More Than Magic (Books of the Kindling)

by Donna June Cooper

  Impossible.

  Magic.

  She turned her attention to the most important thing they needed right now—fresh water. If it came down off her mountain, it was drinkable. She found an old farmhouse cast iron pedestal sink and drain board against one wall. Beaten up but not too filthy, considering. She turned the spigot and held her breath, but fresh, clean-looking water flowed out and she rinsed the blood off her hands. She stooped to look at the pipe that disappeared into the wall and wondered where it drained to. This place would merit some investigation later.

  They could use the bottled water and pouches she had in her pack, then use the water purification tablets on this, just in case. Hopefully they would be out of here long before that was an issue. Plus she could see a couple of portable propane stoves if they needed one.

  Now to find blankets or anything she could use for Nick. She hadn’t found anything promising in the lab, but the office might offer up some treasures. She went back through the door, closing it behind her just in case.

  Granny Lily’s office. She had no doubt that the lab had been Lily’s workroom and this had been her office. Grace was grateful the Taggarts hadn’t found the door back here. Once she got Nick more comfortable she’d have to investigate these shelves and desk drawers.

  The thick hooked wool rug could serve as a sleeping pad. She shook as much dust out of it as she could and then searched every corner of the office for more.

  The blast seemed to have dislodged a lower section of the shelving, but when Grace looked closer, she found that it had swung loose—another hidden door. Tucked away beside the shelves in a recess of the cave wall was an old wooden dome-topped trunk, shoved in sideways.

  Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to hide that trunk. She grabbed the leather handle and pulled it toward her. It dislodged from years of rock dust and slid out with a screech. Kneeling in front of it, she found an old-fashioned padlock which someone had left the key in. She smiled and turned it, with a little difficulty. It finally opened with a shower of dust.

  Taking a deep breath, Grace opened the lid. The trunk smelled of very old paper and cloth, and the barest hint of lavender. A tray on top was piled high with books. She opened one carefully and let the pages flip. It was full of delicate sepia-toned handwriting, with drawings here and there in the same sepia ink, and even some exquisite watercolor illustrations.

  Her heart was pounding and she felt light headed as she flipped back to read the inscription on the flyleaf: Lily Loreena Hickey Woodruff, May 1891.

  Granny Lily’s journals—a treasure that Grace hadn’t even known existed. She pulled the heavy tray out with care and found paper-wrapped packages tied with grosgrain ribbon piled on top of quilts on one side of the divided trunk. The other side was full of colorful wool blankets. She sifted through the packages to reach down and finger one of the quilts.

  No sign of insect damage or decay. The fabric of the quilt had aged a bit, but, from what she could see, it was remarkably well-preserved. And there appeared to be at least three of them folded beneath the packages. Grace found herself reluctant to use any of them, precious handmade keepsakes that they were. Not only priceless for their sentimental value, but as antiques.

  The blankets were probably just as priceless. She had the feeling they would be collectibles now, brightly woven wool in Native American patterns, but they were machine-made and had less sentimental value. She took out all of the blankets before closing the trunk.

  It took two trips to get the rug, blankets, and books back to where Nick lay, still asleep, under the silvery wrap. She knelt down beside him again, touching his face to reassure herself he was warm, tracing that expressive eyebrow just because she could.

  But she was worried. With Tink it had been Grace who had fainted and been out cold for a while. Tink herself had been fine in a matter of minutes. Was Nick different because of the blood loss? Was there a higher price to pay somehow? Should she get him to a hospital? If he didn’t wake up, she would have to leave him and trek back to the cathedral and back down the mountain in the snow to get help. But she was reluctant to leave him here alone. She couldn’t imagine what he would think if he woke up here without her to explain. Some things a note could not convey.

  Then Nick made a sound, like a snort that slid right into a full-fledged snore. She smiled.

  “Boyd’s got Miss Grace out in the woods havin’ some fun with her afore he brings her back for us.”

