We stand there frozen.
“We have to let him in,” Mom says. “He’ll freeze out there.”
“Maybe he’ll go home?”
She shakes her head, just as Angelo says, “I’m not going home. Open up.”
“How did he even know I was here?” I mutter.
She raised an eyebrow. “Glade, apparently.”
“The question was more or less rhetorical.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
I sigh and go to the door, but don’t unlock it right away. “Angelo? Are you mad?” I ask through the thick wood, slightly afraid of the answer.
“Yes.”
“Really mad? I’m not letting you in if you’re really mad.”
“No. I’m glad you’re here. And safe.”
I hesitate. “Are you lying?”
No answer.
“Angelo?” I can practically feel him getting his emotions under control.
“No, I’m not lying,” he answers. “Let me in. I’m freezing.”
“No yelling.”
“Fine.”
“I mean it.”
“Trinket...So help me, if you don’t open this door...”
I lean my forehead on the wood and sigh. “See? This is what I mean. It doesn’t help for either of us to get all angry, and when you yell it only makes things -.”
The door rattles hard. I scream and jump back. Shooting me a look, Mom walks past me and opens it.
Angelo steps in and slams the door behind him, shutting out a gust of frigid air. He’s got snow all over him, and he’s still wearing his tennis shoes and sweats from earlier. His lips are kind of blue, and ice is crusted on his eyebrows making him look like some kind of snow demon.
He zeroes in on me and takes a single step forward.
“Angelo?”
He doesn’t answer.
I run.
Up the stairs to the bedrooms, which isn’t really a good idea. I’m on the top step when I realize two things - first, that there is nowhere else to go, and second, that Bilda is right behind me.
“Trinket, he’s not chasing you,” she says with a trace of laughter in her voice. Come with me. Let’s go look for Rain.”
I nod at her, sparing a glance at the stairs, and leave Angelo to calm down.
Mom leads me to her third-floor attic room, where she keeps her altars and magical supplies. I haven’t been in here since the day I discovered that she’d kept a ...piece...of my father. I shudder and try not to think about that.
If anything, the room is even fuller than I remember. Drying herbs hanging everywhere, and I see a new collection of colored candles and incense on one of the tall walnut bookshelves that line the wall to my left. In the center is her circle, burned into the wood, and a small statue of Persephone. In the corner, presiding over everything else is an almost life size statue of Diana, Goddess of War. Even as a child, her bronzed glare always gave me the creeps. It was nice of Angelo to ship the rest of our things here, but I could have lived with never seeing her again. I turn away from her and sip my cocoa.
Mom goes to a trunk in the corner that looks like it’s circa Civil War, and it could be - Bilda Banks is older than she looks by about a hundred and twenty years. Impressive, if you stop to think about it. She could as easily have been burned at the stake, not that long ago, but here she is, still with us and still one of the best witches I know - when she’s paying attention. She’s had her moments, but I’ve seen her in action when it counts, and she is impressive.
Of course, she’s my mom, so I’m biased.
Rummaging briefly she pulls out a silver hand mirror with a blackened face, a small bottle of elixir, and a little pouch that smells spicy. To a stranger, this might seem spooky, but I’ve seen her handle these things a hundred times, and she almost always knows what she’s doing. When she looks over her shoulder at me I set the cup down on a table near the door and pay attention.
She bustles around for a few minutes, lighting candles and tossing salt, sprinkling bits of this and that over her weapons. Then she ushers me into her circle, hands me the mirror, and begins her ritual.
As she carves a circle in the air with her wand, I watch. She seems so much younger and stronger when she’s engaged in magick, it’s almost hard to believe she’s the same woman. Even in her simple nightgown and purple robe, she seems formidable.
And happy. Magick makes her happy in a way that that nothing else can, I think. Sometimes I wish I could feel that way.
The atmosphere in the room changes, and I shiver just a little. I haven’t spent much time doing ritual work, and even here in Jagged Grove, where it’s a normal thing I feel a little bit like a fraud. I should probably work on that.
