Artifacts, Dragons, and Other Lethal Magic

by Meghan Ciana Doidge

  ∞

  A woman was striding toward us across a wide stretch of land that I assumed was usually filled with fields of wheat or canola. In the distance to either side of us, fences crisscrossed more pasture and grasslands. Out from among the trees, the blue sky appeared endless. And without a wisp of cloud cover, the morning was cool. Maybe around minus six degrees Celsius. The bright orb of the sun was near enough to the eastern horizon behind us to hazard a guess at the time of day.

  The hollow in which the portal was nestled was surrounded by a grove of trees, then encircled by a split-rail fence that seemed most likely erected to bar access to the cattle in the far-off neighboring fields.

  The footprint trail through the snow that the stranger left in her wake led back to a well-kept and rather large blue-gray farmhouse. A similarly painted barn stood farther off to the east, as did a grain silo. A curl of smoke rose from the chimney.

  The woman’s heavy jacket hung open, as if she’d pulled it on in haste. Her chin-length dark-blond hair lifted in the breeze that also ruddied her pale cheeks.

  She was also a witch, through and through. Her magic was an extrapolation of the natural power that emanated from the ground beneath my feet. All hay and fertile earth and something with eggs … milk custard? No. Panna cotta, maybe.

  The witch carried a second jacket, which was a considerate gesture since any guardian who walked through the portal probably wouldn’t need one, except in a blizzard or perhaps to blend in. She shielded her eyes from the sun as we neared.

  I wondered how long it had been since a dragon walked through the portal she watched over. Maybe Haoxin, the guardian of North America, came here once in a while. I could see free-ranging chickens scratching in the snow in a wire-fenced area at the rear of the farmhouse. What little I knew of Haoxin suggested she was something of a foodie, so fresh eggs might be a big draw for her.

  Drake and Warner dropped back to fall into step behind me. The woman striding toward us faltered, stumbling slightly.

  I smiled, calling politely, “Hello. Gatekeeper?”

  The witch nodded, more hesitant as she closed the final dozen feet between us. She eyed Drake and me, but seemed mostly concerned with Warner. I didn’t blame her. I might find the sentinel sexy, but I was fairly certain that everyone else got stuck on his intimidating size and gruff demeanor.

  “Thank you for greeting us,” I said, ignoring that she was clutching the extra coat she carried as if it were a life jacket. “I’m Jade Godfrey. This is —”

  “Godfrey?” the witch blurted. “Pearl’s granddaughter?”

  “Yes.”

  “But …” She eyed Drake and Warner again, then snapped her mouth shut on her unasked question. She wanted to know how a witch had walked through a portal owned and operated by dragons. But asking about magic was considered rude in the Adept world. It was an odd rule of etiquette, but I’d been thankful for it pretty much every day since the discovery that my father was one of the guardian nine, and not some anonymous Australian backpacker like I’d always thought.

  The witch thrust the jacket toward me. “Marigold Albrecht. Mari.”

  We stared at each other for a moment, but the witch didn’t elaborate. Apparently, I was becoming far too accustomed to Adepts who insisted on listing all their titles and accomplishments after introducing themselves.

  Warner stretched his hand out toward Mari. “Warner.”

  She hesitated before shaking it.

  “Drake.” The fledgling stepped forward to offer his hand. “Is this your farm?”

  “My family’s.” She raised her chin proudly as she shook Drake’s hand. “We’ve held this land since it was first settled.”

  “We are well met, Marigold Albrecht,” I said. “We’re also unfortunately in a bit of a hurry. We have to sort out … transportation.”

  She nodded. “It’s breakfast. Saturday, January 23rd. Just … in case you didn’t know. I was making French toast. Would you join us while you … make your calls?”

  As I glanced at Warner, my traitorous stomach grumbled. Yes, practically loud enough for the chickens and cows to hear. Though, between fighting off Shailaja and getting trapped in the portal, I’d apparently gone without food for twenty-four hours, so it really wasn’t surprising.

  The sentinel threw back his head and laughed. Drake, who never missed an opportunity for mirth, instantly joined him.

