Garden of Dreams and Desires

by Kristen Painter

  Tension pulled at Jewelia’s mouth. “The power of three,” she whispered. Her gaze went to Lally. “You know what this might be?”

  “I have my suspicions.” Lally reached into her purse, took out the sandwich bag of dirt that Augustine had collected and dropped it on the table in front of Jewelia. “I thought maybe you could confirm them.”

  Harlow got the feeling that Lally would have made this visit with or without her. “What can that dirt tell you?”

  “Maybe a lot.” Jewelia picked up the bag. “Maybe nothing.” She opened it and stuck her nose in, inhaling deeply. Her mouth went slack and she froze for a moment. Then her gaze lifted and she dropped the bag like it was poison. She crossed herself. “I never thought this would happen again so soon.”

  Desperation ate at Harlow’s bones. “What is it?”

  Jewelia’s eyes flashed with anger. “Chaos magic.”

  “What does that mean? What will it do?” Panic echoed in Harlow’s voice, but she couldn’t help herself. Not knowing what a thing was capable of made it that much more frightening.

  Jewelia breathed openmouthed. “It’s bad business. It could strip the magic from the city.”

  “From the city?” Harlow sat back, the cool air of relief washing over her. “That’s not so bad, is it?”

  Jewelia looked at her. “Not if you’re one of the witches, who will be protected from it. But all the rest of us, fae, varcolai and voodooer alike, will be powerless. All your fae abilities, gone. The varcolai won’t be able to shift into their animal forms and none of my spells will mean a thing. The witches will take control of this city and they will wipe out all traces of the rest of us.”

  “You’re sure about this.”

  “No.”

  Harlow took a breath, clinging to the hope that had just been offered.

  Jewelia canted her head to one side. “Could be the witches are only after one thing: settling the score between them and the fae. Could be the fae will be the only ones stripped of their magic.”

  Harlow’s panic returned with a vengeance, clawing at her throat until breathing was an effort. “They’ll kill Augustine.”

  “Child, they will kill us all if they get the chance.”

  Ian had been a pleasurable distraction, but by the time Giselle was done smudging her sister’s room, all she could think about was what else remained to be done. The difficult, important task of drawing the sigil. She went back to the altar room, collected the necessary things and then, with her bloodletting kit in hand, she returned to Zara’s room. She whispered the same sleeping spell she had before smudging the room, then opened the door and slipped in.

  Even in sleep Zara twitched and moaned softly as if the burden of it all was too much. Maybe she dreamed about what was to come. Or maybe the efforts of her spellwork bore down on her regardless of what state her body was in.

  “It’ll all be over soon, Sister.” Giselle pulled a glass vial and a silver needle from the kit’s wooden box and pricked Zara’s finger, catching the blood in the vial. Drop after ruby drop filled the glass. It was a fair amount of blood, but this wasn’t something Giselle wanted to do twice. Zara mumbled a few incoherent words, but stayed asleep thanks to the spell meant to keep her that way. Vial filled, Giselle stoppered it, pressed a bit of gauze to the tiny wound to stem the bleeding, then slipped out as quietly as she’d entered and shut the door.

  She returned to the altar room, where Ian now waited. “Did she wake up?”

  “No, the spell did its job.” She lifted the kit. “Your turn.”

  He held out his hand, watching her while she went to work.

  She glanced up at him. “I was about to ask why you didn’t care that I’m about to stick you with a needle, but then I realized that’s sort of your job. You must be immune to needles at this point.”

  “No, they don’t bother me. And I know you’re not going to hurt me.” He wiggled his brows. “In fact, you can stick me with anything you like.”

  “You’re a little twisted, you know that?” She laughed as his blood trickled into the tube. He was probably making her laugh to keep her mind from everything else. He was sweet like that.

  “Admit it, you love that about me.”

  “All done.” She capped the vial, her smile still in place. “You’re not boring, I’ll say that much.”

