My basement was basically an entire floor, instead of a large room with a small closet and bathroom. It had the best ventilation anyone could desire, along with incredible designs worked into the stone walls and supports. Even the ceiling was a work of art.
On one side, they’d built a large library for my books. It was easily twenty-by-twenty feet, complete with floor-to-ceiling shelves. I’d added several comfortable chairs, tables, and a nice ladder for reaching the top shelves. On the other side were two smaller rooms. One was my armory, and the other was a bedroom/storage room that held wardrobes, shelves, and a closet filled with items any good Practitioner needed. It also contained many of the precious artifacts I’d gathered that only a necromancer would find useful.
Even though I wasn’t likely to invite anyone into my basement, I was determined to ensure it was homey, if not luxurious. I had most of the comforts of living, complete with a mid-sized entertainment center. There was also a bathroom, complete with shower.
A generator in the corner was hooked to a vent so fumes wouldn’t gather in my lab. There was an old-fashioned cold pantry built into one side of the foundation beneath my house. It held my spell ingredients, some foodstuffs, wine and other spirits, water, and in the very back, ice cream.
Yes, ice cream. I have vices like everyone else.
“You’re home early,” a low, rumbly voice said.
I snorted and looked toward the voice’s owner. A pair of red embers lit up the empty sockets of a skull sitting on the table across from the entertainment center.
The skull had been a gift from my father on my eighteenth birthday. Carvings covered the top of the skull and much of the scalp area. If the carvings and color didn’t give away that it wasn’t your average decoration or prop, the glowing red eyes and voice certainly did.
The skull housed a dragon leiche captured centuries ago by my father and forced to obey whoever owned the skull.
That was the tricky part. The laws of Magick are picky and persnickety when it comes to true ownership. When you throw in an ancient, undead dragon that kept its intelligence, cunning, and maliciousness after death, it’s even worse.
Because my father gifted the skull to me, I was the true owner, so Maekyl had to obey me. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean he wasn’t a pain in the ass or something I could rely on for answers. He was good for Magickal research, though, and enjoyed creating new spells and potions.
“Yep, it’s been an interesting day,” I replied, debating on how much I wanted to tell the leiche.
“Do regale me with details,” he invited.
I took a bite of my sandwich, chewed, and swallowed. “A rent-a-whore was murdered at the Masonic building. Raziel, our neighborhood angelic detective, was investigating. While at it, he decided to issue a lovely, not-so-warmhearted warning about the necklace I’ve been hired to find.”
A low chuckle reverberated from the skull.
“Your compassion is worthy of songs,” the leiche said. “It seems that amulet is gathering attention, as it always has.”
Taking another bite of my sandwich, I looked at the skull and gestured for him to go on.
“Each time the amulet resurfaces, and word of it begins to spread, the rumors about it and hunger to own it blossom across the skies and lands anew,” he continued.
“So it’s the Holy Grail of Magickal artifacts, drawing in everyone who has a desire to bring untold disaster upon the world.” I chuckled and took a sip of my tea. “I really need to start charging more for my services.”
“Something I’ve told you many times,” the leiche retorted. “And I would say the amulet’s similarity to that boring chalice ends with humanity’s many obsessions over it.”
“Obviously,” I stated. “There’s also the intriguing problem of the on-call strumpet’s ability to get past my wards without setting them off. I believe someone helped her, since she was as Magickal as the television in here.”
“There are several ways, but yes, she likely had help,” he taunted. “She would have needed the services of someone well versed and talented in the ways of Magick. Can you describe the condition of your wards after the intrusion? Did they seem undisturbed, or was all the energy dissipated? Any details you can give me will allow me to develop a better theory of what was used and who wielded the power.”
“Raziel had removed all the wards on the door, the floor and my desk by the time I got there. The remaining wards seemed a little dimmer than usual,” I recalled.
“You should have asked the bird boy what condition your wards were in before he stuck his pristine, little nose in,” the leiche chided. “If you weren’t alerted, however, the most probable scenario is that a user opened a tiny gateway inside your wards, then expanded it until the woman could walk through. The gateway would then have followed her, as if it were a protective bubble surrounding her. Who do we know that specializes in gateways and shielding spells, and who has a somewhat intimate knowledge of you and your office?”
“Nick,” I said with a growl. “I figured it was that little weasel, but wanted to be certain it wasn’t just my prejudice. It makes sense he would suspect I was investigating the amulet, especially if it’s common knowledge it’s up for grabs.”
Nicolai Wright had once been my lover. My father brushed it off as youthful foolishness since I’d just begun living on my own. Even though Dad had never approved of Nicolai or trusted his intentions, he’d allowed me to make my own choices. I’d been Nick’s girlfriend for several years before I realized he only wanted what I could bring him: power, wealth, and stature.
He had tried desperately to convince me to join his coven, but I’d sworn to my parents I’d never join one, and I wouldn’t create my own. Not that I couldn’t have my own ‘court,’ provided they weren’t all human. Fae courts are considerably different from covens.
