While Tabby herself took more after her father—entitled, arrogant, spiteful—when we spoke, her emotions matched her words. I couldn’t read any deceit, and she wasn’t a good enough witch to cloak her feelings. Anger, surprise, disgust—all of it tore at me like a blast of hot, sticky steam. Plus, it was clear she was in the castle back in Ireland. I could smell the rain, the gardens, the salty sea air through the scrying mirror. She couldn’t have been the shifter. And Ethan didn’t want the role anyway, as he had clearly stated before and after the competition, so I was sure it couldn’t be him. Not to mention it wouldn’t make any sense to begin with. If they wanted to steal the locket, they could have done so months ago when we were in Ireland.
Of course I could be wrong. It could be Ethan or Tabby—or both. For some reason that just wasn’t clear yet.
But if it wasn’t them, then who?
I told the Geraghty Girls I’d return shortly and climbed the back stairs up to the magic chamber. Birdie used to keep the scrying mirror in her own room, but she hung it here now.
On the huge round table sat a cardboard box with my name on it. I opened it and filtered through heaps of clothes I recognized as Fiona’s. Skirts, blouses, dresses, shorts, shoes, bustiers. It was like Yule morning! Beautiful, sexy, lacy things, shimmery, seductive low-cut tops. Heels that would command a man to notice your legs and satiny, silky—
Stop it, Stacy.
I mentally slapped myself and closed the box. Next to that was a notebook. On the first page was a list of guests invited to Cinnamon’s shower. Some of the names were starred. The folks passed out downstairs, I presumed.
Damn. I had completely forgotten to call Angelica to get this information. From the looks of the handwriting, my mother had taken that task for herself. At least one of the Geraghty women was still functioning clearly. Which made me wonder. Where had she run off to? What could have been more important than the mess we were in?
I was in. Although I suspected she had no clue about the drunk-dials.
There was nothing else in the notebook, so I snapped a shot of it with the camera on my phone and closed the cover.
Next, I booted up the scrying mirror and scrolled through the calls made that morning. I began with the first one and hit play. The video appeared to be a wrong number as a very confused Chinese woman yelled something and Birdie said, “Oops, sorry.”
The next call was to my grandfather, which made me wonder when on earth he was given a scrying mirror. Maybe mom got it for him. They were a lot easier to operate than the internet. Gramps refused to use Skype. Or the computer.
Gramps looked pleased as he greeted Fiona and Lolly.
Lolly said, “Birdie just told us she still loves you.”
Giggles.
“What?” Gramps went from pleased to confused.
“It’s totally true. She said it,” Fiona slurred.
Oh boy.
The conversation went downhill from there with Gramps seeming both hopeful and irritated the more they giggled. Then Birdie’s voice said, “Hey, look, it’s Oscar.”
I’d seen the ending to this movie once before and it wasn’t any good then so I hit skip and moved on to the next call.
It looked like three hang-ups before they finally reached Tabby. No idea who was hanging up on who.
“Dammit, Birdie, quit doing that!” Tabby barked.
Oh.
Birdie sneered, “Tabby, you tired old hag, I told you she’s better than your shtupid grandshun, grandsome, er...Ethan! Better than him and your dumb hat!”
Oh no.
Lolly said, “Yeah! Dumb ole hats. Whatcha got up in there anyway, a flying squirrel?”
Fits of laughter.
No. No. No.
Tabby looked a lot like Gramps had. Annoyed and confused. “Are you inebriated?”
Fiona hiccupped. “You just amswerve the question.”
For the love of Danu, it was a sloshy, blithering train wreck, but I couldn’t stop watching.
“What question? What are you talking about?”
This may have ended okay if Birdie hadn’t forged full steam ahead. “Thas right, you crotchety nutfugget, cause she’s the Scheeker. I knew it all along! Even without the locket!”
Oh hell.
Tabby’s eyes narrowed and she stood. “Are you telling me that the Seeker’s locket has been lost?”
A pause.
“Nope,” Birdie said with a hiccup.
