Witch at Last: A Jinx Hamilton Mystery Book 3 (The Jinx Hamilton Mysteries)

by Juliette Harper

  “Why did you seek your powers?” she asked.

  Meeting her eyes, he replied, “Women were not the only ones used cruelly in the world into which we were born.”

  Silent seconds passed between them and then Irenaeus spoke again. “I can only imagine that you are feeling quite vulnerable right now, and, frankly, this does rather set back our plans.”

  The switch back to business seemed to clear Brenna’s mind. She slowly rose to her feet and regarded him across the clearing. “Then rather than tolerate a setback,” she said, “I suggest you fix this situation.”

  Irenaeus shook his head. “My dear,” he said ruefully, “you over-estimate me. If I could perform Veneficus Trajectio we would have no need to operate in the shadows hiding from that do-gooder Barnaby Shevington.”

  “Are you telling me you can’t do anything to help me?”

  “I’m not saying any such thing,” he said, “but you are going to have to make certain short-term accommodations.”

  “Like what?” Brenna asked suspiciously.

  “Until we can reverse these unfortunate circumstances,” Irenaeus said, “you will have to learn to use artifact-based magic, but to do so, you must regain your usual . . . confidence. I cannot have you feeling as you do now or you will be of no use to me.”

  Brenna regarded him critically. “Is that a threat?”

  He smiled tolerantly. “I am wounded, my dear,” he said. “I would hardly threaten a colleague facing a reversal of fortune. However, as a businessman speaking with my partner, we do have to be practical, now, don’t we? Are you prepared to be an asset in this endeavor?”

  Brenna regarded him coldly. “Do not worry about my confidence, Irenaeus,” she said. “Provide me with the necessary tools and all will be well.”

  “Very well,” he said, moving toward her as he reached into his pocket and drew out an amulet on a silver chain.

  “I see you came prepared,” Brenna said. “May I?”

  “By all means,” Irenaeus said, holding the necklace out to her. “Take it.”

  Brenna cautiously accepted the amulet, her eyes widening as she cradled the deep golden stone in the palm of her hand. “What is it?”

  “Amber,” he said, “the blood of the Mother Tree solidified around a feather of the Great Phoenix.”

  “The bird that arose from the ashes,” she whispered.

  “Encased in a stone of protection, regeneration, and immortality,” he said. “Put it on.”

  Undoing the clasp, Brenna fastened the amulet around her neck.

  “Wear it against your skin,” Irenaeus instructed.

  Brenna dropped the stone under the fabric of her blouse, resting her hand over it through the thin fabric. “It’s vibrating,” she said.

  “Good,” he said. “The stone is finding and assimilating the residue of the magic remaining in the cells of your body. That is an excellent sign. Try something simple.”

  Glancing around, Brenna spied a small pile of leaves and debris. She held out her hand, the fingers trembling slightly, and willed the material to rise into the air. As the leaves and twigs obeyed, confidence surged back into the fiber of Brenna’s being. She flicked her fingers left and right, separating the material into three floating groups, then sending them into a slow rotating dance.

  Irenaeus clapped his hands. “Excellent. We reached you in time. It may feel a bit clumsy in the beginning, but so long as you wear the amulet, you will be able to draw on at least a fraction of your former abilities.”

  “I am deeply in your debt, Irenaeus,” she said.

  “A debt I assure you that you will have ample opportunity to pay,” he said. “Now, I believe you are investigating a real estate acquisition on the square in Briar Hollow, correct?”

  She nodded. “I am,” Brenna said, “but if I take up residence, the aos sí will know I am there.”

  Irenaeus clucked his tongue. “Yet again you make the mistake of underestimating me,” he said. “My dear, I am the world’s foremost dealer in black market metaphysical antiquities. Do you think I cannot supply you with adequate shielding from that Celtic annoyance? Close the deal.”

  “Very well,” she said. “In the meantime, I will return to my temporary quarters.”

  “Ah, yes, the pizza man’s establishment,” Irenaeus said, “a quaint cover. May I offer you transportation? I’m afraid the amulet is not powerful enough to allow for your former transportation abilities. You may want to investigate learning to drive. Personally, I find the human’s motor vehicle devices quite charming.”

