The Magic Legacy: An Urban Fantasy Action and Adventure series (The Witches of Pressler Street Book 1)

by Martha Carr

“We are with them, more or less, whenever we wish to be. I need you to listen, witch. If my people discover I was here to warn you, I will pay a price for it.” He shrugged and grinned. “But I am a fan.”

  Nickie’s smile was small and weak. “I appreciate that, but I’m a little confused about…did you say you’re here to warn me?”

  The tree elf nodded and glanced across the river. “The music you were just playing, we’ve heard it before.”

  “It’s part of what helped my ancestors seal the Gorafrex in the prison they—”

  “No.” The elf shook his head and stared at her with his piercing blue gaze. “That song is the echo of the Gorafrex’s call. They are like magnetic forces. Do you understand?”

  “Can you explain it more than that?” Nickie peeped behind her through the trees at two pairs of jogging shoes slapping over the concrete sidewalk until they disappeared down the path.

  This is definitely the weirdest place to have the weirdest conversation.

  Those ice-blue eyes blinked at her, and the elf’s face softened. “Play that song, and you call the Gorafrex to you.”

  The drums began building in Nickie’s head again, and she clenched her eyes shut. “I have to play it,” she muttered. “That’s the only way to…” She rubbed her forehead. “I’m hearing that thing’s drums in my head.”

  “The Gorafrex is calling to you. To all of your kind. This is how it will find you. Like nectar draws honeybees, yes?”

  “I’m pretty sure nectar doesn’t want to kill the bees.”

  The elf dipped his head with a slow smile. “The fact remains; the Gorafrex seeks all witches and wizards, as its kind has always done. It will find you faster than any others of your race if you play that song without your kin.”

  “My sisters?”

  “There is a piece—” The elf cocked his head and clenched his eyes. “I must go.”

  “What? Wait. A piece of what?”

  “Do not summon the Gorafrex on your own. Your magic is strong, but it is not enough.”

  “What were you going to say?”

  The elf scrambled across the grass and leapt into the closest tree. The branches rocked violently again, knocking a few green leaves loose to flutter to the ground. The pounding drums flared in Nickie’s head, bringing her to the verge of a full-blown headache. Her hands shook as she returned her guitar to its case, closed the latches, and put her hands in her lap to still them.

  If I can’t play the song, how am I supposed to get this to stop?

  27

  Laura stood in the foyer, waiting for the house to finish turning and folding. “Where is he?” she muttered.

  When everything stopped moving, she faced the same door with the tiny square mirror in its center. “Again? Really? That’s a little vain, Gilroy, even for you.” She stepped forward and opened the door to the mirror room, finding it the same as yesterday, except Gilroy and his pedestal weren’t in the far corner.

  She squinted. “What are you up to?”

  “And you call yourself a scientist. Ha!”

  Laura started, and Gilroy spit out a wheezing laugh, his stone eyes bulging in his stone face. He’d moved his pedestal directly in front of another mirror just inside the door.

  “For the millionth time, I’m an archaeologist.”

  “I know what you are,” he whispered.

  “Then act like it. I have a few more questions for you.”

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  She frowned at the bust. “How do we find the Gorafrex?”

  “No one finds the Gorafrex, ya big dummy. It finds you. And all the others, if it gets what it wants.”

  “What does it want?”

  “To find you and all the others.” The smug statue would’ve folded his arms if he’d had any.

  “Yeah, very helpful. Is there a way for us to track it before it takes over another human?”

  “Does nectar track honeybees—huh.” He scrunched up his face and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “I feel like that’s already been said before…”

  “Okay, listen up, Gilroy. I need you to tell me where that Gorafrex is so we can put it back in that prison before things get worse. Even one possessed human is one too many; now, there are two. If this thing keeps running around hopping in and out of people, we’re gonna have a whole bunch of inexperienced Peabrains using their magic with as much control as a toddler driving a semi. Help me out here.”

  The bust blinked at her, his stony face expressionless.

