Witching for a Miracle (The Witchy Women of Coven Grove Book 7)

by Constance Barker

  “It’s… not the sort of lead they can follow up on,” she said. “Let me at least explain it to you, and then you can decide for yourself what you want us to do.”

  Doug looked like he already knew, and it wasn’t going to be a pleasant suggestion. But he glanced over his shoulder, and a moment later Lauren appeared in the doorway as well.

  “Did you find him?” She asked.

  “Not… yet,” Chloe said. “We’ve come because we think we may have a way to do that.”

  “What about the picture?” Lauren asked. “And the… hair. Wasn’t that supposed to help?”

  “Normally,” Chloe said, “it would. But it seems someone is… well, there’s something interfering.”

  “That’s convenient,” Lauren spat. “Mister Wheeler told us there was… magic… involved. He ran tests on Xavier’s room. Chloe, if you took our son, just give him back to us. Please…”

  Chloe felt a cold knife slip between her ribs at Lauren’s begging tone, and the way her voice tightened to high pitched near-sob.

  “Lauren, I…” Chloe swallowed the lump back down. “We didn’t take Xavier. I promise you. I would never—none of us would ever do anything like that. We just want to help, and I’ve brought someone who’s kind of like a specialist.”

  Both of Xavier’s parents looked past Chloe, and neither were thrilled with what they saw.

  “I know he looks a little rough around the edges,” Chloe said quietly, so that Peitr wouldn’t hear, she hoped, “but he… knows things that might help. Things that whoever took Xavier wouldn’t be able to account for.”

  “Like what?” Doug demanded.

  “May we come in?” Chloe asked. “We’ll be quick, and if you don’t want us to stay, we’ll leave immediately and we won’t come back.”

  Lauren gave a disgusted groan, and turned away from the door.

  After a moment, however, Doug nodded. “Fine. Come in.”

  The three of them went inside, but didn’t sit down and the Clearys didn’t invite them to. Chloe explained about the domovoi and, to her surprise, Doug and Lauren managed to let her finish before they voiced their disbelief.

  “You think our house is… what, haunted?” Lauren asked. She was red faced, the incredulity in her expression biting.

  “Haunt is not right word,” Peitr said, calmly and with more gentleness than Chloe expected. “Domovoi is… like soul of house. New house has small one; very little words. Old house, old domovoi; very talkative. This house? Sixty, seventy years old?”

  “Sixty three,” Doug said skeptically.

  Peitr nodded sagely. “If I call, domovoi will speak. Not much, but enough. It love the little ones. Like… family dog, a little.”

  “And you think it might have seen what happened?” Lauren asked. She’d rounded the corner from incredulous to cautiously curious.

  “Maybe,” Peitr said. He spread his hands. “In trying there is no harm to be done. But, maybe a lot from not trying.”

  “Fine,” Doug sighed. “So… should we… leave or, how does this work?”

  Chloe deferred to Peitr, who shook his head and rubbed his thick beard. “No, no. Better you stay. Domovoi knows you; does not know me. Maybe it talk more if you are here.” He frowned. “Could be little bit… scary, first time. Ugly. So, do not be afraid. Domovoi is your friend.”

  Both the Clearys seemed to brace themselves, as if the creature was going to appear before them that very moment.

  That, however, wasn’t the case. It took Peitr some time to prepare. He worked at the fireplace, which he informed all present was the heart of the house—the source of life and warmth. He’d brought with him a small case with various tools, some of which looked positively wicked—a dagger with a snake-like blade that waved back and forth, for one, and had what was clearly a bone of some sort of the handle. There were candle nubs that smelled of something that wasn’t wax—maybe genuine animal tallow. At least, Chloe hoped it was animal tallow.

  Frances looked on with a mix of interest and disgust, and the Clearys opted to wait in the kitchen, away from the witches and their warlock friend, until Peitr was ready and called them in.

  The magic wasn’t vastly different from witch’s magic, Chloe realized as Peitr began the summoning. There was more chanting, however, and it was forceful. She understood none of it—it was in whatever slavic language Peitr spoke. There was an unmistakable ritual quality to it, however. The cadence was precise, and Peitr’s voice boomed at times with what she thought were meant to be names or words of power.

