Footsteps sounded inside and my mother opened the door, blinking in the morning sun.
“Ivy?” she asked.
“Hi, mom,” I said. “Um, can I come in?”
“Of course, come inside,” she said. “I was just making a second pot of coffee.”
My mother drank thick, black coffee like the stuff was ambrosia. In fact, it was the one thing we’d had in common all these years. I followed her down the hallway to the kitchen at the back of the house.
My mother looked thinner than I remembered and I made a mental note to invite her over for dinner. I didn’t usually have guests over, had never invited anyone up to the loft until Ceff, but I’d make an exception for my mother. Seeing the sharp jut of her collarbone and the bony points of her shoulders through her cardigan made my throat tighten.
I hadn’t been fair to my mother. She’d been unable to tell me the truth about my father and so I’d formed my own opinions. I’d judged this woman based on years of seeing her sad eyes and frowning lips without ever asking why she was so miserable. I’d assumed it was because of me. I resented my mother because I thought she hated the person I’d become when I came into my gift. I figured that having a freak for a daughter had made her bitter.
I hadn’t seen the woman mourning the loss of her first love. By misjudging my mother, I’d pushed her away and forced the loss of the one connection she had left to my father. I’d been my usual hot-headed, stubborn self. I hoped it wasn’t too late to fix things between us. By my own ignorance, my mother had lost not only a lover, but a daughter too.
She pulled two mugs down from the cupboard and pulled the coffee pot from the burner. I swallowed hard and cleared my throat.
“Is Stan at work?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said, frowning. “Why do you ask?”
“I have something important to talk to you about…something about my real father,” I said.
My mother’s teeth knocked together and her mouth snapped shut. She fumbled with the coffee pot, splashing coffee onto the counter. With wide eyes, she mopped up the spill. She turned to face me, breathing hard and twisting the dish towel in her hands.
“It’s okay, mom,” I said. “I know who he is, what he is…what I am. And I know he put a spell on both of us. Do you know what I’m talking about?”
Yes. She nodded. Her face had gone pale and she was shaking so bad I thought she might pass out. I pulled out a chair and gestured toward it with one gloved hand.
“Come and sit down,” I said. “I’ve got the coffees.”
I topped up the mugs and carried them to the old kitchen table. My mother took the mug and held it in white knuckled fingers.
“My friend Kaye, who’s a witch, thinks dad cast a geis on you preventing you from speaking of him,” I said. “Is that true?”
Yes. My mother nodded. Okay, if I could keep my questions to those with yes or no answers, I might learn something about my father. I grinned.
“You’re doing great, mom,” I said. “I’m going to ask you some questions. Try to shake your head yes or no. Is Will-o’-the-Wisp, king of the wisps, my real father?”
Yes.
“Did he leave us to keep us safe?” I asked.
Yes. Tears rolled down my mother’s cheeks.
“Do you know where he went?” I asked.
No. She shook her head and grunted in frustration.
“Okay, scratch that,” I said. “Did dad go to find a way to break the curse?”
Yes.
“Does he have any friends he might turn to for help?” I asked.
My mother frowned and threw her hands up in the air. Torn had said that my dad didn’t have any friends in the fae community who were powerful enough to help him, but I wondered if Torn knew the full story. He’d liked my father, but I didn’t get the impression that they were all that close. If I could just find a way to track down my father’s allies, I might be able to follow his trail.
I pulled a notepad and pen out of my jacket pocket and slid it across the table to my mom. Maybe the geis wouldn’t prevent her from writing down the answers to my questions. It was worth a shot.
“Write down any names you remember dad mentioning,” I said.
My mother grabbed the pen and started writing. Inari.
A horrible snapping sound echoed across the kitchen. I looked to see what had happened and swallowed hard when I saw my mother’s misshapen hand cramped around the pen. She cried out and I pulled the pen and paper away from her grasp. My mother gingerly held her right hand and bit her lip against the pain. One of her fingers was grossly disfigured. The geis had broken the bone.
