My armpits began to tingle and sweat. If she was using magic on us, I couldn’t identify it. Keeping my hands out of sight, I squirted a glob of homemade hand sanitizer in my palm—a blend of oil, herbs, and redwood sawdust I’d designed to coat my skin with a protective barrier.
“Here we go.” I handed Birdie the small bottle. “Put this on your hands first. And remember, try to talk as little as you can.”
“Oh no,” she muttered.
“You can talk,” I amended. “Just don’t talk about anything important.”
“I’m good at that.”
Putting a big smile on my face, I got out of the Jeep and turned to the white-haired woman. “Hi, I’m Alma Bellrose. This is Elizabeth Crow. Are you—”
“Call me Birdie,” Birdie said quickly, jogging around the Jeep.
The woman glanced at Birdie and then held out her hand to me. Her eyes were as sparkling blue as her sweater, and both were brighter than the foggy ocean behind her. “Crystal Hawk. Welcome to our humble little retreat on the edge of the world.”
I stole a moment for myself by dropping my keys in the gravel. As I squatted, I absorbed the impact of a plethora of metal and stone on her body: chunky silver necklaces, countless hairpins, rings, pins, bracelets, and earrings, with namesake crystal gems studded throughout.
I put up another defensive spell before I stood and took her hand.
My blocking magic prevented me from reading her as well, and we stared at each other, holding hands a moment longer than normal. A witch’s handshake.
A dull ache in my finger drew my attention to the ring she wore on her right hand. It was an enormous opal, a pale, softly rounded gem that stood out because it was the only stone she wore that wasn’t a crystal.
It was odd. It made my skin itch. No, not my skin—something deeper, smaller, untouchable.
When she dropped my hand, I didn’t hide my relief, taking a full step backward. Let her bully me; I was here as an observer, not a warrior. My old partner Darius could throw his weight around and demand respect when he got here. I’d lost interest in what people thought of me a long time ago.
Crystal greeted Birdie more warmly. “It’s so nice to finally meet you,” she said, taking Birdie’s hand between two of hers. I felt the probing spell she cast but was confident she couldn’t discern anything. Birdie’s magic was still fragile and mostly latent. “My condolences for your loss.”
I’d explained to Birdie how witches would be curious about her biological father.
“Thank you,” Birdie said carefully, then clamped her lips together. Being brief was always a challenge.
Crystal studied her a moment before releasing her hand. “Come into the farmhouse. That’s what it was originally, but of course it spent a few decades as a hotel, which we’ve done our best to forget. Though everybody who visits us is grateful for the private baths. We’ve welcomed countless Emerald-level artists, writers, musicians, teachers, philanthropists, and public servants over the years.” She stretched her arms wide as if to encompass everything from the cottage garden to a ragged stone arch dotting the distant shore. “Here witches can enjoy the power of the boundary of sea and earth,, rediscovering their true nature through a short break from the nonmagical world.”
As I watched Crystal speak, I wasn’t surprised she and Helen had become enemies. Crystal Hawk obviously put a premium value on status, something Helen disdained.
She gestured at the building next to it on the bluff. “Warren and I live in the carriage house. It’s small but private. We’re not fussy. It’s enough for us.”
“Does anyone live in the barn?” Birdie asked, pointing to the old building next to the carriage house. A covered walkway connected them.
“One side is Warren’s studio. He’s a noted sculptor, but you must know that already,” Crystal said. “The other half is for our cars.”
“Is he here now?” Birdie asked.
“Oh yes,” Crystal said. “He almost never leaves the ranch. He’s working in his studio right now. He’ll join us before dinner.”
“We’re looking forward to seeing his work,” I said.
Crystal nodded but didn’t seem to care. “Will you need help with your bags?” she asked. “We only have part-time help with the cooking and cleaning, but I’m sure Tierra could help you. She’s used to hauling her baggage from place to place.”
“We can carry our own things, thanks,” I said. “Who’s Tierra?” Raynor hadn’t been able to tell me about any of the other guests invited for the week.
