Witch on Third (A Jinx Hamilton Mystery Book 6)

by Juliette Harper

  “Yes, sir,” Connor said, “I think I do. You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

  Mack chewed at his lip thoughtfully. “Oh, what the hell,” he said, seeming to have come to a decision. “Everyone thinks I’m crazy, so they wouldn’t believe me anyway. Who am I to tell you where you can and can’t go? Have some more cornbread. We’ll pass the time together until you get back in the ocean. You know anything about UFOs son? Because I’ve got me some theories on that subject.”

  In his cavern, Chesterfield positioned the identical chained caskets upright between two of his book cases. Standing back to inspect his handiwork, the wizard admired the way the polished silver chains reflected the firelight. A faint sound from inside one of the boxes made him lean forward and listen.

  Taking a silk handkerchief from his pocket, the wizard carefully polished the chains. “It will do you no good,” he said softly as he buffed the metal to a high shine. “I warned you not to defy me and you did not listen. Scream all you like, there’s nobody here but me to hear you and I do not care about your suffering. In fact, I rather relish it.”

  Behind him, a brass bell sitting on the desk, levitated a few inches and rang softly drawing Chesterfield’s attention away from the caskets.

  “Well,” he said, crossing to the desk, “what do we have here?”

  Addressing the bell, the wizard commanded, “Silence.”

  The ringing stopped, but the bell remained suspended in mid-air. Chesterfield reached into the top drawer of the desk and took out a thin, black ledger. He flipped through the pages until he found a single entry glowing red on the page. Tapping the words with his index finger, Chesterfield watched a holographic map rise off the page.

  Over the past few weeks, he had made note of reported disturbances of “boiling water” in the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of North Carolina. The human news channels, which he monitored for useful information, made mention of the phenomenon, but so far no one had determined the cause.

  Intrigued, Chesterfield placed several beacons up and down the coast, and one of them had just been triggered. Making note of the time and coordinates, he left the desk — dismissing the bell to float back in place as an afterthought — and went to his workbench. This was a perfect opportunity to test his latest project in temporal chronography.

  Sitting down on the high stool, the wizard ran his fingers lovingly over the French Art Deco case of a table clock still under construction. The block of green marble decorated with gold accents lent an air of elegance to the newly constructed interior. Carefully setting the instrument, the wizard activated the mechanism, and instantly, a second, larger hologram projected amid the reclining cherubs topping the timepiece.

  At first Chesterfield thought he was looking at nothing but an expanse of open water lying between the coast and the barrier islands, but then he noticed a single dolphin swimming in the center of the image. Rotating another dial, the wizard magnified the scene until he could make out the figure of a young man holding fast to the sea creature. Something about the face seemed familiar. Then it struck him.

  No!

  Could he be that fortunate?

  The swimmer was the Hamilton woman’s long lost brother. Connor Endicott.

  As Chesterfield watched, the dolphin led the castaway to the shore where he emerged from the surf only to be nearly trampled by a herd of wild horses. Fortuitously, a grizzled old man with a white beard and a nautical cap pulled the fool out of harm’s way and led him away to a ramshackle beach cottage. There, the recording ended.

  Examining the time codes, Chesterfield calculated the passage of approximately two and a half hours since the events in the hologram occurred. If the boiling water phenomenon stayed on the rough schedule he’d discerned from the reported sightings, it would be at least three hours before the next incident. Perfect. For a bargaining chip of this magnitude, the inconvenience of a field trip was more than in order.

  Rummaging among the bottles on the table, Chesterfield selected one and slipped it in the pocket of his suit coat. Then, removing his pocket watch and consulting his notes, he set the coordinates. No sooner had he depressed the winding crown than Chesterfield found himself standing on the stretch of beach from the recording.

  As he approached the ramshackle cottage, a voice called out, “Something I can do for you, mister?”