  Though I swore I could feel the rumble of their combined magic underneath my feet, I ignored them as I addressed Mari primly. “That would be lovely.”

  She nodded. Her eyes were wide and edged with fear at the casual power held in Warner’s and Drake’s laughter. She turned stiffly, leading the way back to the farmhouse.

  Warner’s laugh ebbed into a chuckle.

  I pulled on the puffy winter coat Mari had handed me as I kept pace with the witch. “It’s not as chilly as I expected,” I said. “Less snow.”

  “Yes,” Mari said. “The weather has been unusually warm. We’re hoping for more snow, of course. To get water into the ground for spring. The drought was bad last year. Hay has gone from forty dollars to a hundred and fifty a bale.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at Warner. He nodded in response to my look. He’d leave some gold for Mari and her family when we departed.

  “Not that I’m complaining,” Mari said. “It’s a good life.”

  “Of course not.” With our Canadian duty of discussing the weather fulfilled, silence fell between us.

  What were Adepts supposed to talk about if not magic?

  “The vampire?” Warner asked, stepping up beside us.

  Marigold stumbled, then gasped when Drake appeared out of nowhere to catch her elbow.

  I dug into my satchel, pulling out the lead-lined case I stored my phone in to protect it from the magic of the nexus and the portals. “Will I get a signal out here?” I asked Mari.

  “You should.”

  The witch picked up her pace as we reached the yard and passed the chicken coop, which was a miniature replica of the farmhouse. Beyond the main fence, pure white hens scratched around the edges of the wire-encased run attached to the coop, while a large white rooster with bright-red, low-hanging wattles eyed us warily.

  Just beyond a back porch built of graying cedar, a tiny toddler clad in overalls was pressed against the kitchen window. A wide, low set of wooden stairs led to the back door. A blond-haired man appeared behind the child, coaxing the now-madly waving boy away from the window.

  I fell back a few steps as Mari jogged up the stairs, pausing to activate my phone and give her some space to explain our appearance to her family.

  She entered the home, leaving the door open. Three pairs of gumboots were neatly lined up by the back door, along with a galvanized metal bucket filled with tiny plastic gardening tools.

  Something about that hint of a tidy, regular life made my heart pinch. I turned away from the hushed conversation Marigold was having with her family just a step inside the kitchen. The toddler was tucked behind her leg, watching the strangers on the doorstep. Mari’s hand was tangled in his already-mussed hair. She was leaning into the man, who I assumed was her husband. Their body language was easy and intimate.

  My phone powered up successfully. I opened the messaging app, selected the thread tied to Kett’s mobile number, and applied my thumbs to the keyboard.

  Hey. We’re in Alberta. About to go hunting. How about a lift?

  I looked up from the screen.

  Drake had hopped the fence and was sneaking up on the chickens in an attempt to pet them. The rooster was not pleased with the fledgling’s antics.

  Warner was watching me. Too closely.

  “We shouldn’t stay,” I said. “Now that I’m not in the nexus …”

  “Shailaja will be tracking you,” Warner said, finishing my sentence. He tilted his head. The sun kissed his face, glinting off the lighter strands within his two-day-old stubble.

  My heart pinched again. And then I was s
uddenly struggling to hold back tears.

  “Life is not always so … fraught,” Warner said quietly.

  “No?” The word came out twisted with doubt and fear. I tamped down on the foolish irrationality gnawing at me as I growled, “Prove it.”

  A grin transformed Warner’s stern face. “I plan to.”

  “Hey!” Drake shouted. “Egg!”

  We turned to see the fledgling holding his prize aloft. He’d raided the nesting boxes on the outside of the coop. Apparently, the rooster had decided he wasn’t a threat before wandering off with a group of his girls. The other hens at Drake’s feet appeared more interested in the possibility of treats than egg snatching.

  “Drake!” I hissed. “Don’t steal other people’s food.”

  “That’s all right,” Mari said from the porch behind me. “He’s welcome to it.”

  I turned to find her holding the toddler on her hip. The tableau made my heart wrench.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “We can’t stay. We may be tracked here, and … well …” I swept my hand to indicate the house and the yard. “I wouldn’t want to bring any harm in our wake.”

