“I’m alone,” I said.
“What do you want?” he asked again impatiently.
“I need some information.”
He looked me over and then ushered me inside. “Sit there,” he said, pointing to the couch. “If you stray an inch, you’re out.”
I wondered what in the world was going on with him. As I sat down, I noticed that there was brownish grit under his nails. Had he been digging?
He caught me looking and glared. Then he left the room and I heard a heavy door open and close.
I hopped up and crept through the house. Like at Bryn’s, the kitchen faced the water. I jumped when light suddenly cut through the fog. A moment later, I smelled smoke. Lennox was burning something.
My fingers itched to open the door, but if I went outside, I wouldn’t get the information I’d come for. I heard a noise and that decided it. I rushed back to the front room and dove onto the couch.
I positioned myself just in time.
I smelled lighter fluid when he came back into the room.
“Well?” he asked.
“Um, what happened to your wife?”
He blinked. “Come again.”
“You were married to her, right—Bryn’s mother? I want to know how she died.”
“Why didn’t you ask him?”
“Because I thought talking about it might upset him.”
“And you didn’t think it would upset me?” he asked.
“Well—”
“Ah. You did think it would upset me, but you didn’t care.”
“I didn’t say that. I’m not out to upset anyone. But if someone has to be upset, well, better someone who stole something from me and nearly got me killed than someone who didn’t.”
“My wife was murdered.”
“Where? How? Who did it?”
“She was stabbed to death in Revelworth, England, by a man named Simon Pritchard.”
“Why did he kill her?”
“He lost his mind.”
“Did he have any magic? Was he a wizard?”
Lennox crossed his arms over his chest. “Of course. Everyone in Revelworth is a witch or wizard.”
“Oh, right. That’s the town the World Association of Magic took over. The one they ran all the regular nonmagical people out of?”
“Yes.”
“That’s the same place where Bryn got in trouble for trying to raise her ghost?”
He frowned. “Who told you that he tried to call her ghost?”
“He did.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “And what did you do for him that made him inclined to confide in you?”
I glared at him. “We’re friends.”
“Sure you are. Now if that’s all—” He yanked open the front door and pointed toward the fog-laden path.
“One more thing,” I blurted, as he took my arm and helped me to my feet with more enthusiasm than was strictly polite. “What happened to Simon Pritchard?”
Lennox pushed me firmly onto the front step before he answered coldly, “He died for his crime.”
The front door closed, and I stood for a moment, thinking things over. If Simon Pritchard had killed Cassandra Lyons, had he tied her to the brooch? And when he died, who had taken possession of the brooch? Who had mailed it to me?
I needed more answers. I closed my hand around the front door handle and tried to turn it. It didn’t budge, and, what’s more, it was dirty. I lifted my gritty hand to my eyes, but it was too dark to see. Uneasiness oozed through me.
I walked down the path to where there was a small gas lamp. I held my hand near it. Tiny rust-colored flecks marked my palm.
Lennox had been freshly showered, burning something in the backyard, with brownish grit on the door handle and under his nails. Uh-oh, I thought. I closed my hand to protect the possible evidence and hurried away from the house.
The fog was like a living thing, its cool breath chilling my arms. I rushed toward the main house, relying on memory and following the pulse of Bryn’s magic. I stumbled a couple of times, but didn’t fall. When I reached the front door, I had to knock because it was locked.
Bryn opened it. “What are you doing out there? I was looking for you.”
“Do you have any more peroxide?”
“Are you hurt?”
“Just a scratch,” I lied. “I’d better clean it.”
He took me upstairs and into the master bathroom. “I don’t normally have such a stash of first aid supplies, but Jenson decided to stock up after last week.”
“Mr. Jenson’s the best,” I said brightly.
Bryn’s hand full of gauze pads paused as he looked at me. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I said, trying to look innocent. I kept my right hand firmly closed and held out my left. “I don’t need gauze. Just the peroxide bottle please.”
