Catching Echoes (Reconstructionist 1)

by Meghan Ciana Doidge

  “Kett? Is that his name? Brilliant. And, hell yeah, you’re taking the job. Why wouldn’t you?”

  “I don’t normally take contracts outside the jurisdiction of the Convocation.”

  “Which is exactly why you’ll be saying yes,” Jasmine said smugly. “Just tell me where to be and I’ll be there. With bells on. Unless vampires don’t like bells.”

  “I think that’s bears.”

  When Jasmine laughed, the sound warmed my heart, and the tight spot in my chest eased.

  “I expect you to describe every inch of this Kett, magically or otherwise. A vampire! I’m completely prepared to instantly like him.”

  I laughed. “He’s not exactly likable. More along the lines of intimidatingly powerful.”

  “Even better. Why should we be like every other witch out there?”

  “Some boundaries are in place for our own protection.”

  Jasmine laughed again, but snarkily this time, and we dropped the topic. No matter how much we cared for each other, our outlooks on life — and personal safety — were very different.

  I could hear her fingers on her computer keyboard through my phone’s speaker. She’d started playing her game again. Or she was researching vampires. Or perhaps both at the same time.

  “Have you gotten an answer from the Academy yet?” I asked, prolonging the conversation even though I was weary. “About digitizing their records? Right now would be a really good time to have access to everything they have on vampires, instead of just trying to recall lessons I took years ago.”

  “Not yet,” she said. “They’ve stalled me, saying I need a unanimous vote from the Convocation.”

  “So you have to table a motion?”

  “Yeah. I’m working on it with Rose.”

  Rose, our aunt, held the Fairchild seat on the witches Convocation. Other than Jasmine, she was the only Fairchild I had any contact with, and even then, I tried to keep it to less than once a year and on business-only terms.

  “Still,” Jasmine said, “I doubt you’d uncover much more in their archives than you already know.”

  “But you might.”

  “You know it doesn’t work like that. The information actually has to be available, no matter how deeply buried.”

  Besides being able to spell and work with electronics, Jasmine’s magic brought the mundane definition of what a ‘hacker’ was to an entirely new level.

  I yawned. “So the new game is fun?”

  “Engrossing.”

  “Aren’t they all?”

  “Nope. And I can hear you yawning. Go to bed. I expect a full report in the morning.”

  “Morning?”

  “Okay. Afternoon.”

  I laughed. “Fine. I’ll email you some information in the morning and you can look at it whenever. Try to get some sleep.”

  “You too.”

  I ended the call. But then instead of heading directly to bed, I lapsed back into gazing out at the gorgeous city and toying with my bracelet again. I brushed my fingers over one of the two tiny reconstructions hidden among the platinum house and tree charms.

  Effortlessly, I pulled a glimpse of a darkly tanned boy with golden-hazel eyes out from within it.

  A sudden gust of wind hammered rain against the lower pane of the window, drawing my attention. And for a moment, through the blurred wash on the glass, I thought I saw a blond, pale figure standing in the rain at the edge of the outdoor pool, four floors down.

  A figure that I would have sworn in that instant was Kett, gazing up at my hotel room.

  Heart thumping, I threw myself out of my chair, pressing my hands against the rain-spattered window and scanning the wide, adobe-tiled patio below.

  The image I’d pulled from the reconstruction winked out.

  The area around the well-lit pool and hot tub was empty. The lounge chairs were all folded and tucked away along the edges of the sundeck. A slight haze of steam rolled off the tranquil light-blue water of the pool, and what little I could see of inside the hotel from this angle was devoid of people.

  I had just imagined it.

  Kett.

  I was allowing the tension of the day to make me feel vulnerable, even hunted. And that was a state I knew too much about already. I didn’t need to be randomly manifesting monsters stalking me in the dark.

  Stepping to my right, then my left, I grabbed the edges of the curtains and swiftly tugged them closed, blocking out my view of the pool and of the city and the mountains beyond.

