Witch at Last: A Jinx Hamilton Mystery Book 3 (The Jinx Hamilton Mysteries)

by Juliette Harper

  Chase led me around to the side gate, which he held open. We found my aunt, Tori, and Amity in rapt conversation with an 8-foot-tall shaggy Chewbacca sort wearing galoshes and a tweed suit.

  “Bigfoot is wearing clothes?” I whispered to Chase under my breath as we approached.

  “Barnaby’s rule,” Chase said. “He’s a bit straight-laced.”

  “Did anybody stop to think Sasquatch might need a little fashion help?” I asked, snickering.

  Trying to keep a straight face, Chase, said, “Stan! How are you big guy! This is Fiona’s niece, Jinx.”

  The faint odor of wet dog hosed down with men’s cologne wafted past my nose. Then my hand disappeared into a massive paw and Stan’s deep voice rumbled through my chest.

  “I’m so pleased to finally meet you,” he said. “Fiona talks about you all the time! I knew you’d be pretty, but wow! She said you have cats. I just love cats.”

  Without thinking, I blurted out, “You love cats?”

  Stan’s hearty guffaw echoed through the garden. “Sasquatch are vegetarians, Jinx,” he said. “And pacifists. Don’t believe what you see in the movies. I raise bunnies, too.”

  Bigfoot raises bunny rabbits.

  There may be hope for this world yet.

  Blushing, I said, “I’m sorry, Stan, that was rude of me.”

  “Naw,” he said, “I take some getting used to. It’s okay.”

  “Stanley is an expert gardener,” Aunt Fiona said, pouring a cup of tea for me. “His roses have taken the Shevington cup for five years running.”

  “What’s your secret?” I asked, mainly just to be polite. I was in no way prepared for his answer.

  “Unicorn manure,” he replied placidly.

  This time I managed not to choke on the hot liquid I was swallowing. “Really,” I said, trying to sound studious, “isn’t that supposed to be rainbow colored?”

  “Depends on what you feed them,” he said, without missing a beat. “I prefer the blue manure. The rainbow stuff is a little too acidic for roses.”

  “Stanley,” Amity said, “I am so glad you said that. I was having a conversation with that insufferable Hester McElroy about wolf’s bane . . .

  Before she could finish speaking, a shadow passed over the table where we were seated, followed in rapid succession by five others. We all looked up to find my dragonlet friends circling the garden.

  “Oh for heaven’s sake,” Fiona said with annoyance. “They know they’re not supposed to be flying over the city. Stanley, have you been feeding them again.”

  “No, Fiona,” he said, holding up one shaggy paw. “Scout’s honor.”

  “Uh, I think they’re looking for me,” I said. “I made friends with them down in the meadow before we got to the city.”

  Fiona’s eyes widened. “You made friends with dragonlets?” she asked, clearly shocked. “My dear, that simply isn’t done.”

  “Sorry,” I shrugged. “I didn't get the memo.”

  Just then Tori cried, “Look out! Incoming!”

  Reacting to the warning, I put out my hand and neatly caught a gold pocket watch and chain as they plummeted toward the table. When I realized what I was holding, my blood turned to ice. I clicked open the case just to be certain and sure enough, there was the inscription Beau had shown me when he first told me the story about James McGregor finding his body on the battlefield. The words read, “To Brother Beauregard T. Longworth, Master Mason, with gratitude for his service. Harmony Lodge No. 1.”

  When I looked up, Tori was watching me closely. “Is that what I think it is?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “It’s Beau’s pocket watch. I don’t know what’s going on, but we’ve got to get home. Now.”

  23

  We threw our belongings into our packs and rushed out of the Inn. Chase, Festus, Myrtle, and Darby met us downstairs with their packs slung over their shoulders. Chase had apparently filled Festus in about the pocket watch. The old cat seemed fully and miraculously recovered from his hangover. He was riding in the mesh compartment, but with his head sticking out through the partially open cover so he could take in the sights.

  “Barnaby and Moira will join us at the city gate,” Myrtle said, as we all started across the lawn under the Mother Tree.

