The Lost Enchantress

by Patricia Coughlin

  “None of that changes the fact that they wouldn’t go anywhere near your house. They’re too afraid.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of you.”

  “Me?” She laughed. Then frowned. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it? At least one of them is a reader. You saw how he moved his hand over you very slowly. What else could he have been doing but reading you?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Is that an aura thing?”

  He couldn’t tell if she was serious. Though it hardly seemed she would be joking at a time like this. “Something like that.”

  “And here I thought he was just trying to slice me in half.”

  “He was. This was later. After they ran into the protective shield and got knocked flat on their . . .”

  “Asses?” she suggested when he politely stopped short of saying it.

  “Exactly. And none too gently. I’m guessing that was enough to make them want to know just what they were up against. So they read you, and whatever they found out was obviously more than they were prepared to deal with. And also more than Vasil wanted to deal with,” he added. “That had to be the reason he was so amenable to taking my money in exchange for bowing out. He knew if they couldn’t take the pendant from you by ambushing you in a public place, they weren’t likely to do better on your home ground.”

  She looked doubtful. “Why not? They can shoot lasers from their palms, for heaven’s sake. I don’t think a dead bolt or a can of pepper spray would stop them.”

  “It wouldn’t,” he agreed, again not sure how to take her comment. Those were hardly the only weapons at her disposal. He knew it and she knew he knew it. Why pretend otherwise? “That’s why the mystical world doesn’t deal in dead bolts and pepper spray. It deals in power. Who’s got it, who’s got more of it, who’s got the most. Mystically speaking, someone’s home has an innate power of its own that weakens outside energies and puts intruders at a disadvantage. And that’s even before you consider wards meant to keep others out and nasty spell traps that see to it anyone who does make it inside is sorry he did.”

  “That does sound a whole lot more intimidating than a dead bolt,” she said, looking as if this was the first time she’d ever thought about it. And looking dejected. Neither of which made any sense at all to Hazard. “You’re right, they wouldn’t break in if they thought all that would be waiting for them. And Rory would never invite those creeps in the way she would—” She stopped abruptly, dropped her gaze and shrugged one shoulder. “The way she might someone more . . . else. Someone else. Someone less creepy.”

  “Or maybe she didn’t let anyone in because there was no one. Have you considered the possibility that your niece took the pendant?”

  She was already shaking her head. “No way. She doesn’t even know it exists.”

  Interesting, thought Hazard. “So it’s a family heirloom and a family secret.”

  That merited another uneasy, one-shouldered shrug. “Not exactly. She was asleep when I got home from the auction, and there was really no time to get into it this morning. And even if she did know, she wouldn’t know where to look for it. It wasn’t hidden someplace where she could have discovered it accidentally. Which is irrelevant anyway because Rory would never take something that didn’t belong to her. Well, she borrows my clothes sometimes, but she wouldn’t take something like the pendant, not without asking.”

  Hazard said nothing. His personal experience with children was limited to five months, two weeks and three days, many years ago, and he had none at all with teenagers. But even he knew that the best of them were capable of doing all sorts of things others believed they wouldn’t, and shouldn’t.

  “I have to think,” she said, lacing her fingers together and bringing them up so her chin rested on them. “You and the warlocks were my only likely suspects. Make that my only suspects, period. I have no other leads, no other contacts. I can’t call the police. Can’t put up flyers. I don’t even know how much time I have before . . .”

  She didn’t complete the thought; she didn’t have to. Seeing the color drain from her face told him all he needed to know. He wanted to reassure her. At one time he was good at that sort of thing, at putting a woman at ease. Now he grappled for the right words and before he found them, she spoke again.

  “I know that in a normal, ordinary, mortal kidnapping, the first twenty-four hours are critical. But this isn’t ordinary,” she declared with an unmistakable edge of bitterness. “Who knows what the time frame might be?” She blew out a small, disgruntled breath and dragged her fingers through her hair. “I know I have to act fast. I should be doing something, but I have no idea what to do next.”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” So obvious he couldn’t, and didn’t, believe she hadn’t already thought of it.

  She looked at him from beneath raised brows. “To you maybe. Care to share with the slower members of the class?”

  That was definitely an attempt at humor. Maybe.

  “A locater spell would work best,” he told her, “but that takes time. It would be much faster to scry for her.”

  “Scry?”

  “You must have considered that already.”

  “Not in so many words.”

  He regarded her curiously. “But you do know what the word means?”

  “Vaguely.” She shrugged, looking sheepish. “I sort of recall that it involves a crystal ball . . . and a mirror. Or maybe a bowl of water. Black water, that’s it. Either that or a black mirror. It’s been a while.”

  “I’m sure it will come back to you once you get started.”

  She seemed to flinch. “Me? I don’t . . . I never . . . couldn’t you do it?”

  “I can’t.”

  She slid her tongue over her bottom lip, her eyes suddenly brighter and greener with what looked like panic. “Look, I wouldn’t ask if I weren’t desperate. If you want me to promise you the pendant . . . assuming I get it back, that is . . .”

