The Amulet of Caorunn (A Jinx Hamilton Mystery Book 7)

by Juliette Harper

  “Hopefully they won’t need to for much longer,” I said.

  Chase’s brow furrowed, but before he could ask any questions, Darby called us to supper. The conversation at the table ran toward reports on individual research projects, most involving alternate ways to get an object into the Middle Realm that did not involve human delivery. Let’s just say the results were not promising.

  As I listened to Gemma discussing the transdimensional challenges of bilocation with Myrtle, I decided I’d let everyone finish eating and then announce that Tori and I had decided we were going through the door in the fairy mound. You can think I was considerate if you like, but truthfully, I needed more time to work up the courage to face what I knew would be massive resistance from my mother.

  The two of us hadn’t been avoiding one another, but we had most certainly avoided discussing the danger a Daughter of Knasgowa would face entering the In Between. While I understood her fear, and I never wanted to hurt her, Mom was going to have to confront the same truth I’d already forced myself to accept. We were out of options.

  Before I could initiate that conversation, I was literally saved by a bell.

  After her first consultation with Moira when we returned to Briar Hollow, Myrtle positioned her floor length looking glass in the lair for the duration of the crisis. She reasoned, correctly, that there would be frequent calls back and forth with Barnaby and Moira.

  When the friendly chime sounded indicating an incoming transmission, I was the one standing closest to the mirror. I answered the call, assuming it would be one of them. Instead, I found myself staring dumbfounded into the bright, intelligent eyes of an eagle.

  “Uh, hello?” my mouth managed to say, while my brain grappled with whether or not it’s possible for someone to dial a wrong number with a mirror.

  The uncertain tone in my voice made everyone stop and look up from what they were doing. The stunned faces all around me gave me some assurance. No one else in the room saw this call coming either.

  “Good evening,” the bird said, speaking with a slight English accent. “Please forgive me for contacting you without warning. Do I have the honor of addressing Mistress Jinx Hamilton, Witch of the Oak?”

  A talking eagle. Well, that was par for the course given how things had been going over the last few days.

  “You do,” I said. “How may I help you?” I pitched my voice at the end of the phrase to indicate I wanted to know his identity in return.

  “I would give you my true name,” the eagle said pleasantly, “but I assure you no human tongue can sort out the pronunciation.”

  Myrtle stepped beside me. “My tongue, however,” she said, “should have no problem.”

  Without hesitation, the massive bird let out with a series of clacking chirps and hisses that sounded worse than the dragonlets’ language. Coming from his powerful yellow beak, the vocalization only sounded more unnatural.

  I don’t know why I should have been surprised when Myrtle repeated the sounds — perfectly. “Are you not the scholar and university professor who wrote the definitive treatise on medieval Fae political relations with the courts of Europe?” she asked.

  The creature inclined his head. “I am,” he said, “but that was a long time ago in a vastly different lifetime. And you are, if I am correct, the aos si known as Myrtle.”

  “There are some who still regard me as such,” Myrtle replied. “As for you, Professor, the common belief is that you no longer exist among the living.”

  Letting out something I thought was a chuckle, the eagle said, “I assure you, madam, I am quite alive, but for many centuries past I have been a resident of the Middle Realm. A creature with my unique physiology regardless of my repute as an academician does not always receive a warm welcome, even in the Otherworld.”

  “You’re an eagle,” Tori said. “What’s wrong with that?”

  The bird cocked his head to get a better look at her. “And you are?” he asked.

  “Tori Andrews,” she said, hooking a thumb in my direction. “Alchemist. I’m with her.”

  At that, our caller moved farther back from the looking glass until we could see that only the front portion of his body took the form of a bird. The hindquarters were those of a lion.

  “Now do you understand?” he asked. “I am a halfling. A gryphon by birth. My status as a scholar did not save me from the prejudices of either the human world or the realm of the Fae. For me and others like me, the Middle Realm affords sanctuary.”

  “Well that sucks,” Tori said.