In fact, even fifty years after I dumped his sorry ass, he was still following me with his coven in tow, wanting me to join. Since I’d been alive for more than twice that long and was nobody’s fool, I was surprised he persisted. But he was always trying to improve his stature among our kind, and having a necromancer in his coven would raise it considerably. If I joined his ranks, his coven would become one of the most powerful ones in the nation, if not the continent.
Covens were more than meetings of those who used the Craft; they were a Magickal joining by blood and spell. If I joined, I’d be able to draw upon the powers of others in the coven, but they could also draw from my power. My father once said joining a coven was like baring your soul and allowing the members access to it whether you desired it or not.
There wasn’t anything Nicolai could say or do which would make me break my oath to my mother, let alone break a promise to my father.
If forced to make a choice, I’d rather kill the bastard and use his death to fuel a spell that would destroy the coven members’ ability to create another coven. It might break the weaker members and turn them into drooling, mindless shells, but that wasn’t my problem. It was a chance you took when you joined a coven.
“Tell me everything you know about the Consigliere,” I said, changing topics. I knew Nick well, but I didn’t know half as much about Sterling. Rumors, in my opinion, only counted for so much. I wanted facts.
“That would take more time than you desire,” Maekyl replied, laughing.
“Then give me the Cliff Notes version,” I retorted.
“He has been around since the first days of Magick,” the leiche began. “He did not create Magick, of course, but even at the original High Court, the Consigliere was there in those days. He had a different title, but his function was the same—to carry out the will of the council of the more powerful Magick users. He has walked with the ancient gods and demons, and he has dealt with all that existed, except for Camelot after the Court disbanded, and Merlin was the only proof Magick still existed. After the Fall occurred, the Court slowly gathered anew, in secrecy, away from the dealings of humans. The Consigliere returned
, as well. No one speaks of where they were during that time. I was being worshiped in South Africa, but the white-faced humans who write history ignore such majesty.”
“During your living years, yes, I know,” I replied.
The leiche ultimately ended up in Germany where he died at some hero’s hands then became an even more powerful leiche. Her father had ultimately battled the arrogant sod and confined him to the skull.
That story was far more interesting than the ones where he’d been worshiped as a god.
“Sterling now moves between conclaves, business conglomerates, and every sort of coven, clan, and tribe of the Magickal world, buying and selling anything.” It wasn’t hard to imagine, all things considered. I continued thoughtfully, “So, his reputation grows and becomes unquestionable, which allows him access to all the rumors, gossip, and insider knowledge of the goings-on of our kind. That’s actually pretty damned ingenious.”
“He’s older than Zeus and Odin,” chortled Maekyl. “One would surmise he would have a more-than-human grasp of things.”
“I’ll bet he has an above-human grasp of many things,” I murmured, my mind going in a completely different direction. Clearing my throat, I attempted to get back on track. “This amulet, would it have any effect on the hiiri?”
“Why would you ask that?” he countered.
“The hiiri at Thornrose were missing,” I replied. “Not all of them, but a good many.”
“Curious, but not caused by the Ilygad Amon, nor by anyone using its power.”
“That’s not good. Any theories, oh wise one?” I asked.
“There’s always that annoying ifrit who took up residence nearby.” Maekyl grumbled. “He still banishes and fights. As if the fool could ever get redemption. Barring him, there are a few possibilities. New dabblers who don’t understand how Magick really works could have irritated the hiiri enough to make them scatter for a while. Someone could have called them away to use their power; there are always hunters hungry to ‘cleanse’ an area just to appease their own appetites. And the ifrit isn’t the only being who could have banished them. There are plenty of beings who could, including you, were you bored enough.”
“They’re cute, and I like them,” I replied in an almost prudish tone. “Guess I’ll have to do a little snooping about. If there is a hunter around or someone banishing hiiri, I want to know about it.”
The hiiri were more-or-less a necromancer’s preferred creatures to use for a variety of things. Their energy could be harnessed for use in any number of spells. Servants for a short term of time are useful, and they were perfect for that. Hiiri have no comprehension of ‘dirty work’ so disposal of whatever remains doesn’t bother them. However, this had all the markings of someone trespassing on my territory, and I tended to take that personally.
“I shall make inquiries of my own. Until the next time you come to nag me, then?”
“You don’t get away that easily,” I said quickly. I wagged a finger at him. “I still need your assistance creating some potions.”
“Dammit.” The skull snapped its teeth together. “I was hoping to get out of that. Fine, what are we making?”
“Something to track an item without drawing attention to the deed, or something to track the amulet’s specific energy,” I replied with a smug smile.
“I was hoping for quiet until dark,” he grumbled. “Very well. Start the preparations, and I’ll begin listing the ingredients.” As I began gathering my tools, he added, “And we can easily make both, though the latter will need to age longer than you may desire.”
I shrugged. If I couldn’t find the amulet by mortal means, I’d use the potion after it finished curing, or aging, or whatever you called the time it took the potion to finish processing.
Some who created potions and elixirs were old school, preferring cauldrons or wood stoves. I preferred using Bunsen burners.
In the summer, I sometimes used a cauldron outside over a fire pit, but that was mostly when I wanted to enjoy the cool night breeze, or when the spell required such a thing.