  He sucked the bead of blood off his index finger, then pinched it against his thumb. “Are you worried about getting the sigil right?”

  “Yes, but who wouldn’t be?” She opened an empty vial and tried to stand it upright in the wooden box but it tipped over. She sighed in frustration and tried again.

  “Your hands are shaking.” He took the vial from her. “Let me do this.”

  She handed the silver needle over and held out her finger. She looked at him. Really looked at him. Not through the eyes of her lovesick teenage self, but through the eyes of the woman she’d become. Yes, she’d been sharing him with Zara, but it was clear Ian’s heart lay with her first and foremost. She couldn’t imagine doing this without him any more than she could Zara. “Thank you.”

  He shrugged. “Like I mentioned, sticking people with needles is kind of my job.”

  “I meant with everything. With getting me through my father’s death, with the way you’ve supported me as high priestess, with your willingness to help Zara and me cast this spell… just with everything.”

  He stilled, the needle above her fingertip, and brought his gaze to meet hers. “In case you haven’t noticed, Giselle Vincent, I am deeply, madly in love with you. I have been ever since you were legally old enough for me to do something about it.”

  “Then why didn’t you?”

  “Your father.” Ian shook his head, the tiniest spark of anger in his eyes. “He was the high priest of our coven. Going against him would have meant losing what little contact I had with you. It would have jeopardized my mother’s place on the Circle of Thirteen as well.” He bent his head back to his work. “I wasn’t willing to risk either of those things, but especially not losing contact with you.”

  Her heart filled her throat. She winced as the needle went in but was glad his concentration was there and not on her face, which was undoubtedly showing every emotion currently coursing through her. He held her finger over the glass tube. Her finger throbbed as the blood trickled out and at last she found her voice. “I had no idea.”

  He looked up and smiled. “Now you do.” He held up the vial, filled with her blood. “All done.”

  Her position as high priestess dictated certain things be done certain ways, and while Ian was a member of the thirteen, she was still his superior.

  He brought her finger to his mouth and kissed the remnant of blood away. “Anything else I can do for you?”

  “Yes.” Emotion thinned her voice to a whisper.

  His brows knotted as though he sensed the seriousness of what she was about to ask. “Anything. Name it.”

  She swallowed and found her courage. Casting the chaos spell was nothing compared to this. “Marry me.”

  His mouth curved into a warm smile and his brows lifted almost imperceptibly. “Are you trying to make an honest man out of me?”

  She laughed. “I’m not that ambitious.”

  He kissed her, then tipped his forehead against hers. “I would say yes in a heartbeat…”

  “But.” She pulled away, preparing herself for rejection. “But what?”

  “You’re under a lot of stress right now. I want to know that this is what you really want and not a reaction to everything else happening around you.”

  “It’s not. Just because I’m stressed doesn’t mean—”

  He put his finger to her lips. “If that’s true, then great. But there’s no reason we can’t get through this and then talk about it some more.” He took his hand away. “Besides, if this is going to happen, things between us have to change.”

  She stared at him, unable to fathom what he meant. “How?”

  “For on
e thing, you need to stop trying to do everything yourself and let me truly be your partner. I have abilities, talents that…” He started to say more, then closed his mouth and shook his head.

  “How are you not my partner?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Let’s start with the fact that you’re preparing to draw this sigil yourself.”

  She looked at the paper and quill she’d laid out. “How is that you not being my partner?”

  He frowned. “Do you know what a tattoo artist does all day?”

  “Tattoo people?”

  “I draw.” He tapped the desktop. “I am far more equipped to trace out the sigil than you and yet, you never even thought about asking me to do it, did you?”

  She twisted a strand of hair around her finger and stared at the desk. “No, I didn’t.” She dropped the hair to look at him again. Goddess help her, she needed to learn to let go. “I’m not only a bad high priestess, I’m a bad girlfriend. I’m sorry.”

