Hex at a House Party

by Gretchen Galway

  Zoe came out of the kitchen after the caterers left. “I’m wiped out. Nothing like ocean air to put me out like a light.” She adjusted the flowers on the table. “I’ll drop in on Crystal first. See how she’s doing.”

  Birdie and I left them, went upstairs, and prepared for bed, sparing a moment over the bathroom sink to gossip quietly about Nathan and Tierra’s strained relationship.

  “I wonder what Tierra’s response was when he turned up at the gallery and informed her he was going to bring her back here,” I said, unscrewing my toothpaste.

  “Not good,” Birdie said. “She wanted to be alone with him.”

  Toothbrush in my mouth, I frowned at her and mumbled, “Nathan?” My theory was that she’d wanted to make Nathan angry and had succeeded. I just didn’t know if they’d kissed and made up yet.

  “No. Warren,” Birdie said. “Didn’t you see that dress? I bet she’s been in love with him forever.”

  I put down my toothbrush, resisting the urge to comment on how old Warren was. He looked eighty, but if he was using magic, he might actually be over a hundred. “She was his apprentice,” I said. “He taught her his techniques. It’s what she uses for puppets in her show and probably what she taught you with that book. It’s a unique bond, master and apprentice.”

  “It’s a bond, all right.”

  “I realize how it might look from the outside, but it’s usually not a warm relationship. It’s intense and difficult.”

  Or so I’d seen at the Protectorate. I’d never been an official apprentice myself; luckily, it was considered a reward, not a requirement. My father had trained me as a child but in an entirely different way—not within an organization with strict rules, mission, and oversight, but out on the road, hit or miss, picking up odd skills to steal things and get away with it.

  But now I had to admit my assumptions about apprentices and masters could be faulty. Tierra appeared to adore Warren. And she had been awfully eager to take him to his show, with the dress suggesting she’d planned for it.

  “Well, that’s definitely the vibe I got,” Birdie said. “And I may be new to magic, but I know vibes.”

  Alone in my room, I grabbed a thick blanket, flicked on the gas fireplace, and curled up in a wingback chair. I stared into the flames for a long time, thinking about Birdie’s vibes. It was true—I didn’t know any other apprentices who made such an effort to keep in touch with their former masters. The job was often demeaning, always exhausting, and usually short in duration. I’d avoided becoming any witch’s apprentice at the Protectorate—another reason they’d been able to get rid of me so easily. I’d had no powerful mage to advocate for me.

  Even a young Warren wouldn’t have been my type, but he was handsome in his own way; talent, connections, and wealth were attractive to a lot of women. A performer like Tierra would appreciate his devotion to art, especially in a world that made heroes of financial wizards—or witches—like Phil Thornton.

  That led to another train of thought. Had Phil used inappropriate magic to get rich in business? The Protectorate laid down strict rules about high-profile spellcraft because of the attention and risk it would draw to the witch world. Given the rewards, however, the rules were frequently ignored, which kept the Protectorate busy. Any witch CEO would worry about the day a silver jacket showed up for a board meeting. Even the one percent couldn’t ignore a Protectorate summons.

  I tightened the blanket around myself, remembering my incarceration at the Diamond Street office over the summer. Was my current situation much different? Because of the Protectorate, I was stuck here in a stranger’s house, caught between four walls that were not my own. My dog, my bed, my favorite pillow—elsewhere.

  Pushing aside such useless, self-pitying thoughts, I got up and turned out the light for bed. I wasn’t anyone’s prisoner. I’d come because I was curious.

  But I was ready to be honest with myself. I’d come because I didn’t think Seth Dumont, trapped in a human body through no action of his own, should be executed. I was right to come if it stopped Raynor from sending an agent to Silverpool. All the Protectorate agents I knew were like Darius, determined to exterminate, proudly blind to moral nuance. If I’d stayed home, Seth would probably be dead already.

  I shuddered at the thought he might ever find out I’d helped him again. He’d never let me live it down. The flirting would become insufferable.

  As I drifted off to sleep, I turned my thoughts to the type of person who would blackmail a witch. Power hungry, greedy…

  And stupid.

