by Kathy Dexter
“One of them.”
“I have the lab results of those pills he gave you.” Logan’s tone was grim, his eyes frost-coated. “A strong narcotic.”
“Thinking I’d fall to pieces if he didn’t sedate me as he did when I was fifteen?” Or was he part of the scheme to prevent her from remembering the past? But why would he care?
“I’ve started investigating the doctor’s background,” Logan said. “Nothing yet.”
Clarissa clutched Hunter’s hand. “If only I could have whisked you away. Between drugs and dark magic, I was shut out.”
“Did Aunt Miranda know about the spell?”
“No. And I had no proof. I tried to contact her, but that first year she’d retreated into a shell. Twins have a unique connection and the loss of her sister––your mother––devastated her. Her grief and her devotion to making you well consumed her. She wouldn’t talk to me for a long time.”
“Didn’t she ever get in touch?”
“She sent me pictures of you. Birthdays. Graduation. Other significant events. But she didn’t want to risk anything happening if my nearness caused you to have a relapse.”
“Overprotective, as usual.” Hunter couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her words.
“She’s cared for you all these years, doted on you from what I saw during my visits to the city. I offered to have you live with me, but she was your legal guardian and wouldn’t let you go. You were the only family she had.”
“She didn’t recognize you at the Masquerade Ball?”
“Oh, she did. She called later to warn me that telling you who I was could precipitate a mental breakdown.”
“After ten years?” While she appreciated everything her aunt had done for her, Hunter resented Miranda continuing to treat her as a helpless invalid. “If she could surround me with bubble wrap, she would.”
“Suffocating, isn’t it?” Logan said. “But you seem to be treading your own path now.”
Hunter gave him a long, knowing look. “As long as people don’t keep secrets from me.”
“That message comes through loud and clear.” A quick grin appeared and vanished. “Riskier to keep information from you than to tell you the truth.”
At least she’d made him understand that. But what about her aunt? Why had she felt it was so important to separate Hunter from her grandmother? Surely Miranda didn’t still believe that Hunter would suffer irreparable harm at this stage in her life.
Even though Logan said he’d begun his own background check on the doctor, Hunter had grown weary of others bumbling about in her life, insisting on fixing her problems. She’d do her own damn research.
CHAPTER 15
“I INSIST YOU RETURN HOME immediately,” Miranda huffed over the phone.
Hunter tapped her foot against the floor as she listened to her aunt once more rail about the incompetence of the Mystic Lake police force, threats still lurking from the museum burglars, and how two helpless women had almost been burned alive by backwoods barbarians.
No matter how much Hunter attempted to keep a few items private, Miranda always seemed to ferret out everything going on in her niece’s life. Maybe that’s why Hunter felt her every move was being observed. Was her aunt having her followed? Hunter glanced toward the mirror hanging on the kitchen wall and grinned at her reflection. Paranoid much? She winked, stuck out her tongue at her glass image and felt a whole lot better.
“Are you listening to me, Hunter?” Miranda’s voice crackled. “What about those bones that washed ashore?”
“How did you––” A quivering in the mirror caught Hunter’s attention. On the frame where the unicorns stood ready to gallop. There it was again! On the corners! The wings of the purple fairies fluttered.
Hunter stifled a scream, jumped back, and almost dropped the phone.
“Hunter? Are you there? Everything all right?”
“Sorry.” Hunter coughed. “Throat’s a bit dry. Hold on.” Fingers trembling, she touched the wings that no longer vibrated. Smooth glass. How could they have moved? Hunter blew against them. She peeked sideways. Nothing.
“I’m back,” she squeaked into the phone. “Where were we?”
“Have they identified the bones?” Miranda’s voice resonated with a strange undercurrent.
Those wings fluttered again! Was it her aunt’s tone that set them off? Or the mention of bones? How would Miranda react if she learned the bones might belong to one of Hunter's parents?
Shadow yowled from the back of the couch.
