“Not much has changed.” Nicholas joined me at the window but his gaze was fixed on me rather than the events unfolding on the street below. “I think I’ve gotten you in more trouble than out of it.”
Lars seized the opportunity to give Nicholas a hard time. “Finally, something we can agree on.”
I moved away from the window when the girls ran out of my line of sight. “Ignore him.” I glared at Lars on my way to the kitchenette. “I’m going to make some coffee.”
Nicholas joined me in the kitchenette. His hand brushed mine as we both reached for the coffee beans at the same time, causing a swarm of butterflies in my stomach to take flight. “I’m sorry about Margret.”
“I didn’t really know her.” Margret was a stark reminder why feeling anything for Nicholas other than friendship was a bad idea, so I left him to grind the beans and filled a stainless steel pot with water instead.
“That doesn’t make it bother you any less.” He paused for a moment as the coffee grinder whirred into action. “She knew Grim and my father. Losing that tie to someone they were close to stings.”
“It does, but if anyone deserves your condolences, its Amber.” I watched the small bubbles in the water make their way to the surface as it began to boil. “How many more witches have to die before we figure out what the hell is going on? Because it is way more than stopping another warder from practicing her trade.”
Nicholas scooped the grounds into the French press and set it beside the single burner hot plate. “Maybe these will help.” He pulled out some paper that had been folded into quarters and stuffed in his jeans pocket. This is why I went to the seminary, to talk to the professor.”
“You found something in the letters?” I grabbed the papers out of his hand and sat on the stool at the end of the counter. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
“Like when?” He folded his arms across his chest and leaned a hip against the counter. “When I came back to Crane House and found Margret dead on the floor? Or when I found you and Lars hiding in a wardrobe like you were looking for Narnia? Or how about when Amber showed up and called the Magistrate? Or better still, while I was the getaway driver trying to outrun the footmen?”
“I suppose you have a point.” I skimmed the first letter which appeared to be the opposite end of a correspondence I read between Vincent and Grim discussing his position within the Magistrate.
Vincent,
I wish my colleagues shared your view of our world. Much to our mutual dismay, they do not. Your most recent papers theorizing the duality of witches and their ability to harness more than one brand of magic is fascinating, though I fear too titillating for the older members on the council. Wouldn’t it be a wondrous thing indeed if we embraced these abilities and our differences rather than seek out these so-called abominations to eradicate them? I took this position at your behest in the hopes of making the changes we both wish to see in the community, but I fear that will never happen and my time within these walls is coming to an end.
Regards,
Grim
“If I didn’t know his handwriting, I would swear this was written by someone else.” I reread the letter, the starched formality of it so alien to me. “He never talked like this.”
“Maybe he hated what the Magistrate had become so much that he became everything they hated when he left.” Nicholas’s oddball logic actually made sense.
Grim railed against the status quo and never turned down a ward. They were two of his best qualities.
“Maybe.” Chain wallets, white tee-shirts under leather biker vests, a cornucopia of wards and tattoos— that was the Grim I knew. Not the button-down stuffed shirt who wrote letters to Nicholas’s dad. I flipped to the next letter and started reading. The style of writing felt more familiar even if its subject matter was not.
Vincent,
Your invitation to Nicholas’s moon ceremony arrived yesterday. I’m honored. It’s been a long time. Too long, actually, and even longer since Margret and I have been in the same place never mind sharing the same altar. Does this mean we’re getting the band back together? I hope so. I was surprised Vi agreed to hosting your dissident friends, but moon sworn mentors? She must have been thrilled. I can’t speak for Margret but I promise to be on my best behavior. Especially around the in-laws.
Grim
More confirmation of what I suspected— the moon ceremony is significant if not the catalyst for the chain of events that lead to the death of a trio of friends, the destruction of my life and livelihood and Lars’s along with it, and Nicholas’s dissent from the Winslow family, the Magistrate, and the lifestyle that afforded. Something happened at that ceremony. All we had to do was figure out what it was.