  “Good afternoon,” Chesterfield said, taking out a wallet and extracting a creamy business card. “I’m Dr. Elliott Mansfield of the Mansfield Mental Health Institute. One of my patients was spotted in the vicinity of your cottage. A young fellow. Rather dark hair, strong jaw. He would appear rather innocent and disoriented. His name is Connor Endicott.”

  The old man examined the card. “Guess I should have figured him for a nut case,” he said. “The feller you’re looking for is in there on my couch sound asleep. You want me to wake him?”

  “Yes,” Chesterfield said, “but only to serve him some sort of drink with three drops of this medicine mixed in.”

  He held out the bottle, now bearing a prescription label and dosing directions. “I assure you, this is nothing more than a mild sedative. It will not harm the lad in any way, only make him somewhat more compliant. I’m afraid he has something of a tendency to become agitated when he feels threatened. Post-traumatic stress disorder. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Yep,” the man said. “I was in Vietnam. I’ve seen guys get ‘agitated.’ Wait out here. I’ll take care of it, Doc.”

  27

  Barnaby went with us to the portal at the edge of the woods east of the city. He wore a heavy woolen coat caped at the shoulders. Every wind gust made the fabric flare dramatically.

  “You look like a character out of one of those Bronte sisters’ novels we were talking about,” I said as we trudged through deepening snow.

  My literary joke made him laugh. “So long as you are not casting me as Heathcliff, I will take that as a compliment,” he said. “We are here.”

  He stopped in front of two weathered, gray stones. There was no red arrow pointing “portal here,” but I would have known we’d reached our destination even without Barnaby’s announcement. The gateway’s presence crawled over my skin like prickling ants.

  “This isn’t like the portal in the lower valley,” I said. “It feels different.”

  Barnaby seemed pleased by my heightened awareness. “Your magical perception is growing more finely honed,” he said, “and you are correct. This portal is much older. It was one of the first we forged when we came to this land.”

  “You make it sound like digging a mine shaft,” I said.

  “After a fashion, it was,” Barnaby agreed. “The local Cherokee were aware of the Otherworld, but visited it only in visions. Moira and I ‘dug’ this entrance through the In Between with our magic. It was from this spot that I first saw the valley that has come to bear my name. When you emerge on the other side, in the human realm, you will not be far from Roanoke Island.”

  “You know, Grandad,” I said, “people are still trying to figure out what happened to the ‘lost’ Roanoke Colony. There are films about it.”

  Even in the middle of the current crisis I saw the curiosity of the inveterate researcher come into his eyes. “Are there really?” he asked. “Perhaps you can show one to me. I quite like motion pictures. I think it would be amusing to learn the causes to which the humans have attributed our disappearance.”

  Lucas cleared his throat. “Uh, guys? Freezing my fedora off here. Can we get the portal open, please?”

  Remembering himself, Barnaby said, “Yes, of course. My apologies.” He turned toward the stones and began to recite the words of the opening spell. Slowly the air rippled like a calm pond when a stone skips over the surface. Then a shaft of sunlight broke through, and we could see what looked like a swamp on the other side.

  “Ironweed tells me we may experience sporadic video reception due to the great distance,” Barnaby said. “Once you are through the portal, you will be passed
over to the Brown Mountain remote command. Two of their best pilots will assume operation of the drones. I can do nothing more now but wish you good fortune. Please send a report as soon as you can.”

  Impulsively, I hugged him. “Thank you, Granddad,” I said. “I love you.”

  Barnaby returned my embrace. “And I love you,” he said. Then looking toward Lucas, he added. “Take care of my granddaughter, Mr. Grayson.”

  There was just a hint of threat in the words, like a father warning a teenage boy to get a girl home on time. Lucas heard it, too. “I will, Lord High Mayor,” he said formally. “I will guard her with my life.”

  “Geez,” I groaned, “could you two be bigger drama queens if you tried?”

  I don’t think Barnaby knew the exact meaning of the phrase “drama queen,” but he picked up on the humor of the remark and laughed anyway. “Are we being unduly male?” he asked with a self-deprecating smile.

  “Yes,” I replied, “and unduly paternalistic, but in a kind of sweet way, so you’re off the hook.”

