perception. When I did, the sound and the light merged, flowing over and through us until we stood at the center of perfect clarity.
When I turned to say something to Greer, iridescent green flames lit her pupils and the large ruby ring on her left hand pulsated with a carmine rhythm. At the same moment, Tori and I released each other and drew Greer toward us. When her fingers entwined with ours, an alien energy entered the circle. Something warm and chained, equal parts passion and hunger.
“Open your mind’s eye, Jinx Hamilton,” Greer said, the burr of her native Scotland thick on her tongue. “Show us the passing of time in this place.”
I had foolishly expected my vision to go instantly to Chesterfield. Instead, we saw the changing of the seasons on the side of the mountain. The falling of the snow and the warm thaw of spring. Flowers bloomed, only to die and give way to the golden leaves of fall.
The mountain changed around us, pristine in one moment, shaped by the hand of man in another. First, there was only a dirt track fit for wagons snaking out of the slopes. Then came the dynamite, the movement of earth, and the laying of pavement.
Model T trucks passed us, then semis with rocking loads of lumber. And then, a red 1975 Toyota Corolla carrying Seraphina and Ioana.
The magic afforded us a view better than a GNATS drone. We saw everything all at once, from every angle — including Irenaeus Chesterfield standing hidden in the woods opposite the cliff.
In the sliver of time before Seraphina lost control of the car, his arm shot out sending a rippling wave of transparent energy across the road and into the car. The force drove the vehicle over the cliff as a light, misty rain began to fall.
Chesterfield drew out a black silk handkerchief and delicately mopped at his brow, taking the time to fold the cloth before putting it away. Then he leisurely walked to the edge of the cliff and surveyed the wreckage, admiring his handiwork.
Reaching under his raincoat, presumably into the breast pocket of his suit, the wizard extracted a small brass pin that he tossed skyward. The pin caught in mid-air and began to spin slowly.
“Memores estote, et vigilate,” Chesterfield commanded, sending the pin plunging deep into the earth at his feet.
“Remember and alert.”
We had our beacon.
Greer let go of our hands and stepped out of the circle, the envelope of our shared magic reforming in the space she left behind. I took Tori’s hand again. We slowly let the joining fade until once again we stood in the sunlight of a cool fall morning.
“Does he know we’re here now?” Mom asked.
Greer shook her head. “No,” she said, “the marker was for a point in time, not the present. He doesn’t know.”
It wasn’t a huge advantage, but it was something.
We managed to catch Chase and Festus before they left for Raleigh. Greer wanted to talk to Festus about the day he faced off against Chesterfield.
The Creavit wizard had been attempting to engineer a land grab in the area around Briar Hollow prior to the passage of the legislation that created the Blue Ridge Parkway. When it looked as if Congress would pass the bill and snatch the land out from under him, Chesterfield headed for Washington with a bag full of bribe money. Festus and Moira, the resident alchemist in Shevington, stopped his train.
With no regard for the humans present, Chesterfield fired off an energy bolt at Moira who had to defend herself. In the running magical duel that ensued, Festus took a shot to the hip that melted the joint. Shapeshifters can heal from almost anything by changing forms, but in this instance, the damage was too great. Now Festus has only one option; a human hip replacement. But if he does that, he’ll never be able to shift again because the device wouldn’t change with him.
That’s why Festus lives in his house cat form. He limps, but when he needs to, he picks up the bad leg and lets the other three do the work. If you’ve never seen a three-legged cat get around, trust me, the old boy still has mad moves. He is, however, troubled by arthritis, which explains the long hours spent sunning or snoozing in front of the fire. Well, that and the fact that when he’s not working, Festus raises all definitional standards for the phrase “lazy tomcat.”
Even though Festus was hurt, he and Moira managed to capture Chesterfield. She clouded the minds of the human witnesses, implanting false memories of the incident. Since she had stopped the train by blocking the tracks with a landslide, extrapolating on that scenario in a way the people there would accept was simple. Greer wanted to go over the events with Festus to see if Chesterfield had shown any evidence of working temporal magic that day, or of implanting one of his beacons on the scene.
Since I knew the backstory, I declined Greer’s invitat
ion to join them. “If you learn anything new,” I said, “you can fill me in later. I want to have a cup of tea with my mother now.”
The tall redhead regarded me curiously. “Is there something amiss?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “I just want to spend some time with her. The last 48 hours have been pretty intense.”