I turned to the next letter in hopes of finding another clue. Not the cause. Finer details of the present fell away as I read the third letter. Sounds of traffic from the street below the attic windows drowned out by the sound of my own heartbeat. The woodsy scent of Nicholas’s cologne wafted away until the only scent remaining was the smell of old parchment in my hand. The wooden countertops, spelling pots, and various supplies lining the walls of the workshop and the sparse cooking utensils in the kitchenette all faded away as my focus lasered in on the most important lines I read out of any of the letters to date. Buried within the pleasantries of yet another reply from Grim, post moon ceremony, were a few sentences that changed everything.
Someone paid attention in spelling class. The sleeping tonic and pain-relieving salves you concocted are as close to anesthesia as we’re going to get, given our limited resources. I spoke with Margret. She read the leaves as best she could for me and gave her seal of approval. I’ll see you and yours soon.
It wasn’t the first time Grim and Vincent discussed a potion or new development in their skill set but it was different from the rest. Tonics and salves? Margret’s approval? Someone close to Vincent? I turned the puzzle pieces around and around in my mind until they finally snapped together.
“Oh my goddess, Grim warded you.”
“Now do you see why I went to the seminary?” Nicholas raked his fingers through his ash brown hair. With a frown and furrowed brow, he looked as confused as I felt. “There’s no way I have a ward I didn’t know about. It’s ridiculous. Impossible even.”
“It shouldn’t be possible. I mean, I never knew it was possible. But this is Grim we’re talking about.” I recently discovered Grim had the capability of making his magical imprint undetectable by ghosting his perimeter wards. But on a person? I needed to see it for myself. “Take off your shirt.”
Nicholas’s gaze shifted from me to the couch where Lars parked himself the moment we got back from Crane House. “Okay, let’s say he did ward me. How are you supposed to see it if I haven’t come across it in all of my twenty-seven years?”
When he turned his attention back to me, one look at my face had his hands in motion. His fingers found their way to the buttons of his crisp black shirt, working their way down the row until every last one was unfastened.
“Pants, too,” I said, watching with rapt attention for more reason than one as he slipped out of the shirt.
Nicholas folded the shirt and set it on the counter next to a small cast-iron spelling pot. “There’s no wards there.”
“This isn’t a time to be modest. Drop them.” I tried and failed to maintain eye contact. I’d forgotten how many wards he actually had. Finding Grim’s ghosted ward wouldn’t be easy, but I was willing to scour every inch of his body if necessary.
One half of Nicholas’s mouth upturned in a mischievous smirk. “I’m going commando.”
“It’s for science.” I squeaked out. Oxygen seemed in short supply and my heart threatened to beat out of my chest at the mere prospect of seeing him completely naked.
He undid enough of the button-fly jeans to lower them on his hip, exposing more of his happy trail which led the way to a pronounced v before we were interrupted.
“What in the hell?” Lars
stopped at the end of the counter closest to the sofa, his hand poised to open the lower cabinet where Nicholas kept the snacks. “Put your frigging clothes on. Nobody wants to see that.” He moved away from the snack cabinet. “Thanks. I lost my appetite.”
Still holding the letters, I waved them at Lars. “We think Grim ghosted him.”
“Drop ‘em.” Lars folded his arms across his chest, a stern look on his face.
“What? No.” Nicholas gripped both sides of the button fly in one hand to keep them closed. “I’m not standing naked in front of you both. That’s—”
“Embarrassing.” Lars nodded. “I get it. A lot of pressure for her to see you in a state of undress. What if you don’t measure up? Then what?”
Heat flushed my cheeks. “Lars!” The only person who looked embarrassed was me and I was fully clothed. “We’re not measuring anything. I can’t believe I just said that.” I shook my head in mock disgust. “Margret couldn’t have foreseen this moment? I mean, I’m willing to bet if Grim saw this coming he might have reevaluated the whole ghosting wards thing.”