She glanced back at the house and lowered her voice. “She was Warren’s apprentice from years ago. Tierra’s pushing forty now but still lives like a Flint.” She adjusted the crystal pendant around her neck. “Makes a living putting on magic shows, if you can believe an educated witch would ever do such a thing.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting her,” I said. She sounded artsy.
“You and Birdie will be on the second floor. Tierra and her companion are on the third,” Crystal said. “Follow me.”
“Companion?” Birdie asked.
“Nathan somebody,” Crystal said, flicking her hand dismissively. “Her boyfriend or business manager or whatever.”
She led us up a few steps to a back porch and then into a foyer with a desk facing the door. A sofa and table stood near a bookcase. “It was a lovely bed-and-breakfast when we bought Hawk. That’s what we call home—Hawk Ranch. Not very creative, but Warren was never creative with words, only his sculpture.”
We walked into another room filled with more sofas and comfortable chairs before a fireplace. Deeper into the house, dining tables and chairs sat beneath wall-to-wall windows displaying a panoramic view of the ocean. There was a long bar, which held self-serve coffee, tea, water, and behind it a door to what I guessed was the kitchen.
She began to take us up a narrow staircase but then froze with one foot on the bottom stair. Fingers gripping the banister, she turned her head suddenly, looking out the window in the direction of the driveway. Her eyes shone with excitement, but she was as nervous as a cat—a creature I was allergic to but had some personal experience with.
Vaguely, without looking away from the window, she said, “Excuse me. I forgot my flowers outside. I need to get them in some water before they wilt. Please make yourself at home.”
She seemed barely aware of what she was saying. The hostess was on autopilot.
She strode away, and Birdie and I glanced at each other.
“I hope my room has an ocean view.” Birdie dragged her suitcase to the stairs and hauled it up ahead of me.
I followed quickly, pausing on the top landing to look out a small window at the newest arrival.
A black Ford SUV with tinted windows had pulled into the driveway next to my Jeep. I immediately recognized an official Protectorate vehicle. If it was supposed to look nondescript, it failed.
Leaving my suitcase where it was, I raced down the hall until I found a guest room with a balcony.
Pausing to catch my breath, I put my hand on my necklace and concentrated on making myself unnoticeable before I stepped outside. I couldn’t manage invisible, but I could become extremely uninteresting.
I cracked the balcony door and crouched behind a teak bench. Touching my focus beads to enhance my hearing, I peered through the railing at a black man in his late twenties getting out of the SUV. Darius Ironford, looking as sharp and serious as ever.
To my surprise, he wore an official Protectorate jacket— thick leather heavily adorned with silver—usually chosen only for summonings and interrogations. Any witch would take it as a threat.
Darius took his time getting a small suitcase out of the back seat before walking over to Crystal, who was below me just outside the garden. I couldn’t see her face, but she stood unspeaking and motionless, her arms rigid at her sides. The basket of flowers remained on the ground near the gate where she’d put it to greet Birdie and me.
She hadn’t expected an agent fla
shing his official authority. She’d expected the off-duty director.
I wondered again what crime she’d committed. Or was I being naive? The Protectorate had sent a silver-jacketed agent to my house, then locked me up and accused me of crimes, and I’d been innocent. Maybe Crystal was too.
“I’m Darius Ironford,” my former partner said. He didn’t offer his hand. “Director Raynor sends his regrets. I’ve come in his place.”
“I see,” Crystal said.
They stood below me, staring at each other, the silence stretching between them.
“Am I welcome here, Crystal Ferrero Hawk?” Darius asked.
I wasn’t the only witch to have greater powers at home. Darius would need formal permission to stay.
There was another long pause while they continued to stare at each other. Then a banging sound from the barn caught Crystal’s attention, and she turned to look.
A small, roly-poly man with Einstein hair and a bewildered expression appeared near the driveway. He wore a plaid flannel shirt and paint-spattered khakis and had small glasses perched high on his forehead below the fluffy white hair.
