by Cate Tiernan
“I didn’t do that,” I said more strongly.
“The train wreck in India? That killed almost a hundred people?”
I stared at him. That had been at least eighty years ago. “Again, something awful I did not do.”
Just then, the door behind them opened and Anne’s sister Amy walked in with a tray. “Pot brownies?” she asked cheerfully, looking around.
We were nonplussed.
“No, really?” Brynne was the first to find her voice.
Amy sighed regretfully. “No, not really. Just regular. Anyone still want one?” Then she seemed to pick up on the room’s tension, the expression on my face, and her brow furrowed. “I think everyone needs to take a brownie.” Her tone implied this was an offer we couldn’t refuse, and she took the tray around, staring us down until we caved.
But it would take more than a brownie to stop Ott, now that he was on a roll.
“The things that took place at a club called Miss Edna’s?” His face was dark and angry.
Amy stood right in front of him. “Take. A. Brownie.”
“Is she sure these aren’t loaded?” I whispered to Brynne. Brynne shook her head.
Not answering her, Ottavio tried to nudge her out of the way. Amy planted her feet, refusing to budge, and he finally looked up at her. “Move, please!” he snapped.
“You’re a guest in this house,” Amy said in a low tone, and I swallowed a crumb wrong and coughed. I’d never heard her sound like that, and apparently no one else had, either. Brynne and I made huh? faces at each other.
It took a moment, but Ottavio became still, glaring at her.
“What are you doing?” Her voice was still soft but inescapable. I glanced at River to see her watching Amy with a look of surprised speculation.
“I want the truth!” Ottavio sat back, his black shark eyes shooting sparks.
“Then let the truth come to you!” Amy said, sounding more normal. “Quit trying to bludgeon it out of everything, you pompous jackass!”
Mouths dropped open like frogs at a fly convention. Amy balanced the tray on her hip and swung out the door, perhaps leaving before she said anything worse.
River looked astonished. Okay, pretty much everyone looked astonished. Except Anne.
“She’s a little scary sometimes,” she said conversationally, and took a bite of brownie.
Ottavio seemed completely undone, absolutely speechless. It was great.
But during the stunned silence, I was thinking.
“Who told you all this stuff, Ott?” I asked. “Where did it all come from?” I couldn’t think of any one person who had been at every instance he mentioned. “I mean, the train wreck was just a train wreck—it happens all the time in India. Especially back then.”
“The train wreck was caused by someone working Terävä magick,” Daniel said.
“What? Why do you think that?” I shook my head and stood up. “I mean—what is all this about? I didn’t do any of these things! I just happened to be there.” Wow, that sounded so… lame.
“Yes,” said Daniel, his voice still calm. “You just happened to be there.”
I crossed my arms, trying not to throw something at his head. “People all over the world make Terävä magick every day,” I said tightly. “And have been for thousands of years. Even before I was born.” Like you, for example. “I was not nearby or the cause of every bit of dark magick that has been worked in this world. So what, exactly, are you getting at, Ott?”
Ottavio opened his mouth, but River leaned forward and literally clapped her hand over it, shutting him up.
“Both Ottavio and Daniel have been hearing rumors of very dangerous magick being worked here,” River said. “Or, at least, close to here. I’ve heard from some other friends as well—one in England, one in Russia. I don’t know what’s going on, but stories have been flying.” She frowned and took her hand away from Ottavio’s cold, furious face.
“We believe that what happened with Innocencio—as well as the things you witnessed at that club in Boston—are part of something larger, something truly dark and truly dangerous,” River went on.
I nodded slowly, thinking. “But why is it about me? Why are you questioning everything that’s happened in my life?”
“We don’t think it’s a coincidence that Innocencio came for you,” River said. “We assume that he knows who you are, your heritage, and that he wants to take your power. He’s safely at Louisette’s right now, but it seems clear that though he worked the magick he used on you, he didn’t instigate this whole thing. So who did?”
“Okay.” I felt shivery and cold and went to stand with my back to the fire. “But I still want to know: Who told you all these things? Where are these rumors coming from? Why would someone want to discredit me, in front of you?”