  A frisson of annoyed impatience shot through Brenna, but she swallowed the reaction. “Thank you, Irenaeus,” she said, clasping his fingers. “I’ll look into that. And thank you for the amulet. I will not let you down.”

  “Oh, my dear,” he said, “I know you won’t. You have far more to lose than I do, now, don’t you?”

  With a twirl of his free hand, a cloud of energy formed around them and then the clearing was empty. The debris Brenna had sent dancing into the air minutes before quietly settled back to earth and all was still again.

  16

  The Alchemist’s Workshop, Shevington

  “Is Brenna Sinclair’s return the path to nigredo for Jinx?” Myrtle asked, as Moira closed and bolted the heavy wooden door of her inner workshop.

  The aos sí and the alchemist crossed the flagstones and ascended six steps to the raised area under the massive bay windows. The latticed panes towered over their heads, reaching toward the vaulted ceiling. Moira sat down behind her cluttered desk and pushed aside a heavy treatise entitled Merculture: Myths and Merits by C. S. K. Thunnus.

  Myrtle regarded the book with a raised eyebrow. “Studying the sea folk?” she asked.

  Moira sighed. “Many of their kind would like to seek sanctuary here in Shevington, but we lack proper access to the ocean. I am attempting to understand their culture more fully to determine if an artificial saltwater environment could be constructed in the upper valley.”

  “What is the source of their discord?” Myrtle asked.

  “The growing decimation of their environment by the detritus human society throws into the waters,” Moira said tiredly. “It is a significant problem, along with the warming of the planet. We have been successful in getting a few undercover Druids into the National Oceanographic Institute. Their effectiveness is hampered by many factors, but at least it allows us to better monitor the situation.”

  Myrtle leaned back against the high-backed chair opposite the desk and sighed. “Do not despair, Moira,” she said, “‘Gaia is strong. Nature always finds a way.”

  “Tell that to the dinosaurs,” Moira said. “Which raises another point. What was Barnaby thinking accepting the remaining plesiosaurs? They were perfectly happy in Scotland.”

  Myrtle cleared her throat. “Perhaps we could set aside matters of wildlife management for the moment and return to my original question about nigredo?”

  Moira shivered as if she found the room cold. Absent-mindedly she pointed to the fireplace and muttered, “Incendo.”

  A cheerful blaze sprang to life. With deft movements of her fingers, Moira sent the poker aloft and used it to carefully rearrange the fire, all without leaving her chair.

  As the tool settled back into the stand on the hearth, Myrtle asked in a bemused tone, “Did you feel I needed a visual representation of the blackening?”

  Moira laughed. “No,” she said, “I just wanted the room warmer. I’ve been expending a great deal of energy these past days. It exacts a toll.”

  “You are working too hard,” Myrtle said quietly. “You must take better care of yourself if you are to train Tori.”

  “Unlike you, aos sí,” Moira said, “I am not immortal, simply extremely old. Which is the point of having a young apprentice. I like Tori. Her inner fire burns as brightly as her mother’s.” Then, as an afterthought, she added, “How I have missed Gemma.”

  “Moira,” Myrtle said with soft insistence, “y
ou are avoiding my question.”

  The other woman sighed. “Had Brenna not returned, I would have said Jinx had already completed the nigredo, but now I am not so sure. Do you recall what the human psychologist, Jung, said about nigredo?”

  “Refresh my memory.”

  “To paraphrase his understanding of our alchemical process,” Moira said, “he contended that the nigredo, the first stage, could only be completed when a new equilibrium was in place relative to the creation of the self.”

  “Jinx’s complete acceptance of her role in the magical world,” Myrtle observed quietly.

  “Precisely,” Moira said. “The very thing which made her mother flee.”

  Without hesitation, Myrtle said, “Jinx is stronger than Kelly. Fiona is right about that.”

  “That may be true, but at the moment of her testing, of her confrontation with despair, Kelly fled,” Moira said. “I am not sure Jinx has yet been tested in that way. She was forced to face the consequences of her magic over the incident in the cemetery, and she subdued her panic when she learned about Shevington and what it entails, but a true test that compels the individuation? I don’t think that has happened.”

