Trinkets, Treasures, and Other Bloody Magic (Dowser Series)

by Meghan Ciana Doidge

  “What was weird?” Kett asked. He didn’t step out from the bakery.

  Kandy, outside, stepped closer to the courier and actually sniffed him. She wrinkled her nose with a frown and shook her head at Kett, who didn’t react.

  Oh, God they were working together. That wasn’t good.

  I stepped up behind Kett. He was actually only a couple of inches taller than my five feet nine inches, but he could make himself feel like he was blocking the entire door.

  “Hey,” the courier said again as he caught my eye. An admiring grin spread across his face. It was a look I was accustomed to. He wouldn’t have even noticed me if Scarlett had been in the room, though, and she was double his age. He really needed to get his teeth whitened and straightened. “Jade Godfrey?”

  Kandy shifted her stance, legs slightly apart, and arms ready. I was unconsciously playing with the stones in my left hand again. The skinwalker magic tingled in my palm.

  “Yes,” I answered.

  “I have a letter for you,” he said. He reached into his satchel and pulled out a thick, unusual-sized envelope. It was hand folded and sealed with wax. He wasn’t wearing a name tag. I didn’t recognize the logo on his bag.

  My name was written on the envelope in pitch-black inked handwriting that borrowed heavily from calligraphy. The courier tried to pass the envelope to me. It met the ward and crumpled against it. His mouth dropped open again.

  “Shit,” I muttered, and tried to pass by Kett before one of my customers saw an envelope crushed against an invisible wall.

  Except before I could move more than a step, Kandy grabbed the courier by the back of the shirt and began hauling him down the sidewalk.

  “What the hell?” he yelled.

  “Deliveries in the back,” Kandy said with a cheerful chime I wouldn’t have thought her vocal cords capable of.

  I met the concerned gazes of a couple of pedestrians with a sunny smile. “She’s just enthusiastic.” Yeah, lame, but what the freaking hell? I cast my voice low and kept on smiling. “Manhandling couriers isn’t great for business, vampire.”

  “Neither is accepting magically sealed correspondence. And he doesn’t work for any local courier company.”

  Kett turned and crossed back through the bakery toward the kitchen.

  I, dodging a couple of exiting customers less gracefully than the vampire, followed.

  ∞

  Kandy had the courier pressed against the building wall behind the dumpster. He looked more angry than freaked. His ears were red with it, actually. What regular courier wouldn’t be freaked by a girl a third of his size pinning him against a wall? A courier well versed in the Adept world.

  Had running into the ward just been for show? His magic was unfamiliar to me, but the magic radiating from the envelope in his hand was obvious.

  “Sorcerer,” I murmured to Kett. “The letter, anyway.”

  “Makes sense.”

  It did. Sorcerers derived their power from books and magical objects. The written word was — for the more powerful — potent for them as well. Among the Adept, sorcerers were almost as numerous as witches. But no sorcerer of power resided in Vancouver, which was witch territory because my grandmother deemed it to be.

  The fact that my name was on the outside of a letter written by a sorcerer was definitely troubling. I was oddly glad it was Kett rather than Gran looming over the courier right now. I knew Gran would see the letter as a threat, whereas Kett would simply be mildly interested. Vampires got bored. A lot. Sometimes they went randomly rogue just to spice up their eternal lives.

  The courier’s face blanched at the sight of Kett. Or, rather, the sight of a vampire outside the bakery wards, as he’d already seen Kett but hadn’t twigged to the vampire part yet. The wards kept magic in as well as out.

  Kandy leaned in, her hand still on the courier’s chest and pinning him to the wall. She gave the guy’s neck a long sniff. “Spellcaster, low grade,” she said, assessing the courier’s magical power.

  “All spellcasters are low grade,” Kett replied mildly. He tilted his head in his very deliberate fashion to look at the envelope the guy still clutched at his side.

  “What?” the courier sputtered. “I’m not —”

  “You don’t interest us, guy,” Kandy said.

  “Dowser?” Kett asked. “The envelope?”