  Lucas made a show of wiping non-existent sweat from his brow. “Whew!” he said. “We dodged a bullet on that one, Barnaby.”

  From the look on my grandfather’s face, I could tell he wasn’t used to people teasing him, but I think he liked it. He was smiling when I looked back just before the portal closed. It was a good image to take with me.

  From our point of view, the temperature spiked 30 degrees in the human realm, but I still needed a coat against the dank autumn air. At least two dozen snapping turtles served as our welcoming committee, their knobby black heads sticking out of the layer of green slime covering the nearby water.

  The GNATS drones took up position on either side of us, waiting for instructions. I swatted some kind of flying insect roughly the size of a golf ball, only to duck in astonishment when a small beam of purple light shot out of the nearest drone and vaporized the offending insect.

  “What the heck was that?” I exclaimed.

  Lucas took a small tablet out of the pocket of his duster and stared at the screen. “The pilot says it’s a ‘defensive systems modification currently undergoing field testing.’”

  “Fine,” I said, “just tell the pilot to make sure they aim for the bugs and not us.”

  Lucas tapped commands on the screen.

  “He says to tell you ‘duly noted, ma’am.’”

  Groaning at the ridiculous level of military officiousness, I said, “So how are they planning to tackle the search?”

  Reading from the tablet again, Lucas said, “The pilots are telling us to get comfortable and wait. They’re dividing the search area into quadrants. They’ll ping us if they see anything.”

  “‘Ping’ us?” I said. “What the heck is a ‘ping?’”

  The words were barely out of my mouth before I heard a tone that I swear should have been followed with the words, “Attention KMart Shoppers.”

  “I’m guessing that was a ping,” Lucas said. As we watched, the drones broke off in opposite directions and disappeared from sight.

  I looked around at the marshy patch of ground on which we were standing. “How are we supposed to get comfortable in a place like this?” I asked.

  “Oh,” Lucas grinned, “never fear, the DGI is here! I am in possession of cool toys. First order of business, shelter and camouflage.”

  He removed a small tube from his pocket and flicked a switch on the barrel. A mild electrical charge passed through me as a translucent dome formed around us.

  “Personal force field,” Lucas explained when I gave him a questioning look. “It has the dual effect of keeping the bugs and the elements out and ensuring that no one sees us. Now, how about a fire?”

  I shook my head. “Won’t work,” I said. “Your force field doesn’t have a chimney.”

  “Oh ye of little faith,” he said. “The force field will filter and disperse the smoke. Nothing for any curious parties to see and no choking for us. Would you mind conjuring up a nice stack of wood?”

  I decided not to tell him that my conjuring skills were still a work in progress. Surely I could manage a few simple logs. Reaching into my mind, I found the spark of my magic, allowing it to paint a detailed picture of a warm, crackling fire. Visualizing a space in the center of the clearing to receive the image, I said, “Incendium.”

  We got our fire alright, in a perfectly circular stone firepit complete with a grate, a steaming pot of coffee, and two cups.

  “Show off,” Lucas said.

  I shrugged and grinned, acting like I did the whole thing on purpose.

  Not. Even. Close.

  Lucas Grayson had just witnessed a grand, albeit successful, accident. But any accident involving coffee is no mistake at all in my book.

  Not to be outdone, Lucas took two small squares of canvas out of the bag at his waist and snapped them open. Now, we not only had a fire and coffee but two camp chairs.

  “This swamp is starting to get pretty swank,” I said. “Would you mind telling me how you managed to get all of this stuff in your pockets and bag?”

  “The DGI is big into miniaturization,” he said. “We believe in traveling light, but that’s no excuse to compromise on the creature comforts.”

  I sat down gingerly in one of the chairs, half afraid it would collapse. Instead, it conformed perfectly to my body. A sudden wave of fatigue washed over me. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d slept. I didn’t realize I’d closed my eyes, but when I opened them, Lucas had squatted down beside my chair and was holding out one of the cups.

