Witch on Third (A Jinx Hamilton Mystery Book 6)

by Juliette Harper

  “An empty building that’s for sale,” he corrected her.

  Kelly’s jaw dropped. “You’re not seriously thinking about buying it, are you?”

  “I am,” he said. “Well, that is, if you agree. I met the owner at the Halloween carnival. He actually has two buildings for sale on the square. This one and the old hardware store over there on the corner. The price is good and I’m tired of being on the road all the time. This would put us closer to Jinx so you all can do your . . . thing . . . and I’ve always had it in the back of my mind that running a sporting goods store would be fun.”

  “But where would we live?” Kelly protested.

  “There’s an apartment over the store,” he said. “I have the key. You want to see it?”

  Not having the heart to throw a damper on his enthusiasm, she said, “Sure. Why not?”

  Jeff dug in his pocket and came up with a key on a white tag. He unlocked the front door and they both stepped into the abandoned retail space. Unlike Jinx’s store, this building had large windows on the front and side, flooding the ground floor with light. A staircase in back led upstairs to a newly remodeled apartment.

  “Oh!” Kelly said, running her hand along the granite counter in the kitchen. “This is nice.”

  “Come look at the view,” Jeff said, drawing her toward the living room where the windows afforded an unobstructed view of the mountains. “Pretty sweet, huh?”

  “It is,” Kelly agreed. “But, honey, you have six dogs.”

  “So?”

  “Six dogs in an apartment over a store?” she said. “Isn’t that kind of crazy?”

  “This place is at least twice as big as where Jinx lives, and she has four cats,” he said. “Besides, the city park is just two blocks down that way and they have a brand new dog run.”

  Kelly put her arm around his waist. “When did you track all this information down?” she asked.

  “This morning,” he said. “I wanted to have all my ducks lined up before I showed you. If we sell my truck, that will cover most of the down payment, and what we get for the house should bring the mortgage payments down to nothing. What do you say, honey? How about we have us an adventure and shake up our lives a little?”

  “Wouldn’t you say my returning to the magical world has done a pretty good job of shaking things up already?” she asked.

  Drawing her closer, he kissed her on the forehead. “In a real good way,” he said. “You’re happier than I’ve seen you since . . . ”

  “Since we had to give Connor up,” she said quietly.

  “Yeah,” Jeff admitted. “Since then. But we’re getting our boy back, honey. If we live here, that puts us closer to Jinx and to him. What do you think?”

  “I think it’s the most wonderful idea you’ve ever had,” she said, laying her head on his shoulder. “Let’s do it.”

  Mindy finished wiping down the counter and reached up to precisely re-align the cups with the edge of the shelf. She’d offered to work into the evening, but Tori assured her that she’d done more than enough for her first day.

  If Nick hadn’t sent a group text saying he was onto something big, Mindy might have protested more, but now she couldn’t wait to get back to the house to hear what he’d found.

  As she gathered up her things, Mindy dropped her purse and book in the new Witch’s Brew tote bag Tori gave her as a “welcome to the shop” gift. Then she stopped and stared at the bag. She could have sworn that the flying witch graphic only appeared on the front side.

  Shrugging, she picked the bag up, completely oblivious to the black-and-white rat who slipped into the tote as she turned to leave. Nor did she see the back door stand open just a fraction longer than normal when she stepped into the alley to walk home.

  Without realizing it, Mindy had passengers and a stalker. Operation Stowaway was a go.

  15

  Barnaby Shevington listened as Greer MacVicar described the documents discovered in Anton Ionescu’s office. When she finished, he said, “Tell Jinx and the others that Moira and I will be joining you this evening in Briar Hollow to discuss this matter in detail.”

  The baobhan sith’s green eyes flickered with unanswered questions. “Of course, Barnaby,” she said smoothly. “In the meantime, Lucas and I will try to find out more about this John Smyth person, presuming, of course, that we can determine his real identity.”

  Barnaby waved his hand and broke the signal originating from the lair. He could have used the same enchantment to arrange the call he now needed to make, but for that conversation, appearances would matter greatly. That meant using Moira’s mirror.