  I stepped to the vampire’s side but not in front of him. It was always better to stay out of a predator’s path. The courier looked at me as if in assessment. Normally, if an Adept of any power came to Vancouver, Gran would keep me behind wards. Not that I had any idea she’d been doing so for years. But it was rare that someone so low grade, as Kandy assessed the courier, could actually see magic. So he shouldn’t be able to see that I had powers beyond that of a normal witch with a rare specialty, namely the dowsing.

  Kett had known of my power the moment he saw me outside the wards of my apartment, of course. He’d known I was more. Same with Desmond.

  I focused on the letter clutched in the courier’s hand. It didn’t feel malicious. But then, I didn’t have much experience with that sort of thing. Glimmers of magic twinkled from my inked name. This could be evidence of a spell, or it might just be a trace embedded inadvertently in the ink. Whoever wrote it might just be powerful enough that such an effect was commonplace. I didn’t mention out loud that though I could see similar glimmers in Gran’s spellbooks, such residual energy didn’t appear in her casually jotted notes.

  “This isn’t some big secret,” the courier said. He attempted to hold the envelope out to me again. Kandy grabbed his arm by the wrist and twisted. He shrieked.

  Jesus. Any neighbors along the alley with the day off were going to be making 911 calls soon.

  “Drop it,” Kandy said. She twisted the courier’s wrist a second time.

  The courier whimpered but didn’t let go of the letter. “I can’t,” he said, choking through the pain. “I can’t drop it. From my hand to hers. Get it?”

  Ah, that made some sense.

  “Who sent it?” Kett asked.

  “Mot Blackwell. His instructions were explicit. He said there were other witches —”

  Kandy twisted the courier’s arm up until it was level with her nose. Then — careful not to come into contact with the paper — she sniffed the letter. She shrugged and stepped back from her hold on the courier.

  “Who’s Blackwell?” I asked. I had seen Kett go even more motionless than usual in response to the name. This usually meant he was thinking … or bored.

  The courier was rubbing his arm and massaging his wrist while casting baleful looks at Kandy. The green-haired werewolf ignored him as she prowled a ten-foot perimeter of sorts around us.

  “Blackwell?” I asked again.

  The courier shrugged. “A sorcerer I run errands for.”

  “And you? You’re a spellcaster?”

  His thin face stretched to accommodate an unusually wide grin. “Curser, actually. There ain’t anything low grade about me.”

  Kandy sniffed. Kett was still zoned out, so I continued with my personal line of questioning.

  “You write curses?”

  “Not always. I’ve got some personal ones on my fingertips.” He showed me his unremarkable fingers. The ones not holding the letter

  Spellcasters, sorcerers, and witches all shared the ability to cast or call up magic. Witches could access magic from natural power sources — namely the earth or their own reserves. Sorcerers, as the name seemed to suggest, needed a source for their magic such as a written spell or magical object. They could create these written spells through trial and error, but they couldn’t simply draw a circle in the sand, light some candles, and make magic do their bidding as witches could. Spellcasters were even more limited than sorcerers. They usually relied on spells written by others, unable to access magic beyond their own. So they were usually low on the power scale.

  Curses were a specialty
I’d never heard of, and I was hoping there was no demonstration scheduled in my future. The courier’s magic didn’t look powerful enough to kill anyone. It was rather tasteless, like hothouse cucumbers or day-old water.

  “Don’t worry,” the courier said. “You’re way too cute to curse.”

  “Moron,” Kandy muttered to me as she passed behind in her pacing sequence. She appeared to delight in the courier’s stupidity.

  The courier ignored the werewolf. That was never a great idea, but I wasn’t one to randomly give advice.

  “So Jade, right? I’m Hoyt.”

  “Utter moron,” Kandy said with more glee.

  “You don’t have to be such a bitch about it,” Hoyt said with a sneer that suited his thin face a whole lot more than the smile had. Magic glimmered across his fingers, the bland cucumber taste resolving itself into something tinged with licorice.

  I wrinkled my nose. “Fennel, ugh. Everyone is constantly cooking with fennel now, and I can’t stand the taste. I’d keep that curse to yourself if I was you.”

  Hoyt stared at me. His mouth was actually hanging open. People did that a lot around me these days. I had a feeling I was speaking out loud a lot more than I used to, and most magic users didn’t see or taste magic like I did.

