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

by Juliette Harper

  Finally! Somebody who wasn’t going to beat around the bush.

  “I’d like that very much,” I said. “I think everybody here will tell you I’m not big on surprises.”

  Barnaby smiled. “Myrtle has already shared that fact,” he said, “so, let me speak plainly. You’re here because I’d like you take over my job.”

  Okay, he got points for not beating around the bush, but none of my friends seem to pay the slightest attention to what they’re saying when I’m swallowing.

  “Oh, dear,” Barnaby said, quickly retrieving my cup before it hit the elegant Oriental carpet. “Are you alright?”

  Still coughing, I held my hand up, waving it a little at the wrist to fend off all the hands suddenly reaching for me.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Just swallowed wrong. Let me see if I heard you right. You want me to be the mayor of Shevington?”

  Looking a little apologetic, Barnaby said, “Yes. I’m sorry if that was a bit abrupt, but there’s really no reason not to just get to the heart of the matter. There’s a great deal going on in the world of Fae politics and your services are needed.”

  “Why me?” I asked.

  “In spite of your lack of training, your powers are staggeringly impressive.”

  “Okay,” I said, trying not to sound as frustrated as I felt, “you all keep telling me that, but I have no idea what you’re basing that on. I can talk to ghosts, float stuff around, have visions, but what’s with this whole ‘chosen one’ thing?”

  Barnaby looked at Myrtle and raised his eyebrows. “You haven’t given her a practical demonstration?”

  Myrtle shook her head. “No.”

  “May I ask why?” Barnaby said, beating me to the punch.

  “Frankly,” Myrtle said, “I, too, am unsure of the extent of her potential. I thought it best that we all get that information at the same time.”

  Barnaby turned to Moira. “Shall we use the Touchstone?” he asked.

  “By all means,” Moira said. Reaching under the neck of her blouse, she drew out a heavy, black pendant on a gold chain. “We should start at the low end,” she said.

  To my surprise, Chase spoke up. “That would be me,” he said as he reached for the pendant, placing the stone in the palm of his hand and closing his eyes. The stone began to glow with a soft, violet luminescence.

  After a few seconds, Chase passed the stone to Amity. When she held it, the stone deepened to indigo. Aunt Fiona touched off a beautiful bluish hue.

  Tori protested when Fiona held the stone out to her. “Me?” she said.

  “Go ahead, dear,” Aunt Fiona said. “You may be surprised.”

  Astonished might have been a better word. The stone immediately darkened to a deep, rich blue.

  “May I have it, please?” Barnaby asked.

  Tori passed it to him, and we all watched as the stone brightened to a glowing yellowish green. Barnaby returned the stone to Moira, who closed her eyes and concentrated as the color morphed to yellowish orange.

  Then it was my turn. I accepted the stone, expecting it to go back to blue since that was the color my eyes turned the night in the cemetery with Brenna, but instead, the orange hue deepened slightly.

  I don’t claim to be any science nerd, but I did belong to a group called Rainbows in high school since Daddy is a Mason. Frowning at the stone in my hand, I said, “Isn’t this backwards? I thought the color spectrum was red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet.”

  “In terms of frequency, you are correct,” Moira said. “Violet light has the highest frequency and the shortest wavelength, but we are demonstrating the magical or alchemical spectrum. The most highly evolved alchemists move toward their powers in four stages -- nigredo, albedo, citrinitis, and rubedo. Red has the lowest frequency and the longest wavelength of the visible spectrum. I have studied for centuries to attain a level of power that registers orange with the stone. You can do it naturally.”

  The weight of her explanation hung in the air as I carefully handed the pendant back to Moira. It cooled to jet blackness again, and she slipped it around her neck and under the fabric of her blouse.

  I looked at Barnaby. “Why now?” I asked.

