'Ink It Over: A Touch Of Ink Novel

by Rachel Rawlings

  A witch's third eye, on the other hand, would pose a problem. But we chose our path and we had to take our chances.

  Two witches went into the weeds and two tourists came out. We purchased our tickets and boarded the ferry to Block Island.

  Nicholas opted to go to the upper level where the travel compartment and concessions were located. I remained in the bed of some random pickup truck on the vehicle level contemplating my life choices and how they led to the death of my best friend, breaking into a summer home worth more than I'd ever earn in my lifetime, and taking down a high-ranking Magistrate official.

  Block Island is roughly ten square miles of real estate sitting twelve miles off the coast of Rhode Island and roughly an hour ferry ride away from the main land. With half of the island set aside as wildlife preserves, its permanent resident population has remained relatively low at less than a thousand people.

  The perfect place for a man or witch of Winslow's character to set up shop.

  Most witches avoided the island and its salt-ridden surroundings. Salt was an interesting mineral in the magical world. Both a necessary ingredient and nullifier—and we were aboard a vessel to cross an ocean filled with it.

  Too much salt in the air or soil and spells were thrown out of whack, personal reserves weakened. For a witch of Winslow's caliber, the salt served another purpose altogether. Surrounded by saltwater, a witch with enough power could create a circle of protection—aka, a perimeter ward—around the entire island.

  If Winslow was half the witch I thought he was, getting off the docks on Block Island wasn't going to be easy.

  The Atlantic was unusually choppy. A warning from the Goddess not to cross Block Island Sound and finish our mission? Doubtful. The Goddess hadn't seen fit to involve herself in the series of events that had led up to this moment.

  Or my life at all, for that matter.

  The blame for my current mood could be laid squarely at the feet of sea sickness—also known as salt sickness if your name was Adeline Severance. The reaction was strong enough to normally keep my feet firmly planted on the mainland. Grim and I had made several trips to the island when I was little, with Lars at our side as always, to test my endurance. Some witches, with continued exposure, could develop a tolerance to saltwater, leaving their spell work unaffected.

  I’d never gained my sea legs.

  The smell of coffee pulled me away from the lull of depression rocking me in its arms as gently as the waves against the side of the ferry. Nicholas appeared at the truck's bed rail with two cups of coffee.

  "A witch bearing a brew made from magical beans appears at my side." I sat up, taking the proffered cup. "What, pray tell, did I do to deserve this?"

  I hadn't exactly made for good company or been a good partner, hence our choice of separate locations aboard the vessel. I couldn't blame Nicholas for leaving me to my thoughts or wanting some time alone with his own.

  "I heard somewhere that coffee makes everything better." He raised his cup in salute. "Or at least bearable."

  "Wise words." I took a sip, my face puckering up almost instantly as the brew that somehow managed to be both bitter and weak at the same time offended my taste buds. "It's not the best cup of coffee I've had. Not the worst, either. Pull up some tailgate and stay a while."

  Nicholas dropped the tailgate and hoisted himself up while I scooted down to join him. We sat in companionable silence, punctuated by occasional questions or thoughts about what waited for us on the island, until one of the ferry security guards with the truck's owner at his side chased us off to the upper deck with the rest of the passengers.

  The ferry slowed as we approached the dock, my apprehension growing like the crowd of people waiting to board for their return trip back to Point Judith. As I suspected, Winslow used the millennia of salt built up around the perimeter of the island to create a circle of protection. I felt the first of no doubt many wards trip as the captain steered the helm toward port. My magic and saltwater were a bad combination; without Lars to help us, there was no way to avoid setting it off.

  All of the deckhands moved to their assigned positions and tasks as the ship was moored. Two men lowered the car ramp, ushering people off, and cleaning the deck before the next wave of people. Nicholas and I did our best to disappear into the crowd like two regular Mundanes as we walked down the boat ramp to the passenger pier at the port.

  The urge to cast a Now You See Me, Now You Don't was strong, but the need to avoid tripping any more alarms was stronger. Anyone in residence at Winslow Manor knew more than one witch had made port on the island.

