by Coralie Moss
Satisfied with my work, I wrapped the dolls in separate squares of plain muslin and placed them in their waiting boxes.
Protected.
Forever.
Strong arms lifted me, holding me to an equally solid chest. My boots hit the doorjamb as I was carried out of the room. I felt us going up, closed my eyes when instructed, and welcomed the wet cloth across the top half of my face.
“Clemmie. Keep your eyes closed. Alderose is getting her bag. She’s got makeup remover. We’ve got to get this stuff off you.”
“Okay,” I said. “Okay. It doesn’t hurt.”
“Of course it won’t hurt. It’s that hypoallergenic stuff she buys.”
“No, not that. The mascara. It doesn’t hurt. It helps.”
Beryl snorted. “We’ll see about that.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, swiping at the water rolling down the sides of my cheeks.
“It took us…Goddess, I don’t know, half an hour to get you to put your arms down and stop babbling about Mom.”
I opened my eyes. Orderly rows of pressed tin tiles lined the ceiling. I was lying on one of the cutting tables in the ground floor shop. The tube of mascara I’d nabbed from the bathroom poked a sore spot near my spine. “What happened?” I asked.
“Well, you made a hole in the wall of the bathroom, Rosey used the ring to see if there was a secret door in there, and it turns out the entire bathroom is really an elevator which leads down to Mom’s secret laboratory in the cellar.” Alderose glared at me while Beryl recounted. “Oh, and your adventure with magical mascara cost us almost an hour.”
My oldest sister came closer and peered at my face. “Your skin looks fine and your eyelashes are intact.” She brushed a fingertip across my forehead. “But you’re not hydrating enough, and you may be only twenty-seven but it’s never too early to start using a serum at night.”
“Thanks for the grooming tip.”
“You’re welcome. Ready to tell us what happened so we can get back to work?”
“I found a tube of mascara in the medicine cabinet when I pulled it out of the wall.” I rolled to my side, sat up, and handed the tube to Alderose. “When we ended up in that laboratory, I saw the mirror, saw more tubes of mascara, and put some on. The next thing I knew I was—I was doing things as Mom. There was stuff cooking on Bunsen burners, there were dried plants hanging from some kind of rack, and I—” I had to pause and picture what exactly had come next. “Oh, and then I…Mom…did this thing with three dolls and her hair and then put the dolls into boxes like the ones we found upstairs. The ones she uses for her clients.”
“Anything unusual or memorable about the three dolls?”
“Uh.” I rubbed my forehead until my head cleared. “Yeah. I think they were meant to represent the three of us.” I recited every other detail I could recall and watched as worry lines etched their way across my sisters’ faces.
“Now we have to find where Mom stashed our dolls.” Beryl tapped the handle end of her wand on the table. “I’m concerned. Those dolls are obviously spelled. To protect us? To help us find our own love matches?” She shrugged. “Add it to the list of things to do once we get Rémy sorted.”
I draped my arm over my eyes. “That list just keeps getting longer and longer.”
“I’m going to get back to what I was doing.” Alderose patted my shoulder. “Try to stay out of trouble, okay?”
“Sure,” I said. I felt around for Beryl and tugged on her arm. “I’m beginning to think this entire building’s hiding pockets of magic. Let’s go back to the third floor and work together.”
“I second that, Sissy. Let me grab my bag.”
Beryl and I were quiet on the way up. “You okay?” she asked.
I shrugged. “That was just weird. Weird and strange, and I want to do it again.”
“I think either me or Alderose should try it next time.”
“What if I tried it up here? Maybe I’d be able to see where Mom hid everything.”
“Clemmie, you were screaming.”
“But I have no memory of that.” I really didn’t. But the nervous energy coursing through my body wanted to do more, know more. Plus, I would bet Beryl had bought enough supplies to keep us all in hot chocolate for the rest of the day.
“Well, I sure do, and it was awful. It was like when you were a kid and you had nightmares and we could never get you to shake them.”
