by Liliana Hart
The floor plan of Rachel’s townhouse was a mirror image of his, but it still surprised him every time he’d stepped inside. Her style was simple, Spartan even, but every surface seemed to be covered with plants. Cascading vines, delicate orchids, even miniature trees. The air smelled loamy and fresh.
The book lay on the kitchen counter next to a battered cardboard box. Nate traced a finger over the cover. The volume was leather bound and tooled with an intricate picture of the intertwining branches of a tree. As the limbs twisted upward to the sky, they formed a woman’s face surrounded by a halo of thorny vines. Other faces dotted the book, too, each harder to pick out than the last, each looking both beautiful and otherworldly.
“With this grimoire, I should be able to get Josh out in no time.”
“Grimoire?”
“It’s like a text book of magic,” Nate explained. “Or maybe more accurately, a recipe book.”
“I thought it was a simple children’s book. Josh found it in the basement the day after Steven died. It was in this box along with a few other things.” She reached into the container, pulled out a card, and handed it to him.
Larger than a regular playing card, it was embossed on one side with similar twisting branches, thorns, and vines. On the other, it held a drawing of a man wearing a red cape over white robes that were cinched with a snake belt. One of his hands held a wand high above his head. The other pointed to the lilies and roses burgeoning around his feet. In front of him was a table, set with a cup, a sword, what looked like a walking stick, and a pentacle. The sideways figure eight of infinity hovered above his head.
“There aren’t any other Tarot cards in here, just this one.”
“It’s The Magician,” Nate said. “Generally considered a sign of skill and of transforming ideas into actions in the real world.”
“What is it for?”
Nate tucked it between the first pages in the grimoire. “An enhancement? A good luck charm? Not sure. But if Steven had it with these other things, my guess is that he was trying to channel it, to be the magician.”
“To transform ideas into actions in the real world?”
“Exactly.”
Next she pulled a handful of fat nails from the box. “I know what these are for. Gertie warned me to take some with me when I went looking for Josh.”
“Iron. Supposedly repels the fay folk.”
She tilted the box toward her and reached for the next item. “And this I can’t quite figure out. I thought he might be making this for Josh or a Halloween costume, but the points are actually quite sharp.”
She pulled out a fork-shaped device. It was made of tin cut in a simple design. Three triangular teeth formed the tines. The flat side was bolted to a black wooden dowel, and letters and shapes were drawn on both metal and handle. The entire device was around a foot long and eight inches wide.
“To me it looks like a devil’s fork from a kid’s drawing,” she said. “Do you know what it is?”
Nate gave her a smile. “It’s the Trident of Paracelsus. At one time it was considered one of the most important tools in Western Magic. It was supposed to do everything from cure impotence and venereal disease to bar the passage of ethereal beings.”
She handed him the trident. “Whatever works, I guess.”
Nate tested the weight in his hand. Surprisingly heavy for something made from light materials. “Is that it?”
Rachel pulled out a sloppily sewn bag made of fabric that looked like silk. “There’s this. Looks about the right size to fit over the trident.”
“Perfect.” Nate took the silk bag, then paged through the book until he found what he needed and used the Magician card to mark the page.
“What comes next?”
“I consecrate the trident precisely at the stroke of midnight, cover it with the silk to preserve its power, and go get Josh.”
“I’m going too, Nate.”
He was afraid she’d say that. “The faery isn’t just after Josh, Rachel. It’s also after you.”
“Believe me, I remember. But you said yourself that if both you and Steven were at Devil’s Lake that night, you might have been able to ground each other in reality. Even if the faery is focusing on Josh and me, I doubt that will stop it from messing with your mind.”
What she said made sense. How could it not? Hadn’t he been over and over the night Steven died? Hadn’t he come to that same conclusion? Then why did this feel different?
“Then it’s settled. We’ll go in together.”
“Rachel, I can’t let you.”
“You can’t stop me.”
“I know. I just…” He fitted the silk bag over the trident’s blade, as if in the time that simple action bought him, he’d come up with some sort of argument, some way to protect her.
as much as he told himself that it was his duty to keep his friend’s family safe, that it was all about his promise to Steven, he knew it wasn’t that simple. The past two years, he hadn’t been able to tell Rachel the truth about her husband, about him. Now she knew almost all of it, and in telling her, he felt both lighter and more burdened than ever before.
Because now he could imagine a future with Rachel and Josh, and she was asking him to risk it all.
“He’s my son, Nate. I can’t lose him.”
Nate’s throat felt dry. “And I can’t lose you.”
Chapter Nine
“Aunt Val?”
Val started at the tremor of fear underlying her niece’s voice. She pushed herself out of her chair at the kitchen table and crossed into the living room. “What is it, sweetheart?”
Grace stood at the front window, staring out into the darkness. “There’s a car coming up the driveway.”
“A police car?”
“No. Just a car.” She stepped back from the glass, moving out of the driver’s view. “What do you think they want?”
“I’m sure it’s nothing big. Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”
Grace had been recovering well since her ordeal with killer Dixon Hess, but at only seventeen years old, she was still fragile. Seeing her fear made Val wish she would have killed the psychopath instead of merely putting him in the hospital and now in jail awaiting trial.
