Garden of Dreams and Desires

by Kristen Painter

  She wanted proof of the tree.

  She searched the rest of the rooms on the first floor, coming at last to a room at the rear of the house. She opened the door and frowned in disappointment. Looked like the housekeeper’s room. She glanced up. What were the chances she could search the rest of the house before the housekeeper found her?

  Pretty good if she took the housekeeper out of the picture.

  Giselle sent the seeking spell out a third time, adding a small spark to it that she could follow. It floated down the hall and up the stairs. Giselle crept after it. Step after step, the spark led her on until she arrived at the top floor. There was nowhere left to go.

  It hovered outside a closed door for a moment, then vanished. The housekeeper was in that room. Giselle put her ear to the door but heard nothing. Was this the housekeeper’s room? Or had she fallen asleep in the attic? Giselle eased the door open, expecting to see the woman dozing in some dusty rocking chair.

  Instead, she found Augustine.

  He was sprawled on his back in a king bed, a sheet covering most of him and white linens surrounding him like a cloud. She wrinkled her nose at the aroma of smoke that perfumed the space. His scent. The smell of his kind. She studied him. Other than the gentle rise and fall of his chest, there was no movement. The room was certainly not what she’d expected, either. It was a sparse but gorgeous space with an enormous window that looked out over the expanse of the Garden District. Sheers covered it at the moment.

  She’d always pictured him in some claustrophobic nook filled with cobwebs and old furniture. How wrong she’d been.

  The diffused lighting shadowed his face like bruises. She crept closer to the bed. The marks on his face weren’t shadows after all, but the remnants of what must have been a horrible beating. He had cuts on his brow and cheekbone, healing but still visible, and the end of one horn was chipped off. Apparently, the senator’s team had already been to see him. Or had the police finally found the address she’d planted on the senator’s son? If so, why wasn’t Augustine in custody? If he’d been released because of his position as Guardian… she snorted in disgust, then stilled in sudden panic at the noise she’d made, but he didn’t stir.

  Was he unconscious? On a hunch, she leaned over him and inhaled. He was unconscious all right. She straightened. Someone had dosed him with a sleeping potion.

  How convenient. She tipped her head. Killing him would be so simple, but really, what would be the point? She’d only be robbing herself of the pleasure of seeing his face when he realized what she’d done to him and all his people.

  “You poor, sad thing,” she whispered. “Might as well stay asleep because in a few hours, you’re going to be just as powerless.”

  Of course, this was the perfect opportunity to put an end to him without all the fuss. She lifted her hands, the words of a suffocation spell forming on her lips. He shifted, startling her.

  She dropped her hands and fled the room before the pounding of her heart woke him. She leaned against the closed door as her stomach soured with the knowledge that she wasn’t as brave as she’d like to believe. She stood as still as a statue while her nerves settled. Her disgust at her actions made her grimace. No matter, the chaos spell would change everything and that was all that mattered. Focus. Find the tree. Get out before you’re caught.

  Where would the tree be? Zara would probably have found it already, being a green witch and all. Giselle’s pulse was back to normal and her bravado with it. She straightened. If the tree was in the house, wouldn’t it be hidden in some way? Otherwise, anyone who visited the house might find it. The house was steeped in fae history, so if there was magic hiding the tree, it must also be fae. With that thought, Giselle unclasped her crystal pendulum necklace, held it out before her and whispered, “Show me the greatest source of magic in this house.”

  The tip of the crystal moved, pointing toward the door on the other side of the landing. She followed it, going into the room with no expectations of any kind this time. High transom windows on one side shed enough light to see boxes and bins lining the walls, all marked with odd phrases like autographed scripts and misc. good wigs. Beyond those containers were stacks of things wrapped in muslin, odd pieces of furniture, what looked like a taxidermy porcupine and an honest-to-goddess throne. “What on earth is this place?”

