“I don’t think it’s here,” I said, “but it was. There are a lot of magical artifacts here, however.”
I began going through drawers and cabinets and closets. I found jewelry, pottery, statuettes, weavings, plus gems and crystals that either stored magic or were magical in themselves. Almost all of them had a feeling of age.
“Weber’s been collecting magically-enhanced objects for a long time,” I said.
“It was the focus of his work,” Isabella said. “He was known in archeological circles for his emphasis on religion and rituals in ancient cultures. In paranormal and magical circles, he was known for his obsession with magical artifacts.”
Picking up a pendant with a large moonstone, I asked, “Do I have to leave all this here?”
Isabella shrugged. “I don’t care. As far as I know, the university is still debating how, and whether, to incorporate paranormal studies into their curricula. Found something you like?”
I held up the pendant. “It has a protection-against-magic charm.” Pointing to a small, rough-carved statuette that looked like a pregnant gargoyle, I said, “That thing needs to be thrown in the ocean. It’s filthy, and I would hate for anyone to use it.”
“Any idea what it does?”
“Yes. It uses blood magic to kill things—animals and plants. It was created out of jealousy and spite. It’s the kind of thing that dark mages with small minds create.”
“Wonderful,” she said. “How do we transport it?”
I held up a silk bag that I’d found. “Put it in here. Try not to touch it directly. We’ll drive out to the Bay and chuck it overboard.”
She looked dubious. “It won’t hurt the fish or water plants?”
“No, it would need to be activated, and salt water will prevent that. It’s the kind of simple blood spell that any idiot could perform. But it will sink to the bottom and hopefully be buried in the mud forever.”
Isabella took the bag and slipped it over the little carving. “How old is it?”
“Ancient. Thousands of years.”
When we walked out of the building, Isabella asked, “So, what now?”
“We know where it isn’t,” I said. “Either Weber stashed it somewhere, or his killer has it. What else do we know about Weber? Did he own a vacation home or a boat? If he was trying to sell the statue here in Washington, I wouldn’t think he’d hide it too far away. But first, we get rid of that hideous fetish.”
“And where do you plan to do that?”
I grinned. “Have you had a chance to sample our wonderful Chesapeake Bay blue crabs?”
We took Highway 50 toward Annapolis and then to the Bay Bridge.
“How good is your arm?” I asked. When I received a blank look, I clarified. “How well can you throw?”
An equally blank look with a bit of a head shake was my answer. “I don’t know. Why?” Isabella said.
I pulled over at a gas station, filled up the truck, and when we got ready to leave, I said, “You drive.”
As we pulled out into traffic, I said, “I think we’re being followed.” The same car had been parked outside the Archeology buildings.
“The blue car?” Isabella asked. “I thought it was kind of a strange coincidence.”
“Just drive, and once we get on the bridge, stay in the right lane.”
At the apex of the bridge, one hundred eighty feet above the Chesapeake Bay, I rolled down my window and threw the ugly fetish carving as hard as I could over the railing. I twisted in my seat and watched it drop into the waters below.
The blue car, two cars behind us, slammed on its brakes, skidded, and was rear-ended by the car behind it. A chain reaction crash followed.
“Wow,” Isabella said, looking in the rearview mirror.
“Don’t watch them! Watch the road!” It had taken a true act of faith to ride over that bridge with someone else driving. I tried not to be a control freak, but high bridges scared the hell out of me. Too many drivers like the fool in the blue car.
“Yes, mother,” she replied with a sly grin.
We drove down to St. Michael’s and ordered a dozen crabs for lunch. Isabella figured out how to crack them a lot quicker than I did my first time. On the other hand, she ate everything but the shells. I ate only the meat. On our way back, the radio alerted us that one side of the bridge was closed due to a wreck, and the other span was carrying two-way traffic.
