Witch at Odds: A Jinx Hamilton Mystery Book 2 (The Jinx Hamilton Mysteries)

by Juliette Harper

  “You don’t like your real name, do you?” Knasgowa asked, the corners of her eyes crinkling with mirth.

  “I’m named after a movie star . . . ”

  The sentence stuttered to a stop. Did Knasgowa know anything about our world?

  She laughed at my confusion; a liquid, lyrical sound that made me think of butterflies dancing in a summer meadow.

  “I know what a movie star is,” she said. “On this side all is . . . joined. We are more than the sum of our time and our personal experiences. What I understand is no longer tied to my tribe or the number of the year in which I lived or died. Those things are just human devices to create order and make sense of the world. There’s more to it than all that, which is what scares you so much, isn’t it, Jinx?”

  Before I had time to think, I blurted, “It’s all too big for me.”

  Knasgowa patted the rock beside her. “Come sit with me, granddaughter. I will not harm you.”

  Harm me? I wanted to crawl up in her lap like a little kid.

  When I moved closer to her, Knasgowa caught hold of my hand. Her fingers were strong and warm, nothing like Colonel Longworth’s spectral touch.

  “What are you?” I asked.

  “I am myself,” she said, “and to you I am your grandmother and your guide. I hope we will have many talks in this place. Don’t be afraid of the woods at night. The animals can sense your magic just as the hickory tree did the night you spoke with it of the time before there was time.”

  “You know about that?” I asked. “How?”

  “I am your ancestor,” she said. “All who came before you watch over you, Jinx. You are never alone. Just because Fiona is joyful and pretends to meander in her course, do not think that she will not use her power to protect you if the need arises.”

  “Protect me?” I said. “She won’t even give me a straight answer.”

  Knasgowa laughed again. “There are some things you must learn on your own to fully awaken your powers. Fiona has never told you an untruth, she’s just left a few things out.”

  I looked down at our joined hands and spoke softly. “I’m sorry I turned Brenna loose.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Knasgowa said. “When I consigned Brenna Sinclair to limbo at the moment of my passing, I knew she would not be held there forever. Her ambitious hunger for power is too strong.”

  “What do I do, grandmother?” which seemed like the most natural thing in the world to call this woman.

  “When I leave you tonight, dig a little ways under this rock and you will find a silver cup given to me by Alexander on the day of our marriage,” she said. “He brought it with him from Scotland. Return to the one you call Myrtle and she will help you to use the cup to summon my husband’s spirit.”

  “But isn’t he here with you?” I asked.

  My question sent a kind of lonely sadness over her features. “No,” she said. “We cannot be together in this place. Alexander dare not emerge from his own sort of limbo unless he is in a protected place. Brenna will sense his spirit and use her magic to find his grave. He can only pass into this realm in the cavern under your home. Brenna will not be able to sense him so long as he is with Myrtle.”

  She paused and then said softly, “When you speak with him, tell him I love him.”

  “I will,” I said, the words barely passing over the lump in my throat. “Isn’t there some way for the two of you to be together again?”

  “That is not important right now,” Knasgowa said. “Take the cup to Myrtle and do as she says. When you find the book that was buried with Alexander, use it to return those who have been awakened to their rightful slumber.”

  “And put Brenna back in limbo, right?” I asked.

  Knasgowa shook her head. “I truly do not know if that is possible,” she said, “but you may be able to rob her of her immortality. Then you will have a . . .”

  “Fair fight,” I finished.

  “Yes,” she said. “But Brenna will still have her magic. She is determined to found her own hereditary line.”

  “But why?” I said. “I don’t understand.”

  “There is much you do not yet understand and much you have to learn,” Knasgowa said, “but each piece of that puzzle will come to you in its own time. I must go now. Take the cup to Myrtle and trust her to help you.”

  My fingers tightened on hers. “Please don’t go,” I pleaded. “There’s so much I want to ask you.”

  Knasgowa leaned toward me and kissed me on the forehead. “Come here on nights like this when the moon is full and call to me. I will come to you and we will speak of many things. I love you, granddaughter.”

