Twisting around to face her mother, Tori said, “I really don’t want to talk about all that right now. I want to talk about you and Dad.”
Gemma sighed, looking off into the woods as if to collect her thoughts. “Honey,” she said slowly, “I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t think he’s going to accept us for what we are. That may be my fault for lying to him all these years or he may just be using that as an excuse to cover up something else.”
“The perfume?” Tori asked.
Nodding, Gemma said, “He knows I hate Obsession.”
“That’s pretty thin evidence to accuse a man of cheating,” Tori said.
“Fair enough,” Gemma agreed. “But how about this? In the 35 years I’ve lived with your father, he’s never bought me perfume once. Do you remember what he gave me last year for my birthday?”
Tori looked uncomfortable. “A log splitter.”
“Exactly,” Gemma said. “Scrap and I certainly have had our good times. You’re sitting right there to prove it, but I can honestly say he’s never been romantic like that. That perfume bottle sitting on his dresser says a whole lot more than you realize.”
“So what are you going to do?” Tori asked.
“I’m going to confront him,” Gemma said. “Scrap may have been sneaking around behind my back, but if he lies to my face, I’ll know it. Depending on what he has to say, I’ll decide what to do next. For now, I’m needed here in Briar Hollow.”
“Yes,” Tori said, “you are. And Dad is a moron.”
“I should tell you not to talk about your father that way,” Gemma said.
“Yeah, but you’re not going to, are you?” Tori grinned.
“No,” Gemma said, “I’m not.”
Festus sniffed appreciatively at the bowl of single malt whisky Greer sat on the hearth in front of him. “Oban?” he asked.
“Indeed,” Greer said, sitting down across from him in one of the leather chairs. “I’ve been drinking their whisky since the day the distillery opened its doors in 1794.”
“You don’t look a day over a hundred,” Festus said.
“Laddie,” Greer said, “I’m twice your age and more and you know it. I remember you when you were a wet-behind-the-ears kitten.”
“A handsome wet-behind-the-ears kitten,” Festus said. “We had ourselves some good times back in the day, didn’t we?”
“We did,” Greer said, “and more to come. Slàinte.”
“Do dheagh shlàinte,” Festus said, acknowledging her raised glass with a nod of his head before delicately touching the tip of his tongue to the Scotch and lapping at the whisky. His eyes widened in appreciation. “Is this the 1969?”
“It is,” Greer said. “Thirty-two years old straight out of the cask and into the bottle. I have a few put aside.”
“What’s the occasion?” Festus asked, bending to take another drink.
“A wee bit of a celebration,” Greer said. “It pleases me to be working with Clan MacGregor again. And I like the girl, Jinx. She has no idea how special she is, does she?”
“Not an inkling,” Festus said, licking his whiskers, “but she’s getting there. My God, what the four of them did on the town square. I felt like I was watching Kathleen risen from the grave.”
“Herself was a fine woman,” Greer said. “I’ve missed her.”
“We’ve all missed her,” Festus said. “Jinx never knew her the way we did, and more’s the pity. So, are we just drinking our whisky and talking over old times or is there something you want to know?”
Greer described the morning’s excursion to the wreck site and explained how Chesterfield embedded the temporal marker at the site. “Did he do anything like that the day you fought him?”
“Not that I saw,” Festus said. “He came out of that train blasting energy bolts. Everything happened pretty fast, and as soon as I managed to get him to the ground, Moira bound him with magic. I don’t think he had an opportunity to do the sort of thing you just described. Is it important?”
“It puts a frame of reference on his temporal magic,” she said. “Based on his purchases and what you’re telling me, he began to hone his powers in that regard after 1936 and while he was, in theory, on probation.”
Festus made a low sound of disapproval. “Barnaby was a fool to do that,” he said. “Moira and I both begged him to lock Chesterfield up for good.”
“Why wouldn’t he?” Greer asked. “Chesterfield used magic in front of the humans. He risked exposing the Otherworld to them.”