  He laid out a bowl, and poured cream into it, speaking ritual words as he did. He lit candles in a similar fashion, and they put out a black, greasy smoke that almost instantly began to cling to the mantle above the hearth.

  Whatever current warlocks worked with, however, it was as separate from the witches’ current as the wizards’ was. Chloe felt no magic other than a distant stirring. That was even more disconcerting when Peitr leaned toward the fireplace, tilted his head as if he meant to look up into the flu, and then spoke something in his own language that was clearly a question.

  Someone answered.

  The voice was hollow, and raspy, and small. It answered in Slavic, which seemed odd—but once it had, Peitr waved Lauren toward him and she approached after some hesitation.

  “What… what did it say?” She asked.

  “It say ‘am here’,” Peitr explained. “It will speak your tongue. Tell who you are, ask it come out.”

  Lauren nodded, but when she first spoke her voice came out a strangled whisper. She had to try a couple of times before her voice had any strength. “Uh… I’m… Lauren. Cleary. I… I live here.”

  “Mother,” The voice rasped. “Know you.”

  Lauren scrambled back from the hearth.

  “No, no,” Peitr hissed, and waved her back toward him. “Calm. Is skittish spirit. Easily offended. Come, come. Domovoi is friend.”

  “Maybe I should—” Doug started, standing from the couch.

  “No,” Peiter said. “Domovoi loves mother best. I know. Sit.”

  Doug sat back down, his jaw clenched, and began tapping his foot nervously.

  Chloe wanted to reassure him, comfort him in some way, but she didn’t think he’d take it. So she stood by as Lauren made her way cautiously back to the hearth.

  “Here,” Peitr said, and pressed a hard lump of something into her hand. “Cheese. Domovoi like. You offer. Will make domovoi calm; friendly.”

  Lauren looked horrified, but Peitr tugged her arm at the wrist a bit, toward the fireplace.

  She licked her lips, and then extended her arm toward the hearth. “Ah,” she muttered, “this is… ah… for you. For domovoi.”

  “Name is not domovoi,” Peitr said.

  “What’s it’s name?” Lauren asked.

  He waved at the fireplace. “Ask.”

  Lauren nodded, and leaned further into the fireplace, her arm trembling either with the effort of being held out like that, or with fear. Or both. “I’m Lauren,” she said. “Mother. Um… this is for you. What… is your name?”

  There was a kind of harsh whispering sound, maybe in the spirit’s native tongue.

  Lauren, though, seemed to react as though she understood. “Nice to meet you, F—”

  “No,” Peitr whispered quickly, and put a finger to Lauren’s lips. “Only for you. Here… watch…”

  He pointed, and Lauren flinched. She would have pulled her hand away if Peitr hadn’t been there to hold her in place, muttering to her to stay calm and not be afraid.

  A slender, long fingered hand, covered in long, black hair reached out tentatively from inside the fireplace, through the flu, and delicately plucked the lump of cheese from Lauren’s hand.

  There was a breathy sound of excitement and pleasure, followed by a few seconds of greedy munching, and then what Chloe could only call a purr of contentment.

  “Wait,” Peitr urged. “Wait…”

  Chloe would have missed i
t if she hadn’t been looking closely. The domovoi moved in total silence, lowering itself gradually into view though it was largely shrouded by the shadows of the fireplace and seemed intent on keeping close to the back, out of sight. She could see some detail, though. The hand wasn’t the only hairy part of it. It’s whole body was hairy as well, and it had an almost simian quality to it’s limbs and shape. It was the size of a small child, perhaps.

  It’s face, however, though barely visible, seemed like it might be the face of an old man. It was lined, and the coal-like eyes glinted in the dark. Those glints flickered back and forth, observing them intelligently before it finally settled it’s gaze on Lauren again.

  “Cream,” Peitr said. He pushed the dish toward Lauren very slowly.

  Lauren nodded, now more mystified than afraid, and picked up the shallow dish. Careful not to spill, she reached out and laid it down closer to the domovoi, who took it only after she withdrew.

  Again, it made a pleased sound, and then slurped the cream down loudly.