  “She risked her life for the souls of those murdered girls,” Myrtle said. “She confronted Brenna when Alexander and Knasgowa set her to the task.”

  Moira nodded. “Yes, she did, but we cannot begin to help her achieve the next stage, albedo, until we are certain. She is our last remaining hope, Myrtle. If she does not assume the mantle of authority here in Shevington, who will?”

  Myrtle gazed out the window across the green fields of the valley. The sun was going down and lights had begun to twinkle in the windows of the farmhouses. “We could speak of Conner.”

  “We could,” Moira said firmly, “but we won’t.”

  MEANWHILE, back at the inn

  WHEN MYRTLE TOLD Darby to pack our things, she must have anticipated the dinner with Barnaby. I was pleased, but not surprised, to find my favorite summer dress and matching light cardigan neatly rolled in a packing cube in my bag. When I shook out the dress, there wasn’t a single wrinkle. I don’t know if that was because of the theory about rolling clothes when you travel being right, or simply the effect of having a Fae in charge of my packing.

  Regardless, I was grateful. While I was sure Barnaby and Moira had important things to say to us, I also had a date with Chase later that night. Magical alternate time streams or not, a girl has to keep her priorities straight.

  Tori came out of her room dressed in a nice pair of jeans and a purple sweater. She grinned at me. “We both clean up good, girl.”

  “We better get a move on,” I said, “before Amity has a hissy fit. Where’s Rodney?”

  A sound from the table caught my attention and I turned to find our already black-and-white rodent friend sporting a white dinner jacket worthy of Sinatra. I let out a low whistle. “Well,” I said, “look at you!”

  Rodney preened for us and then gave us the “well, who’s giving me a lift” look.

  Tori held out her hand. “She already has a date,” she said, nodding at me, “so I’m claiming you, Double O Rodent.”

  Raising one paw, Rodney smoothed back the fur on his head with suave aplomb. Tori and I both laughed, and Rodney joined us with a toothy grin as he took his place on Tori’s shoulder.

  We went down to the lobby and found Amity caught up in a vigorous debate with Mrs. McElroy about the relative merits of organic wolf’s bane over that raised with commercial fertilizer.

  As we entered the room, Mrs. M. declared firmly, “All I’m saying is that anything in the way of miracles going on during the werewolf plagues of the 15th century didn’t involve mixing up green powder. So, if it’s all the same to you, I’ll be growing my wolf’s bane the natural way.”

  Amity sniffed, clearly offended. “You’ll never get maximum yield that way.”

  “Well, Amity, darling,” Mrs. M. said placidly, “maybe your livestock just doesn’t shat enough.”

  Tori and I grinned at each other. I cleared my throat. “We’re ready, Amity. Sorry to make you wait.”

  “Not at all,” Amity said. “I’ve just been enjoying the most earthy conversation with Hester.”

  Mrs. M. smiled serenely. “My pleasure as always, Amity. Now off to your dinner with himself, the Mayor,” she said. “The door’ll be open whenever you get around to coming in.”

  We followed Amity out onto the square. It was just a few steps to the mayor’s residence. Barnaby himself greeted us and we followed him into a warm parlor. Aunt Fiona, Chase, Myrtle, and Moira were already waiting for us. Chase instantly sprang to his feet. “Hi,” he said, “you look really nice.”

  He paused for a beat and then added hastily, “Both of you.”

  Tori started to give him a hard time, but I caught her eye and shook my head imperceptibly. The last couple of days had been tough enough on Chase -- and I’d noticed Festus wasn’t with him, which could only mean Chase hadn’t been successful in dragging his father out of The Dirty Claw.

  “How are your rooms at the Inn?” Barnaby asked, moving to stand in front of the fire. “I made Hester promise to give you the best she has and was informed that all of her rooms are the best.”

  “The rooms are lovely,” I said. “Everything here is. We can’t wait to see more of the city.”