  A blanket of warmth settled around me, and she was gone. I wiped away the tears I hadn’t even realized were rolling down my cheeks and called to Tori to join me. I heard her scramble down the slope, and then she and Colonel Longworth were with me among the boulders.

  “Jinksy,” Tori said, dropping to her knees in front of me and catching my hand, “you’re crying. What happened?”

  Looking down at her with shining eyes, I said, “She was here, Tori. Knasgowa was here. She’s so beautiful and kind. I know you couldn’t see her, but she was here. Honest.”

  Tori never hesitated. “I believe you, Jinksy,” she said. “What did she tell you?”

  The question snapped me back to reality. “Oh! We have to dig under this rock and find a cup that Alexander gave to her.”

  “Dig with what?” Tori asked. “We don’t have a shovel.”

  Beau went down on one knee and examined the dirt he couldn’t actually touch. “The soil appears to be soft here,” he said. “I don’t think you’ll need a shovel, and I may be able to be of some assistance in this regard.”

  “How?” I asked.

  “There are some advantages to being insubstantial,” he said.

  We watched as he plunged his hand into the dirt at the base of the rock and began to move methodically around the edge. About halfway behind where I was sitting, he stopped, a thoughtful expression on his pale face.

  “I believe the object you are searching for is here,” he said, withdrawing his arm and indicating a spot on his sleeve just below the elbow. “At a depth of roughly this distance.”

  “And you couldn’t just pull it out?” Tori asked.

  Beau laughed. “Alas, no, Miss Tori,” he said. “I can only detect subtle changes in the material through which my essence passes. If I were to hazard a guess, I would say the metal from which the cup is fashioned is silver?”

  “Yes,” I said, “that’s what Knasgowa told me. How did you know?”

  “Perhaps the metaphysical legends long associated with silver are correct,” Beau said. “I can only tell you that when my hand passed through the space there in the ground I knew I was touching silver.”

  Interesting. We needed to run that one by Myrtle, too.

  Tori and I found a couple of thick sticks lying at the edge of the pond and began to scrape away the soft dirt, following Beau’s directions. Thanks to the moonlight and Beau’s own faintly glowing form, we had enough light to see what we were doing.

  His depth estimate seemed to be off, however. We kept digging, but we weren’t finding anything. Then, about two feet down, the edge of the boulder appeared and the reason for the discrepancy became apparent.

  “Reach up under the rock,” Beau said. “I think the cup is secreted in a sort of hollowed out place in the stone.”

  TryIng not to think about anything else that might be living under the rock, I put my hand inside the boulder and drew out a shallow, tarnished silver cup with a broad, flat handle on either side.

  I have to tell you, I felt like we’d just stepped into an Indiana Jones movie.

  “Holy crud,” Tori said, “would you look at that!”

  “Come on,” I said. “We need to get this back to Myrtle.”

  We started to leave, but Beau stopped us. “Fill in the hole,” he said, “and use a branch to rake the surface to appear m
ore natural. I do not think it wise to leave behind evidence of this night’s activities.”

  Incredibly good point.

  When we climbed back up to the clearing, I carefully tucked the cup into the saddlebag on my bike. I turned toward the path and flicked on the headlight. That’s when I saw the mountain lion.

  Beside me, I heard Tori mutter something profane.

  “Be still,” Beau said. “Do not make any sudden movements and do not look into its eyes.”

  I’d like to tell you I did as I was told, but I couldn’t have looked away from those eyes if I’d tried. They held me mesmerized, not just by the intensity in their deep, amber depths, but by their oddly familiar expression. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I swear to you I felt like I knew those eyes.

  The encounter only lasted a few seconds before the big cat melted into the darkness, but the brief communication we shared felt far more timeless.

  “Is it gone?” Tori whispered.

  “Yes,” I said calmly. “We can go now.”

  Beau frowned. “Miss Jinx,” he said, “do you not think it would be more prudent to wait a few minutes?”

  “No,” I said, climbing on my bike. “Even if he’s still here, he won’t hurt us.”