  Cream, and cheese. Chloe couldn’t help but think of stories about faerie helpers, such as they were. Was the domovoi somehow related? Or was cream some universal substrate for supernatural creatures? A question for another time, perhaps.

  Whatever the spirit’s origin, it enjoyed the cream with the same enthusiasm as the cheese, and when it was done it politely set the dish down and used a foot to push it out of the fireplace.

  “Missing,” the domovoi said. It scratched a nail along the inside of the fireplace. “Little one, gone.”

  Doug surged to his feet. “Do you know where—”

  “Hssst,” Peitr hissed, and pointed. “Sit. Down.”

  It was clear why—in a flash, the domovoi was halfway up the flu.

  “Wait!” Lauren called. “Wait, I’ll… I have more cheese. And cream. Anything you want, please, don’t go!”

  Peitr made a wretched face, and shot Chloe an apologetic look, though she didn’t know what for.

  The domovoi paused, and then slipped back out of the flu. “Struck. Deal. Little one… taken.” It made a whooshing sound. “Fast. Through the eye.”

  “But who?” Lauren asked. “Who took him? Did you see them?”

  “See,” the domovoi agreed. “Yes. See. No good.”

  Peitr whispered something to Lauren.

  Lauren nodded. “F… ah, Domovoi… can you take me to the place where my son is now?”

  The spirit shuddered, and scratched idly at the ashes in the fireplace for a long moment, tilting it’s head one way and then the other. At length, it spoke again. “Take you. Yes. I take you.”

  Chapter 28

  Bailey let herself into the Bakery just before dawn and made her way behind the counter to brew coffee. Twice while it brewed she nodded off. Once she had a warm cup in hand, she sat at one of the tables and stared into the black liquid.

  The next moment, the door was opening. Bailey blinked away sleep and nearly knocked her cold coffee over. She reached for it as it just as it slipped over the edge of the table.

  It hung there, unmoving until she gripped it and moved it away from the edge.

  Aiden had come in, accompanied by Aria. Both of them gave Bailey a long look, but only Aria’s was wary. Aiden’s was sympathetic.

  “So,” he said, “you did manage to sleep. I wondered.”

  “Did I?” Bailey asked. There was more light outside. “I was trying to coffee up. Guess I didn’t make it.”

  He picked her mug up, peered at the cold coffee inside, and then took it behind the counter and poured it into the sink. A moment later, he returned with a hot mug instead.

  “What news?” Bailey asked as she took it from him.

  “The good kind,” Aiden said. He sat by her with his tea. “We got a call—an old colleague of mine; another sometime student of Gab—Lord, old habits. One of Leander’s other students. He came across a group of women searching for a set of stones in northern Russia. They already had one, and they found another. They went south from there. No idea why he was there to begin with. To be fair, they were from Sweden. I think the stones want to be found.” He sipped his tea and momentarily had a kind of far away look in his eyes.

  “Aiden?” Bailey pressed. “Your friend? Is he here?”

  “Oh,” Aiden said, shaking it off, or more likely shelving whatever quandary he’d been in for later. “No. He went with the witches to India, by way of Pakistan, and netted two more sets. But he should be here soon. He’s met up with two other wizards and they’re going to attempt a, ah… well a portal. They’ll be entirely safe about it. I gave them coordinates for a space well away from the town. The dimensional fabric around Coven Grove is weak enough as it is. There’s a ley line that runs direct from southern India to a point about a dozen miles north of town.”

  “They mean to bring the stones through it?” Bailey asked. “Do you think that’s safe?”

  “Charles—my colleague, that is—believes they can arrange the necessary safeguards,” he said. “Just in case.”

  Aria made a soft, snorting sound.

  “You don’t agree?” Bailey asked.

  “It’s like wizards to speculate about magic they don’t understand,” Aria said. She peered over at Bailey and Aiden from behind the counter. “I told him so long as they get here and aren’t lost between dimensions, or in some far off astral plane, or at the bottom of the ocean. You know. Fate of the world and all.”

  Bailey cast Aiden an uncertain eyebrow. “You’re sure it’ll be okay?”

  Aiden frowned for a long moment. “Maybe… I’ll call him back. Consult with Leander and some of the other wizards here.”

