Misfits, Gemstones, and Other Shattered Magic
Dowser 8
Meghan Ciana Doidge
Old Man in the CrossWalk Productions
Contents
Author’s Note
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Dowser 8.5 – three novellas
Dowser Series Cookbook
The Adept Universe by MCD
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Meghan Ciana Doidge
Author’s Note:
* * *
Misfits, Gemstones, and Other Shattered Magic is the eighth book in the Dowser series, which is set in the same universe as the Oracle and the Reconstructionist series.
While it is not necessary to read all three series, in order to avoid spoilers the ideal reading order of the Adept Universe is as follows:
Cupcakes, Trinkets, and Other Deadly Magic (Dowser 1)
Trinkets, Treasures, and Other Bloody Magic (Dowser 2)
Treasures, Demons, and Other Black Magic (Dowser 3)
I See Me (Oracle 1)
Shadows, Maps, and Other Ancient Magic (Dowser 4)
Maps, Artifacts, and Other Arcane Magic (Dowser 5)
I See You (Oracle 2)
Artifacts, Dragons, and Other Lethal Magic (Dowser 6)
I See Us (Oracle 3)
Catching Echoes (Reconstructionist 1)
Tangled Echoes (Reconstructionist 2)
Unleashing Echoes (Reconstructionist 3)
Champagne, Misfits, and Other Shady Magic (Dowser 7)
Misfits, Gemstones, and Other Shattered Magic (Dowser 8)
Other books in the Dowser series to follow.
* * *
More information can be found at www.madebymeghan.ca/novels
Introduction
Two more elves were at large in Vancouver, but thankfully they’d been keeping a low profile while I faced the most daunting task of my twenty-seven years — planning and executing my wedding. I was dealing with a disgruntled grandmother with an extensive guest wish list of the magically inclined, all of whom didn’t particularly like each other. Plus a fiance whose concept of time was altered whenever he stepped into a dimensional pocket, and a best friend who’d spent months planning what was certain to be an insane bachelorette party. How was I supposed to find time to worry about possible invasions, or the motley crew of magical misfits who had unrepentantly upended my peaceful existence?
Not that I was complaining.
Who didn’t love wielding deadly weapons, opening a bakery, and marrying their soul mate in the same week? Or was that just my sort of thing?
1
An elf stood at the door to my bakery. Well, actually, it was Bryn’s and my bakery, but still … an elf.
In Whistler.
I mean, I expected this sort of thing in Vancouver. But if you weren’t into outdoor sports involving snow, then Whistler was a pricey destination in the winter months. Plus, the village and the municipality around it were both seriously lacking in the magical department.
Or at least they had been.
In less than an hour, I was hosting a grand opening for Cake in a Cup Too. And I was pretty damn magical. Also, still not much of a wordsmith when it came to naming things. Plus Bryn, not being magically inclined herself, had unwittingly staffed the bakery with at least one skinwalker — Maia Thomas, an Adept who could cloak herself in the form of a chosen animal. In her case, a raven. And just for good measure, I’d dragged a telepath along to help pass out free mini-cupcakes to potential customers.
The elf caught my eye and smiled.
Smiled.
And despite the rows of sharp, shark-like teeth she displayed, I briefly believed she was genuinely pleased to see me. A dense crowd of shoppers and skiers crossed back and forth through the retail square behind her — all of whom were nonmagicals. I could tell that with utter certainty because the new bakery wasn’t warded. Unfortunately, despite the lack of shielding magic between us, I also couldn’t taste any power from the elf. That was unnerving.
Her long hair, pale to the point of being practically white, flowed gracefully over her shoulders and halfway down her back. Simple braids twisted back from her temples, exposing ears that were indeed slightly pointed. As with vampires and werewolves, the fantastical depictions of elves in nonmagical culture were obviously rooted to some degree in the truth, perhaps from the earliest encounters between Adepts and humans.
This particular elf had a pale, iridescent complexion with a subtle green undertone. If I’d been closer, I knew that iridescence would have revealed itself as finely scaled skin that was currently picking up light reflected from the bakery’s floor-to-ceiling front windows. The elf was easily six feet tall, wearing the cutest baby-blue puffy winter jacket and skinny-legged jeans tucked into calf-hugging polished black boots. She had the same sharp features as the warrior I’d faced in a park in Vancouver three months before. But with her significantly smaller frame — that first elf had been even taller than Warner — she came off as delicate. More feminine, somehow.
Based on my limited experience and the few ancient tomes detailing historic clashes with elves that I’d read since the previous September, I had the distinct feeling that regardless of how graceful, even elegant, she appeared, the elf likely packed a punch. Thankfully, the same went for me. Though standing five foot nine inches and endowed with ample assets, ‘delicate’ or ‘elegant’ weren’t adjectives that had ever been applied to me.
The elf also had a massive gemstone embedded in her forehead. The gem was a slightly darker tint of her skin tone and appeared to be surrounded by a simple raised design that followed the edges of the stone.