Bryn grabbed the bottle and uncapped it. “I’ll pour.”
I opened my hand, revealing perfectly intact skin and minute reddish brown flecks. “Go ahead and pour a little of that onto my palm.”
He tipped the bottle and a few drops splashed onto my hand. The flecks burst into bubbles the way blood always does when mixed with peroxide.
“Okay,” I said, turning on the tap and washing and rinsing both my hands.
“Okay what?” he asked, his gaze trapping me.
Okay, your mom’s trapped in a missing brooch, and your dad might’ve killed your ex-girlfriend tonight. I dried my hands on the towel and couldn’t escape the feeling that things were spinning out of control. As usual. I put my arms around his neck, hugging him.
“What’s going on?” he demanded.
“Nothing, but, you know, I think we should stay somewhere other than here.”
“Like where?”
“Oh, you know,” I said with a casual shrug. “Any where.”
“Tamara, trust me. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
“The Conclave and Scarface are after us. Gwen’s been murdered, and we’ll both be suspects, especially me. Plus, DeeDAW hasn’t given up. I just think it would be good if we were hard to find for a little while.”
Bryn frowned. I didn’t blame him. A fancy mansion with a library, a vault, and a security detail. Who’d want to leave all that behind?
With my arms around his neck, I pulled his face closer to mine. “I’m going.” I brushed my lips over his. “Come with me,” I whispered.
“There it is,” he said, glancing at my mouth. “The offer he couldn’t refuse.”
When I had my suitcase packed and Mercutio in tow, it occurred to me that there was nowhere in Duvall we could hide. Friends, enemies, potential gossips. They were everywhere these days.
When Bryn came downstairs with his fancy suitcase, garment bag, and duffle, I was sitting on the edge of the bed in the guest room.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Where will we go? Not Zach’s house—”
“Definitely not.”
“Not my house, with the workmen coming and going. Not Georgia Sue’s. She couldn’t keep a secret if my life depended on it. Johnny’s neighbors are right on top of his front door.”
“I’ve got a cottage. It’s outside Duvall. We can stay there.”
My jaw dropped. “You’ve got another house?”
“I’ve got other houses.”
“A mansion in Duvall’s not enough, huh? You have to keep your options open?” I demanded. I was being ridiculous, of course. It wasn’t like he said he had other girlfriends or something. It’s just that I’m part of the town, and it’s part of me, and Bryn was supposed to be part of us, too.
He smiled. “I solved the problem of where to stay. You’re supposed to say, ‘Bryn, that’s wonderful. I’m so glad to have you in my life.’ ”
I rolled my eyes. “Just ’cause you’ve got a good solution to a serious problem doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.”
“Of course not,” he said mildly.
I got up and tipped my bag to roll it thro
ugh the house when a thought occurred to me that stopped me dead in my tracks. I turned to face him, sharply pointing my finger. “You’ve got other houses, but there are no girlfriends or wives living in them, right?”
The corner of his mouth turned up. “Careful, Tamara, you’re crossing into dangerous territory with that question. Are you acknowledging that you’re entitled to that information, that you and I are involved?”
“Don’t get law yerly. Just answer the question.”
He smirked. “No. No wives. No other girlfriends. Honestly, at the rate your life explodes into chaos, you’re about all I can handle these days.”
Mercutio sniffed, like he found that amusing.
I bit off a smart remark, knowing there was some—okay, a lot—of truth to that. I glanced down at Merc and grumbled, “I guess he does kind of have a point.”
The drive was slow and scary. I kept clicking the high beams on and off. I couldn’t tell if they helped me see through the fog better than regular lights or not.
And of course, Bryn’s sports car would have to be black, all the harder to follow in the dark and fog. He’d given me directions, but he’d said that the road to turn off onto wasn’t marked and was partially cloaked by bushes. Just what I needed. But I guess the fog had let us drive out of town unnoticed.
