Page 39 of Wicching Hour (The Sea Wicche Chronicles #3)

THIRTY-NINE

Cartography & Churros

M y stomach was close to exploding, but I still ate one more forkful of flan. So. Good. I slid my plate over to Declan, who finished the wedge of caramelly, custardy goodness in one bite. He was so good at not looking like he was eating as much as he was, probably due to his excellent table manners. The kids were excited about the churros and had had a couple each. Everyone was chatting happily, even Bracken.

I wasn’t sure if this evening would prove to be too much for him, but he was hanging in there and seemed content to talk with Robert about his work as a healer for human children. When Bracken’s notebook had come out, I was pretty sure we were going to be okay.

“I hate to be a killjoy, but we should probably talk about our sorcerer problem,” I said.

Elizabeth nodded, patting my covered arm. “You’re right. I think we were all enjoying the company and wishing we could forget about her.”

“Unfortunately,” Robert said, “avoiding problems doesn’t solve them. We need to deal with Calliope, but we also need to stop more from popping up. This family is plagued by sorcerers and black magic practitioners.”

“Yes,” Bracken said, nodding. “We think we know why.” He glanced at me, seemingly checking to see if he could elaborate.

“We’re all on the same side,” I told him, “and we’re showing all our cards. No more secrets. This family has way too many of them.”

He looked down a moment and tapped his notebook. “This is so.” Taking in the whole table, he began, “We believe there’s a demonic grimoire that’s passed down from one sorcerer to the next.”

“I had a dream,” I elaborated. “It was about Abigail singling out Cal for special private lessons when she was a child. She whispered to Cal that her friend had told Abigail to keep her eyes on Cal, that she would be a good candidate for special lessons.”

Elizabeth hung her head. “I never saw it. Abby wasn’t my favorite sister, but I never saw the evil.” With tears glistening in her eyes, she turned to me. “Like your mother was with Sylvia, that’s what it was like for Bridget and me. We were inseparable growing up.” She shook her head. “Sybil told me Abby hunted Bridget and her little girl relentlessly, finally slaughtering Bridget in some run-down apartment where she and her daughter had been hiding. And now not only did she torture her own sister, she also offered up her niece to a demon.”

“Mom and Gran didn’t see it either,” I assured her. “I’ve seen visions of the grimoire she’s using, but I can’t read the writing. Just looking at it in a vision makes my head pound. I asked a half-demon I know about it. He says it sounds like demonic script and that he has heard of an ancient grimoire that’s been used in an old wicche family for centuries. Given the disproportionate number of black wicches and sorcerers in this family, it stands to reason the story’s about us.”

Faith gasped and we all looked in her direction. She pointed at the back door. “A man just walked by.”

Declan rose and went to the door. He looked in both directions and then said something we couldn’t hear. A moment later, Jake and Tyler stood in the doorway.

“This is Jake and this is Tyler,” Declan said, gesturing to each man in turn. “They’re wolves like me and they’re here to guard Arwyn. There are too many threats directed her way right now. If you ever see something in the gallery that looks scary or just odd, please tell Jake, Tyler, or Carter. They’ll sort it out.”

“And not just about me,” I clarified. “If there’s someone bothering either of you, tell them. You shouldn’t have to deal with any of that either. Okay?”

Frank nodded, his expression serious. Faith looked relieved and glanced at her brother. I’d have to remind Carter to keep an ear open for what people were saying to the two of them.

Jake and Tyler went back out to patrol. I still had a stalker with a gun who was planning to kill me tonight.

When Declan sat back down, I remembered and grabbed his arm, lightheaded at the thought. “Tell me you didn’t still have the maps on you when you dove in the ocean.”

He shook his head, gesturing to Bracken. “Your great-uncle is holding them for us.”

I blew out a breath. “Thank the Goddess. Bracken, can you show everyone?”

He took his leather journal from the inside pocket of his tweed sports coat. Opening it, he pulled out all three maps, placing them side by side. “This one is a very old hand-drawn map I found decades ago tucked into a book I discovered at an estate sale. The subject matter was the history of this region. As you can see, this one appears to be drawn by someone with a limited understanding of the shape of the bay.

“It’s hard to read,” he continued, “but the word shades is written right here. There’s no legend. It could mean anything?—”

“Isn’t shades sometimes used as a euphemism for Hell?” Frank asked. “Or for the souls of the damned in Hell?”

Bracken nodded approvingly, as at a favorite student. “Very good. That’s exactly right. We know we’ve had local sorcerers in our family. We know they need privacy to do what they do. Neighbors would call the police if they consistently heard chanting coming from a suburban home. Not to mention the stench of sulfur.”

Bracken shook his head. “No. They need a secret place and once established, it again stands to reason that it would be passed down, like the grimoire itself.”

“Could it be in another city?” Faith asked, moving her plate out of the way. “No one has seen Cal in a while. How do we know she’s still here?”

Bracken held up a finger, in full professorial mode. “Good question and one we have considered. Calliope has been doing sorcery for years. She was living with her parents while she was practicing her demonic magic. Her workshop can’t have been too far because when one of her parents called, looking for her, she was able to make an excuse and return quickly.”

