The Amulet of Caorunn (A Jinx Hamilton Mystery Book 7)

by Juliette Harper

  Sometimes rather than open to a blank sheet, the grimoire would, of its own volition, flip back a few pages so the pen could add detail to an existing drawing or remove something it now considered incorrect.

  I know. Fountain pens don’t come equipped with erasers. Trust me. Mine does.

  Anytime I wanted to make an annotation beside one of the pictures, the image would immediately shrink or shift on the page to create ample room. If I didn’t feel like writing, I dictated, and the pen transcribed my words.

  Developing that close, symbiotic relationship with my new magical tools provided a silver lining to the more disturbing cloud of my dream visions.

  On the sly, Festus talked with the triplets at the Registry. They confirmed Greer’s research about our mysterious “weredeer.” There were no known shapeshifters with hooves, which left the mystery of John Smyth’s Eau de Bambi scent unsolved.

  Tori spent hours staring at Google Earth and finally decided the setting for the scene I witnessed had to be the Royal Mile in Edinburgh, Scotland. That made sense since the Mother Rowan grows in Roslin less than ten miles south of the city. The information didn’t get us closer to finding the missing amulet, but it did confirm the content of my vision.

  All of this went on against a flurry of activity in our world, starting with Thanksgiving dinner at Uncle Raymond’s, an excursion that included Beau and some well-planned stowaways.

  Before we left the store, I conducted a final inspection, starting with a stern warning to Rodney who would spend the day in the breast pocket of Beau’s sport coat.

  “Do not so much as poke your nose out,” I told him for the tenth time. “Aunt Faye, Uncle Henry’s wife, has a thing about rats. It would not be a pretty scene. Understand?”

  Rodney nodded vigorously, putting one paw over his heart.

  “Do not fear, Miss Jinx,” Beau said. “We have devised a plan. With the aid of your mother’s seamstress abilities, Master Rodney has openings through which he may observe the festivities while remaining completely concealed.”

  Leaning closer, I realized there were all but invisible holes in the fabric.

  “Get in and let me see,” I instructed Rodney.

  Beau held out his hand and gave Rodney a lift under his lapel. There was a little squirming in the breast pocket, and then the fabric smoothed back in place.

  Only when I put my face six inches from the spot I knew to be Rat Central could I make out a shining black eye looking back at me.

  “You two are pretty slick,” I admitted.

  “Thank you,” Beau said. “We believe the device to be a rather clever one. As for Master Rodney’s holiday meal, I will covertly slip tidbits to him as the opportunity arises.”

  At that, Duke let out a mournful whine. “Now stop that, boy,” Beau said. “We have discussed this. You may accompany us today, and when we return, I will facilitate your consumption of copious leftovers.”

  From time to time Beau puts the Amulet of the Phoenix on Duke’s collar so the coonhound can assume corporeal form and enjoy a treat, usually an ice cream cone from the Dairy Queen. In exchange for his good behavior at Thanksgiving Dinner, where Duke would be invisible to the other guests, the ghost dog was getting turkey and dressing at the end of the day.

  “Okay,” I said, “I think you three are good to go. Darby, do you understand the rules?”

  A disembodied voice from the vicinity of my knees answered brightly. “Remain invisible at all times,” Darby said, “and remember anything your aunts say about you behind your back.”

  “Perfect. Glory?”

  Making sure the miniature witch didn’t spend the holiday alone proved more challenging, but Tori came to the rescue. Glory would stay inside Tori’s omnipresent messenger bag watching everything that happened through a tiny fiber optic camera poking through the slit in the cover meant for headphones.

  “You’re sure you’re okay with this?” I asked, pulling back the flap and looking at Glory who was ensconced in a shoebox outfitted with the miniature recliner from Graceland East and her iPod Touch hooked up to the camera and plugged into a backup battery.

  “Absolutely!” Glory enthused. “I feel like a secret agent woman.”

  My parents and Gemma were already at the farm when we arrived. Festus and Chase opted to spend their holiday in Shevington. Festus knew all the Ryan children from his days guarding Grandma Kathleen. We could have passed him off as a family friend with the non-magical kinfolks, but the old cat wisely thought that might be a bit much for them to handle on top of the news of Aunt Fiona’s resurrection.

