by Karen Ranney
Angry at allowing himself to be conned into something he didn’t believe he said the last two sentences with more strength. He’d barely uttered the last word when the bottle went shooting off the island, this time with such force that it hit the wall a dozen feet in the distance.
He didn't know how long he sat there. Long enough to begin to worry about the damn cat. He put the book down and got up from the stool, retrieving the broom and dustpan once more. This time, he needed the mop as well, but he couldn’t find where Mary had put it. Instead, he used almost a whole roll of paper towels to pick up the mess, cutting himself several times in the process.
He kept his mind carefully clear, deliberately not thinking about what he’d just done, what he’d seen. It had been an experiment, that’s all. Just a simple thought problem. He still didn't believe, but something had happened. He just wasn't sure what.
Bubble sauntered into the kitchen a few minutes after he’d put everything away. The cat sniffed the air, and delicately jumped up on the island, stepped to the end, sat, and raised one leg to begin cleaning herself.
"I don't think so, Bubbles," he said, lifting the cat and placing her on the floor. She gave him another dirty look. He returned it.
"Thanks for not making me look for you. I appreciate it."
Bubbles continued her cleaning routine, ignoring him thoroughly.
"So, you're a witch’s cat. What does that mean, exactly? Do you participate in spells? Do you fetch eye of newt or mouse, in this case?”
The day had been so strange that he wouldn’t have been surprised if Bubbles answered him in English, perhaps with a French accent. Thankfully, she remained mute as she finished cleaning herself.
16
Derek locked the doggy door. He abandoned the thought of another beer for coffee instead. Once it was made he poured it into a travel mug, the same one he used every day on his way to work, and took the back stairs to the third floor. Bubbles followed him, the cleaning routine abandoned for curiosity.
As he entered the secret room again he was struck by a thought. Had he really known his wife at all? After the past day he had the feeling that he needed to reassess everything that he’d always thought to be real, including his relationship with Breanna.
There was obviously another world he hadn’t known about with people who could do things he’d never considered.
Maybe it was like when he was a young reporter. He hadn’t known anything about the Texas legislature. It had been a world revealed to him one surprise after another. Now he knew the men and women he covered, understood the mentality behind those politicians who used Austin as a springboard.
Or he could just be going nuts. The combination of grief and lack of sleep had finally become too much. Oh, and his birth mother thought he was a super duper wizard. Don’t forget that part.
It would be helpful if someone could reassure him. No, Derek, you're not nuts. But don’t forget the flying beer bottle.
He’d left the key in the lock. He pocketed it now, thinking that he should be careful to keep the room locked, just in case Mary got curious.
Bubbles jumped up on the chair and curled herself into a tight ball. She looked like a furry cinnamon bun, with the tips of her brown ears twitching.
He hadn't opened the other chests or the trunk in here yet. That was the way to beat insomnia — go on a quest. That's exactly what it felt like, some kind of religious journey.
Angie and Paul had taken him to church when he was young. He'd sat through innumerable Bible stories at Sunday school. Now he wondered how many of the congregation were practicing witches.
Maybe he should have asked Grace. When he returned Bubbles he’d do that. He’d start a list of questions. God knows he had enough.
The first of the chests in the closet wasn't locked. He opened it, but it was filled with books. No, not just books. Journals, all with the same inscription on the outside. Lionel’s journals.
Evidently, the habit of journaling was a familial trait. Also obvious, neither Lionel nor Breanna thought that anyone would ever be reading their words.
He was tempted to walk away and contact a recycler tomorrow. Or take them somewhere where they would be shredded and no one would ever know their contents.
Instead, he simply closed the chest and opened the next one. This one surprised him because it was filled with garments. They were all silk or another slithery material. Is that what the well-dressed witch wore casting spells? He pulled out the first robe in crimson silk. Had Breanna worn this last? He bent his head and breathed in the scent of the garment. Maybe it was his imagination, but he could swear he smelled her perfume.
He closed the chest and left the closet. Tomorrow he’d look around for the keys to open the hump backed trunk. He wasn’t eager to explore any more tonight which was the reason he was going to delay opening it. His own trepidation annoyed him.
After leaving the room and coaxing Bubbles out into the hallway he locked the door and pocketed the key.
Instead of going toward his study, he headed for the master suite. After opening one of the double doors he adjusted the dimmer switch, turning on a few of the overhead lights until a soft glow enveloped the space.
The first time he’d seen this room he’d been startled by the size of it. The king size bed was on a dais and at one end of the room was a sitting area with a fireplace, a couch, and two chairs. At night, he and Breanna often sat there, watching the television over the fireplace. At the other end of the room was a kitchenette, hidden behind a decorative panel.
Bubbles wound through his legs and went to the couch, claiming one cushion. He couldn’t help but wonder what Breanna would think about a cat in her house.
“Don’t get any ideas. You’re going home in a few hours.”
Bubbles raised her leg again and began grooming herself once more. He had a feeling that was her way of conveying disgust.