Daniel and Ottavio looked thoughtful.
“I think it was… my secretary who told me,” Ottavio said, frowning. “I’m not sure. Or maybe I heard it at a circle? I’m trying to remember. Someone told me…” His voice trailed off.
“It was my friend Didi,” Daniel said, but he didn’t sound rock solid, either. “I think. I was in Canada, researching old spells, and maybe Didi mentioned it? Said something about my sister—and then the story of what happened with Innocencio and Nastasya seemed to be common knowledge.”
I stared at him. “The only people there that night were me, Incy, Katy, and Stratton,” I said. “And I guess everyone here learned about it. So who is talking?”
“Could it have been the mirror?” Brynne suggested.
Shortly after I’d gotten back from Boston, I’d repeated what Incy had told me—that he had caused a bunch of bad things to happen to me here, to make me run away. Asher had searched the place and found that the large dining room mirror was overlaid with dark spells—it was how Incy had been affecting me. They’d destroyed it.
“We burned it—what, several days after you were back?” Asher asked. “Three days? Could someone—not Innocencio—still have been in contact with it?” He shook his head. “Either that, or there was someone else at the warehouse that night. Someone none of us knew about.”
“Oh God,” I said. “I’ve never considered that. That place was huge, dark as the belly of a ship—you could have hidden a hundred people in there, and I never would have seen them.” It was a new and horrible thought that made me feel creeped out down to my bones.
“And you were under a holding spell,” River added. “Your vision, your awareness, would have been compromised anyway.”
“I will conduct a complete sweep of this property,” said Ottavio. “Sometimes a fresh pair of eyes sees what others can’t.”
“I’ll help.” Anne looked concerned, as if already thinking of places something could be hidden, something that could affect any of us or spy on us. On me.
Solis was remaining silent, and I hated that he still wanted me gone. Then River nodded at Asher, as if in reply to a question, and Asher picked up a small wooden box from the end table next to the couch.
Solis looked up. “You know I disagree with this.”
River nodded gently. “I know. But I believe it’s for the best. Nastasya, come here, please.”
Asher held the box out to me, and I took it cautiously.
“This is yours,” he said. “We were waiting for the right time.”
I pressed the release of the lid. Inside, nestled on a bed of coarse salt, was… my mother’s amulet, repaired and whole and on a chain, exactly as it had been the night she died.
In wonder, I lost myself in it, the room around me fading as my fingers traced every detail. The half I’d always had was as familiar to me as a blade of grass; the half Reyn had given me was both new and dearly remembered. And in the middle, glowing and milky and translucent, was my moonstone, the moonstone I’d chosen blindly from a velvet bag last fall. The moonstone that had helped save my life that night in the warehouse.
The amulet was not as heavy as I remembered, but the last time
I’d held it whole, I’d been ten years old. The ancient gold gleamed with fresh polishing, the runes and sigils still distinct. It was a living thing in my hand, warm and full of energy, like a bird.
With difficulty I looked away from it to search River’s face. She was both watchful and loving, but I picked up on tension among the others. “It’s mine?” My voice was thin, almost childish.
“Of course,” River said. “It always has been.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Ottavio said, looking horrified.
I gave him a big grin, but inside I felt awash in emotion. This was the only thing I had from my original life, my family. I’d gotten used to having just the broken half. It had never occurred to me that someday it could be made whole again. Now I examined it, holding the chain, seeing the pendant twist slowly. In my head I heard my mother’s voice singing her song of power and magick-conjuring.
Would it work as well for me?
“What if—” I began, looking at River. “I mean—my parents were Terävä. The magick they made was Terävä. And this—”
“Will help you channel your magick,” River answered, “light or dark. We’ve worked powerful spells of cleansing and purifying on it, and tomorrow we’ll show you how to bind it more completely to yourself. It, in itself, will not make Terävä magick. Unless you want it to.”
More solemn faces. You could practically hear everyone thinking, Let’s hope this isn’t a huge mistake, to give it back to her.