  “Innis,” he called out, “I’m going for a walk and then I have business in the human realm. Don’t wait supper for me.”

  The matronly brownie materialized out of thin air. “You’re not eating enough,” she declared stoutly, “and you’ll catch your death of cold out there.”

  “Yes, yes, Innis, so you tell me repeatedly,” Barnaby said. “If anything of importance comes up, I’ll be in Briar Hollow.”

  Shrugging into his greatcoat, he took leave of his disapproving housekeeper and headed around the corner and down the hill to Moira’s workshop, exchanging greetings with passing townsfolk along the way.

  Dewey, Moira’s dwarven assistant, answered the door, staring up at Barnaby from knee level. “We’re busy,” the dwarf said gruffly.

  “Dewey!” Moira said sharply. “Do not speak to the Lord High Mayor that way!”

  Completely unfazed by the reprimand, Dewey said, “Well, we are busy.”

  Smiling tolerantly, Barnaby said, “It’s fine, Moira. If you are in the middle of something, I can go to madam Kaveh’s for coffee and come back later.”

  “Nonsense,” Moira said. “That will be all for now, Dewey. I’ll call you when I need you.”

  The stout, barrel-shaped dwarf stalked away muttering something about “schedules” and “focus” before going into the garden and closing the door behind him with a resounding thud.

  Barnaby and Moira both burst out laughing.

  “He doesn’t approve of me, you know,” Barnaby said, stepping inside.

  Moira went to him and took his coat. “I know,” she said, offering him a kiss. “But I do approve of you. Very much.”

  Barnaby took her hand and allowed himself to be led to a chair by the fire. “What were you working on when I interrupted you?” he asked.

  “More breathing potion for the workers helping with the construction of the merfolk city,” she said. “They’ve chosen a name for the settlement by the way. The city will be called Qynn. It means ‘happy, strong, and graceful.’”

  Leaning forward to warm his hands, Barnaby said, “A most fitting appellation, who chose it?”

  “Lute himself,” Moira said. “When the various committees could not agree upon a name, he exerted his executive powers. No one thought to argue with him.”

  Barnaby chuckled. “Why would they? Most of the merfolk cannot remember a time when he was not their leader. Do you think the pace of the work pleases him?”

  Drawing her own chair closer, Moira said, “Lute’s great age and wisdom have granted him almost infinite patience. I cannot imagine him being displeased with anything.”

  “I almost envy him that,” Barnaby said. “More than 500 years in the waters of the deep ocean, witnessing the violence of storms, the demise of ships sinking to the ocean floor, the battles men have waged in their fragile surface vessels, and still he remains solid as a rock.”

  Moira laughed. “He would tell you he’s done nothing more than stay in his shell and continue to swim. Lute has a most droll sense of humor.”

  Barnaby shook his head. “Would you ever have thought a leatherback turtle, even a Fae one, would have a humorous streak?”

  “No,” Moira admitted, “but Lute is the only great sea turtle I have ever known.” Then, studying Barnaby’s face carefully, she said, “My darling, did you really walk down here against a stiff north wind to
discuss aquaculture with me?”

  “You know me too well,” he said. “I came to tell you that the McGregors found proof that Irenaeus has been seeking to acquire the Amulet of Caorunn.”

  Moira set back heavily. “But how can that be possible?” she said. “Surely the Witch of the Rowan has ensured the security of the amulet.”

  “Apparently she has not,” Barnaby said, “and that is why I have appeared on your doorstep and why I must ask you to come to Briar Hollow with me this evening. And, of course, I would not miss an opportunity to sit with you by the fire on a cold day.”

  She smiled. “If all we had to do was sit by this fire, how lucky we would be. I assume that tonight we must tell them about both amulets, the Phoenix and Caorunn.”

  “I fear so,” he said, “but first we must make a call, one that requires a grander scale than a mere magical channel.”

  “My mirror is at your service,” she said, “but to whom will this call be made?”

  “Reynold Isherwood.”

  A long second passed punctuated only by the crackling of the fire before Moira said, “So, the situation has become that serious.”