“Dad could.”
“Yeah, well, how many times do I have to remind you? Dad’s. Not. Here.”
“Have you even texted him?” I whispered.
“Every day.”
“And?” My sister’s silence answered my question. I switched topics. “Let’s tackle the matches that look completed. At least the ones that have phone numbers.”
Beryl chuffed. “Which is only about half of them. How in Goddess’s name did Mom communicate with her clients? Pigeon? Crystal ball?”
We paused at the landing before pushing open the door. “Probably,” I said. “Mom was loaded with magic. This building is loaded with magic. How and why she kept it from us are questions we may never hear answered.”
“Alabastair’s going to be back today, with Tía. She’s the most senior witch in the family, which also means she’ll be guiding our initiations, and I think it’s within our rights to ask her to tell us everything she knows.”
I’d forgotten about the upcoming ritual. I was on the verge of turning twenty-eight, and the next phase of my initiation into the mysteries of witchcraft would happen within twelve months of my birthday. Mom had overseen my last ceremony when I’d turned twenty-one.
Overcome—the moments I would be missing out on sharing with my mother were piling up—I shook out my hands, plunked my butt in the desk chair, and showed Beryl the drawer of hanging files.
“Let’s start with the mages.” I gathered the hefty stack and brought it over to the second large table, the one without drawers.
“Sissy.” Beryl rubbed the small of my back. “We’ll be there for your ritual, don’t you worry.”
“Thanks.” I pressed my knuckles to my eyes, concentrated on breathing, and opened the folder.
The topmost page was the client’s intake sheet. For comparison purposes, I pulled Rémy’s folder, removed everything inside, and spread out the pages. Mom’s notations were written in lavender ink. I went back to her desk and grabbed the notepad and pen I’d been using, along with the scrying bowl.
Mom was thorough. One page was the client’s genealogy chart, which they’d filled out and she’d expanded until the limbs of the family tree were filled going back four generations. There was also a work history, a list of magical specialties and subspecialties, and a page devoted to beings the client might have maimed, killed, cursed, banished, or left broken-hearted.
Rémy’s list was substantial enough to indicate he might have issues with anger management, which I found odd for a being whose element was water. Water drew me for its calming properties. I guessed Rémy liked to use it to advance his rage.
I resumed reading about a client whose love match had been successful. Time-wise, it appeared this client’s wish had been fulfilled within three months.
I waved my phone in Beryl’s direction and let her know I was calling an air mage my mother had paired with an eagle shifter. The mage, Irina, answered on the fourth ring. At least, I think it was her. Wind whistled past her phone’s mic.
“’Allo?”
“Is this Irina Sokalova?” I asked.
“Yes. Who is calling, please?”
“Clementine Brodeur, daughter of—”
“Moira! The miracle-maker!” More wind whistled past the microphone. I heard a muffled exclamation, followed by a breathy giggle. “Pardon me. My husband is giving me flying lessons. How may I help you, Clementine, daughter of Moira?”
“Is it safe for you to talk right now?”
“Good point. Let me land and I will call you right back.”
When my
phone rang a few minutes later, the breathy Irina was replaced with a more serious tone as she offered her condolences on news of my mother’s passing. “I owe her my happiness,” Irina said. “Tell me how I might repay my debt.”
“My two sisters and I knew nothing about our mother’s work,” I began, “and we need all the help we can get re-creating the process she used to find love matches to fulfill her contracts.”
Irina hmmd. “I will tell you everything I can recall.”
An hour or so later, I knew more about my mother’s methods—and about mages. Irina’s recall was stellar. Where she proved most helpful was in her comments about the particular needs of elemental mages in regard to their ideal mate. “More than most other types of Magicals,” Irina stated, “mages must feel that what they have to offer—which is an ability to call upon and control one of the five elements—is essential to their partner’s happiness and survival. A mage paired with another mage is a recipe for a potential disaster. Power struggles will dominate—though some do try, especially those for whom domination and submission is a chosen lifestyle. Chosen, not forced,” she emphasized. “Mages forced to subsume their power die early deaths.”