  He took her shoulders, forcing her to meet him eye to eye. “Hey, you’re just stressed. And used to doing things alone. Let me do the sigil and you… get out of this house for a while and do anything but think about casting this spell.”

  “Get out of the house? Where am I supposed to go? The new house? Visiting that place only makes me crazy when I see how much work there is yet to be done. Visiting the old one makes me sad.”

  “Neither. Go for a walk. Get some fresh air. Just go. I know you’re not a green witch, but it’ll still do you some good. Let me draw and your sister sleep.”

  “Are you ordering me?”

  A rebellious light gleamed in his eyes. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  As a way of offering Harlow some help and protection, Queen Jewelia had offered to make her a gris gris. The cake and coffee had been cleared and Queen Jewelia was now positioned directly across from Harlow. In the center of the table sat an old family Bible, the gilt worn off its edges and the leather cover cracked and shiny with use. On top of the Bible lay a small, red leather pouch. It reminded her of the one Rufus Ogun had worn around his neck. Which brought to mind a new question.

  Harlow lifted her finger. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but how is this going to protect me? Ogun wore one of these around his neck and he’s stuck in the well of souls just like everyone else.”

  Jewelia made a face. “I can guarantee that man’s gris gris wasn’t for protection against the witches, although it shoulda been. His was probably for the drawing of wealth and the influencing of strangers.” She waved her hand. “Nothing like what I’m about to make for you.”

  Satisfied, Harlow nodded and went back to watching.

  Jewelia situated four small dishes around the Bible. One held salt, one water, one a lit candle and one a cone of incense.

  Jewelia nodded at Harlow. “All right, child. Put your hand on the Bible, over top the bag.”

  Harlow did as she asked, but her face must have showed her surprise.

  “Still don’t believe, do you?” Jewelia looked at Lally. “If the child doesn’t believe—”

  “It’s not that,” Harlow interrupted. “I’ve seen enough these past weeks to believe in almost everything at this point. I just didn’t expect you to use a Bible.”

  Jewelia’s smile was thin but it reached her eyes. “Voodoo, like any religion, requires a lot of faith. Most of us who practice go to church and pray just like the rest of you. Maybe more than the rest of you. Now, for some, it’s just show. For others, like myself, it’s not. Which is also why I will not do many of the rituals Father Ogun considers normal practice.”

  Harlow smiled. “Thank you for explaining.” She sat up a little straighter. “What do you need me to do next?”

  Jewelia struck a wooden match, then lit the incense cone. A thin stream of smoke spiraled up, filling the room with a woodsy scent. “As the incense burns, we will consecrate the charms that will go in your gris gris. Hold out your other hand.” Into Harlow’s palm she placed a dried mushroom, a small piece of bark, another bit of some kind of root and a pinch of salt. Then she closed her hand over Harlow’s and placed her other on the Bible. “Hear my voice, O God. Hear my prayer. Preserve Harlow’s life from the fear of the wicked.”

  She lifted her hand and added more things to Harlow’s palm: a tiny metal cross, a coiled length of black thread, a shard of bone or shell, a tiny slip of paper with a pentagram drawn on it and lastly, a pinch of the earth collected from the witches’ garden. She covered Harlow’s hand again and put her other one back on the Bible. “Hide her, O God, from the secret council of the wicked. Keep her from the insurrection of the workers of iniquity. Your will be done. Amen.”

  Harlow whispered, “Amen.”

  Lally said it as well, then Jewelia nodded her approval. “Put all those things into the pouch.”

  Harlow emptied the bits and pieces into the little red bag, then looked at Jewelia expectantly.

  Jewelia dipped her fingers in the bowl of water, then marked a cross on the bag as it rested in Harlow’s palms. “Close the bag between your hands, bring it to your mouth and breathe on it.”

  Harlow followed her instructions.

  “Very good.” She took the bag from Harlow. “Now I’ll string it on a cord and you must wear it around your neck, under your clothes. Don’t let the witches see it.” She hesitated. “Either way, they may figure out you’re being protected if they attack you, but I don’t care. It’s high time those spell casters learned they’re not the only ones with power in this town.”

