by Jayne Faith
She pulled a square decorative pillow into her lap and partially imitated my posture, wrapping her arms around the pillow in a sort of hug.
“It’s not what it seems. Really, there’s nothing—”
“Deb, I need to know the truth,” I cut in quietly. “All of it.”
“Okay.” She settled back into the sofa and gave me a resigned look. “But first I need to explain a few things about the inner workings of a coven.”
I gestured with my palm, inviting her to keep talking.
“Covens aren’t just magic clubs or some sort of witch sororities,” she said. “They’re businesses. Most covens are made up of members who can offer specific skills or services. Some coven memberships are built around a theme of skills. Healers, for example.”
I’d seen ads for services offered by covens, but I had to admit it had never occurred to me to think of them as legitimate businesses.
“Lynnette’s charter is for a coven with unique services,” Deb continued. “She’s one of the only witch exorcists in the world, and probably the strongest, and that’s the basis of the theme for her coven—supernatural services that deal with those kinds of things. Not black magic, but problems that most people would consider dangerous or at least unpleasant.”
“Dark-edge magic, like you told me,” I said.
She nodded. “There’s no other coven in the world with someone like Lynnette at the helm. She’s looking for members who complement her theme. And once the membership is set and the coven hangs out its proverbial shingle, we have high hopes we’ll be able to command serious fees for our specialized services.”
She gave me a pointed look that sent my mind spinning in a new direction. I was beginning to see why Deb wanted to be part of Lynnette’s coven. Money had always been a huge issue in her marriage. Her husband had a bit of an addiction to get-rich-quick schemes, to put it lightly. Somehow he always talked her into investing in just one more, promising that this one would be the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, while Deb barely made anything on her teacher’s salary. They were in debt up to their ears, and Deb was three months pregnant.
“Back up a sec. You’re no dark-edge witch. How do you fit into her plan?” I asked.
It would have made more sense to me if Deb were vying for a place in a coven full of healers. That was much nearer to her supernatural talents than what Lynnette Leblanc seemed to be focusing on.
“No, I’m not. Far from it,” she said. “But she wants a couple of healers on board, in-house witches with not just medicinal talents but emotional healing abilities who can take care of the others in the coven. And possibly also help any victims that hire our services. Some of them are bound to be traumatized if they’ve experienced things like demonic possession or black-magic attacks.”
I started to breathe a little easier, realizing that Deb wasn’t dabbling in anything dark. But she’d said “we” a few times. Maybe Lynnette was close to making the coven membership official.
“Okay, that all makes sense,” I said. “But still doesn’t explain why someone would want all of you dead. There’s gotta be more to it than that.”
She raised her palms and shrugged. “That’s it. I can tell you more about the specialties of the women involved, but none of them are practicing black magic. I swear I’m not hiding anything, Ella. I can’t think of any reason someone would hire out hits on us. There’s competition for Lynnette’s coven, but no one would stoop to murder. In fact, some of the witches who wanted in but won’t get picked have already applied for their own charter. Word is they’re bringing in a witch from Europe who is almost as powerful as Lynnette to lead it.”
I knew she was telling the truth. But I was equally sure there was more to the story, and there was only one person who could give me the full picture: Lynnette Leblanc.
“Why don’t you stay here tonight since it’s so late,” I said to Deb.
“Yeah, I will, thanks. I’m going to hit the hay now, I’m beat.”
Rising from the sofa, she yawned so wide her jaw cracked. She came to give me a hug and then went into my bedroom.
I turned to Damien, who’d been silent through the entire exchange.
“Lynnette,” he said in a low voice.
I glanced toward my bedroom and then nodded at him. “I’m going to track her down first thing in the morning,” I said, quiet enough so Deb wouldn’t hear.
Lynnette was hiding something, and it had killed one witch and nearly cost Deb her life, too. What could possibly be that important? I wouldn’t leave the exorcist witch alone until she gave me answers.
Chapter 17
EARLY THE NEXT morning, I called Lynnette and she answered on the first ring.
“I really need to talk to you about the murder,” I said. “I’ve learned something that puts a new spin on things.”
“I’m available now,” she said quickly, her voice sober. “Where do you want to meet?”
“Text me your address, and I’ll come to your place.”
I was curious about Lynnette’s home. She was a powerful witch, and she made quite a visual impression, too, with her piercings, heavy eyeliner, faux leather pants, and obvious confidence.
It turned out she lived only about half a mile from Amanda, the witch who’d been murdered by the Baelman. The woman whose soul I’d reaped. My reaper stirred at the memory, obviously delighting in it, and my scalp crawled. The intense temptation of collecting the soul instead of reaping it, and then the rush of cutting it free, tried to crowd into my senses. I pushed it firmly to the back of my mind.
I eased to a stop in front of an updated Victorian-style house with a four-foot-high black iron fence around it. It was quite grand by my standards, and I recalled what Deb had said about the business of the coven. It appeared Lynnette was already doing quite well as a freelancer. Not that it surprised me. Her services were in high demand, and from the sounds of it, she traveled for jobs almost as much as Johnny did.