  I was overtired to the point of wallowing in emotions I had no interest in revisiting. Enough was enough.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Though it wasn’t yet 10:00 a.m. on a Tuesday in October, there was already a line of five people outside Cake in a Cup. I’d scrambled to change after a private Pilates session at the Movement Studio just down the street, swapping out my workout tights and tank top for my second go-to work outfit — a navy-blue herringbone fitted sheath dress. It was minimal, modern, and deceptively dressy with a slight sheen, but the fabric was stretchy enough to move in. I paired the dress with side-zip knee boots in navy-blue suede, foregoing nylons and hoping the sun would eventually win out over the clouds that had been lingering all morning. The boots’ two-inch stacked heels, squared almond toes, and rubber soles kept me in the functionally stylish arena.

  I’d thrown my classic navy-blue Burberry Chelsea trench coat on over this ensemble — an investment piece that I wore pretty much year round — then hefted my massive bag over my shoulder and high-tailed it up the block. I wanted to arrive before Kett, and in general, I was a fan of being early for appointments.

  Though the exterior of the building looked exactly the same with its white French-paned front windows and door, the magical shielding on the bakery had taken on a different, more intense tenor since I’d last been in Vancouver. The wards that coated the storefront — and, as far as I was able to tell, the apartments above — hummed with magic, prickling against my skin from over half a block away. And when Jade’s assistant baker, a part-First Nations woman whose pink name tag declared her to be ‘Bryn,’ unlocked the front doors to open the bakery, I found that I couldn’t pass through the entrance without an invitation.

  I lingered outside on the sidewalk while the other nonmagical customers shuffled inside, already laden with brown paper grocery bags and Starbucks coffee cups. Through the windows, I could see the massive glass dome of the bakery case that occupied the center of the storefront, as well as the handful of round bistro tables and stools in the seating area. A number of trinkets — as Jade called them — hung in the windows and above the door.

  These were comprised of pretty, cobbled-together items — coins, figurines, sea glass, and more — attached to silver chains. Each item carried a tiny hint of magic, so infinitesimal that only the dowser was capable of feeling it. Or, more specifically in Jade’s case, of tasting it. But once twined together by Jade’s alchemist powers, the trinkets became much more than the sum of their parts. Not simply the found-art wind chimes they appeared to be.

  It seemed a safe guess that many Adepts came to the bakery with the hope of leaving with one of these trinkets, now that Jade’s alchemist abilities were better known. But I understood that the dowser never sold any. I wasn’t surprised. Jade’s sister, Sienna, the black witch, had used these pretty trinkets to siphon the magic from the Adepts she’d murdered.

  A tall, voluptuous blond stepped through the swing doors that led to the kitchen at the back of the bakery. Her ever-present smile widened as she caught sight of me loitering on the sidewalk through the open front door. She was wearing a light blue short-sleeved cotton T-shirt emblazoned with a pink Cake in a Cup logo, and a frilly pink apron over her jeans and dark-blue sneakers. Her curly hair was swept back and clipped up.

  Jade Godfrey. The dowser herself.

  Though I’d been anxious about the idea of seeing the alchemist again, an involuntary smile spread across my face. Even with the magic of the wards bet
ween us, it was impossible to not smile when the dowser smiled at you. Well, as long as Adepts weren’t being murdered or I hadn’t been tasked with trying to pull magic from a dead dragon’s skin.

  Jade wiped her hands on her apron, then beckoned me toward her. The magic of the wards shifted, allowing me entry. But instead of dissipating or opening as some magical barriers did, the energy slipped around me, coating my skin as I stepped onto the white-painted wooden slat floor of the bakery. I had a moment to wonder if the wards had somehow taken an imprint of my magic, and how that would have even been possible. Then Jade was before me, offering her hand.

  “Wisteria,” she cried, pleased to see me despite the fact that our last meeting had been strained, to say the least. Over two years had passed since then, though, and the bakery didn’t exactly appear to be teeming with imminent danger.

  “Jade,” I said, more subdued but smiling nonetheless. It was impossible to not absorb some of Jade’s enthusiastic energy when I was around her. “I’m meeting Pearl.”

  “Oh? I didn’t know.”