  After walking for only a few minutes, Giselle knew that Ian had been right. Getting out of the house had been the perfect solution to her frenzied brain. Already she was starting to feel more at peace and more prepared for the work that lay ahead. In her heart, she knew they were ready. There was no reason to fret about it so much.

  Lost in her thoughts, she paused to figure out where she was, only to realize she was standing beside the gate that led into the backyard of Augustine’s house. She stared up at the house. It was easily one of the most impressive in the neighborhood, not just for its sheer size but for its history. The house was basically a fae landmark.

  And now that she knew it contained the lightning tree… She smiled. This might be her chance to see if the tree really existed—the house began to waver before her eyes, making it impossible to focus on. Every time she looked at it, her gaze slipped across the street or to the neighboring house. Testing an idea, she forced all thought of the lightning tree from her mind and focused only on how beautiful the house was.

  The image cleared enough to prove her theory. The house was warded. Of course, it was fae magic. How could she break through that ward? Keeping her thoughts pure was nearly impossible. Maybe it wasn’t worth the effort of trying to get in. She whispered a seeking spell, sending it through the house to find out if anyone was in it. The spell found one life. Had to be the housekeeper. No doubt Augustine was out scouring the city for his precious Harlow. Or being interrogated by the senator’s people.

  Either way, he wasn’t having any fun. And if the housekeeper was the only one home, there seemed no better time to do a little investigating. But how to get in? She leaned against the gate and pulled out her LMD so that anyone watching her would think she was just taking a call or checking email.

  Think, think, think. If keeping her thoughts pure could get her in, maybe she could cast a temporary spell on herself? Something that would convince the ward she had nothing but good intentions. It was worth a shot.

  She sketched a quick sacred circle in the air, knowing it would be thin without the proper preparations but hoping it would be enough to achieve the desired effect. “Bind my thoughts of their true goal until I slip inside these walls.” She chanted the phrase three times.

  As the last word left her lips, she blinked and looked at Augustine’s house. What had she come here for? Had he called her here? Something to do with coven business? More regulations, no doubt. Damn
those fae, always interfering.

  With an odd determination to get inside, Giselle lifted the latch and slipped through the gate, careful to close it behind her. Maybe the housekeeper would know what Augustine wanted.

  She climbed the steps to the back porch and raised her hand to knock. When no one answered, she tried the knob instead. To her delight, it turned effortlessly. She quietly called out, “Hello,” and waited. The scent of coffee lingered in the empty kitchen.

  No response came. She stepped into the house and closed the door behind her. A flush of memory hit her, the spell she’d placed upon herself. Now she knew why she was here. Smiling at her own cleverness, she sent out another seeking spell, this time to determine where the life source was.

  The information it brought back told her whoever was in the house was several floors above her. She smiled and her thoughts turned to the lightning tree, but her smile faded fast. How could there be a tree in this house? It couldn’t be a large tree. She walked through the kitchen and into the foyer, one part of the house she’d been in before.

  Her fingers grazed the enormous gilded mirror hanging on the wall. The last time she’d been in this house had been to deliver a list of coven members to Augustine and he’d been fixated on this mirror. She’d sensed some kind of magic about it, but nothing concrete. Could it have some connection to the lightning tree?

  She peeked behind it. Just the wall, no secret portal or hidden door. She started past it, walking toward the library, and got the distinct feeling she was being watched. Turning back to the mirror, she looked into it again. Nothing. Except she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to it than a valuable antique. She coasted her fingers along the antique frame. “My father would have loved you.”

  Focusing on the task at hand, she left the mirror behind and strolled into the library, the only other room in the house she’d been in. It remained as filled with treasures as the last time she’d been here, including a rare and ridiculously valuable Gutenberg Bible. A single page from that book would bring in a hefty sum. But she wasn’t here for something as fleeting as money.