As we watched, the mirror deftly steered itself around the sofas, then paused and seemed to examine the large bay window currently dominated by a decorated Christmas tree. Judging that to be a bad backdrop, the mirror rolled toward the door to Barnaby’s study where it turned and fidgeted right and left before coming to a stop.
Remarkably, the mirror positioned itself, so the lamps didn’t create flashes on its shining surface. None of our reflections were visible either. Anyone looking through the mirror from the other side would see nothing in the room but a wingback chair in front of a bookcase.
“Nice driving,” I said, not intending to directly address the mirror, but more in the vein of a wisecrack.
To my utter shock, the mirror dipped forward as if taking a bow.
“You’re welcome,” I said, sounding about as stunned as I felt.
After all these months, I shouldn’t still be surprised by enchanted objects, but they get me every time.
Looking up from his book, Barnaby took in the position of the mirror, noticed where we were all sitting more or less rooted in place, and said, “Very well, are we ready?”
I felt like I should raise my hand before speaking, but I stifled the urge and asked, “Who, exactly, is going to participate in this call?”
“I believe Myrtle should place the call since she is acquainted with Miss Warner,” Barnaby said. “We can leave it to her to include others of us in the conversation as she sees fit.”
Myrtle got up from her place by the fire, and Barnaby took her chair. When she was re-settled by the bookcase, Barnaby began to read from the book now resting on his lap. As he spoke, the surface of the mirror clouded over, the mist gathering into a central swirl that revolved faster and faster until a burst of blue light obliterated the fog.
A lovely blonde woman wearing a soft green cashmere sweater and a tartan skirt turned her head toward what I assumed was her own mirror. She stood in a storeroom surrounded by crates of books. I squinted to make out one of the shipping labels. “Katrina Warner, Rowan Bough Books, The Royal Mile, Edinburgh.”
At the sight of Myrtle, the woman’s eyes widened, and she dropped into a deep curtsy. She spoke in Gaelic. All I recognized was “aos si” and “urram,” which I thought meant, “honored.”
Myrtle answered in English. “We have no need of such formalities, Katrina,” she said. “You may call me Myrtle.”
“Then I am even more honored,” the woman said. “What may I do for you?”
“You may tell me of the disappearance of the Amulet of Caorunn.”
So much for the niceties.
21
The story Katrina Warner told us confirmed the major events I saw in my dream, but in greater detail. The Amulet of Caorunn had been in the possession of her business partner and magical mentor, Findlay Whetstone, for as long as she could remember — back to the days when Katrina’s mother served the Great Rowan.
Findlay, like Moira, descends from both elves and druids. He does not practice alchemy, but rather possesses a reputation as one of the foremost scholars of the Fae world and, as Katrina put it, “the man drinks a wee bit.”
Every evening, regular as clockwork, Findlay eats his supper at a pub on the Royal Mile, lifts a pint or two with the boys, and then weaves his way back to the apartment below the bookstore he calls home.
“I live above the store,” Katrina said. “As soon as I hear his key in the lock, I know the old dear is safe and sound, but that night, he almost beat the door down trying to get in.”
Katrina found her friend frantic and disoriented on the doorstep. “He was holding his key,” she said, “but he couldn’t remember how to use it. When I got him inside in the light and had a good look at him, I found traces of tumultus pulverem on his face and clothes.”
“Confusion powder,” Myrtle said, “a simple but effective trick.”
“Indeed,” Katrina said. “Several hours passed before he came to his wits, but then Findlay told me a dark figure stepped out of the shadows and blew the powder in his face. His attacker snatched the amulet from around Findlay’s neck and was gone as quick as he’d appeared.”
Katrina described how she’d immediately tried an impressive range of location and recovery spells to no avail. That night, she drove to Roslin and slipped through the portal to confer with the Mother Rowan.
“I went to her asking for advice,” Katrina said, sounding annoyed. “As usual, she was less than forthcoming.”
Before I thought, I laughed out loud.
Myrtle gestured for me to come into the mirror’s field of view. “Katrina Warner, Witch of the Rowan,” she said, “allow me to introduce Jinx Hamilton, Witch of the Oak.”
