Let me break down for you what we did know at that point.
Rowan or “Witchwood” is associated with the element of fire. When the Strigoi Sisters first showed up on the scene, Greer outfitted us with rowan amulets as a means of protection. Oak, on the other hand, is associated with sovereignty and water.
Beau, who had been spending the morning reading about trees in the human realm, shared something interesting about oaks. They are the species most likely to be struck by lightning, surviving the blasts with remarkable resiliency.
All trees, even those here in our stream of time, are remotely connected to the Mother Trees and exhibit a degree of sentience. I had some personal experience with that, having once connected with the consciousness of an aged hickory. The tree communicated with me through impressions rather than words. That did not detract, however, from the depths of its seasoned wisdom, leaving me with the indelible memory of the deep roots of its presence.
We don’t do trees any service when we plant them by themselves to shade some lonely corner of the front yard. According to Beau, trees make friends with each other in a natural forest. In such a setting, they will even continue to feed the stumps of their felled companions for decades. They also rely on intricate defense mechanisms against predators like insects and birds, signaling one another when a threat is at hand.
Since we all agreed that understanding more about the life of trees in the human realm was important, Glory settled down to work with Beau on that subject.
Greer immersed herself in the history of the Second Crusade. Barnaby told us that after the only real Crusader victory of that campaign, which occurred in Lisbon in 1144, Irenaeus disappeared into Egypt to study the “science of the infidels.”
The magical artifact that crippled our friend Myrtle and robbed her of her powers, the Orb of Thoth, was fashioned in Egypt from metal taken from a meteorite that damaged the step pyramid at Saqqara around 2630 B.C.
I’d had a psychometric chat with the interior guardian of the orb who told me Chesterfield “appropriated” the artifact and used it as a weapon without fully understanding its purpose. Then came the kicker.
“Mark my words,” the guardian said, “Irenaeus Chesterfield must not recover the orb. Should he ever come to understand its true potential, all will be lost.”
So riddle me this, Batman.
What would happen if Chesterfield got ahold of some or all of the amulets from the Coven of the Blood and the Orb of Thoth (currently hidden in the depths of the ocean)? No one could answer the question, but just asking it scared the heck out of me.
Glory’s suggestion got everyone back on track. A kind of studious air of concentration fell over the group. Mom went upstairs to mind the store with Dad since we’d be open into the evening.
Festus, predictably, offered to work with Greer, and Chase set about expanding our existing drone surveillance while coordinating security for Anton’s funeral with Cezar Ionescu. When I stopped to look at the multiple drone feeds on the big screen TV, Chase said quietly, “How are you doing after last night?”
“Okay,” I said. “It’s a lot to take in. But honestly, I’m glad Barnaby told us. At least now Chesterfield doesn’t seem like such a random villain. We have a lot to learn, though, to get ahead of him.”
Gesturing around the room, he said, “At least it’s a matter of divide and conquer now.”
“So I’m not the only one?” I said.
“Only one what?” he asked.
“To not know about the Grid?”
“Hardly,” Chase said. “Everyone in the Otherworld knows the Grid exists, but to really understand how it operates? The roles of everyone and everything involved? That’s pretty esoteric stuff. Plus, Shevington has been cut off from the Old World Fae since the 16th century. The Mother Oak is as much a defector with the rest of us.”
I hadn’t thought about that. “But she never disconnected from the Grid, did she?” I asked.
Chase shook his head. “I don’t think that’s even possible, but how the separation affected her interactions with the other Mother Trees? I have no idea. I’m not even sure Barnaby and Moira do. You have to understand, Jinx, Shevington is re-entering the broader Fae world. For Barnaby to contact the Ruling Elders? That’s huge.”
If you’re having a hard time keeping up with the intricacies of Fae politics, join the club.
“But I thought the Elders contacted him about being an ambassador or something,” I said. “Isn’t that why I’m supposed to take over as mayor some day?”