She faces me, takes my hands in hers, and together we raise the scrying mirror toward the ceiling. She begins to chant. The air around us heats up, and I notice my fingers shaking beneath the strength of hers.
I feel as if the room - the world - is expanding, making room for a new reality. As if there are a hundred worlds now, all spinning fast to see which one flies apart and shows us a new place and time. I squeeze my eyes closed. Ice and heat and static play havoc with my senses, making me gasp with the force of the power she controls.
My hair tangles around my face and my ears are assaulted by a low throbbing hum. Sweat rolls down my temples and is blasted away by wind currents that shouldn’t exist.
Breathless and near tears, I barely feel her lower the mirror or pry it from my fingers. I don’t notice her kneeling in the center of the circle until she takes my hand and guides me to my knees. “See now,” she says softly.
I open my eyes and look, surprised that the room is still here. Surprised that I am still here. I bend my head and focus on the mirror. I see Rain and a blond boy, maybe a year or two older than she is. Penley? I don’t know. They seem to be arguing. In a park, or somewhere else with lots of grass. Her face is red with angry tears, and I smile as she crosses her arms and jerks away from his tentative attempt to touch her. Her trademark stubbornness is on full display, but then my gaze widens to include more of the picture.
The boy takes a step back, as if her gaze is a tangible thing. He looks worried, then frustrated, and then his eyes narrow in anger. He speaks to her, and she shakes her head hard. He tries again - I wish I could hear them - and her chin comes up. He shrugs, smirks, and walks away.
Rain’s face falls and for a second I see real fear in her eyes. She drops her arms and takes a step in his direction, as if to follow, but then hesitates. Then she breaks into a run, and the mirror follows her so that I can see. Her long black hair flies out behind her, and I see her closing in on the boy, who doesn’t seem to be trying too hard to get away.
Just as she touches his shoulder, they both disappear.
All that’s left is the background, the skyline in the far distance. The flash of sun on windows. Tall windows, embedded in steel. Towers. Blue skies. Airplanes overhead.
I know this place. Not well - I was only there once, but I remember how much it scared me. Everything seemed to go too fast, and I felt completely lost the entire time I was there.
A lot like I’m feeling right now. When the mirror goes blank, I blink and look at Mom. “She’s in New York.”
Chapter 8
“That’s impossible.” She’s staring at me with wide eyes. “How did she get off the island?”
I watch her dismantle her circle and listen to the wind howling outside. “With that boy, evidently. I assume that was Penley?”
She finishes and steps back to the stairs, and I follow her down to the kitchen, where Angelo is drinking coffee and staring at us pointedly. I’m shaky, partly because of the residual magick and partly because Rain has apparently done the impossible. He’s not going to believe this.
When he brought us here, we left the mainland in a small boat and rode it into the open sea, where we met a much larger ship that was designed for one thing only - to withstand the pressure of two worlds. When it sailed t
hrough an invisible portal, I barely felt a difference, but it was clear that we weren’t, well, on earth anymore. Or at least, not exactly. Still on earth, but in a different dimension. The air was definitely different, even if everything else looked...close, if not perfect.
Even Angelo has trouble explaining it, and his father built this place.
“Angelo,” I say, even though I don’t need to because he’s staring holes in me, “How could someone possibly get off the island without using the usual method?”
He shakes his head without even thinking about it. “Can’t be done,” he mutters.
Ice rattles against the glass in a sudden burst, so that I have to speak up. “Yes, it can. Somehow.”
Mom brings two cups of coffee to the table and slides one toward me. I take it, realizing that I left my cocoa mug upstairs.
“I’ll get it later,” Mom assures me when I tell her. “Talk to him.” She nods to the big grouchy man.
“Remember I told you that my scrying experiment didn’t give me any results?”
He nods.
“Well, we just tried it again, and...” Something strikes me. “Hey! How come you didn’t follow us upstairs?”
