Page 9

Chapter

Eight

“ S teaming on your skin?”

“That’s what I said, Joon. Twice.” I switched off the garden room radio and put my phone on speaker. I’d been out here since lunch, checking and rechecking the charms. My magic was stronger these days, but it wasn’t what I’d call dependable. I didn’t entirely trust it.

“Right. Well, it’s early here, so forgive me for being a little slow,” he said.

“I checked. It’s seven a.m. in Seoul. Aren’t you usually up by seven?”

“No. And definitely not after following a college kid around all night.” He coughed, and I heard a sipping sound. Probably coffee, maybe tea.

“Is it nice there?”

“How would I know? I haven’t been able to enjoy a single second of my trip. Remind me never to take a job from a government official again.”

“That’s not fair. Sounds like it’s less about the official and more about her kid.”

“ Remind me,” he repeated.

“I’ll make a note of it in my calendar,” I drawled.

“See that you do.” He chuckled softly. “To answer your question, it’s nice here. Mild, a little warm.”

“Same here in Smokethorn. Getting warmer by the second. I’m not looking forward to summer.” I stared out the window at the desert sky. It was wide, clear, and as blue as the ocean. “What do you think about this weird magic thing? I need the take of another elemental magical.”

“And you came to me? I’m honored.”

“You should be. I chose you out of all the zero earth elementals I’m friends with.”

He chuckled again. “So, this weird magic thing started last month after you made out with Ronan in the park?”

I frowned at the phone. “I never mentioned making out with Ronan.”

“Ida and I talk.”

“Great. Fine. Wonderful.” I plopped onto the chaise and played with a sprig of chocolate mint. Cecil had just started growing the stuff, and it smelled like heaven. “That’s when it went full steam—no pun intended—but it started before that. I just didn’t pick up on it. Have you ever heard of one of us absorbing the soil into our bloodstream?”

“No. Not even for a spell. Blood magic isn’t something I know much about, though.”

“It’s not blood magic. It’s earth magic gone wild,” I said.

“Could be both. How do you access it once it vaporizes into your skin?”

“Good question.”

“But you did use it.” He gentled his voice. “When Cousin Stalker McMurderface tried to kill you.”

“I told you. It was a group project. I called upon my ancestors, the Lennox witches, and they helped me, uh, stop him.”

“They helped you skin him down to bone? ”

Gee, thanks for the visual reminder, Joon.

“I mean, kind of? They helped me access my magic.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. They just did.”

“What if they didn’t?” he asked.

“But I couldn’t do it until they helped.”

“Or until you believed they helped.”

“So the power was inside me all along?”

“Well, yes. And I’m picking up on your sarcasm.”

“If you weren’t, I’d be worried, since I’m laying it on pretty thickly.”

Dishes rattled in the background. “I need another pot of tea if you’re going to be a smart ass. I’m nowhere near your level.”

“You and Ida surpass my level.” I brought the chocolate mint sprig to my nose and inhaled its scrumptious scent. “Sorry for being a smart ass.”

“I wasn’t asking for an apology. Betty, you have some serious mental blocks. Resistance. You see things the way you want to see them, not the way they are. We all do, to some extent.”

“But I’m especially good at it.” I switched the phone off speaker and held it to my ear.

“ Good isn’t the word I’d use, but yeah.” The sound of water filling a container came over the line. “If you’re truly interested in figuring this out, you’re going to have to knock down every door you’ve closed in your own face. Beat back your own resistance and face whatever truth confronts you. Even if it sucks, because if you’re protecting yourself this much, it probably will.”

“This isn’t cheering me up.”

“Hey, I’m not a mood manager. I’m a truth-teller.”

“Exactly how often are you and Ida talking these days? Because that sounds like something she’d—” Beep . “Hang on, I’ve got another call.” I pulled back the phone to glance at the screen. “It’s Ronan. I should take this. ”

Joon promised to call when he was back in the States, and I thanked him and hung up. I picked up the other line.

“Hi, Ronan.”

“Hey, is this a bad time?”

“No. I was just on the phone … What’s going on? You sound stressed.”