  Mari sniffed. “No one is tracking you through my wards.” She lifted her chin proudly. Then she reached back and placed her hand on the exterior of the house, next to the door.

  Witch magic swept up and around the house and yard, slipping underneath my feet and tingling against my skin. Mari had triggered protection wards. The powerful, deep-rooted magic filled my mouth with the taste of a creamy, grassy-finished cheese similar to Camembert.

  “You are welcome to join us,” Mari said, repeating her invitation.

  The magic of the wards settled around me, leaving only a comforting hum.

  “Thank you,” Warner said. “Your hospitality is appreciated.”

  “Hello,” I said to the boy as I stepped up to the patio. “I’m Jade.”

  “Garnet,” the chubby cherub answered gleefully, as if he lived to tell people his name. Then he held out his hand.

  I hesitated, suddenly concerned about touching the boy. About hurting him … just by being in proximity to him. What the hell? It wasn’t like I was poisonous.

  I reached out, cupping his hand in mine and getting most of his forearm in the process. He grasped me firmly, without trepidation.

  “I’m three and thirty days today,” he declared.

  His magic tickled my taste buds. It was a combination of the witches — his parents — standing silently and proudly behind him, but also uniquely his.

  “I can taste your magic, Garnet,” I said, leaning closer. My necklace swung forward to capture the toddler’s attention, though he didn’t grab for it.

  His mother went very still, holding her breath. Even having two Adept parents wasn’t a guarantee that a child would manifest any magic.

  “Does it taste like French toast?” Garnet asked. “Or pancakes? Sunday is pancake day.”

  I laughed, letting go of his hand and wishing I had a reason to keep hold of his soft, unblemished skin a little longer. “Your mother tastes like panna cotta … like yummy custard. Your dad?” I lifted my gaze to the silent figure looming in the open doorway.

  “Brick. Brick Albrecht,” he said, his tone suggesting he was still unsure of the strangers on his doorstep. “I took Mari’s family name.”

  I nodded, then turned my attention back to the child. “Your dad’s magic tastes of frothed milk edged with some sort of spice … sweet, yet strong with a hint of earthy licorice … caraway?”

  “And me?” Garnet asked.

  “And you?” I held out my hand to the boy again, palm up. He placed his hand on mine without hesitation. His gaze was full of trust and curiosity.

  That was what I’d been missing.

  That was what I’d been walling myself off from. What I’d come to believe didn’t exist any longer. Not in my world, at least.

  “Your magic tastes like vanilla cream pie, baked meringue and all.”

  Mari let out the breath she’d been holding.

  “Pie!” Garnet exclaimed, wiggling free of his mother. “That’s dessert!”

  Apparently, tasting of pie wasn’t particularly satisfying to the toddler. Though he appeared unfazed as he ducked between his parents’ knees and stormed happily into the house.

  I looked at Mari. “I guess pancakes would have been better.”

  She laughed, then caught herself. “Thank you,” she whispered. “We didn’t know. We weren’t sure he had any magic.”

  I wasn’t overly pleased about the edge of reverence in her tone, so I shrugged. “It’s customary, isn’t it? To give a gift to your hosts? Normally, I’d bring cupcakes.”

  “Oh!” Mari exclaimed. “Yes. You’re that witch.”

  Drake snickered behind me. I turned back to give him the evil eye as Mari and Brick stepped back into the house and invited us in.

  My phone pinged.

  Drake followed the Albrechts inside. Just beyond the kitchen table, he kneeled down to present Garnet with the perfect brown egg he’d collected.

  I glanced at the text message that had appeared on my cellphone.

  > Nearest airport?

  Right. Our mission … whether we chose to accept it or not. Obviously, Kett was on board.

  Warner stepped past me, brushing a kiss to my forehead while he glanced at the text. “See?” he murmured. “Bored. And too powerful to be.”

  He stepped into the kitchen, reaching out to shake hands with Brick before I could respond.

  I sighed, then followed. Thankfully, a fire was roaring in a potbelly stove between the kitchen and the family room, because we’d just let all the warm air out of the house.