  Hazard shook his head, startled and uncomfortable because she seemed about to say the words he most wanted to hear. “I didn’t say I won’t do it. I said I can’t.”

  “Because I will. Promise you. If you help me find Rory, the pendant is—”

  “You misunderstand. I can’t scry for her because I don’t have that kind of power.”

  She hesitated, somber as she absorbed that. “How much power does it take?”

  “That’s not what I meant. I meant that when it comes to magic, I don’t have any power at all.”

  She made a scoffing sound. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “A lot of this doesn’t make any sense,” he agreed, his tone dry. “But now isn’t the time to try to suss it out. Do you want to find your niece or not?”

  “Of course I want to find her.”

  “Then you’ll have to be the one to scry for her.”

  She caught the edge of her bottom lip between her teeth, looking as stricken as if he’d ordered her to walk the plank. With sharks circling below. “You don’t understand. I don’t . . . I can’t . . . I don’t even know how.”

  “That I can help you with. If you want me to.” He waited. “Well?”

  “I guess . . . what choice do I have?” There was an appeal in her soft voice, as if she were hoping he’d offer one.

  “I’ll take that as a yes. We’ll need a map of the city, and something associated with your niece.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, naturally something containing her blood or a lock of her hair would work best, but anything tied to her will do . . . a favorite book . . . a piece of clothing.” The irony of him explaining elementary magic to her wasn’t lost on Hazard.

  “I can think of a dozen things,” she told him, “but they’re all at home.”

  “Maybe there’s something in your car?”

  “No. Wait . . .” From beneath her sweater, she pulled out a teardrop-shaped gem on a thin gold chain. A deep pink gem, Hazard noted.

  “It’s a special
kind of rose quartz known as the Morning Star.” She held it so he could see the delicate white star nature had embedded within. “Rory gave it to me because she’s named after Aurora, the goddess of dawn. I wear it all the time.”

  “That should do. The map is upstairs in my study. We can work there. The turret is a magical hot spot. Has to do with ley lines and energy currents and—”

  “No. I can’t . . . I’d rather do it down here.”

  He nodded, asking none of the questions brought to mind by her sharp tone and suddenly rigid posture. “All right. I’ll fetch the map and meet you at the kitchen table.” He pointed. “The kitchen is right through—”

  “I know,” she said, already moving in that direction.

  When he returned with the map a few minutes later, she was standing at the kitchen sink, staring out at the backyard with a look of consternation.

  “Are you worried because the sun has set?” he asked.

  She didn’t turning around. “No. I was just looking at your garden.”

  “I wouldn’t call that mess of weeds and stalks and overgrown paths a garden, but I guess it once was.”

  “You’d be surprised,” she said softly, almost wistfully, and then whipped around to face him. “I mean you’d be surprised what a little time and elbow grease could do out there.”

  “Do you like to garden?” he asked, wanting to know more about her.

  “Me?” She laughed. “No. My grandmother is the gardener in our family.” She looked at the map open on the table and folded her arms tightly across her chest.

  “You can do this,” he told her.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of. Let’s just get on with it before I change my mind.”

  Hazard handed her a cardboard canister of salt from the cupboard behind him.

  “Salt?”

  “For casting the circle,” he explained. “You have done that before?”

  If she detected any wryness in his tone she didn’t let on.

  “Yes, but not with salt.”

  He shrugged. “Salt of the earth, to set your parameters . . . assuming she’s still in the earthly realm.”

  “Don’t say that. Don’t even think it.”

  “Sorry. I’m sure she is. Our other option would be to use actual earth, but that’s harder to clean up.” He pulled one bleached oak chair out from the table. “Once you close the circle, you sit here. You’ll need to take off your necklace so you can hold it suspended over the map and move it in a circular pattern, slowly, starting at the center.”

  “And then?” Eve prompted when he didn’t say anything else.

  “And then you call forth energy from wherever it is you call it from and focus it on connecting with Rory. And wait for your morning star to show you where she is at that instant.”

  “I thought scrying was for seeing into the future.”

  “It’s for seeing beyond what you’re able to see with your senses.”

  He extended his arm in a silent invitation for her to begin and then stepped back so that he was outside the circle she was casting. She spoke quietly as she moved around the table, and with a gentle rhythm that made it seem as if her words were sliding over his skin and erasing all the tension inside him.

  “I close this circle with pure intent, with hopeful heart and malice toward none.”

  There was a subtle whoosh of air as the circle closed. It was different from the click he heard when Taggart cast a circle. Quieter, but somehow more forceful.

  He looked on in silence as she sat and followed his instructions exactly. He counted only three slow circles before her arm jerked and there was another much louder whoosh of air; this one he felt as well as heard. It caught him dead center, just above his belt, carried him back ten feet and slammed him hard against the kitchen counter. Hard enough to make his knees buckle and force him to grab for the countertop with both hands. As soon as he’d stopped himself from landing on his ass, he swung his gaze to Eve.

  Her hair looked windblown, but she’d kept her seat and he could see the chain still gripped in her fist.

  “Oh my God, Hazard,” she exclaimed. “It worked.”

