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

by Juliette Harper

  “No,” Kelly said worriedly. “Nothing.”

  “You know,” Gemma ventured, “they might have just gone somewhere for the evening.”

  Even though she hadn’t wanted to talk about it, Kelly knew that Gemma knew exactly what was going on. Now Kelly had no choice but to say so and open the door on a discussion she didn’t want to have. Taking a deep breath, she admitted quietly, “Something isn’t right, Gemma. I can feel it . . . like I used to feel things.”

  The odd sensation had begun earlier that day. The unease rustled vaguely at the edge of her perception, growing in intensity with each passing hour. It hadn’t been there in so many years, Kelly had forgotten the persistence of that inner voice demanding to be acknowledged.

  “Can you get a read on what it’s trying to tell you?” Gemma asked.

  Kelly shook her head. “I don’t remember how.”

  Keeping her eyes on the road, Gemma said, “Sure you do, honey. Come on. Open your mind. What are you feeling exactly?”

  “I can’t, Gemma,” she said stubbornly, her voice taking on equal parts fear and anxiety.

  “Yes, you can,” Gemma replied just as obstinately. “You’re right here with me and you’re perfectly safe. What does it feel like?”

  The smaller woman huddled in the passenger seat. She held herself tightly, cautiously opening the tiniest possible channel in her mind.

  “A gateway,” she said finally.

  Gemma frowned. “It feels like a gateway?” she asked. “You mean the gateway to Shevington?”

  Kelly shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said. “This is an opening that was never meant to be.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You know it doesn’t work that like!” Kelly said, frustration filling her words. “I don’t get a whole picture. That’s the problem!”

  “Okay, okay, calm down,” Gemma said, pulling the car onto the town square. “We’re here, so we’ll get it all figured out soon enough.”

  She guided the vehicle down the alley and parked behind Jinx’s red Prius. When the women got out, they both looked toward the upstairs windows. No lights burned inside, but the glow from a nearby guard lamp illuminated four pairs of feline eyes.

  “That must be Tori’s new apartment,” Gemma said, indicating the addition on the back of the building. Those windows were dark as well.

  Kelly dug in her enormous, over-sized handbag and produced a single key on a give-away ring from the First National Bank of Briar Hollow.

  “Hopefully this will still work,” she said.

  “If it won’t,” Gemma said, rummaging in her own bag, “maybe this one will.” She held up an identical key.

  In the dim light, Kelly smiled. “You kept yours, too?” she asked.

  “I did,” Gemma nodded. “Never say never, Kell. Go on, try yours.”

  Kelly inserted the key in the lock, smiling slightly when the tumblers slid effortlessly into place.

  When they were safely inside, Kelly closed the door and turned the deadbolt. The interior of the shop was completely quiet. Gemma took a small flashlight out of her purse and played the beam around the ground floor.

  “Nothing looks out of place,” she whispered.

  “Myrtle isn’t here,” Kelly said, “is she?”

  Gemma shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said. “The place feels too . . . still.”

  Moving into the center of the building, they looked around the espresso bar and then peered into the storeroom.

  “Let’s go downstairs,” Gemma suggested.

  Kelly paled. “Do you really think we should?” she asked.

  “Why not?” Gemma asked. “We’ve spent hours down there training with Myrtle.”

  “That was a long time ago,” Kelly said tentatively.

  “Yes,” Gemma said, “but it might be the only way we can figure out where the girls are. I mean, honestly, Kell, they’ve probably gone to The Valley.”

  “We’re not going there,” the other woman replied instantly.

  “I didn’t say anything about us going there,” Gemma soothed. “Let’s just go down and have a look.”

  Reluctantly, Kelly followed her to the top of the stairs, but when Gemma turned on the light, they saw nothing but a gloomy, cluttered mess below.

  “See,” Kelly said, “we’re not allowed into the first stage of the in between now.”

  Gemma turned toward her. “Are you honestly going to tell me you don’t remember how to get around that?” she asked.

  Taking a step backward, Kelly said, “We don’t do magic any more.”