  “Starting with my new house,” Aunt Fiona gushed happily. “You’re just going to love it. Oh! I know! You girls and Amity come for breakfast in the morning. We’ll eat in my garden. I’ll show you where I live when we go see the unicorns.”

  That touched off a round of questions from Tori directed at Moira about magical creatures, with Aunt Fiona and Amity joining in. Who knew my aunt had a thing for a Scottish shape-shifting, water horse critter called a kelpie?

  When Barnaby excused himself to check on dinner, Chase came over and sat down beside me. “Hi,” he said again, smiling.

  “Hi, yourself,” I answered, returning his smile. “I’m looking forward to our walk. Are we really going to climb up on the wall?”

  “Yes,” he said, “but using very civilized stone steps.”

  “Is there something special up there?” I asked.

  He gave me a cryptic grin. “Guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

  Before I could press for more details, Barnaby called out from the doorway, “Shall we move to the dining room?”

  Everyone got up and followed him down a paneled hallway to a room straight out of Buckingham Palace. After he took his place at the head of the table and we all pulled back our own chairs, there was easily room for another 20 or so people. But there was also another cozy (albeit enormous) fireplace, candles on the table, beautiful china bearing the Shevington family crest, and real silver heavy enough to be used as weaponry.

  Then a crew of brownies began to carry in heaping platters of food. My mouth instantly began to water and my stomach grumbled. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until I smelled the heavenly aromas. During the meal, we stuck to neutral but interesting topics. The conversation about magical creatures that had started in the other room carried over and segued into Barnaby regaling us all with tales of making friends with the local Sasquatch community for the first time.

  “We hadn’t been here in the New World more than a year or so when my people started coming to me with tales of seeing large, hairy, human-like creatures in the hills,” Barnaby said. “Our new friends among the Cherokee assured me that my people were seeing Tsul ‘Kalu.”

  “What’s a Sool Kaloo?” I asked, reaching for more mashed potatoes.

  “The literal translation is sloping giant,” Moira replied, sipping from a goblet of red wine. “I’m ashamed to say that Fae or not, we took the stories as a tribal legend at first. It was rather xenophobic of us, actually.”

  “So this So Cool guy turned out to be Bigfoot?” Tori said, motioning to me to pass the potatoes her way.

  Barnaby smiled. “Tsul ‘Kalu,” he corrected
her, “and yes. One day a delegation from the local village walked right in the front gate of our then very crude settlement. I have to say they caused a bit of a panic until we discovered how quiet spoken and well mannered they are. Really a lovely race, although I admit they have some issues with their . . . fragrance.”

  “Isn’t Bigfoot called the Skunk Ape down in Florida?” Tori asked.

  Trust me. There’s not a weird, unknown critter out there she hasn’t heard about. Cryptozoology has always been one of her passions. Tori made me sit through every episode of Monster Quest, so this conversation had her completely in her element.

  “Yes,” Barnaby said, “that branch of the native Sasquatch population spends entirely too much time in the Everglades. I’m afraid getting wet does nothing to approve their olfactory presentation.

  “He means they stink,” Aunt Fiona supplied helpfully.

  When everyone laughed, she added hastily, “But Barnaby is right. They’re quite sweet. The Tsul ‘Kalu who lives next door to me is ever so helpful. He’s even better at getting things off shelves for me than you are, Chase.”

  “Well,” Chase said, taking his turn with the circulating potatoes, “that’s understandable, Fiona. If you’re talking about Stan, he’s 8 feet tall.”

  “Stan?” Tori and I said at the same time.

  “It’s short for Stanley,” Fiona explained, as if we needed that useless clarification.

  “I had that much figured out,” I said. “But you really live next door to a Bigfoot named Stanley?”

  My question seemed to confuse her completely. “Stanley is a perfectly nice name, dear,” she said.

  So not the point, but that’s Shevington for you. If someone tells you they live next door to a big hairy ape (no offense intended to Stan), they actually do.

  The conversation continued in the same light vein until we’d settled back in the front room with coffee and brandy. That’s when Barnaby leaned back in his leather chair and got down to business. He looked at me directly, and said, “Well, Jinx, are you ready to find out why we’ve gone to such lengths to get you here with us tonight?”