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

by Juliette Harper

  The Mother Tree was running out of time.

  38

  From his perch on Beau’s shoulder, Rodney stared fixedly at the door to Gemma’s temporary bedroom in the lair. His whiskers twitched nervously as he let out with a worried string of rodent chatter.

  Festus, who was sitting on the hearth, said, “Calm down, Rodney. Kelly will take good care of Gemma.”

  The rat turned and looked at Festus with wide, worried eyes.

  “Yeah, yeah,” the old cat answered. “I know. I don’t like what I saw in the mirror either.”

  Jeff, who also had his eyes glued to the door, asked absently, “Do you actually understand what he’s saying?”

  “Sure,” Festus said. “Rodney’s a big picture kind of rat. I like that about him. He sticks with the major themes of a situation.”

  Beau rested his hand on Duke’s head and idly rubbed the ghost hound’s ears. “That is life’s gift to creatures like Rodney and our dogs,” he said. “Creation has blessed them with forthright simplicity. But as for the concern, Rodney currently expresses, I concur. The women have been in there quite a long time.”

  “Kelly knows how to talk to Gemma,” Jeff said. “They’ve been through a lot together. It’ll just take as long as it takes.”

  Fidgeting in his chair, the colonel said, “That may well be true, but am I the only one of our company feeling horribly superfluous at the moment?”

  “No,” Festus and Jeff said simultaneously as Rodney shook his head vigorously.

  A dissenting, disembodied voice spoke from the vicinity of the desk. “I do not feel superfluous.”

  “Shorty,” Jeff said, “why on earth are you in stealth mode? Get visible with the rest of us.”

  Darby winked into sight. “I am sorry, Master Jeff,” he said earnestly. “Sometimes I forget.”

  “Why do you not feel at a loss for something helpful to do, Darby?” Beau asked. “Are you engaged in some fruitful project of which we are unaware?”

  The little brownie shook his head. “No,” he said, “I am sending all my energy to Mistress Tori and our friends in the Middle Realm, so they will come back safely. That counts as doing something, does it not?”

  None of them seemed to have an answer for his simple expression of belief. Finally, Jeff said, in a ragged voice, “It sure as hell does, Shorty. Keep at it.”

  Gemma paced the length of the small space trying to get away from the growing terror that haunted her every thought. Had she just witnessed her daughter’s death in the inaccessible reaches of the Middle Realm?

  “Honey,” Kelly said for the tenth time, “please sit down. You’re only making yourself more upset.”

  Instead of doing as she asked, Gemma wheeled on Myrtle again. “There has to be something you can do!” she demanded. “Why don’t we just go after them?”

  “That,” Myrtle said, firmly but gently, “would be a terrible mistake. The Golem directed his largesse specifically at Jinx. If we were to disturb that newfound peace, we could hamper her ability to lead the others out of the Middle Realm through the Moss Forest.”

  Not backing down, Gemma said, “There are other entrances. You said so. Why can’t we use one of those?”

  “Because we would have no way of knowing how to find our people,” Myrtle said patiently. “There are no maps of the In Between by which we might navigate. You must have faith, Gemma. We know only that Tori fell. Surely you must know that Jinx would move the stars themselves to save her.”

  That touched off another restless round of pacing. When Gemma passed by her the third time, Kelly pulled her down onto the edge of the bed.

  “Stop!” she ordered. “Myrtle is right. Those girls would do anything for each other, just like we would. Gem, honey, I’d make this better for you if I could, but we have to do what Jinx said and stay here. They’ll get in touch with us when they can.”

  “Don’t you dare tell me one more time that I just have to wait!” Gemma said hotly. “Don’t you dare.”

  If the outburst was meant to be intimidating, it didn’t work.

  “I love Tori, too,” Kelly said quietly, “like she was my own. You’re not the only one waiting and praying, Gem.”

  She started to protest, but then all the fight bled out of her as she slumped forward holding her head in her hands. “I know you do,” she said brokenly. “I just can’t stand feeling this helpless when my girl is in danger.”

