Unleashing Echoes (Reconstructionist 3)

by Meghan Ciana Doidge

  I stepped up beside an anemic-looking cedar tree that might have been intended as the start of a hedge when it was first planted. From there, tucked into the corner of the yard and somewhat shielded from Jasmine’s view, I retrieved my phone from my bag and texted Declan. A rare but not completely unusual form of communication between myself and Jasmine’s brother. We’d been in tentative contact since we’d all gone back to work, leaving the manor — if not its magic — to Jasper, and Connecticut in general to our family.

  Would you call Jasmine again? She’s … off.

  Intense magic bloomed inside the circle, pressing against its edges. I quickly shoved my phone in my bag, taking another step back to bring me up against the fence.

  Jasmine swore viciously from somewhere in the alley. Likely because she hadn’t had time to place all the distraction spells.

  A vibrant cloud of blue-and-white-streaked magic filled the circle, then a darker outline of three figures appeared within it.

  “Impressive,” I murmured, completely awed by the strength of the spell. I could feel it involuntarily, even beyond the barrier of my circle and my own personal shields.

  Jasmine jogged back through the gate into the yard, slowing to smooth her suede jacket.

  The cloud of magic cleared within the circle, settling down and into the trio standing shoulder to shoulder.

  A woman in her early twenties with lavender-dyed hair cast her gaze around the circle, curling her lip. “Four feet wide? You couldn’t have spared us a little more space?”

  “I … well …” My gaze skipped over the sneering witch to take in the other two within the circle. “We didn’t expect … three …”

  Standing in the middle, short enough that she had to practically peek over her companions’ shoulders, the reader was unmistakable. Her eyes were pale blue, practically white. She was covered head to toe, wearing a light beige raw-silk dress, elbow-length white-beaded knit gloves, and low-heeled boots of supple brown leather. Even at a glance, I felt certain that every item she wore was handmade — likely indicating that she was so sensitive, she had to know the people who made her clothing so as to not be overwhelmed by any imprint they left behind. So sensitive that she couldn’t touch anyone or anything with her bare skin.

  The third figure was dressed in shades of charcoal, including a turtleneck, tightly woven slacks, and gloves. A long blade was strapped to her right thigh. Without lowering my personal shields, I had no idea what type of magic the tall, exceedingly slim, olive-skinned Adept wielded. I also wasn’t entirely sure whether I was guessing correctly that she was a woman.

  The lavender-haired witch glanced between Jasmine and me, widening her sneer. “You’d think Fairchilds would know better.” Then she reached forward and ripped through my circle with no effort at all.

  A sharp pain shot through my head. I couldn’t stop myself from pressing my fingertips to my temple, exposing my platinum white-picket-fence bracelet on my wrist.

  The reader gasped. “Lavender! That’s just rude.” She had a broad American accent.

  The witch had no identifiable accent. Though by the way she’d torn through my circle as if doing so was a display of power, not simply childish petulance, it seemed likely that she’d been raised with money and the status that came with it. As Jasmine and I had been. But the sight of my bracelet — to which her gaze was now glued — and all the magic it held had wiped the sneer from her face.

  “I’m Nevada,” the reader said. “This is Shadow.” She indicated the dark-clothed androgynous figure to her left. “And Lavender, you’ve met.”

  “Jasmine. Lead investigator. Tech.” My cousin offered up her name cordially enough, but her hand was buried deeply within her bag. It was an easy guess that she was clutching one of the offensive spells Declan had crafted for her when we’d faced off against Yale and his brood in Litchfield. Her gaze was riveted to Lavender.

  The purple-haired witch tapped her foot, impatiently waiting for me to identify myself. She was wearing wickedly pointed shoes that were just a shade darker than her hair.

  I swallowed an involuntary smile.

  Lavender followed my gaze to her feet, frowning. And when she lifted her eyes to meet mine, the balance of power had shifted between us. In my favor.

  They were practically children. Though I had no doubt that the reader was powerful enough to do her job.

  I stepped forward, offering my right hand to the witch. “Wisteria Fairchild, reconstructionist.”

