His voice was slightly challenging and Quinn sighed inwardly. He knew his lover was right and that he would still face some issues in the pond though if he insisted on swimming there. The words Cade had said he’d heard whispered were probably some form of bastardised Greek. Quinn thought it was probably “Join us” that had been chanted. He’d no idea what Cade would have said back but somewhere in the recess of his mind he’d dredged up something from his birthright and managed to stave them off. Quinn felt a distinct sense of disquiet. His Fey man was growing up and he wasn’t sure he liked the idea. Taliesin, however, did.
Quinn, Cade deserves his place with them as both a Sprite and a Healer of note. You have to encourage and teach him. So he can learn something of their world. He will never leave you, you know that.
But Quinn didn’t know that for sure.
Taliesin, I’m not having this conversation. Let me be. You’ve made your views known. And you know mine. I’ll tell him what he needs to know for now.
Quinn scowled and Cade looked at him worriedly. “Everything okay?”
“Fine, just thinking about what you said. I promised you I’d tell you more so maybe tonight we can sit and have a drink and you can ply me with your questions.” Quinn felt a frisson of unease but quelled it. “Then we can have raunchy sex.” He leered at Cade.
Cade chuckled sexily and leaned forward to kiss him, a long, lingering kiss that made Quinn’s groin ache and his heart beat quicker. “You and your one-track mind. Come on, mister, let’s get home. You’ve got me all excited about thinking what questions I need to ask now. And the sex of course. Always the sex.” He strode off ahead of him, his long legs power walking, and Quinn hurried to catch up with him.
He put his arm around Cade’s waist as his lover leaned into him. Quinn smelled the dampness in his hair and the faint scent of lingering aftershave. Quinn’s resolve quickened. He loved the feel of this man in his arms and he was damned if he was going to let anyone or anything take Cade away from him.
Chapter 5
Quinn switched off the engine, leaned back in the seat of his car and took a deep breath. It had been quite a drive from Hampstead Heath to Long Melford. The traffic had been a bitch and he was not in the best of moods. In hindsight he should have used Taliesin to get there but he’d fancied the drive. It let him think and gather his thoughts. He was about to talk to the leader of the Ravenbrook Coven, Misty Ravenbrook, a.k.a. Laura Claybourne in real life, and find out about the events leading up to a young girl’s death earlier that week. He took a deep sigh and unravelled himself from the car. Quinn walked up to the front door of the library where Misty worked and raised his hand. Before he could even knock, the door opened. A short, slim woman in her late twenties or so smiled at him hesitantly.
“Mr. Fairmont? I’m Misty Ravenbrook. Won’t you please come in?”
Quinn stepped into the quiet and dimly lit room and nodded at her. “High Priestess, I’m pleased to meet you. It’s good to be able to put a face to the name after so many telephone conversations.” He smiled at her and noticed she seemed pleased at his deference and use of her formal Wiccan address. It bode well for the meeting, he thought.
She smiled back at him tentatively. “Please, come in and take a seat. I’m afraid we only have office chairs. They’re not very comfortable, but I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
“Believe me, I’ve sat on worse.”
He removed his beige suede jacket, lowered his frame onto the chair she’d indicated and stretched long legs out in front of him as he observed her closely. She observed him back, her eyes lingering on his body as she looked him up and down.
Quinn raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Do I have something on my face?”
Her face reddened at his quizzical yet amused tone. He was used to people looking at him as if they were trying to spot the real Quinn Fairmont. That, and sometimes the look of desire he saw in their eyes. Quinn knew he was an attractive man but there was only one man he wanted to look at him as if he could gobble him all up. He was currently at home with his cat and probably muttering about his forthcoming dissertation.
“I’m sorry I’m staring,” she stammered. “It’s just I’ve heard so much about you that it’s a pleasure to see you in person, even under the circumstances.”
“I’m sure my reputation has been somewhat exaggerated, High Priestess,” Quinn said drily. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t have a toad squatting on my shoulder as a familiar, I don’t breathe fire and I most certainly don’t shape shift.” He grinned.
Misty blushed. “I wasn’t sure how you’d be getting here,” she burbled on.
He raised an eyebrow questioningly. “You thought perhaps I’d simply appear like a genie in a lamp?” He chuckled softly at her consternation and embarrassment. “Don’t worry, it’s a common misconception that I travel everywhere by using my Withinner. Time travel tends to make me feel ill, actually, so when I get the chance to take my Jag for a long drive, I take it.”
He sat back in his chair, his long arms loosely folded across his chest and his affable nature disappeared in an instant.
Time for answers.
“So, you know why I’m here. I need you to tell me everything you can about that Book of Shadows your fellow witch found and what you actually did with it, leading up to the time that one of your own was killed.”
His voice was commanding and from the paling of her face, he knew it had the desired effect. The woman had little choice but to tell him the whole story.
She sat back, her hands folded in her lap to stop their trembling. “One of our coven members, Nightwolf Shadow, came across an old book in a small occult bookshop in Glastonbury. He liked the look of the book so he bought it. He said it looked to him like someone’s Book of Shadows and it had some interesting spells in it.”
