by Erin Hayes
Thinking about Euros brought up other feelings and thoughts that she wasn’t entirely sure she was ready to analyze. He’d had the nerve to kiss her, to think it was okay, just because she’d agreed to go on this wild adventure to some alternate dimension.
It seemed like nothing more than a strange dream, except that she remembered everything that had happened, every single sensation that she felt from Euros, and his magic. Some of those sensations weren’t entirely due to his magic, and those were the feelings that confused her most. The weird disjointed feelings in her body seemed logical, the obvious thing that happened when you were torn into atoms and hurtled through space and time.
But the other feelings—the emotions stirred up by seeing Euros again—those completely unnerved her, and made her question everything about herself and how she was still tangled up in her desire for him. Not to mention how she felt when he wrapped his arms around her, even for just a few minutes. And the kiss…she’d been caught off guard, but somehow it hadn’t been a complete surprise. It had taken all her willpower to pull away from him. And even more determination to walk away.
“Get to work, Sharpe. Stop daydreaming, or whatever you’re doing.”
She glanced up at Fisher, resisted giving the finger to his retreating back, and picked up the phone. The first person on the list to call was one of the housekeepers. In her mind, she framed her approach, as she pushed the buttons on the phone. Then the woman answered, and there was no more time to think about Euros, or magic, or how much he still affected her.
It was time to do her job in the real world, with real live people, and not magical beings from another world.
Mixt was there, waiting. If Euros had to put a word to it, Mixt looked agitated, probably pacing back and forth, impatiently waiting for him to return.
“That took far too long. This is urgent. And what prompted you to bring that mortal here to this world? What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking she was the most qualified person to help us. And I don’t have to ask your permission to bring a mortal here, Mixt. I work both sides of the portal. And she needed to see this world to understand what’s happening in hers.”
“You brought her here to show off. You’re still in love with her.”
Euros took a long breath, trying to push down the rising anger. Mixt was someone he considered a friend, or sometimes even a father figure, if anyone could consider that of Mixt. But now…
“Whatever my motives, I needed her to know what was at stake. And to do that, I needed to show her where I came from. That’s all there is to it.”
Some of the tension left Mixt’s slender body. He stopped pacing, his robes slowly settling around him. “Fine. What’s done, is done.” Mixt turned away, and Euros followed.
They fell into step, and started down the path together. It had been decades since Euros had met with Mixt anywhere else besides here, under the big trees. Those meetings had been brief, but this, evidenced by Mixt’s moving further away from the portals, gave Euros the impression he was expected to stay longer.
There was a small building set back from the path, and Mixt walked up the narrow walk, opened the door, and allowed Euros to enter.
The room was larger than it seemed, from looking up at the building from the outside. But Euros knew it was the work of magic, the ability to expand, and compress space. If he’d ever built a home here in the Other World, rather than an apartment in the mortal world, he’d do the same thing: create a building that was small and unobtrusive on the outside, but as big and lavish as he wanted on the inside.
But lavish wasn’t Mixt’s style. The room had a strong religious feel, almost like the inside of a monastery. The furniture was simple, carved wood with dark green cushions. The windows were leaded glass, hung with thick curtains. It was austere, but at the same time comfortable.
“Sit.”
Euros did as he was told, taking a large chair beside a table. Mixt poured a pale green liquid into glasses, and set one in front of Euros. For a minute, he debated whether to ask what it was, but he felt he was already pushing the boundaries of Mixt’s patience. He waited for the man to take the chair across from him.
“What did you learn from your mortal detective?”
“She got me into the first crime scene. Mixt, the magic there is amazingly dark, pure evil…something I’ve never encountered, not here, not anywhere.”
“And do you know who, or what, created this magic?”
“Not yet. But I know it’s female, that’s for certain. And I think I know what the motive was.”
“Motive?”
“They took a page out of a book. It was a Materia Magica.”
Mixt’s delicate brows drew down, making the faintest crease between his eyes. “And what do you think a creature from here would want with that? It’s a list for making potions, yes?”
“Yes, it is. Potions are nothing more than liquid spells, so clearly someone wants to work some kind of magic that doesn’t come naturally to them.”
“What was on the list?”
“Belladonna caught my eye.”
Mixt raised an eyebrow. “Deadly nightshade. Poisonous to mortals, damaging to us. But by itself, not a reason to be alarmed.”
“I’d agree but…” Euros closed his eyes. In his mind, he recreated the image of the list, then projected it into Mixt’s mind.
For Euros, the page hovered there, perfectly clear, each word bold, and highlighted against the cream paper. As he read the page in his mind, single words grew larger, glowing with an edge of bright magic. The Latin was familiar, but he translated to a common language, saying the words slowly.
“Laurel, Hemlock, Carnation, Echinacea, Tormentil…” The words rose and sank back, as he read down the list. It went on, more than twenty, growing more esoteric as the list went on.
“There are amounts listed with each, along with preparation methods. Standard there—dried and ground, made into a tincture, used fresh. The margin has illustrations of the flowers, interwoven with branches of hemlock and laurel.”
