“I didn’t know you were a weaver too.”
“Any witch can be a weaver. The magic comes from the spell—the props and incantation. You just need to follow the recipe. Finding spells are fairly common. I should have everything we need.” He dumped a pile of stones from a cloth bag, selected two moonstones and handed them to her. “Hold these, one in each hand.” They lay in the flat of her palm as she examined the smooth opalescent stones. He closed her fingers around them.
“Hold them firmly. These are your anchors.”
Next, he took out a short silver candle and anointed it with oil.
“Mmm. What’s that scent?” Bobbi asked.
“Honeysuckle.” He tapped another drop from the bottle and smeared it down each of her temples. Then he sorted through a pencil case and pulled out a fat purple marker. Bobbi eyed it suspiciously.
“You’re not going to draw a mustache on me, are you?”
He grinned. “It’s washable. But no, not a mustache. An eye.” He drew a purple oval on her forehead. “That’s your third eye, the one that can look forward or back.” He lit the candle. “Stare at the flame. Try not to blink.”
Bobbi gazed into the flame. Her expression went slack.
“Bound by light, ask the right. Bound by light, bring the sight.” He intoned the traditional words. A tiny light separated from the candle wick. Bobbi’s eyes widened in surprise.
“This is a seeker. It’s going to search your mind for the memories, and I’ll be along for the ride.” He took a third moonstone, passed it through the flame and pressed it to the mark on her forehead. The seeker bounced with energy.
“When your physical eyes feel tired and dry, let them close and your third eye will open.”
Bobbi let her eyes drift shut. Quinn took a moment to draw aether from his roach talisman. Emmett’s injector was ready in his pack too, in case this spell went wild.
“I’m going to soothe you now. Just a bit. Think of it as a mild sedative, okay?” He waited for her permission. She had to be an active participant, or this would never work.
She nodded. The light ball thrust through the stone into her head. Bobbi gasped, but Quinn took the edge off her distress. He lowered the moonstone. Her face composed, but he could feel her fear like a snake coiled to strike. He pushed a little more calming aether.
The seeker drifted through the miasma of her memories. Quinn closed his eyes to block out the physical world and concentrated on the images of Bobbi’s mind. Light and shadow swirled, coalescing into brief glimpses of thoughts that faded before he could grasp them.
He resisted the urge to rifle through her thoughts. It would be so good to know, for once, what she was thinking. But this spell always unnerved him. It was such an utter baring of the soul. If he stepped clumsily, he could damage her psyche for good.
Then one sharp image pushed forth. Desire hit him along with her most recent memories of two bodies tangled together in the dark, his face masked by shadow.
Oh. She thought he smelled good and damn…that’s what it felt like to be a horny woman? Good to know.
Move on! Bobbi’s voice rang sharply as if she’d spoken aloud.
Fine. He left those memories reluctantly, knowing he’d never get another chance to see himself through Bobbi’s eyes.
“Focus on a memory of your parents or your sister. Even a place or an object that has significance.”
The images swirled, formless now with only skittish clouds of color in the darkness of her mind. She was spinning out of control again.
“I can’t find any!” Her breathing increased sharply.
“You’re okay.” Calm flowed out with his words and Bobbi’s anxiety slowed. “What about yesterday. Did anything spark a memory?”
He heard a small child calling “Bobbi! Bobbi!” The ruins appeared as they stood now, but the sky was all wrong. Day turned to night then sped into day. Clouds raced by as stars left streaks in the sky. The sun rose and set, moon following like a comet. Bobbi was turning back time, visualizing the thread of her life spinning backward, until the image froze on her childhood home, standing solid against a night sky.
Her mind erupted in fire. Darkness. Heat. Flame. They stood at the center of an inferno. Screams pierced the night. The image blurred and they stood in a long hallway choked by smoke.
Hell, no. They’d fallen into Bobbi’s memory of the fire that killed her family. She whimpered beside him, and he crushed the image with a blast of soothing magic. She flinched as if he’d hit her.
