“The number of deaths so far is fourteen,” Neil replied, lowering his voice as he joined Gabi, Joy, and Salma at the table. The others were still in their rooms sleeping. “But if they kill again, that’s fifteen. I’d be more worried if there were nine or thirteen deaths but fifteen is still worrying. Magic converges on threes, and fifteen is a multiplication of three.”
“What does this mean?” Salma asked, beating Joy to the question and taking a long drink of coffee. “What does it change, there being fifteen?”
Neil frowned, a furrow between his brows. Joy felt suddenly and painfully bad for him being here, drawn into their mess, even though she knew he was here by choice. “It means these murders are definitely part of a larger spell, rather than killing for killing’s sake. Which we suspected. But there being fifteen, and that being a component…”
“It’s a big spell,” Joy finished, food turning in her stomach. She looked at Victoriya, surprised when she didn’t offer a quip or nasty remark. She was silent, looking at an orange as she cut it into segments, her face half shielded by a long fall of black hair.
Neil nodded. “One of the biggest I’ve heard about in years.”
“So what do we do?” Gabi asked, wiping croissant remnants off her fingers with a napkin. She was alert, scanning everything going on around them—couples and families dining, kids running between tables, the coming and going of different hotel guests to the breakfast bar. Joy wanted to take her hand and tell her everything would be alright but she didn’t believe that herself. And after last night, when she’d told Gabi the thing at the very heart of her worries … she didn’t want to give empty reassurances. She wanted to fix this, and to find her mum’s killer and—
Kill them.
The thought was loud, even though she tried to press it down into silence. She wanted them to pay, wanted them in the ground, rotting, and she didn’t know what sort of person that made her. A bad one, for not only contemplating how she’d use her blue power but planning it. And maybe it made her something else too—maybe it made her evil.
Joy was so used to being good, the polite girl, the well-behaved kid, the ‘lovely young woman’, that it crept up on her with a knife in the dark, this idea that she could be corrupt. Not inherently wicked for her ability, but for her intentions.
Neil answered Gabi after a stretch of silence. “Without knowing what the spell will do, there’s little we can do.”
“Except find them before they finish it,” Victoriya filled in, her words simmering with twisting emotions. “Except kill them.”
Neil’s voice was very soft when he said, “Even that may not erase the spell.”
“We’d need someone who could work expelling magic,” Gabi said slowly. “An elf.” But not Gabi—her magic was useless for this. Her dad’s might have worked. She’d call him, if they had no other options.
Joy watched Neil consider it before nodding. “That might work. If you could clear every murder scene of the spell—or just wherever the killer is working on the spell components, the campsite maybe—that could wipe away the witchcraft.”
“Or magic,” Joy pointed out. “The killer’s an elf, Salma’s mum said so. It’d be magic, not witchcraft.”
Neil stopped—froze. It happened so suddenly that Joy reached to touch his sleeve, alarmed. As if the words were dredged from unreachable depths inside him, fighting him all the way, he said, “If the killer is an elf with magic, however corrupt, why is the spell one of witchcraft? And it is—the shape of the triangle, the number of deaths, everything points towards it being a spell.” He rubbed his jaw and met Joy’s eyes, and she could tell he was thinking about what Mrs. Nazari had said, that the killer—or the one pulling their strings—had meant to kill Joy, not her mum. But all he said was, “We’re missing something.”
Gabi was quiet, and Joy was too ill to think of something to say. It was Victoriya who spoke, with none of her fire, one of her hands clasping Neil’s with white knuckles. “So you’re saying even if we find this murderer, and kill them, and dispel all the magic connected to them … it might not stop the spell?” Anger flit across her face then, thinning the line of her mouth, sharpening the shape of her jaw. “We need a way to trace them, then. A way to find the asshole casting the spell, if they’re not the one doing the murdering.”
Gabi nodded, coming out of her thoughts. “First things first, we find the one doing the killing. Then we’ll deal with the one in charge.”
