Witch on Third (A Jinx Hamilton Mystery Book 6)

by Juliette Harper

  “If Chesterfield has found a way to insulate himself,” she said, “he could move through the stream of time as an observer without altering events, much in the manner of a submersible moving through the water.”

  “But how did he know Tori and I were going to be there in a vision?” I said, watching as my mother delicately returned Glory to the arm of the sofa.

  “By placing an alarm of some sort to announce your presence,” Greer said. “Remember that he is navigating through time. I believe he essentially put a pin on the map.”

  “But why would he do that?” I asked.

  Mom answered. “Because he was there the first time,” she said. “Chesterfield caused the wreck. He bookmarked the time so he would know if anyone — if we — ever accessed that point in the temporal stream again and figured out his scheme. He really has orchestrated everything that has happened in our lives.”

  Greer, who was still kneeling beside me, turned toward my mother. “I believe so,” she said. “The girls, Anton, you and your husband, your child. All we’ve learned suggests you’ve been Chesterfield’s victims for more than 30 years.”

  “But why?” Mom asked. “What does he want?”

  “I don’t know,” Greer said, “but I assure you, we are going to find out.”

  4

  Between the video evidence and Greer’s time theory, we had a lot to process — and we were all exhausted. I admit it. I yawned first.

  “Forgive me,” Greer said. “It’s quite late. I forget that others have need of sleep.”

  “You don’t . . . ,” Tori started and then clamped her mouth shut.

  “Climb into a casket and turn into a well-rested corpse for a few hours?” Greer grinned. “No, I do not.”

  “Sorry,” Tori said, grinning back. “Too many bad vampire movies.”

  “They’re all bad, dear,” Greer replied pleasantly. Then, with a shooing motion of her hand, she said, “Go to bed. All of you. We can take this up in the morning.”

  For a second no one knew how to respond. We weren’t used to getting orders from the Mother Superior of Vampires, but no one seemed inclined to argue. There were some mumbled thanks from around the room as people started to get up from their seats. That’s when Glory put two fingers in her mouth and let out with a shrill whistle.

  Festus’s ears immediately went flat. “What the hell?” he said. “You have something to say, Dill Pickle?”

  A few days earlier that remark would have reduced Glory to wailing tears. This time she said, “Yes, Old Yeller, I do.”

  “Old Yeller,” Festus hissed, “was a dog. I am a cat.”

  “Same diff,” Glory shot back.

  Sensing a deluge of cross-species trash talk in the works, I stepped in. “What is it, Glory?”

  “Before you all go to bed,” she said, “I was wondering if maybe one of you could use your magic to get my broom up to size? If you do, I’ll be able to get around easier by myself and . . . well . . . escape if I need to.”

  I had been so confident in our ability to protect Glory, it never occurred to me that without her broom, Glory had no way to hide from Chesterfield on her own. The store and fairy mound are heavily warded, but with the revelations about the wizard’s time shifting powers, we could no longer assume those protections would keep him out. Glory’s request was both reasonable and obvious — so obvious, I found myself apologizing for not thinking of it myself.

  “You’ve had a lot on your mind,” she said generously. “I didn’t want to bother you, but it looks like you’re never going to not have something to worry about.”

  I was pretty sure there might be a double negative in that statement somewhere, but her point was still well taken.

  Plucking the tiny boom from the corner of the shelf where we’d leaned it after Glory’s growth spurt, I used the same spell Barnaby had employed to Barbie-size Glory.

  Holding my hand over the broom, I said, “Amplifico!”

  On cue, the broom lengthened from cocktail skewer to pencil length. I handed it to Glory, who hopped on and rocketed across the lair with more enthusiasm than precision. Lucas had to duck to avoid getting stabbed in the forehead.

  “Sorry!” Glory called over her shoulder. “I’m a little rusty.”

  With that, she made a hard left, aimed low over the hearth and buzzed Festus. At the last minute, the old cat reared on his hind legs and took a swipe at the passing witch. Executing a perfect barrel roll, Glory flew right through his paws.

