Grim Haven (Devilborn Book 1)

by Jen Rasmussen

  Lydia frowned, like I was speaking a foreign language, then finally started laughing. “Oh, I get it. You think I’m mad at you!”

  I blinked at her. “I just… feel bad.”

  She stepped aside to let me in, and made a dismissive noise. “Not your fault. Believe me, we know better than to show up in Bristol without expecting trouble. Anyway, I’m fine.”

  “I’m glad.” I followed her down a hallway, past a dining room where the big table was already set for, at a quick count, five. I wondered what that was about, but I didn’t like to interrupt her.

  “Although I won’t lie to you, vomiting is about the worst punishment you can give me,” Lydia went on. “I cannot abide it, I swear. I have a surprise for you, by the way.”

  We came into the living room just as she said it. Max Underwood sat on the couch, talking to an older woman with a cat on her lap.

  I stared at them, frozen, wanting to run.

  “Sorry,” Lydia whispered. “I had no idea you’d be so nervous, or I’d have had Phineas call and warn you.”

  There was no doubt it was Max. Still thin, still wan, still with that solemn look in his eye. But his years in the closet had clearly taken their toll; he looked at least a decade older than me, despite our being about the same age.

  He regarded me with curiosity, but no hostility that I could see.

  “I…” I cleared my throat. “It’s nice to see you, Max.”

  “Is it? I combed my hair.”

  “Oh. It looks very nice.”

  “This must be Verity, then.” The other woman gave me a sweet smile. “I’m Martha. Forgive me for not shaking hands, I hate to disturb Jack Nimble.”

  “Jack Nimble is the cat,” Max said, pointing for good measure.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” I said. “Um, you and Jack Nimble.”

  I could see from Martha’s face that my recognition of the cat as a person had scored me a point. “Max lives with me. Although I’m afraid I can’t tell you my last name, or where we live.”

  “No, of course,” I said.

  But Max shook his head. “We can trust Verity.”

  “Sure we can, but we talked about this, remember?” said Lydia. “The less people who know, the safer it is for everyone.” She turned to me and gestured at a plush armchair. “Why don’t you sit down? I’ll get you a drink. You okay with wine?”

  “More than okay.” I was driving, of course, but one glass to steady my nerves sounded like a fantastic idea. “Thank you.”

  I sat, and found both Martha and Max looking at me expectantly. What did they want me to say? I tried to swallow, but my mouth felt dry.

  In my mind I was fourteen again, and so was he. And I was the coward who allowed him to be abused, isolated, and kept in a closet, because I was afraid of a fever.

  “How are you, Max?” I asked finally.

  “I’m kind of hungry,” he said. “But that’s okay, Phineas and Wulf went to get some Indian food. That’s my new favorite.”

  “Wulf is the dog,” Martha interjected.

  “And Lydia made hand pies,” said Max. “Peach, which is also my favorite. You look really nervous. You’re not going to throw up the Indian food, are you?”

  “Um. No.” I took a deep breath, and decided to just come out with it. “Max, I’m really sorry. For leaving you there, when we were kids. I tried to tell a teacher, but…”

  “But Madeline punished you,” he said.

  I nodded.

  “That’s okay. She punished me all the time. I’m not sad she’s dead. I was really sad when Tilda died. But I don’t miss Madeline or Mark.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say to that. I finally settled on, “I’m sorry about Tilda.” At least maybe his grief for her meant one sister had been kind to him.

  Max nodded and accepted a glass of milk from Lydia, who then handed me a glass of wine before settling into the remaining chair.

  “Anyway, I should have kept trying, even though I was punished,” I said. “I gave up when I knew you needed help, and that was wrong.”

  Max took a sip of his milk. “You couldn’t have stopped her no matter what, so I don’t know why you’re worried about it.”

  They’d all tried to tell me, that day at the hotel, that Max wasn’t mad at me. And now here he was, making the truth of that obvious. But I still couldn’t quite believe it. I stared at him, wondering how he could be so casual about this burden I’d been carrying for so long. Heaven knew, it had been heavier for him.