“Someone followed me to the pub from your place. Things are starting to heat up. Remember what I told you.”

“That you reserve the right to invoke the foreplay massage?” I teased, because he sounded worried, which made me worried, and my worry often expressed itself as smartassery since I hated dealing with strong emotion.

Joon was right. I’m overprotecting myself.

Ronan huffed a laugh. He was moving, and from the pattern of his breath, I was pretty sure he was running up a flight of stairs. Not that he was the type to breathe heavily due to physical exertion, it was only that his breath puffed out at the same time as his foot stomped.

“Definitely remember that, but also what I said about Floyd. Something’s not right here. Take extra precautions, okay?”

Sure. I mean, I was going to snatch the wife of a key member of Floyd’s coven tonight, but other than that I’d be on my best behavior.

“You, too. It sounds like they’re after you, not me.”

“I can handle it,” he said.

“No crazy chances, okay? Because if you get yourself hurt, I’m going to let Cecil bring his explosives to your pub.”

He let out a nervous laugh. “Yikes. No crazy chances. I swear on the pub’s fire insurance policy.”

I quieted my tone, dropped the sarcasm. “Ronan, I’m serious. Be careful.”

“Don’t worry, Betty.” His voice matched mine. “I will.”

By the time nine o’clock rolled around, Cecil, Fennel, and I’d been sitting in front of an unoccupied house down the block from the Mace-Reeves residence for an hour. Ida’d loaned me her ‘85 LTD for the job, since a neon-orange Mini was a terrible surveillance vehicle and I’d sold the late-model Jeep I’d used to pull my Airstream. The Mini was newer, and it wasn’t as if I needed a tow vehicle anymore since my little trailer had been reduced to a pile of burnt detritus.

As Margaux had warned, Desmond Mace was going to be late to the meeting. The disrespect shocked me, made me wonder why Margaux put up with it. She was the coven mother, after all.

The seven members were, in order of rank, Margaux Ramirez, Aldrich Redding, Desmond Mace, Gordon Lu, Bronwyn Jonas, Carolina Foster, and William “Billy” Lopez.

Margaux I knew through Mom, of course, and Bronwyn through Wicked. Aldrich Redding, second-in-command, was one of the members of the coven who’d been around when Mom was alive. He had skin and hair the same shade of white and a tendency to nod off during chants, according to Mom—and that had been over five years ago. Goddess knew how bad he was now.

Gordon Lu was in his early thirties, average height and weight, and clean shaven. Lu’s family had moved to Smokethorn from Beijing as a child. I’d—briefly—attended high school with his brother Bo. He was an air witch, not particularly strong, but he had a gift for healing. Lu was okay, as far as I knew. He came from a solid paranormal family.

Carolina Foster was three things I disliked: prim, proper, and pompous. She was a learned witch in her mid-twenties with board-straight black hair, round brown eyes, and perfect brown skin. She looked down on any witch who wasn’t affiliated with a coven, which included me.

Billy Lopez was a thirty-something Brad Pitt with the serene demeanor of the perpetually stoned. He’d joined the coven because his late mother had been a member, and they only let him because they needed a seventh, and he was a passable learned witch .

Definitely the weakest in the coven, but I’d choose to work with him over anyone other than Bronwyn. I had a soft spot for Billy. He was almost too gentle for this world, a genuinely good-hearted sort. The type of guy you’d let guard your drink at the bar while you went to the bathroom.

Conversely, Desmond Mace was the sort of man who made you want to lock your drink in a tiny safe and take it into the bathroom stall with you. He was middle-aged, spray-tan white, and tall to the point of being gangly, with close-cropped gray-blond hair and beady blue eyes.

I’d met him when he came to discuss a spell with Mom years ago. He’d been scornful of our intricate practices, snobbish toward learned-magic witches, and was downright rude to one of Mom’s elderly customers. She’d booted his ass off the property and told him to never come back.

Mom had been something of a peace-love hippie, for the most part, but she’d never been afraid to tell someone to fuck off when they needed it.