I nodded. It was so much to take in—my mother’s amulet, whole again! I knew Asher had been repairing it, but at this moment I realized that I hadn’t actually believed it could be repaired, that I truly would have my family’s tarak-sin, perfect and complete.
My eyes began to sting, and I knew that I was about to cry. Which I absolutely could not do in front of Ottavio.
“Thanks,” I managed to whisper, and then I ran out of the parlor and up the steps to my room, clutching my amulet to my chest.
CHAPTER 8
You’d better move,” I snarled quietly, engaged in a fierce stare-down with a chicken. This one chicken, the devil-chicken, was hell-bent on hatching her clutch of eggs. Usually I didn’t even bother with her, not wanting to get my eyes pecked out. But today I was Lilja af Úlfur, possessor of the Iceland tarak-sin, and I was going to get these freaking eggs.
Or… um, maybe not. The cold, glittering stare in her beady eyes made me think that perhaps I needed to be Lilja, possessor of asbestos fireplace gloves that went up to my elbows, before I could really tackle this situation. Giving her one last dirty look, I grabbed my basket and ducked out of the short door of the chicken coop.
“So, you have it.”
I stopped just short of running into Reyn, lurking right outside the coop. No human being should look that good this early in the morning. I myself was sporting my traditional cat-dragged-in look, but Reyn was beautifully rumpled, with a sheen of beard stubble that begged to be touched.
“What?” I wanted to climb him like a tree.
“Your amulet,” he said, falling into step as I headed toward the kitchen.
“Yes. It’s so… beautiful,” I said, still in awe. “I never thought I’d have it. I can’t believe—” Oh, I can’t believe I’m gushing about it when it killed everyone in your family.
“I’m glad you have it,” Reyn said as he opened the kitchen door for me. “I’m glad it could be repaired.”
I stopped and looked up at him, reading the honesty in his strong, chiseled face. There passed between us an understanding: Reyn did not kill my family, though he was connected to it, and I did not kill his family, though I was connected to it. But neither he nor I had caused those tragedies. He and I were guilty merely of surviving.
What were we, to each other? What could we become? Maybe it was my hormones talking, but I thought I saw the same questions, the same wondering, in his eyes.
“Thank you,” I said inadequately.
“You’re letting in the cold air.” Daisuke stood in the doorway, looking at us. “And we need the eggs.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled, handing him the basket. How could I be alone with Reyn again? When? I wanted it as much as I was scared of it.
Everyone seemed subdued at breakfast, lost in their own thoughts. There were so many weighty matters going on: River’s brothers and their suspicions; wondering about the larger picture; wondering about me and my tarak-sin; our general safety…
“Hey!” I said, breaking the silence. “Did y’all know I can summon dead spirits with my amulet? It’s awesome!”
Sometimes one has to shake things up a bit.
“Here.” River pushed a shopping list at me. “Lorenz has to go to town to see the dentist, so you might as well join him and get these things for us.”
I nodded and took the list. “How’s Ott?”
“He’s lying down,” River said pointedly. “Having to be Heimliched upset him.”
“That bit of sausage was bad timing,” I agreed.
“Please don’t forget the whole-wheat pastry flour,” she said.
West Lowing, Massachusetts, is a small town with one main street, imaginatively called Main Street. Five weeks ago I’d gone there every day to work at MacIntyre’s Drugs. Then I’d gotten fired, twice. I hadn’t been there since I got back from Boston.
“Okay,” said Lorenz as I parked the car. “I’ll be back in about half an hour. I hope.” His long-fingered, elegant hand rubbed his cheek as if it ached.
“Let’s hear it for modern dentistry, eh?” I said, and he grimaced. Actually, as much as people dislike going to the dentist now, try doing it two hundred years ago, when having a cavity meant some quack knocking it out with a chisel and hammer in the market square. With no anesthetic.
That’s the kind of thing that makes me crazy when immortals (or even regular people) gripe about missing the good old days and how much more civilized things used to be. I’m like, civilized? Like before indoor plumbing? Before novocaine? Before bug spray? Please.