  “Just not too many,” Aria muttered. “Or we’ll all be old before anyone agrees on how to make it work.”

  Bailey suppressed a smile, and Aiden kissed her forehead.

  “I’ll make sure there aren’t too many cooks in the kitchen,” he assured Aria.

  Bailey watched him go, and then went to work on her coffee.

  Aria brought her a bran muffin after a moment. “From yesterday but… still good. Don’t tell the inspector.”

  “My lips are sealed,” Bailey sighed. “When’s the last time a health inspector actually checked on this place.”

  “We keep it clean in here,” Aria said. “And… it’s been a while. There have to be some perks to being a witch.”

  Grovey Goodies was warded against a variety of supernatural threats—more heavily, since Faerie become an issue, but Aria had always been just a little paranoid—but Bailey never imagined it would be warded against inspections. She chuckled quietly before she dug in to her bran muffin. “What time is it actually?” She asked around a bite.

  “Half past nine,” Aria said. “Chloe and Frances are still sleeping. Peitr—that warlock—apparently has to prepare some sort of a vessel in order to take the Clearys’ domovoi for a walk.”

  “My God,” Bailey breathed, suddenly guilty. “I… managed to forget there was a missing kid to deal with.”

  Aria wiped her hands on her apron and looked at Bailey with concern. “You haven’t been sleeping,” she said. “You can’t keep going like this. Why don’t you go upstairs and take a nap. I promise, I won’t tell anyone where you are.”

  Bailey finished her coffee, and worked faster at her muffin. “Can’t. Not with so much at stake. I shouldn’t have nodded off just now.”

  Aria came to her, and put a hand on Bailey’s shoulder. “Slow down, girl. Look…” She sighed, and sank into the chair opposite Bailey. “If you don’t rest, you’re going to make mistakes. You’ll be slow. And frankly… with your new magic that might not be… safe, Bailey.” She looked as if she’d just slapped Bailey and was sorry for it.

  Bailey, for her part, sort of felt like she had. But that was part of the problem, wasn’t it? She was tired, and even little emotional turns seemed to send her spinning.

  “You used your magic before to catch the mug,” Aria said softly. “Without even thinking
about it. As a… knee jerk reaction. That’s impressive, but it’s also a little bit scary. What happens if—”

  “I get it, Aria,” Bailey sighed. “Let me just… check in with our guests, and then I’ll go home and sleep.”

  Aria smiled, and squeezed Bailey’s hand. “I think it’ll be good for you.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Bailey said. “Thanks for the muffin. It was still good.”

  “Of course it was,” Aria said, smiling. “We’re—what is it?”

  Bailey stared past her, out the Bakery window at the street.

  Aria turned to see as well and then sucked in a sharp breath. “Is that…?”

  Bailey stood, and went to the door. “Seamus,” she confirmed. “And I don’t think he’s alone.”

  Chapter 29

  Bailey stormed through the Bakery door toward Seamus’ truck. He didn’t seem to notice her. He had two girls with him who couldn’t have been more than teenagers. Just as Bailey made it to the sidewalk, she saw there were more—two people in the back of the truck as well.

  “Seamus,” she called.

  He stopped, and looked at her. For a moment, he looked like he might turn and run. Instead, he waved her over. “These two are hurt,” he shouted.

  Bailey came to the edge of the truck and saw just how badly. A woman in her forties or fifties, and a man about the same age—her with what looked like a crossbow bolt in her shoulder, him with a soaked left calf.

  “Why didn’t you take them to a hospital?” Bailey asked, panicked. “We have to call an ambulance. Seamus what the—”

  “She said not to,” Seamus hissed. “Said they can’t help, she’s got some kinda… hunter poison.”

  “Are you her?” One of the girls asked.

  Bailey looked over her shoulder.

  “Can you help Mama?” It was the taller, older one.

  Bailey ignored both questions. “Help me get them out. Inside, there’s a lady, Aria—tell her to come help. Go. Quick.”

  The younger girl ran inside, and the older came to help Bailey with her mother.

  “Careful,” Bailey urged. Seamus let the back gate of the truck down, and they slid the woman to it. Between the three of them they were able to get the woman out of the back and across the lawn to the Bakery just as Aria was coming out of the door with the younger girl.