The minivan was full of noise but it felt strange for all of them to be together and for Peregrine to not be with them. He’d been spending more and more time at Gabi’s house lately, stealing naps on her couch when his brothers were at school or work, but Scotland was too far for him to go and leave his family behind. Joy understood why he had to stay—he was literally a parent—but she wished he’d come. While her coven in the back pestered Salma for information about her job, her new house, her new friends, Joy sat in the front next to Gabi, turning over a chunk of sea glass, and staring at her hands. Even if they couldn’t hurt anyone without her permission, they still had that power simmering under her skin, waiting to jump out whenever she lost control. It would have been nice to have Peregrine here.
At least she had Gabi. She felt a little steadier when Gabi’s hand reached for her over the gear stick, even if they were getting closer and closer to where the person who killed Joy’s mum had been just a month ago. Joy ought to have felt sick but instead she felt scared and empty.
“Don’t be stubborn,” Eilidh harrumphed in the seat behind Joy. A quick glance showed her working a quick spell with five coins—silver, brass, gold, aluminium, iron. Eilidh was the only witch Joy had ever known to have an affinity with two things—air and metal. “No,” she chided the coins when, upon being tipped into her hand in a random pattern, the wrong one landed face-up. “I asked why I’m failing school, not when I’m going to meet my soulmate.”
“What’d it say?” Victoriya asked, leaning so far into her personal space that Eilidh was pressed against the van door and nearly spilling her bottle of Mrs. Hexgood’s Invigoratingly Tingly Green Tea over her too.
“It said soon, which is annoying and not what I need right now. I need to know why studying and tutor sessions aren’t helping me.”
“Eilidh,” Joy said gently, turning in her seat. “You’ve had a tough time lately. It’s understandable if your schoolwork’s suffering.”
Eilidh’s face clouded over. “No, it’s not. I’ve never got a D in class before and I don’t mean to start now.” Joy must have looked confused because she explained, “I got three Cs in my prelims. Cs, Joy!”
Joy’s eyebrows rose. “What’s wrong with Cs?”
“Yeah,” Victoriya agreed, draining the last of the green tea. She was in a very good mood, either thanks to the tonic or Neil sat close beside her, his hand in hers.
Eilidh scowled at her. “Didn’t you get As in everything?”
“Naturally.”
Eilidh huffed in reply and went back to her coins. Joy watched fondly until she was in danger of developing a crick in her neck. “No, idiots. School! Work! College! My whole life and career resting on these exams in a few months!” Even going to art school, Eilidh needed good scores in maths, English, and the three sciences to get a place.
Joy’s face wanted to smile but her soul was too heavy to let it fully form. “I don’t think the coins are bothered about school, Eilidh. Not when true love is involved.”
Eilidh ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t have time for true love. If I did, I might have bothered to put concealer on my spots or worn something with less holes in.” She did have a point—her galaxy-patterned leggings were worn into hole on the knees, even if they did look really good with her hoodie and acid wash denim jacket. “And who’s to say my true love is even—” She cut herself off, flushing bright ruby, but Joy’s curiosity dropped dead when Salma spoke from the back row.
“We’re in Scotland,” she said, pointing out a sign they were about to pass.
Joy’s stomach tightened. She turned back around in her seat, any bit of positivity ripped from her. A killer had been here last month—Joy’s mum’s killer. She couldn’t help watching everything they passed, as if the monster would be lurking there.
Ammonite
The Shell of Transition
An iridescent brown fossil, Ammonite is a stone of transformation and continual change. Its spiral has long been believed to draw in negative energies and transform them into neutral energy.
Pride
Their first stop was the funeral directors. Paulina had come through and got them permission to view the body, concocting some story about them being Edith Merrow’s family, so Gabi, Neil, and the coven followed a balding man in an apron into a very brown room with push carpet and a coffin sat on a stand before them. Gabi looked over Joy’s head at Gus; he nodded back, and dug his hand into his pocket for a twist of dead flowers and fragrant herbs, his other hand cutting his wand through the air towards the funeral director. Headache hex.