  “Try that again, Green Hornet,” Festus growled, “and you are going down.”

  Still laughing, Glory came to a hovering stop in front of me. “Thank you so much!” she gushed.

  “You’re welcome,” I said, “but maybe you should save the acrobatic stuff for the stacks before you put somebody’s eye out. And seriously, don’t do that fly-by thing with Festus again. I’ve seen him take down moths and it’s not pretty.”

  “Exactly,” Festus said, curling his lips in a feral smile. “And I’m dying to know if you taste like pistachio crunch ice cream.”

  That was enough to make Glory blanch a little. “Of course,” she agreed hastily, “safety first. Night, all.”

  With that, she flew up to Graceland East, the dollhouse replica of the King’s house that is her home, parked her broom by the front door and quickly disappeared inside.

  “Put somebody’s eye out?” Tori said. “Why didn’t you tell her not to run with sparklers, too?”

  Both moms stopped half-way up the stairs and gave us “the look” in tandem. “Laughing about running with sparklers is all well and good until you do put someone’s eye out,” Gemma said.

  Right on cue, Tori bristled and started to back talk her mother.

  “Stop,” I ordered. “There are no sparklers. No running and no sparklers. Do what Greer said. Go to bed.”

  Festus jumped off the hearth, still muttering under his breath, and fell in beside Chase, who was already headed for the passageway leading to the cobbler shop.

  Beau excused himself for the night. Lucas snagged one of the now vacant couches, stretched out, and put his hat over his face. Greer reclaimed both her chair by the fire and her book.

  Tori and I followed the Moms and my father up the steps. When we reached the first floor, Mom drew Gemma toward the front of the store to have a word in private.

  Dad, sensing that Tori and I would like to do the same, disappeared up to my place where my four cats were no doubt waiting impatiently for him. Since my parents had been staying over, Zeke, Yule, Xavier, and Winston had gotten used to three times the attention. Dad’s a softy for any kind of critter and my guys adore him — so much, in fact, that the cats had been sleeping with my parents in my bedroom leaving me alone on the couch.

  As soon as Dad was out of earshot, Tori explained about the Obsession perfume.

  “Maybe Scrap didn’t realize your mom hates Obsession and got it for her as a peace offering,” I suggested hopefully.

  “Nice try, Jinksy,” Tori said, a little flicker of anger edging the words. “He may have bought that stuff for a woman alright, but it wasn’t my mother.”

  “Don’t jump to conclusions,” I said, but the platitude sounded flat.

  “Tell her that,” Tori said, nodding toward the front of the store.

  I turned to see Gemma standing in the light thrown from the streetlamp outside the window. She had her arms crossed defensively over her chest and was shaking her head while my Mom talked.

  “What are you going to do?” I asked.

  “Whatever Mom says to do,” Tori replied. “Right now we have too many other things to be worried about, but if my dad wasn’t already on her ‘list,’ he’s definitely on it now.”

  Tori was right about all those “other things.” We had made some group decisions before tending to Glory’s flight status. First thing in the morning, the two of us, the Moms, and Greer planned to head up into the mountains to visit the site of the wreck. Greer hoped we’d be able to detect
lingering traces of Chesterfield’s temporal magic.

  Chase and Festus would be leaving for Raleigh to check out Chesterfield’s shop, Anton Ionescu’s office, and the “divinatory emporium” owned by Miss Shania Moonbeam — the fortune teller who put Glory in touch with Chesterfield in the first place.

  Miss Shania sounded like a total flake, but she apparently knew Chesterfield in some way. Like I said — no more underestimating anyone. Every lead, no matter how whacky, would get checked out.

  The next morning when I came downstairs — which was all of five hours later — I found the coffee made and Beau waiting for me at one of the tables in the espresso bar with Duke, the ghostly coonhound, lying at his feet. When the dog saw me, he sat up and wagged his tail.

  “Good morning,” Beau said. “I procured bear claws for breakfast.”

  “How did you do that?” I yawned. “George and Irma aren’t open on Sunday.”