  “Since when are you the mountain lion whisperer?” Tori hissed.

  I couldn’t answer her question then and I can’t explain it to you now. Maybe it was just because Knasgowa had said I was safe in the woods. But I not only knew that big cat wouldn’t hurt me, I knew that if I needed him to, he’d protect me.

  22

  Chase McGregor walked out of the maze of shelves in the basement and sat down across from Myrtle in the newly created area Tori had christened the “lair.” He looked at Myrtle appraisingly. “For a minute there, I didn’t think you were going to get Jinx to call it a night and go to bed,” he said.

  Myrtle removed her eyeglasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. Chase knew she didn’t need the glasses to see, but the action fit her new human persona and seemed perfectly natural.

  “I was telling her the truth,” Myrtle said, settling the glasses once again on her face. “It is almost dawn, and that’s the wrong time to use the quaich to summon the spirit of Alexander Skea.”

  Chase looked at the silver cup sitting on the table in front of her.

  “May I?” he asked.

  Myrtle nodded.

  He reached for the cup, lifting it carefully, and turning it over in his hands. “I don’t care if my name is McGregor,” he said, sounding amused, “I still don’t know how you get ‘quake’ out of q-u-a-i-c-h.”

  “There are more incomprehensible languages than Gaelic,” Myrtle smiled, glancing back in the direction from which Chase had appeared. “Where is your father?”

  On cue, a lame ginger cat trotted into the room on three legs and sat down in front of the fireplace, regarding them both with impassive green eyes.

  Myrtle arched an eyebrow in his direction.

  “Really, Festus,” she said disapprovingly, “is it out of the question for you to be polite enough to appear in human form and sit down with us for a civil conversation?”

  “Don’t be putting on airs with me just because you’ve decided to become the head librarian around here, Myrtle,” the cat grumbled. “I’ve explained this to you before. It’s easier to limp on three legs than two.”

  Chase rolled his eyes. “Would the two of you just give it a rest?”

  “If I were you,” Myrtle said, turning her attention sharply back to him, “I wouldn’t be attempting to lecture other people about their behavior. Exactly what were you thinking following Jinx out to the waterfall tonight?”

  Chase shifted uncomfortably in his chair and stared down at the toes of his black boots. “She doesn’t know it was me,” he said. “She just thinks she had a close encounter with a very big kitty cat.”

  “A kitty cat whose eyes looked familiar to her,” Myrtle said curtly.

  Setting his jaw, Chase said stubbornly, “It is my job to protect her.”

  Festus stretched luxuriantly in the heat from the fireplace, circling until he found the perfect spot to lie down. Once he was arranged, the cat crossed his front paws and studied his son.

  “Try selling that story to someone who’s interested in buying it, ” Festus said with pointed skepticism.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Chase protested, a faint red blush creeping across his tanned cheeks.

  “It means you have feelings for the young woman,” Myrtle said, delivering her words with more kindness than the acerbic tomcat. “You must be careful, Chase,” she warned. “Falling in love with Jinx could cloud your judgment.”

  Chase sighed and looked up. “It’s too late, Myrtle,” he said softly. “I’m already in love with her.”

  Festus picked up one front paw, licked the fur, and scrubbed at his whiskers. “I told you so,” he said, as he inclined his head to one side and rubbed behind his ear. “Now we’re in for it.”

  Myrtle shook her head as she watched the cat with thinly disguised disapproval.

  “I trust there will be no fleas in that carpet when you are done, Festus,” she said in a prickly tone.

  The cat stopped, paw in mid-air, his eyes widening with indignation. “Did you really just accuse me of having fleas?”

  “Enough!” Chase said, smothering a smile. “Let’s just stay on track here.”

  “Fine,” Myrtle conceded, “but you’re not going to like what I have to say.”

  “I know what you’re going to say,” Chase replied miserably. “I have to tell Jinx the truth about myself.”

  “Correct,” Myrtle said. “She has to know about Clan McGregor eventually, but this budding relationship between the two of you somewhat complicates things. You cannot wait to tell her the truth.”