Damn. He didn’t want to do that. She’d been battered by soother magic before. He wanted to ease her back into it, not bludgeon her with it.
Are you okay to go on? He spoke through the seeker, not ready to bring them back to the physical world. The shift could be jarring. He felt her agreement.
Try another memory. Something farther back. Lord and Lady, he hoped she chose something happier.
A scene emerged from the blackness of her mind. Wildflowers swayed in the wind. A child ran through the shining flower heads with airplane arms.
Bobbi look at me! I’m flying! She squealed and ran off.
Colors billowed and ebbed, revealing and hiding a blond woman. She smiled and touched his face. No, Bobbi’s face. This was her memory, not his.
“Sing it again, baby.”
A child’s voice joined hers.
“There was a crooked man who walked a crooked mile. He found a crooked crow’s nest upon a crooked pile. He crossed a crooked bridge and swam a crooked stream. And slept in his cave in a deep crooked dream.”
“That’s right. I’m so proud of you! Now remember…” The woman touched her forehead with two fingers, right on the spot of her third eye.
Bobbi jerked her memories from his grasp. He opened his eyes to find her staring grimly at the receding fog.
“I know where the book is.”
Chapter Fourteen
Excursion
“WE CALLED HIM THE CROOKED MAN.”
I stared at the rotting post beside the old garden. In my mind’s eye, a scarecrow hung limply on a crossbar, hay stuffed head painted with a smiling face so he would frighten birds and not my little sister.
“He was the trail marker.”
“Are you sure?” Quinn watched me intently. The fog had burned off. In the morning sun, the shadows under his eyes gave him a haunted look. I nodded and gripped his fingers, glad for the anchor as memories returned.
“Repeat it. You must not forget.” My mother’s voice echoed in my head, then my tiny voice answered. “There was a crooked man…”
“That’s why I know a different version of the rhyme. It was my mother’s way of teaching me the path to our special place.” I closed my eyes and tried to recapture more fleeting memories. “I remember a clearing that butts up against a tall bluff. We used to picnic there. It’s close enough for a child to walk to from the house.” I pressed the memory for more details before it slipped away. “And a cave. We pretended it was a castle. That way.” I pointed to a small opening in the trees beside the overgrown garden.
Quinn shrugged. “Well, I’m up for a hike.” He looked up for a nap, but he would never agree to let me check it out alone, not after the strange visitor at our site last night. He activated the bellwether while I packed a small bag.
As soon as we slipped into the woods on a path that was little more than a deer trail, I felt my first connection to this land. Quinn’s finding spell unlocked my memories, and they came spilling over me now. I could see my little sister skipping up the path ahead of us, blond ponytail bouncing, childish voice counting steps for the sheer joy of hearing her own voice. My mother pointed out plants, explaining their uses in medicine and ritual. Sometimes my father would join us, looking for the perfect piece of deadwood to whittle into a toy.
All these images laid over the bare spring trees as I looked for a landmark matching the second line of the verse.
He found a crooked crow’s nest upon a crooked pile. A crooked p
ile could mean anything. And the bird’s nest wouldn’t have survived the last twenty years. But I had no doubt we headed in the right direction.
I stopped and held out a bottle of water. Quinn needed rest.
“They’re alive in these woods,” I said. He took a sip and handed back the water with a quizzical look. “My family. I can feel them all around us. Even if we don’t find the grimoire, I’m glad we did the finding spell. Thank you.”
Quinn tipped an imaginary hat.
We continued on as the path widened. It was soft underfoot, littered with a thick pad of dead needles as it twisted through tall pines. The angle steepened enough to make my hamstrings burn. The next part roughened even more. A natural staircase of mossy boulders led straight up. I paused to let Quinn catch up, stretching my legs to give him a moment’s pause. He leaned on the bellwether like a walking stick. So far, the artifact hadn’t so much as belched.
“You think we’re headed the right way?” he asked.