The one grocery store, Pitson’s, was actually pretty well stocked. We grew most of our own food at River’s Edge, but we hadn’t gotten around to grinding our own flour yet or making our own baggies. I guess River was just slacking off.
My basket had four smooth wheels and didn’t list severely to either side, so, score. Up and down the aisles I went, crossing things off my list, feeling productive. In one corner of the cart I stacked an assortment of contraband items to squirrel away in my room: Pop-Tarts, Twizzlers, some Fudge Grahams, a six-pack of Coke for medicinal purposes. Sighing, I thought longingly back to Coke’s early years, when it had trace amounts of cocaine in it. Talk about a pick-me-up.
After checking out, I put the groceries in the car, then leaned against it to wait for Lorenz. It wasn’t too bad today, weatherwise, and with the sun shining brightly, I could pretend that spring was on its way.
What this town needed was a cute coffee shop. One girl’s opinion. I had no idea when Lorenz would be done, and I would have killed for a nice, hot latte right then. The only time I’d had coffee with Dray, we’d had to go to a garishly lit diner way down the street.
Dray. One of the two nonimmortals I’d become acquaintances with here. She and my other sort-of friend, Meriwether MacIntyre, were high schoolers and about 180 degrees from each other. But something had drawn me to each of them—and then I’d ruined both friendships, of course. Because that’s what I do.
Come on, Lorenz, I thought, starting to feel chilly. I didn’t want to just sit in the car. Maybe I should go check out Early’s, the general store next to Pitson’s. I could stock up on some Now and Laters. Then I happened to glance across the street, at the row of run-down, empty buildings there.
West Lowing had once been four times as large and much more bustling. When the local mill had shut down in the late seventies, the town had lost more than ten thousand jobs. It wasn’t exactly a ghost town yet, but apparently it was too small to support, say, one freaking coffee shop.
Nowadays Main Street looked like a ratty patchwork quilt, with the few remaining businesses popping up between abandoned buildings and empty lots.
Abandoned buildings like these, right here. Crossing the street, I saw that what looked like four separate shops were really part of one larger structure. They looked individual on the first floor, but the second floor was more unified in design. A weather-beaten sign hanging by one nail said APTS. FOR RENT with a phone number.
The shops had wide bay windows in the front and inset doors—a style popular back in the thirties. Small, hexagonal blue tiles spelled out SCHWALBACH’S in one entryway. Pressing my face to the glass, I saw a large empty room with the same kind of pressed-tin ceiling as in MacIntyre’s Drugs, and tall, round columns supporting the roof. Chunks of the walls had fallen in, and there was water damage beneath one broken window. Someone had tagged one of the walls with graffiti.
“What are you doing?” Lorenz’s voice startled me, and he smiled lopsidedly when I wheeled to face him.
“Waiting for you,” I said. “How was the dentist?”
He made a so-so gesture with one hand and cupped the other around his swollen cheek. “I need to get a prescription.”
“Okay. I’ll wait at the car.”
Lorenz grinned at my too casual tone. “Bawk, bawk, bawk.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Fine. I’ll go with, shall I?”
Bigger grin, on only one side, because the novocaine hadn’t worn off yet.
So my pride—and it’s always good to be bullied into something by one’s pride, isn’t it?—made me march across the street and push open the door to MacIntyre’s. The last time I’d been in there, Old Mac, the owner, had fired me for the second time. The time before that, I’d been shouting awful, hurtful things at him, with Meriwether standing there looking like I’d punched her in the stomach. That was when I’d been fired the first time. And I’m not saying I was jonesing to have my promising and glamorous career as a stock girl back, but it had been humiliating, and I’d felt like a failure.
Inside, Lorenz headed toward the back, where Old Mac filled prescriptions. No one was minding the front counter. All the cute posters Meriwether and I had made had been taken down. I wanted to stay put and be able to leap through the door should Old Mac come near me, but disgust at my total weenieness reared its judgmental head, and I forced myself at imaginary gunpoint to actually look for Meriwether, see if she hated my guts.