Most likely this had nothing to do with Dixon Hess. In a small town, Val had learned long ago that the police chief’s life and privacy belonged to the village. Whether a dog was lost or someone’s cell phone had been stolen, citizens didn’t hesitate to pay a personal visit to enlist her help, whether she was on her own time or not.
The car pulled up outside the kitchen door, parking behind Val’s village-provided, seen-better-days Crown Vic.
A man climbed out of the driver’s seat, and Val met him outside to save Grace the worry of whatever problem needed Val’s attention. The man was tall and muscled, and the porch light reflected off his smooth-shaved head. She’d peg him to be in his fifties, and he had the thrown-back-shoulder bearing of a man in charge, possibly a cop. Out of habit, Val focused on his hands, his fingers opening and closing at his sides.
“Chief Ryker?”
“Yes?”
He flashed one of the most insincere smiles Val had ever seen. His expression wasn’t cruel or chilling or scary, just false. As if underneath, he was feeling nothing particular at all. He thrust out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. After all the press coverage, I feel like I can now brag about being friends with a celebrity.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I hope you don’t mind me tracking down your home address instead of going through the station, but this matter is urgent.”
“And you are?”
“Tim Bradley of the IPPO.”
Val took his offered hand and gave it a firm shake. “What can I do for you, Mr. Bradley?”
“Agent Bradley. And I was told you contacted my agency earlier today about a man named Nathan Wells?”
“I did. And your agency wasn’t very helpful.”
“These things are sensitive.�
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“I’m sensitive about a missing child.”
“There’s no time for that, chief. This is bigger than one child. I need you to tell me why you were asking about Nathan Wells.”
Val had always been a big believer in letting people talk. If allowed to keep flapping their gums, sooner or later, most revealed exactly who they were. With Agent Bradley, it ended up being sooner. “Bigger than one child?”
“You know what I meant. This is a case of public safety. Now tell me where I can find Mr. Wells.”
“I can’t do that.”
“I don’t think you’re understanding me. I’m a federal agent, and this man stole something from our agency.”
“This man is also a citizen of the village. It’s my job to protect him, and you haven’t shown me any kind of warrant or probable cause or, frankly, anything.”
“You shouldn’t be concerned with protecting him. You should worry about the rest of your town if I don’t apprehend him.”
“Apprehend him? On what charge?”
“Fine. Question him. Certainly you don’t have a problem with that.”
Val watched, waited, letting the silence hang between them, but this time Bradley held his tongue.
She glanced back at the house, then gave an everything-is-okay wave to the silhouette of Grace watching from her second floor bedroom window. “I’ll take you to him, Agent Bradley, as long as you don’t have a problem with me and an officer of mine doing a little questioning of our own.”
Bradley shrugged a shoulder. “No problem at all, as long as you understand this man and the research he stole, are very, very dangerous.”
Chapter Ten
“Losing…me?” Rachel echoed. She leaned back, bracing herself on the kitchen counter behind her. A jitter seated itself under her rib cage. Even with all the times she’d thought about Nate, how often he stopped by, how special he made her feel, how much she liked him, his pronouncement surprised her.
She didn’t know if she was ready to put her heart on the line like that yet. Didn’t know if she ever would be again.
Nate watched her, his dark eyes pinched at the edges. “Is that so bad, Rachel? That I don’t want to lose you?”
“Bad? No.”
“Then why do you look so… stricken?” He stepped toward her, closing the distance between them.
Rachel shook her head. “Let’s make sure all three of us come out safe. Okay?”
“Okay.” Nate smoothed her hair back from her eyes with gentle fingers. He was close enough she could feel his heat, close enough to kiss her, and yet he didn’t move.
Rachel couldn’t think about this now. Not until Josh was safe, and then… even then she wasn’t sure. “I want you to promise me something.”
He tilted his head in a nod.
“I want you to give me your word that whatever happens, you’ll save Josh.”
“I understand.”
“No matter what.”
“I promise.”
Swallowing into a dry throat, she stepped back, away from his heat and his gentle touch. Once Steven had been her life, him and her job at the senior center. And everything had been simple and easy. But there had been something missing for her. Something more that she felt she could give. Then Josh had been born, and the moment she first saw his purplish little scrunched up face, she knew no one would need her as much as her son did.
“We have to consecrate the trident precisely at midnight.”
Rachel pulled her mind from her reverie and focused on Nate’s words, on what needed to be done. “And how do we do that?”
Nate tapped the cover of the faery guide. “The step-by-step is in here. We read a blessing three times. It’s best if we have some candles and incense to burn, make it into a ritual.”
“I have candles.” She grabbed a pair of tapers she had used once for a romantic dinner back when Steven was still alive, and when she set them on the kitchen table, she couldn’t help but wonder if she might use them someday with Nate.
“Do you have a table cloth?”
“White?”
“Perfect.”
He held the candles aloft, and she spread the cloth over the bare wood. When they’d finished, the setting really did look like they were about to share a romantic evening, not perform some magical ritual.