  “I know,” Kelly said, rubbing Gemma’s back consolingly, “I hate it, too.”

  “As do I,” Myrtle said. “Let me place another call to Barnaby and Moira, perhaps they can tell us something.”

  Glory, who had been sitting on the end table watching, hopped on her broom and flew up beside Gemma. “She’s going to be okay,” the mini witch said. “I just know it.”

  Gemma looked up, tears staining her face. “How do you know?” she asked.

  “Because Jinx and Tori are everything I ever wanted to be and couldn’t,” Glory said. “They’re who I want to be if I ever get big again. They’re smart, and they care about people and each other — and about doing good. People like that can’t go away because we need them too much to be here fighting bad guys like Mr. Chesterfield. I know it may sound simple and foolish, but I have way more faith in my friends than I do in some silly Middle Between place.”

  In spite of herself, Gemma smiled. “You have to pick,” she said. “It’s either the ‘In Between’ or the ‘Middle Realm,’ not both.”

  “I know,” Glory grinned, “but I got you to quit crying, didn’t I?”

  Gemma laughed, wiping her tear-stained cheeks. “You did,” she admitted. “And I appreciate it.” Then, sitting up straighter, she said, “Let me fix my face so we can go back out there. I imagine the men are worried half to death by now.”

  When the women came back into the Lair, Jeff stood up and pulled Gemma into a hug. “How you holding up?” he asked.

  “Better,” she said. “The girls gave me a good talking to. How about you boys?”

  Releasing her, he said, “Worried, same as you.”

  “Then we’ll all be worried together,” Gemma said, claiming one of the chairs by the fire. “It’s an occupation best shared with friends.”

  “Correction,” Festus said, “best shared with friends and Scotch. For the love of Bastet, would somebody with opposable thumbs please pour?”

  Beau stood up and opened the liquor cabinet. “Delighted to be of service,” he said, “but I myself prefer Kentucky bourbon.”

  “Ditto,” Jeff said. “Three fingers for me.”

  As the colonel served as bartender, Myrtle went to the standing mirror and placed a call to Shevington. Barnaby answered almost before she’d finished the spell.

  “Is there any further word?” he asked, foregoing a greeting.

  “We had hoped you might have news for us,” Myrtle said. “Has the Mother Tree yet begun to feel the heat of the Jar of Prometheus?”

  Barnaby shook his head. “Not as of yet. How are the conditions there?”

  In response, Jeff reached for the remote and lowered the big screen TV. Together they all watched the latest news report, which termed the crisis “stable but highly dangerous.”

  “Temperatures are no longer falling,” the meteorologist said, “but neither are they warming appreciably . . . .”

  A burst of static fractured the picture, replacing the weather map with the smiling visage of Irenaeus Chesterfield, a development that sent Glory zooming into the shadowed stacks to hide.

  “Oh, my,” Chesterfield said. “It would seem Miss Green has not yet recovered from our encounters. Such a nervous creature. How are the rest of you enjoying this fine weather?”

  Across the distance that separated them, the images of the two brothers confronted one another.

  “Have you gone mad, Irenaeus?” Barnaby asked tightly. “First you toy with the structure of time, and now you threaten the integrity of the realms? Surely you must know we will stop you.”
>
  “Ah, my dear elder brother,” Irenaeus said. “I see that you have inherited father’s penchant for pedantic lectures. In fact, I do not know that you will stop me. I frankly think such action far beyond your abilities in a situation where I possess all the trump cards.”

  Barnaby regarded his sibling coldly. “Don’t be so sure of that, little brother.”

  Flinching slightly at the insulting diminutive, Chesterfield said, “Play your games as you like, dear brother. Send your minions scurrying into the Middle Realm in a vain attempt to warm the Mother Oak. It won’t work. This storm is a harbinger of things to come. What has begun in the state of North Carolina will spread the world over at the stroke of midnight signaling the coming of the new year. The Mother Trees will die, one by one, and I will plunge first the realm of the humans and then the Otherworld into a new Ice Age.”

  “And gain what, Irenaeus?” Barnaby said.