  But that was all they knew, and we needed to keep it that way.

  Chapter Nineteen

  IN KEEPING WITH THE appearance of tourists, we picked out a couple of ten-speeds from the rental shop and peddled toward Winslow's summer home. We hoped to find information on Karen Brown or some other evidence to bring him down hidden inside his evil lair—more commonly referred to as his office.

  Thoughts of what my life would have been like had I been born a Mundane turned in my mind like the wheels on the bike. Couples, families, skittered about on their vacations from one tourist trap to another, seemingly without a care in the world. Totally unaware of the magic flowing all around them.

  Nicholas led the way, a bike's length ahead of me, to his uncle's house, and I couldn't help but admire the view. He looked back over his shoulder, a mischievous smile on his lips and a knowing look in his eyes, before turning his attention back to the road.

  Without warning, my traitorous mind shifted gears to questions about my new partner. Did he have someone in his life? A girlfriend? He hadn't mentioned one. Not that I'd asked. Still, we'd been glued to each other's hip since he’d tried to hand me over to his uncle and wound up in my trunk instead. A guy doesn't disappear from a relationship for days without at least one phone call from his girlfriend.

  Not that I had much experience with relationships.

  Mine never lasted more than a couple of dates. Lars and Grim found one reason or another to make sure of that. "Falling in love is easy, Adeline. It's the walking away when you know it's for the best that's tough. A Warder's life is a lonely one. Better to get used to it now, while you're young." Grim reminded me of that after every breakup.

  "We're almost there." Nicholas slowed his pace, coasting along.

  The sound of his voice pulled me out of my own head and back to reality. Not, however, fast enough for my mind to process what he’d said or that he'd slowed down. The split second it took me to realize he'd stopped pedaling was enough to careen my bike into his. A clash of rubber and metal and an abrupt stop sent me hurtling forward into the handle bars. Nicholas slid off his seat with a grunt upon my face's impact with his back.

  An elderly couple across the road started to approach, asking if we were okay. Nicholas waved them off, making a couple of jokes about his clumsy girlfriend and reassured them we were okay. “She’s a regular ballerina all right. Got the lead in Swan Lake.”

  An awkward laugh after I realized I was the girlfriend in the little ruse escaped my mouth. “Really, there’s barely a scratch on either of us. Thanks for making sure we weren’t hurt.” After an affirmation of my own that we were fine, they set off on their way again.

  "What was that all about? What happened?" Nicholas reached around, trying to rub the spot on his back where my head had made impact.

  "Sorry, I...I got distracted." I planted my feet on the ground and tried to push backward, in an effort to untangle the bikes. I tried to back up again when he extended a hand, fingertips grazing my face. "What are you doing?"

  "You're lip... It's bleeding." Nicholas hopped off his bike, forcing me to do the same or go down with it, and set both of the ten-speeds on their sides. "Let me help you."

  Ignoring my attempt to swat his hands away, he placed one on either side of my face, whispering words in Latin. His thumbs traced my lips, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. My heart raced, chest tig
htening, as his magic seeped through my skin in search of other injuries. We hadn't collided hard enough to rupture a spleen, but that wasn't the type of internal bleeding Nicholas was looking for. He went deeper, seeking out my emotional trauma, until he reached the chasm in my heart where the memories of Grim and Lars resided.

  I gasped when I felt him pour his magic into the bottomless pit that had become my heart. Shocked to find he'd reached bottom and began to fill it, I jerked back out of his reach.

  "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have. I overstepped." Nicholas reached for me again, sadness in his eyes when I recoiled. "I am sorry, Adeline. I didn't mean... My magic... It got carried away." He turned his attention back to the bikes, righting them so we could get back on our way. "I just thought, if I could help with the pain of losing Lars..." He shook his head, pushed up the kickstand, and pedaled away, leaving me on the side of the road.

  I pressed a palm against the center of my chest, trying to rub away the tingling sensation his magic had left behind. That shouldn't have happened. He shouldn't have been able to do that. I shouldn't have gotten distracted. If I hadn't, none of that would have happened in the first place. After listing all the things that shouldn't have happened, I picked up my bike and raced to catch up with Nicholas.