  You see, my aunt faked her death to move to Shevington full-time. She felt it would make the legal transfer of the store to me easier. Now that we all knew about the ruse, however, we weren’t going to just cut Aunt Fiona out of family events. It was bad enough that we hadn’t come up with a way to explain and thus include Connor.

  To account for my aunt’s return to life and Briar Hollow, she and Mom concocted up a story about my aunt briefly running away with a handsome traveling tarot card reader who dumped her for a psychic in Vegas. Given Fiona’s well-established eccentricities, the family pretty much bought it, although Uncle Bannister’s wife Lucille did keep saying, “Tell me again what we buried in that casket?”

  All in all, the gathering did go smoothly — until I almost choked on my green beans at the dinner table. That would be the moment when Uncle Milton, Aunt Betty Jean’s husband, beamed approvingly at Beau and said, “You sure do know your Civil War stuff, Longworth. Anyone would think you’d been there!”

  Mom and Aunt Fiona exchanged a bemused look over the cranberry sauce while Aunt Betty Jean fussed at Milton for talking with his mouth full. Later in the kitchen, she drew me off to one side and said, “Colonel Longworth is a corporeal ghost, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, my eyes going wide. “How do you know that?”

  “Emma and I may not be powerful like Kelly and Fiona, but we’re Fae too, Norma Jean,” she said. “I can’t tell you how proud we are that you’ve come into your powers. Mama would be proud, too, honey. Before I forget, I have a nice leftover soup bone I’m going to wrap up for that sweet ghost dog. Oh, and did the lovely rat in the Colonel’s coat pocket get enough to eat?”

  There are four Ryan girls — Fiona, Betty Jean, Emma, and my mother — and five boys, Raymond, John, Elwood, Bannister, and Henry. The children did not, however, inherit or cultivate their powers equally. The girls refer to the boys as “dead signals,” although I swear Uncle Bannister talks to animals and they talk back.

  Betty Jean and Emma are self-described “kitchen witches.” Aunt Emma’s whiskey and rock candy cough syrup is famous in three counties, but it’s not the Wild Turkey that provides the healing power of the “tonic.”

  As for my aunts and uncles by marriage, they live in cheerful oblivion. If they do see something from their significant others or extended family they can’t explain, they look the other way.

  On the drive back to Briar Hollow from Cotterville, Beau fairly glowed with pleasure. Careful not to wake Rodney, who was sound asleep in the crook of his arm, Beau twisted his tall frame around in the front seat of my cherry red Prius to address me directly.

  “Miss Jinx,” he said, “I am most taken by your extended family. Your Uncle Milton is quite knowledgeable about the Late Unpleasantness. He has invited me to inspect the array of accouterment he has amassed for use as a Confederate re-enactor. I am looking forward to the visit enormously.”

  From the backseat, Glory said, “Now Beau, we’ve talked about you using that silly phrase.”

  “My mistake,” he said genially, “the War of Northern Aggression.”

  “Now you’re messing with us,” I laughed. “And trust me, you and Uncle Milton are two peas in a pod. You know, he shoots the guns and everything.”

  Beau’s smile broadened. “Indeed I do know,” he said, “our engagement will include a round of target practice. I would pit myself against the skil
l of any man when armed with my .36 Navy Colt revolver.”

  “What about your sword?” I asked. “Are you guys going to do the whole Errol Flynn thing?”

  Drawing his brows together, Beau puzzled over my comment before he put it together. “Ah!” he said. “The motion picture actor late of the 1940s. I believe he portrayed Robin of Loxley, did he not?”

  “If you mean Robin Hood, yes,” I said, “but he also did a lot of movies where he waved a sword around. I’ll bet Uncle Milton will love your saber.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a strange look pass over Beau’s features. “Sadly I was never much of a hand with a blade,” he said. “I believe your uncle and I will confine our weaponry enthusiasm to firearms.”

