“Extinctus,” I said, the word cracking around the lump in my throat.
The image in the mirror disappeared. I had no intention of standing there watching Chase make a date with another woman. Especially not a woman like Ann Marie Detwiler.
It was bad enough knowing that’s what he was doing.
That was what he was doing . . . wasn’t it?
Something tugged on my pants leg. I looked down to find Rodney staring up at me.
“What are you doing running around out here during business hours?” I asked. “I thought we talked about this.”
In response, Rodney quickly scaled the leg of my jeans, hopped to the crook of my arm, and ran up to perch on my shoulder. He shot me a worried, inquisitive look.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Eavesdroppers get what they deserve.”
Rodney cocked his head in question.
Gesturing toward the mirror, I said, “I used it to look into Chase’s shop. He’s over there flirting with a woman.”
Standing up on his hind legs, Rodney balled his paws into tiny fists and punched at the air. A surge of love washed through me. “If you were big enough, you’d do it, wouldn’t you, Sir Galahad?” I asked fondly.
The rat’s chest puffed out, and he nodded.
“You don’t need to punch Chase out for me,” I assured him. “We’re not dating anymore. It’s none of my business if he decides to take up with loose, trashy women.”
It was Rodney’s turn to laugh.
“Trust me,” I assured him. “Ann Marie Detwiler is a total tramp.”
The expression on the rat’s face was unmistakable.
“Don’t you give me that ‘you’re not being nice’ look,” I said. “She is a tramp. Just ask Tori.”
“Ask Tori what?” my BFF said, coming up behind us.
“If Ann Marie Detwiler is a tramp,” I said.
Tori offered up such a colorful description of Ann Marie’s morals, Rodney put his paws over his ears. She finished with, “And why in God’s name are you talking about that slut anyway?”
“Because she’s next door gushing all over Chase,” I said.
It was Tori’s turn to give me a look. “And you know this how?” she asked.
A guilty blush started across my cheeks. “I ran into them on the sidewalk,” I said.
Catching sight of the mirror on the shelf and accurately gauging my growing level of discomfort, Tori put two and two together at the speed of light. “Did you spy on them?” she hissed. “Jinx! Seriously?”
“Just long enough to see her hanging all over him and asking him to dinner,” I said defensively. “Then I cut it off.”
“Did he say yes?” Tori asked.
“He was smiling,” I said hotly.
“But was it an ‘I’m letting you down easy because I can see you’re trouble’ or a ‘hot damn, you bet I’ll go out with you’ smile?” she persisted.
That stumped me. “I don’t know,” I admitted.
“Then how about you wait to plot the man’s murder until you have evidence,” she suggested, “and while we’re at it, explain to me why you’re upset about your ex boyfriend going out if you don’t care about him anymore?”
Oh, hell no. We were not going there.
“I have to inventory the essential oils,” I said, handing Rodney to her. “I’ll talk to you two later.”
With that, I stomped off, and I didn’t look back. I already knew they were both grinning at me. I didn’t need to see it.
6
Chase McGregor broke two eggs into a frying pan and watched as the transparent liquid surrounding the yolk slowly turned white and solidified. He almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of unexpected footsteps on the hardwood kitchen floor.
Wheeling around expecting to find an intruder, he confronted a much more confounding sight, his father, in human form, wearing gray trousers, a white shirt, and a navy blazer.
“Dad, you scared the daylights out of me,” Chase said. “What on earth are you doing shifted and dressed?”
“And a cheerful good morning to you, too, boy,” Festus said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Don’t let my egg yolks run.”
“You tell me that every day,” Chase said. Returning his attention to the stove, he switched off the heat, deftly slid the eggs on a plate, and picked up a knife and fork.
“Stop!” Festus ordered.
Chase looked at him perplexed and then realized that his father was currently equipped with opposable thumbs. “Sorry,” Chase said, putting the plate on the table in front of Festus. “Force of habit.”