“Bilda asked me not to.”
I look from him to her. “Just...like that?”
“She asked nicely. What were you saying?”
“Uh...anyway, Rain is in New York. OR she was. They disappeared.”
He rubs his temple and takes a drink of coffee while I explain. “But then they disappeared. Just...you know...poofed into thin air somehow.”
“And she was with a blond boy?”
I nod.
“Close-cropped hair? A couple of tattoos on his left wrist?”
“Yes to the hair, but I didn’t notice the tattoos.”
“Penley Crowder.” He looks thoughtful now.
“I thought so, but I wasn’t positive.”
“And you are sure about what you saw?”
“I am, Angelo. It took me a minute, but New York has one of the most famous skylines on the planet. They were there. In Central Park, I think.” I pause. “But how? And then how did they just...disappear like that?”
Angelo looks at Bilda, but she’s nodding, agreeing with me. “It was extremely strange, Angelo, but I saw it too. That’s what happened.”
He sets down his mug with a thump, startling me. I know he’s frustrated, with me and with this new turn of events, and for a moment I feel sorry for him. I reach across the table to take his hand, but he only gives my fingers a reassuring squeeze and lets go again.
I frown and feel rejected, even though I’m not sure why.
“OK,” he says, standing up. “I need to get Trinket home, and then I’ll get busy checking this out first thing in the morning.”
“Not tonight?” I ask.
As if to answer for him, the wind howls again.
“I can’t risk my men tonight. Now, let’s go home.”
“I think we should stay here,” I say, partly because it’s the truth and partly because I don’t want him to get me alone and yell at me.
To my surprise, he doesn’t argue. “Fine,” he says. “Bilda, is that all right with you?”
“Of course.” She stands up, then stops. “I only have one extra bed, though. Is that going to be a problem?”
Just the thought of sharing a bed with him makes me shaky all over again. “He can sleep on the sofa -,” I start to say, but Angelo and Mom are both shaking their heads.
“He cannot,” Mom answers. “This man is exhausted, and it’s partly your fault.”
“Whose side are you on?”
She crosses her arms.
“Fine,” I say, looking down at the floor. I know she’s right, and wasn’t I just thinking how tired and frustrated he looked? He deserves a good night’s sleep. “I’ll sleep on the sofa.”
While Mom is grabbing linens and making up the bed, Angelo finally begins to relax. “You don’t have to sleep down here,” he says, making my face heat up again.
“Yes I do,” I sigh. “It’s...too much. Besides, you’re mad at me, remember?”
“Oh, yeah. That’s right.” He kisses me on top of the head. “Well, good night, then.”
At the door he stops and turns around. “Trinket? Stay put, OK?”
It hadn’t occurred to me to leave. “I will.”
“If Penley is here on the island, he could be dangerous. He’s a few years older than Rain, and he’s been studying with Guthrie. Stay away from him.”
Now I’m confused. “I thought he was harmless.”
“I thought he was.” He smiles sadly. “But too many things aren’t adding up, and I have a feeling that he knows more than he’s telling.”
“Oh, yeah?”
He nods. “Think about it. He’s the one link between Guthrie’s death and Rain’s disappearance. Until he talks to us, don’t trust him.”
I watch him leave the room and climb into my makeshift bed. Then I groan and go to sleep feeling glad that I gave him the bed - this sofa is worse than sleeping in the floor.
Chapter 9
I dream about being buried in snow, and then being lifted up and carried to a warm, happy place where I can relax and stretch my limbs with joyful abandon. It’s the best dream I’ve had in a very long time.
Mom wakes me the next morning with an, “Oh!” and then the sharp click of a door closing. Without opening my eyes, I turn and snuggle into a warm chest, burrowing down into the softness of the bed.
Wait.
Chest.
My eyes fly open and all I see is skin.
Olive skin, stretched over hard muscles.
Angelo. I’m in bed with Angelo. His arm comes over me and pulls me closer.