  Finally I smiled. “Thank you, Max.”

  “Ah, here are my boys,” said Lydia, looking out the window. “Let’s go into the dining room.”

  A few minutes later, we were all gathered at the table with enough Indian food to feed an army. Wulf—a bloodhound old enough to be going gray in the muzzle, but still young enough to beg enthusiastically for naan—settled next to my feet, apparently taking me for a sucker.

  “Sorry for not cooking, but Max loves his takeout,” said Lydia.

  “Yeah, I didn’t really think of that,” Phineas said to me. “I guess you could have used a home-cooked meal, living in a hotel.”

  “I have a kitchenette,” I said. “Of course, I only use it to make mac and cheese.”

  I looked at Max. I didn’t want to upset him, but then, if our last conversation hadn’t managed that, I supposed this wouldn’t either. And I might as well get it all out of the way. “Speaking of the hotel, I want to talk to you about that too, Max. And your sister’s money.”

  “What about it?”

  “Well, she gave it all to me. But it belonged to your parents first, before Madeline got it. I’d give it all back to you, if you asked me to.”

  Max laughed, a strange, reedy sort of noise. Martha’s face lit up at the sound of it, in a way that made me think he didn’t laugh often, even now.

  But he seemed healthy and happy, and maybe that was enough.

  “Don’t worry about that,” Max said. “I don’t ever want to see the hotel again. And Martha says she has more money than we’re ever going to spend.”

  I glanced at Martha, who nodded.

  “Max, are you sure?” I asked.

  He said something around a mouthful of dal that sounded like ishur.

  “Verity, I understand your position,” Martha said. “You must feel like you’re taking advantage of him. But it’s only been a few months now since Max could even talk about the hotel without getting upset. He wants nothing to do with that place. Or with anything that belonged to his family.”

  “I’m sorry I brought it up, then,” I murmured.

  “I don’t blame you for wanting to make sure, and hear it straight from him,” Lydia said. “But I promise you, the best thing for Max is to keep him a secret from Bristol, and let him live in peace.”

  “And let the Mount Phearson have its general,” I said with a sigh.

  Lydia gave me a wide smile, clearly pleased that I remembered her advice. “Exactly.”

  “In that case, I need to ask you guys some questions,” I said, looking from Lydia to Phineas and back again. “Maybe after?” I didn’t want to bring up any more of Bristol’s business in front of Max.

  They seemed to understand, and we talked mostly about food and books—Lydia and I shared a love of reading—until we finished eating. Then Max, with a plate of hand pies and a fresh glass of milk, went back to the living room to watch a movie. Wulf and Jack Nimble walked on either side of him like bodyguards as he left the dining room.

  Martha watched me, watching him go. “Did you know him, as a child? Before?”

  “Yes,” I said. “He was… more normal, then. But I remember he was always very sweet.”

  “He once told me he was frozen, at the age his so-called accident happened,” said Lydia. “I guess he was nine.”

  I nodded. “And I was eight. We were both in third grade.”

  “His accident,” Martha said, with a viciousness I wouldn’t have guessed her capable of. “I’ll tell you w
hat, Amias is just lucky he’s dead. And Madeline Underwood, too. I’d curse the both of them myself, if they weren’t.”

  “Amias. Of course.” I closed my eyes, as if I could fend off the obvious. Why hadn’t I connected those dots before? “Of course my father did that to him.”

  “Oh, drat, I’m sorry,” said Martha. “I don’t think before I speak, sometimes. But I assumed you knew.”

  “I knew it was no car accident,” I said. “But I never found out what really happened.”

  “All we’ve ever been able to get out of Max was that he saw something he shouldn’t have, and the devil broke him for it,” said Phineas.

  “Balls,” I muttered.

  “You’re not going to blame yourself for that too, surely?” Lydia asked.

  “Of course not. But it’s not easy knowing I come from… that.”

  “Well, Phineas is your family too.” Lydia patted her husband’s shoulder. “And he’s the best man I’ve ever met. His parents are really nice, too.”

  I smiled, trying to take comfort in that.