When Bryn slowed down to about two miles per hour, I knew the turn must be close. I also thought that his car must’ve been furious. Cars that can go from zero to a hundred in three seconds aren’t meant to be driven at speeds that nonjoggers can jog faster than.
It was lucky that I was right behind him because I couldn’t see the way even after I’d made the turn. For all I knew, I was following Bryn into a ditch.
We bumped along on uneven ground.
“Is this a road?” I asked Mercutio who was standing on the passenger seat with his front paws on the dash.
He gave a soft yowl that I took to mean yes. I chewed my lip and tried to stay centered behind Bryn, hoping his night vision was as good as Mercutio’s.
Finally, Bryn pulled sideways into a makeshift parking spot, his headlights casting some light on a small brown brick house with white trim.
By the time Merc and I got out, Bryn already had the front door open and was transferring bags to the entry way.
As Bryn came to my car, another light blinked on inside the house. I froze for a second, then pulled out my gun.
“Don’t shoot my butler,” Bryn said from behind me, my suitcase in his hand.
Sure enough, Mr. Jenson appeared in the doorway. He wore a white monogrammed terry cloth robe over his striped pajamas, and despite the fact that we’d obviously just woken him up, his hair was neatly combed.
“This house comes with a Mr. Jenson! Why didn’t you say so? I would’ve made a break for it so much sooner!” I said.
“Good morning, Miss Tamara. Mr. Lyons.”
“Sorry we woke you up,” I said.
“Think nothing of it,” Mr. Jenson said, bending to pat Mercutio who was circling him in a way that said, “Have you got any raw chicken for me?”
“Go back to bed, Jenson. We are,” Bryn said.
“Yeah, go back to bed, Mr. Jenson. Bryn’s going to bed, and Merc and I can find our own way around the kitchen. You know us.”
Bryn gave me a look that said he wasn’t too happy about me revising the plan, but I had stuff to do, plus I was hungry.
“I shall vacate the second bedroom for Miss Tamara,” Mr. Jenson said.
“No,” Bryn and I both said at the same time.
“I’ll find somewhere to sleep. The couch . . .” I mumbled, my cheeks pinking up, aware that Bryn looked ready to contradict me any second. “Or, you know, somewhere.”
“Very good,” Mr. Jenson said without turning a hair. “I shall be up promptly at six. Please don’t hesitate to knock sooner should you require assistance with any thing.”
With that Mr. Jenson went back down the hall. I glared at Bryn, but he just grabbed our bags.
“Gentlemen don’t kiss and tell,” I said.
“I didn’t tell him any thing.”
“You told him plenty,” I snapped, following him into the bedroom. “We don’t need everyone knowing, you know. We’re not even sure where this is going.”
“One of us isn’t sure,” he said, toeing off his shoes. I looked around the small room. There was a black-and-white quilt on the bed and a matching black-and-white rug over the hardwood floor.
Bryn stripped down and climbed in bed. Mercutio batted my leg to try to get my attention, but I was still focused on Bryn who’d lain back on the soft white pillows.
“Why’d you get a second house so close to your regular house?”
“I wanted property on another of the tor’s ley lines.”
“Oh. Well, it’s not as fancy as your regular place, but I like it,” I said as Bryn closed his eyes.
“I like it, too, now that you’re here,” he said without opening his eyes.
I silently scolded my limbs, which were itching to crawl into bed with him. “You’ve got to watch out for the charming ones. They’re really hard to resist,” I whispered to Mercutio as I turned off the light and closed the door.
Merc dashed down the hallway with the kind of zero-to-something-fast speed that Bryn’s car would’ve admired. Plus, Merc was silent in a way that nothing man-made would ever be. You gotta hand it to whoever designed kitties.
I stretched. “You ready to do some magic, Merc?”
Merc yowled softly.
“What?”
He put a paw on the fridge.
“Okay, okay. Breakfast first.”
I had Applewood bacon and biscuits with orange marmalade. Mercutio had his bacon with a side of smoked ham. He’s mostly a carnivore, though he doesn’t say no to heavy cream very often.
