Page 10 of Battle for the Shadow Prince (A Bargain with the Shadow Prince #2)

10

The Haunting of Harcourt

ELOISE

“ T his is just a really basic exercise to get you in touch with the elements. We all start here when we come into our power.” Maeve removes a silky purple scarf and drapes it across the coffee table, then sets a white candle in front of me, a small white bowl, a white plate, and a white flowerpot full of dirt. “Every spell boils down to elemental roots. Before you can master the spells in the books and journals upstairs, you’ll need to figure out how your personal brand of magic translates into mastery of the elements.”

“Got it.” It’s late, half past eleven, but after I called and dumped on her about my visit from Fuller, she had a long day ahead of her before we could meet for magic lessons. I make a mental note that I need to buy Maeve the biggest bouquet of goth flowers imaginable.

“What’s with all the white?”

She grins. “You can get this set in different colors: pink, blue or white. Black wasn’t an option because of the risk of evil interference, blah, blah, blah. This went with my monochromatic aesthetic.” She laughs. “Besides, it’s the combination of all colors of light. Makes sense that it might help beginners key into their natural vibration. The really important thing is that all the dishes are the same color so that we’re not unconsciously influencing a proclivity toward a specific element.”

“The candle is fire, the flowerpot earth… What’s the plate and the bowl?”

“Oh.” She reaches into her bag for her water bottle and pours an inch into the bowl, then sets a feather on the plate. “There. Water and air. Technically there’s a fifth element we can try—metal—but it’s a difficult magic to work with even for those who come from metal-aligned families. We usually don’t practice it until we’ve mastered the others.”

I scooch to the edge of the green sofa and square my shoulders. This is starting to feel like a test. Tests usually don’t bother me. I was always good at school. But I’ve never felt the pressure I do right now to get it right. Damien’s life could be at stake. “What should I try first?”

“When you broke Damien’s curse, you tossed the candle into the fire. You also saw red and ash when you spoke to your parents and grandma. If your magic comes from dragon’s blood, I have to think fire will be easiest for you.”

I glance at the candle. “So what do I do?”

“Gently ease your intention for the candle to light over the wick.” Gracefully, she sweeps her hand from her heart toward the candle like it’s the easiest, most natural thing to produce flame from thin air.

Narrowing my eyes, I grit my teeth and glare at the wick, repeating burn, burn, burn in my head.

“Now you look like you need an enema.” Maeve laughs wickedly.

“Hey!”

“You’re not trying to start a fire with your mind,” she says through her smile. “Magic is in you. In the deepest part of you. Blood pulses through your veins, but magic pulses through your spirit.”

I tip my head to the side and quirk my lip. “How simple. I just direct the pulse of my spirit at the wick.” It’s ridiculous. I give her a dismissive snort.

“It is simple once you feel it.” Fire springs to life on the wick. She spreads her hands and smiles. “Easy peasy.”

“Did you— How did you do that?” I ask breathlessly. “You didn’t even look at it.”

She rests her black nails over her heart. “Think of yourself standing in the center of a spider’s web. Each strand of the web connects you to everything else. One silky thread leads from you to that wick. Don’t concentrate on the wick with your mind. Go inside yourself to the vibration in your core and pluck the string.”

Inner vibration. I search for it. Feel for it. Close my eyes and wait for it to appear. I’ve got nothing. “What did you find out about Agent Fuller?” I ask to distract us both from the fact that I’m not getting this at all.

She sighs. “Really? You want to talk about him now?”

“Hey, I’m working on it. I can multitask.”

She leans back in her seat. “I confirmed that the FBI found the cavern under your house, which was, um, decorated with the blood of three men, all with mob ties. One of them was Tony.”

“Decorated?”

“Damien made a mess and didn’t clean it up.”

I shudder.

“They found partially burned bills on the boat with his body and matching bills on a barge in the Atlantic. The captain of that vessel was still alive, and they learned from him that his destination was the Caymans and that he drove for Genesis Corp.”

“You got Fuller to admit all that to you?”

She snorts. “No. I have a cousin on the inside.”

“What does any of that have to do with me?”

She adjusts her glasses on her face. “They also found copies of Echo Mills Today down there and put together that the paper matches what the counterfeit bills were printed on Echo Mills that’s published by Gold Weaver, which was owned and run by Tony under a pseudonym. My office was notified on your behalf this afternoon that you are the beneficiary on those Gold Weaver operating accounts, and there are millions in there, El. It doesn’t look good. Fuller knew before I did.”

I gape at her. “Why? The man was divorcing me, taking me to court to not only make sure I didn’t get a red cent but also to take this house. Why on earth would he list me as a beneficiary on one of his company’s accounts?”

She shakes her head. “The company involved in a money-laundering scheme under your house? I’m pretty sure he meant to frame you if things went south.”

“Fuck me!”

“Exactly. That’s what he was trying to do. His family members were listed on all the other financial assets, but the Denardi name is suspiciously absent from Gold Weaver. I think he planned to have you take the fall in the event he was ever caught.”

“Agent Fuller made it sound like he suspected me in Tony’s murder too.”

“You are inheriting a ton of money because of the death of a man… a man you were divorcing. Money from a company the FBI believes is a front for a money-laundering operation that was happening under your house. You’re a suspect.”

“Fucking fantastic.” I huff and flop back on the couch.

“There’s something else.”

I frown at her.

“I don’t know how you got on those accounts, but I suspect the Denardi family will want to talk to you about it.”

“Fuller said essentially the same thing when he was trying to get me to talk. Fuuuuuck . The last thing I need right now is trouble with the mob too. Can’t I just refuse the inheritance? Tell the bank there’s been some mistake. Give it to someone else.”

