Cover Spell (Ivy Grace Spell Series Book 2)

by T. A. Foster

  He eyed it. It wasn’t the first time Finn had seen the ring. Several times, I had caught him studying the stone on my finger. “Can’t I just use yours?”

  “No, Finn. You could use it, but really, you need to find something of your own that has meaning. I can’t Time Spell without this.” My witchy tingle slightly vibrated in the back of my mind.

  “Ivy, if it’s something that belongs to you, it does have meaning to me. Let me try with the ring.” He winked.

  I countered his unwavering persistence. “Why don’t we practice this back in Sullen’s Grove? We can find something you can work with and take our time. Ok?”

  “No.” His voice was surprisingly crisp. “Babe, how hard can it be? I need something old, open a door, fade, walk through, got it. No problem.” He had worked halfway through the next drink.

  Our waiter arrived with two steaming plates and ceremoniously bestowed them on us. The minute servings were adorned with strategically placed garnishments. There was no way these gourmet meals would fill us up. I was surprised by the presentation of a chilled bottle of champagne and two fluted glasses.

  Finn winked at me again. “We’re celebrating tonight.” The air around him felt recklessly playful.

  Now it was my turn. I put my hand on his wrist. “Babe, don’t you think you should slow down?” I hadn’t even finished my first drink, and Finn was on number three.

  He ignored me and held out his glass for the waiter to refill.

  “Ok, so after you walk through the seam, what happens next?” He cut a bite of steak on his plate.

  “I just start looking around for something or someone.” I eyed him suspiciously.

  “That’s it? You aimlessly walk around?” He laughed.

  My feelings were hurt. “No, it’s not that simple. You’re making it sound like it’s not a big deal. It’s a tremendous amount of responsibility to travel to the past.” I had lowered my voice and leaned in closer to him. “Finn, this is really serious. You can’t travel if you don’t respect the rules I have in place. There is no talking, no touching, no interfering, never use the Radiance Spell until you are back on this side of time. You have to stay faded the entire time.” I had my knife tightly gripped in my hand, and realized my jaw was clenched. “Sorry, I’m sorry.”

  He put his hand on mine and I took a deep breath. “We don’t have to do this. I just wanted to share one more piece of you. If you don’t want me to Time Spell, let’s just forget this whole conversation. I don’t need to know. I have all I need of you right here.” He pulled my hand to his lips and kissed it just like the first night we met at the Detectives’ Ball.

  Damn him and his charm. “No, I’m just being overprotective of the spell. You of all people should understand that.” I smiled. “I want to show you. Let’s try it now.”

  I threw my napkin on the table, feeling engulfed in his reckless mood. I wanted him to know right then and there that I would give him everything he wanted. If sharing this spell made him feel closer to me, I wanted him to have it.

  He threw a stack of bills on the table, and we walked out of the restaurant with his arm tightly wrapped around my waist.

  “Where to?” He looked at me and grinned.

  I surveyed Savannah’s sprawling streets. Foot pedaled rickshaws whizzed past us. The late night partyers were emerging in their club ready attire. We needed a place that existed in another time, and we needed a place in the present that people wouldn’t see us enter and exit the seam I was about to create. Savannah was one of the South’s most historic towns; it was brimming with historic homes. We could find a place.

  “This way.” I pulled him after me as I headed to the historic district. My body was surging with Finn energy. I could tell he was excited.

  A few blocks down, I spotted a house with a “For Sale” sign in the yard. Just as I suspected, the brass plate next to the front door indicated it was on the National Register of Historic Places. We pushed open the gate of the white picket fence.

  “Perfect.” I led Finn up the stairs and down the side of the Victorian wraparound porch.

  “Whose place is this?” Finn eyed the house lined with rose bushes and bordered by a perfectly manicured lawn.

  “I have no idea. But it’s for sale and it looks empty. We can make the seam right here on the back porch. No one from the street will see us, and it’s dark back here. It’s just practice.” I grabbed his hand. “Don’t be so nervous.” It was kind of cute to see Finn shed some of his overconfidence.