I got out a large bowl and filled it with water. “I’ve gotta find that brooch, Mercutio. You’re here. Bryn’s right down the hall. That’s sure to give my power a boost, don’t you think?”
I sat at the table and stared down into the bowl. I gave the water a swirl with my finger and watched it move. When my eyes lost their focus, I began to see dancing shapes, but when I concentrated on the brooch or on Bryn’s mom’s face, they dissolved.
“Maybe I need some dirt?” I took off my boots, tucking my socks neatly inside them so I was left with bare feet. Then I grabbed a dish towel and put it near the kitchen door. No need for me to track in muddy footprints when Mr. Jenson had the kitchen tile so clean.
I opened the door and shivered. It was extremely cold out. I carried the glass bowl as the fog wrapped around me. The cement steps led to the woods that surrounded the house. I sat sideways on the steps with my legs dangling to the ground. I dug my toes in the damp earth and stared down into the bowl again.
Mercutio sat next to me and pawed the door closed, which plunged us into darkness.
“Now I can’t even see the bowl, Merc,” I complained, but my voice trailed off as my eyes adjusted. The mist rose from the grass, and so did a vaporous image of Cassandra Lyons. Even made of fog she was really, really pretty. Then more images began to rise. Two scowling men. I cocked my head. The first looked like Bryn, but I realized that it was a younger Lennox. The other man looked familiar, too. His eyes stared through her and focused on me. His body was solid, robust, and appealing, but his eyes were cold, like icicles scraping my skin.
Cassandra’s image shifted, melting in fear, just as I recognized him. A younger, clean-shaven John Barrett.
The moment I realized who he was, a gust of wind knocked me back. As I tried to catch myself, the bowl tipped off my lap and crashed onto the steps. I tumbled down, rolling over the broken glass and landing hard on the ground, banging my elbow and hip, scraping my palms and scuffing my knee.
I caught my breath and a sharp spike of pain dug into my eyes. I groaned, grabbing my head. The bacon and biscuits churned in my belly. I didn’t understand. I hadn’t even hit my head, but it hurt more tha
n anything. My stomach heaved and a disgusting acid taste burned up my throat.
I hung my splitting head, breathing deep through my mouth, the curtain of my hair seeming to block the fresh air. Sweat popped up on the back of my neck and between my breasts. I opened my jaws wider, gasping.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” a female voice asked.
The rushing sound in my ears quieted as the pain slowly eased.
“Tammy,” Edie said sharply. “Can you hear me?”
“Kind of.” I raised my right hand and rubbed my palm against my jeans. “What’s up?”
“What are you doing?” she asked.
I ignored her question at first, trying to concentrate. I remembered Bryn saying magic had backlashed and given him a terrible headache when he’d cast the two-plagues counterspell. Was my headache John Barrett’s doing? Because I’d seen him?
“I was looking for that brooch I told you about. I think someone powerful is trying to block me from finding it.”
“Melanie didn’t send it, but she did send you spellbooks by overnight mail. They should be at the house.”
“Good,” I said, standing up with chattering teeth.
“Whose house is this?”
“Bryn Lyons’s.”
“Haven’t you heard anything we’ve said? Lenore didn’t put that family on the forbidden list for no reason.”
“Prove it,” I said. I walked carefully up the stairs, hissing in pain as a shard of glass cut my foot.
“I don’t have to prove it. You shouldn’t need me to prove it.”
I looked over my shoulder at her, narrowing my eyes. “Oh really? I should just take everything that you and Momma and Aunt Mel say at face value, huh? Because you guys would never lie to me about anything important, right? Like what I am? Or the fact that you’re not my only living—and dead—family?”
I hobbled into the kitchen.
“What’s happening?” Bryn asked. “Were you spell-casting? I was just falling asleep when I felt your magic flare and then got another killer headache.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, feathering my fingers over his temple. “I didn’t know it would wake you up or hurt your head, too.”
Halfway Hexed Page 17