  “I think we’ve covered that already,” Gemma replied.

  “Then we need to cover it again because you’re not listening to me,” Kelly said, taking Gemma’s arm and trying to pull her out of the doorway.

  Gemma didn’t budge. “Just because we don’t do magic anymore,” she said, “doesn’t mean we don’t still know how to do magic. You insisted we come over here because you felt one of your premonitions. Did you ever stop to think that might have bigger implications?”

  Kelly frowned. “Like what?” she asked.

  “Like Jinx coming into her powers might be reawakening your abilities,” Gemma replied.

  A look of horror washed over Kelly’s face. “What do you mean reawaken? Why would you even say something like that?”

  Gemma held out her hand and whispered, “Orbis.”

  A shimmering globe of light appeared over her palm, rose a few inches in the air, and began to rotate slowly.

  Kelly regarded her now with open horror. “Oh my God, Gemma, put that out! Now!”

  “No, honey,” she said, “I won’t. Come on. You try it.”

  “I don’t want to try it,” Kelly declared firmly. “I can’t do that any more and I don’t want to.”

  Gemma studied her friend’s face in the half-light from the doorway. “Okay,” she said finally, “if you stand right there and make an honest effort to access your magic and you can’t do it, we’ll close this door, sit down, and just wait for the girls to come back.”

  Although she looked doubtful about the wisdom of the whole experiment, Kelly raised her hand. The fingers trembled slightly, but she held her palm up just as Gemma had done and whispered, “Orbis.”

  Instantly a second globe of light appeared, rose to an equal level with Gemma’s own ball of light, and began to rotate slowly in time with it.

  “See,” Gemma said triumphantly, “I told you.”

  Kelly’s eyes widened as she watched the glowing spheres. “I can’t believe it,” she said finally.

  Gemma whispered, “Dissolvo.” Her light blinked out.

  Kelly repeated the incantation, and the second light was instantly extinguished.

  They stood silent for a heartbeat and then Kelly squared her shoulders.

  “So,” she said, “are we going down there or what?”

  Gemma stepped aside and grinned. “After you,” she said.

  Kelly descended into the basement one halting step at a time with Gemma following behind. At the bottom of the stairs, they turned toward each other. Gemma held out her hands. “Ready?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Kelly said, interlocking their fingers.

  Awkwardly at first and then with growing confidence, the two women began to recite in Gaelic. Slowly the room filled with light and the dim outline of objects coalesced, overlaying and then supplanting the visible scene. As they spoke the final words of the spell, rows of shelves solidified before them, and the area by the fireplace settled into focus. They both opened their eyes at the same time, still holding hands.

  Kelly looked around and whispered, awestruck, “Oh my God, Gem, we did it.”

  Before Gemma could answer, a voice from under the stairs said, “So you did, and I cannot tell you how much I appreciate you saving me the trouble of finding a way to dismantle the aos sí’s defenses.”

  Without thinking, Gemma stepped slightly in front of Kelly as a
red-haired woman emerged from the gloom.

  “Who are you?” Gemma demanded. “How did you get in here?”

  “My name is Brenna Sinclair,” the woman said. “And I got in here because you let me in.”

  Gemma paled, but she stood her ground. “You’re the witch Knasgowa bound to her grave.”

  Brenna inclined her head to one side and studied Gemma. “Very good,” she said. “Let me guess, you are Tori’s mother.”

  “I am,” Gemma said.

  “You are of my blood,” Brenna said, studying her appraisingly. “Why do you defy me, daughter?”

  “I am not your daughter,” Gemma spat out. “I stand with the daughters of Knasgowa, like my mother and her mother before me.”

  “Hmm,” Brenna said approvingly, “you have fire. I like that. The quality has potential. But that trembling little bird hiding in your shadow? Can this actually be Jinx’s mother?”

  “You stay away from her,” Gemma said angrily.

  “Step out so I can see you, little bird,” Brenna cooed. “Or are you too afraid?”

  At the taunting, Kelly raised her chin. “I’m not afraid of you,” she said, moving to stand beside Gemma.