“Yes,” Chase said, “but that was all arranged through diplomatic correspondence delivered back and forth by couriers. The ‘talks’ have taken years. Glaciers move faster. To actually dial up Reynold Isherwood for a face to face? That’s the huge part.”
“Okay,” I said, “I get that, but it’s also kind of cool. I mean, Chesterfield pretty much caused the Fae Reformation in the first place, but now defeating him may bring everyone back together.”
Festus, who had apparently been listening to our conversation, jumped from Greer’s work table to the back of the couch nearest to where Chase and I were standing. “Don’t be so sure about that,” he said.
“What do you mean, Dad?” Chase asked.
“A lot of the Creavit back in the Old World assimilated,” Festus said. “Claimed that whether they had bargained for their powers or not, they wanted the magical community to function as a whole. They have money and influence — even intermarried, but their magic still isn’t natural.”
“Come on, Dad,” Chase said, “aren’t you being a little prejudiced?”
Setting his mouth in a firm line, Festus said, “No, boy, I’m not. All Creavit magic comes from a deal with the Darkness. Period.”
Just then, Darby came by with an enormous platter of food that caught the old cat’s eye. “Hold up there, Short Stuff,” he said as he walked down the back of the couch. “Let me get a look at what you’ve got there.”
As we watched, Festus directed Darby to fill a plate for him. I asked Chase in a low voice, “Do you think he’s right?”
“Dad has a lot of connections,” Chase admitted. “You may have noticed he’s not one to play by the rules. Plus, Chesterfield is the only known Creavit who settled in America. That has to be because of Barnaby, which I don’t like one bit.”
I’d already thought about that, and I didn’t like it either.
Lucas, who was standing at the edge of the stacks, caught my eye and beckoned. “Excuse me,” I said to Chase, who, for once, managed not to bristle when he saw where I was headed.
Lucas and I were the only two people in the lair at the moment who weren’t occupied with either research or tactics. To my considerable surprise, he asked me to go to the Valley with him.
“Are you out of your mind?” I said. “I can’t just run off to the Valley and leave all of this.”
I really didn’t like the suggestion that I wasn’t doing anything useful, which must have shown on my face.
“Sucks, doesn’t it?” Lucas asked with a wicked grin.
“What?” I said, annoyed and a little amused at the same time.
“When the team is doing everything they need to be doing, and the boss isn’t necessary at the moment,” he replied.
“I am not the boss,” I protested.
“Sure you are,” he said, “and until this outfit gets their answers lined up, you’re just twiddling your thumbs. I really do need to go to the Valley, and there’s no reason in the world why you can’t go with me.”
He was right, but I wasn’t ready to admit it yet.
“What do you need to do in Shevington?” I asked.
“I have to talk to Furl at the Registry and then pay a courtesy call on a relative,” he answered.
“A relative?” I asked. “What relative?”
Since Lucas had yet to admit he and Moira were family, I was surprised he’d so casually mention other of his kin.
“My Uncle Owain,” Lucas said.
“He serves as head architect for the merfolk city. Since Owain is the eldest surviving male in our line, Moira kinda cuffed me around the ears for not calling on him to pay my respects. He’s her half brother, you know.”
Okay, so maybe he wasn’t being secretive after all.
“Moira is your aunt?” I asked innocently.
“Greer told me she told you,” Lucas replied. “I should have mentioned it myself. I just don’t like to make a big deal about it.”
His manner was so open and honest; I started to warm to the idea of a trip to the Valley in his company. “So paying this courtesy call is important?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he admitted, “it’s a whole big Elven etiquette thing. I’m running the risk of insulting Owain if I don’t show up soon.”
Then something occurred to me. “Wait a minute,” I said. “Does that mean I get to see the city? Like from underwater?”
“Qynn,” he said. “That’s what they’ve named the place, and, yes, it does.”
“And how do we get there?” I asked.
Sensing that he had me, Lucas said, “That’s a surprise. You have to come with me to find out.”
That did it. I was hooked.