  Lavender hesitated, eyeing my bracelet. Then she stiffened her shoulders and grasped my hand. Because Adepts rarely voluntarily touched each other, my offering my hand was almost impolite — if an Adept refused the gesture, it would make them appear weak.

  The witch dropped my hand almost immediately.

  Ignoring her, I offered my hand to the reader next, who barely topped five feet. She met my gaze with delight, eagerly reaching forward.

  “Nevada,” Lavender snapped.

  Ignoring the witch’s caution, the reader grasped my hand, stepping toward me and gazing up into my eyes. Even through her gloves, her magic instantly brushed me, curling around my outstretched arm, then reaching up to tickle my senses. I’d never felt anything like it. But if she gleaned any insight from our contact, I had no idea what it might be.

  She smiled widely, revealing slightly crooked eye teeth. Then she breathed my name as if we were old friends who hadn’t seen each other in decades. “Wisteria Fairchild.”

  I smiled politely. “We are well met, Nevada.”

  The reader nodded, reluctantly releasing her hold on my hand, then looking toward Jasmine hopefully. It was an easy guess that she rarely came into contact with anyone — or at least with anyone willing to touch her.

  Jasmine glanced at me uneasily.

  I smiled reassuringly.

  My cousin stepped forward to clasp hands with Nevada.

  As she did, I offered my hand to Shadow, who simply inclined her head respectfully in response.

  “Shall we move on?” Lavender asked. Her tone was slightly more professional. “The distraction spells won’t stop anyone from looking through the windows.”

  Jasmine stuck her chin out, but withheld whatever retort she wanted to level at the witch.

  It was a safe bet that Lavender, who pointedly hadn’t offered up her last name even though she knew ours, belonged to one of the main families of the Convocation. Her prejudice upon meeting us was too marked for it to be otherwise. No one liked a Fairchild witch. Unless, of course, they needed something done that took as much guile as it did magical power.

  Though the lavender-haired witch didn’t appear to be lacking in the power department. Based on what I could still feel of it, the transportation spell that had brought her and the others to Chicago was of her own casting. Hers alone.

  Given the obvious sensitivity of the reader and the power level of the witch, it was an equally easy guess that Shadow’s role within the trio was that of a bodyguard. It was also likely that the three of them had trained together, forming a set team based around Nevada. Evidently, the Academy had sent us a young team, but also a highly valued resource.

  “We believe that Coral Cameron’s mind has been tampered with,” Jasmine said, turning toward the steps that led to the kitchen patio.

  “We’ll assess that,” Lavender said pertly.

  Shadow gestured for me to follow the others as they climbed the back stairs and entered the house.

  I nodded politely, but the skin between my shoulder blades crawled for every moment that she was behind me. I still had no idea what type of Adept Shadow was, and that unnerved me. From the bodyguard role that I perceived for her, paired with a slim-but-tall stature that didn’t indicate any obvious strength, I might have guessed she was a vampire.

  Except I knew vampires. And Shadow wasn’t one. Vampires didn’t attend the Academy. And vampires weren’t trusted to protect powerful readers.

  But the trio and whatever magic they wielded beyo
nd telepathy wasn’t any of my business. My business was finding Ruby Cameron. And I fervently hoped that Nevada was capable of catching a glimpse of the child in Coral’s mind. Otherwise, we didn’t have any leads.

  As Jasmine, Lavender, Nevada, and I approached the living room, but before any of us could step in, Shadow slipped past us in the hall. Crossing through to the front windows that looked onto the main street, she scanned the block, then drew the drapes, prowling back through the room.

  I hovered in the doorway as Jasmine, Nevada, and Lavender entered. With Coral still perched on the armchair and Jon on the couch, the room was too tiny for all of us to cram into it.

  Moving swiftly, Shadow exited the living room without a word, checking the locks on the front door, then moving past me to slip up the stairs and explore the rest of the house.

  Coral locked her dull-blue gaze on Nevada as the reader stepped up to the back of the couch. The witch’s expression was intensely desperate.