Cecil stretched out on the seat and yawned. Fennel sat at attention. So did I.

Although I was parked half a block away, I had a great view of the front door, which finally opened five minutes after nine. Desmond stood in the rectangle of light for a long moment, speaking animatedly to someone. There were a lot of hand gestures and annoyed looks.

He was dressed in a business suit that seemed too formal for his job as a real estate agent, but then what did I know about it? My uniform was mostly jeans and t-shirts, heels, and red lipstick.

Maya stood beside him. Her head was down, shoulders bowed. Limp blond hair brushed her shoulders. It was shorter than in the video Bronwyn had shown me.

I gave the signal, and Fennel leapt from the LTD’s window and darted toward the house, Cecil clinging to his back. I was using a telepath spell, which allowed me to speak to Fennel and see through his eyes when he wanted me to.

Leaves, bushy branches, darkness. They were in a dense bush on the property next door—a Ficus microcarpa , or Indian laurel. Both remained still and watchful as they waited for Desmond’s tardy ass to get into his BMW sedan and hustle to his meeting.

Stay back until his car turns at the corner.

Fennel sent back his agreement. It was a general feeling of assent rather than the word okay . That’s how it worked when communicating with animals, even magic ones.

Gnomes, too, for that matter, though I wasn’t connected to Cecil, only Fennel. I could only imagine the overstimulated speed run of a journey his brain would take me on.

Desmond’s car drove slowly past Ida’s LTD, where I was hunched down in the seat. I watched his progress through Fennel’s eyes. I caught a glance of his face before the car drove past. He was sweating, and even his orange fake tan couldn’t mask his pallor. Our pal Desmond was worried about something.

Good. The piece of shit should be worried.

Once he’d turned the corner, I waited a few precious minutes longer, instructing Fennel to do the same in case the witch backtracked. He’d seemed too nervous, too shaken. I didn’t trust it.

He didn’t return, so I sent Fennel and Cecil ahead to deal with the security doorbell and scope out any hex bags on the front lawn. Cecil had a knack for locating the suckers.

After they’d dug up two buried on either side of the porch, one beneath the mailbox, and another beside the driveway. I strolled up with another null bag, getting as close as I could. Desmond’s repulsion spell was still active.

Cecil dumped the hexes inside and sealed the whole thing with a power word and a series of intricate knots.

Fennel trotted over and stood between my feet, his tail wrapped around my ankle to ground me. I took a quick look around the oddly silent neighborhood before digging the bag of soil out of my pocket and pouring the contents into my hand. As before, the dirt vaporized, sizzling into my skin. It felt like a bad beach sunburn, but it filled me with a rush of power.

“ Abatir .”

Fennel meowed, tightening his hold on my ankle as he fed me a boost of magic. I pushed it all at the spell, palpated the invisible, membranous bubble with it, as I searched for a weak spot. Found it immediately. Left side of the house. Under a frosted glass rectangular window.

Together, Fennel and I sent a blast of power at it that rocked me on my heels and had him digging his claws into the grass. The spell broke, Fennel loosened his tail, and we walked up to the house together, the cat darting behind a bush just before I reached the door.

I dug the lucidus charm from my bag. I’d placed it in one of Ida’s old cardboard jewelry boxes and added a bow and forged card from Desmond. My clever little ruse to get Maya to put it on.

I was even dressed in unthreatening clothing—khaki pedal pushers, white sneakers, and a white polo shirt I’d picked up at DiscMart. I’d twisted my hair into a ballerina bun and added a pair of tiny gold hoop earrings and a digital watch.

Voila. The ultimate vague uniform.

I rapped on the door.

“Who is it?” a heartbreakingly weak voice asked.

“Special delivery for a,” I paused as if checking a clipboard, which I’d actually forgotten to pick up. Damn. “Maya Reeves Mace.”

“That’s not my name.”

“Sorry. It’s what the box says.”

“What are you delivering?”