“Oh, fine,” I said, trying to act put upon and failing. “Let me see what the others think.”
Clearing my throat, I said, “Hey guys, I’m thinking about going to the Valley with Lucas.”
I swear to you, no one even looked up — okay, Chase flinched — but my ego still got taken down a few notches.
Walking over to Beau, I tapped him on the shoulder. “Did you hear me?” I asked. “I’m going to the Valley with Lucas.”
“Hmm?” the Colonel said, glancing away from the page. “Oh, yes. Safe journey.” Then, turning back to Glory, he said, “Now, regarding this matter of rhizomes . . .”
Lucas chuckled. “Told you,” he said.
“Harumph,” I muttered. “Let me at least get Tori’s attention.”
Crossing to the alchemist’s corner, I took Tori by the arm and steered her clear of the table. “Excuse me,” I said. “I need a minute.”
Gemma and Moira gave identical dismissive waves. Dragging Tori out of earshot, I told her where I was going, and then said, “Look, I don’t care how intense things are right now, you and Beau get that other thing taken care of while I’m gone. Understand? I want a report when I get back.”
“Like I said, Jinksy,” Tori grinned. “No . . .”
“Don’t say it,” I warned. “Every time you tell me there’s no problem, there’s a problem.”
You know what they say. Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you, and in this case, my paranoia was completely on target.
21
Beau slipped off the Amulet of the Phoenix and handed it to Tori. Bending down, he put his hands on either side of Duke’s head. “Do you understand what we need you to do, boy?” he asked, fondling the dog’s ears.
Duke’s tail happily lashed back and forth, passing through the leaves on the ground rather than scattering them. “Good boy,” Beau said. “Off with you now.”
As they watched, the ghost dog bounded across the ball field straight for the spot where Nick had set up his camera equipment for the evening. When Duke came even with him, the dog intensified his energy. Nick bolted upright with a start, knocking soda cans and potato chips off his makeshift table.
Duke ran to the edge of the field, fading with each step, then repeated the maneuver, this time standing still and staring at Nick as if willing him to follow. Just as Tori had guessed he’d do, the young man snatched the video recorder off the tripod and took out after Duke who began to slowly and skillfully lead him away from the field.
When the pair disappeared around the corner, Tori and Beau walked quickly to home plate. “Hello?” the Colonel called out, his voice sounding oddly hollow. “Who walks among us in this place?”
They waited but heard nothing.
“Maybe he’s not here tonight,” Tori suggested. “We can’t risk standing out here in the open much longer.”
“Let me try once more,” Beau said, clearing his throat. “Please, if you are with us this evening, I have need of a word with you regarding the game of baseball.”
That did the trick.
Beside Beau the night air wavered and a man wearing an old-fashioned baseball cap materialized. “Who are you?” he asked, staring at Beau. “Can she see us?”
“She can,” Tori said. “Are you John Lewis Dodge?”
The new arrival blinked. “How do you know that?”
Deciding the real explanation was too difficult, Tori said, “Everyone knows how you died in that game in 1916 when Tom Rogers smacked you in the face with a baseball.”
On reflex, Dodge scrubbed at his face. “Is that what happened?” he said. “All I remember is waking up with my face hurting. Took awhile, but I finally figured out I was benched for good.”
“If I may,” Beau said, “I am Colonel Beauregard T. Longworth, late of the Army of Northern Virginia. I met my demise some 50 years before your own, so I have some experience in these matters. Are you here because you need assistance moving on in your journey?”
Dodge frowned. “Moving on? No. I’m here looking for Hiram.”
“Hiram Folger?” Tori asked.
Dodge grinned. “That’s him! I knew old Hiram when he was playing for the Durham Bulls. Fact is, we’re some kind of distant cousins on my mama’s side. Anyhow, I heard Hiram was playing in a league on this side, and there’s several of us who want in. Since I knew Hiram, the others sent me to get in touch with him.”
“Oh my,” Beau said weakly. “How exactly did you learn of Hiram’s activities?”