Surprise and then pleasure crossed the blond woman’s features. “Finally!” she said. “We’ve been hearing tales about you, Mistress Hamilton. I take it your Mother Tree has a habit of being vague with you as well?”
“Please,” I said, “call me Jinx. And yes, the Mother Oak gives me the run around constantly.”
Katrina laughed, a throaty chuckle at odds with her somewhat delicate appearance. “You’ll have to join the lasses at the next meeting,” she said. “You’ll find plenty of commiseration in our number.”
“Meeting?” I asked. “Of what?”
Katrina shook her head. “Mercy,” she said, “you are new, aren’t you? The Women of the Craobhan.”
Shaking my head, I said, “I’m sorry, but my Gaelic is pretty bad. The women of the what?”
Myrtle answered before Katrina could. “The Women of the Trees,” the aos si said. “The coven of the witches in service to the Mother Trees. Your sisters.”
From off to the side, Tori gasped. “There’s a club? Does she get a decoder ring?”
“That’s my best friend Tori,” I explained to Katrina. “Please excuse her, she gets a little overly enthusiastic.”
“Mine too,” Katrina said, “especially about all things sci-fi. She’s off at some convention in London as we speak.”
At that, Tori sprang up out of her chair and stuck her head in the field of vision. “Oh my God!” she said. “She’s there? Is she going to meet Captain Picard? Hi, by the way, I’m Tori.”
“Hi,” Katrina said, “and yes, Elspeth reserved some sort of photo appointment with Sir Patrick Stewart.”
Myrtle cleared her throat. “Ladies,” she said bemusedly, “focus.”
“Oh!” Tori said. “My bad. Sorry!”
She quickly ducked out of sight as Katrina re-arranged her face in more serious lines. “My apologies as well, aos si,” she said.
“Not at all,” Myrtle replied. “I find human popular culture fascinating, and I want Jinx to meet her colleagues, but given the current circumstances, we must stay on track. Now, what, exactly, did the Mother Rowan say to you?”
“She said that the amulet knows where it needs to be and I wasn’t to interfere,” Katrina replied, “and I didn’t, not until Reynold Isherwood rang me up and demanded to hear the whole story.”
Barnaby stepped into view beside Myrtle. “Miss Warner,” he said, “I am Barnaby Shevington, Lord High Mayor.”
Katrina’s eyes widened again. I knew how she felt. I’d had days like this when one major Fae after another threw curveballs in my direction.
“It is a great honor, Lord Mayor,” she said, dropping another curtsey.
“For me as well,” Barnaby said. “Allow me to request clarification on one point. Am I correct in understanding that you did not tell Reynold Isherwood of the theft of the Amulet of Caorunn, but that he possessed this information already when he contacted you?”
“Yes, Lord Mayor,” Katrina said. “Elder Isherwood already knew the amulet had been stolen.”
“Did he say how he knew?”
“He did not, Lord Mayor.”
Then something happened I didn’t expect.
Lucas stepped beside Barnaby and said, “Hey, Katrina. I was just wondering, have any official types been in your store before or after the th
eft of the amulet? DGI? Registry? IBIS?”
“Hi Lucas,” Katrina said brightly. “Not that I know of, but those IBIS lads are a cagey lot.”
As I listened to the breezy, familiar exchange, any doubts I might have had that Lucas and Katrina already had some sort of existing relationship evaporated. That twinge of jealousy came back full force.
Want a good laugh? I can tell you exactly what I was thinking in that moment, “What does he do, make the rounds of all the witches, tree by tree?”
Yeah, not my most mature moment. When Myrtle put a question to Katrina, I forced myself to pay attention.
“When did all of this happen?” Myrtle asked.
“About two weeks before Samhain,” Katrina said. Then realizing I might not know what she was talking about, she added, “Jinx, you likely call the holiday Halloween.”
The timeline fits perfectly. John Smyth — or whoever he was — had plenty of time to steal the amulet, contact Chesterfield through Anton Ionescu, and get to America for the meeting in Raleigh.