They nodded, uneasy. They were all too aware of the fact of the dark elf in the city, and the likelihood that they would kill again. It didn’t fit the pattern or the timeline, but Joy had a gut feeling and she knew Gabi did too. This wasn’t over, not by a long shot.
Later that day Joy knelt on the damp grass, rainwater soaking into the thin fabric of her pastel, swishy skirt. She regretted wearing it as her legs became instantly cold but it was unavoidable; she needed to get as close to the puddle as possible. At least her sturdy black boots were holding up well. They’d gone back to the cemetery, simply because it was quiet and mostly private. Her coven had, at least, minus Eilidh—whose witch coins had stubbornly told her to go with Gabi to meet the cop—but plus Neil. And her stalker who trotted alongside them.
Victoriya and Neil stood a bit behind her, Victoriya staring into the flame of a candle Neil held carefully. It was still a bit strange to see someone Joy thought of firmly as neighbour and friend of her mum here, with her coven, but he fit in surprisingly well. Across the cemetery, Salma and Gus were using their own methods of witchcraft to scry for any glimpse of the killer. The one question they kept firmly in their minds was where are they now?
Amethyst wand gripped tightly, Joy touched her fingertips to a puddle reflecting the grey sky and trees curving overhead, taking a settling breath while she let herself feel the water the way she could because she was fae. Her mum had scryed the same way, but with a potion in one hand instead of crystal. This was risky, especially with no one here to help like Gabi had back in her bedroom, but somewhere between blind refusal and now, she’d accepted what both Gabi and Peregrine told her. She needed to know how this power worked if she was going to stop it leeching magic or witchcraft from anyone else. Using it for little spells seemed a good, if tentative, start.
Some witches with water affinity used sticks for answers—floated two across a pond, each to represent yes and no, near and far, or any other two-answered question, and whichever reached the banks first was the answer—but Joy had never needed to. Nor did she need water crystals or herbs or any other tool to clarify a question. All she needed was her fingertips to water. It had always been that way, but now Joy wondered why her hands hadn’t turned blue when she scryed before—she was, after all, using only her wand and her raw power.
Joy wondered too if every person with two natures—witch and fae or elf—had raw power that wasn’t true witchcraft. But she shook off the thought and focussed on the still puddle, letting her mind empty of everything but the question—where is the killer now?
Her wand was solid in her hand, warm, comforting crystal—it steadied her as the surface of the pool rippled in different shapes. And then Joy shuddered hard, cold skimming along her bones as she saw a long stretch of grass, a proud house sat across it. Closer, under a narrow brace of trees, was a ratty sleeping bag, empty carrier bags, and scattered remains of rubbish. A camp site? Joy was gasping now, looking at this camp site where her mum’s killer slept. The elf who had meant to come for Joy instead.
She blinked and the image was gone.
The killer was camping near a big house? She rubbed her head with wet fingers, water trickling down her face. Freezing inside. What did she need? She sat there for minutes, trying to think through her foggy brain, the chill inside her. She gripped the crystal of her wand to clear her head, to give her an answer. It came slowly—she needed a map.
“Victoriya,” she called, pushing to her feet as her knees protested. Just seeing her coven settled her unease a bit, calmed her
rapid breathing. “Can I borrow your tablet?”
Victoriya drew her eyes from the flame of the purple candle, and when she looked at Joy there were still flames flickering in her dark eyes. She blinked and they were banked, if not gone. “I suppose.” She took it from her bag and handed it over distractedly, her fingers brushing Joy’s, before facing the fire again.
Joy sat on the ground, cross-legged as the grey cat watched her, and was rewarded by a wet bum as she balanced the tablet on her knees. She unlocked it—Victoriya’s password was dontmakemekillyou1—and called up a map app with one hand while she used the other to dig around in her pockets and pull out an aventurine stone on a chain—her pendulum. Her attention snagged on the very tips of her fingers, which were opaque and flat and as blue as a summer sky.