The same pulse of wrongness that had surrounded Charity Mackenzie’s bedroom hung around the coffin. Gabi quickly developed her own headache, but this was the final proof, the final confirmation that Gabi was right—it was all connected, not by coincidence but by a murderer.
Gabi watched closely as the man opened the casket. Victoriya came as close as Gabi but the others hung back. Neil had his hands clenched into fists and Gabi wondered how it felt for him to be here surrounded by so much death when decay was the source of his witchcraft. Overwhelming? Painful? But no, his eyes were glazed. A rush of power, she guessed. Had she just done the equivalent of bringing a vampire to a blood bank?
“Take as long as you like,” the funeral director said. “I’ll give you some space.” Rubbing his temple, he exited the room. Gabi shut the door and clapped Gus on the arm. “Nice job.”
“I was awesome, right? He didn’t even notice.”
“Not that you’re bragging,” Eilidh said, rubbing her temples. They couldn’t spend long here, not with that insidious magic staining the air.
“Alright,” Victoriya sighed, straightening her shoulders. “Let’s get this shit over with.”
Neil edged closer but didn’t touch her as Victoriya thrust her hand into the coffin, her fingers closing around Edith Merrow’s wrist. She tensed, inhaling sharply, and everyone took a step closer as if to stop her, protect her. Gabi very quickly realised Victoriya was her number one priority, any information about the killer coming second.
“Vic?” Neil asked in a low voice.
She didn’t reply. Gabi shared a look with Joy; should they stop her? How long was too long for her to be using her psychometry? Gabi was about to pull her back when Victoriya groaned, let go, and stumbled back into Neil.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured.
Victoriya took seven long, loud breaths, blinking. Gabi watched, her stomach knotting. “That,” Victoriya spat finally, “was disgusting. Did you know middle aged women still wear thongs?”
Everyone exhaled a common breath of relief. Thank gods, Gabi thought, remembering Victoriya fainting when she read Freya.
“I mean it,” she kept snarling. “I just had to watch gross sex, and for nothing. She wasn’t scared or being followed or anything. And her eighty-year-old boyfriend—whose wrinkly, saggy arse I saw every inch of, thanks Pride—is human. Not the killer.”
“Hey.” Gabi held up her hands. “You suggested this.”
Victoriya glared, at least until Neil tugged her closer, relief in every angle of him. Gabi watched Victoriya melt, surely some form of magical phenomena.
“So we found nothing?” Joy asked quietly.
Victoriya glared at the coffin, like it was the victim’s fault. “Nothing helpful. She missed bingo because her usual ride had flu. She had a hideously passionate night with her boyfriend. She had a weird as fuck dream about her first husband who became a bear and devoured her, and she was still alive inside his stomach, screaming. I think that was the night she died actually, there’s nothing after that.”
Gabi fought a sigh. “Well thanks for trying.”
Victoriya nodded.
“Wait,” Salma said as they turned to leave. “Think about it. She died in her sleep. While dreaming?”
Gabi stilled, cold focus filling her, her mind jumping from thought to thought. She shut out the discussion of the coven, walking into the corner so she could think
. Joy shushed everyone.
“Yes,” Gabi said finally. Breathless as she looked at everyone. They stared at her, expectant and a bit freaked out, a bit hopeful. “You’re exactly right, Salma, thank you. My dad used to ... when I had nightmares, he could use his magic to calm me through the environment, to change the energy to make my nightmares into dreams. The killer could be doing the opposite with their corrupt power.”
“You can die of fear,” Gus said, his eyes bright with excitement. “Heart attack, that kind of thing. If they were so scared in their sleep, they could have died in real life.”
Gabi nodded, her heart racing. “Exactly.”
Joy’s shuddering breath snapped Gabi out of it. Brought reality back. This was about Joy’s mum as much as Mrs. Merrow. And she’d just learned she’d probably died of fear.