For the potions I was about to brew with Maekyl’s assistance, I would need several Bunsen burners. I also gathered a mortar and pestle, a few vials, my favorite antique bowl from the Victorian era, and a small ceremonial knife I’d used since I had received Maekyl.
Maekyl rattled off ingredients as I moved from cabinet to cabinet—frankincense for amping the potion, cowslip for helping locate treasure, bistort for divination, and myrrh as an added amplifier. Herbs have been used by mundanes and Adepts since Magick was first discovered in this world, but they weren’t all that true Practitioners used. For the potions I was creating, I grabbed a box containing gargoyle talons and a jar of diamond dust. I kept the last ingredient in a small safe that required a retina scan and Maekyl to open.
After finding the dead whore, I was glad I had added Maekyl as an additional requirement for opening the safe. Since he had a strong hatred for anything mortal, and most other beings, I guessed my more-prized ingredients were safe from thieves.
I removed the bottle that held the small capsules of dragon’s blood from the safe. It wasn’t blood that was stolen or bought, but blood that the dragon had gifted to me of its own free will. Keeping the blood inside a bottle would have exposed it to air anytime I opened the vial, so I had carefully placed the blood into a great many gelatin capsules, like the type used for medicine.
I placed the bottle on the counter with the other ingredients.
I put my porcelain bowl on the stand above the Bunsen burner and adjusted the flame. I dropped a few drops of each of the oils into the bowl and began mixing herbs together as Maekyl, in a bored tone, rattled off the required amounts. As the scents of the oils filled the room, I added a pinch of diamond dust, stirring with a spoon made from aspen. After that was thoroughly combined, I added in the herbs and stirred again.
That was all basic cooking. The true Magick came as I opened the box and dropped a talon into the bowl.
I could feel Maekyl staring at me as I slowly willed energy into the bowl. The flame beneath the porcelain dimmed. The smoke that formed as the ingredients heated turned a pale violet before shifting to blue and green as I said the spell’s words. The talon melted, and the barely-damp ingredients turned into a slimy substance.
Not all spells were powered by words. Typically, my Magick depended on what I willed the energy to do. Sometimes I’d use runes or symbols. Most who practiced Magick used all three until they reached a certain age or performed the Magick enough times that it was second nature, like signing their name without thought. This, however, wasn’t something I did frequently, so I used the spell Maekyl gave me.
The final two steps were the most critical. I opened the bottle of dragon’s blood and removed one of the capsules, broke it open, and poured the tiny amount of blood into the bowl.
As the blood touched the slime, a hissing sound filled the room, and the smoke turned a sickly green. It curled up around the top of the bowl, not rising to the ceiling or falling to the table.
Seconds passed by as I slowly stopped adding energy to the bowl. I cut off the Bunsen burner and allowed the mixture to cool.
Several methods could be used to dilute the mixture without weakening the potion. I preferred using gin, Bombay Sapphire, to be exact. Due to my penchant for potion making, I kept at least half a dozen bottles on hand.
I poured a good twenty ounces of gin into a crystal decanter and allowed it to settle before carefully pouring in the mixture. It would take several days for it to age properly, but then it would be exceedingly useful for finding the Eye of Amon.
Provided I didn’t find the amulet before then.
After replacing the stopper in the decanter, I placed it in my fridge, then turned to Maekyl.
“Ready for the next one?” I asked, a broad smile on my face.
* * * * *
Chapter Five
By the time I finished both potions, it was four o’clock. I was tired,
hungry, and more than happy to grab a quick shower and go out for a meal.
I’d called Sterling and arranged to meet him at one of my favorite restaurants in Staunton, which also happened to be a frequent hangout for Nick. If we were fortunate, he’d be there that evening. I knew, if he saw me, he’d stop to ‘catch up.’ Or, to be more accurate, initiate contact hoping to brag about his coven and attempt to sway me into joining him for the millionth time.
If I were lucky, I’d be able to order a drink and an appetizer first.
I parked in the parking garage the Staunton PD used and made my way up to the Clocktower. It was five and starting to get busy, but there was several seats left at the bar. I chose one in the far corner that afforded me a view of the door and the room.
“What can I get you?” the bartender, Alex, asked with a pleasant smile.
“White Russian,” I replied, returning the smile.
“Anything to eat with that?”
“I’m meeting a friend shortly, but I’ll take a basket of chips with marinara dip while I wait.”
The bartender grinned as he took my order. “I’m surprised you aren’t in your usual booth.”
“I can’t always be predictable, can I?” I joked.
Most of the staff at the Clocktower knew me, and it didn’t take long for new staff to discover that I not only tipped well for good service, but I was well-liked by the rest of the staff, including the managers. It didn’t hurt that I tried to make their lives as uncomplicated as possible. But give me shitty service, and they would quickly realize I wasn’t the pliant customer I appeared to be. I’m not talking about being extra busy with things beyond one’s control, I mean those people who just don’t care to do their job.
The last fool who gave me bad service didn’t just get a lousy tip and complaint. I made certain he had considerable problems in his love life for a good two years afterwards. Somehow word got around to his fellow employees that the little blue pill couldn’t help him. Some things are worth that extra personal touch.
The Fae's Amulet Page 4