As I got out of my truck, I recalled Lynnette’s command of verbal magic—a rare magical skill that let her manipulate people in subtle ways, especially if the person she was speaking to was unaware of her ability. When we’d been working to rescue Roxanne’s brother, I’d carelessly allowed Lynnette to rope me into a promise, one that she had yet to call in. She’d agreed to help Nathan free of charge, saying she would do a trade with me instead. Only, I hadn’t pushed to define the details at the time. I had a feeling I’d soon come to regret that oversight.
Lynnette opened the door before I could knock.
“Thanks for making time on such short notice,” I said, glancing up at the gothic chandelier that hung in the small vaulted entry.
“Of course.” She closed the door. “This is highest priority. Come on in.”
She led me through a short hallway that went to what was likely supposed to be a small formal dining space, but instead of table and chairs, there were only built-in bookshelves lining the walls. Another chandelier, a variation on the one near the front door, hung just overhead. She angled off to the right into the kitchen.
“I was just about to make tea,” she said. “Have a seat if you’d like.”
I pulled out a black-leather-covered bar stool but then thought better of it and remained standing. I needed to stay alert.
The countertops appeared to be made of black marble, or some other dark stone with flecks of silver winking here and there. Slate tiles covered the floor, and the neutral scheme finished with white-painted cabinets.
She glanced at me expectantly, her face tense with concern, as she went about filling her electric kettle with water.
I was mentally prepared for a confrontation, but her inviting manner disarmed me. I realized too late that it might have been better to set the meeting in a more neutral location.
“Whatever you and the other witches are dabbling in, Jacob Gregori believes it’s worth murdering all of you to stop it,” I said. She stiffened, her hand still on the kettle, and her body and express
ion seemed to freeze for a second or two. I paused for a moment to let my words sink in. “I need to know what you’re involved in.”
She pressed the start button on the kettle’s handle, her attention still on me. Then she moved to stand across the island from where I stood and placed her palms on the countertop. Her face had paled.
Her kohl-lined eyes narrowed and then widened. “Jacob Gregori killed Amanda?”
“Not by his own hand, but yes. And he wants the rest of you dead. Why?” I pressed.
She looked down at the darkly reflective countertop and frowned.
After a couple of seconds ticked by, I leaned forward. “Lynnette, another Baelman, that creature I killed in my yard, is coming with the new moon. Jacob’s not going to let this go.”
“But if he admitted it, we can go to the police. They’ll arrest him, and he’ll have to call it off.”
“You know it wouldn’t be that simple. He’d find a way to delay things and probably slip the charge completely. Meanwhile, we only have a few days until the next new moon.” I felt my face harden as the heat of impatience and a small jolt of adrenaline flowed through me. “Stop avoiding my question.”
She gave me a sharp look, her jaw clenching, and for a moment I thought she might try to stonewall me.
“We’re not doing anything that warrants murder,” she said, her tone even but her eyes flashing defensively.
“Clearly Jacob doesn’t agree. I need details.”
She shifted her weight to one hip and looked off to the side, her nostrils flaring as she inhaled slowly before meeting my eyes again.
“We’re working with underworld magic,” she said. “Specifically, the magic that’s produced around the edges of the interdimensional rips. But we’re very careful, and we’ve never gone beyond dark-edge practices. I’ve been extremely clear with the women that we are not black practitioners and never will be. I’ve never practiced black magic myself.”
It seemed we’d touched a sore spot, and I guessed by her tone that she’d probably been accused more than once of practicing the darkest of the magical arts. People probably looked at her goth-chic appearance, her great power, and the services she offered, and assumed that she dipped into black magic.
But her mention of magic around the rips was what really caught my attention. I had a lot more questions about what they were doing with the underworld magic, not to mention the fact that Atriul was the only other person I’d heard use that term. But first I wanted to understand how Lynnette was getting rip magic in the first place.
“What do you mean?” I said. “You can’t just walk up to one of the permanent rips and collect the magical energy there. They’re heavily guarded and completely inaccessible to civilians.”
Her eyes flicked to the side, and then the button on the kettle popped, and she turned away to get a couple of mugs. She filled them and brought them over to the counter, producing little wicker basket of assorted teas from a cabinet. Ugh. Witches and their tea.
Ignoring my mug, I watched her, waiting.
“We’re making our own rips,” she finally said with obvious reluctance.
My mouth dropped open. “You’re what?”
“We know how to do it safely, and we close them immediately after we harvest the magic. The whole thing only takes a few seconds at most.”
Surprise mixed with anger, and a tendril of fear curled through it all. I struggled to find a response.
“Deb doesn’t know about this,” she added quickly. “Only a few do at this point.”
That gave me a tiny measure of relief. At least I knew Deb hadn’t been concealing this from me. But if she knew what Lynnette was up to, I wondered if my best friend would still be so enthusiastic about joining the coven.
Shaking my head slowly, I reached for one of the packets of tea without bothering to read the label, tore it open, and dunked the bag into my mug.