Nate set the trident between the two candlesticks and opened the book to the page he’d marked with the Tarot card.
“Then what?”
“We read this blessing three times, then hold the trident up in front of us for a few seconds, and cover it with the silk to hold its power until we use it.”
“And that does the trick?”
“That should do it.”
“So how do you use this thing?”
“Like a sword, if we need to fight. It can also block the faery’s influence.”
“So we put it between Josh and the faery?”
He nodded. “But the power doesn’t last long, not without the silk. So it can only be used sparingly.”
She glanced at her watch. “Twenty minutes to mid—”
The doorbell rang, the chime loud and sudden enough to make Rachel jump.
“Expecting someone?” Nate asked.
“No.” Rachel circled to the living room and peered through the slat blinds covering the front bay window. A car was parked behind her Prius, an old Crown Victorian that she’d seen earlier today. “It’s the police chief,” she said.
A shadow flitted along the line of bushes separating her place and Nate’s. A man, several inches taller than Nate, with a chest as wide as a barn. The streetlight glinted off his bare scalp. “And there’s a man out there, too. Big guy. Looks like he’s on his way to your house. He’s not dressed like a cop.”
Nate moved closer, his breath warm on the side of her cheek. “Tim Bradley.”
His voice was low, but the tone behind it made chills rise over Rachel’s arms. “Who?”
“Remember I told you about the new orders we were given at the IPPO?”
“To capture the faery and extract his power?”
“This was the man who gave them.”
“What does he want?”
“Me.”
“Why?”
“I might have destroyed Steven’s research after he died. Didn’t want it to get in the wrong hands. And Agent Bradley? He would be the wrong hands.”
“Does he know about the trident and grimoire?”
“I doubt it. And we can’t let him find them.”
Rachel picked up the book and offered it to Nate. There was one easy answer, one Nate already preferred. “Take them. Get out of here. I can stall for time.”
“Are you kidding? I don’t want you anywhere near that guy.”
“You just promised me you’d save Josh.”
“Listen, if we both leave now, we have a head start. They have no reason to know I’m here, and no reason to think you’ll run.”
“So we run?”
“Exactly.”
“But what about consecrating the trident?”
“Moonlight will have to be ceremonial enough.”
“Will that work?”
“Moonlight is pretty powerful. The important thing is the incantation.” Nate was already gathering the trident and nails, and in seconds they were out the back door and onto the patio.
The night was quiet, and cold slapped Rachel’s cheeks, her breath steaming the air. Nate peered around the corner of the house, nodded, and Rachel took off at a half-run for the gap in the fence, Nate right behind her.
She’d just slipped through when she heard a yell.
“Hey! Stop!”
Nate scrambled through and grasped Rachel’s hand, pulling her to the right, parallel with the neighborhood’s fence line. “We can’t lead him to the school.”
Rachel fell into stride next to him, gripping the grimoire tight to her side, her other hand locked in Nate’s grip. The neighborhood held few hiding places. If a neighbor spotted them
, they’d surely call the police. But… she focused on the hulking shadow of forest flanking the other side of the school. “Rossum Park?”
Nate nodded and they accelerated to a sprint.
More voices shouted from behind them, and Rachel channeled all her fear into her legs, racing over the uneven grass. They had to reach the forest, get lost among the trees, ditch the cops and Agent Bradley before midnight struck. If they were too late…
Cold air rasped in and out of her lungs, leaving her throat and jaw aching. Nate pulled ahead of her, and she willed her legs to move faster.
They crested a sharp bank and plunged down the other side, half sliding, half running. Flashlight beams crisscrossed overhead, illuminating the fall canopy, just missing them.
The school parking lot stretched along the bottom of the slope, their shoes smacked against hard asphalt. The forest was close now, and Rachel could see the mouth of the pea gravel path that led to nearby Rossum Park and the nature sanctuary.
Only five feet away, one of the light beams caught them from behind.
“Stop or I’ll shoot.”
Rachel’s heart stuttered. What kind of a cop would shoot them when they were unarmed and running away? Or did the voice belong to Agent Bradley?
They plunged into the forest’s darkness. Gravel crunched under the soles of Rachel’s shoes with each stride.
A hundred feet into the trail, Nate veered to the left, leaving the gravel. Rachel followed, a low branch clawing at her face and arm. Leaves crunched underfoot, slippery on uneven ground. They scrabbled down the slope, skidding and ducking, until they reached the road that ran in front of the school.
“Across,” Nate puffed.
Rachel was totally out of breath now, gasping and wheezing. They dashed across the two-lane road, then down another slope on the other side. The glittering water of Lake Loyal opened in front of them, its edge rimmed by a board walk and tall clumps of cattails and grass.
Nate changed direction again, leading onto the boardwalk, the wood sounding like a drum beneath their feet. About twenty yards before the boardwalk merged with the park’s bicycle trail, Nate stopped.
“Into the water.” He squatted on the edge of the wood, then lowered himself down among the cattails. “Keep your phone and the book dry.”