  In the process of standing and perhaps intending to greet the newcomers, Jon stumbled back a few steps as the living room was invaded by Adepts. He almost tripped over the coffee table as he pressed back against the mantel. Ruby’s picture sat just above his left shoulder. And in that moment, I realized that the photo must have been placed on the mantel by Jon himself. Coral had confined every other bit of evidence that she had a daughter to the pink and purple room on the second floor.

  Jon’s eyes darted between each of the Adepts arrayed before him, settling his concerned gaze on me — as if he found me the most comforting presence out of everyone, which bore thinking about. Between Jasmine and I, he should have been looking to my cousin for assurances.

  I smiled. But since I had no idea what was about to happen, I couldn’t offer him any platitudes.

  “This is the reader who I told you the Academy was going to send to help Coral,” Jasmine said. “Nevada, this is Coral and her brother, Jon.” She didn’t bother introducing Lavender. A deliberate snub that wasn’t particularly professional. But it was Jasmine’s investigation, so she set the tone.

  And since the lavender-haired witch’s juvenile power play had already given me a headache — literally — I understood where Jasmine’s irritation was coming from.

  “Is that Ruby?” Nevada gestured toward the picture on the mantel without looking away from Coral.

  When his sister didn’t answer, Jon nodded, then forced himself to speak. “Um, yes. Yes.”

  “How recent is the picture?” Lavender asked.

  “Um, recent. Within six months. I … I took it the last time I saw Ruby … and Coral. In New Hampshire.”

  “Hi, Coral,” the reader said. “I’m Nevada.”

  “Hi, Nevada,” Coral replied dreamily, as if she might already be partly caught in the reader’s thrall. Though as far as I’d seen, Nevada hadn’t touched her, and I couldn’t feel any magic shifting between them.

  “You didn’t secure the front of the house,” Lavender said snottily to Jasmine.

  “It wasn’t necessary,” Jasmine said.

  “It is now.” The purple-haired witch pressed her hand against the curtained front windows, then clucked her tongue. “No wards? Really?” She glanced at Jon disparagingly.

  He shifted, uncomfortable and wretched. Already blaming himself for a situation that had been entirely beyond his control.

  Magic bloomed underneath Lavender’s hand, slipping up across the front walls. I wasn’t certain which spell she’d cast without the benefit of a circle. But I also wasn’t about to question a witch who was obviously still trying to show off her magical prowess to Fairchild witches who outranked her, both as investigators and within the established pecking order of the Convocation families.

  “The Camerons don’t practice their craft here,” I said coolly. I couldn’t have cared less about whatever dominance games the junior witch thought she had to play.

  Lavender snorted. “No wonder the girl got snatched.”

  “Excuse me?” Jasmine growled, rounding on the witch with her arms held stiffly at her sides. “We’re here to ascertain what happened to Ruby, not to disparage her family.”

  Lavender flicked her gaze to me, but then had the sense to look back at Jasmine warily.

  “Thank you, Lavender,” Nevada said, before either Jasmine or I could take the inconsiderate witch to task any further. “You may leave if you’re uncomfortable. Neither Wisteria, Jasmine, Jon, or Coral are going to hurt me.”

  Lavender looked momentarily chagrined. Then she crossed her arms and eyed us all smugly. “I doubt they could get within reach of you, reader.”

  “None of us are that stupid,” Jasmine said snidely, heavily implying that Lavender was the only idiot in the room.

  “May I take your hand, Coral?” Nevada asked, stripping off her knit gloves as she kneeled before the muddled witch.

  Coral nodded. Her eyes were wide, trusting.

  “Um,” Jon said. “Um, wait.”

  “It’s okay, Jon,” Nevada said. “I won’t hurt her. We want to figure out what happened to Ruby, yes?”

  Jon nodded, tears edging his eyes.

  Nevada lifted her hand, inviting Coral to touch her.

  The witch’s hand floated up. Then she settled it down onto the reader’s open palm, gasping with awe.

  “I’m here,” Nevada said. Her eyes were glowing a soft, silvery white. “I’m here in the room with you. Do you see me, Coral?”

  The witch nodded, then spoke. “I do. I see you.”

  “I’m also in your head. You can feel me there. But I’m not going to hurt you. All right?”

  “All right,” Coral echoed, whispering.