Sitting down with his coffee, Chase said, “You didn’t answer my question. Usually, on a Monday, morning you’re trying to decide if you want to nap in the sun puddle at the front of the shop or snooze by the fire in the lair. Why are you going to Raleigh?”
“None of your business,” Festus replied, buttering his toast. “You always were bad to ask too many questions around Christmas time.”
“Christmas is almost a month away, and you do your shopping online,” Chase replied. “What gives, Dad?”
“What gives,” Festus said, “is that you need to quit being so nosey. I’ll be back by supper. Think you can manage without my expert guidance and advice for that long?”
“I’ll do my best to muddle through,” Chase said, picking up the paper. Then, as if the idea just occurred to him, he peered over the top of the sports section at Festus. “You’re not going to do anything illegal are you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Festus said, licking the back of his hand and scrubbing at his face.
“Uh, Dad,” Chase said.
“What?” Festus asked, staring at him.
“That’s a hand, not a paw. Humans use napkins.”
“Oh,” Festus said absently. “I knew that. Don’t worry about me. I’m not going to get into any trouble today. When the humans look at me, they just see a crippled senior citizen.”
“Wash your face like that again, and they’ll see a crippled senior citizen with Alzheimer’s,” Chase said drily.
Draining the last of his coffee and standing up stiffly, Festus said, “Duly noted. See you tonight, boy.”
By the time he reached the downstairs door to the basement, Festus wished he could shift back to his usual ginger cat self. His hip already hurt and he hadn’t even gotten out of his house. But, painful or not, this errand demanded human form. The Mordecai Historic Park was closed on Mondays, which created an opportunity to get inside and talk to the resident haunt.
With a little help from Rube and a ferret named Stinky who had a paw for forgery, Festus would be presenting his credentials to the security guard as Dr. F. James McGregor, an eminent scholar studying extant 18th-century southern structures. That and a letter of permission should get him inside long enough to talk to the ghost of Mary Willis Mordecai Turk.
When he walked into the lair, Festus found Beau deep in online research at his roll top desk with Glory serving as his assistant. The Colonel looked up from the screen of his laptop and frowned, “May I ask how you got in here sir?” he said.
From under the desk, Beau’s spectral coonhound, Duke, whined.
“Lighten up, Beau,” Festus replied. “And that goes for you, too, Roadkill. I got in here the way I always do.”
Beau’s brows drew together in puzzlement, and then recognition dawned. “Festus?” he said. “Good heavens. I have never seen you in human form.”
Glory climbed on top of a stack of books and craned her neck to get a better look. “Well, I’ll be danged,” she said, “you’re handsome. In an older guy sort of way.”
Duke, who drew enough energy from the fairy mound to be partially solid, thumped his tail against the desk.
Scowling first at her and then at the dog, Festus said, “You’re not bad looking for a dill pickle, either, but I can’t say much for the canine cadaver.”
That sent Duke’s tail wagging even more furiously.
“Yep,” Glory sa
id. “That’s Festus, alright. No doubt about it.”
From one of the chairs by the fireplace, the lilting sound of a woman’s laugh brought a smile to Festus’ features. “Hey, gorgeous,” he said. “I didn’t see you sitting over there. Care to give an old man a lift to the Raleigh portal?”
Greer MacVicar set aside the book in her hands and uncoiled from the chair in one fluid movement. Her deep auburn hair flowed over the shoulders of her black blouse, accentuating the emerald depths of her eyes.
“You always have liked the flight of the baobhan sith,” she said, walking toward the desk.
Festus watched her with openly approving eyes. “How can I resist when you go around looking all dark and dangerous like that,” he said.
From the desktop, Glory chimed in curiously. “Wait a minute, did you two have a thing?”
“Gentlemen don’t tell tales,” Festus said, taking Greer’s hand and kissing her knuckles. “No matter how good the story might be.”
“You old rascal,” Greer said fondly. Then she looked at Glory and mouthed, “We’ll talk.”
The miniature green witch giggled and gave Greer the thumbs up sign.