A chill ran up my spine. The realization hit hard that I was dealing with something I didn’t fully understand. What if the next time my mother went to nod or shake her head in answer to my questions, the spell decided to break her neck? How far would the geis go to keep my mother quiet? That was something I wasn’t willing to find out.
“Mom, I’m so sorry,” I said. “I had no idea the spell would do that. I swear, from now on, no more questions. Let me grab some ice and then we’ll get you to a doctor.”
I rushed to the fridge and pulled a tray of ice cubes from the freezer compartment. I twisted the tray and upended the cubes onto a clean dishtowel. I carried the makeshift icepack back to the table and set it beside my mother’s hand.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Want me to call Stan for a ride to the hospital?” I asked.
I don’t drive, but I’d stay with my mom until my stepfather or a neighbor could come and pick her up.
“No, I’ll be fine,” she said. “Just give me a minute. I can drive myself.”
“I’m sorry about the questions,” I said.
“Don’t be,” she said. “I’m the one who should be sorry. There’s so much I’ve wanted to tell you.”
“But you couldn’t,” I said.
She shook her head and sighed.
“No, but now that you know the truth, there is something I’d like you to have,” she said.
My mother stood, keeping the ice wrapped around her hand, and went to her bedroom. She returned with a small jewelry box.
“It’s not much, but it’s all I have left of your fa…,” she said. Of your father. She coughed and cleared her throat. “Keep it safe and when you find him, tell him I love him still.”
She pulled a plastic bag from a kitchen drawer and slid the box inside. My mother knew about my aversion to carrying old things and was trying to make this easier on me. She handed me the box and tears blurred my vision. I smiled and nodded.
I had come here in hopes of finding a clue to my father’s whereabouts and I wasn’t leaving empty handed. My mother had suffered trying to give me the information, but I now had a name—Inari. I also had the box and whatever it contained.
“I’ll bring dad back to us,” I said. “I promise.”
My mother smiled through her tears and went to fetch her coat and purse. When she returned, she offered to drive me into the city. Since the best hospital in the area, Harborsmouth General, was in the city, I agreed. We rode in silence, lost in our own thoughts.
I held the jewelry box in my lap, eager to return to the city and continue the search for my father. I had planned on paying Kaye a visit to thank her for healing me after the cemetery battle. Now I had another reason to see my friendly neighborhood witch. If anyone had information on this Inari, it would be Kaye. I looked out the window and grinned.
For the first time since learning of my father’s existence, I had a solid lead.
Chapter 31
I stayed with my mother at the hospital while the doctor set her finger. X-rays indicated the finger was broken, as I’d guessed. After setting the bone, the emergency room doc wrote out a script for pain meds and told my mother to ice the finger for twenty-minute intervals to control the swelling. I nodded and smiled standing at my mother’s side, but I was covered in cold sweat.
Hospitals are one of my least
favorite places. Aside from the obvious harried staff, frightened patients, and unpleasant smell of industrial cleaners, the place is filled with objects tainted with painful visions. I kept my hands in my pockets, hoodie and jacket collar up, and shoulders hunched. When the doctor said my mother was set to go home, I nearly ran to the exit.
I passed a banshee on my way out the door. The faerie wailed and moaned and pulled out clumps of her own hair as she hovered around a family who were huddled in the waiting area. In my peripheral vision, she looked liked a particularly distraught woman in her eighties with gray hair, pearls, and a business-casual, white dress stretched over a sagging chest and a pot belly. When I looked at the banshee directly, however, she had the telltale appearance of a death omen.
The banshee was dressed in a long, flowing dress stained with the blood of the soon to be deceased. The cute elderly woman was replaced by a fierce faerie hag with long, disheveled, gray hair and red eyes. A banshee is often loyal to one bloodline, foretelling the death of the eldest son with her keening cries. Judging by the banshee’s behavior, this family was about to get some whopping bad news.