A reptilian smile crept across Tabby’s crocodile face and I couldn’t help but think that those outrageous hats she always wore must have been specially crafted from the cries of tortured souls. “Well, well, how the mighty have fallen.”
“Nobody’s fallen,” said Lolly.
“Actually, Stacy’s always fallin’,” said Fiona.
The bus was barreling down the highway at this point.
“Oh, right. Stacy probably fell,” said Lolly.
And my family just threw me under it.
“I’ll be calling an emergency session, Birdie. If your granddaughter is too incompetent to handle her role as Seeker, then perhaps Ethan should take over.”
Birdie said, “My grandkid can beat up your grandkid any day of the week.”
“We’ll be in touch.”
The mirror blinked out.
Futhermucker.
Chapter 29
I grabbed an obsidian stone and a bag of salt from the armoire and sealed up the magic chamber with a protection spell. Then I scooped up the box of clothes and headed downstairs to the kitchen where I spent the next ten minutes lecturing Birdie and the aunts about the dangers of drunk dialing. When I got to the part about Gramps, Birdie muttered, “You didn’t,” to Lolly and Fiona. They had the decency to look embarrassed, but when I told them about the whole thing with Tabby, Birdie looked as if she might vomit. Actually, they all looked a little green at that point.
“I’m so sorry, Stacy,” Birdie said.
Lolly and Fiona said, “Yeah, we’re so sorry.”
They looked deflated like children whose balloons just popped.
I ran my fingers through my hair. “I know. You three aren’t yourselves right now. She was bound to find out sooner or later. I would have had to tell her eventually about the locket. So that’s done.”
I hoisted the box of clothes on my hip. “I have to go get ready now.”
“Wait, you’re leaving?” Fiona asked.
Lolly glanced up. “But what about the guests? I thought you wanted to gather some intel on them.”
“Yes, well that may be a bit difficult seeing as how they’re, you know, unconscious.”
I stepped toward the door.
Birdie said, “What are we supposed to do?”
I glanced back, smiled. “I’m going to tell you what you always told me, Birdie. Trust your instincts, follow the signs, and...let’s see, what was that other thing?” I tapped my lip, pretending to think. “Oh, right. Clean up your own mess.”
The door was open and I was just about to make my escape when Lolly asked, “Do we still get pizza?”
I looked back to find three hopeful faces staring at me. I contemplated it. I could use their help if they could hold it together. Also, leaving them up to their own devices in this state clearly wasn’t working. “Yes. Come to the Black Opal around eight.”
Lolly clapped her hands.
“And Rule Number One—no drinking.”
I lugged the box back to the cottage where the ghost kid was now lying on his stomach on the sofa glued to my tablet. Thor was curled up next to him and the teenager was using the dog’s backside as a makeshift desk.
He looked up when I entered. “I changed my mind, Red. I don’t want to see your boobies anymore.”
“That’s a relief.”
I set the box on the counter and went to grab a glass of juice.
“Yep. I want you to do this for me.” He flashed the tablet at me. It was playing a video of something I couldn’t explain if I wanted to involving nake
d parts and feathers and I think a boa constrictor. At least I hoped it was a boa constrictor. I spit the juice out into the sink and dashed toward him.
I yanked the tablet from his hand. “No more.”
“Hey, you gave it to me.”
“I understand what a mistake that was now.”
“Did you bring me a cheeseburger?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
I sighed, walked over to him and sat on the coffee table in front of him. I leaned forward, clasping my hands.
“Look, um...?”
“Ha! Nice try, Red.”
This kid was worse than dealing with Birdie and the aunts. I couldn’t help him if I didn’t know who he was or what he needed.
He frowned. “Is this going to take long?”
“Why, do you have someplace to be?” If there were any residual memories left, it might tell me where he was when he died. That might help jog his memory, and I could get on with my life and he could get on with his death.
He shrugged. “I guess not.”
I blew out a sigh. “Okay, look. Remember when I said before that the dead don’t eat?”
“Yep. And, duh.”