He looked at me and I took over, standing up to collect dirty dishes. Declan rose with me and helped. “I checked with Uncle John. I asked him, on average, how long would it take Cal to show up when he called. He told me it sometimes took an hour, but she always had reasonable excuses. For the most part, though, she returned from her errands or the library or visiting a friend—even though she’d never seemed to have friends—within about twenty to thirty minutes.

“I also had a vision of the house. I know it’s on the ocean’s edge. I saw what looked to be a large home with empty rooms above ground. When I’ve seen her building spells, working with the grimoire, it looks like she’s in a torch-lit basement. I once saw her open a glass patio door, though. Waves hit the rocks and sprayed up just beyond where she stood.”

Elizabeth tried to stand to help, but I patted her shoulder. “We’re good and you’re our guests,” I told her. “As Bracken said, the map is far too inaccurate for us to find her, but it did give us a general area. We’ve driven the 17-Mile Drive multiple times, but neither Bracken nor I felt anything off. So, we asked two other people to help us search for spots along the water’s edge that feel dark.”

“And that’s where it gets interesting,” Bracken said, pointing at the two other maps. “Arwyn knows a woman who is an owl shifter.”

Frank and Faith shared a look, surprised and delighted.

“We asked if she could scout the shoreline for anything that made her feel wrong or uncomfortable. Orla found seven places. Some could be black magic practitioner or other forms of supernaturals.”

Declan and I were back in our seats, the dishes piled in the sink for now.

“These two spots”—he pointed at Orla’s map—“she couldn’t see, but that was true of these other four. When she tried to fly over these two, though, she felt a push to go away. Both locations made her feel sick. We think they’ve been spelled so they’re not only invisible but repel people.”

“That certainly sounds like a sorcerer’s lair,” Robert said, staring at the maps. “You said two spots. Are there two sorcerers?”

“We hope not,” I said. “Just because it’s been warded to keep people away doesn’t mean it’s a sorcerer. It could be a mild-mannered supernatural who used a black wicche to create his wards because he doesn’t want visitors, which is fair.”

“And what about this map?” Robert asked.

Bracken looked at me.

“Okay, you all know my father is water fae, right?”

Frank and Faith nodded. Elizabeth and Robert shared a look. “We didn’t know ,” my aunt said. “I guessed, given your enhanced magic, your affinity for water, the way your hair changes color in it, and…” She glanced down at my leg, where the ribbon of scales was, but didn’t say it.

“Okay, hmm, well, in the spirit of no secrets,” I said, “I’ll give you the condensed version. When Mom was young, the Goddess sent her a prophetic dream. In it, she gave birth to a Cassandra wicche, but her daughter was sad and sickly, terrorized by the visions she saw, ultimately walking into the ocean as a child to end the pain.”

Elizabeth gasped at the thought. “She never said.”

“Mom spoke with Great-Gran, who told her it was a blessing and that she had to find a man powerful enough to father a Cassandra who could survive.”

Elizabeth’s hand covered her mouth. “I’ve never heard any of this,” she whispered. “Poor Sybil.”

“We’re all about secrets around here,” I said. “Mom met my dad and they fell in love.”

Elizabeth sat up straight. “She loved him? She’s never spoken about him. I’d always thought he’d hurt her.”

I nodded. “That’s what I thought too. All my life she’s derailed any conversation about him. I finally forced the discussion, asking if he’d been cruel and hurt her, if that was why she never spoke about him. Nope. She loved him completely and the Council—Gran and Great-Gran—forced her to leave him, to send him away, because they didn’t want any more little half-faelings running around, mucking up the pure Corey line.”

Frank stood in outrage and went to the window. Robert held out his hand and Elizabeth took it and squeezed.

“The elders were hard and cold,” Elizabeth said. “Great-Gran had an issue with my marriage as well.”

I looked between the two of them. “But Uncle Robert is from an old and well-respected wicche family,” I protested.

Robert held up the back of his free hand, showing me his dark skin. “I wanted Elizabeth to come East and live near my family, but she couldn’t leave. She was waiting, praying, for Bridget and Samantha to come home. This family, though, is why I treat human children. The Coreys spurned my help.”

He shrugged a shoulder. “They have John, who is a good man and a skilled healer. I work in pediatric neurology. The children and their parents are desperate for my help, so no one much cares about my skin color.”

My throat tightened. “I’m so sorry.”

He waved away my apology. “It wasn’t you, or your mother, for that matter. Your great-grandmother and her siblings were…”

“Cruel,” Bracken finished, his gaze far away.

Robert nodded. “That they were.”

“So, Sybil had to deal with all the whispers, the looks, the judgment because your Great-Gran didn’t want any more fae blood than was absolutely necessary to produce a Cassandra wicche who could survive her gifts?” Elizabeth looked ready to fight.

Declan’s hands were fisted on the table. Reaching over, I laid a hand over his fist. It immediately loosened as he opened his hand to hold mine.

“I guess they’re just going to have to get used to their precious blood being polluted,” Declan said.

Robert glanced over and nodded at us. “They will indeed. No one can make Arwyn do anything she doesn’t want to, and they know it.”

On an eye roll, I said, “Oh, they try.”