I managed to make it to the hospital as Josh was checking out. I met his parents and assured them that I would take care of all the bills, including their hotel and rental car, while they were in DC. It was the second summer that Josh had worked full-time for me, and I wanted him and all of my employees to know that I stood by them. Hopefully, the Werewolves had learned their lesson.
That night, I was awakened by the Fairies. When I went outside to see what the problem was, they told me that the same man had come back and tried magic to get past the fence again. He hadn’t been any more successful than the previous night.
The following morning, I spoke to Isabella about our visitor. She was sitting in my kitchen working on her laptop when I came back from setting up my crews for the day.
“If he comes back tonight, I’m thinking of preparing a surprise for him,” I said.
She grinned. “I’ve been staying inside your fence, but that tree has limbs that hang over the park. So, what kind of surprise do you have in mind?”
“I can’t throw fireballs or direct lightning, or anything showy like that,” I began, “but I can manipulate plants. And most mages, human mages at least, don’t seem to have much interest in that sort of thing.”
Isabella looked out the window at the oak tree. “How fast can you make things grow?”
“There are varieties of bamboo that grow a foot a day during their growing season. With a little encouragement, I can push that to several feet a minute. If I set the rhizomes today, they’ll be ready tonight. The idea is to fence him in and then see what happens.”
“Should be fun.” She motioned to her computer. “I was reading the news about that crash on the bridge yesterday. The driver of the blue car was Abner Wilcox.”
“I wondered if he was the mage coming around here at night.”
“Not last night. He’s in the hospital. He’s not hurt too badly, but he’s in Annapolis. Reading between the lines, he should be out either today or tomorrow. He’ll have to get another car, though.” She held up her laptop so I could see the picture of six cars piled up. Wilcox sat on the ground near his car talking to a cop.
“Wonderful. So, my stalker here is another stupid mage who thinks we have the statue.”
“Sort of looks that way.”
A number of plants grow from rhizomes, which is a modified plant stem. Among them are irises and bamboo. I grabbed several bamboo rhizomes from storage, hopped the fence, and planted them along a twenty-foot stretch of the fence near my cottage and about ten feet from it.
A number of Pixies came to investigate what I was doing, and I gave them a few sugar crystals while explaining that my nighttime visitor was not a friend. Pixies were far wilder and more savage than Fairies, and truth be told, not nearly as intelligent. Like Fairies, they were extremely territorial.
I spent most of the morning preparing the mockups for the client in Fairfax County and emailed them to her, then drove over to Chevy Chase to meet with the client who I’d stood up when Josh and Sam were attacked.
The woman in Chevy Chase attempted to talk me down from my price, but when I started showing her how we could scale the project down, she quickly backed off. Bargaining over cost was one human behavior I had never understood. An Elf set a fair price, and either you wanted it at that price, or you didn’t. Not that Elves were always honest. Alaric never worked for anything that he could steal instead.
I drove back to the nursery, frequently checking my rearview mirror. Being followed was becoming all too common. I was surprised, however, when I parked at the nursery and discovered that my
follower was Agent Torbert.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” I asked as he got out of his car.
“I got a tip that a couple of Werewolves met an untimely demise. I tried to talk to Harold Vance about it, and he said he didn’t know what I was talking about. But my informant was adamant that an Elf had declared war on the shifters.”
“Why, Agent Torbert, I didn’t know you believed in Elves. Do you believe in Santa Claus, also? Isn’t he the guy who employs all the Elves?”
He glared at me. “According to all of the witnesses, the men who beat up one of your employees and kidnapped another one were Werewolves.”
I shrugged. “I wasn’t there. The doctor didn’t say anything about a dog bite, but I’m sure that if you apprehend them, Josh and Sam will try to make an identification.”
“That’s the point. My informant says the Weres are dead.”
“Oh. Well, I’m sure they don’t look much different than when they were alive.”
Torbert took a deep breath, his chest swelling impressively. “Miss Rogirsdottir, I have information that a murder has been committed. I’m asking you if you know anything about it.”