Since a banshee does not bring about death, only foretells it, there was nothing I could do for the family. I skirted past the waiting area and sprinted for the exit. Glass doors swished open and I sucked in a breath of city air laced with greasy food odors and exhaust fumes. After the antiseptic smell of the hospital, it smelled like heaven.
My stomach growled, reminding me that I’d skipped breakfast in my haste to question my mother. I turned down Mercy Ave and headed toward Congress Street, the jewelry box in my pocket thumping against my side with each step. I needed to get off the street to somewhere safe and private where I could examine the contents of the box. I could also use some food and caffeine.
I knew just the place. I was on the west side of town, not far from Fountain Square. At Congress Street, I took a shortcut through a parking garage over to Temple Ave. I held my breath against the mingling scents of sweat and urine and nodded to the ogre parking attendant. Whether it was aware of it or not, the city of Harborsmouth was an equal opportunity employer.
Once on Temple, I scooted into the Old Port quarter and followed the brick and cobbled streets to The Emporium. I owed Kaye my thanks for patching me up and nursing me back to health after the cemetery battle. I couldn’t help it if that thanks was going to be followed by more questions about my father. I just hoped that Hob could spare a cup of tea and some toast.
Humphrey guarded the door from his perch on an old, stone drain spout. I waved to the gargoyle and ducked inside. It was business hours and Madam Kaye’s Magic Emporium was open. No special invitation, or security escort, needed.
“Hey, Ivy,” Arachne said.
The cute apprentice witch stood behind the counter removing plastic wrapping from lengths of knotted rope. The blond girl’s hair was streaked with red instead of the purple she’d been fond of the past few months and she wore a bright, puffed-sleeved, button-down shirt to match.
“Hi, Arachne,” I said. “Slow morning?”
“You have no idea,” she said. Arachne slipped a decorative noose around her neck and tilted her head to the side, tongue hanging out of her mouth. The image was grisly, and disturbing. I hoped I never saw the teen witch like that again. The image hit too close to drawings in Kaye’s books of the Burning Times. “It’s totally dead in here today. Get it? Dead.”
I forced a smile and tried to sound lighthearted, but I’m pretty sure I failed. Death was no laughing matter, especially where my mortal friends were concerned. I sighed. Maybe I was becoming too serious. I was having a harder time shrugging off death now that I’d been at its door more than once.
“Is Kaye around?” I asked.
“In the back,” Arachne said.
Arachne let the rope drop, wearing the noose like a macabre necklace. I pulled my gaze from her neck and turned my attention to the merchandise underfoot. I made my way through the constantly shifting maze of magic ephemera to the back of the shop.
At the door to Kaye’s spell kitchen, I took a calming breath and raised my hand to knock, but a noise from within made me hesitate. I listened at the door, hearing what sounded like a muffled incantation. Kaye could get cranky if I interrupted one of her spells, not to mention the unknown effect my barging in would have on a powerful casting. I decided to wait for Kaye in her office. I don’t like waiting around, but it’s better than being turned into a toad any day.
I loped further down the hall and let myself into the office. The room was small and crowded with Kaye’s occult library, but it would provide a place to wait the time and examine my mother’s jewelry box in private.
I climbed over scattered papers and random spell components, careful not to touch anything. I judiciously placed my booted feet in the rare bare spots scattered throughout the room, the trip to the one chair in the office becoming a challenging game of Twister. Thank Mab this game didn’t demand Jell-O shots or I’d be ass deep in centuries of visions. And not just any visions, but the visions of madmen.
I am always careful when handling any of the books in Kaye’s arcane library. This comes from a healthy dose of paranoia and a desire to keep my sanity, something the original owners of these scrolls and spell tomes often failed at. Magic, especially powerful magic, has a price. Immortals aren’t the only ones who become unhinged over time. Witches who use too much magic, or who dabble in the dark arts, tend to go stark raving mad.