  “Can we get back?” His eyes narrowed slightly, and his eyebrows arched over the far edges of his eyes.

  “Yes, that’s not the problem. Getting home is easy. I can’t always get where I want to go but I’m working out the kinks. I just need more practice.” I did need practice with the spell, but Finn took all of my extra time.

  In only the way Finn could, he pushed me against the wall of the abandoned house and kissed me. His hands held me firmly so I was wedged between his body and the outer wall. His lips pressed into mine with a sense of urgency and roughness.

  “Ivy, I love you. Know that. I love you.”

  I looked up at him. Again, the witchy tingle surged. “I know that.” I traced the lines on his face. “Are you ready to do this?” He nodded. “Just stand back. You can go ahead and fade if you want to.” He took my cue and retreated a few paces.

  I focused my attention on the blank wall of the house’s exterior. I touched my ring and let my mind drift along the continuum of time until it landed on a date that felt right. I sank into that day and repeated it. Next, I pointed at the blank wall and whispered, “Unfold.”

  Slowly, the wall started to ripple. A light, glittery veil waved back and forth, beckoning Finn and me to pass through its embrace.

  “Where are we going?” I could hear Finn over my shoulder, and turned to see him shimmering from his Fade Spell. I reached for his hand.

  “Come with me. I’ll show you.” My glimmering, faded hand reached for his and led him through the seam I created. We walked through the curtain into another time, into another night of another decade. My heart skipped a beat of joy over sharing this moment with him, with the man I loved.

  The next morning I heard the curtain sheers fluttering against the open window. I opened my eyes to the overcast gray sky hovering outside the window. I reached out to curl myself around Finn, but the covers next to me were flat. I sat up and cocked my ear toward the bathroom door, but only heard the sounds of maids shuffling carts outside in the hall, and rain starting to pelt the open pane of the window. A slow sick feeling churned in my stomach.

  I grabbed the sheet from the bed, wrapped it around my naked body, and padded off to find Finn in the bathroom. He was probably toweling off from the shower. I pushed the door open. The bathroom was empty and dark. I darted back to the end of the bed where his overnight bag had been. It was gone. I grabbed my stomach; I felt sick. All of a sudden, I realized something besides Finn was missing. I looked down at the sheet I had clutched around me so tightly. My right hand was bare. My ring was gone.

  Tears poured from my eyes, and I sank to the floor, wrapped in the white hotel sheet. Finn was gone. He was really gone. He had stolen my heart and my ring.

  In that moment, I didn’t think I wanted either back.

  New Orleans, Present Day

  I SQUIRMED under the mound of covers encompassing my body like a cocoon. Morning had arrived too quickly. I slid my feet to the floor and made my way to the wall of curtain drapery. I pulled back the swirly floral blackout curtains. Raindrops streaked the outside of my New Orleans hotel window. Bright red, yellow, and an occasional black umbrella dotted the sidewalks below. Passersby dodged open puddles, and scurried into restaurants and shops to avoid the steady stream of rain. The sudden vibration of my phone startled me from my rainy daze. I walked over to retrieve it from its nightly docking station. I folded my legs under me as I retreated under the blankets and sighed.

  Meet me downstairs in fif
teen. Lobby.

  I blinked at the screen. The text was from Finn. I thought about that kiss last night—his lips on mine, his irresistible hot hands, and the words that caught me off guard. He wants me back? What does that even mean? My body reacted on cue every time I was within five feet of him and made it impossible to think, much less talk to him about us.

  Finn fought off words with his charm and smile. My body usually absorbed each deflected attempt he bounced back to me, and it caved to his distractions. Why was he here now after all of this time? Little beads of anger and confusion bubbled through my veins. New Orleans was my time to refocus. It was my time to mend my broken heart and maybe even to have a little fun while I was here. It had worked once before, and I was counting on the city to heal me again. Ugh! I couldn’t let him derail this trip.