“Is that a cat?” Miranda's voice climbed almost an octave.
“Shadow visits on a regular basis.”
“The same creature from the Masquerade Ball?”
“Yes.”
“What’s she doing there?”
A need to poke the beehive prompted Hunter’s next words. “Guard duty.”
A sharply indrawn breath hissed loud and clear. “Not funny, Hunter. This situation is much too serious for you to be so flippant.”
“I know you're concerned about my welfare, but everything's fine. In fact, I have to go to the museum right now to go over the details of the book signing with the curator.” A lie, but a convenient one.
“When is that again?”
“Saturday. Three more days.”
“And then you'll be coming home.”
“I'll see you soon, Aunt Miranda. Love you.” Hunter hung up.
Shadow leaped from the couch and stalked toward the front of the cottage. The doorbell rang.
“Have ESP, cat?” Hunter opened the door. “Clarissa! Glad you could come.”
Clarissa handed her a wicker basket. “Thought I’d bring something to eat while we take a look at Mary’s journal.”
“Is that apple pie I smell?” Ally skipped down the stairs, took the basket from Hunter, and used a dish towel to lift out the pan. The aroma of spicy baked apples spread throughout the kitchen. “Still hot, yum! I have vanilla ice cream for the perfect topping.”
While Hunter made Clarissa comfortable on the sofa, Ally gathered plates and forks, dished up slices of pie, and added a large portion of ice cream. She gave the other two their plates before she scooped in her first mouthful.
“Mmmm. I haven't tasted anything this good in a long time,” Ally mumbled. “I love you!”
Clarissa chuckled. “Easy to buy your love.”
“Because you have the right price.”
Hunter couldn’t resist the delectable crust and perfectly seasoned apples. Tastes and smells intermingled, gliding along her tongue and blitzing every sense. “Wow, Clarissa, you have a way with pie!”
Clarissa’s eyes sparkled. “I do have a certain touch, don’t I?”
“Magical! My taste buds have never enjoyed such flavors.” Ally patted her stomach and licked her lips. “I’d have another slice, but my waistline would never recover.”
Hunter stood. “I’ll get Mary’s journal.”
When she came downstairs, Ally met her on the landing. “I have to make a quick call to a client from my room. I’ll be down in a few minutes to clean up.”
“Take as long as you like. Clarissa is going to see if she can decipher some of Mary’s writing.”
As soon as Ally disappeared, Hunter deposited the book on the coffee table and grabbed the mirror from the kitchen. “What can you tell me about this?”
Clarissa took the glass from Hunter’s hands and stroked the frame with her fingertips. “Lovely, isn’t it? My son made this.”
“My father?”
“No. Your uncle Gabriel. A fine craftsman who has a gift with glass.”
“By gift, do you mean he has. . .magic?”
“Sounds like you’re starting to accept the paranormal.”
“I’m adjusting. Slowly. Do you know what unusual abilities Uncle Gabriel fused into parts of this mirror?”
“Originally, he used it to keep an eye on a mother and daughter to ensure they were safe.”
“Like a security camera.�
� Hunter stiffened. “Does that mean someone’s watching me?”
“No. We removed that function long ago.” Clarissa tilted her head. “Have you had a mystical experience with the mirror?”
“I thought the fairies’ wings moved.”
“Ah! Did they hum?”
“I–I was too startled to notice.”
“You somehow activated the magic Gabriel instilled in his creation.” Clarissa stroked the frame. A faint musical droning drifted toward Hunter, who put her hand over her grandmother’s.
The wings fluttered against their fingertips.
An electrical force zinged around Hunter. Wave upon wave of intense energy billowed from the glass fairies into Hunter’s inner core.
“Yikes! That was some jolt!” Hunter leaned against the back of the couch and took several deep breaths.
Clarissa patted her arm. “Any effect on the dark enchantment?”
Hunter closed her eyes and concentrated. Her eyelids flashed open. “The curtain has changed from black to a gray mesh.”
