Ripples in the Shadows

by Kathy Dexter

  “Would the museum have been in trouble if the burglars had succeeded in stealing the priceless treasures in the Hawthorne collections?”

  “It wouldn’t be just the financial loss.” Max took out his handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead.

  “The loss of the museum’s most valuable resources?” Hunter asked. “Sold on the black market to collectors and never seen again?”

  “Everywhere they traveled, the Hawthornes gathered historical objects and writings connected to the beliefs and mystical practices of ancient cultures,” Max explained. “Beyond price. Worse, what would a thief do with the secrets in those antiquities?”

  A chilly premonition jittered through Hunter’s veins. “What about the security system? Did you find out why it didn’t work that night?”

  “Someone turned it off.” Max looked around, then moved closer and whispered, “Chief Stoner believes it might be an inside job.”

  “Or perhaps someone with certain. . .talents. . .bypassed the alarms.” Hunter had come to accept others had magical skills. Stronger than hers? Scary thought.

  Max paled. “I thought the police would quickly find the culprits and this would be over.” Max checked the clock on the wall. “Clarissa must be in the library by now. Come, I’ll show you the way. Then I must get in touch with. . .those who might help.”

  “The Gyld?”

  “You know about them?” Max whipped out the handkerchief. “I should have contacted Zarya and her sisters from the very beginning.”

  As they walked down the hallway, anxiety prickled along Hunter’s nerves. Mary Hawthorne had hidden her journal in a hollowed out cavity in The Original Collection of the Brothers Grimm, believing it would be safe in the museum’s library. Yet the thieves had snatched up the Grimm volume along with the rest of their loot. Did they know about the journal hidden inside? What if they came after it before Hunter had a chance to translate the ancient language?

  CHAPTER 17

  H UNTER YELPED WHEN she stepped into the library. She pressed her back against the door. Everywhere she looked, books of all sizes and shapes, old and new, crammed all the available spaces. Good thing she wasn’t too claustrophobic.

  “Over here,” Clarissa called from the far end of the room.

  Hunter scooted along an aisle before the overstuffed shelves decided to crash down upon her. Around a corner, Clarissa sat at a table covered with more volumes, some faded and well-worn but all apparently preserved with meticulous care. She looked up from an open book.

  Hunter peered over her shoulder. “Plants and herbs?”

  “One of Mary Hawthorne’s reference volumes. I thought I might locate an ingredient for a particular potion.”

  “To break a spell?” Hunter had never learned much about plants. The pictures in the book were all foreign to her. “You and Mary shared. . .recipes?”

  Clarissa nodded. “We were good friends, even before our children married. We often journeyed to remote locations to search for rare herbals. Then we’d extract their essence for our elixirs and brews. I hoped there might be something that could help you.”

  “Any luck?”

  “Not in this book.”

  Hunter looked around at the endless racks crowding the room. She gulped. The search could take years.

  Clarissa reached for the basket resting on the floor next to her chair. “When the police searched the woods after the attempted museum theft, they found a note containing the list of the books you see on the table, the ones you saved.” She pulled out a sheet of paper. “This is a copy.”

  Hunter did a quick scan of the typed entries. Quite a few esoteric published works she remembered from the days of researching her first novel. “A shopping list for thieves who didn’t know what they were looking for?”

  “Which suggests the burglars were hired help.” Clarissa held up a large volume. “Mary Hawthorne’s hiding place for her journal? Pages have been removed to provide a cavity large enough.”

  Hunter’s fingers tightened on the edge of the table. “Yes. Why would she keep it in the museum library where anyone might find it?”

  “I don’t think she intended that to happen. Look at the inscription inside the cover.”

  “‘For my granddaughter Hunter Sloane. May she find here the truths she seeks.’” Hunter traced the prophetic words. “Why didn’t I get this?”

  “When your grandparents died, your mother and her sister had all the books transferred to the library.”

  “Nobody looked through them?”

