by D. G. Swank
“No, you’re just in time,” Brandon said. I watched that small, slightly uneven smile stretch across his lips, noticed the way his eyebrow twitched up and his shoulders opened toward her as she sat down beside me, across from him. “Looks like you’re doing well for yourself here.”
He was right. Roughly three quarters of the tables were occupied on a weekday afternoon, and many of the patrons were chatting with each other, nursing lattes and trading bites of dessert.
“I know what the people want,” Caroline replied. Then she tapped her temple and we all laughed.
“So you can read thoughts,” Brandon said. “That’s amazing.”
“No, no. I can’t hear them thinkin’ their order in so many words. It’s more like feeling what they’re in the mood for,” she said.
Despite her assumption that something romantic was going on between us, Caroline was certainly eating up the attention from Brandon, moving imperceptibly closer to him with each sentence they exchanged. It was getting hard to ignore the tension in my jaw. It was true enough that he and I weren’t together, just like I’d assured her, so what did I care?
Like a string had pulled on her spine, Caroline sat bolt upright and snuck a look at me, frowning. Oh hell. She’d definitely just felt my aura. I tried to tell her with a quick shake of my head that we were cool, but Brandon had already launched into his next question.
“So you’re an aura reader,” he said, tapping notes into an app on his phone, “specializing in scent work. Phoebe here has some ancestral magic capabilities.”
“Now, that’s amazing!” Caroline said. “Oooh. This is where you tap your dead relatives for powers… like a keg, yes?” she said with a wink, clearly pleased with her very Amereecan joke. “Do you know whether you have family buried here?”
Gods, she was annoying. Of course I knew. That was part of what my parents had pushed me to learn as early as twelve or thirteen years old.
“Yeah,” I said, taking a bite of the muffin she’d tucked next to my coffee cup to excuse myself from saying anything else for a few moments.
Brandon shot me a warning look as though to let me know he was about to start his questioning and he was running this show. “I track spells, and that’s one reason we’re in town. We caught a whiff of some spellwork near the Whelan homestead, and I thought I remembered something like that in this area.”
“A whiff, huh? Not, like, coffee, is it?” Caroline asked, slightly nervous.
“No,” he said.
“My maman’s magic always had a trace of coffee scent,” Caroline explained. “One of the reasons I love it here so very much. Reminds me of home.”
“No, this was more…smoky. Sickly sweet,” he said. “Like baked goods left in the oven too long, though I couldn’t place what it was exactly. There were also traces of lingering magic with blue wisps.”
Caroline held her hands up, palms pressed together, and wiggled her fingers. “Show me,” she said.
Brandon leaned forward, letting her place her hands on his head. She threaded her fingers through his hair, working in microscopic twitching motions over his skull while her thumbs traced light circles on his forehead. As she worked her magic over him, a soft grunt oozed bubbled from the back of his throat, and a flash of hot emotion burned through me.
Ugh. Definitely jealousy this time.
As if things weren’t messed up enough, now I was angsting over a random—if stunning—Pittsburgh witch and the man who was out to get my sister. I pulled myself together just in time for Caroline to exit her aura-reading trance.
“Burnt vanilla,” she said, leaning back with a worried look. “I could smell it, but I did not see the blue wisps you were talkin’ about. I saw nothing, in fact.”
Wow. Brandon had amazing control over his thoughts—at least, over which thoughts he allowed to pass through their connection.
“You’ve helped our investigators in the past, and we have it on record that you have high scent recognition. Can you give us an ID on this spell?” Maybe he’d wanted her to focus on the scent. He may have been a good spell tracker, but maybe he needed help with the herbological side of things.
“It was wood,” she said with a conclusive nod. “Gods, I wish I had more experience with trees. Something old, though,” she said, her voice trailing off.
“But you sensed more, didn’t you?” Brandon asked. Her eyes darted to him, her expression suddenly wary. “It’s okay. Tell me everything you can. We’re trying to track the spell to its source.”
