by Joyce
Elsie shook her head. She knew what I was talking about. Generations of practical witchcraft lore were housed in that tome. Maybe it wasn’t as powerful as some of the more well-known witches in the Grand Council, but it probably wasn’t guarded as well either.
Harper lay on the concrete floor, not moving. He didn’t want to go on without Olivia, requesting that we leave him there to die.
“I understand your feelings,” I told him. “But the police will be here soon, searching through the house. If they find you trying to kill yourself, they’ll hand you over to a shelter. It would be best if you come with us.”
“What are we going to do with him?” Elsie’s thin red brows went up to a point. “Barnabas won’t have him. He hated sailors when he was alive. I doubt he’d feel much different now.”
Barnabas was Elsie’s cat. I knew Isabelle would feel the same. Familiars tended to be one cat to a house. Anything more messed up the whole environment.
“We’ll take him to Smuggler’s Arcane. He should be all right there.”
“We’re taking Olivia’s staff with us too, right?” Elsie asked.
“Yes, if we can find it. We should look around anyway. There might be something unusual we’d see that the police would miss.”
Olivia had lived alone. She had always preferred it that way. She was happy collecting antiques and traveling to exotic getaways. She took a lover when she needed one and got rid of him when he became too attached. No man had ever been allowed in her home.
That made it a little easier to locate her staff—no other personalities to sort through.
Because she was an air witch, the staff was her tool. It was a limb from a rowan tree that had been carved with magical runes down through the years that she’d had it. It carried strong magic that only Olivia could wield since she had no descendants.
My tool was the cauldron. Mine was large and heavy, forged from cast iron by a master cauldron maker. It had three legs and was inscribed with water symbols. It spent all of its time in the cave we used for rituals below Smuggler’s Arcane. I had a tiny likeness of it that I wore around my neck. It was cast from the same iron.
Elsie’s tool was the sword. She’d had hers made for her in Toledo, Spain. The hilt was silver and inscribed with fire symbols. It was as sharp as a razor—almost as thin and light. She still sometimes carried it with her, beneath a cloak.
Each of these was useful in helping focus our practice. They meant nothing on their own, but they retained some of our magic after we’d used them for so many years.
Harper could have led us right to the staff, but he was refusing to leave his spot on the cellar floor where he was pining for Olivia. Not that I didn’t understand. Part of me wanted to do the same thing.
But I refused to allow Olivia’s murderer to get away with what he’d done to her—not to mention taking our spell book. It gave me purpose in the face of misery. It made me feel that Olivia still needed me. I was there for her.
We found her rune-carved staff in her bedroom. She’d had a rune carved for every spell she’d ever cast. It had imbued the staff with great power. When I picked it up from behind the pink drapery, I could feel her strength.
“I’m surprised they didn’t take this,” Elsie said. “I’ve noticed all sorts of magical items, some with real power, that were left behind. I would’ve taken those too.”
“I know what you mean. Whoever broke in here knew about our spell book and was only interested in it.”
“But how could someone know this was Olivia’s month to keep it?” she asked. “That’s private information that we never share. It could’ve been me or you, Molly. How did her killer know she had the spell book?”
CHAPTER 3
Craft the fire, weave it higher.
Weave it bright, of shining light.
None shall pass this fiery wall.
Answer now this witch’s call.
After we’d searched unsuccessfully for further clues to who’d broken into Olivia’s house, I called Joe to let him know what was going on.
“What are you doing there?” He sounded a trifle exasperated. “I thought you and Elsie were going home?”
“I couldn’t leave Harper here alone. We came to get him.”
“Harper? Is that one of Olivia’s relatives?”
“Harper is her cat.”
Joe is a sweetheart, but he didn’t know about my practice—or my magic relationship with Elsie and Olivia. I had no plans to tell him either. He was too pragmatic. I wasn’t sure if he’d even believe me. Too many relationships between witches and those without magic ended badly.
I’d been successful so far covering up my magical mistakes. I’d had the car repainted and paid a neighbor to get the bike down from the roof (another mistake). Joe had been to Smuggler’s Arcane a few times, but he just thought we sold herbs and antiques. He wasn’t really interested.
“Oh. Her cat.” He wasn’t really okay with it, but he understood. “I hope you didn’t touch anything.”
“Nothing. I’m a detective’s wife. I know better. We’re going home now. I’ll see you later.”
After I’d shut off my cell phone, Elsie said, “But we aren’t going home. Not yet, are we? We have to take Harper to the shop.”
She was clutching the large, unhappy cat to her bosom. He was making feeble attempts to get away so he could go back to the cellar and die.
“We’re going to the shop first,” I confirmed. “We have to put Olivia’s staff there too. We don’t want it to fall into police custody either. I just thought it was best for Joe not to worry about what we’re doing. He’s got enough on his mind.”
“What will we do with the staff? We can’t use it. She has no one to leave it to.”
I sighed as I started the SUV. “I suppose we’ll hang on to it in case we find another air witch to help us retire. Then we could give it to her, if she wants it.”