He went to one of the wide windows on either side of their bed, staring out at the night. When Breanna had been hospitalized last year to remove her appendix he’d returned home and felt the same sense of discordance he felt now. She’d been his partner, the person he trusted most in the world. He’d bitched to her about Billy, told her stories about some of the politicians he despised, and listened to her complain about the bureaucracy flourishing in her expanding research company. They were each other’s sounding board. At least he’d always thought so. He was only just beginning to understand the enormity of what she hadn’t said.
Something glinted in the moonlight. Something that shouldn’t be there. A car, parked on the serpentine approach to the house. There was only one way up to the top of the hill and it was a private road.
He stepped to the side of the window where he couldn’t be seen.
Since his SUV had gone up like a bottle rocket he knew he was in danger. Not from magic as much as something tied to his work as a political reporter.
He headed for his closet and found what he was looking for on the top shelf in the back. Breanna had given him the night vision goggles when they’d gone on vacation last year. She owned a house on Maui in addition to one in Managua, Nicaragua. He could understand the property in Hawaii, but he’d never figured out Lionel’s Nicaragua investment. However, he’d enjoyed sitting on the patio and watching the nightlife. Animals were a great deal less predictable then humans and sometimes more interesting.
After grabbing the remote control and turning off the lights, he opened the door to the balcony, careful to close it behind him in case Bubbles got a yen to explore. Standing close to the wall, he put on the goggles and watched the car. Too bad he didn’t have a sound detector, something that would allow him to eavesdrop on their conversation.
After a few minutes Derek slid down against the outside wall, making himself less of a target as he watched. He could see inside the car, but didn’t recognize either of the men. The driver had a set of binoculars and the passenger looked as if he was ragging on him for some reason. As a stakeo
ut it must be incredibly boring to watch him.
The question was why?
Bubbles let out a yowl from the other side of the door. He was being summoned by his unexpected houseguest. She clawed at the glass impatiently. Either she wanted to get out or wanted him to come back in. He decided to do the latter, removing the night vision goggles as he went back inside.
Let them watch. They weren’t going to see anything interesting.
After closing the curtains, he grabbed the remote control and turned on the lights again.
Whoever they were they hadn’t done anything but park on his property. Nothing that would justify calling the police.
He grabbed some clothes from his closet and started to shower, but once he was lathered he realized the cat was in the bathroom. He’d closed the bathroom door. He knew he’d closed the door. He’d made a point of it. However, Bubbles was sitting on the bathroom rug watching him through the glass. He opened the shower door, bent down and picked her up, walked to the door and deposited her outside the bathroom.
“Don’t need an audience, thanks. And stay there!”
Either the cat listened to him or she found something more interesting to watch so he was able to finish his shower in private and get dressed. On his way back to the study he stopped twice, looking into two of the guest rooms. One didn’t have an attached bathroom and he didn’t like all the brown. Brown bedspread, brown curtains, brown carpet all combined to make the room depressing. The second room was at the end of the hall, closer to his study. It had a small bathroom with a tiny shower, but the decor was a sunny yellow. Too damn sunny and too damn bright.
Maybe one day he could tolerate moving back into the master suite. Or maybe he’d just sell the damn house and find something new without memories.
Or a mysterious room on the third floor.
17
Being visible to the Elders was not a good thing. In fact, it was a very bad thing, especially when you were summoned to appear before the Elders for the American division of NASACA — all seven of them — first thing in the morning.
The phone call had come near dawn. The sun hadn’t even come up. Ellie dressed in her very best suit, a dark blue pinstripe with a pale pink blouse. Her shoes were dark blue low heels with a pink and blue bow.
She’d always been taught that redheads like her should never wear pink. The problem was that she liked pink, so she decided to wear it anyway.
Her mother said that she was in her rebellious stage. Wasn’t her rebellion supposed to happen around her teens? She was thirty. Besides, she’d never been a rebel, not even secretly.
She did the very best she could with her hair, but the humidity was high this morning and it frizzed like it always did when it was going to rain, raining, or just after it rained.
Her parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents had all been members of the NASACA, although none of them had ever aspired or achieved high office. It was enough to belong to a group filled with people of like minds, as her grandmother often said. In other words, practitioners of magic who didn’t believe they were evil for tapping into their natural abilities.
None of them had ever been talented or skilled enough to be an Elder. That honor was reserved for the very best of the best.
One Elder was based in the Northeast. A second in Florida. The third represented California and the west coast while the fourth, fifth, and sixth were from the middle of the country. The seventh, and the only Elder she’d met up until now, Michael Woods, was responsible for Texas and Oklahoma. There wasn’t one woman among them. Grace Colson had been the only female Elder and she’d resigned her position forty years ago.