I squeak at the realization and flail backward, and he lets go. When my eyes meet his, he’s grinning. “You were keeping me up last night,” he says, like he’s explaining. “I kept hearing you groan.”
I make some sound in my throat and sit up, turning my back to him. The room is bright with daylight filtering through the sheer curtains. At least I’m still dressed.
I feel the bed shift, and in a minute he scoots around to sit beside me. “I just heard you carrying on and figured you weren’t comfortable, so I put you in bed. You slept like a baby after that,” he said. “Nothing happened.”
Well, that explains the dream. I look at him and feel my face burning. “Are you sure?”
His mouth drops open. “Of course I’m sure. Trust me - you would have known. I am a master at the art of female seduction.”
Time to change the subject. I roll my eyes and go to the window, mostly to get away from him. “The storm is over.”
He comes to stand beside me, and when I see that he’s only wearing jeans my heart rate goes through the roof. “It’s about time - much more of this and we’d have to rebuild the docks completely. Again.”
I push the curtain out of the way and look outside. This window has a view of Mo’s back yard, the street behind it where Jones lives, and then a small stand of trees separating us from the ocean beyond. The water looks choppy and cold. I shiver.
Angelo’s warm arm comes around my shoulders and pulls me against his chest, just as his phone rings. He walks across the room to get it, and I turn and head downstairs. Bilda is obviously awake, so she’s probably making breakfast.
I hear voices before I make it to the kitchen, and when I open the door, Glade is sitting at the table. “Good morning,” I say, looking at him. “Any word on Rain?”
He frowns and shakes his head, then stands up and starts to pace.
Mom shoots me a look, made scarier by the fact that her silvery hair is stuffed under a teal scarf on top of her head. She’s good at making me feel like an ass.
“What? I was just asking.” I go to the coffee pot and pour two cups - one for Angelo - and set them on the table.
Mom notices what I’m doing before I do and smirks. Before I can say anything else, Angelo comes in and plunks down in
to a chair. “This for me?” he asks, grabbing the cup and letting go fast. “It’s hot.”
I sip my coffee, enjoy the burn, and don’t answer, just in case Mom reads too much into that, too. Glade stops pacing. “What are we doing today?” he asks Angelo.
Angelo pulls the mug closer, more carefully this time, and takes a drink. “I just got a call from Claire Davis. She said that the readings are off the charts in a lot of cities on the mainland.”
“What does that mean?” I ask. Claire Davis is with the ASS too, but she’s stationed on the mainland side.
“Not sure.” He glances at me. “We’ll need to check it out.”
Glade perks up. “Can I come? Just in case it has something to do with Rain?”
Angelo doesn’t answer for a moment, then he says, “I don’t see how it could, but if you’ve finished up with Guthrie’s file, then I suppose it’s all right.”
“I have.” Glade plops down in the chair across from Angelo.
“What did you find?” I ask, since no one else does.
Glade shakes his head and scowls. “He was a weirdo. He preferred the company of kids - which is kind of gross until you realize that in some ways he wasn’t really...all there, if you know what I mean.”
I nod, listening.
“I’d say that intellectually, he was just more comfortable around teens, except for when he was using magic.” He paused and looked at me. “What do you call those people who aren’t really smart, except for being a genius in one or two things?”
“A savant?”
He nods. “Yeah, that’s it. He was a savant when it came to magic. All kinds, too. He wasn’t just into herbal magic, or healing magic, or even elemental magic. He liked everything. The guy who lives behind that store said that Guthrie wasn’t happy unless he was trying out something new.”
“That’s odd,” Bilda says from the stove, where she is stirring scrambled eggs.
We all turn to look at her. “Why?” I ask.
“Any chosen area of practice has enough knowledge to keep someone busy for a lifetime - even a long lifetime like ours. It’s strange that he would jump around so much, and it sounds to me that he was looking for something in particular.”
Addicted Witch: A Jagged Grove Mystery Page 6