Euros opened his eyes to find Mixt sitting with his fingers tented beneath his chin. For a moment, they sat in silence. Then Mixt opened his eyes, turning slowly toward Euros. The expression in those eyes chilled him.
“Do you know what this is?”
“No. I don’t. What is it? What potion does it make?”
Mixt leaned forward, eyes burning into Euros’s. “It’s not a potion.” The man waved a slender hand. “It’s something anyone, even a mortal Wiccan, could create. You only need to walk through a graveyard to find the ingredients. No, Euros. It’s where this page came from, the grimoire it was torn from, that is most alarming.”
“What grimoire is this from?”
Mixt drew back, but Euros sensed the tension in the man. “You know how the portals were sealed, correct? You have not forgotten your history, while living with mere mortals?”
Angry words rose in Euros’s throat, but he held back. “Yes, Mixt. I’m aware of my history. The Elders destroyed most of the portals, but left some intact. Those were sealed with magic. It’s the very reason that you and I evolved, as Gatekeepers. To ensure the magic remains intact.”
“That’s all correct, Euros. But either your Master failed to share vital information with you, or your mind has grown soft, and you’ve forgotten.”
Euros drummed his fingers on the table, bristling. “Stop with the insinuations as to my sanity or training. We don’t have time for this, Mixt.”
Mixt’s expression went cold. “It’s from the grimoire that was used to seal the portals. Is that clear enough for you?”
Everything inside Euros came to a standstill. It felt as if his heart had stopped in midbeat. As if his lungs refused to fill. As if his blood had frozen. He swallowed hard.
“But that can’t be. That grimoire was destroyed. How can this be? The Elders…”
“Euros, you should know something as powerful as that grimoire could never be d
estroyed. It would not allow itself to be. Once the book was assembled, and the spells cast, it became almost a sentient being. But…it could be, and was, disassembled. Reluctantly.”
“And what happened to the pieces?”
“They were thrown into the mortal world, where the Elders thought no one with the knowledge to understand it, would ever find it. The pieces—the Materia Magica torn out, the body of the book, the binding and closure—all flung to the far corners of the mortal world, a world without magic. What good is it there? It’s useless.”
“Unless someone knew our history, and found the pieces.”
“Yes... and is reassembling the grimoire.”
With a rush of adrenaline, Euros rose. “I need to find Jessica. I need to know…”
“You need to control your emotions. You are becoming mortal.”
The chiding tone of Mixt’s voice grated on his nerves, but there were more important issues than reminding Mixt of who Euros was in this world.
“Sit back down for a moment, and tell me what else you discovered. There may be things I can do here, while you’re off chasing…”
With impatience, Euros sat back down in the chair. As hard as it was to admit, he needed to be logical and methodical with this, to examine what he knew, to use Mixt to help him put these few pieces together. Time was on his side, and he knew that while he was in his world, Jessica was suspended in time. He could go back to her whenever he wanted. Forcing himself to take a breath, he nodded at Mixt.
“Fine. You’re right.” That drew another raised eyebrow from Mixt, but Euros ignored that. “You know Jessica said there was fox fur found at the scene. I saw the footprint in the backyard. It wasn’t a dog track. The magic was very strong in that area, and the trail led out the back, the tracks and magic matching perfectly.” That was accurate, or as close as he was going to admit to Mixt.
“So, we have part of the grimoire, a possible fox at the scene. What else?”
Euros was relieved to see Mixt was less interested now in Euros’s perceived failings as a Gatekeeper, and more in the case.
“Jessica said there were some unusual findings with Lansing’s body during the autopsy. There was blood missing from the cavity.”
“Fascinating…missing blood…”
Euros didn’t think it was fascinating at all. The thought that someone was using magic to drain the lifeblood from victims, horrified him.
“Mixt, it’s clear someone is trying to reconstruct the grimoire. But who would have the power to use it? It can’t be a mortal. They would have no idea what it was, much less how to use it. It was hung in a frame on a wall. The Lansings thought it was just pretty artwork. They would never have known what it was.”
“No. It’s clearly a magical being who understands the power of reassembling the grimoire. But not just any magical being… it’s someone who desperately wants to cross through the portals. But only Gatekeepers, like us, have that ability. Unless…”
“Unless we have a rogue Gatekeeper?”
Mixt’s eyes went wide. “I hardly believe that would be possible. There aren’t that many of us, and I trust them all. The ramifications would be immense, if that were true. We would have known that, felt it…wouldn’t we? And besides, if it is a Gatekeeper, they could enter the portal without the grimoire, but you said you didn’t feel the dark magic cross through, right?”
“Yeah, I’m certain whoever is responsible for this hasn’t gotten through the portal. At least not yet. I don’t know, Mixt. I really don’t know.”
“Well, we better find out.”
Jessica hung up the phone. She’d worked her way through the first half of the page of names that Fisher had given her in the span of a couple of hours. Most were employees, a few friends of the family, and a handful of relatives. It was split evenly, she thought, between employees who were almost overjoyed that Parnell was dead, and friends and family who were devastated. It made her wonder the difference between how the man treated his friends and family, compared to how he treated his employees.