  We came to Block Island in search of an Angel of Mercy, or at the very least information that led us to her. Anything else, like the way Nicholas's magic connected with mine, had to wait.

  Hopefully, he felt the same way.

  "Hey, wait up." I was a little out of breath after pedaling hard on a ten-speed with a busted gear shift and wobbly front tire to catch up to Nicholas, so I stuck to shorter sentences. "How much further?"

  Nicholas pulled to the side of the road, swinging one leg over the bike frame as he dismounted. He rested the bike on the kickstand before turning to look at me. The battle playing out over his facial expressions between relief and frustration was easy to decipher.

  A similar battle raged within me.

  “We’re almost there.” The moment he decided to shelve what had happened a quarter mile back down the road became evident as the pent-up tension left his body.

  I let out a sigh of relief, my shoulders lowering from their place by my ears to a more natural position as I scrambled to regain some sense of normalcy.

  "Did you say we’re almost there?" I lowered the kickstand on my bike but didn't climb all the way off it.

  "It's less than half a mile." Nicholas pointed toward the bend in the road. "We should probably ditch the bikes. Yours is pretty much useless anyway. We can go on foot from here."

  "Maybe we should stick to the bikes a little longer. It's faster. Ride past the house and double back on foot before our disguises wear off?" Asking rather than demanding seemed the best approach, given the awkward state we were in after what would henceforth be referred to as ‘the healing incident.’

  "Give us a chance to check out the property. See if there are any cars out front." Nicholas took a moment to mull it over before agreeing. "My uncle uses a car service. If he's there, a black limo should be waiting on the circular driveway."

  "And the staff?" I pushed up the kickstand with my heel as Nicholas got back on his bike.

  "They're not permitted to have vehicles on the property. They either use bicycles or walk." He pushed off, pedaling in a smooth, easy stride.

  A bike's length behind, I struggled to keep my ten-speed in a straight line and not end up in a drainage ditch on the side of the road.

  Winslow Manor came into view a couple minutes later. Its mishmash of geometric shapes loomed over the other multimillion-dollar estate situated on Mohegan Bluffs. Relatively safe from attack on the ocean side overlooking the cliffs, Winslow had his Isaac Bell look-alike built full frontal on the property facing the street, watching everyone approach from his office’s cylindrical double porch. The real deal and inspiration sat upon the Newport shore as a beacon of shingle-style architecture while Winslow's knockoff looked like a garish B-horror movie set.

  "No cars along the drive—that's a good sign, right?" I followed Nicholas's cue and shoved my bike into a copse of trees on a neighboring property.

  "Let's hope so. If my uncle's not on the island, he's probably on campus." Nicholas used his fingers to tick off the essential personnel from security to groundskeeper. "That'll leave half a dozen employees on hand."

  "Limited staff or not, we'll still need to get through the perimeter wards undetected."

  Losing Lars had hurt more than just my heart. It seriously hurt our chances of success.

  Nicholas pulled a small vial from the pocket of his board shorts, which underneath the disguise I'd crafted were a pair of lightweight jeans. "Do you trust me?"

  "That feels like a loaded question." I eyed the vial, still wary of his brand of magic, whatever it was exactly. Consuming something he'd made was risky. My body tingled just thinking about the way his method of healing had felt.

  "Well, you don't have much choice, so I'll take that as a yes." He smirked and for a moment the real Nicholas peeked out from behind the beach boy façade. "It's been a while since I orchestrated a break-in into my uncle's office, looking for information on my father's workshop. The elixir is slightly past its shelf life, but it should still work."

  "Should? Should work?" I shook my head, strawberry blonde locks swishing in my face momentarily catching me off guard. "Not instilling a lot of confidence there. As a candidate, I expected more of you. What's this particular brew supposed to do?"

  "Former candidate. At this point I think it's safe to assume all my privileges on campus have been revoked." Nicholas popped the cork on the tiny vial and held it out to me. "Temporarily tune your genetic code to match a Winslow. Bottoms up."