“You’re singing to the choir,” Festus said, flicking his tail in annoyance. “Barnaby said he’d given in to the urge to seek revenge once in his life and he wouldn’t do it again. He wanted to give Chesterfield a chance to live in peace.”
Greer shook her head. “Barnaby never got over Adeline’s death,” she said, “or the things his grief drove him to do.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Festus said.
“Have you now?” Greer said, finishing her drink and setting the glass down on the end table. “And what have you been thinking?”
“That a lot of roads seem to lead back to Irenaeus Chesterfield,” Festus said. “He was certainly there, during the Fae Reformation. What if he’s the wizard who killed Adeline Shevington?”
“You cannot be suggesting that Barnaby knowingly allowed his wife’s killer to go free,” Greer said. “That would raise questions about Barnaby’s loyalty to the Fae world.”
“It would,” Festus agreed.
“We don’t have a shred of evidence to link Chesterfield to Adeline’s death and more than enough to pin on him for other crimes,” Greer said. “I’m not stirring that pot until I know what tempest I’m likely to create.”
“Agreed,” Festus said, “but I don’t believe the idea is something we can dismiss out of hand.”
“We keep every option open,” Greer said, “but this notion remains between us, yes?”
“Yes,” Festus said. “My boy’s a little too off his game right now to bring him into the loop. Think you can get Lucas to quit taking shots at Chase’s temper?”
“I’ve already had a word with him,” Greer said, “but you know as well as I do that the two of them need to get off alone and settle the whole matter with their fists.”
“If Lucas toys with Jinx’s heart,” Festus said, “I’ll be taking my own fists to him.”
“Don’t concern yourself with that,” Greer said, smiling enough to reveal the tips of her fangs. “If Grayson does anything that stupid, he’ll deal first with me, and I assure you, that is the last thing the dear boy wants to do.”
Festus started to respond and then thought better of it. Messing with Greer wasn’t on his “to do” list either.
7
As the lightning descended toward them, Ioana screamed and clutched at Seraphina. A strong hand clamped down on her arm before the world went white. When her vision cleared, she and her cousin stood in the middle of a pizzeria.
Beside them, a man dressed in a dark suit and matching black shirt fiddled with his pocket watch. When the setting satisfied him, he slipped the timepiece into his maroon silk vest.
“Where are we?” Seraphina demanded. “Who are you? What did you do to us?”
The man’s expressionless eyes set deep on either side of a harsh, aquiline nose remained cool. “Tut, tut,” he murmured. “Does not the act of saving you from incineration deserve even a token thank you? Manners, young lady, manners.”
Exchanging an uneasy glance with Seraphina, Ioana said, “Thank you, mister . . . ?” Her voice went up in question, waiting for the stranger to fill in his name.
After several seconds, he heaved a weary sigh. “Chesterfield,” he said. “Irenaeus Chesterfield. Anton was my attorney.”
“Where is my father?” Seraphina asked. “What did those witches do to him?” Lingering traces of youthful confusion colored her words.
Chesterfield’s lips curved into a sardonic smile. “Why they killed hi
m, my dear,” he said. “Or, rather, he is dying as we speak. Those are hardly questions a nascent vampire should be asking.”
“I don’t know what that means,” Seraphina said defensively, “but I don’t think I like it.”
That elicited a dry chuckle from the man in black. “Well, at least your instinct for offense is well honed,” he said. “Nascent means developing, showing potential. And you do, my dear — show potential — both of you, but asking after one’s daddy is hardly the mark of an evil being.”
Seraphina snarled. “Get out of my way, sorcerer,” she said. “I’ll get the answers I want on my own.”
Chesterfield raised his hand. “Not so fast,” he said coldly. “You didn’t ask permission. Besides, we are no longer in the time stream occupied by the humans, and I assure you that your father is quite dead. The stake is already in his body and the beheading is not far behind.”
Ioana glanced nervously at her cousin. “What is he talking about, Seraphina?” she whined.
“All he’s doing is talking,” Seraphina said. “There’s a human man sitting right over there at the table.”
