Trinkets, Treasures, and Other Bloody Magic

by Meghan Ciana Doidge

  So I spilled my wine on Mory. The fledgling necromancer was perched on a low stool beside me. Desmond was at the head of the table with Scarlett and what’s-her-name on either side. I was at the opposite diagonal from Scarlett, with Mory tucked on the corner between me and some old dude, who was the alpha Desmond had succeeded without having to kill him. Not something, by the way, to just blurt out when meeting an ex-alpha. Fortunately, that had been Mory’s mistake, not mine.

  Anyway, it was only a small spill. Mory shrieked like it was molten lava or something.

  I hustled her off to the washroom, throwing out mumbled apologies, with Kandy following closely behind us.

  I shoved Mory into the powder room where we’d had our first chat of the day, shutting the door behind us before Kandy could enter. I almost wilted from the relief of being a few steps away from all that magic.

  “The skirt is ruined,” Mory moaned.

  “Shush,” I said. “It’s my skirt, and it’s only a drop of wine on the hem. Rinse it off with cold water.” I’d had the blue miniskirt crumpled in the corner of my suitcase. Thankfully, it had a drawstring waist so Mory could borrow it. It looked crazy cute with the fledgling’s old combat boots, which was good because her feet were way too small to borrow any of my shoes.

  I climbed on the toilet and tried the window. The lock was stiff, as if it had never been opened, but eventually I got it to slide upward. I noted the alarm sensor on the window frame, but assumed it would be deactivated with so many people coming and going from the house.

  “What are you doing?” Mory asked. She was dabbing the rinsed wine spot with a black hand towel. The thread count of the towel looked thick enough to use as a pillow. Nice.

  “All I’ve been able to hear all night is the music playing down by the river,” I answered without actually answering.

  “You can hear music?”

  “You can’t?”

  “Nope.”

  Whoops. Do I admit I was more than a witch or just let the fledgling think I was slowly going crazy? “Do you want to go dancing?”

  Mory’s face lit up. “With you?”

  “Yeah, who else?”

  “But …”

  “It’s a totally stupid idea. And has nothing to do with why either of us are here.” Mory, I had established, was still seeking vengeance on Sienna — confirmed death obviously wasn’t enough for the fledgling — and she’d stowed away just in case we happened upon a clue in Portland. This logic sounded a little weak to me — and to Mory’s mom. Scarlett had called the necromancer, who was calmer than I would have been once my mother put Mory on the phone. But then, Scarlett had that effect on people, even if her magic didn’t pass through satellites and carrier networks.

  “You game anyway?” I prompted Mory. “I can go on my own and you’d be in way less trouble.”

  “Less trouble? I’m already grounded for life.”

  “I’ve been grounded for life. It wears off.”

  “Did you ever stow away to Portland with witches, werewolves, and a vampire?”

  Err, no. She had me there. “Okay. I’ll get Kandy to take you back to my room. Like you aren’t feeling well —”

  “Forget that, I’m coming with you.”

  I laughed and yanked open the bathroom door. Kandy was standing on the other side with her arms crossed. Her make-up was generous around the eyes and practically nonexistent on her lips.

  “I can hear you through the door,” she said.

  “I know. I’m not a total idiot.” I had totally forgotten to factor super-hearing into my getaway plans.

  Then Kandy handed me an evening purse. I rarely carried anything other than my Matt & Nat satchel. I opened the bag. It contained my lip gloss, credit card, and phone.

  “You rock.”

  “I know,” Kandy answered. “So we’re going out the window?”

  “I’m coming with you,” Mory insisted in a whispered hiss from behind me.

  “I got that part, fledgling,” Kandy said. Then the green-haired werewolf shouldered by me to survey the open window.

  I closed the door. It was rather cramped with three of us in the powder room. Granted, with how tiny Mory was and how slim Kandy was, I was the one taking up all the space.

  “Don’t lock it,” Kandy whispered. “Desmond hates breaking locks in his own house.”

  “Yeah, who wouldn’t?”