  “Oh, but you should be,” Brenna replied, “you should be very afraid, or the consequences of your bravery may be quite tragic . . . for your daughters.”

  Kelly bristled. “You leave our daughters out of this,” she snapped.

  Brenna laughed. “Ah, the mother mouse who roared,” she said. “I’m afraid I cannot leave your daughters out of this. After all, Jinx is the one who set me free.”

  When Kelly’s face paled, she said, “Ah, perhaps Jinx did not tell you about the events of this summer in proper detail. Yes, your darling daughter is now reaping what she has sown.”

  Gemma regarded her coldly. “Get to the point,” she said. “What do you want?”

  “What do I want?” Brenna repeated, her lips curling in a sardonic smile. “Why, I want you to take me to the entrance to Shevington, of course.”

  “And if we don't?” Gemma asked.

  “Well then, my dear, ” Brenna answered, “I’m afraid you’ll have far worse on your conscience than two dead cheerleaders.”

  22

  As I expected, Tori was still awake when I went up to our rooms after my evening with Chase. We stayed up into the wee hours talking about everything that had happened since we’d left the store. Our bodies were running on Shevington time, so it had been a long, full day. Still, Tori couldn’t stop talking about going to the stables with Moira and Amity to feed apples to Blissia and the other unicorns, and I couldn’t stop telling the story about the game of Red Dot. Well, first I couldn’t stop talking about Chase saying he loved me, and then I couldn’t stop talking about Red Dot.

  Ultimately silly exhaustion took over. Anyone listening would have thought we were the ones who had been playing a drinking game. Every time I recounted Festus’ epic face plant on the pool table felt, we fell into renewed fits of giggling. I think we literally laughed ourselves to sleep. I have no idea what time that happened, but when the morning sun rising over the Mother Tree awakened me, I was curled up on the couch and Tori had all but disappeared into the mountain of pillows piled up on the window seat.

  “Hey,” I whispered, “I have to meet Chase to go watch the Brown Mountain guard drill. Don’t forget we’re supposed to be at Aunt Fiona’s at 9 o’clock for breakfast.”

  Tori mumbled something like, “Amity won’t let me forget,” before rolling over and falling right back to sleep.

  Chase was waiting for me in the lobby. “Good morning,” I said, accepting a kiss. “How’s your father today?”

  “Cranky,” Chase laughed.

  “He’s always cranky,” I pointed out.

  “Okay, cranky-er,” Chase said. “Last I saw him he was holding an ice pack on his head with one paw and dipping the other in his coffee.”

  It was my turn to laugh. “Why wasn’t he just drinking the coffee?” I asked.

  “He said his tongue is too loud,” Chase snickered. “Serves him right.”

  We stepped out on the square into glorious morning light. “Speaking of coffee,” I said. “Any chance I can get a cup before we go watch the aerial drills?”

  “Absolutely,” Chase said. “Follow me.”

  He led me to a small shop on the corner where we bought steaming mugs of coffee and buttery croissants. We ate as we strolled toward the fairy barracks. Chase pointed out businesses and introduced me to people on the street. After several blocks, I noticed my drink was exactly the same temperature as it had been when I accepted the cup from Chase.

  “Man,” I said, “I’d like to get cups with insulation like this for our coffee shop.”

  “They’re not insulated,” Chase said, “they’re enchanted, but I can get the lady who runs the shop to teach you the spell if you like.”

  “Very funny,” I replied. “I don’t think Myrtle would be too happy if we started handing out magical coffee mugs.”

  “She might if they said ‘Made at Myrtle’s,’” he suggested helpfully.

  I almost spit my coffee laughing, which only put a broader grin on his face.

  “How long have you known Myrtle?” I asked.

  “All my life,” he answered. “The librarian look is new, but it kind of suits her. She can get awfully cranky when she thinks you’re not catching on to something fast enough, but the heart of the aos sí is filled with love.”

  “Do you have any idea how old she really is?”

  “No,” he said, “but she is certainly one of the oldest Fae on the earth.”