Ellie had never been called to appear before all of them. For one thing, they only met once a month in person. All other meetings were held by teleconference. Every member of the NASACA knew that much about the Elders. It was about the only thing they did know. As a group they were intensely secretive. Pronouncements weren’t handed down all that often but when they were you knew something had triggered it. Like the time only a month or so ago when they’d stated that online banking was a privilege and not to be manipulated by those with numerological abilities. Evidently, someone had attempted to pad their own checking account.
Ellie couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to that unwise witch.
The elevator opened onto the twenty-first floor of a downtown bank building. Thankfully, a car had picked her up and the driver had walked her through the shadowy parking garage to the elevator. They’d taken two additional elevators to reach this floor. When the door parted, he held it open with one arm.
“I’ll wait for you here, Miss Hunt,” he said. Then he nodded toward the set of double doors. She nodded back at him to let him know that she understood.
The reception desk was empty and the clock on it said six fifteen. She slowly pulled one of the double doors open and walked inside.
The room the Elders of NASACA used to meet looked like any other conference room, except that there weren’t any windows. A large rectangular table surrounded by upholstered chairs took up most of the space. A credenza along the far wall had a Keurig unit on it. She looked longingly toward the coffee then thought better of it. She was shaking so hard she’d probably spill coffee all over herself.
“Sit, Ms. Hunt. We shall be with you in a moment.”
The disembodied voice didn’t startle her. Many people she knew could cast their voice. She took a seat at the end of the table, perching on the edge of the chair, trying not to look as nervous as she felt.
It was best to function under the radar of the Elders. The less they knew of you, the fewer instances in which your name was mentioned, the better. Something in her reports must have alerted them. Or perhaps she’d done something wrong. She hadn’t said a word about what had happened in Austin to anyone. Had they somehow found out?
The doors opened and one by one they filed into the room, each dressed in a dark suit, white shirt, and tie. Thankfully, they looked like they were attending a board meeting, not an execution.
One man reminded her of a crane with his deliberate, careful steps into the room. Another was as broad as he was tall and had a shock of white hair. Her immediate impression was: polar bear. The rest were remarkable by their normalcy. A little graying of the temples, a little male pattern baldness and beer bellies and they looked like any other middle aged men.
None of them smiled at her or acknowledged her presence in any way. Maybe this was an execution after all.
These seven men had the power to end her life. Poof! One moment she was here and the next she was gone. She’d heard rumors that they could do something like that. A few people had vanished from the NASACA and never been seen again.
Her stomach rolled and she felt cold all over. Her heart was beating as fast as if she’d been running. Now was not the time for a panic attack.
“Why are you worried, Ms. Hunt?”
She looked over to see Mr. Woods entering the room. He closed and locked the door before taking his place at the head of the table.
The man was extraordinarily tall, at least six foot five. He had a habit of always steepling his fingers and slumping his shoulders, reminding her of a praying mantis.
She shook her head. She wasn’t worried; she was terrified.
People had died after being summoned to this room. People had been banished or stripped of their powers.
“I don’t know why I’ve been called here, sir. Have I done something wrong?”
“On the contrary, Ms. Hunt. We want to convey to you our appreciation for your diligence.”
“My diligence, sir?”
“Indeed, Ms. Hunt. Your reports have been thorough and timely. I have especially enjoyed your comments.”
She didn’t think she’d ever blushed in her entire life, but she could feel her face getting warmer. Normally, it was a big deal to be praised by an Elder. In this case, she wondered if it was praise before the beheading.
“Thank you, si
r.”
In a less rigid society the man at the other end of the table might say something like, “Please, call me Michael. Or Mike. Whatever makes you more comfortable. We don’t stand on ceremony here.”
That was not going to happen. The twenty-first century would never penetrate through the great oaken doors. The Elders had the mentality of men from 1819. At least she hadn’t had to curtsy, but she’d been seated when the Elders arrived. Maybe she was expected to back out when it was time to leave, bowing the whole way.
If she left.
Mr. Woods’ eyes seemed to twinkle, making her wonder if he had the ability to monitor her thoughts. She sincerely hoped she was wrong. Just in case she was going to control her thinking from this moment forward.
“I found your comments perceptive, Ms. Hunt.”
What the hell had she said? She’d tried to make her reports as comprehensive as possible, including notes on the weather, what she thought Derek might be thinking, and any guesses — if she had any — as to what had propelled his behavior in the report.
“Thank you, sir.”
“We have, however, detected a certain protectiveness toward Mr. McPherson.”
“Protectiveness, sir?”
Oh, God, had they known what she’d left out? She immediately began to think of Baxter, her boxer. Anything but Austin. Baxter hadn’t been as active yesterday as he normally was. If he was the same tomorrow she’d take him to the vet.
Woods frowned at her. "At first we believed it was because you were female."
Sexism was alive and well in the magic community. It always had been, despite the fact that a great many practitioners of magic were females. The men still held onto their power with ten white talons.
He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, his eyes intent on her. Was he trying to hear her thoughts?
Had Baxter gotten into something that he shouldn’t have? He had a tendency to eat anything and she repeatedly had to Baxter-proof her house. Had she missed something?