  “Right. Not a question.” Laura let out a huge sigh and rolled her shoulders. “Where is the Gorafrex right now?”

  “Within a human host. Obviously.”

  Laura folded her arms and glared at him. “Do you really know everything?”

  “No.”

  She froze. “Wait, what?”

  “Are you deaf? I said no.”

  “Oh, that…changes everything I thought I knew about you.”

  Gilroy shrugged.

  “Okay, there’s gotta be a better way to phrase this. Hold on. Is there anyone else who knows how we can pinpoint the Gorafrex’s location short of walking aimlessly around Austin and hoping we bump into it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Huh. Now we’re getting somewhere. Who is it?”

  “Define it.” Gilroy wiggled his eyebrows.

  “You know, I’m this close from shoving over that pedestal and leaving you in a few pieces on the floor.” Laura took a deep breath. “Starting over. What’s the name of the person who knows how to pinpoint the Gorafrex’s location without randomly crossing its path?”

  “The person? There’s more than one, you know.”

  “Oh. My. God. Do I really have to ask that all over again with one little change?”

  “Do you really have to ask that question?”

  Trying not to explode and knock the know-it-all bust to the floor, Laura tried again. “What’s the name of the person most likely to help us pinpoint the Gorafrex’s location in a specific way rather than just hoping we find it again in the city?”

  “Nickie Hadstrom.”

  “What?”

  The mirror room bursted with light, the glow from every reflective surface building upon itself until it was blinding. Laura shielded her eyes.

  “Laura?” An almost-deafening voice echoed a thousand times from within a thousand mirrors.

  “Nickie?” Laura gazed up at her sister’s face; everywhere she looked, her sister’s face had appeared with a backdrop of leafy branches rustling in a small breeze. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

  “Yes and no.” Nickie squeezed her eyes shut and grimaced. “The drums are back.”

  Laura’s head felt like it was going to burst with the volume of her sister’s voice in sudden surround-sound. “Okay. So, play the lullaby.”

  “I can’t.” Nickie sucked in a breath and groaned. “The…the Tree Folk told me what it’s for. It’s…can you come get me? I’m sorry. It’s this headache.” She blinked her eyes open, and they looked unfocused and hazy.

  “Yeah, okay. Hey, it’s faster if you go to the Clubhouse. You have your keyring with you?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Okay. Go now. I’ll be right there.” The mirrors flashed all at once, rippling a few seconds until they fell perfectly still, and the light faded. Nickie’s face was gone.

  Laura turned toward Gilroy and scowled. “How long have you known Nickie had the answer to my question?”

  “About ten minutes.”

  “How long has she known the answer to my question?”

  “About ten minutes.”

  Laura puffed out a breath. “Lotta help you are.”

  She turned and opened the door to the mirror room and stepped into the foyer. The house rumbled and turned around her, shifting to its original size and shape. The minute the dining room became the dining room, Laura rushed straight to the table, and all the iron weapons on it, and snatched her keys from her purse. Then she pressed her th
umb to the coin-shaped keyring with her thumbprint etched into it and disappeared.

  She blinked into existence in the middle of the Clubhouse’s single room. “Nickie?”

  “Hey.” Her sister lay on her back on the cherry-red futon, one arm thrown over her eyes.

  “Are you okay?” Laura knelt beside her.

  “Yeah. Good idea to come here, by the way.” Nickie didn’t remove her arm, but she sounded a lot less in pain. “The drums are gone. Headache’s still there, though.”

  “Want me to get you something? I’ll even go with modern medicine and grab you some aspirin.”

  “No, I’m good. It’s getting better.”

  “Okay.” Laura sat back on her heels. “If you’re sure you’re okay, I’ve got a few questions…”

  “I figured you would.”

  “You went to go see the Tree Folk?”

  Nickie chuckled. “I went to Shoal Beach to play a little music and get my head straight before going to Tina’s. One of them found me.”

  “How?”

  “Through the trees, maybe. And my music. He said they heard me play the song and that he wasn’t supposed to come and warn me, but he did anyway.”