So far, she’d learned more about the man than she ever wanted to know. His housekeeper was ready to tell all about Parnell’s love life, his strange habits in the bedroom and the things she’d had to wash out of his sheets. But she had nothing valuable to offer.
One person who seemed genuinely devastated at the loss, was the man who looked after the book room. Jessica pictured him as the stereotypical librarian: receding hairline, wire-rimmed glasses perched on the end of a long thin nose, pursed lips making that disapproving shushing sound that only librarians could make. Maybe they were trained to be that way, or it was a genetic disposition.
At any rate, the man was clearly upset, not so much over the fact that Parnell was dead; he seemed rather distanced from emotion on that, but was distraught that the absence of Parnell meant the latest shipment of books bought at auction was in limbo. He had called Jessica back several times throughout the morning with various questions. Was he supposed to unpack the shipment? Would he still be required to curate the exhibit? Some of the pieces were very rare and he was worried that the gallery owner might be allowed access to the new collection without him. He didn’t trust her to unpack them in his absence. Jessica told him she’d get back to him when the crime scene was released. Making one more note among a million notes, she pushed away from her desk, and then dropped her head into her hands.
“Making any progress?”
Tension gripped her muscles, before she realized it was Derek. She looked up as he set a cup of coffee on the corner of her desk, then dropped into the chair beside her.
“You eat any breakfast? It’s almost ten, you know?” He took a sip of coffee, and grimaced. From the look on his face, and from the acrid smell from her cup, she knew she’d be drinking the stuff at her own risk. But she took a swallow anyway. And she was right, she’d be better off without it.
“Fisher’s been on my ass all morning. I’ve managed a bathroom break, and even then, I think he followed me to make sure I was only in there the appropriate amount of time. I’m not sure how he’s getting any work done himself with all the time he spends shadowing me.”
“He’s got Adams and Roach doing most of the leg work. He is going to send them to the autopsy. Isn’t going to bother to go himself.”
That caught her attention. “Really? Did Dr. Greene said anything before you left the scene?? Were there any similarities to Lansing?”
“Yeah. I heard Dr. Greene was freaked out when he started looking at the body more closely, which I’d have paid good money to see. It’s not easy to rattle that man and that’s why he was still at the scene last time I checked. He wants to make sure he hasn’t overlooked anything before he moves the body. I wish you had been there, too. This is a raw deal. And I know you think so, even if you’re not going to say it out loud.”
“The walls have ears, Derek. I’m pretty sure they bugged my pen holder.”
Derek coughed, spitting coffee on his lap. For the first time that day, Jessica felt something like a smile tug at her lips. She reached for a tissue, offering it to Derek. Taking the tissue, he made several ineffectual swipes at his lap, dabbing at the stain. “These just came back from the cleaners. Rachel’s going to kill me.”
“Serves you right for wearing clothes you can’t wash.” She leaned back, some of the tension leaving her. She’d missed this, the joking, the camaraderie, just shooting the shit with Derek. She could have that, could go back to that, if she could survive this case.
“I dress for success, Jessica. Always have.” He dropped his coffee cup into her trash can, and stood up. “Can’t be showing up like you, in yesterday’s clothes.”
He gave her a not-so gentle punch to her shoulder, and walked away. If anyone else had said that, she’d have gotten pissed off and wanted to challenge him. But Derek could get away with that.
Her cell phone chirped. Fishing it out of her pocket, she blinked in surprise at the display. With a glance at her pen holder,
she slowly raised the phone to her ear.
“You shouldn’t be calling me while I am at work.” It was harder to whisper without looking like she was trying to hide something. Across the room, she saw Fisher standing by the whiteboard, his back to her. But she could almost see his ears turning toward her, like somehow, he could hear her over the chatter in the room.
“I had no choice, Jess. I need information.”
“Euros, I can’t…not here. And you can’t come here. You know that.”
“I need to know what was taken from Parnell’s home. If there was magic there…and if anything was stolen.”
“Why would you think anything was stolen? No one said…”
“Because of what was taken from Lansing’s house. I know what it was, and I think I know what’s behind the murders, but I need to know what was taken from Parnell’s.”
“Listen…” To her horror, Fisher turned, as if drawn to the sound of her voice.
“I have to go.”
“No. Jessica…please. This involves more than just murders. It involves the safety of the portals between the worlds.”
“But how does that concern me?” Fisher was making his lumbering way across the room toward her. “That’s not my problem.” With Fisher bearing down on her, she took the phone away from her ear.
“There will be another murder, Jessica.”
Her hand froze, her eyes on Fisher, as he docked himself at her desk. “Sharpe…”
“Jessica…” Euros’s voice sounded much closer than it should have, as if he were in her head, right there with her. “Please.”
She looked from Fisher to the phone in her hand, back to Fisher, then raised the phone.
“Euros, I’ll be in the parking lot in five minutes. Meet me there.”
Flipping the phone shut, she stood. Fisher glared at her, already sputtering. “I gotta go, Fisher. I’m sorry. I’ll be back…”