  The gryphon chuckled. “I think I like you, Alchemist Tori,” he said.

  “Back at you, Bird Guy,” she said.

  At that, the eagle let out with a hearty cackle. “You may call me Aquila,” he said. “Or Bird Guy, as you please.”

  “I’m sticking with Bird Guy,” Tori grinned.

  Their exchange took away much of the awkwardness of the call, and I felt the tension in the room ratchet down a notch or two. That wouldn’t last.

  “What business have you with us?” Myrtle asked.

  Aquila literally ruffled his feathers, smoothed them out, and then said, “I call on behalf of one who wishes to speak with you, but who fears the reception she might endure. Aos si, I swear to you on my honor, this being is not as you have known her and poses no threat to you and yours. I beg you to listen to her words.”

  “Who is this being,” Myrtle asked, “and what news would she bring us?”

  Aquila drew his head up. “The sorceress, Brenna Sinclair,” he said. “She would speak to you of the kidnapping of the Queen of Summer.”

  29

  Aquila stepped away, leaving me face to face with Brenna Sinclair. I didn’t know exactly what she’d been through since the night our mothers fought her, but I saw on the woman’s thin face the effects of prolonged pain. The high cheekbones etched harsh lines into her angular features, and Brenna’s green eyes betrayed a sense of age that had not been there before.

  “Thank you for agreeing to speak with me,” she said quietly.

  Without thinking, I said, “I’m not sure that I did.”

  For the merest fraction of an instant, something like anger warred with her calm demeanor, but then it was gone again. “Your reaction is completely understandable,” she said. “You have no reason to trust me.”

  “Damned straight we don’t,” Tori muttered.

  Brenna turned toward her with a look of longing tinged with unrequited affection.

  “Victoria, I know you have no desire to be my granddaughter,” she said softly, “but that does not alter the connection of our blood. I sincerely regret the circumstances of our initial meeting, and I apologize for the manner in which I treated you. I hope, some day, that you will find it in your heart to forgive me.”

  The last thing any of us expected to hear was an apology from Brenna Sinclair.

  “Do you honestly think I’m going to buy that for a second?” Tori said. “You tried to kill my mother!”

  This time the sorceress made no attempt to control her features. The sadness I saw there seemed real. So real, a bolt of empathy shot through me.

  “I have tried to kill many people and succeeded with far more than I care to admit,” Brenna said. “If I am granted the span of ten lifetimes, I cannot atone for the things I have done. I can, however, help you stop Irenaeus’ mad plan to sever the realms — if you’ll let me.”

  Mom and Gemma came forward to stand beside Tori and me. Their body language conveyed all the subtlety of a pair of angry mama lions.

  “Why would you want to help us?” Mom asked hotly. “You broke into the fairy mound and held us prisoner. You tried to force us to open the Shevington portal so you could steal the secrets of made magic from Moira. Good God, you wanted to create a master race of your followers. You’re Creavit, Brenna. The truth isn’t in you.”

  At that outburst, Aquila rejoined the conversation. The sorceress gave him a look filled with so much relief; I saw immediately t
hat the two shared a close bond.

  “I know this is difficult for you to believe,” the gryphon said, “but when I found Brenna, she lay near death from a sword wound to the chest and burns she suffered from passing through the membrane of this reality without the benefit of protective magic. For days she lay unconscious. It has taken her many months to recover her strength. During that time, we have spent hours in conversation. She understands the Power That is Above Us All gave her a gift that is not to be abused.”

  “What gift?” Myrtle asked.

  This time when Brenna’s emerald eyes looked at us full force, I knew in my gut she was telling the truth.

  “My deal with the darkness was broken in the crucible of my death and resurrection,” she said. “I cannot lie. The force of my anger did keep me alive these many months, but under Aquila’s tutelage, I have slowly come to question the nature of my revived powers. At first, I thought I had been given only the gift of free will, but now I know that I am no longer Creavit. The Hereditarium magic that is my birthright has awakened.”