“So there is,” Chesterfield purred. “By all means, attempt to interact with him.”
Ioana took a step and then hesitated. When Chesterfield made no move to stop her, she crossed the dining room and looked down at the man who was working with a set of figures in a ledger. “Hello,” she said. “Are you the owner?”
When the man didn’t look up, Ioana trailed a finger down his cheek, turning her razor-like nails inward to slice the skin. As she moved down toward the jaw, one after another crimson droplets appeared and were instantly absorbed by the healing tissue. After several seconds, the oblivious man absent-mindedly scratched his face but otherwise remained fixated on his accounts.
“You see,” Chesterfield said, “Peter is completely unaware of your presence and your touch leaves but the faintest annoyance. He’s in quite a hurry. He wants to finish his task and attend the remainder of the carnival across the street. The festivities have resumed now that your Uncle Cezar and his people have disposed of Anton’s body.”
“What trickery is this?” Seraphina hissed. “Tell us where we are.”
Chesterfield drew out his watch again. “Come here,” he said. “Both of you.”
Reluctantly the girls complied.
“Look at the second hand on my watch,” he ordered. “What do you see?”
The long thin hand ticked back and forth in place, repeating the same second over and over again.
“It’s broken,” Seraphina said. “So what?”
Shaking his head, Chesterfield ran his thumb lovingly over the pristine glass covering the watch’s face. “It is not broken,” he said. “It is functioning beautifully, holding us all suspended within a single second of time playing on an endless loop.”
Seraphina narrowed her eyes. “Set us free this instant.”
“Or what?” Chesterfield asked, snapping his fingers. A silver stake appeared in his hand. “Do not try my patience, vampire, or I will leave you suspended here for eternity, condemned to watch human food come and go in this little pedestrian eatery.”
He paused as if savoring the words.
“Oh, I quite like that idea,” he said. “Left to starve to death in a restaurant. It has poetry.”
When neither girl spoke, Chesterfield said, “What? No more idle threats? Then we are making progress. We will have to work on this pathetically predictable streak you both exhibit. Your capture offered not even a hint of sport.”
“You’ve been watching us?” Seraphina asked. “Why? What are we to you?”
“In answer to your first question, yes,” Chesterfield said. “I knew you could not resist staging some sort of grandstanding scenario with the witches. Forgive me for pointing this out, but you were severely outclassed tonight.”
“This time,” Seraphina hissed. “But we’re not done with the witches yet.”
“Silence!” Chesterfield snapped. “I am not finished speaking. You asked two questions. I have already answered the second, but you were not paying attention. Your value to me lies in your potential to evolve beyond your current infantile state. Once you understand and accept that you belong to me, your training will commence.”
“We belong to no man,” Seraphina said. “Ioana, come. We’re leaving.”
With a backward motion of his hand, Chesterfield sent them both flying against the brick wall of the pizzeria. “No,” he said. “You are not. Nor will you be fed until you develop a better attitude. The humans cannot see you and you cannot harm them. You are, my dears, nothing more than rocks in the stream. Succulent life flows around you, but you are powerless to draw sustenance from it.”
Ioana cowered beside her cousin, burying her face in Seraphina’s shoulder. “Make him stop,” she whined. “I’m hungry.”
“Now, now,” Chesterfield clucked. “No woman likes to be on a diet, but I assure you that curbing your excessive appetites will benefit you enormously. You will eat when I say you eat, and when you do, there will be no vampiric tricks of enthrallment involved. No creation of acolytes.”
Still shielding her cousin, Seraphina said, “Why are you doing this?”
“Because Anton disappointed me,” Chesterfield said. “He allowed his sentiments to overwhelm his judgment in his desire to save you from what he saw as a hideous existence. He failed me, therefore, I have ensured that he failed you. Monsters you are and monsters you shall remain. But you are my monsters now. If you do not like the arrangement, I will be happy to return you to your relatives for staking and beheading.”