  “Initially, the pleasure of watching all you have built and those you have guarded freeze and shatter,” he replied. “And then? The rise of a new order predicated on made magic and directed solely by me. It’s not too late to join me, Barnaby. Do you think father would not relish the prospect of his sons united to rule the world?”

  “Father would wish me to stop you,” he replied coldly, “and stop you, I will.”

  “You’ll have to kill me,” Chesterfield said, “and your high-minded moral principles won’t allow you to seek that expediency.”

  Barnaby stood up and walked closer to the mirror, allowing his features to fill the glass pane. “You are mistaken about that, brother.”

  A slow smile spread over the Creavit wizard’s face. “I will look forward to the day when you attempt to make good on that threat.”

  “As will I.”

  With that, both signals went dead.

  39

  When the palisade gates swung open, a world of flames greeted us. Enormous braziers filled with glowing coals surrounded the Oak’s trunk. Farther back from the tree, sweating men in belted tunics and high, soft boots tended a second ring of bonfires stoked with logs the size of 50-gallon drums. We had entered a Renaissance Faire set in hell.

  A broad-shouldered man of medium height detached himself from the work crews and approached us with long, swinging strides that conveyed confidence and authority. When he greeted Aquila, I instantly liked his thick, Welsh accent and rich baritone voice.

  “Aquila, my brother,” he said. “You have arrived just in time.”

  The gryphon inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Gwydion, allow me to present Jinx Hamilton, the Quercus de Pythonissam and her band of followers.”

  Beside me Tori muttered, “If we’re getting a band together, I call dibs on the bass.”

  “Would you just get with the program and role play already?” I said under my breath as I stepped forward to greet the principal defender of the Mother Trees.

  I had a handshake in mind. To my considerable embarrassment, however, Gwydion drew his broadsword, planted it in the earth and fell to one knee. “M’lady,” he said, “my blade and my men await your command.”

  Ignoring Tori’s half-hidden snicker, I said, “Please, Gwydion, there’s no need to kneel. We’re on the same team.”

  As he obediently rose to his feet, I did hold out my hand — which Gwydion promptly kissed. No matter what I did, this guy was not going to loosen up with the chivalric manners.

  “May I know the names of your companions?” he asked courteously.

  As I made the introductions, Gwydion acknowledged Tori, Greer, and Brenna each with deep bows, saving decidedly manly handshakes for Lucas and Chase. He didn’t seem to know anything about Brenna, but his bushy eyebrows did go up when he realized Greer was the baobhan sith.

  “Forgive me, M’lady,” he said. “Even with all I have seen in this world and the Other, I had thought you to be a myth.”

  Greer answered with a thoroughly dazzling, sexy smile that only put the man more off balance — exactly the effect she intended. “I do not mind being thought of as a woman out of legend, Lord Gwydion.”

  Even though both she and Chase had regained their normal level of control once we got out of the mountains adjacent to the Moss Forest, the Middle Realm seemed to naturally amplify the woman’s already considerable charisma.

  I’ve never been able to decide how much of Greer’s ability to mesmerize men stems from her vampiric powers and how much of it is just her.

  Blinking to clear his mind, Gwydion turned back to me. “Forgive me, Quercus de Pythonissam,” he said, “but do you have the Jar of Prometheus? Our fires grow weaker in the face of the cold assaulting the Great Lady. I fear she will soon be damaged beyond recovery.”

  It took me a minute to realize that when he said “Lady” he was talking about the Tree. “Yes,” I said, shrugging off my backpack and tugging at the zipper. “I have it. Let’s get started.”

  When I brought out the Jar, Gwydion’s curiosity won out over his manners. He stepped forward and stared into the glass panels of the cylinder in my hands. “The elemental fire,” he breathed in a hushed whisper. “I had never thought to look on such a wonder in my life.”

  This, from a guy who has lived in a skyless, no man’s land, guarding a sentient magical tree for centuries. Clearly, I hadn’t been giving the Jar of Prometheus the respect it deserved. In my head, I still thought of the artifact as just what I’d called it first — a magical space heater — but to the warrior standing beside me, I was holding a mysterious aspect of Mother Earth herself.