It bothered me that with nothing but twenty feet and some triple-paned glass between us, I couldn’t taste her magic. Because that was my thing, my advantage. The thing I was supposed to do better than anyone else. The thing that made me special, made me THE DOWSER in all caps.
Elves, it seemed, were very skilled at masking their power. Either that or I wasn’t particularly attuned to their magic because they came from another dimension. But since the elf standing just beyond the bakery door was only the second one I’d ever encountered, I didn’t have enough experience to draw a conclusion either way. Still, it was better all around for the very vulnerable humans meandering through the center of Whistler Village that she wasn’t doing anything that would have allowed me to taste her power.
Speaking of magic, Peggy Talbot paused a few steps beyond the door that led back into the kitchen, just on the edge of my peripheral vision. The willowy blond was dressed similarly to me in jeans, a brown Cake in a Cup T-shirt, and a white ruffled apron. She was also carrying a large tray of mini Chill in a Cup — mint-chocolate cake with mint-chocolate buttercream. The telepath had frozen at the sight of the elf. Her blackberry-jam-infused power swirled around her.
Well, it was always good to know I wasn’t seeing things.
The elf’s green-eyed gaze flicked to Peggy, then returned to me. Her smile became challenging. Then she beckoned. Her slim fingers were tipped with thick nails that were only slightly too short to be called claws. The gesture was meant to be enticing, but I wasn’t that easily fooled. Too many big bad monsters with sharp teeth had a habit of seeing me as a little snack that would tide them over on their way to taking over th
e universe.
Yeah, I wasn’t feeling at all dramatic.
I tugged at the ties to my apron — which was white with chocolate-colored printing, rather than the pink I’d used to brand the Vancouver bakery. I placed it on the counter, then stepped around the glass display case.
Outside, the elf melted back into the crowd. Possibly literally, because I lost sight of her almost at once. Whistler Village on a Saturday morning in December was seriously thronged with people pre- and post-ski, but still.
“Jade?” Peggy set her tray down next to four others on the white granite counter that backed the display case. I had just finished stocking the domed case with cupcakes, but I didn’t glance back to admire all the tidily arranged prettiness.
“Stay here,” I said, stepping around the deep-brown plush chairs and the low, white-topped tables scattered across the bakery storefront.
Pausing at the glass door to scan the crowd outside, I glanced right, catching sight of Bryn rearranging the large seating area in front of a sleek gas fireplace that ran the length of the far wall. My dark-haired co-owner paused to artfully throw a native-inspired printed wool blanket across a low-backed couch. Then she retrieved it and tossed it again. Nervous, repetitive, soothing behavior. Bryn had sunk all her savings and then some into the new bakery. She was so deep into the zone that I knew she wouldn’t even notice me stepping out, as long as I was back before opening.
I unlocked and pushed open the heavy glass door, stepping outside. Smiling cheerfully in response to drawing the interested glances of nearby pedestrians, I made a show of glancing at, then tapping, my bare wrist. “Forty-five minutes! And we’re giving away mini-cupcakes and chocolate shots for as long as supplies last!”
A few people murmured agreeably, glancing up at the hand-carved bakery sign above my head. Bryn and I had decided to leave the windows bare of logos, making it appear as if there were no barrier between exhausted skiers, snowboarders, hikers, and Whistler residents seeking the comfort of cupcakes.
Similar to the setup of the original Cake in a Cup in Vancouver, apartments occupied the two upper floors of the cedar-sided, blue-metal-roofed building in which the bakery was housed, along with a bath shop and a clothing store. Specifically, six two-bedroom apartments — one for Bryn and five for crazily expensive short-term rentals. The entire village was filled with similar-sized mixed retail and residential buildings, then edged by million-dollar mountain chalets. The immediate area was considered ski-in and ski-out, hence the price tag.
I scanned the winter-clad, fleece-and-knit-swathed crowd with my eyes and my dowser senses. Unfortunately, I didn’t taste even a hint of unfamiliar magic in the immediate vicinity. I was beginning to regret that I’d had to murder the only other elf I’d ever met before I could truly taste his power.
Peggy appeared beside me, pressing my green ski jacket against my arm while awkwardly tugging a rainbow-striped toque with a bright-pink fake-fur pompom over her light-blond head.
“What did I say?” I asked without taking my attention from the crowd. Though I accepted the jacket. I was wearing only a T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers, and it was actually cold, even for me.
“Get my coat,” Peggy said perkily. “Tell Bryn we’re going to go spread word for the opening. Then follow me outside to look for the elf.”
I sighed. “I didn’t even think anything like that at all.”
Peggy laughed quietly as she mimicked my scan of the crowd.
I had hired the telepath and her twin, Gabby, to work at the bakery two and a half months before. I’d needed new staff with Bryn relocating, and had deemed it easier to keep tabs on the Talbot sisters if I saw them practically every day. I had forced them to work mostly opposite shifts, though, discovering early on that they were incapable of getting anything done while together.