  I didn’t have the presence of mind to ask why. The sense of alarm I’d felt when I looked at Beau’s pocket watch in my hand was getting stronger, and for some reason I couldn’t get my mother’s face out of my mind. So when Myrtle spoke to me, I just nodded and kept plowing forward. The straps of my backpack were cutting into my arms and without thinking -- or warning Rodney -- I shifted to find a better position.

  The rat let out a protesting yelp, and a voice from the vicinity of my knee said, “Rodney may ride with me, Mistress, if it would be easier.”

  When I looked down, I saw Darby’s concerned face looking up at me. “Thank you, Darby,” I said, stopping long enough to make my arm a stable pathway for the Rodney who gratefully abandoned my shoulder and ran down to the waiting brownie.

  “Sorry, Rodney,” I added as I watched him settle himself on Darby’s pack and clip himself in with his safety strap.

  That won me a reproachful rodent glare, but there was nothing I could do to make peace with him at the moment. Later there would be junk food and fulsome apologies, then, I just settled my pack more comfortably on my shoulders.

  I did, however, think to ask Darby about his absence over the past few hours. “Have you been with Dewey all this time?” I said.

  “Yes, Mistress,” Darby said, sounding chagrined. “I am so sorry. Did you have need of me?”

  “Don't apologize, Darby,” I said. “I’m just glad you had a good time . . .”

  The words came out of my mouth just as we passed under the first shading branches of the Mother Tree. This time I stopped because she told me to, in a loud, clear voice that echoed through my mind drowning out all other sights and sounds.

  “At the gateway you will face a choice,” the Tree said. “Remember, child, that which appears weakest may in truth be your greatest strength. Now, go and face your destiny.”

  Destiny.

  Not a great word at plot points like that one.

  The word “destiny” is about as ominous as that moment in a horror flick when one of the campers goes into the woods alone. I always feel like yelling at the screen, “You know you’re going to get killed, right?”

  “Destiny” was not penciled in on my morning schedule, but at least according to the Mother Tree, we had an appointment anyway.

  It would have been appropriate for dramatic music to swell in the background, but as the Tree’s voice faded in my mind, the bustling sounds of Shevington came back to full volume around me. Myrtle looked at me with understanding. “The Mother Tree spoke to you,” she said, but the words weren’t a question.

  “Did you hear what she said?” I asked.

  Myrtle shook her head. “The Tree speaks in confidence,” she replied, “but heed well her words.”

  Uh, yeah, except I had no idea what the words meant.

  At the gate, our group didn’t even slow down. Barnaby and Moira simply fell in step with us. Trust me, when you walk in Shevington beside the Lord High Mayor nobody asks if you’re supposed to be there. Bill Ruff was still guarding his little bridge, but this time he doffed his cap and wished us a good morning, even adding, “Well met, aos sí,” as we passed.

  I heard Myrtle mutter, “That’s more like it, you old goat,” which elicited a low rumble from Bill. From what I can tell, they each enjoy tormenting the other.

  We crossed the meadow in half the time we’d taken with our leisurely stroll the day before. I hadn’t noticed then that a small cairn of stones marks the gateway, which is where we halted. Barnaby turned toward me, “Moira and I have come with you because we believe that Brenna Sinclair may be on the other side of this portal.”

  Now they were telling me?

  “How do you know that?” I asked. �
��And if she is in the basement, why are we just standing here?”

  Moira answered. “The place you call the basement is the Shevington archive,” she said. “It exists in another layer of the in between, one that is heavily warded. Both Myrtle and I experienced a disturbance in the energy of the wards at the same moment this morning. We are standing here, as you say, because we must proceed carefully.”

  Beside me, Tori said, “Use the Force, Luke,” under her breath.

  The wisecracks tend to go up a notch when she’s nervous, but the thing is, she wasn’t really wrong. Now I understand that Myrtle and Moira really do sense changes in the energy field that is all life, and they were completely right about being careful. The thing is? Destiny took “careful” off the plate.

  IN THE BASEMENT

  BEAU LONGWORTH AND JAMES MCGREGOR heard voices approaching. Without having to confer, they both faded to near invisibility and retreated deeper into the stacks. As they watched, Kelly and Gemma approached the door to Shevington, walking in front of Brenna Sinclair.

