by Evelyn Snow
“It’s a start,” he admitted, adding a critical sniff worthy of an art critic. He waved his hand over the map. My sketch disappeared.
I was ready to strangle him. Or maybe the problem was mine. I should stop humoring him. “Any kid can deface a map, given enough time and a box of crayons. What’s your point?”
“Don’t blow smoke at me,” Gunny said. “I’ve been alive longer than you can dream. Stop avoiding what’s right in front of you. Just because your uncle wants you to stay blind and dumb to what you are doesn’t make it good or right. Wake up.”
I stared, shocked. Who was this and what happened to the Gunny I knew?
He didn’t wait for me to respond, which was a good thing. I had nothing.
After taking the book back, he passed his hand down the page again from top to bottom and then reversed the motion. On the down sweep the drawing appeared only to go away again with the motion of his hand. He gave me the book. “Your turn.”
“For what?”
Cool gray eyes narrowed. “The bridge. Make it appear.”
“Maps are fun, I get it. Doodles are also fun. But it doesn’t have anything to do with the real bridge.”
“Sure about that?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m sure. That’s why there’s a bridge tender. It’s his job to open and close the bridge. If anyone could do it by drawing something lame on a map … it would be chaos.”
“Not anyone, Evie. You. Just you. Maybe a few others, but we won’t worry about them.”
The pain in the back of my neck reached critical mass. I turned my head right and left in an attempt to ease the pain. It kept throbbing.
Peering down the block, I noticed something had changed between Maddox and Holden. They were too far away to go by anything other than posture, but that was enough. “Gunny, as much fun as this has been, I need to go—”
“Not yet. Not until you show me the bridge.” His tone was adamant.
“Okay, if I draw something, we’re good?”
He nodded.
I grabbed the pen again. A minute later, the perfectly good map page was now “decorated” with my second lame sketch of the bridge plus the island. Any fifth grader could have done a better job.
Gunny wasn’t done yet. “Make it go away,” he ordered.
“You said you’d let me go if I drew something.”
“Make it go away.”
Resistance was futile. “Okay, here goes nothing.” I waved my hand over the page. Sure enough, as soon as I pulled it away, my sketch vanished.
Gunny beamed. “I knew you could do it.”
“Wait. How did I do that? I didn’t use a spell.”
“Make it appear again.”
When I did as he asked, the doodle reappeared. I stared at it, confused. “I don’t understand. What’s the point?”
“The Greater World runs on roads that go from here to there and everywhere. Magic isn’t like that. It’s more akin to water. Magic finds its own level. Magic is always present, always available, spell or no spell.”
If he started talking about magic feathers, I would scream.
He jerked his chin at the page. “Do it again.”
I passed my hand over the page again and again, making the sketch appear and disappear. Cosmic blah-blah about magic and roads and levels aside, I still couldn’t see the point. Maybe it was about humoring a nice old man who’d always been kind to me.
“That was fun. Can I go now?”
“I’m the one going away for a time,” Gunny said. “By the time I return I hope you’ll understand what you’ve learned.” He stood and hefted the strap of the duffle over his head and across his body.
“Where are you going?”
“North.”
“Stay safe,” I said, stretching out my hand to return the book.
“You keep it.” He pointed down the block. “I think your friend needs you now.”
Holden.
I looked up in time to see Maddox pull a pair of handcuffs from his jacket. I took off at a run, tossing a goodbye to Gunny over my shoulder, the book still clutched in one hand.
It was lunch time for downtown Montemar office workers. Men in suits with loosened ties crowded the sidewalk and women multi-tasked on their phones. I had to dodge and weave my way around them as I closed the distance.
“What are you doing?” I’d intended my words as a true request for information. They didn’t come out that way. Honestly, it was more of a screech of outrage delivered by a body in the process of skittering to an abrupt halt.
Dylan Maddox reacted about the way you’d expect—keeping one hand on his perp with the other going inside the back of his jacket.
I took a moment to catch my breath and held up both hands.
His lips formed a tight line and his gaze went flat. “Ms. Jinx, don’t do this.”
“Do what? You’re the one arresting an innocent person.”
Before Maddox could respond, Holden answered. “Evie, he’s right. Let it go.” He paused long enough to shoot me a meaningful look. “Don’t you have somewhere else you need to be?”
“No.”
Holden frowned.
“Are you out of your mind?” I studied both men, not sure which I’d addressed. The question fit both.
Holden expression went blank and distant. I knew that look. It meant he wouldn’t talk until he was good and ready, which could be any time from next week to a few centuries from now, assuming we both lived that long.
“What are you charging him with and why didn’t you read him his rights?” I’d been too far away at the time, so it was possible I was mistaken.
Maddox didn’t blink. “Mr. Blackwood is not being charged with anything at the present time. I’m taking him into custody for his protection.”
“At least come up with a story I’ll believe,” I shot back. “Is Holden a threat to public safety or does Morrigan Shade keep you on a short leash?”
The sidewalk was still busy. We weren’t drawing any attention. Apparently, the sight of an arrest in progress wasn’t a shocker or even worthy of a spare glance from any of the passersby.