  The silence that followed her words stretched on well past the point of our comfort, but I don’t think either Myrtle or Brenna was aware of the passage of time. When Myrtle did speak, the words came out slowly and with measured weight.

  “Even an hereditary practitioner exercising free will can perform acts of evil,” she said. “The motivation of pure magic arises in an unstained heart.”

  “Or in a heart willing to suffer the burden of true healing,” Brenna replied.

  Aquila made a sound I took to be clearing his throat. “If I may,” he said, “I possess a touchstone. If Brenna were Creavit, the stone would remain black as night, would it not?”

  “It would,” Myrtle said.

  Lifting one massive talon, he held a pendant out to Brenna. It was identical to the one Moira wears beneath her tunic. When the sorceress accepted the stone and held it in the palm of her hand, it warmed to ruby red and pulsated gently — the same color Moira’s pendant displays for me.

  “You see?” Aquila said. “Only natural magic flows in her veins now.”

  Greer moved up to stand with us. “Brenna,” she said in greeting, “many a long day has passed since last our eyes fell on one another.”

  “Greer MacVicar,” Brenna said, a dancing smile bringing some life to her pale face. “What a day that was. We tried our best to kill each other. An ambitious goal on your part since I was then immortal.”

  “Indeed,” Greer agreed. “I’ve told the tale more than once.”

  “As have I,” Brenna said. “What says the baobhan sith of my truth?”

  A ripple of power flowed over Greer’s lean frame, and flickering flames filled her eyes from within. “I say that if you are lying, I will finish that fight, and this time, given your changed circumstances, I will not stop until you are dead.”

  Brenna didn’t so much as flinch. Her manner remained completely unchanged as she spoke to Greer in Gaelic. I didn’t understand the words, but I knew they were far older in form than any I’d heard before. She and Greer were, in those minutes, creatures out of time. Even Festus seemed to be straining to follow the conversation.

  When the sorceress fell silent, Greer turned to Myrtle and said, “She speaks the truth.”

  “She does,” Myrtle agreed.

  Mom looked at both of them with an incredulous expression. “So that’s it?” she said. “Out of nowhere a gryphon shows up with Brenna Sinclair claiming to be a born again Hereditarium and you just believe her?”

  “The touchstone cannot lie, Kelly,” Myrtle said. “Brenna is Hereditarium again.”

  “Fine,” Mom said, “she’s Hereditarium, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t lying to us.”

  This conversation could go on forever if we let it. Sometimes you just have to step off the cliff. That’s why it’s called a leap of faith.

  “That’s enough,” I said. “If Myrtle and Greer think this is legit, then we’re going with it. You said you wanted to talk to us about the kidnapping of the Queen of Summer, so talk.”

  Mom didn’t interrupt again, but disapproval fairly radiated off her small form.

  “Shortly after the Winter Solstice,” Brenna said, “rumors began to circulate in the Middle Realm that the son of Fer Dorich had kidnapped a Fae woman. She is being held in the Dark Druid’s castle. Given the winter storm currently plaguing North Carolina and the description of the prisoner that I have been able to obtain through Aquila’s contacts, I believe the captive to be Brighid, the Queen of Summer.”

  That had to be the woman I saw fall into the pond in my dreams.

  “How was she kidnapped?” I asked.

  “The Dark Druid’s son, who goes by the name Liam Cleary in the human realm, took the form of a wounded stag and lured her into Brighid’s Well in Ireland,” Brenna said. “It is one of the few remaining passages to the In Between in the world of the humans.”

  Tori and I exchanged a look, and she mouthed the word “bingo.”

  Myrtle considered the information. “The taking of Brighid would be enough to delay the coming of spring,” she said, “but not to create the world of ice and snow that has descended upon us.”

  “True,” Brenna said, “but if Irenaeus has acquired the Amulet of Caorunn, a fact also rumored in this region, what if he were to give it to Cailleach Bheur?”

  This is where I’m supposed to tell you that the “plot thickened.”