  If there was a tree hidden in here, she was going to have to move a lot of rubbish to get to it. The crystal drew her in deeper and as she rounded a towering pile of ancient vinyl records, she saw just how big the room was. It had to run the length of the house.

  The necklace suddenly swung out at a right angle, quivering as it pointed at the wall. “End spell.”

  The pendulum dropped, lifeless. She gathered up the chain and crystal, then stuck it in her pocket so she could examine the space. There was nothing remotely treelike. She moved a coatrack complete with coats, an easel and three giant paintings. Flocked wallpaper covered the wall, so old and hideous it was probably from the days when the place had been a whorehouse.

  Still no tree—or magic, despite what the pendulum had indicated.

  Dust covered her hands in grime. She brushed them off. Her cleanliness spell would be working overtime trying to keep her ivory trousers and blouse from getting soiled in this grubby old space.

  A thin breeze teased her ankles. She glanced around but none of the windows were open. They were all too high up anyway. The breeze drifted over her skin again. It was coming from down low. She studied the wall she’d just cleared. The wallpaper, besides being about as ugly as wallpaper could be, curled up from the bottom seam.

  Giselle grabbed the edge and tore a long strip off. Dust flew everywhere. She held her breath and backed away, trying hard not to sneeze. As the dust settled, the outline of a door became visible. Excitement tripped over her skin. Forgetting the grime, she scoured her fingers along the edges, looking for a way to open it. Near the bottom, she found an indentation. She pressed it but the door was locked. She almost laughed. Locks were no match for a practiced witch. She muttered a spell to free it, then pressed the indentation again. This time it released with a sigh.

  Almost trembling now, she pushed the door open and stepped through onto a balcony. The aura of magic danced over her skin instantly. Light filtered through a large skylight, illuminating the most amazing thing she’d ever seen. Black and twisted, gnarled in an unnatural way and reeking of soot and smoke, the lightning tree stood before her.

  Beckoning her.

  She walked to the edge of the narrow balcony, her gaze following the branches as they disappeared into the structure of the house. The tree had grown into the house, which meant this thing before her was alive. But then, she could feel it—in her bones, in her blood—the magic vibrated through her.

  There were more balconies below her and a set of stairs that wound around the outside of the tree’s enclosure. She leaned over the railing to see where the tree came out of the ground. Its trunk was thick enough that two people could circle it with their arms and still not meet. How long had this tree been here? Before the house, it seemed.

  Charred leaves sprouted in clusters, most of them closest to her where the branches grew thin and whiplike. Everything about the tree, the bark, the knots, the leaves, was burnt black with soot. If only Zara could see this.

  Giselle smiled. After tonight, she’d be able to bring Zara here. After tonight, this city would belong to them. This tree would belong to them. She reached up and stroked one of the branches. The unmistakable tingle of power shot through her fingertips, causing her to gasp out loud.

  She snatched her hand back out of shock. Something about the tree had changed. Awakened. The air around it shifted and wavered with magic so strongly that Giselle had no doubts it would be plainly visible to anyone, witch or not. But more than that, the tree wanted her to touch it again.

  It needed her to touch it again.

  She placed her palm flat on the nearest section of trunk. The swell of power made
her eyelids flutter and her heart palpitate. No, it was best if Zara didn’t know about the tree just yet. Zara might be a green witch, but the tree was speaking to Giselle.

  Protect me.

  “I will,” she whispered.

  Keep me close to you.

  She nodded and, intoxicated with the tree’s powerful voice, snapped off a cluster of leaves and started to stuff them into her purse.

  Closer.

  She hesitated. The leaves pulsated with life in her hand. No, these shouldn’t go in her purse. They needed to be on her. On her skin. She tucked them into her bra, against her heart.

  She nodded. That felt right.

  Yes.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Augustine nodded toward the car coming through the gate. “They’re home now.” He’d had hours of sleep and was in much better shape than before, but couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d missed something while he’d been out. One thing he knew without question—those hours of sleep hadn’t come naturally.

  “Ah, very good,” Fenton said. “We’ll see if they know anything.”