“Ma’am, you can check me out through the peephole if you like. I work for La Reina Jewelers.” I sighed, loud enough for her to hear through the doorway. “I was supposed to deliver this earlier, but it fell on the floorboard of my car, and I missed it. Please, ma’am. If you don’t accept this delivery, I could get fired. ”

The locks on the door opened one by one. Snick , snick , snick —three freaking deadbolts. From this side of the door, it had only looked like one.

A sad-eyed woman stared out at me. Her body was painfully thin, and her hair, which I’d thought she’d had cut, looked as if it had been chewed off at the ends. She held out a trembling hand. “I don’t want you to get fired.”

“ Thank you .” I placed the box on her palm and held up my camera. “There’s another part to this, too—gosh, I’m so sorry—I’m supposed to get a photo of you wearing it. Your husband specifically requested it.”

She gave me a pathetic smile that didn’t come close to affecting the rest of her face. “Okay.”

Trembling fingers with nails gnawed to the quick opened the box. “Oh, this is lovely. It doesn’t look like something my husband would choose for me, though. Are you certain it’s mine?”

“Positive, ma’am. I double-checked.”

She held the necklace out in front of her and smiled. Her teeth looked like they hadn’t been brushed in a while, and that, along with her unkempt appearance and body odor, made me so raging mad I was tempted to drive straight to the coven meeting and punch Desmond Mace in the godsdamn throat.

The charm started working the moment she picked it up. I’d made it strong enough that even holding it would have an effect.

“What is this?” Her forehead wrinkled, mouth turned down. She was heartbreaking in her confusion. I wanted to give her a hug, and that wasn’t like me. I didn’t hug strangers.

“Clarity,” I said, softly. “Maya, my name’s Betty. I’m a witch. Bronwyn sent me.”

She blinked back tears and let out a short, sharp breath. “He wouldn’t let me shift. Not even in the privacy of our home like he used to.” There were too many tears to hold back, and they began to tumble down her cheeks. “My skin itches, and I feel like throwing up all the time. ”

“Why didn’t the rat pack help you?” I asked.

“I’m not in the pack. Desmond wouldn’t allow it. It was one of the reasons—and there are a lot—that I left him.” She put the necklace over her head and gasped. It was as if the full impact of what he’d done was only just hitting her. She went down on her ass on the threshold. “He’s hideous.”

“Is there anything you need from the house? Because I’m not sure how long the coven meeting is going to last, and I’d like to get you far away from here.”

“You aren’t with the coven?”

“No, I work alone. Well, not alone .” I stepped aside so she could see the boys behind me. Cecil had scampered up while I was talking. “These are my partners, Fennel and Cecil. We’re here to help.”

“Thank you all. And thank the gods for Bronwyn,” she whispered in reply.

I glanced at the cheap digital watch. “We need to get moving. Do you want to pack a few things?”

“No. I’d shipped the important stuff to my sister’s before all this happened.” She yanked her wedding band off her finger and tossed it over her shoulder back into the house. “To be honest, I’m terrified to go back inside.”

“You don’t have to be. The charm will keep you clearheaded. Besides, I won’t leave here without you.” I flicked a glance at Fennel and Cecil. “Neither will my partners.”

“Thank you, but there’s nothing I—” A sly smile tipped up the corners of her mouth. “Well, there is one thing. I’ll be right back.”

Ten minutes later, the four of us were in Ida’s car heading for my trailer. Maya sat in the passenger seat silently weeping, a grocery bag between her feet. I wasn’t sure she even realized she was crying. The tears ran unrestrained down her pale face as she stared out the windshield.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked.

“For now, my place. You’ll be safe at the Siete Saguaros. There’s a protection spell on the trailer park and a ward preventing anyone from the coven from entering.”

“Only the coven?”

“We have history,” I said. “But, no, not only the coven. The park keeps out anyone it deems a threat to the residents.”

“Would it be okay if I shift once we get there?” Her voice was as fragile as spun glass. “I feel so sick.”

A big part of me wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her out of this meek, submissive state, but I didn’t want to send her into shock, either. I went with a gentle reminder.

“Maya, you can do anything you want to do. You’re a free woman.”

“I keep forgetting that.”

“Don’t worry,” I said softly, “I’ll keep reminding you.”