Joy dropped the pendulum as she recoiled, her stomach lurching into her throat, but she managed to hold onto the tablet, instinctively knowing Victoriya would murder her in her sleep for breaking it. Wait … her fingers were edged in blue from the water spell and she’d just taken the tablet from Victoriya. She remembered the feel of their fingers brushing. But Victoriya hadn’t cried out, and Joy checked to see her still looking into the flames, scowling at the image her witchcraft was showing.
Joy’s brow furrowed, confusion distracting from the chill inside her, but some weight deep down in her heart lightened. So it was a choice—a conscious one to hurt.
Joy flexed her empty hand, staring at that chalcedony blue, before she shook her head and reached for the pendulum again. This could wait—but if Gabi’s hunch that the killer would kill again was right, the search could not.
It was a bit jarring to change from scrying in a puddle to dowsing with a pendulum but Joy took a long breath and centred herself, reminding herself and her witchcraft what she wanted—the location of Edith Merrow’s killer. Even if her gut clenched at the thought of knowing where to find them. She precariously balanced the tablet between her legs so she could hold both her wand and the pendulum, and thanks to using the aventurine stone as a tool for her witchcraft, she didn’t have to worry about calling on any raw power.
Show me where the killer is, she thought in a steady inner voice and dangled the green crystal over the digital map of the UK. That sliver of cold intensified as the stone moved decisively on its chain, hovering over the bottom of Scotland. Joy had a very bad feeling as she set her wand down for a moment—the stone went uselessly slack as she did so—and zoomed in on the city of Glasgow. When she picked up her wand and reiterated her command, the pendulum went taut as it moved across the map of the city before finally settling over a park.
“Guys,” Joy yelled, loud enough for her voice to reach Salma and Gus. They came bounding over as Victoriya and Neil clustered around the tablet, already looking anxious because of the fear threaded through Joy’s voice. Victoriya drew a sharp breath, and from the corner of her eye Joy saw Neil inch closer, his arm around her waist.
Gus swore as he saw where the aventurine was indicating and Salma took it in silently. Joy’s heart pounded inside her chest as she waited for someone to say it out loud.
“He hasn’t left,” Gus said quietly.
“Sexist,” Victoriya snapped, fear threaded even through her fury. “The killer could be a woman.”
“Victoriya,” Salma said in that velvety command of hers. And then to all of them, “We need to leave the city.”
“Yes,” Neil agreed instantly, turning.
Victoriya was immovable like a statue. “Joy?”
Joy didn’t want to say it but someone had to. “If they’re still here, doesn’t that mean they’re not finished? Wouldn’t they go back to where they came from?”
“They could come from here,” Salma pointed out.
Joy nodded but she could only stare at the pendulum. “That’s too big a coincidence, isn’t it?”
Salma shrugged; Joy saw from the corner of her eye.
“Basically,” Victoriya said slowly, most of her nastiness gone but some clinging to her words, “we either leave and abandon someone to getting murdered, which seems like a dick move and we all know Pride will never agree to that. Or we stay and risk being murdered ourselves.”
“It wouldn’t be right,” Joy sighed, finally taking her eyes off the pendulum, putting her wand in her pocket so the aventurine went limp again, its witchcraft negated. Joy left the map open, even though she’d burned the area and street names into her memory. “We should wait for Gabi. And … and this is my mum’s killer. I want them to pay for what they did.”
Silence met her words, as if they’d forgotten Joy’s personal stake in this.
There was a killer here in Glasgow, a killer who had murdered Joy's mum, and Joy had a sickening feeling their paths were going to cross. The good part was Joy could punish them, could get justice and vengeance for her mum. But what if the killer found them first? Joy couldn’t help thinking of what Salma’s mum had said.
“Alright,” Joy said on a sigh. “We should phone Gabi. Tell her what we found out about the killer.” She turned to find the rest of them looking to her. “I’ll do it, then,” she sighed.
She only hoped Gabi wouldn’t want to leave the city immediately.
Pride
Santiago Atteberry was a lolloping, broad-shouldered Hispanic man much younger than Gabi had expected—he couldn’t have been older than her. He had floppy dark curls, a wide smile, and a handsome face. And he was elven—Gabi knew it the minute he neared, and saw in his slowing pace that he sensed the same in her.