“That’s actually a good idea. You absolutely have the right to do that.”

“Fine. Do that. I don’t want it. I don’t need it after what Grams left me.”

“It’s probably the safest way. Makes me sick though. After everything Tony put you through, you deserve that money and more.”

I bob my knee. The last thing I need is something else to worry about. I have enough stress in my life trying to get Damien back. Tension rises in my muscles, and I rub the place where my neck meets my shoulder. It feels like my brain is boiling. Sweat breaks out on my brow.

“What if Agent Fuller arrests me? Or one of Tony’s pissed-off relatives stabs me in a back alley?”

“When are you ever in a back alley?”

“I don’t know! But it happens. People are stabbed. Honestly, it doesn’t have to be an alley. It could be in my own foyer, for God’s sake. I’m alone out here most of the day. I can’t deal with this right now, Maeve. I need to focus on helping Damien come home.” The grandfather clock strikes twelve. With each gong, my heart pounds harder. My chest aches like my heart is caught in a steel trap. “Damn, it feels like I’m having a panic attack.” I rub over my sternum.

“I’m here. Just breathe through it.” Maeve rubs my back.

“No. It’s not in my heart. It’s…” I look toward the grandfather clock. I feel a steady, buzzing tug like an electrified string attached to my rib is attached to the clock. “I think I can feel the clock.”

Maeve’s eyes flash excitedly. “That must be your magical anchor. Some witches have them. Usually it’s a talisman or a ring, but this makes sense considering this house has always been your spiritual center. This is good. You chose the clock as your anchor when you journeyed into Damien’s dream.”

I focus again on the candle. Red haze creeps into the room, and ash floats like snow from the ceiling. “Can you see that?”

“See what?”

“The red is back.”

She shakes her head. “Go with it, El. Light the candle.”

A man appears by the fireplace in denim overalls. A tall man with graying hair and a straight, muscular frame you only get from hard work. He turns, and his eyes glow silver from a face the color of newsprint. His entire body is black and white and slightly transparent, just like my Grams was in the attic. But I recognize him right away from his pictures on the gallery wall.

“Grandpa Harcourt?” He’s actually my great-grandfather and has been dead since before I was born.

“Henry Harcourt is here, in this room?” Maeve asks.

I nod. “He’s smiling at me from beside the fireplace.”

“Light the candle, Eloise,” Maeve says breathlessly, her eyes so wide I can see the whites around her pupils. When I look at her, away from the red, black, and white of where my great-grandfather stands, her skin is radiant even though she’s dressed all in black and the green sofa behind her is vibrant. She’s like a breath of life in a room where death looms.

“Can you help me light the flame?” I ask the ghost.

He holds up a finger. Turning to the fireplace, he reaches through the wall. My mother appears, grayscale, just as he is, eyes twinkling silver. She walks straight up to me.

“My mom is here,” I say softly, tears falling. “I miss you, Mom.”

She mouths I love you, but I can’t hear anything. Then she points at the wick. I concentrate on it again but feel a warm tingle enter my side where my mother stands. I grunt as a second web, exactly like the one between me and the clock, forms between me and the wick. There’s a chiff and the candle glows to life.

“We did it!” I yell, looking between my mother and Maeve.

“We?” Maeve asks.

“My mom helped me. She’s right here.” I look back up at her but she’s moved away. Silently, she points at the candle and mouths something. “I think she wants me to try on my own.”

Maeve blows out the candle, but I can still feel the web. I look at my mom and feel the vibration deep within, the one I felt when she was beside me, and I think down it, fire . The wick ignites. I laugh and clap for myself.

“Good work,” Eloise says. “Goddess, I can feel your power, but it’s so, so different than anything I’ve ever felt before. A completely different vibration.”

“I sense the web strands you were talking about now, but until my mother helped me, I could only sense the one to the clock. I’m on my own now though, and it’s still there.”

Maeve grins. “Spiritual training wheels,” she mutters.

“Huh?”

“The spirits of your ancestors are teaching you how to connect to your power through them. Should we test it?”

I nod vigorously, excited to try again.

“Float the feather, Eloise.”

I glance at the feather and try to call up the web. It comes, but instead of rising, the feather starts to smoke. I pull back and look to my mother, who is smiling and shaking her ghostly head. She comes close again and waves her hand near my brow. The web forms again, only not from my side, but from an area between my eyes. I feed energy down the vibration, and the feather floats toward the ceiling.

Maeve squeals. “You did it! Was that with or without her help?”

“With. Let me try it again without.” I nod, and my mother recedes toward the fireplace. I find the thread again. It’s harder this time, like the feather weighs more, but I lift it.

“That’s so good, El! Goddess, it took me so long to master two.”

I grunt and the feather floats down to the plate. A sharp pain cuts through my skull and I grab my head, squeezing my eyes shut. “Oww. Fuck.”

Maeve’s hand is rubbing my back again. “Shhh. That’s all for tonight. I’m afraid we overdid it.” She shoves a tissue into my hand. I don’t understand why until warm liquid oozes out my nose. Blood.

I lean my head back on the couch. The red haze is gone, as are the ghosts of my family members. “Shit, I feel like crap,” I say around the Kleenex. “And it’s cold as fuck in here.”

Maeve grabs the afghan off the back of the couch and wraps it around me. “You’re drained again. I’ll make you some of Aunt Hildie’s tea.” She grabs a tea bag from her purse and heads for the kitchen.

I watch her go, suddenly sleepy. The parlor tilts and then the lights go out.