  It was my last thought before I fell into what I’d hoped would be a deep, pleasant, sleep free of demons or changelings.

  The sound of bells and banging woke me. My cloudy dream mind convinced me I was home, the wind chimes were blowing in the wind, and a hurried delivery person was on my doorstep with a package I’d ordered and eagerly awaited.

  I jumped up and turned the wrong way, bumped into the chair, and tripped over the blanket I’d left on the floor the night before.

  The doorbell rang again. And somebody was knocking on a door. Not mine—downstairs.

  Wrapping the blanket over my shoulders, I stumbled out into the hallway and down to the landing, my heart pounding. I put my hand on my throat to draw clarity from my beads.

  It must be the caterer. Out the window, I saw the white van in the driveway below. I went downstairs and found Gail standing at the front door with a large plastic bowl in her arms.

  “Sorry to wake you, but the doors were locked. Usually Crystal lets me in through the kitchen.” Gail turned and waved at a young woman at the back of the open van. She wore a Gail’s Goodies sweatshirt and held a white bakery box. “We’ll take it from here.”

  I squinted at the sky, uniformly silver white with fog. “What time is it?”

  “Seven thirty.” Gail stepped inside, bumping me with the bowl. Fruit salad, fresh and beautifully sliced. “We’ll have breakfast set up at eight, but we’ll be here until ten if you want to go back to bed.”

  “Crystal usually lets you in?” I asked.

  “Always. She doesn’t want me having a key.” Gail shrugged. “Whatever. Some people like to micromanage. Where is she anyway?”

  “I don’t know.” I looked around the downstairs, feeling for something wrong—magic, nonmagic, anything out of place—but it seemed exactly as it had when I’d gone upstairs the night before.

  Gail walked deeper into the house, heading for the kitchen. “I need to let Mackenzie in. She’s carrying the rest of the stuff in through the back.”

  I let her go and spent a long moment scanning a larger area for signs of disruption, pain, damage, Shadow. But the house was deeply spelled with another witch’s magic, and I couldn’t detect anything unusual.

  Crystal had gone to bed with a migraine; maybe she was simply too miserable to get up this morning.

  I hurried upstairs and got dressed, then went through the shared bathroom to Birdie’s room and gently touched her shoulder. She spasmed as if I’d poured ice water on her face.

  “What’s the matter?” She flung aside the covers and sat up, her eyes wide and unblinking.

  “Maybe nothing,” I said. “But Crystal wasn’t downstairs to meet the caterers this morning.”

  Birdie rubbed her eyes. “She had a migraine. I’d be in bed too. Can’t they let themselves in?”

  “She didn’t want them having their own key.”

  “I’ll get dressed.”

  I nodded and returned to my own room, my senses aimed inward at my well of magic, asking it for guidance, any alarm or restlessness, but it was quiet.

  A loud knock brought me to the door. Darius was in the hallway, barefoot and wearing sweatpants and a Giants T-shirt. I realized I’d never seen his feet before. They were long and narrow with nicely trimmed toenails. I was glad I was wearing shoes; it had been a long time since I’d soaked mine in a jasmine-scented tub and had a decent pedicure.

  “What’s going on?” he aske
d.

  Chapter Seventeen

  One thing they’d taught us at the Protectorate was to communicate with facts, not theories. Darius could ask his own questions and draw his own conclusions.

  “The caterers couldn’t get in,” I said. “The doors were locked.”

  “How do they usually get in?”

  “Crystal meets them,” I said.

  He took out his notebook and flipped through the pages. “Have you seen her since last night?”

  “No,” I said.

  He looked up and held my gaze. I felt a deft, skillful truth spell wash over me.

  “Why would I lie?” I demanded.

  “Who knows why you do or don’t do things?”

  I crossed my arms over my chest and let him probe me. I dropped every shield, even the simplest one that every witch learned as a child. Let him see I wasn’t the monster he thought I was.

  He scanned me again without acknowledging I’d laid myself bare, then turned and strode away very quickly. If Crystal thought she might be dragged into the Protectorate for questioning, she might’ve bolted.