  With a new sense of purpose, I got dressed, grabbed my bag, and stormed off to the hotel lobby. It was time Finn heard what I had to say.

  The elevator doors retracted, and I stepped onto the freshly polished floors of the lobby in my peachy-pink chiffon shorts, shoulder cutout white shirt, and straw wedges. Immediately, the quick lightning-like strikes from nearby cameras bounced and splashed off the floors. I felt like I had stepped into the middle of a firing squad. Teetering on the back of my heels, I tried to catch my bearings amid the chaos.

  A makeshift podium sat in the center of the lobby, and a man dressed in a dark gray suit with a matching mustache was tapping the microphone while trying to keep it from dislodging from its cradle. A circle of reporters shoved each other as the journalists forced their way closer to the podium and aimed rapid-fire camera flashes in his direction.

  I sidestepped behind the flock of frenzied journalists and found an inconspicuous spot near one of the towering palm trees. The green fronds dropped slightly over my head, and I waited for what looked like a press conference to begin. On one side of the podium stood Finn and a few other officers. On the other side were the agitated director, Archie Preston, and a few of the movie’s producers. I looked around the room for Evan, but there were too many people and the palm was interfering with my visibility.

  The tapping noise intensified, and the man with the mustache cleared his throat. “Let’s get started.”

  The gaggle of reporters waved their hands in the air and bounced around like popcorn kernels on a hot stove, trying to garner the attention of the speaker. He ignored their attempts and looked at his note cards.

  “I’m Frank Sanders with the New Orleans Police Department. Thank you to the hotel for accommodating our press conference this morning. We can all be grateful we’re not out in that rainy mess right now.” He glanced through the lobby windows as the rain splattered the glass. “I’d like to preface this briefing by stating there will be no questions taken this morning. I have a few statements to make.”

  He eyed the circle of people diligently taking notes, holding recorders, cameras, and microphones.

  “As some of you may have heard, Miss Emmy Harper has not been seen since she was on the set of a movie she was filming yesterday. The movie company, her coworkers, and the New Orleans PD are asking the public for any information they might have on her possible whereabouts. We do not believe at this time that any foul play is involved, but nonetheless, we would like to locate Miss Harper. If you have any information or have seen her in the past twenty-four hours, please call the tip line set up by our station. We will hand out an information service number to members of the press to distribute for us. On behalf of the department here in New Orleans, I’d like to thank you all for your help. Again, we’re not taking any questions. Thank you.”

  He flipped the red button on the back of the microphone, and the low hum in the speaker silenced. Ignoring Mr. Sanders’s repeated statements, the reporters peppered him with Emmy Harper questions.

  “Who was the last person to see Emmy?”

  “Is the movie shut down permanently?”

  “Is it true Emmy Harper’s in Paris?”

  “Is this just a publicity stunt to drum up interest in the movie?”

  Frank Sanders’s expression did not change. He turned his back to them and instead huddled with the small group behind the podium. Officers from the New Orleans Police Department ushered the reluctant-to-leave journalists out of the hotel and onto the wet sidewalk. The cluster of reporters was slow to disband, leaving a few undeterred zealots behind. It would only be a matter of hours before the national paparazzi would flock to the city now that the Emmy Harper story was a public headline.

  Finn patted one of the other New Orleans detectives on the back and strolled over to meet me behind the palm.

  I lowered my voice so no one would hear us, and leaned in toward Finn’s shoulder. “What is going on?”

  “I wanted to talk to you before the press conference started, but they were eager to get it over with. Emmy still hasn’t shown up on anyone’s radar or on social media, which I guess is unlike her. They are launching a soft investigation. I’m afraid the movie is going to be on hold until she’s found.”

  I unlocked my folded arms and was about to ask what I could do to help when I saw the same officers who had herded the reporters into the rain guiding Masquerade’s leading man through the lobby. I darted around Finn and over to Evan.

  “Wait. Wait.” Evan nodded toward the officers, and the small escort service halted so I could speak to him. “Where are you going? Are they taking you in?”

  I looked down at his hands and was relieved to see they were handcuff-free.