  Grace’s hands moving on him, pushing up his sweater, hot against his skin—

  “Close your eyes and think happy thoughts.”

  Light—gold and shimmering behind his eyelids.

  The smell wasn’t the acrid antiseptic of a hospital, but earthy and mild, with a strong hint of Grace’s scent. And the sound wasn’t the beep of monitors or the muted announcements in the halls, but the odd sigh and flipping of pages. And the bed, while not exactly hard, wasn’t the softest thing in the world either.

  Nick tried to move his hand and was surprised to find that he could, sliding it across his stomach, searching for the bandages he knew would be there.

  His vest was in the way. He pushed up at it and found his sweater stiff and tacky beneath it, and his undershirt, then—nothing. He almost opened his eyes, then decided it was too much effort.

  He had to be dreaming, or dead. He could tell by the lack of weight against his chest that his holster, still snug under his vest, was empty. He should be dead. He must be dreaming. Something warm was pressed against his left side. And there was the strangest sensation in his mouth, as if he had just tasted stars.

  Opening his eyes, he saw the cave roof above him, but a different one than before. Closer, and cleaner as well. And light. There was light shining—flickering—from right above where he lay on the floor.

  A glimpse of copper to his left caught his eye.

  Grace lay on her stomach beside him. It was her warm body pressed up close against his side. She was up on her elbows turning pages in a book of some kind with that red hair of hers curtaining her face from his view, but he knew it was Grace. He could smell her.

  He turned his head a bit more, afraid to move too much in case he might wake up. The book Grace was skimming through had thick ivory pages filled with calligraphy and tiny watercolors. The page she was studying showed a green plant with a cluster of red berries dangling above it. Was it a dream, or was he really in—

  “Heaven,” he croaked. “The books are handwritten in heaven then?”

  “Oh!” Grace pushed herself up onto her knees beside him, the surprised look on her face changing to a lovely smile. “You’re awake. Finally!”

  “Awake. No. Dreaming.” He blinked at her, expecting to see wings sprout from her back at any moment, or for everything to swirl into a kaleidoscopic delirium.

  “You’re not dreaming.” She was emphatic about this point. “But you need to drink some water. And eat something.”

  He shook his head.

  “Are you nauseated? Do you hurt anywhere?” she asked.

  Nick closed his eyes. “No. Dreaming.”

  “Nick. You’re not dreaming.”

  “Am too,” Nick responded, trying to fall back to sleep. But if he was dreaming, he was already asleep, right? But if he was awake, he shouldn’t feel quite so good.

  Something wet touched his mouth and he grabbed at it reflexively. A water bottle. As he gulped down the water, he still tasted stars.

  “Can you sit up?”

  Nick opened his eyes to find Grace still in his dream. Wiping his mouth, he shook his head. “Gut shot. Would hurt too much.”

  Grace tugged on his arm and he finally gave in and sat up, surprised that everything didn’t cascade into swirling black once more and toss him back into the hospital bed he knew he was really in.

  She pushed the bottle at him again and he drank, watching her as she pulled some plastic bags out of her backpack.

  “You should probably eat an energy bar. I can make us something
hot later.”

  Nick looked down at himself. There was a tear at the bottom of his down vest, stained with blood and leaking feathers. He pulled open the snaps to find dark stains on his sweater as well. He found the hole, using it to tug up the sweater and the shirt underneath. The top button of his bloodstained jeans was undone. And beneath all of it…clean skin. Not a scratch. By the time his fingers touched where he knew the bullet had gone in, his hand was shaking.

  Grace’s slender fingers reached in to cover his, squeezing his hands tight. Her touch was warm and soothing.

  “You were shot,” she said softly. “You didn’t imagine it.”

  He stared at her in disbelief. “You.”

  Grace had gone pale and those freckles had appeared again.

  “Me,” she said.

  “You,” he repeated.

  Her fingers went to his mouth and covered it.

  “Me.” She looked a bit less pale and more like she was going to smile. “I healed you, Nick.” She said it as if she was talking about the weather or something. But she was watching him—tension in every muscle—like some creature caught in his headlights and ready to bolt.