  Barnaby nodded gravely. “I fear it has,” he said. “You heard Greer MacVicar’s theory about how Irenaeus developed his temporal shifting device. He combined elements derived from multiple artifacts of power. What could that madman do if he fused the energies of two or more of the amulets?”

  “I honestly cannot answer that question,” Moira admitted. “So far as I know, the amulets have never been assembled in a single location.”

  “Irenaeus had the Amulet of the Phoenix and lost it when he allowed Brenna Sinclair to draw on its powers,” Barnaby said. “He must know Colonel Longworth relies on the amulet to remain corporeal. I know Irenaeus. He undoubtedly believes he can retrieve the amulet any time he wishes, an act that would now visit great pain upon Jinx. That alone would appeal to his sadistic nature. Now Festus and Chase have found evidence that Irenaeus authorized Anton to negotiate for the purchase of the Amulet of Caorunn.”

  Moira stared into the fire. “The merging of the oak and the rowan,” she said slowly. “Interesting.”

  “What are you thinking?” Barnaby asked.

  “Many things,” she said. “I must consider the alchemical ramifications of such a combination. After we speak with Reynold, I will require some time with my books.”

  “Time I will happily sit staring into these flames,” he said tiredly. “I’ve been doing a great deal of that these past few nights.”

  “I know,” Moira said softly, “but you cannot blame yourself. The Amulet of the Phoenix was missing for centuries.”

  Barnaby sighed. “There is no need for such careful speech, Moira. The amulet disappeared when it was ripped from my murdered wife’s neck by her killer. I have never wanted to believe Irenaeus killed Adeline, but I fear that tonight I will be called upon to explain how I have handled things, and in so doing, to tell Jinx and the others everything.”

  “In truth,” Moira said, “would it not lighten the burden on your soul? You are guilty of nothing but thinking better of those who did not deserve your faith in them.”

  “Perhaps,” he said, “but we can speak of all that later. Now I think it’s time to contact Reynold.”

  Moira raised her hand and beckoned to an ornate standing mirror sitting at ground level below the alcove that held her desk. The mirror obediently glided toward her, positioning itself in front of their chairs and to the right of the fire.

  “I hope this works,” she said. “It’s been a very long time since we initiated contact with the Elders.”

  As Moira softly chanted the calling spell, a small mass of smoke formed in the center of the mirror’s silver surface. The vapors wavered, lengthening then contracting before the amorphous cloud coalesced to reveal the interior of the Ruling Elders’ council chamber. The Executive Elder, Reynold Isherwood, tried and failed to hide his shock.

  “Lord High Mayor, Alchemist, greetings,” he said stiffly. “This is quite a surprise.”

  “Greetings Chief Elder,” Barnaby said. “And if we may drop the formalities, allow me to say you are looking well, Reynold.”

  Isherwood raised an eyebrow. “As are you, Barnaby,” he said. “For men of our age and experience, we seem to be holding up well. But you, dear Moira, you are as ageless as always.”

  Moira smiled. “Still gallant, I see,” she said. “How is Thomasin?”

  This time Isherwood’s smile was genuine. “Still far too good for the man she married.”

  “Please give her my best wishes,” Moira said. “I hope to see her again one day.”

  “That is her hope as well,” Isherwood said. “We both feel that this schism between the New and Old Worlds must be healed.”

  Capitalizing on that opening, Barnaby said, “Then we begin with a point of agreement, which, unfortunately, leads me to pose a difficult question. Why did you not inform us that the Amulet of Caorunn had been stolen?”

  Isherwood’s features hardened. “Perhaps for the same reason you failed to tell us that the Amulet of the Phoenix had been found.”

  Barnaby shook his head. “Reynold,” he said, “let us not immediately retreat into an angry impasse. Forgive me. The story of the Amulet of the Phoenix entwines so closely with my own history that I confess I have rather come to think of it as my own. For that, I apologize.”

  Isherwood inclined his head. “Given your late wife’s station in service to the Mother Oak,” he said, “I quite understand that sentiment — even in the face of what I assume is your understanding that the amulets belong only to the trees from whose blood they were formed. For my own pugnaciousness, I beg your pardon.”