  “We won’t do it,” Gemma said angrily.

  “Oh, but you will,” Brenna replied complacently. “Because if you don’t, I won’t kill you. I’ll make sure you live long lives with vivid memories of your daughters’ deaths playing out in your mind every single moment. You only heard about that unfortunate car accident in your girlhood. You didn’t see it.”

  Although her face had gone deathly white, Kelly’s voice was surprisingly strong. “I saw,” she said. “I went down to the Ford motor company and looked at the car when the wrecker towed it down from the mountains. I saw the blood all over the seats. Their pom poms were soaked with it.”

  Brenna chuckled. “What a deliciously vivid image,” she said without a trace of compassion. “Now, imagine your darling daughter’s body soaked with her own blood. I am quite skilled at the art of protracting death.”

  “Even if we get you through the opening,” Gemma said, “what makes you think Moira will perform Veneficus Trajectio for you?”

  “For the same reason the two of you have so compliantly joined me here,” Brenna said. “You are infected with the weakest of all diseases: love. You abandoned your high-minded defiance the instant I threatened your puny spawn, and Moira will do the same when I kill Barnaby Shevington and begin to lay waste to their precious sanctuary. She will bow to one to protect the many.”

  “What makes you think you can fight Barnaby and win?” Kelly asked in a tight voice.

  “Because he is a man of principle,” Brenna said. “I killed his wife and he sought no retribution. Instead he gathered up his little flock of sheep and fled to a new land. Barnaby Shevington will not stand in my way. Before the sun sets this day in The Valley, I will have my full powers again. Now, open the portal.”

  “No,” Gemma said stubbornly. “If you’re such a high and mighty sorceress, do it yourself.”

  The two women now stood with their backs to the door facing Brenna, who feigned an aggrieved expression. “Very well,” she said. “I did not want it to come to this.”

  She extended one long finger in Kelly’s direction. The smaller woman let out a surprised gasp, her hands going to her neck. Then she fell to her knees, looking wildly at Gemma. “I . . . can’t breathe,” she wheezed. “She’s choking me.”

  Gemma’s head swiveled between Kelly and Brenna. “Let her go,” she snapped. “If you’re such a big bad witch, pick on someone your own size.”

  Brenna crooked her finger and Kelly fell forward, catching herself with her hands. Strangled, drowning noises emanated from her throat.

  “Now where would the fun be in that?” Brenna asked. “Are your convictions strong enough to allow you to stand here and watch your best friend die?”

  Kelly managed to wheeze, “Don’t do it, Gem.”

  That entreaty, not Brenna’s threats, broke Gemma’s resolve.

  “Let her go,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

  With a wave of her hand, Brenna released Kelly.

  Gemma helped her friend stand. With her hands still on Kelly’s arms, she said, “I’m sorry, honey, but we have to do it together, like we did in the old days.”

  A flicker of recognition moved through Kelly’s eyes. “It’s okay,” she said. “I’m ready.”

  Brenna made an impatient sound in the back of her throat. “Please,” she said, “I have no desire to play witness to your sentimentality. Get on with it.”

  “No problem,” Gemma said, “but you’re getting ready to bite off more than you can chew, lady.”

  IN THE MEADOW

  “I’M SORRY,” I said, “but could we get a move on here. If Brenna is on the other side, let’s just do this thing and get it over with.”

  Moira and Myrtle exchanged a look I didn’t like, but they could explain all the metaphysical mumbo jumbo to me later. My Spidey sense was literally screaming. Whatever was happening on the other side of that door was not good. Every fiber of my being told me we had to get home and take care of business. Now.

  “Very well,” Moira said, “but I suggest you all stand back.”

  She raised her hand and began to chant the words Myrtle had used to open the door, but nothing happened. Barnaby moved to stand beside her. They recited the spell in unison, and I saw the air above the cairn of rocks ripple, but the door refused to open.

  “So not good,” Tori said.

  “Ya think?” I asked.

  Darby was standing between us, with Rodney on his shoulders. Chase was on my left. I heard the sound of a zipper being pulled and looked over to see Festus open his compartment farther so he could stand up taller and put his forepaws on his son’s shoulder.