“My grave is down in Cave Hill Cemetery in Louisville,” Dodge said, adding, “that’s Kentucky. You ought to come visit sometime, Colonel. We got about 5,000 dead boys down there that fought for the gray like you. How come you’re not in uniform no more?”
“A complicated story, Mr. Dodge,” Beau said. “Pray continue.”
“Well,” Dodge said, “Harry Clay Pulliam is buried down there with us.”
Beau’s grave expression instantly transformed to one of rapt interest. “The Henry Clay Pulliam?” he said excitedly.
Dodge nodded. “The one and only. He’s a great man, Mr. Pulliam.”
Tori cleared her throat. “Uh, boys, I hate to break up this little impromptu fan club meeting, but who exactly is Henry Clay Pulliam?”
Looking mildly scandalized by her ignorance, Beau said, “Mr. Pulliam was the sixth president of the National League. He served from 1903 until his unfortunate demise in 1909. His work in settling disagreements between his own organization and the American League was quite instrumental in leading to the creation of the World Series.”
Dodge whistled appreciatively. “Dang, Colonel, for an old dead guy, you know your baseball.”
Seemingly oblivious to Dodge’s clueless insult, Beau beamed with delight. “Thank you, young man. I am a most avid . . . ”
Tori cut him off. “Hold on,” she said. “Let’s get back to Pulliam. What does he have to do with all this?”
Dodge answered placidly. “Oh, after Mr. Pulliam blew his brains out, he’d been kind of dissatisfied in the afterlife.”
Beau nodded in commiseration. “As is always the case with the suicides,” he said sadly. “They seem rather universally restless. Except for those who succumbed to sleeping tablets, of course.”
Interested in spite of herself, Tori said, “Really? What’s up with them?”
Beau shook his head. “Nightmares,” he said, “of the lurid sort that leads to shrieks and wails.”
“Must be awful for the neighbors,” Tori deadpanned.
“Quite,” Beau agreed, with Dodge nodding in baleful agreement.
“Okey dokey then,” Tori said, “back to Pulliam.”
“Oh, right,” Dodge said. “Henry’s excited for the first time in decades. Never occurred to him to get a
league going on this side. He’s drawing up a list of dead recruits, talking about setting up the dead majors. Why ole Pete Browning himself is buried right down there with us. Can’t get a much better start than that.”
“The Louisville Slugger?” Beau exclaimed. “Oh, I should very much like to meet him!”
“Beau . . . ” Tori said, but the warning came too late.
“We can make that happen,” Dodge said. “So I can tell Harry you’ll get him and Hiram together?”
“Uh, guys . . . ”
Completely ignoring Tori, Beau said proudly, “As it happens, I am the organizer of the Briar Hollow Spectral Sports League.”
“You are?” Dodge said. “Well, that’s just perfect! I’ll come back tomorrow night and bring Henry with me. We good to meet here?”
In the distance, Duke howled, the signal that Nick was headed back to the field.
“Uh, no, actually,” Beau said hastily. “It would be much more felicitous for us if we could hold these talks at the local cemetery.”
“Now, wait a minute . . .” Tori protested.
“We can find it,” Dodge said confidently, already starting to fade from sight. “See you at midnight.”
As he dematerialized, Tori said, “Beau Longworth, I cannot believe you . . .” The sound of Duke’s approaching howls stopped her.
“We are not done with this discussion,” she hissed, handing her companion the Amulet of the Phoenix, “but right now, we have to get out of here.”
“There is no time,” Beau said, slipping the chain over his neck. “Follow my lead.”
The instant he was solid enough to do so, he offered Tori his arm. She took it, and together they strolled across the grass like they were simply out enjoying a walk on a crisp autumn evening.
As they reached the sidewalk, Nick rounded the corner, camera still in hand. Skidding to a stop in front of them, he said, “Oh, uh, hi, folks. Out for a walk?”
Witch on Third (A Jinx Hamilton Mystery Book 6) Page 17