  “After centuries of separation, the Ruling Elders who represent the Old World Fae have reached out to me,” he said. “They are interested in reuniting with us in common purpose. I have been asked to serve as ambassador to their court and to work as a participant in a conference to develop a unified body of governance. This is the most progress we’ve made toward codifying the Fae world since the Reformation. It’s a significant step in the right direction, but I am not so foolish as to believe I will not be facing some degree of risk. I want to ensure that everything I’ve built here is securely guarded before I return to Europe to participate in these negotiations.”

  “Why can’t Moira be mayor?” I asked.

  Hey, I’m not a wimp or anything, but it never hurts to at least ask if there’s a bigger boat available before you go after the shark.

  The Alchemist shook her head. “I have no desire to be the governing officer of Shevington,” she said. “My interests lie in the sciences of my kind. I am quite old, Jinx, and I wish to finish my magnum opus.”

  I frowned. “You’re writing a big book?” I asked.

  Moira laughed. “That is how the human world has corrupted the term” she said, “but an Alchemist’s magnum opus is not a written work. In this life, we all engage in a personal journey. It has been described in many ways. For instance, you have heard of the quest for the Holy Grail?”

  I wasn’t about to tell her that my knowledge of the Holy Grail extended to Monty Python with a little splash of Indiana Jones, but I nodded.

  “The story of the Grail, although the vessel does exist, is a way to describe the process of individuation that is part of personal growth,” Moira went on. “For alchemists, this is paired with achieving the series of steps we’ve just described to you. They lead to the creation of a personal talisman of insight called the Philosopher’s Stone.”

  “Isn’t that supposed to turn any metal into gold?” Tori asked.

  Moira nodded. “Yes,” she said, “but not for the sake of acquiring the gold. The stone is for understanding the animus underlying all matter and purports to hold the powers of rejuvenation. That may mean that the stone can convey immortality, or simply be an instrument of tremendous healing. As no Alchemist has ever achieved this goal, I cannot say, but I wish to know. I want to devote myself to research, and, like Barnaby, I want my practical responsibilities here in the Valley to be transferred to someone of tremendous abilities. That is you, Tori.”

  The room fell silent. I think my crew was half expecting me to go running out again, but that wasn’t going to happen.

  Taking a deep breath, I said, “So, what would be involved in all of this? Are you asking us to move to Shevington?”

  Barnaby shook his head. “No,” he said. “Perhaps today on the street you noticed that many of our citizens were attired in clothing from your world?”

  “Yes,” I said, “I did notice. What’s up with that?”

  “Many of us pass back and forth from this time stream to yours,” he said. “Some of us work in your world, or seek to make problems there better for humankind. One of the first things you need to understand about Shevington is that this is a place with an ethic of service, not just to our own kind, but also to this earth with which we have all been entrusted. Because the time streams move at different rates, you will be able to keep up your life in both. I could bore you to death with the appropriate algorithms, but a couple of hours or so away from your store is a day and more here. You may have a bit of our version of jet lag at first, but I like to think of it all as cramming a great deal more life into your allotted time. And I can promise you, Jinx, there is, as they say, never a dull moment in Shevington. The wildlife issues alone are enough to keep you more than sufficiently entertained.”

  I couldn’t help laughing. �
�I’ve already had a little taste of that,” I said. “Myrtle thinks I’m some kind of Dragonlet Whisperer or something.”

  “I heard about your encounter with the creatures,” he said. “You have remarkable and untapped talents, Jinx, as we’ve tried to demonstrate to you here this evening. I have complete confidence that you will fully embrace your abilities and play a significant role in repairing the world of the Fae for the betterment of all the races of the earth. And, of course, Moira and I will be here to help you.”

  17

  Barnaby Shevington was going to make one heck of a diplomat, because the next thing he said was that he knew I needed time to think about everything and to have a look around the city for myself. That was Chase’s cue to stand and ask if I was ready to walk the wall. We excused ourselves and left the others talking about heading down to the stables.

  When we stepped into the street, I was surprised to see that many of the stores were brightly lit and people were still coming and going with purpose.

  “Shevington really isn’t a town that ever stops,” Chase explained as he offered me his arm. I tucked my hand in the crook of his elbow and we fell in step side by side.