  Myrtle joined the magical firing line and the trio began the spell again. This time the portal did open, to reveal a full-blown firefight on the other side -- between our mothers and Brenna Sinclair.

  I’d like to give you the full blow by blow of what happened next, but it was literally all a blur. Before I knew what was happening, Festus was over Chase’s shoulder. In mid-air the old yellow tomcat transformed into a mountain lion. I caught a glimpse of a gray muzzle, a mass of gnarled scar tissue covering one hip, and a surprising amount of rippling muscle. The force of the leap sent Chase sprawling backward. As he went down, he slammed into me and we both wound up in a heap on the ground.

  Somehow Rodney was loose, and tearing through the opening after Festus with Darby in hot pursuit. The portal let out a static burst of bright orange light, and slammed shut.

  The Mother Tree’s words rose in my mind. “That which appears weakest may in truth be your greatest strength.”

  I hoped she was right, because at that very moment, a three-legged mountain lion, a rat, a brownie, and our mothers were doing battle with Brenna Sinclair.

  As I struggled to stand up, a sob tore at my throat. I felt Chase’s arms go around me and I buried my head in his shoulder. A hand touched my back, and I knew it was Tori.

  If Festus, Rodney, Darby, and the moms died, their deaths would be on me. I was the one who had foolishly set Brenna free. I was the one who arrogantly tried to use my powers with no understanding of the possible consequences. Black despair slammed down around me.

  Under my ear, Chase’s voice rumbled. “Get that damn door open,” he growled. “We have to get in there.”

  “We can’t,” Myrtle said.

  “What do you mean you can’t!” he said. “You’re the aos sí. You control the fairy mound.”

  I didn’t have to see Myrtle’s face to understand the gravity of her words. “My dear boy,” she said softly, “no one controls the fairy mound.”

  24

  Kelly and Gemma clasped hands and held each other’s gaze. Together they began to speak, keeping their voices so low, Brenna had to strain to hear what they were saying. By the time she realized what the two women were doing, it was too late.

  “Stop!” she roared, moving toward them only to be repelled by the protective barrier they were building around the
mselves. Kelly’s eyes began to glow a soft blue first and then the aquamarine fire bled into Gemma’s gaze. At that moment, they turned, dropping the barrier and hurling bolts of energy at Brenna, who screeched and threw up her hands, deflecting the fire at the last possible moment.

  The wall behind them rippled, but neither Kelly nor Gemma realized the portal had opened until a massive, tawny mountain lion landed beside Kelly.

  “Need a little help, darling?” the big cat asked, glaring at Brenna and drawing back his lips in a snarling hiss that revealed razor-sharp fangs.

  “Festus?” Kelly said, not taking her attention away from the sorceress. “Is that you?”

  “Of course, it’s me,” the cat said, drawing himself up. “Let’s take this bitch down.”

  Festus launched himself at Brenna, striking her in the chest and driving her to the floor. Gathering her will, Brenna hit him with a blast of energy, but the amulet gave her only a fraction of her former strength. Even with only three good legs, Festus righted himself in mid-air and landed on his feet.

  “That all you’ve got?” he taunted, circling her slowly, his long tail wagging lazily behind him. “This is gonna be fun.”

  Brenna strained to divide her limited powers between the werecats and the two witches, who were now chanting at a different and more confident cadence. Glancing down, she realized that dark green fibrous tendrils had begun to grow around her feet, weaving themselves tighter and tighter into a dense net.

  Panicked gripped her. Where was her focus? How best to channel her few resources? “Stop!” she ordered Festus. “Stand still!”

  “What’s the matter?” Festus purred, still pacing around her. “Can’t keep up?”

  Catching her foot against the rising green webbing, Brenna stumbled. Before she could right herself, her blouse fell open and the amber amulet spilled out.

  “The necklace!” Darby cried. “The amulet! Take if off her neck!”

  Out of nowhere, Rodney joined the fight. The instant he’d come through the portal, the rat sought safety in the shadows, climbing to a high perch on one of the shelves. Now, he was in perfect position to launch himself at the trapped sorceress, tangling himself in her thick mane of red hair and sending her into a frenzy of panicked revulsion.