Quinn leaned forward, his eyes focused on her face.
Misty cleared her throat. “Last summer, on the Solstice, we decided to try one of the spells in the book. It seemed to be a rejuvenation spell and we thought we’d try it on a dead geranium…”
Her voice trailed off. Quinn felt a surge of anger. He uncrossed his arms and leaned forward aggressively.
“You tried this spell on a plant? Did you know what the whole spell was about?” He heard the sarcasm in his voice and tried to quell his rising temper.
Misty swallowed again. “I knew most of the chant; there were a few words we thought we knew, but we weren’t a hundred percent sure.” She looked at him hopefully. “The geranium came back to life and even shed a few blossoms. It died shortly after, though.”
“And did you try this spell on anything else?” Quinn asked smoothly.
Misty nodded. “One of the coven’s budgies died and we tried to reanimate it, but the spell didn’t work at all. Nothing at all happened.”
Quinn shook his head in disbelief but didn’t say anything. “And the second spell—where Melody Bright died? How did that all come about?”
Misty’s eyes glimmered with tears. “She had a really bad case of eczema, her body was rife with weeping sores and patchy skin. There was a healing spell in the book we thought we’d try. But instead it let something out. Something dark came out of the book and suffocated her. I killed her.” Her voice was now a whisper and despite his frustration Quinn felt a twinge of sympathy at the desolation in Misty’s eyes. He sat back and shook his head, passing his hands over his eyes tiredly.
“You chanted something when you had no idea what it all meant and got one of your own killed in the process. When will you witches learn these spells aren’t toys to be trifled with at your bloody coven meetings?”
Misty’s face flushed as she stared at him angrily. “Mr. Fairmont, I can assure you I’m not a novice. I do admit I cocked up with this last spell and got one of my coven members killed in the most horrific way imaginable.” Her voice caught. “But I’ve been doing this a long time. I go back three generations as a witch and I’m proud of it. This is the first death I’ve eve
r been involved in and I can assure you, I dislike it every bit as much as you do. I was responsible for her death, for God’s sake! Do you know what that’s like?”
Quinn’s heart rate increased and he clenched his fists.
Oh yes, I know exactly how that feels, High Priestess.
He ignored her question as he stood up and paced around the room. Finally he stopped and sat back down again. Misty had remained sitting, staring down at the floor as he strode around like a caged lion.
When Quinn spoke again, he tried to be gentle. “I’m sorry if you feel I denigrate your abilities, Misty. I truly don’t mean to. I understand witches better than you think. My mother was one, as was my aunt, the woman who raised me when my parents died. So I’m well aware of you all and your abilities and I have the greatest of respect for them. It’s just this blatant disregard for the dangers of doing something when you don’t know what it’s all about that drives me crazy—witch or Warlock.”
Quinn sighed and continued. “You didn’t kill her. Whatever was in the book killed her. Remnants of something dark, something evil. It is a unique circumstance though. That could never have been envisaged, High Priestess. Not the cleverest thing you could all have done, though.”
Misty nodded wordlessly.
Quinn sat forward. “What happened then?”
She swallowed. “I told the others to go home, so at least they would be spared Valensia’s wrath then I called the Praetorium.” The Praetorium was the Witches’ organisation similar to the Warlocks’ Consortium, a high council that sat in consultation and managed their affairs.
He turned to face her. “I assume Valensia summonsed you to account. Tell me how that went.”
Misty’s face paled at the memory of her meeting with the Regina. “I did and it was a most unpleasant experience, I can assure you. Do you know Valensia at all?”
He nodded curtly.
Better than you can imagine.
“Well, then you know that she is extremely temperamental and rather sadistic. My meeting with her was extremely painful and I was lucky to get out of the Praetorium in one piece. As it is, she gave me this as a punishment.”
Misty lifted the swathe of long brown hair that covered the back of the neck. Quinn winced at the sight of the small ugly puckered scar on the back of her neck.
“She used her athame to cut me as a warning not to do something so stupid again.” Misty dropped her hair. “I can assure you after the pain I experienced getting this, I won’t.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Quinn said softly. “She can be very—mercurial—in her moods and not someone to get on the wrong side of.” He hesitated. “I imagine she wanted the Book of Shadows herself?”
Misty nodded. “Yes. I had to hand it over when I went to see her. It’s in her chambers, I imagine. She’s keeping a close eye on it.”
Quinn mouth twitched at that news.
Not what I wanted to hear. I’d rather you still had the damn thing.
“Tell me about the book,” he said quietly. “Describe it in as much detail as you can.”
“It was a book about A5 size. It looked like leather, very old and faded. There were some old stains on the front cover, possibly water, I don’t know. The writing was old, done in some sort of red ink, dragon’s ink, I think, and the handwriting was very flowing. I thought it was a woman’s Book of Shadows.” Misty frowned. “There was a strange symbol on the very first page.”
Quinn gazed at her intently. “Could you draw this symbol?” he asked, his eyes watchful. Misty nodded. He rummaged around inside his leather jacket, pulling out a pen and a small spiral bound notebook. “Draw it,” he demanded.