  Tori leaned forward between the seats. “What’s up with the modesty, Beau?” she asked. “I thought you told me you were a master swordsman.”

  The old soldier shook his head. “I fear you misheard me.” With that, he abruptly changed topics, asking, “Miss Tori, have you looked at the roster of recent recruits supplied to us by Mr. Pulliam?”

  Tori went ahead and ran with it, but she caught my eye in the rear view mirror, and we exchanged a “what the heck was that about” look.”

  That night she and I discussed the conversation and agreed that Beau had seemed a little “off” since he started researching what became of his family after his death. That would be enough to upset anyone, so we decided not to make too much of his odd reaction to the mention of his saber — or at least I didn’t. More on that later.

  Hot on the heels of the Thanksgiving celebration, Mom and Darby pulled off a fantastic triple birthday party. The only thing that injected even a hint of tension in the evening was when Lucas kissed me — and we are talking pecked here people — and Chase got his hackles up.

  Thankfully said hackles did not come with any verbalizations. I really did not want to have to smack down a jealous ex-boyfriend in front of my brother, who was fascinated with everything about our lives in Briar Hollow. After we had cake, Connor asked me to take him upstairs and show him the store.

  Obviously, we had the party after hours, so with no customers in the place, Connor was free to wander around picking up objects from the inventory and asking me about them. Unbeknownst to me, even though this was only his second visit to the human realm since he was taken to Shevington as a baby, Connor has always been fascinated by human cultural artifacts.

  “You sound like Mr. Weasley in the Harry Potter books,” I said, meaning to tease him and being rewarded with a blank stare instead.

  “What are the Harry Potter books?” he asked.

  From the vicinity of the basement stairs, Tori let out with an outraged cry. “Oh, hell no,” she said, “we cannot allow you to continue to live in that state of ignorance one minute longer. Come with me.”

  Blushing a little, Connor fell in behind her, and we all went into her apartment where the Harry Potter books sit enshrined on a special reserved shelf.

  To my absolute amazement, Tori, who won’t even let me touch the hallowed collector’s editions, said, “They’re about a boy wizard who doesn’t know he has magic until he gets accepted into a school called Hogwarts. The first one is short. Would you like to take a couple of them to get started with the series?”

  “That’s so nice of you,” Connor said. “I think I can relate to Harry. I’m just getting started with my magic, too. But at least I haven’t blown anything up the way Dad does.”

  “And you don’t have an evil wizard after you,” Tori said, before shooting my brother a crooked grin. “Oh. Wait. My bad. You do.”

  Connor laughed. “It doesn’t sound so bad when you say it,” he told her.

  From my position leaning against the doorframe, I could not believe what I was seeing. My best friend was flirting with my brother, and he was flirting back.

  An unexpected surge of little sister protectiveness went through me until I remembered this was Tori. If I had to pick someone to date my brother, her name would be the only one on the list. I knew she would never do anything to hurt Connor.

  Retracting my invisible claws, I said, “Better send him the first three. He has more books in his place than you have in here.”

  “You do?” Tori said, her eyes lighting up. “So do you just read Fae authors or do you know human writers, too?”

  Before they could really get started, I jumped in front of the bookmobile. “If the two of you are going to do the whole library nerd thing, could I please get a latte first?”

  “Huh?” Tori said like she’d forgotten I was even around. “Oh, yeah, sure. Connor, you like mochas, right?”

  “You remembered,” he said with an expression that was already well on its way to ‘adoring puppy dog.’

  Picking up the books like they were made of fragile porcelain, he headed out the door first. As Tori passed me, I whispered, “If you’re going to set your sights on my brother, could the two of you please not be that nauseating in my presence?”

  “Jinksy,” Tori said, flashing me a wicked grin, “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  “Yes, you do,” I whispered back. “Behave yourself.”

  “Don’t I always?”

  There was no answer to that one that wouldn’t get me struck by lightning.

  We had the party on Saturday, December 12, which immediately threw us into the two-week “Shop Briar Hollow” event sponsored by the Town Square Association. Fresh off the success of the Halloween paranormal festival, the group was determined to keep those tourist dollars pumping into the local economy.