“Without a doubt,” Greer agreed, “but Kelly has acquitted herself more than admirably.”
I looked toward my mother who was standing behind the counter in the espresso bar preparing the tea with Rodney perched on her shoulder.
Rodney, a handsome (and scary smart) black-and-white domestic rat, was left at the door of the shop in a cage shortly before Mom’s sister, my Aunt Fiona, faked her death to move to Shevington. When I inherited the store, my powers awakened.
“Mom’s been pretty amazing, hasn’t she?” I said. The words came out undeniably proud and slightly baffled.
The mixed tone of my response wasn’t lost on Greer. “You don’t know this side of her, do you?” she asked.
Behold the understatement of the century.
“The mother I know puts plastic on the good sofa to protect the upholstery,” I admitted. “That woman over there? She’s incredible — and I have no idea who the hell she is.”
Greer chuckled. “I reacted the same way to my Mum the first time I saw her in action.”
“You had a . . .”
Greer’s grin broadened when I blushed with embarrassment. “Oh, God, Greer,” I stammered. “We just keep saying stupid stuff to you. I am so sorry.”
“Not stupid,” she said. “You know nothing of my kind save Hollywood drivel. You believe vampires are created from living humans, but I was born as I am. My mother is also baobhan sith.”
Well, okay, if she was willing to talk, I figured I might as well try to learn something.
“And your father?” I asked.
“Shall we say he was a dinner date gone wrong and leave it at that?” Greer suggested.
Dinner date?
Oh!
Yeah. We could leave it. Totally.
When I clearly had no come back for her statement, Greer graciously explained anyway. “Baobhan sith magic dominates any union in which we engage. All children born to us are female. My mother shaped every aspect of who I am now from the moment of my conception.”
“Are you immortal like the Creavit?” I asked.
“By your reckoning, yes,” Greer said. “We are among the oldest of the Fae beings. Because of that, it is rare for a baobhan sith to choose to bear a child. Although she would kill you, literally, before she would admit it, Mum has a bit of a sentimental streak, or I would not be here.”
“Are the two of you close?” I asked.
Greer continued to smile, but I saw something in her eyes, like a crack spreading through stone. “We were,” she said, “but she does not share my affinity for the people you would refer to as the ‘good guys.’ She disowned me when I began to work with the DGI.”
The inescapable conclusion to be drawn from that statement? Greer’s mother was one of the bad guys. I decided not to ask and Greer didn’t offer any more information. Still, something told me to pray that we never had to tangle with Mama MacVicar.
6
After Greer had gone down to the lair, Gemma and Tori opted to go for a walk. They had things to talk about as well, but I could tell they were both too keyed up to sit still. That left me, my mother, Rodney, and a pot of tea in the deserted espresso bar.
Normally we’d open for a few hours on a Sunday afternoon, but since no one was in a mood to deal with customers we left the “closed” sign firmly in place on the front door.
Mom went the full nine yards with the tea, using the good, loose leaf stuff and covering the pot with a cozy I didn’t even know we owned.
The delicate porcelain cup she handed me felt incredibly fragile, but elegant and soothing at the same time. When I drink coffee, I prefer a cup roughly the size of a gallon jug.
“Where did you find these cups?” I asked, sipping the steaming liquid. I then added, “And what kind of tea is this?” The smoky, full-bodied taste surprised me. This was not the kind of tea that comes in little bags at the grocery store.
“These were mother’s,” Mom said, lovingly running her finger around the gold rim of the cup. “Fiona had them upstairs in one of the cabinets. The tea is lapsang souchong, mother’s favorite.”
At that, Rodney tapped Mom on the shoulder and pointed at her cup.
“Want to try some, Rodney?” she asked.
He nodded enthusiastically.
Mom put her cup down and picked up her spoon, which she half-filled with tea. “Come down on the table so we don’t slosh any,” she said.
Obediently, Rodney trotted down her arm and sat up on his haunches. Mom held the spoon out, warning, “Be careful, it’s hot.”
I swear to you, he blew on the tea before he took a sip, then worked the liquid around in his mouth.
“Well?” Mom said. “What do you think?”
Rodney gave her the thumbs up.
“You want some more?”
When he nodded, Mom ladled several spoonfuls into her saucer and put it in front of the rat, who began to lap happily.