Well, at least I had a pretty good idea about why Jacob would want Lynnette and her witches dead. Opening new rips went against everything he claimed he was devoted to. I wondered how he’d even found out about what they were doing. And had he brought the Baelman to life just for the purpose of assassinating the women, or had he done this sort of thing before?
“Jen and I are using rip magic for your charm.”
I looked up, my mind chugging for a second as I pulled away from my thoughts of Jacob to refocus on Lynnette. “What charm?”
“We think it’ll help with your reaper,” she said. Her eyes glinted as she placed her hands wide on the counter, regarding me. “But if we’re correct, you’re going to need a continuous supply of rip magic.”
Ah, so this was her safety net? Trying to make me dependent on her dangerous rip magic dabblings in exchange for not interfering with what she was doing? I wasn’t sure I even believed there was a charm. It might just be another manipulation tactic.
“Not sure I like the idea of being dependent on rip magic,” I said. “And now that you know it’s responsible for the death of one of your friends, as well as a threat of more murders if you don’t stop, how can you continue what you’re doing?”
I was genuinely curious. It was clear she didn’t believe that what she was doing was wrong, and it sounded like she intended to keep doing it.
Her eyes went round, and she gave a quiet little laugh. “We’re not the only ones in the world using rip magic. The government is collecting it. Jacob Gregori is collecting it. But someone like me? I don’t have the connections or the money to gain access to the big rips. I believe what I was taught by my mentor. Magic belongs to everyone. Not the rich. Not the government. It flows freely from nature, available to all,” she said, paraphrasing one of the handful of magic tenets handed down from mentor to pupil for hundreds of years.
My lips parted as I took a breath to argue, but I hesitated. Maybe sending the Baelman after the witches wasn’t about Jacob’s supposed lifelong pursuit of closing the rips. Maybe it was really about money. Just another capture in the chess game of corporate gluttony.
Shit. Now I didn’t know for sure. Murder was murder either way, but to me it changed things if he was doing it out of greed rather than a desire to end the nightmare of the rips.
“Even if your charm keeps the reaper from killing me, that’s not reason enough to put all of you in danger,” I said. “Not to me. I’d rather let the reaper consume me.”
“You don’t think we have the right to all magic?” she challenged, her voice taking on a harsh edge.
I lifted my shoulders and let them drop. “I don’t know enough about rip magic to say whether it’s a good idea to make it freely available. The tenet you quoted was written long before the first Rip tore Manhattan in half. Maybe some types of magic do need regulation. But that’s not really the point. Instead of ripping more holes in our world, you could find another way to gain access to rip magic. Go public, stir up support, and start a movement. You’re a natural leader. People would listen to you.”
I couldn’t help thinking of Rafael St. James, the well-known activist who’d also played a part in rescuing Roxanne’s brother. He was a master of using the media and public pressure to call attention to his causes.
But I already knew Lynnette was no activist. She was too powerful, and she used her power to press people and maneuver through situations. I was starting to understand that her abilities had probably always gotten her what she wanted, eventually. The realization sent an icy ripple up my spine.
“I disagree completely,” she said. “I think access is exactly the point. If we allow government and industry to start controlling and regulating magic, what’s next? Where do they draw the line? How long before all crafters are under restriction? How long before the government decides who can use what magic, and to what extent. Or who should be stripped of their abilities?”
Her cheeks were reddening as she spoke, and her face was growing more pinched with anger. But when I felt the brush of magic through the air as she reached for her power, my pu
lse jolted.
“Obviously I can’t answer any of those questions,” I said, purposely lowering my voice to a soothing register. Going against my instincts to tense for a fight, I sat down and tried to look placating. I had to keep this from escalating. “For now, can we focus on preventing more murders? Don’t you think that’s most important?”
Even as I attempted to loosen the tension stringing through me, I fought to keep from slipping my hand down to my whip or drawing a thread of earth power. Lynnette would take it as a challenge, and although I’d come a long way in the past couple of months, I still wouldn’t be much of a match against her in a duel, even with my blood-red magic. I couldn’t fully align myself with Lynnette, but I couldn’t afford to turn her into an enemy, either. I certainly wasn’t stupid enough to engage her in a magic battle.
There was another invisible whisper of power across my bare skin as she released her magic. I took a slow breath in through my nose. Her eyes were still flashing.
“Yes, we need to prevent more murders,” she conceded.
I gave a tiny nod of acknowledgement. “Okay. We have to stop the next Baelman. We’ve got, what, eight days until Halloween?”
“Yeah.” She shifted her weight and leaned a hand on the counter, propping herself on her palm. The tip of her tongue touched the corner of her mouth as she paused, thinking.
“Collective magic is the safest way to go,” she said.
The term referred to the joining of abilities, the type of group crafting that covens were known for. Only female crafters could magically link with each other. It took a lot of practice and ideally close bonds between the women. It was the traditional basis for forming covens in the first place. Collective magic created power beyond the abilities of the individual practitioners, and sometimes produced some unusual powers depending on the mix of the people involved. It was as unpredictable as it was powerful, which was why group drills and training were essential.