  “Not surgery,” he mumbled around her hand.

  She moved it to stroke his arm, then smiled, as if he were a toddler asking why the sky was blue.

  “No. Like Granny Lily healed the whooping cough,” she said. “Magic, not medicine.”

  For a long moment he stared at her sitting there with all that red hair undone and curling around her shoulders, knowing this wasn’t real. He had awakened with Grace beside him in bed and his jeans unbuttoned. And she was talking about healing him with magic.

  Right. That would happen. No, he was actually in a hospital bed under some really good anesthetic.

  “So, if I am dreaming, I can do this.” He slid his fingers into her hair and leaned forward to capture her mouth.

  She tasted like sweet starlight, just as he remembered. For a moment, she kissed him back, sliding her hand around his neck and opening her lips, quivering under his touch. She broke loose with a gasp, her hand flying up to her mouth as she sat back on her heels.

  Nick knew then that he wasn’t dreaming. In his dreams, she wouldn’t pull away from him. So, this was real. And if this was real—

  He groped for his gun in his empty holster. “The Taggarts?”

  She grasped his hand. “It’s okay. The entrance is blocked. They can’t get in that way and we’re pretty well hidden back here.”

  “Oh.” He relaxed, feeling a bit dizzy. “Sorry. I— Sorry about—” he stammered at first, then gave up. “Sorry.”

  “No. It’s—” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I know it’s confusing and a bit—frightening at first.”

  He looked down at his stomach again in disbelief then thought back to the night before under the stars.

  “Someone lived.”

  Grace’s hands on his chest as he closed his hands around hers.

  Nothing left but light—gold and shimmering behind his eyelids.

  Nothing left of the blackness.

  Nothing left but Grace standing in the meadow, throwing up.

  “The lymphoma,” he said and looked up. “It’s gone too.”

  She nodded.

  “Last night. I knew something happened. You can do that?”

  “Apparently,” she said with a small smile.

  So, redheaded witches just reached in and—fixed things.

  Redheaded witches dressed in nothing but an unbuttoned flannel shirt and some kind of silky long johns—form fitting and almost transparent long johns. He squinted at her, and she glanced down at herself as if just realizing she was undressed.

  “They were wet and muddy,” she said, standing up to grab her jeans from a nearby rock and yank them on.

  Nick pulled up his clothes to examine his stomach again, unable to help himself. “Is the bullet still in there?” It sounded really stupid when it came out of his mouth, but he had to ask.

  “No,” she replied.

  “You sure?” he asked.

  “Yes. Wait a second.” She fished in her jeans pocket and pulled out the slug, handing it to him. Then she found her boots on the floor, and sat to pull them on and lace them up. “I’m a doctor. The doctor says you need to get checked out thoroughly to make sure there’s no damage. But the—the—”

  “Healer?”

  She tilted her head sideways at him, looking bemused. “Yes. The healer,” she repeated. “The healer says there is no damage. You’re fine.”

  Nick was pretty sure himself. He didn’t even feel a twinge anywhere. Grace had healed him. She had given him his life back—twice.

  He was going to live. He would see Alison and his mom again. He would watch his nephew grow up. He would kiss Grace—again and again if she would let him. He grinned up at her and wondered why she looked so solemn.

  “Thank you,” he said, then gave half a laugh. “That sounds inadequate, somehow.”

  The thoughtful look melted into something softer. “Not at all. ‘Thank you’ is fine.”

  “So, where are we—” He looked around, remembering a wall of shelves. “Are we somewhere behind those shelves?”

  “Yes. Hopefully the county mounties are on their way and Search and Rescue may not be far behind.” She fished his gun out from under a folded blanket and stood, stuffing it by the small of her back. “I need to go check and see if they’ve shown up. They may be working on digging us out of here right now.” She put on the headlamp he had mistaken for a halo and walked toward a rock wall.

  “You are going to stay put and rest.” It wasn’t a request. Then she disappeared through an opening behind the wall.