There were two victims killed in this area. Mrs. Merrow, the last victim, and a woman called Mary Giles, the first death that had started the triangle. Gabi kept her hand around Joy’s as they walked under the wrought iron frame into the cemetery where Mary Giles had been recently buried, lucky it was still open this late—thanks to Salma turning up late, everything else would have to wait until tomorrow.
She needed to know if that same burning, wrong feeling that had coated Joy’s mum’s room was here, on the first victim.
Salma, Gus, Victoriya, and Neil went ahead, Eilidh staying back with Gabi and Joy, and Maisie skirting the edge of the night-dark cemetery, hoping not to be noticed—a fox might alarm people. Gabi watched Joy from the corner of her eye as they walked slowly; she wanted to run ahead, wanted to know, but Joy was more important than her impatience. And it wasn’t long before Salma turned from the grave and headed back, nodding her head.
“It’s the same,” Victoriya confirmed. She looked as disturbed and angry as the first time she’d sensed that wrong power, her hand white around Neil’s.
“Do you know what it is?” Neil asked Gabi, a furrow between his brows.
She wished she did. “Do you?”
“It’s not witchcraft. I can say that for certain.”
Gabi processed this, another final confirmation. “So elven magic like Mrs. Nazari said, but corrupt somehow.” Gabi hadn’t had that click of recognition she got when she felt environmental power but that didn’t mean anything. The power was so twisted it was nothing like her own.
Salma nodded her agreement.
Gabi’s attention snapped to Gus as he spun, scanning the gravestones. “Hey, shit, where’s my sister?”
“Over there,” Victoriya replied with a shrug. “Glaring at Joy’s cat.”
“Oh right,” he replied automatically, and then, “Wait—what?”
Gabi narrowed her eyes. Surely not...
But she followed everyone else’s focus, Joy frowning as she did the same. Victoriya was right. A red fox with black socks and tail stood a few paces from a rather large ball of grey fur and anger. For a moment, Joy’s mouth hung open. Then she stomped past trees and rows of graves, Gabi close behind, and said, “What the hell are you doing here?” Maisie made an affronted sound. “Not you, Mais. I’m talking to my stalker.”
The cat puffed out her tail, way past irritated. Gabi debated a step back, wary of its claws.
“Alright,” Joy said, deflating as she knelt in front of the cat. “What do you want, lady?”
The cat let out a long yowwww as she approached; Joy braved the anger and claws to run her hand down the cat’s back as Gabi watched, amazed. As soon as Joy began stroking her, the cat’s tail returned to its normal size and state of fluff and she leant her head into Joy’s hand.
“Did you just miss me?” Joy asked quietly.
The baleful look she got in response suggested the cat had missed her but against her better judgement.
“Alright,” Joy said. “I’m picking you up. Don’t bite me.” Gabi blinked in surprise when the cat allowed herself to be nestled in Joy’s arms, no wriggling, yelling, or scratching.
“That is so weird,” Gus remarked, having come closer. “Mais, can you talk to her? Figure out what she’s doing here?”
Maisie shook her snout. The cat definitely wasn’t a witch shifter then.
“What now?” Joy asked, her eyes straying over the graves, the trees, the buildings bordering the plot of land.
“I need to meet Santiago Atteberry, but that’ll have to wait until tomorrow,” Gabi said, sighing. She wanted to keep going, find answers instead of more questions, but the dark sky forced her to stop. “Now? We find somewhere to stay for the night.”
Joy
“This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” Gus declared, moaning as he shoved another bhaji into his mouth. Joy fondly watched him stuff his face; he was absolutely correct, the food was amazing. They’d gone to an Indian take away down the road from the Travelodge they were forced to check into thanks to being no closer to finding the killer, and now they sat with their backs against iron railings that overlooked the River Clyde, listening to the gentle sounds of moving water and the wind kicking up, the remnants of a failed spell scattered between their feet.
“We should try casting as a coven,” Salma decided when they were finished eating. Joy looked at her, a little in surprise, a little apprehensive. The last time they’d cast together, it had gone horribly wrong. Joy remembered the feel of the witchcraft speaking through her. Salma saw her nervousness and added, “I think I know what the problem is. Why you were vulnerable.”