Caroline licked her dry upper lip. “It’s a dark spell.” Brandon nodded, and she turned to me with alarm in her eyes. “A dark spell was cast on your land?”
I reached across the table and wrapped my hand around hers. “It’s okay. Can you tell us what else you sensed?”
“Wood is the main scent, but there’s more underneath. There’s an orange base note, some lavender, and I think a bit of ylang-ylang. Maybe… neroli? And—this is really crazy—champaca. Made from a plumeria flower. You will only find a blend like that with a potion maker. Not a perfumer, since it does not smell very good,” she said, wrinkling her nose. She tapped her fingertips, which were stained from her near-constant contact with ground espresso, against the tabletop. “And the witch who used this potion knows what she was doing.”
She was good.
“I was working another case a month or so ago,” Brandon said. “You’re the one who reported it.”
Her eyes widened, and she sat back in her seat. “I don’t remember talking to you, and I definitely would have remembered.”
He offered her a reassuring smile. “No, I was brought in a few weeks after your interview. I read your statement. Can you tell me what you saw?”
She shook her head, looking terrified. “Can’t you just read the report?”
“I’d rather hear it from you, Caroline.” He reached over and placed his hand over hers. “It could help Phoebe.”
She turned and stared at me in terror. “I hope to the gods what I saw did not happen at your place.”
“What happened, Caroline?” I whispered.
She swallowed, visibly shaken. “I was dating this mage, Justin. Things were goin’ great at first, but then he made some new friends and he began to change He became very moody and started gettin’ angry… turned into a total chauvinist.” She shot me a glance. “He had the nerve to tell me that witches needed to know their place. Well. You can guess how that went. I ended it immediately, but he left some things at my place, and I wanted his shit gone, so I piled it all in a box and took it to his place to dump it… and that’s when I saw it.”
“What?”
“He and a group of mages had drawn a pentacle on his living room floor. They were wearing black cloaks and they’d… un petit chat…” Tears filled her eyes. “They’d sacrificed a cat.”
The blood rushed from my head.
“I ran away, but they tried to stop me, so I used my magic.” Tears streamed down her face. “I didn’t mean to do it.”
“Do what?” I asked.
“Kill them.”
I couldn’t hold back my gasp.
Brandon’s face was warm and reassuring. “No one blames you, Caroline. I promise you’re not in any trouble. I just wanted to know if maybe you remembered something that didn’t make it into the report.”
She shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “No. Nothing.”
“When you stopped to use your magic,” Brandon continued. “What did you intend to do? The report said you meant to make them sad, thinking their sorrow would bring them to their knees, but they became suicidal instead.”
“I committed a crime against magic. A sin against nature,” she said, becoming even more upset. “I deserve to be punished.”
Brandon held her gaze and I could feel a soft whisper of power rolling off him. “Caroline, you’re safe. There’s no reason to be upset. You’re not in trouble, no matter what you tell me.”
Whatever energy he’d sent
toward her calmed her a bit. I watched as she slowly pulled in a deep breath, then let it out again.
“Caroline,” he said in a soft voice. “Tell me what you withheld from the report.”
“They were going to kill me. So I killed them instead. The second I did it, I knew I’d made a terrible mistake.” A tear fell down her cheek.
“The cloaks,” Brandon said. “Did they have an emblem on them?”
She nodded. “Interlocked triangles.”
Just like the cloaks of the group who’d tried to intercept me and Rowan, not that I hadn’t expected as much. She’d had me at cloaks.
“Is there anything else I should know?” Brandon asked gently. “Anything at all?”
“I…”
Brandon’s eyes narrowed, and I could feel a shift in his magic. “Is there anything now?”
Her eyes looked glazed over as she said, “One of them got away.”