  "How about we hold up on the Pollyjuice for a second instead, Hermione." I grabbed the cork from his hand and shoved it back into the glass container.

  “Polly what?” Nicholas raised a quizzical eyebrow.

  I shook my head at his genuinely confused expression but didn’t explain. ‘Forget it. Just tell me how you made the elixir.”

  "You're a Warder, Del." He looked at me, suspicion heavy in his eyes. "I would think you of all people know how it's made." My closed off expression and arms crossed over my chest likely gave him the confirmation he needed. "Ahh, it's not the what of it that worries you but the who."

  "You're not a Winslow, Nicholas." I fought to keep the accusatory tone out of my voice. "The spell won't work with your blood."

  As a Warder, I knew a thing or two about blood magic. There was more than one ward that required it, but they were rare and incredibly hard to do. They left the Warder weakened for a long time, and the ward itself was irreversible. Grim had taught me how to do them—after I swore I never would.

  "Not by name, no. But I am a Winslow by blood." Nicholas shrugged, trying to appear casual, but it was clear I’d struck a nerve. "Well, half Winslow, anyway. Enough to work a minor—and temporary, I might add—genetic mutation spell."

  I’d obviously picked the scab off an old emotional wound by reminding Nicholas of his status among the Winslows. Rather than cause further offense by refusing to take the elixir—especially since he hadn't done anything to dissuade my trust—I pulled the cork back out of the bottle.

  "Through the lips, over the gums. Look out tummy, here it comes." For a small vial, the rank odor wafting out of it packed a hell of a wallop. Pinching my nose closed with one hand, I tipped the bottle back with the other and chugged the syrupy contents down before the rancid flavor assaulted my taste buds. "Well, what do you think? Am I Winslow enough to walk through the perimeter ward?" I asked, still trying not to gag from the disgusting potion.

  "We'll know soon enough. Let's go." Nicholas grabbed my hand and led me out of the trees back onto the road.

  He was right. We'd find out soon enough if the expired elixir did its thing. I said a silent prayer to the Goddess and followed Nicholas across the street, mere feet from crossing the ward.

/>   If shit hit the fan, there was only one way off the island—Mohegan Bluffs. We'd never make it back to the ferry, and even if we did, it would never leave dock in time for us to avoid capture by Winslow's men.

  With one final prayer that we wouldn't have to find out which of us was a better swimmer, I crossed the Winslow property line.

  Chapter Twenty

  NO ALARMS SIGNALED. No security guards or rabid dogs rushed out to greet us as we fought our way through the hedge wall lining the property. We were safe—for the time being.

  "You have a boxwood branch stuck in your hair." Nicholas tried to untangle the leafy stick.

  Caught by surprise, not just from his touch but the residual magic sparked by his touch, I jumped.

  "Sorry. I think there's a knot."

  "Leave it." I hissed, swatting his hand away. "Do you feel anything?"

  His mouth opened and closed a few times, like a fish out of water, before he was able to answer. He felt something, all right. It just wasn't the something I was asking about.

  "No, nothing," he finally said.

  Nothing.

  "Is that good or bad?" Fingers crossed, I hoped he said good.

  "I have no idea." Nicholas offered an apologetic smile and shrug combo. "The house is usually overflowing with people and energy. It's been empty once in recent memory, and that was when my uncle was out of the country on Magistrate business."

  "And let me guess—also the night a break-in occurred." I took a deep breath in an attempt to settle my frayed nerves. "We're walking into a trap, aren't we?"

  "Probably. But we knew that going in, right?" Nicholas rested a hand on my shoulder and gave a comforting squeeze. "I say we forget splitting up and stay together."

  "So we can be thrown in one of your uncle's lead cells on campus together? Yeah, no. Hard pass." I started walking toward the rear of the house on the bluff side of the property. "If one gets caught, the other still has a chance to get away. That was the plan we agreed to with Lars." A twinge of pain twisted my heart just speaking his name. "We're not diverting from that just because he isn't here."