I eyed the towering stacks of books and shuddered. The information in these documents was invaluable to my investigations, but Kaye’s filing system sucked. I wished she’d consider something safer, like glass-fronted bookcases bolted to the walls. The books were piled one on top of the other, some cover to cover and others end to end, making the act of retrieving a book a game of potentially deadly Jenga. Thankfully, I wasn’t here for research. I just needed a place to sit and study the box in my pocket.
I squeezed behind Kaye’s desk, a stack of books towering precariously at my back. I cautiously held the front of my jacket close to my body as I passed around the tight corner. Too bad I hadn’t thought to remove the stakes at my belt.
The wood scraped and caught on something and the entire stack of books wobbled. I froze, holding my breath. I turned my head to see where I was stuck. The end of one of my stakes had become wedged into the curve of a leather binding. I bent my knees and slowly shifted a half-step, dislodging the wood. I let out a shaky breath and rested my gloved hands on the desk in front of me. That had been close, too close.
I leaned forward and slid the stakes from my belt. I sucked in my stomach to make myself as small as possible and pressed my body against the desk. This time I made it past the tower of books unscathed.
I dropped down onto the desk chair and wiped the back of my glove across my forehead. I had no idea how my witch friend navigated the office with her swirl of layered skirts and shawls. Knowing Kaye, she probably used magic.
I pulled the jewelry box from my pocket and upended the bag my mother had sealed it in. The box was made of silver and the lid was engraved with flowers and vines which twined around the corners, framing a picture set into the center. From beneath the glass panel, a happy couple smiled up at me. It was a picture of my mother and father.
My parents had been so young. Or rather, they appeared youthful. My father, an immortal fae and king of the wisps, had likely been hundreds of years old at the time the picture was taken. But to all appearances he looked to be a human in his very early twenties.
Blue eyes stared out of a heavily freckled face. Will-o’-the-Wisp was striking with pale skin, long, red hair that fell past his shoulders, and full lips most women would kill for.
In the photo my father had his arm around my mother and his head tilted back. My mother had her face resting on his chest. Flowers were braided into her hair, which was blond at the time of the photo not gray, and she looked like she was dressed for a renaissance fair or perhaps one of
the Shakespeare festivals the city holds each year down in the park.
I traced their smiles with a gloved finger. I had so few memories of my real family. My father had sealed away the memories I had of that time with his spell. I knew that he was trying to protect us, but I longed for the years that I’d lost.
I slid my gloved fingers to the sides of the box, finding a flower with larger petals than the others. I pressed the center of the flower and the box unlocked with an audible click. I don’t know how I knew the secret to unlocking the box. It could have been magic keyed to my proximity to the box, or the remnants of a faded memory.
I bit my lip and lifted the lid. The box was lined in purple velvet and contained only one item, a beautiful silver key.
“Looks like your father left you the keys to the kingdom,” Kaye said.
I flinched and bit my tongue. I hadn’t seen or heard Kaye enter the room, but now she stood behind me hovering over my shoulder. Either I’d been too engrossed in my examination of the box and its contents or Kaye had used magic to gain entry without my notice. I flicked my eyes to her multi-layered skirts trimmed in tiny bells and the metal bangles at her wrists. It was unlikely that my friend had entered the room mundanely without making a sound. My bet was on a clandestine spell.
“What?” I asked.
“The key you have there,” Kaye said gesturing to the box. “It was left to you by your father, yes?”
“Um, yeah,” I said. I swallowed hard and closed the lid to the box. Kaye was eyeing the box like she was a supermodel and the key was a sandwich. “What do you mean by keys to the kingdom?”
“I mean that both literally and figuratively,” she said. “If I am not mistaken, that key leads to the wisp king’s demesne in the Otherworld.”
Ghost Light (Ivy Granger, Psychic Detective) Page 21