  “Oh, yeah?” Kandy said as she pivoted back. “I’m not a fan of licorice but I’d be happy bite the moron’s fingers off if he even wiggles them in the wrong direction.”

  “See? Drop the curse, spellcaster, or lose the fingers,” I said. “And just hand me the damn letter.”

  He grimaced, shook the curse he’d been readying off his fingers, and held out the letter to me.

  I reached for it, but right before I touched it, I felt cool fingers on my wrist. Kett had snapped out of his fugue state to touch me lightly. The tingly peppermint of his magic itched my skin, but I didn’t shake him off. It was rare that he touched me. His fingers were lightly pressed to the pulse points of my wrist.

  Hoyt flinched. His reaction time was purely on human levels. Unlike my own, obviously.

  “Blackwell is well known to the Conclave,” Kett said. “Your grandmother would not be pleased.” His voice was barely a murmur, but this statement wasn’t offered as a warning. And Gran being displeased was her currently natural state of being.

  “The chances of the spell actually being keyed to me are slim,” I said. To key a spell to that level, a witch would need the hair, blood, or saliva of her target. But I didn’t think a sorcerer could even work magic on that level, not without a magical object. As far as I could tell without touching it, the envelope didn’t contain such an object. Knowledgeable of me, hey? I couldn’t claim natural intelligence though. Kett had me studying witch and sorcerer magic as a basis for the alchemy.

  “True,” Kett answered, but he kept his fingers on my wrist as I reached the last inch to take the letter from Hoyt.

  The spell on the envelope dispersed as it transferred to my hand. Hoyt’s reedy shoulders sagged in relief. The magic embedded in the letter had simply compelled him to hand it over to me, or at least to a person he thought to be me. I wondered if he’d even known what I looked like ahead of time.

  “What are you still doing here?” Kandy snarled at the courier. The top of her head was level with his nose, and yet he stumbled back from her ferocity. Curse magic bloomed across all his fingertips before he seemingly reminded himself that Kandy didn’t scare him. Yeah, right.

  “I have to wait for an answer,” Hoyt said.

  I opened the envelope. The sorcerer’s magic danced within the ink on the single sheet of card stock within. The paper was so thick it was practically fabric. Maybe it was woven linen?

  The card read, Jade Godfrey, Dowser. Granddaughter of Pearl Godfrey, Witch. Convocation Chair. Please accept my invitation to view —

  “Yes,” Kett said.

  Err, what?

  “I need the answer from her,” Hoyt said. “You know, the person the invitation is actually addressed to.”

  Kett rolled his shoulders. That was a whole lot of reaction from him. Kandy noticed as well. The werewolf paused her pacing to eye the vampire. I wasn’t sure if either of us were quick enough to stop Kett from ripping Hoyt’s throat out.

  The courier shifted on his feet, aware he’d done something wrong or that something was happening, but not sure what.

  “Continue,” the vampire said. He didn’t take his eyes off Hoyt.

  I reluctantly dropped my gaze to the invitation. Man, I never knew what would insult the vampire. And here I was without an outside tap in the alley. Trying to clean up the blood would be really obvious by daylight.

  Jade Godfrey, Dowser. Granddaughter of Pearl Godfrey, Witch. Convocation Chair.

  Please accept my invitation to view

  The North American Blackwell Collection

  Your expertise as a dowser would be greatly appreciated.

  Please reply as soon as possible.

  — Mot Blackwell, Lord & Sorcerer

  More power was poured into that signature than I saw in most of the Adept — face to face — in Vancouver. Mot Blackwell, Lord and Sorcerer, was not to be trifled with. Which was okay, because I really wasn’t a fan of trifle. Too boozy. Too much mushy cake and not enough icing.

  “The Blackwell Collection?” I asked.

  “It is an unprecedented invitation,” Kett said. This, obviously, didn’t answer my question. “We accept.”

  “The invitation is for one,” Hoyt replied. Then he stepped back with a swallow in reaction to whatever he saw on the vampire’s face.