“What would Grandma say about that?” I asked her.
“She would say I should give him a proper cup,” Mom chuckled.
My grandmother died seven years ago, in 2008. Festus described her to me once as a woman with so much power it would “curl your whiskers.” I only knew her as a little old church lady, and I’m ashamed to say I didn’t spend as much time with her as I should have.
“Grandma was 88 when she died, right?” I asked.
“Yes,” Mom said, “almost 89. Why?”
It was my turn to toy with my cup.
“What do you want to ask me, Norma Jean?” Mom asked when it became clear I couldn’t get the words out.
Have you ever kept a question inside so long the yearning to know the answer built up like steam in a kettle? That’s how I felt when I blurted out, “Are we human?”
“Ah,” Mom said, “I wondered when we’d get around to having this conversation. The magic in our family runs through the women; you understand that?”
I nodded.
“For the most part, all the Daughters of Knasgowa have married human men, but the Fae blood finds the girls in each generation,” she explained. “My brothers are dead signals. They couldn’t work magic to save their lives, but they know of our world and keep our secret. My sisters have varying degrees of ability, but none of them are strongly drawn to practice. Fiona and I were the most powerful.”
There are nine Ryan children. Aunt Fiona is the oldest and mom is the baby. I tried to envision my aunts and uncles being part of the Fae world, but all the images in my mind were of Thanksgiving dinners and family reunion barbecues. That, coupled with the conversation I’d just had with Greer, led in part to my next question.
“So we’re Fae, but we don’t live as long as Barnaby or Moira?” I asked.
“We would if we spent as much time actually working magic and living in the Otherworld as they do,” Mom said. “Since the days of Knasgowa herself, the women in our family have chosen to live primarily among humans. We opted for a degree of normalcy, but with trade offs. That’s why Fiona decided to move to Shevington. She loves life too much to give it up anytime soon.”
We both laughed at that. Aunt Fiona inherited a cottage in Shevington from her friend Endora Endicott, the woman who raised my brother, Connor. Now happily ensconced in the Fae community, Fiona trades gardening tips with her next door neighbor, Stan, who happens to be a Sasquatch. He also raises bunnies and grows roses.
Stan’s taken the Shevington Rose Cup for the past five years running. Fiona has vowed to win it next year, and good natured rivals or not, they’re both determined never to relinquish the title to Hester McElroy, the local innkeeper and their arch nemesis.
A word of advice. Do not
get any of these people started on the subject of the acidic qualities of unicorn manure — especially rainbow unicorn manure — as fertilizer for roses. They won’t shut up for hours.
Mom reached over the table and took hold of my hand. “Honey,” she said, “there’s more to humanity than genetics. Look at Stan. In this realm, he’s seen as a monster, but I’ve never known a more humane being. For a long time, I tried to deny my true nature. That’s not the way to be happy. We’re Fae witches. That’s the journey we were meant to take.”
“Are you happy now?” I asked.
“Happier than I’ve been in years,” Mom said, “and my happiness will be complete when we bring your brother home.”
“Since that night when you and Gemma faced Brenna, your powers have been growing by leaps and bounds,” I said. “It’s like I don’t even know who you are anymore.”
A cloud of doubt passed over Mom’s face. “Are you sorry that my powers reawakened?”
“Are you kidding me?” I said. “Mom, you’re a badass!”
For just an instant I thought she was going to lecture me about my language, but then she stopped and grinned. “Yeah,” she said, a little shyly. “I kinda am, aren’t I?”
Gemma and Tori stepped out the back door of the shop together and headed down the alley behind George and Irma’s grocery store. They reached the street and turned left, passing through a mostly deserted residential neighborhood. At the edge of town, a well-worn path led mother and daughter into the cover of the woods.
The soft October air and the carpet of fallen leaves muffled their steps and soothed their hearts. When they came upon a tiny, meandering stream, Gemma gestured to a fallen tree. “Let’s sit for a while,” she suggested.
Tori joined her mother on the log. “Whenever I come out here,” she said, “I know I have Druid blood. The trees make me feel better.”
“You’re about to learn more about trees than you ever imagined,” Gemma said. “All these trees around us? They’re connected to the Mother Trees, too, in a web of life that crosses the In Between and transcends the realms.”
Witch on Third (A Jinx Hamilton Mystery Book 6) Page 5