“I wonder if we’ll be able to retire now at all.” Elsie drew in a deep breath as she stared out the window. “It didn’t seem that we were very close when Olivia was alive. Now that she’s dead—”
“We’ll make it,” I promised her. “Joe only has five years until he retires. That’s our deadline too. We have to stay focused.”
“My dear, I haven’t been focused since I was twenty. You can ask Aleese. She swears I have no focus at all.”
Aleese was Elsie’s daughter. The two of them had lived together since the death of Aleese’s husband a few years back. Elsie’s husband—also a man with no magic—had died about ten years before that.
Aleese, like my own dear son, had absolutely no magical inclinations at all. They were wonderful, loving children, but the gift had passed them by.
That was what had put the three of us into this position in the first place. When my grandmother was ready to retire, she’d passed on her spell book to my mother. My mother had done the same with me.
Without children who were involved in the practice, we had to go outside the family, which made it much harder, and had led us to stalking Dorothy Lane.
The streets were so quiet. I hadn’t been out this late in so many years, I’d almost forgotten. Not that traffic here could be compared, even at its height, to Atlanta or even Charlotte.
Wilmington had all the refinements of a large city but none of the drawbacks. The old city was still full of charm and kept its vigil along the Cape Fear River with grace. There were no pirates now—no wars fought here. Still the city waited patiently, should it ever be needed again.
The Cotton Exchange was quiet too. The old red bricks had mellowed in the sun and rain for the last fifty years as people came and went. It had once housed the largest exporter of cotton on the East Coast. Now it held restaurants and shops. Ghosts flitted between the shadows near the river where pirates had once walked.
Elsie brought Harp
er, and I brought Olivia’s staff. The door to the shop was also spelled to open at the touch of one of our hands. It worked for a change. We went quickly inside, then locked and spelled the door behind us.
Harper got away from Elsie and found a dark corner to mourn Olivia’s loss. Elsie pulled up the rug and the trapdoor that led to the cave beneath the shop.
“You know, we’ve been meaning to get these stairs repaired for the last ten years,” she said. “I think now is the time.”
“No!” I cautioned as we stood on them.
Too late! Elsie had used her fire magic to “repair” the broken, rickety stairs.
Before we could get off them, the stairs became a steep ramp. We slid down on our butts to the hard-packed sand and rock at the bottom of the cave.
“Whee! What a ride!” Elsie came down with her hands up in the air as though she’d been on a roller coaster.
I had a few other words I would’ve liked to use to describe the experience, but my magic wasn’t always reliable either. I knew Elsie had meant well—even though I was covered in sand and my backside hurt.
“I hope you have something in mind to fix that.” I got to my feet and helped her up. “I think it’s too steep for us to get out now.”
“Don’t be so sweet about it. If Olivia were here, she’d give me a piece of her mind.” She bit her lip and took a deep breath to control her emotions. “I wish she were here to do just that.”
“I wish she were too, but we can’t dwell on it. We’ll have to mourn her later, after we find her killer. Let’s see what we can do with the stairs.”
The cave under Smuggler’s Arcane was different from the other underground areas in the city. Smugglers and pirates had created it to sneak in from the river without being noticed. It gave them the opportunity to ransack at will. The cave opened at the edge of the water. We had spelled the opening years ago to keep intruders out.
Being so close to water gave me an extra boost of magic. Between us, Elsie and I were able to re-create the old stairs that had been there for the past twenty years. They were better than the steep ramp that was little more than a slide, though they were still not entirely safe.
Elsie sat down on one of the carved chairs we’d brought when we first purchased the shop. Olivia, Elsie and I had spent a lot of time here.
We had a fire for our potions and spells, not to mention a place away from prying eyes. Being a witch in Wilmington wasn’t a hanging offense any longer, but we’d always observed the Grand Council’s rules of keeping magic out of laymen’s lives.
There was always a small fire going here, kept alive by Elsie’s fire energies. I put in a few small logs and sat opposite Elsie’s carved chair.
Olivia’s matching chair was conspicuously empty. Both of us glanced at it from time to time as the fire crackled and grew. The smoke went out through the end of the passageway to the shore. The tunnel hadn’t been used much in dozens of years. But I could still feel the power of the old river and smell the odor of the water. Its energy surged through me.
A piece of wood dropped down, sending sparks into the air around us. For a moment, the cave was brightly illuminated, showing the outline of every rock and speck of sand around us.
“You don’t think—” Elsie began, but there was no need to finish.
The bright light became a shape. No doubt who that was.
“Ladies.”
“Cassandra.” Elsie and I said her name with equal amounts of lackluster welcome.
Cassandra Black was a herald of the Grand Council of Witches. She was very tall and very thin to the point of being skeletal. Her long black hair hung below her waist, and her eyes held the night in their depths.
She was at least a thousand years old—or so she’d told us many times. The Grand Council might have put their faith in Cassandra, but we didn’t trust her. Of course, we liked to stay away from everyone who was part of the council.