“Has somebody died?” he asked, wiping his hands on a rag. It was the question of an unworldly man, the kind who thought the Protectorate only sent silver-jacketed agents to prominent witches to invite them to a funeral.
Crystal and Darius spoke at the same time.
“I’m here for your party, Mr. Hawk,” Darius said.
“He’s here for my party, Warren,” said Crystal.
Then Darius and Crystal looked at one another.
“Thank you for inviting me,” Darius said carefully. “Where will I be sleeping?”
Crystal hugged her arms over her chest and nodded curtly at the farmhouse.
“Crystal, dear,” Warren said. “Have you told him which room?”
“Second floor. The end of the hall.” She gestured again with the flick of her wrist but made no move to escort him. “Forgive me. I realize I’ve forgotten my flowers over there. I need to get them in some water.” She turned away and walked to the basket on the ground.
Her back was to the men, but from the balcony I had a good view of her face. It wasn’t happy. By telling him where he could sleep, she’d given him implicit permission to cross the threshold. She could still kick him out, but it would be much more difficult. He might break things. It was a beautiful house filled with expensive, carefully chosen decorations. Crystal probably didn’t want them to burst into flames.
I sank lower behind the bench. Crystal walked out of sight toward the carriage house, Warren returned to his barn, and Darius looked up at me.
I felt a sharp tap between the eyes. It wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t friendly either.
Without acknowledging his greeting, I stepped back into the room, annoyed he’d caught me unprepared. Of all the agents in San Francisco, why had Raynor sent the one who hated me most?
Chapter Nine
When I returned to the hallway, I discovered Birdie chatting with a man and woman in hiking clothes.
“She’s put you in the Dog House,” the woman said to me. “But don’t worry. It has an ocean view.” She had a friendly face, looked maybe around forty, and wore her dark brown hair in braided pigtails. The tight, synthetic pullover and leggings she wore showed off a wiry, athletic physique.
“Dog House?” I asked warily.
The woman smiled. “That’s what we call it. It’s the room where she puts people who bring their dogs. Or smokers. Or—well. People she isn’t trying to suck up to.” She took a swig from a water bottle. “I’m Tierra Ramos, by the way. And this is Nathan. We’ve got a room up on the third floor.”
“Tran,” the man said. “Nathan Tran.” He was also very fit-looking: long, lean, muscular. The only hair on his head was a black goatee. A carved bone pendant hung on a thick gold chain around his neck.
“They’ve been here tons of times before,” Birdie said.
“Well, I have,” Tierra said, offering her hand. “Nathan’s only come up with me once or twice.”
“Alma Bellrose,” I said, shaking hands with Tierra, then Nathan. The guarded, dull sensation from each of them told me they were using blocking spells, as I was.
Darius appeared at the top of the stairs with his bag slung over his shoulder. He’d taken off the silver jacket—had he left it in the car?—and Tierra and Nathan seemed to regard him as just another guest at the party.
“You probably got the one at the end,” Tierra said to him. “It’s the master suite.”
“Thanks,” Darius said. He nodded a greeting but walked past us without another word. Only when he’d disappeared into the room at the end of the hall and closed the door did the conversation resume.
I forced myself to relax my shoulders. Darius had always made me nervous; since I’d messed up our mission, even more so.
“Crystal’s parties are always interesting,” Tierra said. She caught my eye and lowered her voice. “Agent?”
I paused, then nodded. My career at the Protectorate was public knowledge. Any curious witch could find out I’d worked with Darius Ironford before—another reason I wished Raynor had sent a different agent. It made it harder to disappear into the wainscoting.
“Interesting,” Tierra said.
“Not really,” Nathan said. “Rich people and the Protectorate have always been in bed together.”
Although I wasn’t a big fan of the Protectorate, I didn’t usually like witches who attacked it, either. Their criticisms often rested on financial matters, like how the Protectorate didn’t distribute its resources to their liking, rather than moral ones, like how its policies could lead to brutality and injustice.