She placed the book on the table as she sketched. He watched as she drew a wheel with eight segments, which represented the eight sabbats of the witches’ year, along with two symbols, looking like an M and a sideways V together, in curly writing. He frowned as he looked over her shoulder, at the slightly blurry figures on the piece of paper.
I should have brought my damn glasses with me.
“They look like runes. I know the Year of the Wheel symbol but I’m not sure about the single marks. Do you have any idea what they are or what they mean?”
Misty shook her head. “All I know is this was drawn on the inside of the book. I have no idea what the two separate initials mean.”
Quinn looked at her sharply. “You feel they may be initials? Perhaps belonging to the witch who created and owned this book?”
Misty shrugged. “I suppose they could be. I don’t have a clue who could it be; the seventeenth century is out of my comfort zone.”
Quinn frowned. “How do you know the book was created in the seventeenth century? It could have been anyone’s.”
Misty looked at him, her gaze clear. “I felt it strongly after the second spell we did, before I handed it over to Valensia. I touched the book just after Melody died. It burnt me and there was a foul smell. The one thing I sensed when I touched it was fear, distrust and hatred. I smelled the sweat and the blood on that book. It reeked of Witch Trials. I think the book belonged to someone who was perhaps persecuted in that time.”
Quinn’s stomach lurched and he turned to look out of the side window into the darkness beyond. “That’s an incredibly useful piece of information, thank you. It’ll help me with what I’m working on.” He turned to look at her again. “The witch that died, what happened to her body?”
Misty looked down at the floor. “Valensia ordered it to be burnt. The thing that went into Melody, that darkness, no one knew what it was. The Regina didn’t want to risk it getting out, so they burned the body to cinders in a sealed crematorium and left it there. The bones and mortal remains of poor Melody were never given a decent burial. I had the other coven members do a release chant. I hope it gave the poor woman some peace.”
Quinn nodded but his mind was elsewhere. “What went into Melody was probably old residue from the casting of any original magyck or intense emotions. They tend to have a fairly malevolent presence when they’re stirred up. As the book was already in the circle with you, the salt protection wouldn’t have worked to keep it out like it would normally.”
He felt a twinge in his shoulder and he rolled it from side to side. He noticed Misty’s concerned eyes on him.
“Old injury making itself known,” he murmured as he stretched. “You’ve told me everything you can think of about this book?” he asked. “I hope you’ve left nothing out. It’s very important I know everything.”
Misty nodded. “I’ve told you everything I know, Grand Master. There’s nothing else.”
He nodded. “Very well. Thank you, High Priestess. I know this must have been difficult for you. It’s never easy when one of your own dies, and I know Valensia can be quite an unpleasant handful. You were lucky not to get out any worse off. She has a vile temper.”
“You sound as if you know her well?” Misty asked curiously.
Quinn snorted. “It was a long time ago and I doubt she’s got any better with age or maturity.” He picked up his jacket and shrugged his arms into it, picking up the notebook and his pen and putting them into his jacket pocket.
“Thank you for the meeting; I appreciate it. If you think of anything else, contact me. This is my number. Call me anytime.”
“This is more than just a witch’s death, isn’t it?” Misty murmured quietly. “For you to be here, visiting me and giving me your number personally—this is bigger than we thought, isn’t it?”
Quinn thought she was very perceptive. “It may well be. Obviously our meeting is strictly between us. I’d prefer that even Valensia didn’t know about it. I’m sorry if that puts you on the spot, but it’s why I insisted on driving down here to meet you late at night. I don’t want this getting out to anyone.”
“You have my word,” Misty said quietly. “And if you need anything from me again, you know where to find me.”
He smiled at her. He nodded as he opened the door and stepped outside. “Stay safe
and look after yourself.”
He disappeared into the dimly lit car park and walked toward his car, unlocking it, the beep of the central locking echoing in the still night air. He started the car.
That had been a very interesting conversation and one that had been worth the journey. Something was definitely wrong with that Book of Shadows and Quinn had every intention of getting the book from the Praetorium. He grinned wolfishly.
It might take a cunning plan, Valensia, but that damned book will be mine.
Chapter 6
Driving home, Quinn was disturbed at the news the witch had given him. He thought for sure now that there was a definite connection between Jeremy’s increase in powers the time they had fought and the chanting of that first spell by the coven at the Summer Solstice. He also trusted Misty’s instincts. He’d researched her before their meeting and he probably knew more about her than she did. Her family had indeed been well respected and influential and she was no fly by night. A little reckless, perhaps, but that was a flaw he understood well.
He frowned, remembering the scar on the back of her neck. Valensia certainly hadn’t tempered her mean streak and Misty’s words definitely meant Quinn would have to meet with the Regina and face the music. He desperately needed to see that book, if not get it into his possession. He wasn’t going to be a big girl’s blouse and ask Percy to go with him for backup—he’d never live it down-—but he would certainly fortify himself against Valensia’s wiles as much as he could. His Withinner stirred inside him.
Quinn. That book is the answer to everything we seek. We have to do this even though neither of us wishes to. I will see what I can find out about those initials. Perhaps we may get lucky.
Double Alchemy: Climax Page 5