“I am so sorry about your loss.” Cassandra sat in Olivia’s chair, making Elsie and me wince. “It’s a tragedy. The Grand Council sent me to extend their deepest sympathies.”
Elsie was more than a little unhappy with the herald’s presence—the fire flashed up without any tending. “What do you really want, Cassandra? You didn’t even know Olivia.”
Cassandra smiled. I didn’t know a single witch who wasn’t offended by that smile. It was more a condescending smirk that said she was superior to the rest of us. She knew more. She could do more. She probably never had to worry about her magic waning.
“You’re so wrong, Elsie. I knew Olivia. We spoke many times. I feel great sorrow at her passing.”
“Thank you for that.” I decided to end the conversation before things got really heated between Cassandra and Elsie.
Elsie’s abilities were erratic. She might not be able to light a birthday candle on a cake, but she might be able to set Cassandra’s elegant white gown on fire.
“The Grand Council also wanted me to remind you that it does not tolerate revenge magic. What happened to your friend is terrible, but lashing out with magic would be against the rules.”
“Thank you for reminding us,” Elsie said. “We might otherwise have forgotten.”
“Exactly. That sort of practice is against all policies. We hope you will grieve for your friend and get on with the task of choosing three other witches to assume your practice and receive your spell book.”
Elsie put a hand over her lips and shook her head.
I continued. Cassandra didn’t need to know that our spell book was missing. “We will do the best we can to get on with our task. We need some time to mourn our friend before we get started again. I hope that’s all right with the council.”
Cassandra laughed. It was a tinkling sound that I’d always believed she’d been cultivating for the entire thousand years she’d been alive.
“Of course. The Grand Council is not without understanding of this terrible time in your lives. Please feel free to call on me if you need help finding witches to take your places.”
The light in the cave rose up again, and Cassandra was gone.
“Help with finding someone to take our places.” Elsie shook her head. “I would rather die right now, with no one to receive our spell book, than to ever ask her for help.”
I sniffed the air. Cassandra always left the scent of roses behind her—another interesting trick. “Don’t worry. We can find our replacements.”
“I hope so. Now that we need four witches, that’s going to be extra hard.”
I puzzled over my friend’s statement. “Why would we need four witches now?”
“Well, obviously because Olivia is dead. We needed three before her death. Now we have to find another witch to replace her.” Elsie wiped tears from her eyes.
I didn’t have the heart to tell her that nothing had changed. Tomorrow would be soon enough for that.
“Let’s go home. Is Aleese out of town?” I didn’t want to leave her alone in her big, empty house. Not that Barnabas, her Manx, would ever consider her being alone while he was there.
“She’s there,” Elsie said. “I wish I could tell her what’s happened. She’ll know about Olivia’s death, of course. But sometimes keeping our secret from people who don’t have magic can be very difficult.”
“I know exactly what you mean. Let’s both get some sleep. We can start looking for Olivia’s killer tomorrow. I don’t know about you, but I think we should do that before we start calling Dorothy Lane to us again.”
We went slowly up the creaky old stairs and said good night to Harper before we went outside into the cool, foggy night.
“Molly!” Elsie pulled at my arm. “You should see this.”
“Let me lock the door.”
“No. Really, Molly. Now!”
I turned around, and there was Dorothy Lane standing on the stairs right
in front of us.
CHAPTER 4
Knowledge gained by deadly mean,
Leave thy vessel, sight unseen.
The heart which burns with stolen flame,
Never to be seen again.
“Hello.” She looked nervous and unsure of where she was. She was still wearing slippers with ears on them and red flannel pajamas under a black raincoat. “I’m Dorothy. I’m not sure why I’m here. I woke up and suddenly knew I had to come—wherever this is.”
Elsie nodded, and smiled at me. “The summoning. It finally worked.”
I was so surprised to see her that I almost couldn’t think what to say or do. Many times magic has that effect. You don’t think anything is happening, and then it is.
“I’m sorry. Where are my manners?” I unlocked the shop door. “Won’t you come in and have some tea?”
Dorothy walked in first, with a zombielike expression on her face.
“I thought we weren’t going to search for her again until after we find out who killed Olivia.” Elsie’s voice came out in a mock stage whisper.
“We may never have this chance again,” I reminded her. “Even finding one other witch will keep Cassandra and the council off our backs for a while.”
“Did you say ‘witch’?” Dorothy turned and faced us as I closed the door.
“How about some mint and chamomile?” Elsie asked with nod in my direction. “There’s mint for the disposition, and chamomile to relax. Mint always makes me want to giggle.”
“Okay.”
I could see Dorothy was trying hard to piece all this together. She’d come out on a rainy night, alone, to visit an odd shop on the waterfront. Not her normal lifestyle—we’d been watching her long enough to know.
“Come and sit down.” I encouraged her to sit at the little table where we’d watched her yesterday with the spelled binoculars.
“I don’t think I should.” She began to walk toward the door. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. Maybe I had a stroke or something. I’m not feeling very well. I should probably go home.”