  “Not until ten thirty, though.”

  “Ah, sit and have a coffee and a cupcake, then.”

  “That’s what I was hoping to do.”

  Jade gestured, directing me toward a table beside the middle window. “I’d sit with you, but I’m not quite done baking.”

  I tore my gaze away from the thick wedding-ring-charm necklace twined around her neck. I’d seen the magical artifact a few times, but there was something mesmerizingly different about it this morning. However, staring at another Adept’s magic — or even asking them about it — was considered exceedingly rude.

  “Thank you.” I set my bag on the floor beside the window, slipping off my trench coat before I perched on the high stool.

  “What can I bring you?”

  “I can wait in line like everyone —”

  Jade stalled me with a raised hand. “How about baker’s choice?”

  “That would be lovely.” No one in their right mind would turn down a cupcake that had not only been baked by the dowser, but also specifically selected by her.

  “And a … mocha?”

  “Triple shot?”

  Jade threw her head back and laughed as if she found my coffee predilections delightful. “Of course.”

  As Jade slipped away, I folded my coat and laid it across my lap, tamping down on the impulse to touch the pretty trinket hanging by my shoulder. It was constructed of green and blue sea glass, a chunk of Wedgwood china with its sharp edges smoothly sanded, and a set of silver coins. I didn’t like getting distracted by magic, and usually my personal shields filtered almost everything out. But Jade was particularly powerful, and intriguing. I knew if I looked at her without any shields, I’d see her blue-gold magic dancing all around her like an aura. But I never looked at anyone or anything unshielded, not without carefully constructing a circle to contain the magic first. Never.

  Jade appeared beside my table, moving too quickly for a human. I managed to not flinch, and wondered if she knew she was doing it. I worried about her disconcerting her human customers, but it really wasn’t my place to mention the gaffe.

  “Clarity in a Cup. Apple spice cake with honey buttercream.” Jade placed a cupcake before me, perfectly positioned in the center of a white, scalloped-edged side plate. “I’m developing some apple recipes for Rochelle. This one has nutmeg in it, so it’s also perfect for you.”

  I didn’t know who Rochelle was and wasn’t exactly sure why the cupcake having nutmeg made it perfect for me, but I’d learned a long time ago that it was best not to question powerful people. Not even when they were technically younger than you.

  “Thank you,” I said. “It smells heavenly.”

  Jade smirked, then set a large pink ceramic mug down on a napkin, both of them emblazoned with the bakery logo. Happily, the mug was filled to the brim with a deliciously scented mocha. It was also sprinkled with nutmeg.

  “Why nutmeg?” The question was out of my mouth before I could stop myself from asking.

  “Your magic,” Jade said, casting her voice low. “It tastes like fresh-ground nutmeg. I thought I’d mentioned it before?”

  I contemplated the cupcake, suddenly not sure how I felt about eating something that tasted like my own magic tasted to the dowser. “Do all … my types …” — I carefully avoided using the word ‘witch’ in mixed company — “… taste of nutmeg?”

  Jade laughed quietly. “No. You all share a grassy base. But the nutmeg is something unique to you, or perhaps your family.”

  I nodded, taking a tiny sip of the hot mocha. Rich, smooth chocolate and slightly burnt coffee slipped across my tongue and warmed my throat. I was fairly certain Jade hadn’t met Jasmine yet, and no other Fairchild witch would enter Godfrey territory willingly. Except for Rose, but even then, I assumed my aunt would only come to the Pacific Northwest or Vancouver on Convocation business.

  Jade Godfrey had another reputation developing among the Adept — one that Pearl had already enforced during her tenure as the chair of the witches Convocation. Anyone with any sort of darkness in their practice of magic would avoid Vancouver and the Godfreys like a plague of light and moral supremacy.

  Though, apparently and interestingly, that didn’t include Kettil, the executioner of the Conclave. Even with what little I knew of him, the title alone made it a safe guess that few Adepts came darker than Kett.

  “Delicious,” I murmured, reaching for the cupcake.