“Enlighten us then,” Victoriya sniped, demolishing a coriander naan with violent fingers while Neil watched, amused.
“I think it’s her.” At first Joy didn’t know who Salma meant but of course she meant the cat, who had followed them from the cemetery into Gabi’s minivan and then across the city, faithfully shadowing them. “Joy, I think she’s your familiar.”
The cat let out a long meow as if to say, finally.
“Oh,” Joy said, looking at the puffed-up grey cat. “Really?” The cat only gave her a baleful look. “Well, sorry,” she said defensively, “but I’m not a mind reader.”
The cat turned up her nose but did sidle close enough to lay against Joy’s legs. “Alright,” she said, watching the creature. “Let’s try another spell.” Their individual ones had got them nowhere—they needed more power, Joy suspected, to be able to follow the wrong sense of magic from the sleeping bag to its owner.
Victoriya, Gus, and Eilidh shuffled around until they were all sat in a vague circle, and Gabi and Neil moved out of the way. Unlike the first, now-discarded attempt, which had been a make-do potion bubbled in a tiny iron pot over Victoriya’s flame, this was a simple incantation. Salma spoke the spell first and the six had joined hands, repeating it back. Even after the first recitation, Joy could tell it was going to work. Maisie, at her side, must have too, because she let out a pleased rumble.
By the next cycle of the words, Joy could see an image behind her closed eyes: a terrace house in a run-down area, grey pockmarked walls, a beaten-up motorbike in its overgrown yard. Joy tried to memorise the details—the door number was thirty-four and it was close to water, she could hear it in the distance—but the scene shifted to show a much larger detached house in a different neighbourhood, a glossy green door with twelve spelled out in polished gold numbers and a well-loved herb garden marching up the front lawn.
Joy gasped as the vision released her; her eyes flung open to see the rest of her coven blinking too. “Did you just see—”
“Two places,” Victoriya snarled. “Two damned places. How are we meant to know which is which?”
Joy flapped her hand at Gabi, signalling her to hand over the notebook she’d been writing in all day, and Joy scribbled every detail of each scene she could call up from her memory. It wasn’t much but it was better than nothing. She passed the book around, skipping Maisie because she couldn’t write, and the others added to her notes.
Gabi frowned as she looked over their scrawlings, her teeth worrying her bottom lip like she always did
when she was scared. Joy got to her feet without really thinking it through and put her hand on Gabi’s back, being the one to comfort for once instead of the one needing reassurance.
“We need to split into two groups,” Gabi said, the words forced. “There’s no other option.”
Joy nodded. “We’ll figure something out.”
“At least we actually saw something,” Eilidh offered, gripping her feather talisman tight, and she was right. They were lucky to have got one clear image let alone two. She sighed, a long, frustrated breath. “And if we need back-up, I’m sure Atteberry will volunteer.”
Atteberry? Referring to him by surname? And in such a careful tone? Joy raised an eyebrow—a move stolen from Gabi—but the eyebrow was ignored. Joy wondered if her coins had told her more than she’d let on.
Gabi nodded stiffly, tense enough that her back was a straight line beneath Joy’s hand. “We should go back to the hotel. Tomorrow … we’ll need to find those addresses and have someone watching them at all times.”
“In case the killer turns up?” Gus asked.
Gabi looked past the railings at the dark slash of the river. “Yeah, in case the killer turns up.”
“We should start preparing defensive spells,” Salma said, collecting their things into a big canvas bag. “Just in case.”
Joy didn’t want to clarify what was just in case—just in case they ran into the killer, or just in case the killer came after Joy like they’d meant to the first time, when Joy’s mum had died.
“I’m worried about the number,” Neil announced by way of greeting the next morning as he walked into the breakfast hall looking shabby and tired. Victoriya, at his side, looked tired and explosive, though Joy had a feeling she wasn’t as likely to explode in Neil’s face as much as she was in one of her coven members’.
“What number?” Gabi asked, lifting her head from where she’d been methodically tearing apart a croissant.
Bound Powers Page 16