“Ms. Jinx—”
“Gee, Agent Maddox, by my count, this is our second date. Since it involves a pair of handcuffs, you might as well call me Evie.”
Holden’s stoic palace guard impersonation cracked long enough for an eye roll. Points to me. There were about four conversations we were going to have as soon as he was free again, like it or not. Maybe five. And that strong silent thing he favored was over. Period.
“Evie.” Maddox’s gaze flicked back, and one side of his mouth quirked up. “What I’m about to say, I’m telling you because of your uncle.”
“What does he have to do with anything?”
Maddox shrugged. “He’s a good guy. I owe him one. That’s why I can tell you your friend is being held in connection with trafficking in contraband magic.”
“So, you were lying the other night?”
He seemed surprised. “No.”
“Because if all you care about is arresting traffickers, you’re about to make a huge mistake.”
Holden shook his head emphatically. “Let it go, Evie. I’ve got this. Weren’t you supposed to meet your uncle?”
“No, you don’t, and no, I wasn’t.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you told me you were going to meet him for lunch.”
“Did you fall on your head?”
“Say hi to your uncle for me.”
I was still arguing when Maddox led Holden away, leaving me alone on the sidewalk next to a car jam-packed with contraband magic.
Chapter 28
When all else fails, keep it simple. Overthinking is the enemy of clarity.
With Uncle Delano’s advice in mind, what if Maddox meant what he’d said? If that was true and the arrest was to keep Holden safe, where did that leave me?
Holden hadn’t offered the ODiN agent any resistance unless there was more to the few moments when it looked like t
hey were about to come to blows. I could be wrong since I’d seen them from a distance. They’d acted like friends encountering each other by chance—except for the part where the cuffs came out—almost as if the whole thing had been planned.
While I climbed through the driver’s side window of the Ford and tossed Gunny’s book on the seat, I mentally went over my recent conversations with Holden regarding the stash of magic. While he hadn’t pushed hard, he’d been open to selling it on the dark market, which did not jive with what he’d said in the barn. Then, he’d been emphatic about staying under the MBI’s magical radar. Sure, he’d made noise about choices of last resort and added pragmatic reasons to handle the magic personally—that was vintage Holden.
He’d made one mistake.
It had happened when he’d said law enforcement has no effective deterrence. The statement was accurate as far as it went. It also didn’t sound like something Holden would say. He was the son of a man who had been making his living on the dark markets in two worlds for the last three decades. When it came to skirting the law, Shane Blackwood was an expert. His son had inherited his father’s distaste for lawyers and legal systems.
Why would Holden team up with an ODiN agent? All I had to go on was one sentence, but that line about deterrence was pure Dylan Maddox.
So, they were working together.
I let the idea roll around in my head for a while. If Holden was undercover for ODiN, it would explain the conflict with his dad. Shane Blackwood would never understand or forgive a shifter for cooperating with any branch of law enforcement, especially since shifters were persons of interest in the recent murders of young women.
Mo had been confident Holden was working as a sniffer currently. If news he’d been seen entering a law office spread amongst shifters, it could put him in a tough position. The arrest going down on a busy thoroughfare at lunchtime guaranteed the story would spread fast, protecting his reputation. The flip side of being Shane Blackwood’s son—no one would ever suspect him of working with feds.
The net effect of the arrest put Holden behind bars and left a massive magical haul unprotected—not counting one ridiculously inexperienced MBI agent—which was what Maddox wanted. He was after the traffickers.
Hello, my name is Evie, and I’m bait.
If they were setting me up, it would also explain why Holden kept mentioning my uncle. Holden would see it as his duty to make sure I remained safe. He’d have to get in line. My uncle had mentioned he was meeting with Maddox this morning. Coincidence?
Yeah, no.
The three of them might as well have turned on a neon sign telling me to go home and curl up with a good book until two things happened. One, they buttoned up the contraband and the traffickers. Two, Sullivan Shield rode to the rescue. I wouldn’t hold my breath.
Men. They were trying to save the world. Why did they assume they had to do it alone? How did they figure they could use me as bait while at the same time keep me safe?
It was also possible the plan grew out of three similar, yet different, agendas.
Holden, for one, knew I was capable. Maddox didn’t. Could that have been what they’d argued about? It was anyone’s guess, and I could sit here for the rest of the day speculating.
The key was in the ignition. I turned the engine over, checked my mirrors, and pulled into traffic.
If my theory was on point, the three bears—as I’d begun to think of Holden, Maddox, and Uncle Delano—wouldn’t let me wander around without some means of tracking my whereabouts. Both Holden and Uncle Delano had known me long enough to realize that giving me orders didn’t mean I’d follow them. I preferred to think of orders more along the lines of suggestions that were entirely optional.
Turning left on Madison, I merged onto the ramp for the route west to the beach. Going off on my own would serve two purposes. First, I’d find out if their tracking and surveillance on me was any good. Second, a secluded stretch of beach offered a chance to talk privately with Duncan Frost.