“Progress. We can try later to see if we can get rid of that blockage completely.”
“Why not cast a counterspell now?” Hunter pressed her fingers against her skull. “I want this thing out of me!”
“It’s too soon. You could be hurt rather than helped.” Clarissa squeezed her hand. “Let’s take a look at Mary’s journal and see if it offers a way to dissolve the curtain.”
Hunter flipped to the bookmarked page where she’d stopped reading. She and Clarissa stared at the longhand scrawl.
“A lot of strange words.” Hunter said. “Was Mary Hawthorne making up a language, creating a code?”
“I’d say it’s a dialect of the Ancients, developed from an unknown alphabet. We’ll have to find some way to translate.” Clarissa closed the journal, holding the book tightly for several seconds before handing it to Hunter. “If you meet me at the Museum of Magic tomorrow, we might be able to find some books that could help.”
“And the mirror?”
“Gabriel has a booth at the Artisan Barn. He can tell you about the magical abilities he installed in the glass and frame. Besides, time for you to meet your uncle.” She looked toward the door. “Someone's here.”
When the doorbell chimed a few seconds later, Hunter gave Clarissa a sideways look. She also checked the purple wings on the mirror. No fluttering. So nothing dangerous on the doorstep?
Logan waited on the small porch. The warmth in his eyes was tempered by something more solemn. “I have some news for you.”
Maybe she had a bit of clairvoyance, too, because she had an idea what he was going to say. “The bones?”
“Yes.”
“Clarissa will want to hear.”
Hunter led him into the living room where the older woman stood, her back straight. “You have results.”
“The techs have enough evidence to identify the bones as your son’s.” Logan hesitated for a moment before continuing. “They found blade marks on a couple of the bones. From a knife.”
“Which means what?” Hunter whispered.
“It confirms my suspicion that Connor Sloane was murdered.”
CHAPTER 16
H UNTER STRAIGHTENED FROM INSPECTING the framed posters prominently displayed near the entrance to the Museum of Magic. “These are wonderful! I particularly like the painting of my title character. Who created these?”
Curator Max Winters’ face glowed. “My niece Lexa handles our promotional materials.”
“A talented artist.” Hunter traced the contours of the blue dragon. “She’s captured Henry’s essence. Which reminds me. How do you feel about Syrena and Henry appearing at the book signing? My agent suggested we wear our costumes from the Masquerade Ball.”
“Excellent idea. The children will be thrilled.”
Hunter smiled. “I'm glad we decided to start the book tour in Mystic Lake.”
“Most appropriate, don't you think? Your family’s roots are here.” Max waved his hand toward the stone building. “Your grandparents were passionate about this place, intent on providing the story of magic from antiquity to the present, as well as educating people about the beliefs, values and practices of our ancestors.”
“The Ancients.”
“You know about them?”
“I’ve learned a few things recently.”
“Let me show you what Mary and Angus Hawthorne created.”
“I’d love a tour.” Hunter looked at her watch. “I’m free for an hour. Then Clarissa will be meeting me in the museum’s library.”
The curator led the way to a room which oozed history. Hunter recognized the images of renowned magicians such as Merlin, Thurston, Cardini, and the Amazing Kreskin. Posters and pictures of their performances decorated the walls, and objects connected to their acts––cards, wands, magic hats, crystal balls––filled the floor-to-ceiling shelves.
“We have several rooms just as crammed as this one, exhibiting the practices of magic throughout the centuries.” Max’s eyes burned with intensity.
Hunter clapped her hands, thrilled at what she’d seen. “More than enough material for my next book.”
Like the elfin image he always presented, Max seemed about to dance around the room. “You should see the Magic Object Room.”
He led her down the hall to a wooden door with rainbow colors splattered across the surface. Inside, stars and twinkling lights reflected off glowing crystal balls and shiny mirrors. Max turned to the left where several rugs floated about a foot off the floor.
Hunter couldn’t resist touching them. “Magic carpet rides?”