“I said that because,” I paused, looked him in the eye. “You’re dead.”
I waited for him to react to that, to process it. “Okay, sure, I’m dead.” He sat up and stroked Thor for a moment. Then he jumped up and did some sort of air guitar solo to what seemed to be a Van Halen song playing in his head, ending in a knee slide across the wood floor.
He jumped to his feet. “Can a dead guy do that?”
Thor hopped off the couch and wiggled over to the kid.
“Let’s try this another way. How old are you?”
“Fifteen. Just got my learner’s permit. Gonna get a sweet ride as soon as I save up.”
He started jamming again, beating a drum solo on Thor’s back. Thor crooned along with him, sending me flashes of his days as a bouncer at Cin’s bar, singing along with the bands. Apparently the bands loved him and the dog loved music.
The old fifties truck at Evelyn Leary’s place flickered through my mind, but I couldn’t spark a connection. Lolly’s sense didn’t work on spirits. “Have you driven yet?”
“Couple times.”
“Ever ridden in an old truck?”
“Sure.”
Bingo.
He said, “My grandpa takes me to those old car shows every weekend, dude. He’s got all these connections ’cause he’s a collector.”
Damn.
I was running out of time. I needed to get to the Opal soon, and I wanted to track my mother down before I opened the bar for business. Time to cut to the chase.
“Have you ever driven through the old mines?”
He did a head bang as he said, “No way, dude. Gramps would literally kill me if I did that.”
Interesting choice of words, although I doubted the kid’s grandfather would literally kill him.
“Okay, new plan.” I got up and went to the freezer, pulled out a package of Chance’s pizza rolls and microwaved them. I set the rolls and the Red Bull (also Chance’s) on the counter. “Eat this and I’ll pick you up a cheeseburger later. I have to change.”
“Can I watch?”
“Stop being a perv. Chicks don’t dig it.”
He sidled up to the counter and I went into the bedroom, listening for a reaction.
I sifted through Fiona’s offerings and finally decided on a tuxedo vest and shorts, a rhinestone bow tie, white lace stockings, and thigh high boots. I put my hair up, sticking two slender steel knitting needles through the bun. Quick, easily-used weapons. I kicked myself that I still hadn’t checked the book for a way to shrink my sword, but that would have to wait. I went into the Seeker’s Den for a throwing star and stuffed it into the back pocket of the shorts and slid the athame into my left boot. I clipped a poison pen to the vest, tucking it into my cleavage, and slipped a silver cuff bracelet over my wrist that produced a row of spikes when engaged.
When I came out of the bedroom the kid was standing at the counter, concentrating hard on the food. He reached for a pizza roll, but it hopped away from him. That was the last one on the plate. Thor was gobbling up the rest from the floor. I watched as the ghost’s hand went for the Red Bull. It sputtered and squirted. He lunged for it again and it sprayed him in the chest.
He didn’t look up, still awed. “That is some freaky shit, dude. How did you do that?” He turned back to the can, inspecting it with his eyes, looking for an invisible string.
“Tell me your name and I’ll tell you,” I said.
He turned to face me and his eyes widened. He whistled. “Damn, you’re smoking! Are we going on a mission? Do we get to interrogate somebody?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “You gonna seduce and strike?” He did a bad impression of a Karate move.
“We aren’t going anywhere, and if you don’t tell me your name I’m going to call you Ernie.”
He scrunched his face. “Ernie? Hell no. That’s a dorky name.”
I tapped my boot.
“Fine. Call me...” He lifted his head toward the ceiling, contemplating. “Call me Rocky.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s stupid, and it might get confusing. I know a Rocky.” One of the names on Cin’s guest list.
“Fine. How about...Chewbacca.” He grinned like it was the best name ever.
“No.”
“Why not!”
“Because it’s stupid too.” I headed for the door and said. “See you later, Ernie.” I shrugged my dad’s coat on.
“Wait, okay, call me...Ponyboy?” He lifted his hands in an exaggerated shrug.
I was stunned for a moment. Not by the name, but the fact that the kid had actually read a book.