  Kandy slipped through the window into the rhododendron bush outside. Then she reached back for Mory.

  I had a slightly more difficult time getting through without ruining my dress. So I didn’t have the hips of a teenager. I’d never heard a single complaint from anyone who had his hands wrapped around them.

  “We can’t take a car,” Kandy said. She led us away from the front drive and entrance through the manicured yard. We slipped through a side gate — I was thankful I didn’t need to scale a stone wall or anything — and stepped onto the road. The neighborhood was upscale in that expensive-property-close-to-downtown-but-not-actually-full-of-downtown-buildings-and-people way.

  “OMG. OMG,” Mory kept repeating under her breath. Really, for a teenager who’d just stowed away to Portland in the back of a shapeshifter’s pickup, I would have thought she’d be harder to thrill. But then maybe it was the conspiratorial thing. I knew that nothing had felt this fun for me since Sienna left me to my boring life. And I’m not counting wrestling with skinwalker grizzly bears or alpha shapeshifters, as neither of those made me want to grin uncontrollably, twine my arms through the arms of my friends, and laugh out loud.

  The sound of muted music pulled me forward, and I didn’t marvel at my ability to hear that while filtering all the traffic and other noise out. I’d always been able to obsess over things that way, so why should this be any different?

  Then a taxi rather conveniently pulled around the corner. I eyed Kandy, who smirked at me with her predator grin. I climbed into the cab despite whatever was hinted at in that smile. I didn’t care what the green-haired werewolf was up to — not when I was going dancing for the first time in three months. I rolled down the back window to listen to the jazz music filtering through the houses and trees. It grew louder and louder as we wound down the hill toward the park on the edge of the river. The breeze struggled to free my pinned curls, but I didn’t care. I felt a glimmer of freedom, and I would ride it to the probably short and bitter end.

  The taxi pulled to the side of the road, blocking traffic on what the signs said was Natio Parkway, but none of the vehicles behind us seemed to care. They, like me, were happy to gawk at the dense crowd spreading among and spilling from the multiple white tents covering the narrow strip of green grass along the river’s edge.

  We tumbled out of the cab and into the crowd, Kandy at my shoulder and Mory’s fingers twined through mine. Beer and wine were flowing within the boundaries of several fenced-in areas. Portland’s liquor laws were obviously less stringent than Vancouver’s. We cut through the diverse crowd to the river walk, then headed west away from the hotel Lara had supposedly checked us into.

  “We’re never going to pass Mory off as twenty-one,” I said, eyeing the entrance and ticket booth of the nearest tent. “Are there free venues?”

  “Further down,” Kandy answered.

  “Oh! Do you think Voodoo Doughnut is still open?” I asked. I had to get my hands on some of their famous donuts.

  “Sure, till midnight, I think. But the line is a killer. Your choice.”

  “What time is the meeting with Blackwell in the morning?” I asked. Mory was wide-eyed and staring at the crowd as we walked along the path at the river’s edge. I almost reached over to tuck her chin closed, but she caught me smiling at her and snapped her mouth shut herself. “Nine o’clock, right?”

  “Ten thirty, actually. Desmond changed it.” Kandy smirked. Wolves loved to play games. Green rolled over her eyes as she scanned the crowd that pressed all around us.

  “Speaking
of which, Desmond is so going to freak that you came out with us,” I said.

  Kandy shrugged.

  “My point is you might as well have fun. I’ll know if any unknown Adepts get near before they even lay eyes on us.”

  “You’re easily distracted.”

  “Please — Oh, dancing!” I pointed to a large group gathered around a four-piece band on a raised platform. People near the band were dancing together. Other audience members sat on folding chairs or blankets in smaller gatherings on the outskirts of this central group. The band was playing some kind of jazz fusion, that wasn’t familiar but it was conducive to movement.

  “Come on, Mory!” I cried, tugging the teen off the walk and onto the grass.

  “Jade, no. I can’t. I can’t —”

  “Don’t be silly. You’re with me.”