  Since we did a banner business, I can’t complain, and Tori and Mindy get the credit for making us the flashiest business on Main Street. I swear there wasn’t a square inch of the shop that hadn’t been hosed down in red and green or festooned with some sort of tinsel.

  Tori outdid herself with witch-themed ornaments and gift selections. She even climbed up on a ladder and outfitted the witch on our “Witch’s Brew Espresso Bar” sign with a Santa hat.

  There just wasn’t time for magical drama — or so it seemed — especially since nothing new had developed.

  Barnaby and Moira remained silent on the subject of the Amulet of Caorunn. Festus and Greer continued to work on finding out more about John Smyth — without much luck — and my dreams were all repeats that added fine details but nothing substantially new.

  That changed in the wee morning hours of Monday, December 21st — the Winter Solstice.

  13

  Brighid stood at the window looking out over the pond. Ice clung to the shoreline and snow drifted under the trees. Shivering, she drew her shawl closer around her shoulders. Old Cailleach Bheur, the Queen of Winter, had a tight hold on the land this year.

  For more seasons than she could count, Brighid had kept this watch through the cold months. With gentle enchantments, she and her sisters drew away any questions that might arise in the minds of the humans who were their friends and neighbors.

  No one noticed that the women never aged or that their stone cottage perched on the edge of the pond had no need of upkeep or repair. The people around Kildare didn’t ask how the O’Dannon sisters made their living or even thought to question why each was called Brighid, even if the second sister went by Brig and the third was known as Bea.

  The old stories called the Brighid, goddesses, but the Daughters of Dagda were members of the Tuatha Dé Danann, that beautiful race of Fae that dwelled in the Otherworld.

  Animated by a special love for the Celtic peoples, the Tuatha Dé Danann could not long absent themselves from the realm of man even when their relationship with the mortals proved vexing. Especially here in Ireland, certain of the Fae, like Brighid and her sisters, continued to watch over the humans, to delight in their eccentricities, and, when possible, to save them from their foibles.

  Brig of the dancing green eyes and flaming red hair studied the healing arts. Bea, a black-eyed brunette was a poet and historian. But blond Brighid with
eyes as blue as the sky took on a more active and ancient responsibility in the realms.

  Each year, in her role as Queen of Summer, she oversaw the transition from winter’s chill to the renewing heat of spring. This day, the Winter Solstice, marked the turning of the calendar and the slow lengthening of the sunlit hours. Each year, the Solstice awakened within her a deep longing for her time of ascendancy, a hunger that made the cold grate on Brighid’s nerves with unbearable intensity.

  Behind her on the hearth, Bea struck a mournful chord on her cláirseach, the triangular harp resting on her lap. “You’re doing it again, sister,” she said. “Old Cailleach won’t let go any faster no matter how hard you stare out that window. Come sit by the fire and let me tell you how Brig went chasing after Seamus Hennessy at the pub last night.”

  “I did not chase after anyone,” Brig retorted, tying the bundle of dried herbs in her hands. “Seamus was telling funny stories from work. He has a job with that company that makes those little pills the humans are always taking. Pharmaceuticals they call them.”

  Bea ran her fingers idly over the strings of her instrument. “All that silly giggling was about pills?” she asked, her full mouth curving in a teasing smile. “That’s not the kind of thing I was talking over with Jimmy O’Halleran.”

  “I don’t expect it was,” Brig said, “since you played your harp intentionally to turn his head. What would father say if he knew you used magic to toy with the human men?”

  Bea smiled at her innocently. “Now sister, what’s magic for if not to be used for a bit of fun? What say you, Brighid?”

  “I say,” Brighid replied, “that you both best be careful about the mortals. No sooner do we get attached to them than their time among us is done.”

  “Well, aren’t you the cheerful one!” Bea cried. “I know the Solstice isn’t your favorite day, but you’re not usually so dour.”

  A low, moaning wind circled round the cottage rattling the windowpanes. “Listen to that wind,” Brighid shuddered. “I’m sick of the cold and sick of being cooped up inside.”