  With the dim blue glow of the jar’s inner flames coloring his face and beard, Gwydion looked up at me. “How do we release its power?” he asked.

  “There’s a spell to open the inner chamber in increments,” I said. “Myrtle — the aos si — told me we should start at the base of the trunk and let the Mother Tree herself direct us from there.”

  Gwydion turned and called to two of his soldiers. “Aidan, Harri, see that our guests’ belongings are safely stowed in their quarters.”

  After that, we advanced as a group toward the Great Oak, passing through the ranks of soldiers who dropped their heads respectfully as we went by. Some of them cast sidelong looks at Aquila. I understood why.

  Backlit by the flames and standing six feet tall at the shoulder, Aquila held his massive wings slightly away from the rippling muscles of his lion’s body. The majestic effect conveyed exotic, formidable power.

  At the base of the tree, I opened my mind to the Mother Oak. A violent shudder instantly wracked my body. Chase and Lucas both stepped forward, but I shook my head. “I’m all right, I said, trying to keep my teeth from chattering. “I can feel the cold in her body.”

  Brenna instantly took off her cloak and settled it around my shoulders. The wool, woven in the Sinclair tartan, rested lightly, but warmly on my body. As I knelt to place the Jar against the Tree, the fabric pooled around my feet and for just an instant, I did feel like a priestess performing an ancient rite.

  Reaching into my pocket, I took out the scrap of paper bearing the releasing spell penned in Myrtle’s precise, elegant script. The sight of the handwriting sent a pang through me. I would have felt far more confident about what I was doing if the aos si had been with me.

  As if they sensed my doubt, Brenna and Greer both stepped forward and knelt beside me. When Greer turned and held her hand out to Tori, I knew what they were doing. Coven magic. The baobhan sith had used it with us once before, merging our powers with those of our mothers to look back in time and determine the role Irenaeus Chesterfield played in a fateful car accident.

  “Remember?” Greer asked. The emerald fire had returned to her eyes but controlled and under her direction.

  “Yes,” I said, taking her hand and reaching for Brenna with the other. “I remember.”

  The sorceress held her hand out to Tori, who, like Greer, closed the circle by laying her free hand against the rough bark of the Oak’s trunk. As I spoke the words of the spell, the i
nner core of the Jar slid open a fraction releasing a pale tendril of fire that wove a hot trail up my arm and around my shoulders like a molten snake.

  When I tensed, Brenna said softly, “Do not fear the fire. Tell it where to go.”

  Myrtle hadn’t suggested such a thing, but within the current of our merged powers, I knew it was possible. “Find the cold,” I said to the fire. “Drive it back.”

  Just like the serpent I imagined it to be, the elemental fire drew away and seemed to look at me, before winding back on itself and flowing into the Mother Tree. Somehow I knew it no longer needed my direction. Drawing away gently, I broke the connection, first with the flame, and then with the women kneeling beside me.

  All I could hear was the hiss of the coals in the braziers and the crackling of the bonfires, but when the Oak sighed in contentment, a great cheer rose up from Gwydion’s men. The Tree felt the warmth.

  In that strange way the Middle Realm has of bending time to its will, night had begun to fall when the four of us stood away from the tree. Yes, I know I said there was no sky, which meant no sun overhead, but still, a settling darkness moved through the land.

  One look at Tori’s face and the way she favored her leg told me we needed to rest for the next several hours. Gwydion apologized for the military nature of the encampment before showing us to a perfectly comfortable pair of outbuildings where we’d be sleeping — the women on one side, and the men (including Aquila) on the other.

  Loaves of fresh bread and hard cheese waited for us on the table, and then I remembered what Glory had said about sandwiches in our packs.

  “Do you think they’ll be any good after all this time?” Tori asked, digging through her possessions and coming up with what looked like a generic plastic food container. She cautiously popped open the lid, and the smell of warm roast beef filled the room.

  She looked at me and shook her head. “I might have known Darby had a trick up his sleeve. My sandwich is still hot, and so are the fries.”