  “I have some personal business to discuss with them first.”

  Fenton’s brows rose. “Do you want me to leave?”

  “No. You can stay.” Augustine waited until Harlow and Lally were in the house and the kitchen door was shut before he said another word. “Which one of you did it?”

  Harlow jumped as Lally flipped the light on. “You scared me.”

  Lally frowned at him. “You know very well I did it, Augie.” She moved to the stove and turned on the burner under the kettle. “Mr. Welch, nice to see you again. Can I fix you a cup of tea?”

  Fenton shook his head nervously. “No, thank you, I’m fine.”

  Augustine stared at her. “Lally, you can’t just drug me and act like it’s no big deal.”

  Harlow, who’d been standing motionless by the door, stepped in front of Lally. “She did it for your own good. So you could heal. Which I’m guessing is what happened because you look a lot better.”

  He wasn’t going to be swayed that easily. “Something could have happened.”

  “He’s right,” Fenton said. “You never know.”

  Harlow made a face at Augustine. “Oh, the two of you. Augustine, stop being so grumpy. And Fenton, you sound like an overprotective parent. Get over it, okay? Lally did what she thought was best for you. You needed to sleep and heal more than you needed to be awake. Plus the house is warded. What could have happened?”

  He closed his mouth. Lally was smiling. The two of them had ganged up on him. Not something he was used to. It didn’t bode well for the future, either. He shoved a hand through his hair. “Don’t ever do it again. Either of you.”

  Harlow grabbed a bottle of cola from the fridge. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat if I thought it was the right call.” She pried the top off and sat at the table. “How are your ribs?”

  He sat down beside her, frowning. When had she become so… sure of herself? He liked it. Mostly. “Much better. Still some pain—hey, where were you two?”

  Harlow took a slug off the bottle. “We went to see Queen Jewelia.”

  Not the answer he’d expected. He glanced at Lally. “Is that a joke or did you really?”

  Lally nodded. “We did.”

  He leaned back in his chair, trying to get a handle on what had happened. “So you drugged me, went to see the only voodoo practitioner who can rival Father Ogun and Harlow came back with a new attitude?”

  Harlow wiped her finger through the condensation on the bottle. “I got the new attitude after I survived being possessed by my sister, but otherwise, that about sums it up.”

  He stared at her. “Queen Jewelia perform some sort of sass spell on you, too?”

  She looked at Lally. “Can I tell him or will that make it not work?”

  “You can tell him. It’s the witches you need to hide it from.”

  Harlow grinned at him. “Jewelia made me a gris gris. For added protection against the witches.”

  He wasn’t quite sure what to do with that, but since Harlow seemed happy about it, he took that direction. “That’s great. Do anything else while you were there?”

  Harlow nodded. “We had coffee cake. And talked to Jewelia about what the witches might be doing. She’s pretty sure it’s some kind of big spell that could potentially wipe out all magic from the city, except the witches, of course. She called it chaos magic.”

  Fenton’s mouth fell open.

  Augustine’s gaze narrowed. “Sturka. Are you sure?”

  Lally joined them at the table. “Yes. You know what that means.”

  “I’m not sure I do entirely.” He looked at Fenton. “You’re the historian.”

  “Yeah,” Harlow said. “Queen Jewelia answered my questions as best she could, but even she wasn’t entirely sure that’s what the witches were up to. Do you know anything more, Fenton?”

  “I do. At least, I can tell you what I know and what I think.” With a soft exhale, Fenton began. “According to myth, legend and rumor, none of which can be proved, Giselle and Zara’s mother died trying to cast a chaos spell. There were no witnesses and the ruling fae never did anything about it, because her husband, Giselle and Zara’s father, Evander, refused to say it was anything other than a suicide. He and Vivianna had been divorced for some time, but it was clear he had never fallen out of love with her. Her death nearly killed him.”

  “What about the chaos spell?” Augustine needed to know what they were up against.