After the call with Katrina ended, the mirror swiveled toward Barnaby and tilted slightly toward the door.
“Yes,” my grandfather said, “that will be all. Thank you.”
As the looking glass trundled out of the parlor, I said, “So are we heading back to Briar Hollow tonight or tomorrow?”
“I rather think tomorrow as planned,” Granddad said. “I must make some inquiries. I find it rather fascinating that Reynold knew of the theft of the amulet before he spoke to Miss Warner.”
Greer, who had remained silent during the entire call, spoke up. “If I may?” she said.
Barnaby nodded for her to continue.
“I think it might be prudent for either Lucas or myself to spend a few hours in London. We have contacts that are . . . outside the bounds of officialdom. Let us see what we can discover.”
Turning to Moira, Barnaby said, “What do you think?”
“The baobhan sith offers a good plan,” the alchemist said. “If Reynold were to be involved in this . . . incident . . . in ways we do not anticipate, tipping our hand by asking questions openly would not be a wise action.”
“Very good,” Barnaby said. “Until we have your report, I do not think there is anything more to be done.”
When Lucas volunteered to be the one to go to London, I was both relieved and disappointed.
“You’re sure you don’t mind?” I asked him in the hallway as he put on his coat.
“I’m sure,” he said. “I really wasn’t up for a night in a werecat bar with Festus and the gang. Those cats have four hollow legs and hollow tails.”
When he said “I’ll see you in Briar Hollow” and made a move to kiss me, I shook my head and mouthed “not here.”
Glancing over my shoulder toward the door of the parlor where the moms and Tori stood waiting, Lucas grinned, tipped his fedora at them, winked at me, and headed out the door.
For just a split second, I thought about following him, but I’d have to face the maternal music sooner or later.
Right on cue when I turned around Mom said, “Norma Jean, we need to talk. Now.”
Tori did her best to slide toward the stairs and escape, but Gemma nailed her with a stern, “Where do you think you’re going, young lady?”
“Uh, nowhere,” Tori said weakly.
“Good answer,” Gemma said. “Follow us.”
Exchanging a joint look of dread, we followed the moms into the library where Innis, Barnaby’s brownie housekeeper, had yet another cheerful fire going. I did not take it as a good sign when Mom closed the double doors behind us.
“All right,” she said, “both of you sit and start talking.”
I opened my mouth to do just that and was cut off by a torrent of motherly disapproval.
“Honestly, Norma Jean,” Mom said, dropping beside Gemma on the settee. “I went to bed last night and left you sitting in the parlor with Dílestos. I get up this morning, and you’re nowhere to be found. Then you come home with Myrtle, and now I discover you’ve been playing with magical artifacts and having dream visions about Brenna Sinclair.”
Gemma reached over and patted Mom on the knee. “Kelly,” she said in a soothing tone. “I second what Jeff said. Calm down. Isn’t taming mouthy werecats enough for one day?”
“Don’t help,” Mom commanded, but Gemma had still managed to get a smile out of her. Sometimes it’s uncanny to watch the two of them. Gemma does exactly the same things to talk Mom off a ledge that Tori does with me.
When both mothers looked my way, I took it as my cue to launch into an explanation. I described Myrtle’s return at the base of the Mother Tree, our visit to Moira’s workshop, and then, reluctantly, gave yet another full accounting of my dreams.
At the mention of Brenna’s name, Mom threw up her hands in frustration. “And it never one time occurred to you to tell someone?” she demanded.
There was no way I was taking the whole rap for this one.
“I did tell someone,” I said. “I told Tori.”
Which instantly sent Gemma into Mother Overdrive.
“And that,” she said, wheeling toward her daughter, “brings us to you, Victoria Tallulah Andrews.”
Ouch! Now we were both getting lashed with the triple Southern name whip.
“What was I supposed to do?” Tori demanded. “Be a tattletale?”
“Yes!” both moms said in unison.
Trying for the emotional save, I said, “If we’d told any of you about the dreams the whole thing would just have gotten out of hand. I wanted us to at least have a nice Christmas together before we had to start running around saving the world — again.”