  “Guess we’ll have to thank him for that.”

  Nickie slowly removed her arm from over her eyes. She appeared pale and exhausted. Blinking, she rolled her head to the side to meet her sister’s gaze. “He told me I can’t play that song unless I’m with ‘my kin’. Which I’m hoping is you and Emily. Otherwise, I have no idea how to take that advice.”

  “Did he tell you why?”

  “He said Dad’s lullaby and the Gorafrex’s drumbeat attract each other. Like magnets.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  Nickie licked her lips. “You get it, Laura. Dad’s lullaby calls the Gorafrex, tells it where I am, I think. And the drums are its way of luring witches and wizards to it. Because it wants us for something.”

  “Yeah, to kill us. That’s what they do, right?”

  “There’s gotta be a reason for that, though. Nothing just kills other beings for the hell of it.”

  “Well, if there even is a reason, finding out what that is might help us in some way.”

  “Yep.” Nickie pushed up to sit against the back cushion, holding out a hand when Laura reached to help. “I’m okay. Really. Sorry if I freaked you out. The elf just scampered away without really explaining much, and I didn’t know what to do. Left my phone in the car, so Sister Soup in the river was my only option.”

  Laura let out a small laugh. “I was in the mirror room when you did that.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. A thousand Nickies all talking at the same time. Right after Gilroy told me you were the one person most likely to find the Gorafrex.” Laura climbed onto the futon beside her sister. “That was weird timing, but it makes sense now. I was asking how we find it. Turns out we can’t. But you can summon it.”

  “Summon might be a strong word.”

  “Well, it’s close enough.”

  Nickie tipped her head back against the red cushion. “I think that was my first real migraine.”

  Laura bit her lip and studied her sister’s profile. “I’m so sorry, Nickie. This whole thing wouldn’t have happened if I wasn’t so set on slipping through those wards in the creek and snooping around.”

  “Don’t start beating yourself up now. You had no idea what those wards were protecting. Plus, that’s kinda what you do, right? When you find a locked door, you either beat it down or make yourself a key.”

  Laura let out a wry laugh, then shook her head. “Next time I find one of these locked doors, I’m gonna tell you and Emily about it first. And I’ll try to listen to you next time.”

  Nickie grinned. “Sounds like a plan.”

  “So, you can only play Dad’s song when we’re all together, ready to go up against this rogue witch-killer?”

  “Yup.”

  “That seems like a lot of migraines in your future.”

  Nickie nodded, then paused. “Maybe not. They stopped the minute I came here. That’s gotta mean something.”

  “I mean, we did build the Clubhouse specifically tailored to the three of us. Fingerprints and everything. We couldn’t bring anyone else in here even if we wanted to.”

  “Maybe that’s it. It keeps the Gorafrex’s magic out.”

  “Good.” Laura slapped her thighs and stood. “Emily’s at work still, but when she’s off, we should grab our weapons and get down to the Greenbelt. You can play Dad’s song, that thing will show up, and we’ll put it back. Until then, stay here.”

  “What? No way.”

  “Nickie, that thing’s trying to draw witches and wizards to it, and it’s not gonna give up. You don’t hear the drums here, so you won’t get headaches. Staying here keeps you safe.”

  “I’m not just gonna hide in the Clubhouse. Besides, I have a show to play tonight.”

  “In a laundromat.”

  “It’s a show. I’m going.”

  “And what happens if the drumming starts up again, huh? Can you play a show through that?”

  Nickie stood. “I’ll figure it out. Chuck’s gonna be there, too, like he is at every show, no matter where I’m playing. And I can’t just tell him I’ve got a magical creature’s witch-lure stuck in my head and have to retreat to a secret room only my sisters and I can access through our matching keyrings.”

  They stared at one another a few seconds, then Laura shook her head. “Fine. Will you at least keep your phone on you? Call me if anything weird happens?”

  “Of course.”

  “If the drums come back, and they’re too much for you to handle, get back here. At least until you feel better.”