Tierra shook her head. “Like I keep explaining to you, Warren isn’t your typical rich person. He’s an artist. He taught me everything I know.” Her tone was affectionate, even gushing. “He’s got a famous name, but he’s the most unpretentious, talented sweetheart in the world. He’d lose his head if it wasn’t attached, but his art is brilliant.”
Her enthusiasm made me curious to see Warren Hawk’s art for myself. Tierra seemed to genuinely adore the man.
“He lost your head once,” Nathan said. “Didn’t he? The clay thing?”
Tierra laughed. “It was on a shelf. Somebody moved it, that’s all. He can’t stand it when people move things. He gets anxious if his world gets out of balance.” She put an arm around Nathan’s waist.
“Old people,” Nathan said, pulling her against him for a kiss.
I glanced at Birdie, who was watching the couple wistfully. She was such a romantic, poor thing. I was lucky to be happiest when I was alone.
Tierra kissed Nathan back, then shook her head. “Warren has always been like that. Every day, every season, no matter the weather or if Crystal has guests over, he goes to his studio at the same time, takes a break at the same time, hikes at the same time, naps at the same time, goes to bed at the same time.” She turned to me. “It made it really easy to be his apprentice. It’s the unpredictable witches that are impossible to work for.”
“Crystal said you’re a performer now?” I asked, hoping my question wasn’t too suspicious. If Raynor had wanted a good spy, he could’ve sent one.
“Well, if you heard it from Crystal, I’m sure she didn’t make it sound very good,” Tierra said, her tone sharpening. “She makes me sound like Bubbles the Clown doing kiddie birthday parties and carnival shows for loose change.”
“I used to deliver balloons,” Birdie said. “I loved it. Everyone was so happy to see me. I’d never felt so popular in my life. I wish more jobs were like that. Maybe I could start doing that again even if people didn’t pay me. It’s not like I need—”
Before I could interrupt Birdie myself—she tended to lose control of the words once they started flowing—Tierra jumped in.
“That’s fantastic you want to make people happy,” she said. “The world needs more witches like you.”
Birdie’s olive co
mplexion turned rosy. She glanced at me and smiled. I found myself liking Tierra just because she’d been nice to Birdie.
“I perform for witches—adults—all around the world,” Tierra continued. “I incorporate magic, of course, but the foundation is old-school variety show. I sing, I dance, I tell stories. I play drums, guitar, piano, whatever seems right for the crowd. I usually have puppets of some kind or another and—”
“A rabbit,” Nathan said, smiling for the first time. He was much more likable without the scowl. “She pulls it out of a hat. I’m not going to say more than that, because it would ruin the surprise.”
“It’s a baseball hat,” Tierra said. “And then the rabbit turns into a top hat, the hat turns into a rabbit, and the rabbit climbs in the top hat.”
“Babe, you shouldn’t spoil it,” Nathan said.
“I’m on vacation. Crystal doesn’t even like my shows, so I doubt I’ll be doing one here.” She rubbed her hands over her arms. “Man, this house is freezing. Make sure you take advantage of the fireplaces in your rooms. This time of day is as warm as it gets.”
My own fireplace? And an ocean view? Maybe this week wouldn’t be too bad after all.
“I offered to spell your sweater for you,” Nathan said. “Making women hot is my special gift.”
I couldn’t help but smile when Tierra turned to us and rolled her eyes. “He’s a runner and never seems to get cold,” she said. “I’m always freezing, even if he’s dragging me along with him on a run.”
All the talk of cold finally got to me. Unfortunately, I’d left my jacket in the car, and my arms were bare in my short-sleeved T-shirt. “It is cold,” I said.
“Go on, turn on your fireplace,” Tierra said. “We’ll see you again downstairs. There’s always cocktails before dinner around five thirty. Did Crystal tell you about that?”
“No, we didn’t really get a chance to talk,” I said. I let a little resentment into my tone, hoping it would encourage Tierra to dish a little more dirt.
Hex at a House Party Page 6