  “A dowser of Jade Godfrey’s ability does not travel unescorted. Blackwell would not be so foolish,” Kett said. His tone was typically cool even though his shoulders were rigid. “Where does the collection currently reside?”

  “I don’t know, but Blackwell wishes to meet in Portland,” Hoyt answered. His gaze flicked to Kandy.

  The green-haired werewolf stiffened and bared her teeth. “Portland is the territory of the West Coast North American Pack. No sorcerer would dare take up residence there.”

  “I assume it is simply a rendezvous point.” Kett was actually attempting to soothe the ruffled werewolf. I felt like my head might explode if I hadn’t been distracted by other more seemingly important things.

  “What?” I asked. “Like a treasure hunt?” I really wasn’t a fan of those anymore.

  “No. More like a neutral — patrolled — territory.”

  “None of the Adept would be stupid enough to start something in Portland,” Kandy added.

  “Yes,” Kett said. “Far enough away from Pearl Godfrey’s domain, but not too far from Vancouver. Neutral for witch and sorcerer, but not unrestricted.”

  “The sorcerer is seriously asking me to look at his collection? Isn’t that the start of some olden-days, crappy pick-up line?”

  Kandy smirked. I could always count on the werewolf to find me amusing.

  “Blackwell’s collection of magical artifacts is legendary,” Kett answered, as put out as he had the ability to sound.

  “For vampires,” Kandy muttered. Kett ignored her.

  “When does Blackwell expect us?” the vampire asked archly.

  “At your leisure,” Hoyt answered. His tone mocked Kett’s. This guy really was a moron. Either that, or he mistakenly thought a curse would actually be a defense against a vampire. It was comforting to know there were Adepts even more ignorant than I was.

  “You may tell him we will be traveling as a party of four. By auto. We will leave tomorrow morning.”

  “Kett,” I hissed. The vampire almost imperceptibly shook his head. I clamped my mouth shut, but I wasn’t happy about it.

  “You may leave us now.” Kett dismissed Hoyt and turned his back on him. The courier pulled a face behind the vampire’s back and got a snicker from Kandy. I didn’t pout at her finding Hoyt amusing, even though this diminished her sense of humor in my mind.

  “I�
��m to accompany you. As your liaison,” Hoyt said. “Though I assumed we would fly.” This last bit was delivered as a barb to Kett’s shoulder blades, but the vampire didn’t even twitch.

  “The bakery. 8:00 a.m.,” Kett replied. “We will provide the transportation.”

  Hoyt backed away, moving as quickly as he could without actually running. Before he turned onto Yew Street, which ran perpendicular to West Fourth Avenue, he had a cellphone in his hand.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I said. “And I’m certainly not going anywhere on your say so.”

  “Yeah, the dowser ain’t leaving,” Kandy added. “Not without permission.”

  “Hey,” I said, affronted. “I’ll go where I want to go.”

  “I will speak to Scarlett.” Kett smoothly interrupted the argument brewing between Kandy and me. “May I see the invitation?”

  I flipped the invite at him with a flick of my wrist. I wasn’t going to be told where and when to go anywhere, not even by my freaking mother. “I have a bakery to run. Have a great trip.” I yanked open the alley back door. “Some sorcerer guy powerful enough to leave traces of magic in his handwriting invites me to Portland, and that isn’t a red flag for either of you? And you call me stupid.”

  Kandy shrugged. Her hands were in her pockets and her eyes downcast. “I like red,” she said. The joke fell flat between us.

  “And I like magical collections to which I have been denied access for decades,” Kett said. His eyes were on the invitation. “I also never call you stupid, dowser. Just uninformed and untrained.” The vampire briefly flicked his eyes at Kandy. “And shouldn’t you be tracking someone?”

  Kandy curled her lip in a snarl. But then, also pulling out her phone, she turned to follow Hoyt out of the alley.

  I shook my head. When had I become the rational one?

  Though it really was a pity, because I’d always wanted to spend a long weekend in Portland.

  ∞

  I slammed the alley door behind me, wondering if I could alter the wards to exclude a certain werewolf and vampire again. I turned around and literally ran into Mory, who’d apparently been loitering by the back door.

  “Portland, huh?” the fledgling necromancer asked.