I tried not to recoil in fear. Logic told me that he was just doing his job, interrogating Caroline. But instinct told me that the magic he was using on her was a fraction, albeit a small one, of the spells we had spent our lives safeguarding in the Book of Sindal.
“One of the men got away?” Brandon prompted.
“Yes,” she said with muted emotion. “He countered my magic. He laughed and said he was stronger than me, but he was happy I had eliminated the weaker ones. And for that he would spare my life. Then he cast a spell to make me forget about him.”
“There’s something else, Caroline,” Brandon coaxed gently. “Tell me.”
“They were summoning evil,” she said, her chin quivering. “It filled the air until I choked on it. But now I’m evil too, because I killed with magic.”
“No,” Brandon said in a stern voice that still carried warmth. “You destroyed evil and saved yourself in the process. Caroline Fontenot, you are absolved of your sins against magic and nature. You will carry the guilt no longer.”
Then, as quickly as she had gone into the trance, she was released. A puzzled look crossed her face. “I suddenly forgot what I was talking about.”
Brandon smiled. “You were about to tell me where to go to find a potion maker of the spell.”
“Oh.” She shook her head again.
I was sure she didn’t remember anything from our conversation, but I wasn’t sure why that surprised me. Brandon led a team that cleaned up magical messes, and he was clearly very good at it… except I thought it only worked on nonmagical people.
Then she added, still looking confused, “Potion making is illegal.”
Brandon leaned an elbow on the table. “Everyone knows potion making still goes on in these parts. Simple stuff… harmless. With your aura gift and all these customers, surely you’ve caught wind of something…”
The way her eyes glazed over a bit, I was fairly certain Brandon had pushed some power behind that suggestion.
“Well, I have heard things… I would start at Pittsburgh Federal,” Caroline said. “The one on Murray.”
“The bank?” I asked in confusion. I was struggling to keep up, still stuck on the fact that one of the caped figures had gotten away, never mind that the tiny, effervescent woman sitting next to me had apparently murdered a room full of men.
“Yep,” she said. “You remember the Rehmeyer murder, yes?”
I nodded. All children born into magical families learned the history of magic in America, either from our parents or through correspondence with mentors in the rare case their parents couldn’t or wouldn’t teach them.
“You talking about Old Man Hess?” Brandon asked.
Caroline nodded. “Old Man Hess got into trouble with some powwow magic and was imprisoned for murdering Rehmeyer, a mage farmer, for his spell book.”
“I remember,” I said. “I couldn’t believe it when I heard the Council let some witches and mages make potions back in the 1800 and early 1900s.”
A lot of the specialization in this field of magic involved potion making, even before it was made legal back in the 1800s. Powwow magical tradition depended heavily on it, and it was one of the rare kinds of magic that often made men equally as strong as women. I heard it ran deep around these parts and it likely never left. Just went underground.
Most people didn’t realize Germans had deep magical roots. The Pennsylvania Dutch variation on voodoo and half a dozen other brands of local folk spellwork blended Norse mythology, Christian theology, and endless combinations of natural remedies.
“A couple hundred years had passed since Salem, so the Council decided to take a more lenient stance,” Caroline said. “Witches and mages were allowed to create healing and helpful potions, but some of them turned toward darker magic. Which led to the murder of Nelson Rehmeyer, and the Council’s decision to prohibit kitchen magic again. William Hess and his two accomplices went to prison, but rumor had it he stashed the farmer’s spells. When he got out, he became a caretaker for some small, secluded church. The Council kept watch over him until he died, but while everyone suspected he was still using a spell book, the Council never caught him.”
“And no one’s heard of the Hess family since?” I asked.
Brandon looked uneasy. “We traced the same scent profile to an Amish community. I hadn’t heard about a connection to the Hess family.”