Gabby had taken a liking to baking and was proving to be a quick learner, which was good — because she wasn’t particularly delightful with customers. That was Peggy’s forte. Hence, the decision to bring her with me to Whistler to help Bryn with the grand opening. Todd, Tima, and Gabby would handle the Saturday rush in Vancouver, and I had put up a notice over a month before informing customers that the bakery would be closed on the following Sunday and Monday.
Peggy tugged on arm warmers — also rainbow-striped, but with rows of hearts — that I guessed were a gift from Mory. The young necromancer knit practically every waking moment, to the extent where she couldn’t possibly wear everything she made. The telepath lifted her hand, her jaw resolutely set as she pointed to our right.
“You can hear her thoughts?” I asked, already stepping in the direction she’d indicated.
“Nope.” She followed at my heels. “But there’s a weird feedback coming from that direction.”
Feedback.
Delightful.
Preceded by her huckleberry-and-wild-onion magic, Maia Thomas — Cake in a Cup Too’s second full-time employee — jogged up behind us, keeping pace with Peggy without a word.
I glanced back, giving the dark-haired skinwalker one of my best narrow-eyed glares. My disapproval slid off her like softened butter on Teflon.
Great. I was following a dimensional interloper — who might just be able to manifest knives out of thin air or snap a dragon’s neck — with two young Adepts at my back. I could freak out and fret. But unless I actually locked them up somewhere, and possibly lost the elf’s trail in the process, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop them from wading in.
Welcome to my life.
“Stay behind me,” I said, brushing shoulders with various winter-weather-clad pedestrians as I negotiated the crowd.
The cobblestones underneath my feet were mostly bare of snow, thanks to diligent village maintenance crews, but the mountains soaring above the village were covered with fresh powder. It was currently snowing, but so lightly that the icy crystals were almost mist.
Warner, Kett, and Drake were skiing some crazy-high trails that had required them to be out of the apartment at five a.m., then flown to the mountaintop in a helicopter. Audrey, the beta of the West Coast North American Pack, and Lara, a pack enforcer, were skiing black-diamond runs on Blackcomb with Kandy. The werewolves had flown in from Portland for my pending shower, bachelorette party, and wedding — if the elf I was following didn’t have other nefarious plans for me. Jasmine was doing something tech-related in the apartment she and Kett had rented above the bakery. Or maybe she was gaming. Whatever it was took two laptops and a tablet. Although she could tolerate being outside by day, the newly turned vampire still preferred to stay out of the sun.
Yep, everyone else was playing while I was getting ready for the grand opening of Cake in a Cup Too. And I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Especially since the vampires were the only ones who I trusted around cupcakes. What with them only needing blood for sustenance.
An elf following me to Whistler was an added and unexpected complication.
Over the previous three months, we hadn’t heard a peep from whoever had occupied the other two prison cells that had been unexpectedly discovered hidden along the shoreline of Kits Beach. Warner and Kandy had expected immediate attacks — or even an attempt by the elves to claim the entire territory. And I couldn’t blame them for that strong a reaction, given that the one elf we’d faced had made a serious attempt to murder them both. But it had been so quiet since that attack that I’d begun to think the elves had simply moved on. Or, based on this sudden reappearance, perhaps they’d simply retreated an hour and a half north into the mountains.
And yeah, I was still waiting on the meeting I’d demanded with Pulou, who had apparently stashed powerful beings — not just magical treasure — in hidden caves in the Vancouver shoreline. Despite the fact that he’d previously summoned me himself — and sure, I had pretty much told him to screw off — the treasure keeper had ignored every request I’d sent him through Blossom. Our mutual disdain was possibly about to bite me in the ass. Because all the things I didn’t know ab
out the elf that I was presently attempting to track with two fledglings at my heels was … well, pretty much everything.
At the corner of the building, I picked up the first hints of the elf’s magic. Conveniently, this drew me away from the main thoroughfare. Well, it was convenient for me. I knew that even with the two teenagers tagging along, an elf wasn’t going to get the upper hand over me easily. But she could quite easily force me to expose the magical universe to the fine residents of Whistler. And even I wasn’t going to get away with that level of transgression.
Maia was gazing overhead. I followed her eyeline to a crow perched on an upper balcony, overlooking a narrow lane to my immediate right. The crow dipped its beak and shuffled along the railing, peering down at the lane.
“Can the crow see the elf?” I asked Maia.
The teenage skinwalker sneered. “What? You think I can talk to crows? Because I’m First Nations, I must commune with animals?”
Well … it wasn’t a completely stupid assumption, was it? I laid on an equal amount of snark myself. “I was thinking it might be a secondary ability. What with your changing into a raven and all.”
Peggy stifled a giggle.
Maia scowled. Then she begrudgingly said, “Yes. Something shiny wanders this way.”
Laughing under my breath, I stepped into the narrow lane that cut between the buildings. The cobblestone alley led to the road that ran out of the village proper and onto the highway. It was just wide enough for a couple of ATVs to get through. Actual vehicles didn’t drive through the pedestrian-only retail section of Whistler Village except in emergencies.
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