For the first time, real fear showed on Seraphina’s face. “What do you want us to do?” she asked.
“Whatever I tell you to do,” Chesterfield replied. “So long as you do not fail me, you will live and you will eat. If you perform well, I will allow you the occasional human treat with whom you may toy. Consider this a rewards-based arrangement. Your first job will be to attend the carnival with me tomorrow evening. I have just the costumes in mind to suit your . . . forward manners.”
Ioana raised her head. “I can’t wait that long to eat,” she whimpered. “Please.”
“You will wait as long as I tell you to wait,” Chesterfield replied, taking out his pocket watch and working the winding crowns. “I must be going now.”
“You’re just going to leave us here?” Seraphina said, her voice gone shrill with terror.
“For now,” he replied. “You may observe your food, but not play with it. The circumstances may be mildly frustrating for you, but frustration can breed appreciation. Let me be quite clear about this. Your lack of discipline does not serve me. Prove to me that you have the capacity for self-control and this temporal cage will not be necessary. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a pressing errand.”
With that, he was gone.
The watch in Chesterfield’s hand began to tick normally the instant he arrived at his destination — a shadowed clearing at the edge of the local cemetery. Smiling in satisfaction, the wizard pocketed the timepiece. He stood silently for a moment surveying the scene before him.
At the far end of the graveyard, pale spirits milled about engaged in their various afterlife pastimes. An elderly man appeared to be throwing some sort of ball back and forth with a younger ghost wearing the kind of helmet used in the human sport of football.
While Chesterfield did not squander undo attention on such nonsense, he made himself aware of the avocations of the greater populace. Knowledge, even of the mundane, might represent advantages to be exploited.
He wanted nothing more than to retrieve his property and return with it to his new home base — an inaccessible cavern deep beneath the mountains near Briar Hollow. Almost a week had passed since the chessboard delivered its last intelligence report from within the Hamilton woman’s store in Briar Hollow.
The board could not, however, transmit on its own. When it fell silent, Chesterfield knew his operative, that li
ttle fool Glory Green, had allowed herself to be discovered. Other priorities held precedence over dealing with Miss Green, but deal with her he would.
Chesterfield raised his index finger and drew a circle in the air. A cloud of pale smoke wrapped around his form, which disappeared only to materialize inside the deserted crypt. The chessboard rested mere inches from the toe of his polished evening shoes, all the pieces except the white king lying scattered in the dust.
Holding the palm of his hand flat over the board, Chesterfield scanned it with his senses. The cacophony of musical fragments chained for eternity within the board’s cells swelled in his mind. He detected no enchantment designed to work against him.
With a sweeping gesture, Chesterfield returned all the pieces to their proper places and then levitated the board to his side. Just as he was prepared to leave, however, he paused, frowning slightly. Was there a voice missing? As if on cue, the high, keening wail rose from the board. He did not know the name of that screeching entity, but something in its mournful cries had always pleased him.
“Even the damned must pause for breath,” Chesterfield said, the corners of his mouth turning upward at the thought. “If only you could tell me, does each gasp feel as if it is your last?”
Chuckling, Chesterfield summoned the transforming smoke and was gone.
When he materialized, he stood at the center of a space so like a cathedral, the notion turned his chuckle into a hollow laugh. The irony was simply too delicious for a Crusader turned Creavit wizard.
Though embittering, Chesterfield’s ties to the church led him to his destiny. Nothing but that minor concession remained of his fealty to the God of the Israelites, however. Chesterfield long ago abandoned his pathetic faith. On the day he walked away from the living death of mortality, the wizard embraced a different power, the only God to whom he now pledged his allegiance.
Chesterfield floated the chessboard toward a low table sitting between two chairs that flanked a central fire pit. His baroque desk and massive bookcases were arranged under the arched cavern ceiling to create a makeshift “room.” Overlapping Persian rugs disguised the dirt floor, helping the warmth of the blaze to hold the cave’s dank chill at bay.
Witch on Third (A Jinx Hamilton Mystery Book 6) Page 6