“I’m sure of it. I remember this place. The first time I climbed these stone steps, I turned back to yell down at my parents. ‘Look Mommy! I climbed a whole mountain!’ I might have been part billy goat.” I smiled at the memory. I’d been so proud. Bethany needed help from Dad, but I climbed all by myself. As an adult, the climb didn’t disappoint. I was panting by the time I reached the top.
Behind me, the stone steps seemed to drop into the bowels of the earth. Ahead, a rock ledge opened onto a magnificent view. The valley spread before us, grey and brown trees just starting to sprout green.
Stepping back from the view, I dug in the underbrush beside the ledge until I found a rock about the size of my fist and placed it at the base of a pile of stones as tall as me.
“The stone pile,” I said. “There’s no nest. I remember now. Dad said this was as tall as a crow’s nest on a ship.” It wasn’t that tall, but to my child’s view, it had been huge. “We used to pretend we were pirates, exploring the seas.” My eyes blurred with sudden tears. The memory seemed like a story from someone else’s life, someone who’d grown up carefree and secure in the knowledge that her family would always be there for her.
Quinn squeezed my hand. “Remembering is a double edged gift.”
I nodded through my tears. On one hand, I was thrilled to have some connection to my family. On the other, I now knew how much I’d lost.
“This way.” I pulled him back into the trees. The path widened as it joined a hiking trail. We wouldn’t see many hikers this time of year, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being followed. No matter which way we turned, I felt eyes on my back. The bellwether remained inert, but my aether tingled.
The crooked bridge was easier to spot, a narrow wooden crossing over a creek. We followed the stream for a while as it slithered through the trees.
“We have to cross over it again, but I’m not sure where,” I said.
“It’ll come to you.” Quinn’s confidence in me was comforting and unsettling. We walked in silence until nerves and frustration stopped me. The path seemed endless, and one bend looked much like another.
“The rhyme says ‘swam a crooked stream,’ but this creek isn’t more than ankle deep. Maybe we need to find a place where it deepens?” I handed Quinn a bottle of water. The day grew hot and the bare trees offered little shade.
“Maybe the water level was higher when you were a kid? Or it could be an exaggeration for the poem’s sake.” The bellwether was unhelpfully quiet. “Your aether knows where it’s going. Trust it.”
We kept walking. The path narrowed and the trees thickened. We lost sight of the creek bed but could still hear it burbling over rocks.
Something crashed in the woods to our right. We stopped. I waited for the telltale white flash of a deer. Quinn touched my shoulder, then pointed to the bellwether. A thin stream of red smoke trailed off its end. Red meant demon aether.
Quinn pointed into the dense underbrush and I nodded. We left the trail. Brambles tore at my jeans. The ground dropped away in soft, spongy mud and I slid down the bank to the creek. The crashing sound came again from the far side of the water. Quinn held up the bellwether, which let out a constant red smolder now. Whatever taunted us, it had a significant aether signature, and it seemed to be leading us rather than running away or attacking. We followed the faint crashing sounds.
Yep, lambs to the slaughter.
We crossed the stream by hopping from rock to rock then climbed the opposite bank. My hands and knees were muddy by the time we reached the top. I caught my breath standing on a rise in a small clearing. Ahead of us a granite bluff blocked the path and a sharp moment of déjà vu hit me.
I’d been here before.
Chapter Fifteen
Deception
BOBBI LOOKED LIKE SHE’D BEEN PUNCHED IN THE GUT.
“This was our special place.” She swayed and Quinn steadied her. “We had picnics here and pretended to be brave explorers.” She marched to the stone bluff and pushed aside a mess of brambles to reveal the opening of a cave, big enough for a stooped man to enter.
Quinn eyed the dense forest while she cleared the bushes with her knife. He held the bellwether like a club, ready to take on anything that popped out of the trees.
With the last bramble hacked away, Bobbi rested against the wall.
“We have to look inside,” Quinn said, “but that’ll leave us vulnerable to an attack.”
“I could go in while you stand guard.”
“No.”