  And Warren… Had anyone confirmed he really had a showing at a gallery last night?

  Well, I wasn’t here as an agent. I was an observer, a security guard, a snitch. Bad guys running away wasn’t my problem.

  Birdie came out into the hall, and we went downstairs. I got coffee and a full breakfast, loading up on the granola this time, and found a seat facing the living room so I could watch any people coming in to eat.

  Around eight thirty, Nathan walked in looking terrible. His eyes were dull, his feet dragged, and the zipper on his collar looked strange until I realized he’d put his sweatshirt on inside out. He poured himself coffee, grabbed a slice of quiche without a plate, and flung himself down at the table next to Birdie and me.

  “How was the show?” Birdie asked. “Did you go inside and see his work? I would’ve loved to see it. If it’s open today, Alma, maybe we could drive down and check it out. We’re not doing anything else, are we? You saw some of his art in the barn, but I didn’t get—”

  “I couldn’t find her.” Scowling, Nathan crammed the quiche into his mouth with his fingers.

  I sat up straighter, glancing around for Darius. He’d be interested in hearing this.

  “She wasn’t at the gallery?” Birdie asked. It was perfect the way she asked questions, just casual curiosity. Friendly concern.

  “I never found the gallery,” he said. “I drove around every damn place in that stupid town and couldn’t find it. She didn’t pick up her phone.”

  “Cell coverage isn’t very good around here,” I said.

  “Mine worked, and we have a shared plan.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Whatever. Maybe it ran out of charge. But I doubt it.”

  I tried to match Birdie’s casual tone. “Why?”

  “I left a message. She would’ve charged up and seen it wherever she spent the night.” He slapped his hands on the table and got to his feet. “She certainly didn’t spend it with me.”

  “But maybe—” Birdie began.

  It was too late. He was already marching away, hurling his napkin into the trash on his way out.

  Birdie and I looked at each other. We were alone again in the dining room. Gail and her helper had only come out of the kitchen once to offer the quiche but then had left it to go cold on the counter with the self-serve coffee equipment. Phil and Zoe were presumably sleeping in or having breakfast in their cabin as they had the day before.

  Darius walked into the dining room and came over to me. “I saw Nathan.”

  “He couldn’t find the gallery,” I said.

  Darius’s expression didn’t change. “So he said.”

  “Maybe I should bring a tray to Crystal,” I said. “See if she’s all right.”

  Darius shook his head. “I’ll do it.”

  “If she’s sick in bed, yours is the last face she’ll want to see,” I said.

  “I don’t care what she wants.”

  “Somebody’s here,” Birdie said, pulling a raisin out of her granola and popping it into her mouth.

  Darius looked at her. “Here? Where—?” He turned around. “Oh.”

  While Birdie plucked another raisin out of her bowl, Darius strode off and disappeared out the side door.

  I got up and followed him outside. In the driveway, a silver Volvo wagon was just arriving. It stopped next to the barn, and Tierra climbed out of the passenger’s seat, now wearing jeans and a sweater.

  Seeing Darius and me, she waved cheerfully and walked around to the driver’s side to hold out a hand to Warren. Ignoring her help, he climbed out, his hair especially wild, reached back inside for his jacket, stood up again, patted his pockets, leaned in and pulled out the keys, then finally slammed the door.

  Darius walked over and stood rigidly near the car. Warren nodded at him, checked his pockets again, and wandered down the path to the carriage house. Darius didn’t stop him from going inside, but he stood outside the door as if he were standing guard.

  “He wouldn’t let me drive,” Tierra said with a smile, walking toward me. “I served no purpose whatsoever. I tried to bring him back last night, but he wasn’t having it. His friend’s B & B was all right, but not as nice as here.”

  I thought about Nathan’s inability to find the gallery. If she knew he’d tried to find her, she didn’t want to talk about it with me. “Did the show go well?”

  She lowered her voice, checking over her shoulder. “Well, you know how these things go. He’s brilliant, but everything relies on social media these days. Without a modern promotional approach, he’s completely under the radar.”