  Eight

  “If you’re upset about your map, I’d be glad to replace it.” Hazard didn’t reply. His attention remained fixed on the road ahead and a frown fixed on his face, the way it had been since they’d gotten into his car a few minutes earlier.

  Eve suddenly remembered his claim to be a collector of unique treasures and her heart sank a little. “Unless it was a rare, one-of-a-kind, irreplaceable edition. Please tell me it’s not irreplaceable.”

  “It’s not irreplaceable and I’m not upset about it.”

  “You sound upset. I already promised to have your kitchen table refinished or whatever it will take to get rid of the scorch marks.”

  “I told you that’s not necessary. I really don’t care about the map or the table.”

  “Then what are you upset about?”

  “I’m not upset. I’m . . .”

  “Peeved?” she suggested while he searched for the right word. “Aggravated? Annoyed? Sorry you offered to help me?”

  He glanced sideways at her and there might have been a flicker of amusement beneath the somber brooding. “Thinking. I’m thinking about what just happened. I’ve seen scrying before but never anything close to the show you put on.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean it’s the first time I’ve ever been blown across the bloody room or seen a hole burned straight through the map to what’s under it.”

  “Oh.” She hesitated, torn between wanting to know more and wanting to forget it happened. This time the magic hadn’t been accidental, or a surprise. It had been a matter of choice, her choice, and the fact she’d done it only because she was desperate didn’t ease her misgivings. She would deal with that later, she decided; for now curiosity won out. “What usually happens when someone scrys?”

  “It takes longer for one thing. Whoever’s doing it has to keep moving the object over the map until it eventually connects with the right spot and touches down . . . gently and without any sparks or smoke.”

  “Oh,” she said again. “Why do you suppose it was different this time?”

  “Obviously there was a lot more power there than the circle—or the room—could hold. But then, you already know that since you were the one generating it.”

  “Not really,” she protested. “Not intentionally. All I did was follow your instructions.”

  She didn’t have to turn her head or see the look on his face to know he didn’t believe her; she could feel his suspicion flowing like hot lava.

  “Then how would you explain it?” he challenged.

  “I can’t,” she admitted. “You said yourself things have been happening that don’t make sense.”

  “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it all makes perfect sense . . . just not any kind I understand.” He took a right onto Angel Street and slanted a speculative glance her way. “Yet.”

  “Well, speaking for myself, I don’t need to understand it as long as it helps with the only thing that matters right now . . . finding Rory.”

  “And the pendant,” he reminded her.

  “Of course.” She managed a casual that-goes-without-saying shrug to hide the fact that she was so focused on Rory the pendant had slipped her mind.

  If her power scrying had gotten it right, they were about to find Rory at Prospect Terrace, a small park not too far away, though with traffic crawling from red light to red light, it felt to Eve like they were driving cross country. Hazard had followed her out of the house as if it was understood he’d be going with her, and had taken her firmly by the elbow and steered her to his car as if it was also understood he would be doing the driving. After her initial surprise Eve just accepted the fact that she was glad to have his company—even if he was only there to protect his would-be investment in the pendant—and grateful to be cocooned in the quiet luxury of his car, with its new-car smell and cushy l
eather seats and subtly glowing, gadget-laden dash. If she wasn’t anxious enough to crawl out of her skin any second, she might have settled in and enjoyed the drive. Instead, she sat leaning forward, hands fisted, giving directions he didn’t seem to need.

  Prospect Terrace was in the area of the city known as College Hill because there were several colleges nearby. It was also within walking distance of Braxton Academy, the private school Rory attended, and as Hazard pulled to the curb and parked, Eve had to wonder if maybe Rory was just hanging out with friends and the pendant’s disappearance had nothing to do with her. Maybe she’d been too quick to link the two. Maybe whoever said there are no coincidences was wrong and all of it—Rory, the pendant, the house—was just one big convoluted coincidence. That still didn’t explain what had happened to the pendant, of course, but first things first.

  She was out of the car before the engine shut off and scanning the stretch of grass about a city block wide and half as deep. There wasn’t a lot to see, only a scattering of benches and tall, old shade trees and a view of downtown. Because the park was built on a steep incline, a waist-high black iron fence ran along the back of it to prevent someone from tumbling thirty or so feet of rocky, brush-covered terrain to the street below. On a platform extending beyond the fence were a granite arch and a towering statue of Roger Williams, gazing out over the land he’d founded.

  At first the park appeared to be deserted, and disappointment formed a lump at the back of Eve’s throat that made it hurt to swallow. Then she ventured down one of the paths to where there were no trees blocking her view and she saw someone silhouetted against the twilight sky. Rory . . . Eve recognized the way she stood and held her head, and she started running.

  Rory wasn’t alone. There was a boy with her, a tall, lanky kid straddling a ten-speed bike. At the sound of footsteps running toward them in the darkness they stiffened and turned their heads to look in her direction. It was dark away from the streetlights, so Eve was almost beside them before Rory realized it was her. Immediately her eyes went wide with surprise bordering on horror and her jaw clenched; it was the classic how-could-you-do-this-to-me expression of a teenager unexpectedly confronted by a parent—or reasonable facsimile—in public.