  I sat down and reached to scratch Duke’s ears before I remembered my hand would pass right through him unless we were downstairs. In the lair, any ghosts who joined us took on a greater degree of solidity thanks to energy radiated by the fairy mound.

  Duke, who had been one of Beau’s ghostly companions at the cemetery, recently moved in with us and refused to leave. He had been so devoted in life, he’d been buried with his master whose spirit, inexplicably, was not present at the graveyard. The old dog transferred his affection to Beau and rarely left his side.

  Now, apparently in appreciation for my attempts to pet him, Duke positioned himself beside my chair and grinned at me. Together we watched as Beau poured me the coffee, placing the cup and a heaping blob of iced-pastry goodness in front of me.

  “Master Darby rushed into the breach to provide the pastries,” Beau said. “I must say that had we had brownies working with us in the Army of Northern Virginia our supply problems would have been solved.”

  He pointed toward a silver platter on the counter. Darby had indeed made enough bear claws to feed an army. The brownie, once in the employ of Knasgowa’s husband, Alexander Skea, became part of our odd little family when we freed him from his duty of guarding Knasgowa’s grave.

  Not one to sit around and twiddle his magical thumbs, Darby promptly began to organize the stacks in the basement and took over all our housekeeping duties.

  Since the basement is a working repository for Fae artifacts and documents, and he was helping Myrtle at that time, that part of Darby’s work didn’t bother me, but having him cooking and cleaning made me a little uncomfortable at first. It felt like we were exploiting house elf labor like in the Harry Potter books.

  That feeling lasted until I tried to wash my dishes and Darby had a fit when I didn’t dry after I rinsed and left spots on the glasses. He’s such a fussy housekeeper; he’d make Martha Stewart look like a slacker.

  “There must be three dozen bear claws there,” I said.

  “At least,” Beau agreed. “I fear he was, as usual, somewhat overly enthusiastic.”

  Right on cue, my stomach grumbled.

  “Or perhaps his consumption estimate was better targeted than I surmised,” Beau deadpanned.

  Half asleep or not, that got a laugh out of me. I bit into the bear claw, savoring that first bite before washing it down with coffee brewed to perfection and sweetened exactly the way I like it.

  “You,” I said, “are getting seriously good at the barista thing.”

  “Thank you,” Beau said, inclining his head. “I do subscribe to the Napoleonic theory that an army marches on its stomach.”

  That stopped me in mid-chew. “What army?” I mumbled, completely breaking my mother’s rule about not talking with your mouth full.

  “You do not see yourself as the commander of a force combating an enemy?” Beau asked with a smile.

  “I see myself as a half-awake woman who is going to need three more cups of this coffee to get her brain jump started,” I said. Then something occurred to me. “You’re like Greer, aren’t you? You don’t sleep either.”

  Beau sighed. “Sadly, no,” he admitted, “but it is not the sleep I miss. For me, the loss is in being unable to dream. At best, I lie down, close my eyes, and spend quiet time in memory and reflection. That is not the same, however, as a mind unleashed by Morpheus.”

  “Did you dream when you were a ghost?”

  He shook his head. “No, then there were simply periods of essential unawareness, generally when the sun was up. Even those times disappeared the longer I remained on this plain. I have not slept since the night before my demise 151 years ago.”

  When I met Beau, he was capable of appearing during the daylight hours, unlike his cemetery friends who only came out after dark.

  “But you like the way you are now, right?” I asked uncertainly.

  Beau smiled. “Very much so,” he said. “Any deficits of full corporeality that I might experience, such as the inability to sleep, are a most acceptable exchange for the privilege of participating, even in a small way, in the world of the living again.”

  “The rest of us don’t see you as a small part of anything,” I assured him. “You’re a big deal to us.”

  “A fact quite dear to my heart,” Beau said, inclining his head to approximate a bow. “As are you, which is why I have lain in wait with coffee and pastries this morning.”

  “I’m not turning down the food or the concern,” I said, “but really, I’m fine.”

  Beau looked at me and said nothing.

  “What?” I protested.