  “Darlin’, they just have a few questions for me. I want to help anyway I can. I want to find Emmy. Don’t worry. I’ll be back before you finish a cup of coffee.” He squeezed my shoulder, but I didn’t feel comforted.

  He smiled as the officers prodded him through the side corridor. At least they weren’t forcing him to exit the hotel through the main entrance. Some of the reporters were still trolling in front of the revolving door.

  I walked back over to Finn and the palm, but he was pacing, on the phone, and was using his serious detective voice. I waited for him to wrap up his conversation so he could answer my questions about the circus ring I had waltzed into this morning. However, my witchy tingle started to surge.

  There was a slow wave of dark energy emanating through the lobby. It was barely tangible, but the little pricks hit me the farther I stepped away from Finn. Like a beam from a flashlight, the sinister force only illuminated a small space. Finn was still talking, and I couldn’t get his attention. Searching the lobby for the source, I felt someone’s stare penetrating the side of my face. First, I looked down at the floor and pushed my foot around as if I was bored, and then let my gaze rise over my right shoulder.

  Sitting in the corner, drinking a cup of coffee, was a man with dark hair and delicate-looking hands. A light bruise mark lined the top of his right cheek. He placed his cup on the china saucer, exposing a gold watch below the cuff of his coat. It flickered under the light of the chandeliers. I began to shiver. The man bowed his head at me and walked out of the lobby. He was wearing a long, tan trench coat, but instead of an umbrella, he pulled a folded newspaper from inside his coat and shielded his face from the rain with it as he merged into the pedestrian sidewalk traffic. There was something eerily familiar about him that I couldn’t put my finger on. My mind zipped through a catalog of faces, but I couldn’t place how I knew the man. It was one of the many hazards of time travel. I jumbled decades of faces. I looked at Finn to see if he had seen him, but he was still engrossed in his phone call.

  “All right, babe, gotta go, detective stuff, you know?” He winked at me and tucked his phone in his pocket.

  “You’re leaving? Do you have a lead on Emmy? Why did they take Evan?” Everything was happening so fast, and Finn hadn’t answered a single question I had thrown at him.

  Finn’s eyes narrowed when I mentioned Evan’s name. “Are you worried about him?” I didn’t answer. “It seems he had more than one public argument with Emmy. T
hey’re just asking him a few questions to see what he knows. It’s standard procedure.”

  “What he knows? Like a suspect? Those arguments with Emmy Harper were nothing, just creative differences. Taking Evan Carlson in is ridiculous!” My voice was starting to carry, and Finn put his finger to his lips. “Sorry. But it is ridiculous; he didn’t have anything to do with Emmy’s disappearance.” I locked my arms in place and glared at him.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. But that’s my job, not yours.” He squeezed my arm and took a step back. The small group of officers was waiting for him by the revolving door. “Dinner tonight. We’ll talk.”

  He didn’t wait for me to reply, and jogged off to meet them. They walked out into the rain and into a fleet of New Orleans PD cars. I watched as Finn hopped in the front seat of one of the cars and drove off.

  I guess I would have to wait to tell him about the strange evil-buzz in the lobby, and the man in the coat. I was hoping he had felt it too.

  “Ivy? Ivy, you coming?” One of the girl’s from the sound crew was motioning me to follow her into one of the hotel’s many conference rooms. “We’ve got a meeting.” She rolled her eyes. “Image consultant.”

  I shuffled into the room with the rest of the production staff. I had heard about image consultants and had spent many a night with a glass of wine in hand, glued to my favorite show about a professional image fixer, but this was unreal. How did I end up in this meeting? There was a short, long-haired brunette in a white linen suit, with stiletto heels waiting for the group to quiet down. Wow, she even looked like a professional fixer.

  “All right, everyone. I’m Kelly Saint-James and I’m here on behalf of the studio.”

  I saw eyebrows shoot up on the faces around me. I was apparently the only one who hadn’t heard of Ms. Saint-James. Her name alone made an impression on her audience.