  “Take some time to unwind,” he said. “I don’t think you’ve taken a good breath since you heard your brother went through the Atlantic portal.”

  Accepting the cup, I said, “I don’t think I have either. Think about it Lucas. When we dove down to the city, we must have gone right by where they were working.”

  Lucas pulled the other chair closer and filled the second cup for himself. “Don’t think like that,” he said. “There was no way you could have known Connor was there, much less stop what was about to happen. You’re a witch, not a soothsayer.”

  “Do you know any of those?” I asked. “Soothsayers?”

  “Yes,” Lucas said, “and I do my best to stay away from them. We weren’t meant to know the future, Jinx. That would take all the fun out of living.”

  That was when I really understood the difference between Chase and Lucas. One of them made room for fun in his life, not as an afterthought, but as an important part of being. Chase saw living as a much more serious business.

  We couldn’t do anything to help the GNATS drones and talking about Connor would only make me worry about him more. Lucas seemed to understand that, so for the next two hours, he regaled me with one story after another about exotic ports of call and hilarious DGI operations with Rube as his wingman.

  When the ping did sound, I’d forgotten what it meant, so I jumped half out of my skin. Lucas reacted a little more efficiently. He activated the tablet, and moved to show me the screen.

  The drones had something concrete for us alright, as in a ton of bricks falling right on top of my head.

  As Lucas and I watched, the video showed Irenaeus Chesterfield leading my brother away from a dilapidated beach house. Connor walked slowly, dragging his feet through the soft sand as if he’d been drugged.

  “We have to get to them,” I said desperately. “We can’t let Chesterfield get Connor.”

  But it was already too late.

  The wizard took out his pocket watch, clicked the crown, and disappeared, taking Connor with him.

  “Is there anything you haven’t told us?” Kelly asked.

  “No,” Tori said. “That’s everything Jinx told us. She and Lucas are going through a portal that will get them close to where Connor should have surfaced in the Atlantic.”

  Jeff leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He stared down at the floor in Jinx’s tiny kitchen and didn’t look up when he said, “But you
’re sure he’s alive?”

  Beau drew his chair closer and replicated Jeff’s posture. “There is no reason to believe that he is not,” the Colonel said. “May I suggest that you hold fast to that?”

  Still staring at the carpet under his feet, Jeff said, “We had to give him up once, Beau. Damn it, this is not fair.”

  “No, sir,” Beau said, “it is not, but I know with all my soul that if your boy is out there, Jinx will find him.”

  Kelly scooted closer to her husband, resting her head against his shoulder. “He’s right, honey,” she whispered. “We owe both of our children our faith in them.”

  “So we just wait?” Jeff asked helplessly.

  “I’m afraid so,” Tori said. “Since Jinx and Lucas aren’t here, Beau and I have to go to Anton Ionescu’s funeral this afternoon with Chase and Festus. Jinx felt like she would know something by the time we get back.”

  “Kelly and I are coming with you,” Jeff declared, clenching his fists into tight balls. “If Chesterfield or the Strigoi show up, I want a piece of them.”

  Tori winced. She hadn’t been looking forward to this part of the conversation, which Jinx had predicted perfectly.

  “I can’t let you do that,” she said. “Jinx specifically told me not to let you get anywhere near the funeral.”

  Before Jeff could protest, Darby materialized in the middle of the room.

  “Damn it, Shorty!” Jeff snapped. “I told you to warn us before you just show up like that.”

  Looking a little startled by the vehemence of Jeff’s reaction, the brownie said contritely, “I am sorry, Master Jeff. The red-headed vampire says you must come to the lair immediately.”

  Connor awakened slowly, struggling to focus on his surroundings. After several foggy seconds, he realized he was lying on the floor staring up at sharp stalagmites hanging from a high, domed cavern roof. Around him, several imposing pieces of furniture created a makeshift “room.”

  Then he realized he wasn’t alone. A tall man stared at him from the depths of a heavy, ornate chair that seemed oddly throne-like in its current setting.