“Exactly.” When Max pushed several buttons on the wall, the rugs swayed back and forth. “Our youngest visitors can’t get enough of this exhibit. They sit on a carpet and imagine flying to all kinds of magical destinations. Videos projected on the wall enhance that illusion.”
Hunter wandered to the next display. Entranced, she read the placards beneath a variety of mystically gifted objects. Some came from fairy tales and folk stories, like Cinderella’s glass slipper and Aladdin’s genie lamp. Others she recognized from the world of comic books, such as Green Lantern’s power ring and Wonder Woman’s Lasso of Truth.
“Maybe you’ll consider donating your Syrena and Henry costumes to our collection after the book tour is finished.” Max steered Hunter to a wall of mirrors and pointed to one hanging at child level. “It has an unbreakable glass surface built by one of our local craftspeople. Watch.”
Hunter scrutinized the reflective surface but saw only clouds.
Max touched the side of the mirror and gears grated into motion.
A deep, grandfatherly voice boomed from the looking glass. “What is your wish?”
Hunter held back a surprised gasp and glanced at Max.
“Go ahead,” he said.
She could think of only one request. “I wish to know my past.”
The clouds evaporated and a purple and orange owl appeared, roosting on a tree branch. It blinked and flapped its wings. “Follow your heart and your wish will come true.” The owl hooted twice and soared off into the distance.
“If only a wish would do it.” Hunter sighed. “I can see why children love this room, though.”
“Adults, too.” Max nodded toward mirrors at varying heights. “They've all been used.”
“Even when the same message is repeated?”
“Oh, it changes for each individual.”
“Your engineer must have designed some clever electronics. Or something more...mystical?”
The dimple-cheeked curator put a finger to his lips. “Just like magicians, we never reveal our secrets.”
Hunter discovered a case of crystals and stones, labeled with each one’s magical properties. A lump of amber drew her attention. “Oh, how beautiful! The same shade of blue as my dragon.” She held her amulet close to the glass.
“People think of amber as a gemstone, although it's really a fossil resin that comes from tr
ees no longer in existence. Something our ancestors valued.” Max meticulously removed the one she’d admired from the display case and placed it in her hand. “It's yours.”
Hunter gazed, hypnotized. “Oh, no, I couldn't take it. It's part of the exhibit.”
The amber began to warm her fingers, glowing in sync with the pendant dragon. Had the two linked?
“You see!” Max cried. “The two recognize each other, belong together. Amber brings good luck, protection, and healing.”
Hunter smiled. “I can use all three qualities. I’ll accept this as long as you’re sure it’s replaceable.”
“Blue amber is quite rare, but the local artists have created duplicates for our gift shop. We’ll place one of those in the display. Much safer to do so with thieves determined to rob us.”
Hunter remembered what Clarissa had said about her uncle Gabriel’s talents. “Sounds like the Mystic Lake craftsmen are truly gifted.”
“Oh, my, yes! They’ve created wonderful reproductions of all kinds of magical objects––mirrors, crystal balls, wands––as well as delightful wooden and metal sculptures of creatures from myths and legends. You’ll have to visit the gift shop to see all the unique items they’ve designed.” Max’s face glowed. “Extremely profitable for both the craftspeople and the museum. As the monthly reports I send to you indicate.”
A flush crept across Hunter’s cheeks. She’d deposited the checks into her savings account, used the money to pay for college, but she hadn’t really paid attention to the financial statements. Aunt Miranda kept track of those. Ironic. If Hunter really wanted to be in control of her life, she should have taken over that responsibility long ago. After all, her grandparents had bequeathed the museum to her, not to their daughters.
Why had they done that? Another mystery from the past she’d never questioned. Why not? Oblivious to a family she couldn’t remember? She didn’t like to think of herself as being so thoughtless.
Hunter faced Max. “I'm thrilled that the museum is not only economically secure but is also providing a way for artists to find success as well.”
“Your grandparents would be pleased you’ve taken an interest.”