“That’s because they’re not the Hess family anymore,” Caroline said with a little smile, apparently pleased that she could contribute some new information. “That line only had one girl, who married into the Bieler family. Old German magic on both sides, and they have scattered all over the Northeast now. Markus Bieler is the loan officer at Pittsburgh Federal bank, and rumor has it he has been dabbling in potion making just like his grand-papa. Maybe you can follow the trail there.” She gave a one-sided shrug. “He helped with our mortgage here. If it helps, I smelled strange things on him… a trace of something dark. I would not be surprised if the rumors about him were true.”
“Does he know you’re...”
“Yes. And he seemed interested in me… but I told him I thought we should keep things professional. His aura… let’s just say he turns to darker proclivities—in the bedroom and out—and leave it at that.”
Darker proclivities could have meant harmless bondage, but what if it meant more? Had Markus Bieler stolen my sister and the Book of Sin?
“I am so glad you had time to talk with us, Caroline,” Brandon said, reaching out to shake her hand. I was sure her cheeks flushed rosy at the contact, and I looked away, pretending to busy myself with gathering my things.
“Let me give you my number,” Caroline said, pinching the top of his phone with two fingers and pulling it from his hands when he released his grip. Her thumbs flew over the keypad, and she flipped it back around to him, waiting for him to reach out for it. She spun and gave me a kiss on both cheeks, then did the same to Brandon. I couldn’t help but notice the kisses she gave him were longer, softer.
She hugged me again, whispering in my ear, “He’s confused, torn between duty and his personal feelings. I’m not sure if that pertains to you, but I wanted to let you know.”
I pulled back, gaping at her.
“He likes you, chérie,” she said. “The ball is in your court.” Then she spun around and headed to the counter.
Was Brandon conflicted over me?
We got into the car and Brandon pulled up the directions on his GPS before heading out. Silence descended between us for an uncomfortable stretch.
“What’s with you?” Brandon finally asked.
“Nothing,” I said, too quickly, as if he’d caught me thinking my thoughts aloud. He gave me a look, and I stammered a bit before coming up with an explanation. “I guess I’m just still a little stunned over what happened back there.” And what Caroline whispered to me. “How long ago did it happen?” Then I added, “The incident where she killed those men?”
“Four months ago.”
I was silent for a moment before I asked, “Do you think it’s the same grou
p that attacked me and Rowan? Do you think the guy who got away stole Celeste and the book?”
“Honestly, Phoebe,” he said breathlessly. “I don’t know.” His lips pressed together, and he looked like he was working through something. “I suppose if I go to the bank, you’ll follow me inside.”
“Very perceptive of you,” I said with a wry grin.
He shot me a dark look. “I could order you to stay out.”
Something in his eyes held the promise of other orders whispered in the dark, and a shiver ran down my spine as every part of my body became hyperaware.
What the hell was I doing? Get it together, Phoebe!
I wasn’t sure if my face betrayed my hormones, but I gave him a haughty look. “You better have backup if you plan to issue that directive.”
To my surprise, he laughed. “You always knew how to put a smile on my face.”
I sat back in my seat and crossed my arms. “Good to know that’s settled.” Then I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “Was that a performance or were you really into her?”
He quirked an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”
With my chest puffed out, I deepened my voice and let my shoulders sway in the seated approximation of a swagger as I said, “I could use a manly cup of coffee. Got any of that here?”
For a second he stared at me, stunned. Then his shoulders started to shake. It took me a second to realize he was laughing. At me. And not in a good way. I couldn’t think of anything to do but cross my arms and stare out the window. As soon as he’d stopped the most annoying chortle I’d ever heard, a deep rolling laugh punctuated by little wheezing throat noises, I turned to glare at him.
“Are you done?”
“Being amused by how jealous you are of me simply talking to an informant?”
“Jealous?” I demanded. “I’m the furthest thing from jealous. I’m just trying to figure out grown-up Brandon Cassidy’s moves so I know what to watch for. Note to self: Don’t trust a thing that comes out of his mouth.”
He frowned. “You think you can’t trust me?”
“You’re hiding things from me, so why would I?”