“Oh, well, why didn’t you say so. You just said some Weres had died. Who was murdered?”
His complexion was very dark, but it got darker, and it seemed as if his eyes bulged. I got the impression he was angry with me. Or maybe just frustrated. I hoped it was the latter. I tried to stay beneath the notice of Human authorities.
“Would you like some lemonade?” I asked. “I do. Why don’t you come in while I make it?”
I turned and walked away from him toward my cottage. After I’d taken a few steps, I heard him start to follow me. Isabella’s rental car was gone, so I didn’t have that complication to explain to the special agent.
He stood in the doorway and watched me make the lemonade, dump some ice into a couple of glasses, and pour it. I handed him a glass.
“It must be frustrating to have your understanding of the universe turned upside down, and all these strange creatures invade your world,” I said.
“You might say that,” he replied. “I know that many non-Humans have lived here for a very long time.”
“Until the veils shredded at Beltane.”
“Yes. It’s been a little crazier since then.”
“Agent Torbert, my advice is to worry only about what non-Humans do when it involves Humans. Otherwise, let them settle their disputes between themselves.”
“Your employees are Human.”
“Yes, they are. The dispute didn’t involve them. They were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“So, you admit that Werewolves were involved.”
“I admit that Samantha was mistaken for me. I admit that Harold Vance is a client of mine. My company maintains the grounds at his home in Silver Spring, and I declare that income on my taxes. I admit that I am aware of non-Humans inhabiting this realm. I am willing to admit a great number of things, Agent Torbert. Would you like some more lemonade?”
He glanced at his glass almost in surprise that it was empty.
“Uh, no. Thank you. I guess if you don’t have anything to tell me, I should go.”
I took his glass and walked him to his car. “I’ll tell you something far more important than why a couple of idiot Werewolves died.”
He stopped and turned to face me.
“There are a number of mages gathered in this town, looking for an ancient artifact,” I said. “At least one of them is willing to kill for it. Any of them who truly understand it, and are still looking for it, are probably willing to kill for it. If you hear of such an artifact, I would suggest contacting me. You really don’t want to handle it or allow anyone to keep it.”
“What kind of artifact are we talking about?”
“A golden cat. Someone might be tempted for the gold. That would be as foolish as trying to sell a ball of plutonium. Trying to use magic with it would be as foolish as putting that plutonium in a bomb. You could have another Beltane of two years ago on your hands. Possibly worse.”
He shot me a look of surprise, then cocked his head. “You’re serious.”
I nodded. “Don’t let someone get bureaucratic and try to keep it, or give it to someone to study, or stick it in a museum. Bring it to me, and I’ll see that it’s disposed of properly. It doesn’t belong in this realm.”
“Why are you telling me this?” he asked.
“You wanted me to tell you something important. Good day, Agent Torbert.”
Chapter 8
I turned off the lights around ten, then climbed up the oak with Isabella. It was rather unnerving being with her in her jaguar form. I didn’t expect that I would ever forget what she did to those Weres in that alley the night I met her.
Shortly after midnight, Isabella made a low, grumbling sound. I looked and saw a dark shape coming across the park toward us. As it came closer, I was able to see that it was a man. His scent revealed that he smoked tobacco.
He stopped about five feet from the fence, almost directly under the limb Isabella and I lay on. I drew a rune and began stimulating the bamboo. The first shoots poked through the soil, then they began to shake a little, as though disturbed by a breeze. They began to grow behind him, and soon were taller than the man they encircled.
He loosed a blast of what felt like electricity. The ward absorbed it. He followed that with a fireball, which blazed along the surface of the ward for thirty feet in all directions until it dissipated. His power impressed me. Without the oaks anchoring my wards, he might have broken through. The thought struck me that it was a good thing I’d decided to stay at the nursery instead of my house.
He pulled a bag from his pocket and began drawing a pentagram on the grass with chalk. Then he stepped inside the star and began to chant. I didn’t recognize the spell he was spinning, but it didn’t sound like something to break a ward. Of course, he’d tried to break in two nights in a row and failed.