  “So,” said Lydia. “What’s up? And don’t be shy about asking questions in front of Martha. She’s a good enough witch to rival Wendy’s Granny.”

  “Oh, I don’t know that I’d say that,” said Martha, but she sat up straighter, clearly pleased with the compliment.

  “All right,” I said. “Cooper told you guys that Cillian Wick wants to use Bristol in a pretty nasty way. I’m working on what you might call a built-in defense system.”

  “More place-magic?” Lydia asked.

  “Oh, I find this whole idea of place-magic fascinating,” said Martha. “I’d never heard of it, until Lydia told me about what happened at the hotel.”

  But I shook my head. “What happened at the hotel is exactly how we know place-magic alone won’t do. As Lydia found out the hard way, the Mount Phearson’s brand of sanctuary can’t completely protect us from our enemies. So I had this idea, that maybe I could build on it.”

  “With what?” Martha asked.

  “Devil-magic, I suppose,” I said with a shrug. “I need to make Bristol a safe haven. And we know something like that’s been done before.”

  “You want to make Bristol your sanctuary?” Phineas asked. He didn’t look pleased by the idea, and who could blame him? For all he knew, I was the apple that wasn’t falling far from the tree.

  “Not my sanctuary,” I assured him. “I want it to be a sanctuary for…” I was about to say everyone, but then I thought of the Garden Club, who wanted no protection from Cillian Wick. “For itself, I guess. Nobody could harm my father in Bristol. His enemies couldn’t even find him there. I want a deal like that, except for the whole town.”

  “Do you think it can work like that?” Phineas asked. “How do you get a place to give shelter to itself?”

  “I don’t see why it couldn’t be done,” said Martha. “Amias’s sanctuary spell was attached to a place, as well as a person. Each got something out of it.”

  “And each had one end of the bargain to keep up,” Lydia said. She looked intrigued, which gave me confidence. “So you want a similar spell, that would benefit Bristol, but leave out the Satan-wannabe.”

  I nodded. “That’s the general idea.”

  “But the whole thing is based on an exchange,” said Martha. “You would almost certainly need something to trade. Or at the very least, a sacrifice.”

  “I think that probably all depends on exactly how my father worked the magic,” I said. “If I understood his spell, I might be able to modify it to fit what I need. Which is where you guys come in. You broke his sanctuary; you must know how it worked.”

  “Well, it wasn’t his spell, for one thing,” Lydia said. “It was Letitia who cast it.”

  “Who?”

  Lydia reached for the coffee pot, and refilled my mug as she spoke. “Okay, so the witch who brokered the sanctuary deal was the wife of one of the town founders. Letitia Tanner Pierce was her name. She was Amias’s daughter.” She gave me a look that was suddenly slightly alarmed. “That makes her your sister, actually.”

  My what?

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Phineas said with a laugh. “Half-sister, obviously, but it’s still funny to think of you having a sister who died two hundred years ago.”

  “Yeah,” I said, a little weakly. “Funny.”

  “Anyway,” said Lydia, “according to Letitia’s terms, the deal was only good as long as there was a living Tanner—that was Letitia’s maiden name, her mother’s name—in Bristol. It was an insurance policy, to protect her family. So that Amias would never hurt any of them.”

  “She was afraid of her own father?” I asked.

  “She was smart to be,” Phineas said tightly. “We’re pretty sure he killed her mother.”

  “I see.” I took a moment to sip my coffee. I supposed I should be grateful that my own mother had died of natural causes. “So the spell was bound in the blood of this Tanner family. But other than that it was like Martha said, a straight exchange. My father’s sanctuary for Bristol’s prosperity.”

  “Right,” agreed Lydia.

  “What about the spell itself?” I asked. “Do you know what it involved?”

  “You mean like step-by-step instructions?” Lydia shook her head. “That much we couldn’t tell you.”

  “No one can, actually,” Phineas added. “After we broke the sanctuary—”

  “How?” I interrupted. “How did you break it? I’m assuming you didn’t just go out and kill everyone with Tanner blood.”