  “Max thought they’d shelved everything. However, last month Lexa, Max’s niece, found a couple of wooden crates, labeled with the Hawthorne name, stashed in a corner of the cellar. The staff planned to inventory the contents next week.”

  Hunter looked at the paper resting near her elbow. “She pointed to a couple of items. “These crates? They’re on the thieves’ list of intended targets.”

  Clarissa glanced at the sheet. “Looks like it.”

  Hunter surveyed the volumes on the table, heart beating triple time, mind reeling with implications. “Max believes the burglars intended to steal the secrets of the Ancients. That means these materials might contain some of those secrets.”

  Clarissa’s voice creaked with worry. “Did Max mention the Gyld?”

  “Yes. He plans to contact them.” Hunter was curious. “Who’s in the Gyld? Those with the strongest magic?”

  Clarissa stiffened. “Not necessarily. Some kind of ritual supposedly indicates who has the insight and judgment to safeguard the secrets of the Ancients.”

  “Supposedly?”

  “Ignore what I said. The words of a cranky old woman.” Subtle shades of pink and red tinged Clarissa’s face. “I’m worried and haven’t slept well with the troubles we’ve had. I’ve sometimes questioned if the Gyld has done its job to watch over the people of Mystic Lake.” Clarissa touched Hunter’s cheek. “That includes you.”

  Ever since Hunter had begun this journey to find her past, she’d sensed something ominous. Darkness rippled like placid lake waters disturbed by a tossed rock. Just like the storm she’d created that brought the bones ashore. Murder. Magical abilities and spells. Secrets of the Ancients. She tried to smooth away the worry lines in her forehead. How could she possibly make sense of all this? Panic swarmed through her, beating down her willpower, paralyzing her. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come to Mystic Lake. Trying to remember, to find my past, might be more than I can handle.”

  “You’re not alone, my dear.” Clarissa touched Hunter’s amulet. “You have others willing to help. Can’t you feel it?”

  The dragon glowed and its magic embraced her. The panic subsided. “Yes.”

  “Let’s see what we can do to stop the troubles and protect the innocent.” Clarissa placed her wicker basket on a chair. “Maybe we can locate one of the burglars and find out who’s behind the attempt to steal the books.” Like a magician conjuring a rabbit from a hat, she withdrew one item after another.

  Hunter had read about such bottomless containers in folklore and mythology. Was this part of her grandmother’s magic? Everything Clarissa required, including the healing salves at the Masquerade Ball, available on demand?

  Clarissa bustled about setting up light blue, royal blue and sea-blue candles in groups of three on every corner of the table. “These are to give us insight and truth about those who have handled these books.”

  Hunter pointed to the sea-blue ones. “Similar to one of Shadow's eyes.”

  “That creature possesses her own unique gifts.” Clarissa surrounded each candle with gemstones. “Opals create visions and increase psychic abilities. The quartz amplifies the opals’ potential, as well as providing psychic awareness.”

  At last, she brought forth a burnished ebony wand, which she dipped in a small vial of oil. “Sandalwood, for knowledge and a connection to higher realms.” She manipulated the wand in a complex pattern over the candles, igniting each wick in the process.

  The
flames sputtered. Blue fog coiled about the candles and spiraled into the air.

  “Come closer, child,” Clarissa commanded. “Hold your amulet in the middle of the mist.”

  Hunter did as she was instructed. The blue dragon pulsated in rhythm with the candle flames, faster and faster, until a second blue dragon, small and transparent, formed in the space above the table.

  “Hold out your arms,” Clarissa whispered.

  When Hunter complied, she was immediately enfolded in the smoky mist. Her body rose into the air.

  Clarissa chanted words Hunter couldn’t recognize. Another spell? No! She couldn’t tolerate the idea that an additional enchantment would control her. She had to escape. But the mist held her. Had Clarissa imprisoned her with magic? Would her grandmother do that to her?

  The room tilted, wobbled about her. Hunter’s stomach convulsed. Then the sapphire dragon cradled her in a soft blue cloud. Protecting her?

  Clarissa clapped her hands three times.