  “Show me Ruby,” Nevada asked. “Show me your baby girl.”

  Coral’s eyes filled with tears. Her face collapsed into an expression of utter misery and she started shaking.

  Jon darted forward. But before his fingers could make contact with his sister’s shoulder, Shadow was in the room, grabbing his wrist. I hadn’t even seen her return to the main floor or slip past me in the doorway. Her hold looked light, but Jon cried out at her sudden appearance.

  “It’s best to not touch her right now,” Lavender said. Her tone was kinder than at any point since she’d set foot in the backyard.

  Shadow let Jon go, stepping back to join me in the doorway.

  Jon nodded in acceptance of their caution, but he continued to hover behind his distraught sister.

  “Coral?” Nevada asked. “When was the last time you saw Ruby?”

  Coral shook her head violently, gripping Nevada’s forearm with her other hand. Speechless in her desperation.

  “I’ve never seen this sort of block before.” Nevada’s tone was remote.

  My heart pinched.

  “A spell?” Jasmine asked. “A geas? A vow?”

  Nevada shook her head. “No. Her thought pathways are blocked … wait … there.”

  Coral jerked upright, crying out.

  “He took my baby! He took my baby! He took her …”

  Her voice quieted, but she kept repeating herself. Whispering the phrase over and over again as she rocked back and forth.

  “We’ll find her,” Jasmine said fiercely, stepping up behind Nevada. “We’ll find Ruby, Coral.”

  My cousin glanced in my direction, but then looked away before I could read her expression.

  “Can you see who took her?” I asked.

  Nevada shook her head. “Not yet. The block is pretty solid, but I see … cracks.” The glow of her eyes intensified.

  “He took Ruby,” Coral said insistently.

  “Yes,” Nevada said. “He took her.”

  Coral exhaled intensely, relief softening her posture.

  “Where, Coral?” Nevada asked gently, tilting her head slightly. “Where was the last time you saw Ruby?”

  Coral opened her mouth to respond, then stopped as if her voice had been stolen from her. She moaned, fighting to speak past whatever was consuming her words.

&n
bsp; My heart pinched again. Then, unable to continue watching Coral’s painful struggle while I had no opportunity to help her, I looked away. I focused instead on Jasmine, whose gaze was glued to Coral and Nevada intently. My cousin’s features were sharper than usual. She’d lost weight. Living under the same roof as we had been the past four months, I clearly hadn’t noticed the day-to-day change in her. But standing across the room now in unfamiliar surroundings, I could see the hollows underneath her eyes and cheekbones.

  “It’s okay. It’s okay,” Nevada murmured soothingly to Coral. Then, with a twist of a smile, she turned to look at me, reaching out her other hand. “Reconstructionist, I’ve got a location, I think. A starting point, at least.”

  Not even pausing to question why she was addressing me rather than Jasmine, the lead investigator, I pushed off the doorframe, reaching my hand toward her. I was desperate to get out of the room, to be useful.

  Nevada’s fingers brushed against mine, transferring a hint of her magic. The image of a set of swings, a large blue plastic slide, and green-painted benches bloomed in my mind. “A park,” I said. “Playground.”

  Jasmine applied her fingers to her phone while I looked at Jon questioningly.

  He shrugged. “I’m sorry. I don’t know the area well.”

  “There are three parks within walking distance,” Jasmine said, retrieving her brown suede jacket off the arm of the couch. Fixated on Coral and Nevada, I hadn’t seen her take it off. “We’ll look for residual magic. Will you be all right here?”

  “Why wouldn’t we?” Lavender asked snarkily.

  “I was talking to Jon and Coral,” Jasmine said. “You know, because of your delightful presence.”

  Lavender looked disconcerted. Apparently, the witch was unaware of how off-putting she was. Or maybe this was just the way she reacted to Fairchild witches.

  “We’ll be fine,” Jon said stiffly. “Just find Ruby, please.”

  “I’m going to need some more time with Coral,” Nevada said. “I think I can remove the block on her mind. It’s brutish, without any sense of finesse. But it would be helpful if I first understood how it got there. What kind of Adept affected her this way.”