She then gave me a brief rundown on hypothetical matches, based on the elements. When she got to water mages, Irina advised searching for aquatic creatures, those who needed proximity to bodies of water, be it a river or a lake or an ocean. She made me promise to call her if I came up with more questions, and invited Alderose, Beryl, and me to visit her in the Carpathians anytime.
After I hung up with the loquacious air mage, an underlined notation in my mother’s ledger caught my eye. It referenced a database of eligible beings. “Beryl,” I said, lifting my gaze. My sister was working across the table from me. “Did you come across any other ledgers?”
She slid a page out of the folder in front of her and waved it me. “You mean a list of beings who would make a good match for her clients?”
“Exactly.”
“No.”
Crap.
“I have this sinking feeling Mom kept that kind of information in her head.”
I surveyed the table, with all the files laid out in the space between me and my sister. Mom was great at making lists, creating questionnaires, and pulling informative answers from her clients. What she wasn’t good at was leaving a logical trail her daughters could follow. Moira Brodeur had left the three of us at a distinct—and painful—disadvantage. “We’re never going to figure out Mom’s methods without help. Magical help.”
“We need to cast a circle, Clemmie. A big one.”
Beryl stared at me across the table, challenging me to chicken out. “When was the last time you cast a circle?” I asked. “A real circle?”
“In July. When I made my annual pilgrimage to Mom’s gravesite. Kostya had a very determined demoness on his tail.” My sister employed her matter-of-fact, do-not-judge-me princess voice. “I had to cast a circle of protection around the hotel bed. Almost started a fire.”
“In the bed?”
“There too.” Neither of us was successful at holding back an attack of the giggles.
“One of the hazards of dating a demon.” I let the silliness run its course, then traced my fingertip around the rim of Mom’s bone-dry scrying bowl. “We need Tía Mari.”
“Let’s start with bringing Alderose up here. Between the three of us, surely we can create something…useful.”
Beryl jogged to the stairs, called for our sister, and spun in place, clapping her hands and bouncing on the balls of her toes. “She’s here,” she said. “She’s here! Tía’s here.”
Our aunt materialized in the doorway, with Alabastair towering behind her petite frame. Maritza was smaller than I remembered and, like our mother, preferred to dress mostly in black. Where they diverged was in the styling, and accessories. Maritza wore acid-yellow high-heeled boots, black skinny jeans, and a boxy, black-and-white-striped cowl-necked sweater covered with jeweled bumblebees. Her dashing escort was covered shoulder to shoes by a deep blue velveteen cloak.
I ran to my aunt, right into the arms she held wide and which already embraced my sobbing sister. Alderose pushed Alabastair aside and joined us. For looking so frail, our aunt was deceptively strong. And powerful. I reveled in the waves of loving energy winding a protective web around us.
“I love you, each of you, y gracias a la diosa we are all here. We have work to do and everything will go better if we work together.”
Alabastair urged our tight quartet into the room so he could pass. He carried a designer duffel in one hand and a vintage suitcase in the other. A loaded backpack, also designer, was strapped over his shoulders.
“Why all the luggage, Alabastair?” Alderose asked, swiping at her cheeks.
“This is my special valise,” he said, thrusting the hard-sided suitcase forward. “It contains everything we need for casting circles to call on the dead. And please, call me Bas.” He shook out an oversized handkerchief and handed it to Alderose. She pressed it to her eyes.
“May I see what’s inside?” At Bas’s nod, Beryl knelt on the rug, flipped two catches, and lifted the lid of the crocodile-skin case. “Ooh, sisters, come see.”
“Girls.” My aunt clapped her hands twice. “Alabastair informs me we have a deadline.”
I wanted to paw through the treasures Bas had brought and take note of every detail—where they came from, why he chose them, and how they were to be used. “We do, Tía, and we’re all ears and ready for your help. Because I, for one, feel like I am in way over my head.”