  ∞

  Apparently, Mari and Brick’s place was just off Range Road 203, and a fifteen-minute drive east of Bashaw, Alberta, by way of Highway 53. We were a little under two hours from Edmonton, but Bashaw did indeed have an airport.

  The area was known for wheat, canola, and beef, as I’d guessed, but fruit and fishing were the primary industries closer to Buffalo Lake just to the south. Brick was chatty and rather proud of their heritage, once he had food in front of him and we were all seated around the kitchen table. I quickly figured out that the farm itself and the portal gatekeeper responsibilities were passed through the matriarchal line to Marigold, though, rather than through his family. Hence him taking the Albrecht name.

  The French toast was brilliant. Crispy on the outside and chewy in the middle. Doused in single-pressed maple syrup, it soothed away the residual anxiety I’d carried through from the portal incident.

  Haoxin did drop by the farm, about once a year. She’d been doing so for the past hundred and fifteen years. Though, based on my rough math and basic understanding of the guardian ascension timeline, I estimated that she’d only been the pretty, petite swathed-in-silk blond that I knew for approximately twenty-five years of that stretch.

  Mari’s family documented the visits in a family chronicle that would have made Gran’s fingers itch. The witch pulled the leather-bound book out after cooking breakfast, and asked us all to spell our names for her so she could add us to that history.

  I asked her a few more questions as she wrote the information down. Apparently, Haoxin did take a couple of dozen eggs back to the nexus with her after each visit — yeah, I had her figured. The guardian also kept a Jeep in one of the barns close to the main road, which I hoped she didn’t mind us borrowing.

  I exchanged a flurry of text messages with Kett, Scarlett, and Gran while Warner questioned Mari and her husband about everything from the acreage of the farm to their magical fortifications and security protocols. Drake played with Garnet, matching the toddler’s energy effortlessly — and all the while, picking up every word Warner uttered.

  I wanted Gran and Scarlett behind the blood wards on my apartment and bakery. And if Shailaja and her renewed magic could walk through those wards like Suanmi had? Well … I’d have to worry about that later. Technically, Gran was
the gatekeeper of the bakery’s basement portal, though that was one of Pulou’s own portals and not on a grid point. I should probably trust that she would be able to hold Shailaja at bay.

  Two hours with a three-year-old made it very clear that my weird emotional scene at the back door wasn’t about having kids. It was about my wanting to lead a ‘normal life,’ where crazed dragons weren’t trying to kill my father and mentor. So, my ‘normal.’ Not anyone else’s. Which was the rub, wasn’t it? Because what if this was my normal now?

  “We should go,” I said.

  Warner slid his hand up my thigh underneath the well-worn wooden table as he reached for the final, and probably cold, homemade sausage from the platter of meat that Mari had already replenished once and left out for picking at as we chatted. “How close is the vampire?”

  “Um … it’s an eight- or nine-hour flight from London, isn’t it?”

  Warner shrugged. “Not in his jet. And not if he wasn’t in London when you texted.” He turned his attention to Mari as she stood to clear the table. “My … nanny used to make sausage like this. They’re delicious.”

  Mari bobbed her head. “A family recipe.”

  “Germans make the best sausages,” Warner said.

  “They’re Canadian,” I said teasingly. “And have been for a long time.”

  He grinned. “The only Canadians are the First Nations. Everyone else is an import.”

  I laughed. “You are such a snob. The same could be said for Europe.”

  “Nah. I can trace my family back for … many years.” Like his use of the word ‘nanny’ a moment before, Warner checked himself on ‘many.’ Which made me wonder how many thousands of years he actually meant.

  I snorted, trying to figure out some smart retort. Then my phone pinged.

  > An hour and a half.

  Warner leaned over to read the screen, then rose from the table. Drake instantly joined him from the living room, tousling Garnet’s hair when the toddler protested his leaving.

  “You’ll keep the wards activated once we are gone?” Warner asked.

  “Yes,” Mari said. “I understand. We will not approach the portal again until either you or Haoxin tell us it’s safe.”