  Chase rubbed his eyes with one hand. “I don’t suppose when you and Darby set this place up you remembered the Scotch?” he asked wearily.

  “In the cabinet by the desk,” Myrtle said.

  Chase got up and crossed the expanse of Oriental rugs, letting out a low whistle of appreciation when he opened the cabinet. “Is there a make of single malt you don’t have in here?” he asked.

  “Of course not,” she said, sounding mildly offended. “The Oban is on the top shelf.”

  “Dad, do you want some?” Chase asked, taking down a tall bottle of amber liquid.

  “What a silly question,” the cat said archly. “Of course I do.”

  Chase poured himself a glass of whisky, filling a jigger for Festus, which he sat down on the hearth. The old cat dipped his tongue appreciatively in the liquor, purring loudly.

  “Better than mother’s milk,” he said appreciatively, licking his whiskers.

  Reclaiming his chair, Chase said, “Look, Myrtle, I really think Jinx has been hit with too much already. She really doesn’t need to know about our kind just yet.”

  Festus brought his head up from his drink abruptly.

  “I don’t like your tone, boy,” he said. “You make it sound like being a werecat is a bad thing. We are an old and proud race, royal in our own right. The McGregors have protected Knasgowa’s line since the 18th century.”

  “I don’t need a history lesson,” Chase said. “It’s just that all the other witches in the family were prepared from childhood to understand our world. Jinx knows nothing, and this is all coming at her too fast.”

  “It’s hardly our fault that Jinx’s mother turned her back on her own heritage,” Myrtle said. “Fiona tried to influence the child. Kelly wouldn’t allow it.”

  Chase shook his head. “Let’s just get everything settled back down again and then I’ll tell her,” he said. “It’s not information she needs right now. Knowing about me won’t help to control Brenna Sinclair or give the restless spirits peace.”

  Without warning, Fiona appeared in the chair across from him. She looked Myrtle up and down and said, “Good heavens, didn’t you go just a bit severe with the look?”
>
  Myrtle regarded the other woman over the top of her glasses. “Aren’t you going just a bit far with the addled Aunt Fiona act?” she countered.

  “I haven’t told that child a single lie and you know it,” Fiona said. “If she had even the vaguest inkling of the real potential of her powers, she’d be so scared she’d run right back to slinging hash in that diner and taking orders from my hare-brained little sister. Is that what you want to have happen, Myrtle?”

  “No, of course not,” she said, “but Jinx thinks you’re giving her the run around, so just try to be a little more forthcoming with your explanations without telling her too much.”

  “Myrtle, dear,” Fiona said sweetly, “you do know the definition of the word ‘contradiction?’”

  “Well,” a new voice said, “this certainly sounds like old times.”

  Amity Prescott entered the sitting area from her side of the basement. “Hail, hail, the gang’s all here,” she said, rolling out the wooden desk chair and sitting down. She looked at Myrtle, pointing an index finger toward the ceiling, “They’re not going to hear us down here, are they?”

  “Sound dampening incantation,” Myrtle said absently. “Rodney might hear us, but the girls won’t.”

  “And what about Darby?” Amity asked.

  Myrtle gestured over her shoulder. “He’s all the way in the back cataloging rare crystals.”

  “How far is ‘all the way in the back?”” Fiona asked.

  Myrtle thought for a minute. “I think we put the crystals on Aisle 736.”

  Amity inclined her head toward the table. “I see Jinx found the quaich,” she said.

  “Yes,” Myrtle replied, “rather easily, in fact. Knasgowa was waiting for her.”

  “Where was the cup hidden?” Fiona asked.

  “In a hollowed out section of the flat boulder across from the waterfall,” Myrtle said.

  “Nice,” Amity said, “Alexander did good work.”

  “He had a good teacher in Knasgowa,” Myrtle observed.

  “Can you just imagine?” Amity said admiringly. “Jinx actually spoke with Knasgowa. That’s just amazing. That girl is the only one of us, other than you Myrtle, who has ever done that.”