  “It’s not really one spell, it’s a type of magic like white magic or green magic or whatever kind a witch might do, although it’s clearly on the dark side of the spectrum. Chaos magic is the most unpredictable by its very nature. Something obviously went wrong with the spell Vivianna was trying to cast, and it killed her.”

  Augustine tried not to get frustrated with Fenton but the man kept skirting around what Augustine really wanted to know. “That’s not really what I’m asking. Can this magic really destroy other magic? Is that what Vivianna was trying to accomplish by casting the spell in the first place?”

  Fenton shook his head. “We don’t know. Not exactly. After it happened, the Elektos ruled that any witch caught performing chaos magic would be banished from the city. Chaos magic was already forbidden. There wasn’t much more that could be done without proof. We consulted with some weaver fae and the best we could determine is that Vivianna was trying to alter the power system in the city. Possibly to make the witches invincible.”

  “Or the fae vulnerable.” Augustine glanced at Lally. “If Branzino was working with Giselle, it’s possible she knew what he was after and is now after the same thing. With Zara’s help. Which would make sense considering Zara’s a green witch and the… thing they’re after used to be green.” He didn’t want to mention the lightning tree in front of Fenton, but he figured Lally and Harlow would know what he was referring to.

  Lally jerked back like she’d been struck. “That can’t be…”

  Fenton raised a hand. “Before you carry on with this vague, roundabout sort of conversation again, let me just say that I did some research and I’m pretty sure I know what you’re talking about. The same thing that caused all the trouble with Ava Mae.”

  They all turned to look at him.

  He stared right back. “I have access to every fae record ever written down. All the histories. All the transactions.” His expression turned smug. “You should be more astonished you kept the tree from me this long.”

  Lally stood to take the whistling kettle off the burner, then faced them again. She didn’t seem too surprised by Fenton’s announcement. “If you think that’s what the witches are planning, to knock out all other magic so they can come into this house and take control of the lightning tree, then we need to be prepared. If you’ll excuse me for a moment.” She didn’t wait for a response, just left and by the sound of it, went to her room.

  Harlow’s eyebrows shot up. “What was
that all about?”

  Augustine shook his head. “No idea.” He looked at Fenton. “You think Nekai knows anything about chaos magic?” The weaver fae wasn’t one of Augustine’s favorite people, but help was help. If the witches were coming against them, they needed every soldier they could muster.

  “If anyone does, it would be him.”

  “As soon as you can, fill him in and see what he thinks. We’re going to need all the help we can get.”

  Lally rushed back into the room, panic dripping off her like bad perfume. “Someone was in the house.”

  Augustine’s hand went for the hilt of his sword even though he wasn’t wearing it. “How do you know?”

  She swallowed, her brown eyes filled with a mixture of fear and anger. “The tree’s been touched. Worse’n that. Whoever was here helped themselves to a piece of it.”

  While Augustine and Fenton waited for Nekai, Harlow decided to spend her time in a different way. She got up and took Lally’s hand but spoke to Augustine. “We’ll be back in a bit.”

  Augustine’s forehead furrowed. “Where are you going?”

  She tipped her head toward Fenton. “Somewhere Fenton doesn’t need to know about.”

  “I heard nothing.” The cypher fae gave her a knowing glance as he stood. “If you’ll just excuse me, I’ll be on the porch for a moment.”

  As soon as he stepped out, Augustine spoke. “Are you telling me you’re taking Lally through the mirror to see Olivia?”

  Harlow nodded. “You have a problem with that?”

  “Not at all.” He liked Harlow’s new confidence. “You okay to go through the mirror by yourself? I mean, I have no doubt you can do it, you just haven’t before.”

  “I can handle it.”

  “Yes, you can. And good for you.” Augustine waved a hand. “Olivia needs to see you and know that you’re all right. Last time we were there, we had to tell her what had happened to you and she was pretty destroyed by it. She’ll be thrilled to know you’re okay. Give her my love and let her know I’ll come visit again soon.”