  “Why is that?” I asked.

  “Many of the Fae don’t need sleep,” he said, “or if they do, it’s just a few minutes here and there. Fae metabolic rates are all over the place. We werecats can keep going for hours and then just drop in place like big house cats and fall sound asleep.”

  “Good to know,” I laughed. “Dare I ask where Festus is?”

  Chase sighed. “At The Dirty Claw,” he said. “I couldn’t get him to leave. Last time I saw him, he was sharpening his claws on the corner of the bar and talking about how this was the day he’d catch the red dot.”

  “You are not serious,” I said. “Werecats play with laser pointers?”

  It was Chase’s turn to laugh. “Not exactly,” he said. “Red Dot is a game we developed after laser pointers became the cat toy de jour. It’s a drinking game involving pool balls. The players have to spot the red dot and swat the next ball -- in numerical order -- in the pocket before the dot disappears. If they fail, or miss the pocket, they have to take a drink of creamed whiskey.”

  “And if they make the shot?” I asked.

  “They keep playing until they miss,” he said.

  “That sounds like a game that could go on forever,” I said.

  “Yes,” he said, “except all the players get drunker by the round and the prize for winning is a nip cigar. So, sooner or later they’re all drunk and high. The night usually ends with the whole crew of them flaked out on the pool table snoring.”

  “Okay,” I said, “you do realize you’re going to have to take me there, right?”

  “God,” he groaned, “I knew you were going to say that. Are you really sure you’re ready to go to a werecat bar?”

  “Dang straight I am,” I declared. “So far the werecat bar is the coolest thing I’ve heard about in Shevington other than the unicorns. No way I’m missing a visit to The Dirty Claw.”

  “Oh,” he said, “the unicorns have games of their own. Think of the place where dodge ball meets darts.”

  “Tori is gonna eat that up,” I said. “She was a demon at dodge ball. She loved to torment all the prissy girls on the opposing team. It was the one place where we were guaranteed to get revenge on the cheerleaders.”

  “Now see,” Chase said, “that is proof positive that girls are meaner than boys.”

  Before I could debate that point with him, we stopped at the bottom of a winding set of stone steps.

  “We’re here,” Chase said.

  “Here, where?” I asked looking around.

  “The base of the wall,” he said. “I wasn’t kidding. We actually are going to take a walk around the top of the wall that borders the city. It’s up these steps. Be prepared to be blown away.”

  I couldn’t imagine how a wall was going to astound me in any way until we reached the top and I realized we’d been walking through a narrow, but beautiful park that encircles the city. Instead of the stone pathway I expected to find, we stood on a soft carpet of verdant grass. Trees grew on either side of the space, which was probably 12-15 feet wide. Tiny, sparkling lights adorned the branches and benches, raised flowerbeds, fountains, and burbling waterfalls sat staggered among the trunks. Some of the flowers glowed with soft fluorescence in the dim light. The scene was straight out of a storybook.

  “Oh, Chase,” I breathed. “This is incredible! Thank you so much for bringing me here.”

  “You like it?” he grinned happily. “It’s one of my favorite places in the city.”

  “I can see why!” I said.

  We began walking again, exchanging greetings with the people who passed us. The raised promenade wasn’t crowded, and Chase seemed to be steering us toward a completely deserted section. We approached a rounded seating area that jutted out from the regular path.

  “It’s the top of a turret,” Chase explained. “Come lean on the rail and let me show you something.”

  When I joined him, Chase pointed toward the mountains. “See?” he said. “That’s the changing of the fairy guard. Those are the troops coming in from the Brown Mountain shift.”

  As I watched the approaching pinpricks of light, I realized they were arranged in orderly ranks and files. “What does a fairy look like?” I asked. “It’s kind of hard to imagine Tinkerbell on guard duty.”

  “Would you like to meet one?” Chase asked.

  There’s a silly question for you.

  “Of course, I would,” I said, “but how are you going to get their attention so far away?”