  Facing down looks like that was getting to be a regular thing for me.

  “Having held the hands of men as they died,” Beau said softly, “I know well the affecting nature of the experience. No matter what Anton Ionescu may have done, it was with you that he spent the last seconds of his life.”

  Blinking back sudden tears, I said, “No one deserves to be alone when they die.”

  “My dear friend,” Beau replied, “we are all alone when we die, but the hand of a companion in that moment is still most welcome.”

  I suddenly realized I had never asked. “Did you have anyone with you when . . . ?”

  “When I died?” Beau finished for me. “No, I did not. I recall striking the ground on my back and watching the clouds floating overhead. I drifted with them while a great sense of fatigue washed over me. When next I had self-awareness, I was standing over my body.”

  Toying with the edge of the cup, I asked softly, “Were you afraid?”

  He shook his head. “No, my death occurred very quickly.”

  “Ionescu told me he was afraid,” I said, my voice breaking. “I didn’t want him to be afraid.”

  Beau reached across the table and took my hand in both of his. He may not technically be alive, but the touch was still warm and reassuring.

  “You are a very good person, Miss Jinx,” he said. “You afforded Mr. Ionescu the gift of your presence as he passed to the next stage of his journey. I assure you he was aware of that generosity.”

  The next words tumbled out of my mouth before I even realized what I was going to say. “I don’t want to see anyone else die.”

  “You mean,” Beau corrected me, “that you do not want to see anyone whom you love die. Is that not the case?”

  I nodded.

  “You must not let that fear cripple your abilities or weaken your resolve,” he said. “You are experiencing the great terror of every leader. The people who follow you, myself included, do so by choice, Miss Jinx. You must trust us to do our part in all of this, but moreover, you must trust yourself. Doubt is a dangerous thing. Irenaeus Chesterfield would most certainly use hesitation against you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” I said, “I do, but it’s hard. Four months ago I was just a waitress.”

  “Young lady,” Beau said firmly, “you were never just anything.”

  5

  Kelly Hamilton walked tentatively to the edge of the cliff and looked into the rocky gorge where Seraphina and Ioa
na’s car landed so many years before. A wave of dizziness passed through her. She swayed slightly but then a strong arm encircled her waist.

  “You okay?” Gemma asked.

  “I’m never prepared for how high it is,” Kelly said, leaning slightly into her friend. “No matter what they’ve done now, those last seconds must have been terrifying for them. We have to help them, Gem.”

  Gemma sighed. “There’s no question where Jinx gets her good heart from,” she said. “You two are the only people I know who could feel sorry for a couple of undead bloodsuckers.”

  “Hush,” Kelly said, “Greer will hear you.”

  “That woman hears everything we say anyway and you know it,” Gemma said, nodding at Greer who was standing several yards away talking with Jinx and Tori. On cue, Greer smiled and nodded back.

  “See?” Gemma said. “She’s listening right now and just waiting for one of us to make that bad joke about bat’s ears.”

  At that, the sound of the baobhan sith’s husky laughter floated toward them.

  “Greer,” Kelly said, “Gemma and I need to talk in private. Tune us out, okay?”

  Greer graciously inclined her head and turned back to Jinx and Tori.

  “I like her,” Kelly said. “It will do Jinx good to have the example of a woman like that.”

  “Your daughter already has a fine example in you,” Gemma said, returning to studying the rocky gorge.

  “You’re biased,” Kelly said, giving Gemma a little hip bump.

  “I’m right,” Gemma retorted, bumping back.

  “Maybe I’m a good example now,” Kelly said wistfully, “but for most of Jinx’s life she’s only known the woman crippled by guilt over what happened on this spot.”

  Gemma shook her head. “That’s not all that crippled you, honey. What happened here is why you had to give up Connor.”

  “That won’t be the case much longer,” Kelly said. “We’re going to get him back. Jinx is going to know her brother.”

  “Yes,” Gemma agreed, “she will, but first we have to make sure it’s safe for him to come home. That means putting an end to Seraphina and Ioana, and doing something about Irenaeus Chesterfield.’