Lars nodded his head in agreement. “We still don’t know if he did.”
Nicholas looked uncomfortable— not that I blamed him. “How about we compromise? I keep my pants and you can examine any and all wards above the beltline?”
There was pouting. I’m talking about Lars, of course. He was devastated.
“Fine.” I waited for Nicholas to fasten his jeans before closing the few feet between us. Hardly an inch of bare skin remained from his collar bone down.
Exploring Nicholas’s bare torso was not how I expected my night to go. Of course, neither was being wanted for murder. I hoped things were going according to the Goddess’s plans because they sure as hell weren’t going according to mine.
Chapter Nine
After a cursory scan of the designs, I settled on a triquetra or trinity knot on his left shoulder as my starting point. The most basic of personal protective wards, the three-pointed Celtic knot represents the triple Goddess and her commitment to watch over those sworn to her. Every witch worth her cauldron had one. We received them after our second moon ceremony at the age of thirteen— a rededication of sorts— which ruled that one out immediately. So, I skipped it and worked my way across his back, left to right like reading a book or, more accurately, the story of Nicholas’s life.
Based on the number of wards he wore, Nicholas’s parents believed he was a target. After our time together, I was a believer, too. Some of the wards were relatively fresh. To the untrained eye, the various swirls, triangles, squares, and lines might look like a bizarre form of hieroglyph but all of the shapes worked together to create a two-dimensional cloak that shrouded the bearer in a protective circle from any danger— perceived or otherwise.
One ward in particular caught my attention. The faded inks in the Seal of Solomon put it close to the right age for the use and need of numbing creams and sleeping potions. The seal was comprised of one triangle and its inverted counterpart interlocked to form the warder’s symbol for the Hermetic axiom, or as above so below. A favorite piece among the dual-natured, I’ve used it in more than one warding session. With my palm pressed against the tattoo, I opened my third eye with the expectation my magic would recognize Grim’s the same way it had on the Solstice. Nothing. I ignored the lingering scent of Nicholas’s cologne; the way goosebumps broke out over his skin and the increased rhythm of his heart at my touch and widened my second sight.
Still nothing.
Nicholas’s tattoos were as mundane as the clients who came into Something To ‘Ink About day in and day out. As one of the last of a dying breed, I wasn’t surprised none of them felt magical— just disappointed. A small, selfish part of me hoped to discover a ghosted ward, not because it was another piece in the Winslow-Magistrate puzzle but to feel Grim’s magic again. I hadn’t felt this close to him in years.
“Of all the symbols, I thought for sure it would be the seal.” With a frustrated huff, I tucked a stray strand of my bangs back behind my ear and moved on to the next piece. “Who did your bindrunes?”
“The two on my back were done by a mundane on Block Island back when I was still invited to summer with the Winslows, and this one here,” he ran his left index finger along the ribs on his right side, “was done here, in Providence at—”
“Docs.” Recognizing a mundane tattoo artist came as naturally as sensing wards. Each person has their own style when it comes to ink. Doc had the darkest inks in town and the lines were clean. Nicholas’s bindrune was no exception. “He didn’t question the design?”
“Do they ever?” Nicholas offered up that easy smile, the one that reached his eyes and melted my panties. “All they see are shapes.”
The bindrunes were a combination of runes bound together in a new geometrical pattern to form a super rune. For centuries, witches marked themselves with runes until the Inquisitions when it marked them for death. When tattoos moved mainstream, the practice made a comeback. Bindrunes fell under the category of charm not ward because unlike one of my creations, it didn’t permanently alter a witch’s magic. They did offer some insight as to how he managed to elude the Magistrate and his uncle by keeping the attic space hidden.
“This is pointless.” Lars tossed Nicholas’s shirt to him. “Grim didn’t ward him. It’s a literal witch hunt.”