  Chase removed a small flashlight from his pocket. He held it out over the rail and began to rhythmically click the switch on and off. It took me a few seconds to realize what he was doing.

  “Are you sending Morse code?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said, “it comes in handy when you’re patrolling in the mountains.”

  Before I could ask him how a werecat managed to carry a flashlight, a tiny bolt of vibrant light shot straight toward us out of the gathering dusk, stopping just inches from Chase’s nose.

  “Chase McGregor, you old tomcat,” the tiny being declared in a surprisingly deep baritone voice. “Have you actually gone and gotten yourself a girlfriend?”

  “Much with the discretion there, Ironweed?” Chase growled, taking a playful swipe at the fairy, who executed a perfect somersault, ducking under Chase’s arm and tapping him on the end of the nose.

  “Whoa! Point to the little man with wings,” the fairy declared heartily, “and the crowd goes wild.”

  “That’s not fair,” Chase grumbled, “you sucker punched me.”

  Clearing my throat, I said, “Now, now boys. Fight nice.”

  Remembering his manners, Chase said, “Jinx Hamilton, allow me to introduce Major Aspid Istra, Commander of the Brown Mountain Guard.”

  The fairy darted over to hover in front of me. He was about six-inches tall, wearing black commando fatigues complete with combat boots and a purple beret. The only thing that kept him from looking like any other Special Forces guy was the fact that two incandescent wings protruded from his shoulders, beating brightly in the circle of light surrounding his body.

  As I watched, the Major swept off his beret, bowed, and said, “My friends call me Ironweed, and I hope you, pretty lady, will count yourself among them.”

  Even though it was a really bad line, I couldn’t help myself. I giggled, which won me a rakish grin from Ironweed.

  “Chase tells me this is your first visit to Shevington,” the fairy said. “How are you liking it?”

  I turned to Chase. “You got all of that into one Morse code message?” I asked.

  “Oh,” Ironweed said, “he said more than that. According to him . . . ”

  Chase took another cuff at the fairy. “That will be enough out of you,” he warned. “She wanted to meet a fairy. She’s met you. Now scram. Go do
your duty or something.”

  Ironweed looked at me, held his tiny hand up to his ear in the shape of a telephone receiver, and mouthed, “Call me.”

  I mouthed back, “Will do.”

  And with that, he zoomed back into the night to rejoin his troops.

  “Fairies,” Chase grumbled, “bunch of blabber mouths.”

  Slipping my hand back in the crook of Chase’s arm, I said, “So you told him I’m your girlfriend, huh?”

  Sighing, Chase said, “What I said was that you’re the very nice lady I’m dating and for once could he please be on his good behavior. Guess you can tell how well that worked.”

  “He’s cute,” I said, “and sort of bad-boy macho all at once. Are they all like that?”

  “It’s a fairy thing,” Chase said. “Don’t ever get drunk with them. They’ll put you under the table.”

  We stood there in silence for a few seconds, and then I said, softly, “You’ve been the soul of patience since I ran out of the basement.”

  “After how much I screwed everything up,” he said, “I didn’t think I had any right demanding anything of you.”

  I turned toward him. “You didn’t screw everything up,” I said. “You were scared to tell me the truth about yourself, just like I was scared to tell you I’m a witch.”

  He nodded, and then said, “There’s a little more to it, though, and I think you need to hear it from me.”

  Even though little alarm bells were going off in my head, I didn’t take my eyes away from his face. “Okay,” I said, “tell me.”

  After a slight hesitation, he said, “Not all of the Fae races are . . . genetically . . . compatible.”

  Okay. Bigger leap than I thought.

  “What do you mean ‘genetically compatible’?”

  Even in the dim glow, I could see the flush on his cheeks. The fact that Chase can blush at the drop of a hat is one of the things I love most about him.

  “There’s no law against marriage of any kind,” he said, stammering a little, “but some couples can’t have . . . there’s a risk with hybridiz . . . not all DNA . . . ”

  Thankfully, the light dawned on me before he choked on his own words.