  “When Jade dances, everyone dances.” Kandy pitched her voice over the music, though it wasn’t as loud out of doors as it would have been inside.

  I pushed through the edge of the crowd. They politely let us pass. My smile and bouncy curls — and other things — were usually a ticket through a crowd. I wanted to be in the very middle.

  The audience was more colorful here than it would be in Vancouver. At least a third of the dancers were African American, with a smattering of Hispanics mixed in. I’d picked up a few faint magical signatures as we walked through the pockets of people along the edge of the river and near the other venues, but there were none nearby now.

  And that was okay. I’d come for the freedom and the dancing. I was actually happy to get away from the press of magic at Desmond’s.

  The band finished the song they’d been playing as we reached the middle of the dance crowd. The dancers paused to clap. I kept Mory tucked in front of me as we faced the stage. My foot was already tapping in anticipation of the next song.

  “We’re Dizzy Coltrane and the Brubecks. Thanks Portland, for letting us play. This is our song, ‘Take Nine.’ ” The lead singer was a scrawny white guy, as most musicians tended to be, but he had a good voice and a great smile.

  The sax opened the song. I’d never danced to jazz or fusion or whatever this music was before, but my body didn’t care. I picked up the beat and started to move.

  Mory laughed and jumped up and down. Younger than her fifteen years in her joy. I knew I’d made the right decision to climb out the bathroom window with the fledgling. How dark must her life be every day — not just since Rusty’s death, but seeing dead people all the time?

  Kandy flashed her predator grin at me — she liked it when I danced — and moved her lithe body next to mine. The crowd eased back from us and those nearest turned to face our way. It wasn’t only the Adept that found Kandy and me dancing together something worth looking at.

  I lifted my hands in the air and a weight shifted off my shoulders. A weight I hadn’t acknowledged before in such a substantial way. I closed my eyes, threw my head back, and opened myself to Kandy and Mory’s magic. Dark, dark chocolate and toasted marshmallows flooded my senses, pushing everything else out of my mind.

  “Perfect,” I murmured as I let the music move me.

  One song stopped and another began. It was a warm night. The lead singer stripped off his T-shirt in between songs and mopped himself with it. I wagged my eyebrows at Mory, who blushed. My hair was sticking to my neck and face, but I just let it be, knowing it would soon be out of control in the humidity anyway.

  Kandy fielded a text message, and glanced around, but I just kept dancing. The silk dress made me feel wild, as if I was barely wearing anything even though I was fully covered. I reveled in the feel of it shifting across my skin, as I tried not to think of the last time I danced like this and the beautiful — possibly perfect — man who’d approached me from the crowd.

  Kandy peeled away, drawn toward a group at the fringes of the dance crowd. They were laughing and falling over each other, perhaps a little tipsy. Easy prey. Kandy definitely knew her type as she honed in on a tall girl with brightly dyed red hair. They would look like Christmas together.

  Mory was dancing with her eyes closed. A couple of younger-looking guys near her smiled at me when I caught their gaze. Ah, there was fresh meat in Portland tonight. The attention would be good for the fledgling.

  And then I felt the tingling — like a warning, maybe — at the base of my neck. I scanned the crowd … still dancing, obviously. I was here to dance.

  A man stepped toward me. The crowd parted before him, even though no one seemed to notice as he passed. His magic was potent. He tasted of red wine … an earthy cabernet. The kind that dried your mouth but was perfect when paired with rare prime rib. Not a hint of berry. But there was something else on him. I narrowed my eyes, honing my focus, as he strode toward me. His hair was black as if it was dyed that way, because there was nothing Asian, or Native, or Persian about his features or skin. He wore a light gray pinstriped suit that looked expensive, with a crisp white shirt underneath. No tie. The heat didn’t seem to affect him in the least.

  There … as he moved, a gap between the buttons of his dress shirt shifted. He was wearing some sort of amulet with a red stone. The magic of it was completely dissimilar to his own. It was fresh, like the undertones of the magic of the portal in the bakery basement. Layered with something earthy like witch magic, and something rich like whipped cream … or maybe not so sweet … sour cream and butter on a baked potato.