He pulled her against him and kissed her, lips parting with rough need, tongue a questing touch that left aether tingling in his veins. Her fingers trailed up his shoulders, twining in the hair at the nape of his neck. With a burst of need, he wanted all of her touching all of him. Instead, he let her go.
She put the top of her head against his chest and stared at the ground like a shy teen. He rubbed her arms and back, needing the contact more than he wanted to admit.
“No matter what we find in there, I want to know that we’re okay.” He pushed her back gently, forcing her to look up at him. The finding spell had been rough. He hoped it wouldn’t destroy the intimacy they’d tentatively built up.
“We’re good.” Her smile wavered, but it was sincere.
Armed with a flashlight, Bobbi headed into the dark fissure. Quinn followed with the bellwether leaking smoke in a pale stream.
The cave was empty, but Bobbi seemed to see more than the bare rock walls.
“We once spent an entire afternoon in here, waiting out a thunderstorm. Dad told us stories to keep us calm.”
Quinn walked the cave’s perimeter, waving the bellwether up and down the walls. It suddenly bloomed red.
“Here.” He knelt. A pile of rocks had been artfully laid to blend seamlessly with the wall. He dug at a stone and pushed it aside to reveal a hollow in the ground.
“There’s something inside.” He pulled out a canvas wrapped bundle, too small and bulky to be a book.
They hadn’t found the grimoire, but it was…something. Even without the bellwether’s sign, Quinn could tell it had great power. Its aether sizzled.
“Take it outside.” Bobbi coughed. Smoke filled the small cave now.
Back in the daylight, Quinn handed her the bundle and planted the bellwether in the ground like a torch. Bobbi unfolded the cloth wrapping to reveal a small silver statue of a horse with a sharp horn protruding from its brow. It should have been whimsical, except a rusty brown substance covered the horn.
“That’s blood,” Quinn said. “If your mother left it for you, it’s probably keyed to you.”
“It’s always about the blood, isn’t it?” She sighed, then looked to Quinn for approval. When he nodded, she stuck her finger with the horn.
There are moments in time that seem to hold more weight than others, moments where forces converge, the gods look up from their great game of chess, and the universe holds its breath. This was one of those moments.
Then the universe exhaled
and all hell broke loose.
The silver horse exploded in a ball of light leaving a huge leather-bound book in Bobbi’s hands.
A creature shot into the clearing, its thin body topped by a bulbous head with enormous black eyes. Leathery wings spread from its back, waving frantically.
“Divine lady! Run now! Take your treasure, most holy one, and go! Go! Go! Before the dark one comes!”
A spear of lightning exploded against the cliff.
The creature shrieked and disappeared into the trees, trailing a long sinewy tail.
Another bolt hit the wall, and a woman stepped from the trees.
Quinn pulled Bobbi behind him and threw up a ward.
“Tanya!” Bobbi said.
“Who?” Quinn evaluated the new threat.
Dark curly hair framed a round face, her mouth set in a grim line. She stood with good balance, knees slightly bent and hands raised in the classic mage pose.
“She’s a nurse for Gavin’s mother,” Bobbi said.
“Among other things.” Tanya’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. She jerked her hands and currents of electricity flew from her fingers, zapping Quinn’s ward. The impact shuddered through him. Bobbi tried to pull him away, but with the cliff at their backs, they had nowhere to go.
“But you’re not even a real witch,” Bobbi said.
“Please. Do you think those pathetic wannabes at the library are my real coven?” Tanya’s sneer transformed her pleasant face into something ugly. “I use them as a power source. Simple hens don’t even feel it when I drain them.”
Quinn remembered Bobbi’s story about reaching out to a modern coven that met at the public library, but right now he was more concerned with keeping them alive. He strained to hold the simple ward spell.
The witch squared her shoulders and raised her arms. Blue currents streamed from her fingertips, clashing with his defenses. He could feel the heat melting his aether like wax.
Trigger Magic: Hidden Coven Series, Book 3 Page 7