  “Who is Cailleach Bheur?” I asked.

  “The Queen of Winter,” Myrtle replied, “she whose powers are meant to begin their waning on the Winter Solstice.”

  Wane. A synonym for fade. The condition the Amulet of Caorunn corrects.

  Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner.

  Tori, who is even better at word games than I am, put it all together just as fast as I did.

  “So, we get the Queen of Summer back, and this whole thing ends, right?” she asked.

  “To an extent,” Myrtle said. “Traditionally, every year on the first day of spring, the Queen of Winter and the Queen of Summer meet and complete the transition to the changing of the seasons. In the weeks that follow, Brighid’s powers grow with the warming of the days as Cailleach retreats to the high, cold places. However, Cailleach cannot refuse to meet with Brighid at any time after the Solstice so long as they are in the same realm. What I do not know is how such a meeting would be affected by Cailleach’s possession of the Amulet of Caorunn.”

  As far as I was concerned, we’d file that part under “cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  “We have something we have to deal with first,” I said. “The Mother Oak is feeling the cold from this storm. First, we have to deliver the Jar of Prometheus to her guardians. Then we worry about springing Brighid from the Dark Druid’s castle and getting this Cailleach person into a meeting.”

  (I know. Sometimes I can’t believe the things I’m saying either.)

  “You must save the Mother Tree,” Brenna said. “If Irenaeus breaches the Grid, he will have taken the first step toward severing the realms.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “We got the memo.”

  “Do you have a plan?” Brenna asked.

  When I hesitated, she accepted my reticence with a grace I wouldn’t have thought possible from the Brenna Sinclair I knew.

  “You do not have to tell me now or at all,” she said. “Confer amongst yourselves and decide if you truly believe what we are saying. If you do, and if you will accept our help, we will do everything in our power to aid in the delivery of the Jar of Prometheus and the liberation of the Queen of Summer.”

  She made a move to terminate the call, but my Mother’s voice stopped her. “Hold on,” she said, “what’s in this for you? And don’t talk to me about redemption because I’m still not buying it.”

  “Redemption is not an event,” Brenna said quietly. “It is a process — a lengthy one. If we work together and accomplish these deeds — and if in doing so, I earn your trust, I a
sk only to be allowed to leave the In Between with you and for Aquila to come with me.”

  Only? Ancient sorceress or not, Brenna needed to work on her vocabulary.

  30

  Lucas showed up just after the call with Brenna ended. Greer filled him in on all the big reveals from the conversation as he demolished a double helping of leftover roast chicken. When she got to the part about the Queen of Summer, he hastily washed down a mouthful of food and verified the information.

  “Brenna Sinclair is telling the truth about that part,” he said. “John Smyth or Liam Cleary or whoever the hell this guy is, did kidnap the Queen of Summer.”

  Earlier, when Lucas walked into the lair looking all rakish in his long leather coat and lopsided fedora, I resisted the urge to give him a kiss. Chase had been standing right there and I just didn’t want to deal with the two of them. But after what Lucas told me next, I was peevishly glad I’d been restrained with my greeting.

  “How do you know about the kidnapping?” I asked.

  Aiming another forkful of food at his mouth, Lucas said, “Katrina told me.”

  I instantly bristled and just as instantly tried to hide it. Lucas was so engrossed in his meal, he missed the reaction. Tori didn’t, and shot me her “don’t go there” look. She was right. I couldn’t claim to be avoiding trouble between the two men and then turn right around and go all green-eyed jealous monster at the mention of Katrina’s name — especially when I knew absolutely nothing about the true nature of her relationship with Lucas.

  Summoning up my best reasonable adult impersonation, I said to Lucas, “You talked to Katrina in the mirror again?”

  “Nope,” he said, complacently diving into a thick slice of pecan pie. “I went to Edinburgh to see her.”

  So much for being a grown up. Among the other handy magical tricks at my disposal, I am armed with telekinesis. In that instant, I wanted to grab that fork right out of his fingers and stab him with it.