  The mist thinned and drifted away as fog does before the burning sun. Hunter floated to the floor. The room had righted itself and the mist vanished. Everything appeared normal.

  “Lighting candles around books? Not really safe.” The voice grated with the man's usual arrogance and disdain.

  Dr. Paul Fleming.

  Hunter gritted her teeth. Why did he keep showing up at the most inopportune times? Clarissa winked at her, an assurance that the man had seen nothing of importance.

  “Just a little ritual to rid the atmosphere of contamination.” Clarissa took her time blowing out each flame.

  “A little voodoo in your blood?” Ridicule and condescension saturated the doctor’s words. “Seems like you're wasting your time with old books. Nothing of value.” He reached out to take one.

  Hunter snatched it away. “You're mistaken, Dr. Paul. These are important to the research for my next book.”

  The doctor looked down his long nose and smirked. “You really think that frothy nonsense you’ve managed to publish is more important than any medical breakthrough I might discover?”

  “She makes the decision about the books.” Max breathed heavily and mopped his glistening head with the ever-present handkerchief. “They belong to her.”

  Fire blazed in Dr. Paul’s eyes before a shadowy mask slipped over his face.

  Iciness slithered along Hunter’s veins. The psychic connection Clarissa mentioned?

  “Guess I'll have to wait until you're done.” Dr. Paul bowed with an arrogant formality.

  Now anger sizzled through her, melting the iciness. “I’m surprised you didn’t go back to the city with my aunt. Don’t you have patients?”

  The doctor glowered. “I had my nurse reschedule my appointments so I could stay a few days longer to visit with friends.”

  “The good doctor was interested in one of our volumes on herbal remedies,” Max explained. “I had to finish a phone call and told him to come ahead.”

  A little flushed, the curator led the doctor to one of the shelves toward the back of the library where they discussed Max's selection.

  When had Dr. Paul become interested in herbals? Hunter decided to wait until he left to make sure none of the books on the table mysteriously disappeared. She dawdled, helping Clarissa clear away the remains from the ritual.

  “Thanks very much, Max.” Dr. Fleming closed his notebook. “This recipe has some great possibilities. I'll be back to check out some of the other sources.” He marched out with Max in tow, not bothering to acknowledge the women.

  “What now?” Hunter asked Clarissa.

  “When you're near any of the men who touched these books, your amulet will let you know,” Clarissa said. “But don’t go after them yourself. Call Logan. Or me.”

  “What about Mary’s journal? Would she have hidden the decipher code in the museum? Or somewhere else?”

  Clarissa shrugged. “Too many possibilities. But a translation is imperative. We could use some magical help.”

  Hunter touched her pendant. “The sapphire dragon?”

  “Our best chance is to fuse his energies with those of the white dragon.”

  CHAPTER 18

  “A WHITE DRAGON?” Hunter found the odds staggering that another amulet existed. Did it have the same powers as hers?

  A soft whisper of footsteps approached from the library entrance. A woman in her twenties materialized around the corner of a stacked shelf. Hunter stared––intense blue eyes, red hair flecked with gold––a duplicate of her own features.

  “Like looking in a mirror, isn’t it?” the stranger said to her, then spoke to Clarissa. “Hello, Gran.”

  Clarissa hurried to the young woman’s side, gave her a hug and turned toward Hunter to make introductions. “Meet Riley Sloane Delaney, another granddaughter of mine and your cousin.”

  Riley Delaney. Owner of the cottage. Hunter continued to gawk, amazed at the eerily familiar facial contours and coloring in this newfound kin. “You sure you’re not a doppelganger?”

  Laughter bubbled from Riley. “What you see is more a matter of genetics than magic.”

  “I prefer to believe you both inherited the striking features of your Gran.” Clarissa’s eyes glimmered.

  “Gran.” Hunter switched her attention to Clarissa. “Is that what I called you?”

  “Yes. But use whatever name feels right.”

  Hunter breathed relief. She wasn’t sure about the Gran thing yet. She turned back to Riley, hungry for more information. “Sorry I can’t remember you.” Despite that, Hunter somehow experienced an attachment to this new relative. A sense of family.