  “Got it. Thanks.”

  “If I don’t see you before your show, good luck.”

  Nickie laughed. “Well, thanks.”

  Laura fingered the keyring on her keys, slipped her thumb onto the coin, and popped back into their dining room.

  28

  “Hadstrom. Take your break. We got this.” For the first time since she’d started working, the Potager Chef smiled at her and nodded.

  “Um…yeah. Okay.” She turned from her station and walked toward the staff room just off the kitchen. “I didn’t ask for a break…”

  The kitchen filled with its usual ordered chaos, though instead of the normal shouts of, “Yes, Chef,” and “On it, Chef,” the voices of her coworkers rose with something entirely different.

  “This is the best ever.”

  “No one’s ever done this before. It’s perfect!”

  “Ha! Who says we can’t pair them together? A bunch of old-fashioned stiffs, if you ask me.”

  Emily frowned at the sight of all these people doing what they did best and yet not quite following the detailed precision Chef Ansler always upheld in his kitchen. “This looks familiar,” she muttered. Instead of going into the staff room, Emily skirted around the workstations toward the swinging door from the kitchen into the restaurant’s main dining room. She peered through the circular window, and her jaw dropped.

  The tables were all full, as they usually were on Sundays, but the calm, poised, sophisticated air of Meadowlark Tavern didn’t exist. The place was a madhouse.

  Her gaze fell on one woman standing on her chair, dancing with a glass of chardonnay in hand. “I got this!” she shouted, then stepped her stilettos up onto the table and started dancing—to no music—with a little whoop.

  A server rushed to the woman to quietly coax her down from the table while the rest of her party stared and laughed.

  “Ma’am, please get down from the table.”

  “Make me.”

  A man in a business suit passed right in front of the kitchen door, yelling into his cell phone. “I don’t care if that’s not how it’s done, Gary. That’s how I’m doing it. Screw the rules. And if you don’t get this done, screw you too!”

  Another elderly couple at the far end of the restaurant stood
together with their arms wrapped around each other, belting out a song at the tops of their lungs, oblivious that they sounded atrocious.

  The server who’d failed at removing the woman from the table caught Emily’s eye. He hurried toward her, and Emily stepped back so he could push open the door. “I have no idea what to do right now,” he said, lowering his voice but having to be a little loud over the din. “I told Chef Ansler, and he said to let them have fun because it didn’t matter. But…” He glanced back at the craziness. “How does this not matter. I feel like we should call the cops or something. Oh, god. They’re probably not gonna tip, either.”

  Emily grabbed the server’s arm—his name was John, she thought—and smiled. “They definitely won’t tip you if you call the cops on them. Just, uh…let me try something, okay? Hospitality 101. Sit tight, and if this doesn’t work, maybe we’ll call a riot team, huh?”

  “Oh, god.”

  “I’m kidding. Totally kidding. Just sit tight and keep filling up their waters.” She let go of his arm and turned back toward the kitchen, then paused. “Hey, you didn’t eat any of the soup tonight, did you?”

  “What? No.”

  “Good. Don’t.” The kitchen door shut behind her, and she hurried back to her station. “Definitely familiar,” she muttered. “Definitely on a much larger scale this time. I might have taken it a little too far.” The overblown confidence with which she’d made her magical soup had manifested in everyone else who’d eaten it—the kitchen staff and the patrons. “I can fix this. Just focus.”

  Emily pulled out the container of the wild mushroom soup she’d made at the start of her shift, which she’d been told to put away in lieu of how incredible the first one was. “Yes, Chef,” she muttered, “I believe that extra ingredient you’re tasting is my magic on overload.”

  She poured the soup into another large pot and clicked on the burner to start warming it up. Then she found a block of Gruyère cheese and shaved it into the soup, talking herself through the process. “Calmly. Realizing my mistake. That I’d been a little too full of myself. Well, at least that’s actually how I’m feeling right now. And that I want to just forget this whole thing ever happened and move on with the night.” She swallowed. “I really hope the servers get their tips…”