A glow surrounded his body, and he started to levitate into the air until he rose above the fence. Then he moved forward until he hit my ward. The glow seemed to interact with the ward, causing a ripple, like wind on water. I could feel the power he poured into the ward as if I was being buffeted by a high wind.
Isabella roared and leaped from the tree. She hit him from behind, and there was a flash, like an explosion, but without any sound. They fell to the ground and lay still. I stared at them with my mouth hanging open, completely stunned at what she’d done.
Shaking myself out of my paralysis, I dropped to the ground, taking care not to drop into the pentagram or to touch it. The jaguar lay half inside the pentagram and half out of it. I muttered a prayer to the Goddess that Isabella still lived. I found I was holding my breath until I saw her chest rise and fall. Hopefully she wasn’t permanently damaged in any way.
A Fairy hovered above my shoulder, and when I looked up I saw it was the queen.
“Rhoslyn, do you know if it’s safe to pull the cat out of the circle?” I asked.
“I have no idea.” The diminutive woman flew down and hovered over Isabella, then dropped her spear. It stuck in the jaguar’s shoulder and stood there. Nothing happened. Rhoslyn flew around the spear several times, then reached out and snatched it, flying up and away from the big cat. Nothing happened.
The Fairy queen flew back to me and said, “I think it’s safe, at least if you use a rope or something to pull her with. I don’t know if I would touch her with my hand.”
“Could some of your folk bring me a rope?” I asked.
She flew up and over the fence. Ten minutes later, a couple of dozen Fairies flew down to me carrying a twenty-foot length of nylon parachute cord.
With the Fairies’ help, I slid the cord under Isabella’s shoulders and tied it. Then I dragged her out of contact with the pentagram. As soon as she was free, I saw Rhoslyn throw her spear at the mage. The ward flared as the spear passed through it, but the spear did pass through
and stuck in the mage’s neck. Rhoslyn turned to me and shrugged.
I was as puzzled as she was. If the ward was still in place, the spear should have bounced. I picked up a pebble and tossed it. Once again, the ward flared, but the pebble did bounce.
Rhoslyn cheered and called her people. Before I could do anything, a dozen Fairies had launched their spears through the ward. More Fairies poured over the fence, and in less than a minute, the mage looked like a pin cushion with six-inch spears sticking out all over him. Blood covered his face and hands. He didn’t move, though I could hear him breathe. I sketched a rune at the four cardinal points as I walked around the outside of his pentagram, then spoke a Word and set a ward.
I bent down to check Isabella, and although her breathing and heartbeat sounded normal, I couldn’t rouse her. Picking her up wasn’t a problem, but once I had her in my arms, I knew I was never going to jump over the twelve-foot fence carrying a two-hundred-pound jaguar.
“If he wakes up while I’m gone, don’t let him leave,” I called to Rhoslyn. She gave me two thumbs up. Her people sat around the pentagram, on top of the fence and in the branches of the oak, many with nectar wine or chocolate, watching the mage and waiting for him to wake up. The air was charged with the festive atmosphere of a grand entertainment.
I carried Isabella around the property to the gate, about five hundred yards. By the time I got there, she seemed to have tripled in weight. I stared at the keypad to open the gate and tried to figure out how I could punch the keys with Isabella in my arms.
To my surprise, a Fairy swooped down and danced on the keys. The gate clicked and swung open.
“Thank you,” I said. She giggled and took off in the direction of where the mage was imprisoned.
I put Isabella in a garden cart and wheeled her to the cottage, then carried her inside and laid her on my bed. Her breathing and heartbeat were still regular, but she hadn’t roused at all. My healing skills ended with mixing potions and poultices and dealing with a magical shock was beyond my knowledge. Hopefully, she would come back.
Gods and Demons (Dark Streets Book 1) Page 6