  “There actually wasn’t any Tanner blood left,” said Lydia. “Which backed your father into a corner, until he found a way to bring the ghost of Letitia’s daughter back to life.”

  I looked at Phineas. “The spell you told me about. To give a ghost a new body.”

  He nodded. “Lydia broke that spell, banished the ghost, and destroyed the sanctuary for good.”

  “At which point, Amias went looking for a new spell,” said Lydia. “Which is how we know there isn’t one.”

  “He threatened some of the most talented witches I’ve ever met, trying to force them to recreate the sanctuary spell,” Phineas said. “But they never found an answer.”

  “It must have been quite a ritual,” said Martha. “To seal terms like that, to ward off every enemy from Amias forever? And then to bind up the spell with an entire bloodline. I’ve never seen anything so complicated accomplished with a single spell.”

  But I shook my head. “She didn’t bind it up with a bloodline, though. This wasn’t blood magic. It was more like soul magic, or something.”

  “I’m not sure I take your meaning,” Martha said.

  “Well, a living Tanner seems to have meant a living soul,” I said. “Otherwise, bringing the ghost back to life wouldn’t have worked.” I looked at Lydia. “You did just say there wasn’t any Tanner blood left, right? It was just her spirit, in a living body.”

  “Right, and that’s a good point,” Lydia said.

  “It’s interesting,” said Martha, “given how often magic does involve blood.”

  I sighed. “Interesting, but I’m not sure it helps me. And frankly, I’m not sure anything will.”

  “What makes you say that?” Phineas asked.

  “If the most talented witches you’ve ever met couldn’t come up with a sanctuary spell, I don’t see how I can hope to.” My idea seemed foolish now. Presumptuous, even. But at least I’d gotten to see Max.

  “I don’t know, you are Letitia’s sister,” said Lydia. “Maybe you think like her. Maybe you’ll see a new angle, or something.”

  We spent some time talking over details—rituals Martha knew, ingredients and incantations I might try to build from—until Max came back into the dining room to announce his movie was over.

  “Oh, and Jack Nimble needs to be home by seven.” Martha said. “So we’d best be going.” She got up, then gave me a hug when I stood as well. “It was lovely to meet you, Verity.” />
  “You too,” I said.

  “You can come visit us sometime,” Max said. “But you might have to wear a blindfold on the way in, so you won’t see the address.”

  I smiled at him. “One way or another, I hope to see you again, Max.”

  He nodded, solemn as ever. “You will.”

  I sensed that he was right, but the thought was a murky one, tinged in swampy green. Not an illness, I hoped. We’d had more than enough of that.

  Phineas walked Martha and Max out, while I helped Lydia clean up the last of the mess.

  “Well,” I said when we finished. “I’d probably better start back, too.”

  “Not so fast,” Phineas said. I hadn’t heard him come back, but I turned to see him leaning against the kitchen doorframe. “There’s something else we need to talk to you about.”

  “We didn’t want to ask you in front of Martha,” Lydia added. She was drying her hands on a dishtowel, looking down so I couldn’t see her face.

  But Phineas’s tone—that of a parent about to force an uncomfortable conversation—gave me a decidedly bad feeling.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Please tell me,” Phineas said, “that Cillian Wick doesn’t actually have any sapwood seeds.”

  What I’d failed to take into account—probably because I’d only learned about it a week before—was the ability of phantasms to travel easily between worlds.

  “This world is our favorite destination, but it’s not our only one,” Phineas said. “We go to all sorts of places. And study them.”

  He and I were back in the dining room with more coffee by then, and Lydia had gone to walk the dog. I’d answered most of their questions honestly, admitting that there were enough sapwood seeds in this world to grow a new forest, if the Wicks got a hold of them.

  Surely that wasn’t an unforgivable betrayal of Cooper’s secrets, not when Phineas clearly already knew so much.

  “So you’ve been to Cooper’s world?” I asked.

  “No, I’ve only heard about it from my parents. Which explains why I couldn’t place Cooper when I met him. I knew he wasn’t human, but I didn’t know what he was.”