  “And Moira?” I asked.

  “She and Barnaby came to the New World together,” Chase answered.

  “Together as in together?” I asked.

  “No one has ever really been sure about that,” Chase said. “Barnaby had a wife, but she was killed by the Creavit.”

  “And Moira?”

  “She has worked as a sole practitioner for centuries,” he said, “but there is no one to whom she is closer than Barnaby, not even Myrtle.”

  We rounded a corner and suddenly I was looking at an open field swarming with fairies in battle fatigues. As we watched, a squadron of 24 launched skyward and broken into three groups.

  “Those are called ‘flights’,” Chase explained as we climbed onto a viewing stand at the end of the field. “They’ll do some close formation drills and then stage dogfights.”

  “At which my lads excel!” a voice boomed right beside my ear.

  I jumped straight up, but miraculously, my coffee didn’t spill. That’s when I realized the cup wasn’t emptying out. Perma-hot, self-filling, and spill proof? Now that was my idea of a coffee cup.

  Ironweed suddenly appeared in front of my face, beret in hand. “I’m sorry, Beautiful,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that.” Turning to Chase he grinned and said, “Well, would you look at what the cat dragged in!”

  “You should see dad,” Chase countered.

  “I heard,” Ironweed said, hovering out of the way as I sat back down. “It’s all over town you took him out of The Dirty Claw by the scruff of his neck.”

  “I did not scruff him,” Chase said. “That would just be disrespectful . . . and besides, he passed out before I had to.”

  We all laughed at that.

  Ironweed said, “May I?” before neatly landing on Chase’s shoulder.

  Chase glanced down at him and said, “Are your boots clean?”

  “You are such a neat freak, McGregor,” Ironweed replied. “And yes, they’re clean. Hello? Fairy? Flying?”

  For the next half-hour the diminutive major explained the guard’s training regimen to me. “It’s mostly evasive tactics,” he said, chewing on a miniscule cigar. “Can’t have one of the lads getting captured by the humans. But if we need to, we can swarm. It’s a matter of creating mass confusion. Been my experience that humans aren’t good with big bugs. That’s what they tell thems
elves we are. Of course, with the rise of the insecticide industry we’ve had to make gas masks standard issue gear. Getting hit with a blast of that stuff right in the kisser is no fun.”

  He sounded like a combat veteran discussing chemical warfare, which I guess, he is, now that I think about it.

  “Why exactly are you engaging with humans?” I asked.

  “We try not to,” Ironweed said, “but there’s more than one way into The Valley. Won’t do to have some random camper see anyone come walking out of thin air. The drills over at Brown Mountain are to keep most of the sightseeing investigator types over in that direction. As for the immediate area around Briar Hollow, we conduct reconnaissance flights to map the location of hikers and campers at all times. We temporarily close portals in areas where there’s any chance of one of ours being seen.”

  “You sound like an air traffic controller,” I observed.

  His whole face lit up. “Have you ridden on one of the big planes?” he asked.

  “Sure, lots of times.”

  “What I wouldn’t give to fly that high,” he said wistfully. “Oxygen deprivation and cold kicks us in the tail feathers.”

  “Couldn’t you just sneak onto a flight?” I asked.

  He looked at me like I was crazy. “With all the security after 9/11? Not a chance,” he said.

  I couldn’t resist. “Ironweed,” I said, “people get stuff past the TSA all the time. Are you telling me a fairy couldn’t make it on an airplane?”

  “I’m telling you we wouldn’t try,” he replied stoutly.

  “Why not?”

  “Because we’re American fairies,” he declared. “We’re not going to do anything to complicate security for our human brothers in arms.”

  For just an instant, I felt like I was in a scene from Honey, Rambo Shrunk the Kids, but Ironweed was completely sincere. Lesson learned. Patriotism comes in all shapes and sizes.

  A little before 9 o’clock, we excused ourselves and walked to Aunt Fiona’s cottage, which sat at the bottom of the hill on the east end of town just inside the city wall. The thatched house looked like something out of a storybook with its white picket fence and riotous garden.