“Do you have business in Raleigh today?” Beau asked.
“I do,” Festus replied. “You need me to pick something up for you?”
“As a matter of fact,” Beau said, “an antiquarian establishment in Brightleaf Square has acquired a personal journal relevant to my genealogical research. I can contact them via electronic mail and authorize you to retrieve it for me if you would be so kind.”
“No problem,” Festus said. “You still working on finding out what happened to your people after the Civil War?”
“I am,” Beau said. “It would seem I have a rather elderly bachelor nephew several times removed who may be in possession of some items that belonged to my late wife. It would mean a great deal to me were I able to retrieve some physical remembrance of her.”
Festus nodded. “I understand,” he said, adding gruffly. “When I’m in Raleigh, I put flowers on my Jenny’s grave. You never stop missing them.”
“Indeed you do not,” Beau agreed sadly.
The two men fell into an awkward silence. Glory dabbed at her eyes with a tiny handkerchief she extracted from the sleeve of her purple cardigan. Greer saved them all when she said, “Shall we, Master McGregor?”
“Yeah,” Festus said. “Off to see the wizard.”
At those words, Glory let out a strangled cry. “You’re not going to see him are you?” she gasped.
“Now see what you’ve done,” Greer said to Festus with a reproving glare.
“Geez,” Festus grumbled. “It’s a line from a freaking movie, Glory. Nobody knows where Chesterfield is now.”
Glory’s face blanched to a pale jade. “That’s what scares me most of all,” she said.
“You are perfectly safe here with me,” Beau said kindly. “Perhaps I might direct your attention back to the census records on Ancestry.com?”
The question successfully re-engaged the researcher part of Glory’s brain. She hopped down and returned to her iPad, but not without a nervous backward glance at Festus and Greer. Before the miniature witch could have another panic attack, they quietly made their escape, nodding at Beau as they exited the lair.
When Greer was sure they could no longer be heard, she stopped and faced Festus. “Now,” she said pleasantly, “tell me the truth about this errand of yours.”
“I’m just going up to Raleigh to tend to some personal business,” Festus said defensively.
“My dear, Festus,” she said, laying her hands on his shoulders. “You are shifted and wearing nice clothes. Do not even attempt to lie, not to me. What are you up to?”
Festus frowned. “Don’t be pulling any of that baobhan sith mesmerization crap with me.”
A lazy smile curved the corners of Greer’s lips. “When did I ever need vampiric powers to mesmerize you?”
Swallowing hard, Festus said, “You don’t play fair.”
“Fair play is rarely fun,” Greer countered. “Talk to me, Festus.”
When he finished his account of the plan Jinx had to get information on Chesterfield’s meeting with John Smyth, Greer sighed. “She can be so adorably young. Does she think that Barnaby and Moira are not actively searching for the Amulet?”
“Her brother’s home. She wants everybody to have a nice Christmas, but she doesn’t want to shirk her responsibility either,” Festus said. “She’s come a long way from the scared young woman who went running out of the lair when we told her about the Otherworld and the Fae.”
“Is it any wonder she ran?” Greer asked. “You told me you shifted in front of her.”
Festus shrugged. “The 2 x 4 upside the head approach seemed to be the right answer at the time,” he said. “What are the big bosses in Shevington up to?”
“They have Lucas running around the globe gathering information,” Greer said. “Most of it has to do with Chesterfield and Brenna Sinclair.”
“Did they not get the memo?” Festus asked. “You know, ‘ding dong the witch is dead?’”
Greer laughed. “You are quite full of Wizard of Oz references today.”
“The movie was on the other night,” Festus said. “I laugh my tail off every time I see that thing. How would the humans feel if they knew Frank Baum was Fae and he based that whole story on the Otherworld and the In Between?”
“I suspect in inimitable human fashion, they would break out the torches and pitchforks,” Greer replied. “Now, let us get to Raleigh and get about our business.”
“You’re going to stay with me?” Festus asked.