  Barnaby smiled disarmingly, choosing to ignore Isherwood’s attempt to lecture him.

  “It is refreshing to see that even as we advance in years, we can still summon the fires of our youth to be pugnacious, Reynold,” he said. “Let us try again. When the Amulet of the Phoenix resurfaced, I spoke in private with the Mother Oak about how to appropriately handle the matter. It was on her counsel that I acted. In truth, given the centuries of strained relations between the continents, I did not think to contact you.”

  Although he seemed loathe to admit it, Isherwood could not hide his curiosity. “May I be privy to the Mother Oak’s position regarding the reappearance of her amulet?” he asked.

  “She told me that the amulet would naturally fall into the hands of its next rightful steward,” Barnaby replied, “and I believe that it has.”

  “And who might that person be?”

  “A confidante of the Witch of the Oak,” Barnaby replied.

  “Which would be Fiona Ryan,” Isherwood said.

  Barnaby looked at him appraisingly. “You seem to know quite a lot about Shevington’s sphere of influence given that we have not officially communicated with the Ruling Elders since the 16th century,” he said.

  “One hears things,” Isherwood smiled.

  “One has not apparently heard that there is a new Witch of the Oak,” Barnaby said, barely keeping an edge out of his voice. “Jinx Hamilton, Fiona’s niece, has come into her powers. She is the one for whom the Mother Oak has waited.”

  This time Isherwood made no attempt to hide either his astonishment or his knowledge of Shevington. “You have repaired the break in the line of Knasgowa?” he asked.

  “I repaired nothing,” Barnaby said. “The Daughters found their own way back. Now, I have been forthcoming with you. I ask the same courtesy in return regarding the Amulet of Caorunn. What has become of it?”

  Isherwood’s countenance took on a hooded quality. “How, may I ask, did you learn of the amulet’s status?”

  A frown creased Barnaby’s face. “Really, Reynold, this sparring about our covert means of information gathering will get us nowhere. We have both expressed our belief in the need for a spirit of accord. I suggest we begin to actually work from that position.”

  Isherwood looked a
s if he wanted to snap back, but reining in his temper, he said tightly, “Your point is well taken. Forgive my tone, but an answer to my question would be helpful.”

  “Very well,” Barnaby said. “We have reason to believe that Chesterfield has been negotiating the purchase of the amulet through a rather common thief based in Edinburgh.”

  Isherwood sat up. “Does Irenaeus have the amulet?” he asked urgently.

  “I truly do not know, Reynold,” Barnaby said, “but to speak honestly with the Witch of the Oak and with those who work beside her, I must have some sense of the seriousness of the threat we are facing. It seems that Irenaeus plans to move against the Grid. Are any of the other amulets missing?”

  Any shade of pretense disappeared when Isherwood answered. “They are not, Barnaby, and the Amulet of Caorunn must not be allowed to fall into Irenaeus Chesterfield’s hands.”

  In spite of his best efforts, Barnaby could not stop himself. “I warned you, Reynold. I told you the Creavit heresy would threaten the integrity of the entire magical world.”

  The man stiffened visibly at the criticism. “Not all Creavit are evil,” he said. “There are many distinguished made families in Europe who have shown great dedication in working with us to craft the integrity of the magical world.”

  “Can you be completely certain of that, Reynold?” Barnaby asked softly. “The Creavit are creatures of infinite patience.”

  A sardonic smile twisted Isherwood’s features. “Well, you would certainly be in a position to know that, wouldn’t you, Barnaby?”

  With a dismissive gesture, Isherwood broke the enchantment and the mirror went blank. Moira quietly reached for Barnaby’s hand. “Do not let his words affect you,” she said. “Have no doubt about who you are.”

  Entwining his fingers with hers, he said, “I know who I am, but now I must summon the courage to speak of who I was and pray that Jinx and the others do not judge me harshly for it.”

  16

  Glory breathed a sigh of relief when Mindy put the tote bag down in the living room of the newly cleaned and hastily “decorated” Pike house. During the jostling walk from the shop, the corner of Mindy’s book had jabbed Glory in the ribs with every other step.