  “We know about the spell blocking your memories.” Riley’s voice held sympathy. “Tough to figure out what’s going on when you don’t know the players. I’m happy to fill in the gaps. Although it would be best if we could erase that bothersome curse that’s caused all these problems in the first place.”

  “I don’t know where to start.” Hunter took a moment to think it through. “So we share a grandmother but not parents?”

  “That’s right,” Riley said. “My father is Gideon Sloane, Gabriel’s twin.”

  Hunter remembered the name. “Gabriel’s the one who made the mirror at the cottage.”

  “Yes.” Riley raised an eyebrow. “Have you noticed its peculiar. . .qualities?”

  “Like purple wings fluttering? Nice alarm system.”

  “One of many fascinating effects. But I’ll let you explore for yourself what else it can do. Maybe you’ll discover something new.”

  Riley’s chuckle both warmed and relaxed Hunter. “I’d like to talk to this uncle of ours to learn what kind of magic he used.”

  “Visit his booth at the Artisan Barn,” Riley suggested. “You can see him at work plus get acquainted.”

  A good idea, but Hunter’s mind was on someone else. “Did you know my father, Connor Sloane?”

  “He was two years younger than the twins.” Riley placed a hand on top of one of Hunter’s, a reassuring touch. “I realize you’re desperate to know more about your parents, particularly since the discovery of your father’s bones.”

  A slight tremor fluttered along Hunter’s spine. “You know about that?”

  “I told the Gyld about my son’s bones washing up on shore.” Clarissa choked back a sob. “They’d already heard. . .from other sources. At least now we can give him a proper burial.”

  What about my mother? Where are her bones? Hunter wrapped her arms around her shoulders to stop the sudden trembling.

  “I’m glad you can find some closure, Gran.” Riley’s eyes narrowed. “Max Winters finally called the Gyld about the attempted robbery during the Masquerade Ball. They sent Zarya and her sisters to question him.”

  “Are they here now?” Clarissa asked.

  “Yes,” Riley said. “They want you to join them.”

  Clarissa’s brow furrowed and her mouth tightened. “What can I possibly add to the investigation?”

  “They didn�
��t tell me.” Riley put an arm around her grandmother’s shoulders. “Perhaps you saw something no one else noticed. Or can simply confirm what others have said.”

  Clarissa clutched her basket and marched out of the room without another word.

  “She seems upset,” Hunter said. “Is she angry with the Gyld?”

  “More so with Zarya, who just happens to be my grandmother as well.” Riley threw up her hands. “I try to stay out of their. . .disagreement. The friction between them has existed for some time, but when your parents were killed, Gran thought the Gyld could have done more to find Connor after the boat exploded. Mama Z––that’s my nickname for Zarya––told her they’d tried to find both of the victims, but something stopped them.”

  “Something magical?”

  Riley nodded. “And it took your magic to bring Connor’s bones ashore.”

  Hunter clutched her amulet. “You think I can do the same for my mother’s bones?”

  “Perhaps.” Riley sat down at the table with the stacked books, her fingers brushing across one of the volumes. “I’ll help if I can.”

  Her craving for information clawing inside, Hunter took the chair next to Riley. “What can you tell me about my parents?”

  “I didn’t know them well. My mother had separated from my father and didn’t want to connect with his family after we moved back to Mystic Lake.”

  “So you and I were not close?” Yet Hunter felt a bond with this woman, a sense of belonging.

  “Afraid not. But I’ve sensed we’ve linked in some strange way.” Riley’s smile was reassuring.

  “I’ve had the same reaction. Odd, isn’t it?”

  “Not if you believe in karma.” The color in Riley’s eyes intensified, gold streaks shimmering through the luminescent blue. “Perhaps our spirit guides led us to one another.”

  Strange stirrings in the air echoed in Hunter’s head. After dealing with mystical abilities, spells, and mystery of the Ancients, why should she be surprised at the notion of a spirit world? “For what purpose?”