The dead wizard was at the center of everything that had happened in the last few days. Time to find out if his stay in cold iron had jogged his memory.
* * *
The beach smelled like rotting cabbage.
Sea gulls seemed happy to share space on the giant logs with a flock of crows. In the waters of the bay, the round brown heads of seals bobbed above the water line. For the middle of the afternoon on a weekday, the beach was deserted except for a couple walking with their floppy-eared dog.
I found a log large enough to serve as a seat. It was far enough back from the high tide line that I didn’t worry about sneaker waves sliding it out from under me. Behind, the looming line of heavy pines marched as far as the sand and offered some privacy from the parking area next to the overlook where I’d left the Ford.
I’d planted the tire iron several inches into the sand and piled driftwood around the base to keep it upright. “Duncan Frost,” I intoned, “come forth.”
If Holden were here, he would have rolled his eyes at my spell. No creativity, he would have complained—except he wasn’t here—and I needed to banish him from my mental space. I was on my own, and I needed to make this work. I might not have long before sniffers plus Maddox and my uncle showed up. The pain in the back of my neck had eased somewhat. If they were close, I expected it would return with a vengeance.
Knowing the wizard’s real name made all the difference with my spell. He emerged from the cold iron hands first, pulling his ghostly body up and out slowly. As soon as he was free, he scanned his surroundings and a wicked smile curved his lips. His gaze focused on the distant horizon where the sky met the expanse of the ocean. Light flashed around him and arced skyward. “You’ve made a mistake. Too bad for you.”
It was only fair to warn him. “I wouldn’t, if I were you.”
“No, really, it’s too bad for you.” He scooped a handful of sand and murmured over it. Sparks of red and orange flew from his hand only to fizzle.
I shrugged from my perch on the log. “You can keep after it and say snarky things if it makes you feel better. All I want to do is have a chat. If you insist on trying to escape, though, I’m not going to lie, it will hurt. Full disclosure…” I pointed at the rocks placed at intervals in a circle around the tire iron. “The rocks anchor a perimeter spell. Good one, too, although I can’t take credit. The crows pitched in.” A member of the ebony flock hopped onto the log next to me, bobbing his head and cawing his agreement.
“Did you know that crows have a wealth of information about the boundaries between the worlds? They’re fascinating creatures. I could talk to crows all day long.”
“And my nightmare gets worse.” Duncan sank until his bare feet touched the sand. “Smart to have the crows add their magic so I can’t break your perimeter spell.” He tested the invisible wall with a finger. Another red spark flared and died.
“Like I told you before, I’m not an elemental witch. I do what I can. When I can’t, I find help.”
He scowled. “What do you want?”
“I need to ask a few questions. How’s your memory—any better?”
“Why should I tell you?”
“Let’s try it this way. I tell you what I know. Then I’ll tell you what might happen if you don’t help me. Sound fair?”
“You’re evil.” He folded his arms and looked down his nose. “You’re a jinx. I noticed the first time I saw you.”
“I’ve been getting that a lot lately. It helped me find common ground with the crows though. They get an evil rap. Apologies to Poe, but that nevermore thing? So unfair. Who says quoth?”
“If you’re planning on torturing me, you’re off to a great start.”
“I only want to talk. Or I can send you back inside until Sullivan Shield shows up. Your choice.”
Duncan’s filmy form went full translucent. The presence of the perimeter spell provided enough definition around his edges to see he was still there. “What did you tell Sullivan?”
“Nothing, so far.”
“Good.” Duncan’s form coalesced into something more appropriately ghost-like.
“Unfortunately, the bridge is closed for the time being and no one can give an estimate of when it will reopen, so if you’re worried about Sullivan, you’re in luck. I don’t know when I’ll see him. Your biggest problem is that I’m all that is standing between you and the folks who want to send you back to the Whitfield Clinic along with all that dark magic.”
Duncan fixed me with a bleak stare. “Are you going to let them?”
“There are some who say it’s the right thing to do. Sorry to say, they don’t seem to have much interest in you. They’re all about Echo and what’s best for her. I should add, they also talk about Echo as if she’s still alive. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? Because I haven’t been able to figure out why you said the dark magic was all that was left of her. I mean, witches use magic. They power spells and potions with magic. In the end, they’re still witches, not magic itself come to life.”
“It’s crazy, I know,” Duncan said. “Nuts. I get it. Before Ashmore changed Echo, that’s what I would have called anyone who said a witch could survive death and then become… I don’t even know.” His voice faded a little along with his form only to return again. “Becca became something else. That’s why she changed her name to Echo. It was like a joke to her. Anyway, it was better than what he wanted to call her.”
“He?”
“Ashmore, that sick puppy. He called her Babylon. She didn’t like the name.”
“That explains the goddess reference. What did Ashmore do to her?”
“He gave her a series of treatments. Sometimes it was a potion. Other times he used a direct infusion of magic.”
“As a treatment for spectral disorder?”
“Why would he treat her for that?” Duncan seemed genuinely surprised.
“That’s supposedly the reason she was at Whitfield. Her parents committed her when she was a teen.”