“Yeah and we’re the ones being hunted, remember?” Not that any of us could forget. I let my hand trail across Nicholas’s back. One last touch before the intricate art covering corded muscle was hidden away beneath his shirt. “For a murder we didn’t commit.”
The slightest tingle, an electrical charge I would have missed if I’d been tattooing or warding with my machine, tickled my fingertips.
“What?” Nicholas stopped halfway into his shirt when he noticed my surprised expression.
Lars waved it off like it was nothing. “She’s probably just picking up on the magical charge in one of the bindrunes. Or the magical charge between the two of you.” He proceeded to make sound effects like a third-grader.
Admittedly, had I not been the focal point of his schoolyard ridicule, I probably would have laughed.
As it was, the mask of patience I’d been wearing since Nicholas shirked his first piece of clothing slipped and Lars received the full force of my irritation and frustration. “You can be such an ass sometimes. I’m just as proficient in tattooing a charm as I am detecting one. Thank you very much. That goes for curses, too. Think about that when you’re going to sleep tonight.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath, channeling my intentions as I released any inhibitions that may block my second sight, and tried again. “No friggin’ way.”
Nicholas trembled under my touch as I found a chink in his magical armor and my energy slipped inside, searching for the source of the ward. He tensed up, initially fighting what no doubt felt like an attack on his defenses before his aura lightened and his muscles relaxed.
“Lars is right, it has to be something in one of the bindrunes.” The disbelief in Nicholas’s voice belied his denial of my discovery. I didn’t have to tell him which ward it was. He knew better than anyone which one was beneath my hand. “That’s been there my entire life. There’s no way.”
“Shut up. You’re messing up my concentration.” The need to trace a ward was rare and a skill I hardly used. A ghosted ward? Well, I’d only done that once— three days before. “This is harder than it looks.”
I wrote off the goddess mark because of its commonality. Just like Grim intended. Using a mark easily overlooked made ghosting the ward easier. I didn’t need to know the spell to figure that out. Grim preferred to keep it simple. Work smart, not hard, Adeline. If I had a penny for every time I heard that during my apprenticeship, I could rebuild Something To ‘Ink About. It was sound advice. Maybe one day I’d learn to take it.
Then again, maybe not.
After another a final exchange of heckling and empty t
hreats between the three of us, I was able to focus on the pattern of the Celtic knot. I let my magic flow over the lines, tracing the pattern over and over and over again. On the third time around, I felt it again— that slight tingle in my fingertips.
“Power in threes,” I muttered to myself as my magic went around and around and around. On the third set of three, the tumblers fell into place and Grim’s lock opened, revealing the ward he’d ghosted.
I almost wept as my magic recognized his in a flood of power stronger than what sealed the compartment beneath the floorboards. In that moment, I became a cannibal, devouring every ounce of Grim’s light that seeped out of the tattoo. A few pieces of the shattered remains of my heart knitted back together when his energy hit my core. Grim was my savior, my mentor, a father figure. I never knew how much of my life revolved around him until he wasn’t in it anymore. Every decision I ever made was after I sought his counsel.
With just a few drops of Grim’s magic absorbed into my system, it was easy to understand how a witch could become hooked and desperate for another fix. Was that what happened with Margret? Was her killer just a junkie on Winslow’s payroll?
Once the ghosted layer had been unlocked, the traditional ward revealed itself. “This feels different. Layered. Like Grim warded you, ghosted it after your first moon ceremony and then tattooed over it after your second.” Shock and disbelief took first and second place in the battle of my emotions, with disappointment rounding out the top three. “You were just a baby. What could have possibly been worth taking the risk of warding you at such a young age?”
“Only one thing comes to mind.” The color drained from Nicholas’s face, leaving him with an ashy pallor and sickened expression.
“Adeline.” Lars stood up from his perch on the stool at the opposite end of the counter. The metal legs screeched as they dug into the hardwood in protest of his rapid dismount. “A word. In private.”
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