  It seemed strange, but I couldn’t sense any deception—although I was only using my focus beads because a powerful spell would be too obvious. “Nobody showed up?”

  “There were a few people, but they didn’t stay long. They didn’t buy. Unfortunately, I think the free wine and cocktails drew them in.” She shrugged. “I’m glad I was there to offer moral support. And add to the head count.”

  “Nathan went looking for you,” I said, watching her carefully. “We just saw him at breakfast. He said he couldn’t find you.”

  She looked heavenward with a sigh. “All right. Thanks for letting me know.”

  An awkward silence fell. I still couldn’t detect any deception from her. “It was really quiet last night,” I said, “especially after Crystal went to bed early with a migraine. She missed dinner.” I brought my hands together at my waist, surreptitiously touching the bracelets for extra focus. “Has she ever left her guests alone like that before?”

  “She said she had a migraine?”

  “Yes. Is that unusual?”

  “I don’t know,” Tierra said. “Honestly, I don’t know her that well, not personally. You’d have to ask Warren.”

  I stopped myself from saying she’d known her for years and seemed quite at home at the Hawk estate. Maybe she did have a thing for Warren and felt guilty about his wife.

  Darius, who had been listening to me talk to Tierra, went over and banged on the front door of the carriage house. After pausing only a moment, he banged again, harder.

  Warren finally opened the door. “Yes?”

  “May I speak to your wife?” Darius asked. Even now a Protectorate agent wouldn’t be able to enter without permission.

  “Well, of course,” Warren said, “but I don’t quite know where she is. Probably at breakfast with her guests.”

  “She’s not in there?”

  “It’s the breakfast hour. She must be at the farmhouse.”

  Darius’s back straightened. I could feel his magic winding up inside him, preparing to act. “She’s not at the farmhouse. The caterer couldn’t get in this morning.” He took his hands out of his pockets. “She went to bed last night before dinner with a headache.”

  “Who did? Crystal?”

  “Yes, Crystal,” Darius snapped. “Is that unusual for your wi
fe to have a migraine?”

  “A migraine? What are you talking about?” Warren’s lower lip quivered, and his eyes darted to Tierra. “What are they talking about?”

  A cold, deep pit opened inside my stomach. I wasn’t overreacting. Something was wrong, very wrong, and Darius knew it too.

  He marched over the barn and disappeared around the corner.

  Tierra walked over to him and touched his arm. “I’m sure it’s nothing, Warren.”

  Darius returned. “I need the key to the garage. What car does she drive?”

  “Why?” Warren asked. “You don’t think—”

  “A Porsche SUV,” Tierra said. “White.”

  “I need to get into the garage,” Darius repeated.

  Warren fumbled in his pocket and came out with a ring of keys. “There’s a remote in my car.”

  Witches didn’t use magic for everything. The new technologies were as good or better, used less effort. Darius took the keys, opened Warren’s car, and a few seconds later we heard the garage door rumble open around the corner.

  “Do you think she was that angry with me for leaving her here?” Warren leaned into Tierra, suddenly looking a decade older. Two. “She asked me not to go. But I didn’t think she’d…”

  Darius returned. “The Porsche is there. There’s only one?”

  “Demon’s eyeballs,” Warren said. “How rich do you think I am? The Volvo was expensive enough.”

  “What I mean is, is there another car she might’ve taken?” Darius asked.

  “No, no. We each have one car.” Warren raised a trembling hand to his mouth. “What if… If she’s not here, then… She must be walking. Right? Where else would she be?” He began to tremble so violently that Tierra took his arm and guided him to the carriage house front door.

  “You’ve upset him. He needs to sit down.” She shot an angry look at Darius. “You want Crystal, how about you go look for her? You’ve got legs.”

  As I would’ve expected, Darius didn’t apologize. He touched the necklace at his throat, and I felt power pull toward him and spiral around his head. His spell was aimed outward—powerful, quelling, aggressive. My reaction, in contrast, was to strengthen my defensive stance. My priority was to keep Birdie and me safe, not attack anyone.