  I laughed at my silly analogy and the dark-haired Adept smiled at me. He didn’t bare his teeth.

  “Good evening,” he said as he stepped into the space before me. He had an accent I couldn’t place. England, maybe.

  “It is,” I answered, slowing my movements to the consideration of the conversation. “You look out of place.”

  He glanced around. His gaze lingered on Mory to one side and then on Kandy, who had moved a few feet closer with her group of giggling girls. “I suppose I do. But you, Jade Godfrey, look like you would fit in anywhere lucky enough to have you.”

  “You’re awfully charming, sorcerer,” I said. His magic, though more formidable than anything I’d felt from a sorcerer before, identified him as such.

  He grinned. The tips of his teeth were showing now, so maybe he wasn’t a complete stick-in-the-mud. “Mot Blackwell. At your service.”

  “That’s not a made-up name at all,” I teased. He wasn’t even bothering to move to the music but I kept dancing.

  “Perhaps,” he answered. “Though the lineage is long enough to come with a castle.”

  It wasn’t every day that a guy could drop the fact he had a castle into a first conversation. But then, maybe it was and I just didn’t run in the right castle-owning circles.

  “And where would this castle be?”

  “Scotland.”

  Ah, that explained the accent.

  “Perhaps you will honor me with a visit some time?”

  “I’ve never been to Scotland,” I answered. His grin widened. “But the trinket around your neck is far more interesting to me.”

  Blackwell’s face blanked. His dark eyes searched my face. I guess he hadn’t taken a close enough look the first time.

  “Your reputation has not been understated,” he said, his face not even close to smiling now.

  “It’s powerful,” I said with a shrug. “Though I wouldn’t mind knowing who you’ve been discussing me with.”

  Blackwell didn’t answer. Instead, his eyes dropped to the necklace I wore openly over the purple silk desk. It was nowhere near as impressive as his, but I imagined it felt like magic to him. All sorcerers had to be able to feel magic to some degree. It’s how they exercised their powers.

  Blackwell touched his amulet lightly through the fabric of his shirt, then let his hand drop to his side. “It is one of my most precious possessions.”

  “I imagine the maker thought so as well.”

  He smiled, though the gesture was tight on his face. I’d upset his plan
s somehow. “You cannot feel the age of an object? The maker must be long passed. No one lives this many centuries.”

  “Except vampires, of course.”

  Blackwell scanned the crowd again. “Where is your … mentor? Protector? His reputation also precedes him.”

  I knew Kett was also called ‘the executioner.’ I imagined it was this that Blackwell referred to.

  “I don’t like Hoyt at all,” I said. No point in beating around the bush about it — we both knew where Blackwell had gotten his most recent information. How he’d heard about my dowsing abilities in the first place was another matter. A board member from the witches Convocation was the most likely source. After the tribunal, perhaps. “His magic tastes … dull.”

  “Is that the worst thing you can say about him? You didn’t get to know him at all, I see.”

  I shrugged and picked up the pace of my dancing. Conversation was boring when there was music underneath the stars.

  Blackwell leaned closer. “Your magic is delightfully intriguing.”

  I laughed. “Get in line, sorcerer. I think you’ll find it a bit long, though.”

  Blackwell didn’t smile. I had a feeling I was nothing like he’d expected.

  “I would speak to you alone.”

  “Not tonight,” I answered, easy and kind about it. He wasn’t my type, though I’m sure many would swoon for the accent. Plus, I had Mory with me, who had just folded her fingers into mine behind my back.

  I could feel that the fledgling had stopped dancing, and by the way Blackwell was now looking over my shoulder, that she was staring at the sorcerer.

  He frowned. I wondered if sorcerers could identify Adepts but not their brand of magic? He tipped his head to bid me goodnight and turned away into the crowd.

  Mory pressed to me, practically clinging as she stared at Blackwell’s retreating back.

  “What is it?” I whispered to her.

  “Shades,” she said. “He’s … surrounded by shades.”