“My dear boy, you do not look like a visiting professor regardless of your attempt to strike an academic pose,” she said. “Your plan is badly in need of some feminine wiles.”
“If you’re planning to pose as my graduate student,” Festus said, “you’re a little too hot for the job.”
“Thank you,” Greer said, “and we will be making a couple of stops to acquire props before we approach the security personnel at Mordecai House.”
With that, she held out her hand. When Festus took it, the air around them warmed and began to churn. As the archive faded from their sight, Greer said, “Hold on Festus, we’re not in Kansas anymore.”
They materialized in an alley behind an upscale retail district. While Festus sat on a bench in the sun and waited, Greer went shopping. When she was done, they ducked behind the buildings again. Greer took out a vial of fairy dust, sprinkled some on the palm of her hand, and then, chanting softly, tossed it into the air.
“Cloaking spell?” Festus asked.
“Yes,” Greer replied, closing the top two buttons on her blouse. “Of short duration. Just long enough for me to make some alterations in my look.”
She reached into one of the smaller bags and took out a jewelry box holding a severe black onyx brooch, which she fastened against her throat. Then she drew a soft, gray cashmere sweater out of another bag. Next Greer kicked off her stiletto heels, replacing them with a pair of sensible Mary Janes. She completed the subtle transformation by twisting her flaming hair up into a high bun and donning black horn-rimmed glasses.
“Well?” she asked Festus, who had been watching her with bemused interest.
“Now you look like a hot librarian,” he said.
“But a librarian all the same,” Greer replied, stashing the packages behind a pile of crates. “We’ll retrieve these later when we return so that I can purchase the killer Louboutins I just saw. Those are shoes, by the way.”
Pasting on his trademark scowl, Festus said, “I’m a male, not a moron. I know what Louboutins are, but how do you know they’ll still be there when you get back?”
“Because I enchanted them to look like unusually ugly Birkenstocks,” Greer replied, “and might I add that making Birkenstocks look even worse than their normal hideous appearance is no small feat. Do not underestimate my retail powers, dear boy.”
As he took her hand, Festus said honestly, “Darling, I’m not about to underestimate you, period.”
7
Half an hour later, after a dazed security guard left them standing in the dim foyer of the Mordecai House, Festus said, “Geez, what was I saying about not underestimating you? What the heck did you do to that guy?”
Greer shook her head and mouthed the word, “Wait.”
She closed her eyes and as Festus watched the ruby ring on her left hand began to glow. Greer’s lips moved as she whispered the words of an incantation. Festus felt something change, almost as if some of the weight of gravity had been drawn away.
“Did you just stop time?” he asked.
“Yes,” Greer said. “I don’t see any surveillance cameras, but I’m not willing to take the risk. We will return to this exact spot when we are finished, take a leisurely walk around the ground floor, and then let ourselves out. If we are being observed, all will look perfectly natural.”
Festus let out a low whistle. “Dang, you are good,” he said. “I didn’t even think about a place like this being wired up with cameras.”
“The house is beautiful,” Greer said, wandering into the parlor and admiring the original furnishings. “Certainly aspects of the 18th century suffered from regrettable primitiveness, but they were interspersed with touches of elegance and graciousness.”
“Where were you in the 18th century?” he asked, running his hand along the polished wood of the box grand piano.
“Many places,” Greer said a little wistfully. “In the company of people now long gone. It was a period during which I spent a great deal of time with humans. They are so short lived, these fragile friends of ours.”
A voice from the doorway said, “That determination depends on how you choose to count the years of our consciousness. In the mortal realm, I lived 79 years, but I have already been granted that much time again on my current plain. Welcome to my home.”
Greer approached the woman. “Mrs. Turk?” she asked.
The ghost, who wore a long period dress with a high collar nodded. “I am Mary Mordecai Turk,” she said. “Pardon me for being forward, but what are you?”
The Amulet of Caorunn (A Jinx Hamilton Mystery Book 7) Page 5