“Okay.”
He smacked the counter. “Sweet!”
I grabbed my bag and said, “Stay gold, Ponyboy.”
“Wait, can’t I come with you?”
“No.”
“Can I call you Cherry?”
“Hell no.” The door shut behind me and this time I made certain to set the alarm and twist the deadbolt.
I climbed into the Jeep and sent Chance a text telling him his truck was in the driveway, and that I’d have the keys at the Black Opal tonight.
Then I reached into my bag for the tiny pouch carrying the tracking spell I had cast on my mother the day I left Ireland.
I wouldn’t lose her again.
Chapter 30
I placed the tracking spell on the dashboard and the hologram of a map floated out of the pouch and hovered before me. A red line highlighted the route my mother had taken from the Geraghty house to her current location. I navigated the streets until I found myself in front of Evelyn Leary’s house. So that’s what was so important, I thought. Evelyn must have been a friend of my mother’s, and she was likely distraught over the truck and the remains found on her property. I parked around the side of the house and snuck up the steep embankment toward the back of the Queen Anne. The tracking spell grew warm in my hand the closer I got. There was a light shining through a large bay window. I ducked down low and hurried toward the buttery glow. Hugging the side of the house, I snuck a quick peek into the window.
There, sitting around a kitchen table were four people—my mother, Evelyn Leary, a woman I didn’t recognize who appeared to be in her early fifties with wavy blond hair, and Penny Byrne, a woman I knew to be a friend of my mother’s when I was a kid. There was a man too, standing near the stove. Short black hair, his back to me. Evelyn’s husband perhaps?
The man was holding something rolled up in his hands. He placed it on the table, and my mother helped unroll it. It looked like an old map, brown and tattered from age, covered in faded ink. The man turned to pull up a chair, providing me with a closer look at his face.
Thoughts and images swarmed around me all at once like a hurricane. The build of his strong frame, the dusty glow in his ey
es when he laughed, the deep gravelly voice of a naval captain. His badge.
Years of pain trotted through me in stabby, spiteful steps.
I gasped at the former police chief of Amethyst. My Uncle Deck.
I snapped a few pics with my phone, anger writhing through me. Confusion and frustration erupted in colors of amber and chartreuse in my mind’s eye. They fed a palpable torment that I could taste. It had the bitter chewiness of black licorice.
Uncle Deck cocked his head to the right, his ear trained in my direction and I spun away, gluing myself to the siding. I held my breath as I heard the scrape of a chair. The light faded and I stole another peek. Someone had drawn the curtain.
What the hell was going on?
I stood there a moment, deciding if I should confront them. There wasn’t a lot of time before I had to get to the bar and I thought it might be best to isolate my mother. Address her alone, maybe in the Seeker’s Den where she couldn’t lie to me thanks to the truth enchantment I would filter through the ventilation.
Now more than ever, I needed answers. Why would Uncle Deck fake his own death? What possible reason could there be? Did Cinnamon know? Should I tell her? And what were they up to with that map?
I took a few deep breaths, summoning Lolly’s intuition. I trained it on the room and the people within.
Another emotion darted through me. Something black and tarry.
Deception.
That one made perfect sense. Deceived by both my mother and my uncle.
I dug deeper and felt a vibration of magic emanating from the house. No, several. My mother’s subtle potion-making abilities, another’s gift of protection, an innate sense of justice, a creative intuition, and a prowess for battle. Each kinetic field was an individual beam of colored light that somehow forged a single wave, like sunbeams painting a rainbow, belonging to the five souls in the house.
There was something vaguely familiar about the separate yet collective energy I was receiving, as if all the ingredients mixed well together. A perfect recipe I couldn’t pinpoint.
I decided to save the confrontation for after I processed this whole thing and examined the photos. I needed to identify the blond woman. Then maybe I could draw a connection as to what brought them together. Did it have something to do with the car? With Ponyboy? I was fairly certain he belonged to one of the skeletons in that truck, but until I found out who he was, I didn’t want to assign that label.
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