  Jade’s gaze fell to my hands, following my movement as I nibbled on the delectable cake and icing. She reached out and brushed her fingers against my left palm, similar to the way Kett had touched me the previous night. “You hold your magic so intriguingly,” she murmured, as if she was suddenly mesmerized. “Also, your nails completely rock.”

  I glanced down at my hand. I’d opted for a sparkly topcoat over my white-tipped, pale-pink French manicure earlier in the week, but I had no idea what the dowser meant about my magic.

  Before I could set down the cupcake and ask her to clarify her statement, she tilted her head as if listening to something. “Gran’s here.”

  Moving slower this time, she wandered off through the seating area and into the kitchen without another word.

  I was completely content to remain sitting at the window of the bakery, consuming buttery, moist apple-infused cake for the rest of my days. But as I ate, I wondered if Jade added more than just spices when she baked. She called this cupcake Clarity in a Cup. Was this feeling of contentment my version of clarity? Also, was Jade feeding magic to nonmagicals? That was a major indiscretion among the magical community, but maybe the Adept were the only ones influenced by her bakery creations. Or had she just seeded the idea, so that now I was overthinking it?

  Either way, I wasn’t in any rush to move on with a day that seemed sure to be filled with tension and confrontation. The Adept never played well with each other, and any communication involving elders of the Conclave and the Convocation was sure to be volatile.

  I managed to eat about three-quarters of the cupcake — and was already starting to eye the chocolate creations in the display case in contemplation of a second treat — when Pearl Godfrey strode into the bakery from the kitchen.

  Her silver hair was braided and coiled into a perfect bun at the back of her head. It was only a few shades lighter than the gray of her cable-knit sweater, which somehow looked sleek and modern paired with charcoal wool crepe pants. But it was her deep-blue eyes, simmering with power, that truly defined the chair of the witches Convocation. Once Pearl met my gaze across the seating area, I actually had to force myself to not bow formally to her.

  She closed the space between us with three quick strides, holding out her hand to shake mine firmly. “Wisteria.”

  “Pearl.”

  “Unfortunately, I only have a moment.” The elder witch twisted her lips distastefully. “I’ve another meeting.”

  “With Kettil,” I said, not bothering
to offer up the vampire’s titles in a room full of nonmagicals.

  Pearl raised her eyebrow at me. “He’s spoken to you? About the reconstruction?”

  I nodded. “Last night.”

  Pearl sighed. “Then it was as expected? I suppose only so many events can occur in a graveyard. Come to the back.”

  She turned, walking off in silence. Adepts weren’t big on finishing conversations all in one go. Most, if not all, of their interactions were about setting up possible power plays. But since I was a well-paid pawn in the system, I couldn’t exactly complain.

  I glanced down at my partially eaten cupcake mournfully. Then, hefting my bag over my shoulder, I decided to bring it and my mocha with me. Anything else would be disrespectful to the chef.

  I wandered back to the swing doors that led into the kitchen, expecting Bryn, who was smiling and bustling around behind the counter serving customers, to question me. But she didn’t even glance over as I followed Pearl through the doors.

  Jade was baking. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected, since the dowser had already indicated that she had things to finish. But it certainly wasn’t the sweet magic that cut through my personal shields so easily that I could practically taste it floating through the air.

  I gasped, drawing Pearl’s attention. The elder witch smiled, then returned her attention to Jade.

  The dowser was piping thick chocolate icing onto some sort of chocolate cupcake. Her movements were minimal and precise, yet I could feel the magic dancing around her without even opening my witch senses to it. Normally, feeling magic unintentionally sent me into a tailspin and heading toward the nearest exit. Adepts who boiled with so much power that I couldn’t shield myself from them were dangerous.

  But the magic Jade commanded while baking was uplifting and comforting.

  “Here?” I asked Pearl, pulling my attention away from Jade and tugging the reconstruction out of my bag.

  “Jade?” Pearl asked.

  “Done,” the dowser proclaimed with an easy smile. Then she licked a dollop of icing from her latex-swathed finger. I’d been so enraptured by the magic that I hadn’t noticed she was now wearing gloves.