Beryl nodded, setting her giant hoop earrings to swinging. She sat cross-legged on the rug and tucked her dress around her thighs. “We’re discovering all kinds of surprising things about our mother.”
Maritza joined our circle. “It has come to my attention that our family has secrets,” she said, tossing a look at Alabastair. “Something that my darling and I were made aware of in July, when your grandparents visited from México.”
Alabastair shed his cape with a superhero-worthy flourish and draped it over one of the dress dummies. His clothes fit him as though they’d been tailor-made for his tall, lanky frame. I knew I shouldn’t be drooling over my aunt’s lover, but something about him had me wondering if all necromancers favored sartorial resplendence. He leaned against the table covered with all the files and papers and crossed his ankles. “Tell us what you have learned thus far. I recounted to Mari everything I could recall about the water mage’s initial appearance and his demands.”
The three of us had everything laid out in under ten minutes, including Rémy’s aggressive actions, the discovery of the ropes behind the bathroom wall, the fact that the bathroom turned into an elevator, our inadvertent discovery of Mom’s laboratory in the cellar, the magical mascara, and our frustrating lack of direction.
Oh, and that Mom had been given a glowing review from the air mage she’d paired with an eagle shifter.
Maritza absorbed our stories, asked to see my neck, smiled at the vision I painted of the winged lovers flying in tandem, then took a deep breath. “I think it is important my sister’s daughters understand their lineage. You do not have to pick up the threads that have bound the Brodeur witches for generations, but they are there for the taking.
“We are all Binders. In simple terms, we bring things together which provides us a base skillset we can then adapt to our individual interests.”
“How does the ability to bind manifest with you, Tía?”
“I have always felt a connection to ghosts,” she said. “They are as alive to me as the living. Sometimes even more so, depending on their circumstances.” She pulled a heavy chain from underneath her sweater and dangled a vial in front of us. “This is soil from the graveyard in México where I was born on the night of November first, in the middle of Day of the Dead celebrations, when the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead is at its thinnest.
“My mother chose to birth me amongst bones and ashes.
Though your abuela has never answered me directly, I suspect she had an inkling of my predilections as she carried me in her womb.”
I leaned back on my hands. I could listen to my aunt recount our family’s history for hours. Hours we did not have. “And what about Uncle Malvyn? And our mother?”
“My brother expanded his magical heritage and added sorcerer to his curricula vitae,” she said. “He also studied with a Master Jeweler which focused his skill such that he could bind spells into metals, which as you know is a hallmark of the sorcerer’s profession.”
“I didn’t know that.” I was more than willing to admit my ignorance.
“Your mother was—” Tía Mari paused and glanced around the room. “Your mother was one of the most powerful witches I have ever met. She was a born Triple Binder, one who carries the gifts and burdens of the Cult of Three, and who must keep the three gifts in balance within her.
“After she birthed you, Clementine, her third daughter, her powers coalesced. Had she lived, I think she would have inducted you into her business, so she could share the joys—and the burdens—of her work.”
I had noticed three was a common theme with our mother—she was one of three siblings, she had three daughters, she’d been attacked by a being who became three out of one—but this was the first I was hearing about the Cult of Three.
“Centuries ago, our early mothers dedicated themselves to the Fates, the Morai—Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos. Clotho spun the thread that marked the beginning of a being’s life. Lachesis measured the length of the thread—a length that could not be altered no matter how powerful the being. And Atropos cut the thread created by her sister, marking the end of each being’s life.
“Moira embodied the work of all three Fates. Because she was a brilliant witch, a savvy businesswoman, and she wanted to focus on life rather than death, she turned her talents to love. To beginnings, rather than endings. She did not wish to carry the weight of making the final cut.” Our aunt paused to examine her flawlessly polished nails. “As each of you began to show magical promise, your mother understood her gift had divided itself between her offspring. Alderose, you wield the sword, am I correct?”