My next words weren’t planned.
“And I didn’t think I needed anyone’s permission to do my job.”
That would be the moment when everyone in the room seemed to remember that all four of us were Daughters of Knasgowa.
My words put a gleam of admiration in Gemma’s eye, but then she heaved a sigh — which I’m pretty sure was for Mom’s benefit — and said, “As much as I hate to let these two off the hook, Kelly, Jinx is right. She was doing her job, and let’s face facts. In our line of work, there’s always going to be something these girls have to do that we’re not going to like. There was a time when we would have done the same thing Jinx and Tori did, and our mothers wouldn’t have been happy with us either.”
“And that makes what they did right how exactly?” Mom asked stubbornly.
“The apple doesn’t fall far from the witch?” Gemma asked with mock seriousness.
Mom tried to scowl. She really did, but she couldn’t pull it off. Giving Gemma a half-hearted punch on the arm, she said, “Honestly, Gem. You could have backed me up on this one.”
“Sorry, Kell,” Gemma said. “But you know I’m right.”
“I do,” she said with exasperation. Then she looked at me, and for just a second, I thought she would burst into tears.
“Connor isn’t going to have to be involved with this Chesterfield business is he, Jinx?” she asked. “He barely managed to escape from that awful man’s clutches last time.”
You have no idea how much I wanted to tell her no — to assure her that we’d keep Connor as far away from the Creavit wizard as possible — but I knew better than to make a promise like that.
“I don’t know, Mom,” I said. “I hope not.”
She nodded but didn’t trust herself to speak.
“So, as soon as we get back to Briar Hollow, it’s full speed ahead with Operation Find That Amulet?” Tori asked.
“It would seem so,” I said, “which immediately raises a problem. We have to get Mindy out of the store. There’s too much going on to have her underfoot.”
“Oh!” Tori said, “I forgot to tell you. Mindy sent me an email yesterday saying she’s quitting. She and her buddies scrounged up funding for their web series, so she’s going to be doing full-time production work.”
“Finally,” I said,
“some good . . . wait, you managed to get your email in Shevington? How’d you pull that off?”
“I had a talk with Ironweed about how they get the GNATS drones to work trans-dimensionally,” Tori grinned. “A little tech. A little magic. Ba da bing, ba da boom — email.”
Major Aspid “Ironweed” Istra commands the Brown Mountain Fairy Guard that deploys a nifty, super-micro drone surveillance force called the Group Network Aerial Transmission System or GNATS for short. Each drone is literally the size of a gnat and runs on a single grain of fairy dust. After our most recent encounter with Chesterfield, Barnaby put a whole squadron — twelve drones — at our disposal.
“Okay, ” I said. “That takes care of the Mindy problem, so yes, depending on what Granddad finds out we’ll be going all out after the Amulet of Caorunn, which means figuring out how Brenna is involved in all of this. Actually, we have to figure out where she . . .”
Mom cut me off cold.
“Stop,” she said, with an odd edge in her voice. “I’m sorry to pull a Scarlett O’Hara on you, but I refuse to think about any of that until tomorrow. I want to enjoy these last few hours in Shevington, and I want a Scotch egg at O’Hanson’s tonight. Come on, Gemma, let’s go get changed.”
As Tori and I watched the two women exit the room, I said, “Is it just me, or was that weird?”
“It was weird,” Tori said, “definitely weird.”
22
Rodney stood upright on the banister in the foyer with paws on hips. I stood on the carpet striking an identical posture.
“No,” I said, “and that’s final. You are not going to The Dirty Claw with the guys. It’s a werecat bar, Rodney. Emphasis on cat. You are a rat. Felines eat rodents. It’s a thing. Look it up.”
In response, Rodney jumped down, ran over to Festus, and defiantly smacked him in the nose as if to say, “See! He’s never eaten me.”
Festus, perfectly following the rat’s unspoken argument, said, “Do that again, and you’ll experience the brief, but delicious life of an hors d'oeuvre.”
The Amulet of Caorunn (A Jinx Hamilton Mystery Book 7) Page 16