“You’re kin,” he said with a grin, his eyes sliding inquisitively to Eilidh who stood ramrod straight beside Gabi, her arms crossed over her chest. She’d insisted on coming along, complaining that her coins gave her no choice and she was meant to be here. “And you—you are late.”
Eilidh’s mouth fell open. Gabi looked between the two of them, confused. “Excuse me?” Eilidh managed eventually.
“I thought you’d find me yesterday.”
“Find you,” Eilidh repeated, astounded. She gave a little laugh and said, “Oh. My coins have been telling me about you.”
Santiago looked very pleased but then—his expression fell. “You don’t recognise me.”
Eilidh narrowed her eyes, gripping her talisman hard. “Should I?”
“Atteberry,” Gabi interrupted whatever was going on. Her stomach was a tight knot, her thoughts spinning around her fears of failure. She had too little experience, she was going to screw this up. “I’m here about the death of Edith Merrow. You said you could show me where she died?”
He nodded, his expression smoothing. “Yeah. But we can’t get in without a warrant.”
Gabi’s mood soured further. She assumed he’d have procured one, given the gravity of the situation. She’d told him a seer had predicted another death at least, a whole string of murders at worst. “I need to talk to her neighbours, friends, family. One of them will have a key I can borrow.”
“That’s…” he frowned. “Unorthodox. But alright. It’s not far from here.”
They’d met at a park—Pollok Country Park on the edge of Glasgow’s centre—but there were residential roads bordering it. Gabi and Eilidh followed Santiago around the edge of the park and down a short way to a road of uniform, pale houses with trimmed hedges and freshly washed cars.
“What’s going on?” Gabi whispered to Eilidh as they walked.
Eilidh shook her head, clearly disgruntled. “He’s my soul mate. True love. Whatever. I don’t have time for this.” She hunched her shoulders, her hands in her jacket pocket.
“I don’t think the universe cares if you have time,” Gabi said, amused. “It can’t hurt to talk to him.”
“Good idea.” Eilidh’s voice was bitter, her face speckled red. “Even if I never graduate and my whole life falls apart, at least I can still get the D.”
Gabi raised her eyebrows, close to laughing. “Your life isn’t going to fall apart.”
Eilidh’s eyes were heavy when sh
e turned them on Gabi. “It already has.”
Gabi opened her mouth to reassure her again—she had barely begun her life, and there were so many things she could do even without good grades and a perfect school record—but Santiago pulled up short and said, “Here’s Mrs. Merrow’s house.”
It looked plain and pleasant, unsettling for its normalcy. Gabi had found that most dark and unsettling deeds occurred in places that looked harmless. She lifted the latch on the gate and walked around the side of the house, her eyes alert for signs of disturbance among weeds and grass and garden furniture. Nothing but a slightly out-of-hand lawn. She’d lugged her heavy bag of tools here for no reason.
“Any luck?” Santiago asked when Gabi returned to the front garden. When she shook her head he gave an optimistic shrug. “Well, you never know.” He dug around in a satchel. “Here’s everything I could find out about her. It’s not everything—my supervisor wasn’t too happy I was bothering with a natural causes death.”
Gabi took the slim file, grateful to find information on the victim that went beyond what she’d been able to find online, and a list of friends and family and phone records. “Thank you,” she said. “This will help.”
He nodded, smiling warmly. “Well my number’s in there if you need anything else. It might be better if you contact me instead of the main station. My boss is really pissed at me.”
“Thank you,” Gabi said again, her eyes on the large man rocking awkwardly on his heels. A puppy trapped in a fully-grown body.
“Oh, and I was curious. The other victims—do they have anything missing?”
“Missing,” Gabi repeated, her stomach sinking.
“Yeah. It’s in the file, Edith Merrow had a fingernail missing on her left hand, and it’s probably nothing but I just can’t shake this feeling that it was taken. A trophy, you know?”
“Or a component,” Eilidh said in a flat voice.
Bound Powers Page 17