  “Grace?” Nick scrambled to his feet, then leaned against the rock as the world shifted slightly around him. Dig us out?

  Nick was back to thinking he was dreaming until he looked around. He couldn’t have dreamed that makeshift bed made of bright colored wool blankets or Grace undressing him or the candle that seemed to be the only light in this place. And he sure wouldn’t have dreamed waking up in yet another cave—certainly not buried in one.

  Where the hell was he? Why the hell was he still alive? Where the hell were his shoes?

  Grace fumbled with the door that led into the lab, realizing her hands were shaking. She hadn’t really thought past getting to Nick in time and healing him. She hadn’t thought about how to explain it to him or how he would react. She hadn’t thought about how hard it would be to hear his voice or be the focus of that silvery gaze.

  She hadn’t thought about dealing with his Tink-like obsession with her, and her own rebellious desires, in such a confined space.

  But she would—as long as he didn’t kiss her again. Not when she wanted to throw her arms around him and kiss him back and run her fingers through his hair and whisper his name and crawl inside him—and never let him go.

  The hidden door in the shelves squeaked open and she listened for a moment. Nothing. The silence out there was almost ominous. Had it snowed so hard and so deep that their rescue couldn’t get up the mountain? Had the cave disappeared from view again as Annie said it might? She walked as close as she could without climbing up into the rocks and listened intently.

  Nothing at all. Maybe she just couldn’t hear them.

  What if something had happened to Jamie?

  Her mind filled with all manner of horrible scenarios—Jamie hurt in the snow, Jamie in the hands of the Taggarts, Jamie… She would never forgive herself. She should’ve made Jamie go into the cellar of the house and lock herself in there with Pooka.

  What had she been thinking?

  Jamie is fine. Jamie is a smart kid. She’s tough, like you. Daniel’s vision said nothing about Jamie.

  Grace stared at the rocks and hugged herself.

  Nick’s mellow voice startled her. “This place I recognize.”

  She spun around, startled. “I told you to rest.”

  He was standing at the hidden
door tucking in his sweater. “Look, I’m still dealing with this whole ‘not dead’ thing.” He poked a finger into the hole in his vest for emphasis. “You don’t walk out and leave someone in a cave with a single candle burning—” He stopped, staring at the rubble in the cave opening. “Whoa. That old bitch. She really did it, didn’t she? She plugged it up.”

  “Yes, she did,” Grace said. “And I’m sorry about leaving you in there, but you do need to take it easy—”

  “I feel fine. I feel—fantastic. But I want to hear the whole ‘why I’m not dead’ thing again.”

  “I-I know it’s confusing and I have a lot to explain, but look, we need to talk about Jamie right now.”

  “What about Jamie? Where is she?” Nick was all business—Nick McKenzie, DEA agent.

  “I sent her to the Carters, down past her house on the main road, with Pooka. I knew she’d be safe down there and that they could get to the county sheriff.” She took a deep breath. “I hope I did the right thing.”

  “Only thing you could do, other than getting in your truck and heading down there with her, which I would’ve preferred.” He paused and looked down at his blood-stained vest. “But I guess I should be glad you didn’t do that, all things considered. So, this was how long ago?”

  Grace looked at her watch. “About three and half hours.”

  Nick did exactly what she had done, stepping close to the collapsed rocks and listening intently.

  “Pretty damn quiet out there.”

  “The road could be blocked. Or they could be out there trying to find us right now. If the Taggarts don’t tell them where we are—”

  “They’ll search, and keep searching,” Nick reassured her.

  “This place is a bit hard to find.” She watched his expression change as he remembered.

  “It really disappears?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” she replied. “But you’re right. They might find Boyd.” If he’s not too close to the ginseng bed.

  “Boyd?” Nick frowned. “Where is he?”

  “Dead.”

  “You— You were the one out there keeping them busy while I was crawling in here,” he said. “You shot Boyd? Did you get Annie and Mitch too?”