He chuckles.
A short drive later, we pull up and park in front of Natalie’s shop, ‘Enchanted Evenings,’ in Kensington. It’s a short walk away from a little hole-in-the-wall called ‘Reanimator Coffee’ in a weird pie-slice shaped building. I always stop in there whenever I visit Nat. I love the high-octane stuff. Wonder if Lawrence likes java?
Natalie’s window is a diorama with ten-inch dolls reenacting a scene from some Victorian romance. The door opens on its own―without electronics―and a diaphanous wind-chime sound peals over the room. It’s not a huge place; two rows of shelves go down the middle of the rectangular store full of ‘pre-made’ enchanted items that have a good chance of selling. Stink-less ashtrays, ever-sharp kitchen knives, permanent air fresheners, that sort of thing. Two bookshelves hem in the area right behind the front window, creating a small playroom for kids, where she’s got a handful of enchanted toys on display. A wooden train set chugs around a wooden track, an illusion of smoke trailing off its chimney.
At the gentle pop of the door closing, my friend pokes her head up from behind the counter, wearing an eager, happy expression and a plain blue dress. As soon as she spots me, the eagerness falls away. Alas, I’m not a customer about to drop ten grand on a vacuum cleaner that can talk or a set of undirtiable dishes that put themselves away.
Most of her enchants are quite utilitarian, but she’s made good money from the city for beefing up the police’s armored vests.
“Hey, Nat.” I walk up to the glass counter; the top shelf inside is full of wands. “Oh wow, you still have those?”
“Yeah, that idiot senator’s bill failed.” She huffs, making her bangs jump. A pendant around her neck, a silver witch sitting on a crescent moon, comes to life and waves at me. “They’re not treating them like guns yet, so I can still sell them.” Her gaze shifts to Lawrence. “Who’s that?”
“Lieutenant Ellis from the Fire Marshal’s Office, arson investigation’s unit,” I say.
He offers a hand. “Please, Lawrence is fine. A pleasure to meet you.”
She accepts, shaking his hand with far more vigor than he expected, making his eyebrows go up.
I feel like a ghost. Lawrence is dark, and Natalie’s got this rich caramel color to her skin. I could trip into a snowbank and disappear. I’ve never been a vain person, but after realizing that I might not even be human, the difference feels more like a blinking neon sign calling attention to my ‘otherness.’
“So, what’s up?” asks Natalie.
Lawrence pulls a small black jeweler’s box from his pocket and sets it on the counter. “Your friend thinks this crystal is involved in a fire we’re investigating. We have questions and no answers to go with them.”
“Oh, cool.” Natalie picks up the box, but hesitates. “I mean, not cool that something burned, but cool you’re asking me to help.”
I lean on the counter. “And I’m part of the investigation now because I found it.”
“What are you leaving out?” Natalie gives me a playful grin and opens the little box. “Oh, hello. Poor little guy. He’s all dwained and tired.”
My eyebrows furrow. “Do you always baby talk at things?”
“Not everything.” Natalie holds up the crystal. “This little guy’s cute.”
It’s a lump of lavender-hued crystal. No idea how she gets ‘cute’ from that. Kittens are cute. Baby seals are cute. Babies are cute (until they throw up on me). They’re little Winston Churchills that explode if shaken. Crystals? Whatever.
She stares at it, holding it up to the light. “So what aren’t you telling me?”
I explain the vision I got.
“Oh wow.” Natalie lowers her arm and switches her gawking from the crystal to me. “You’re a clairvoyant, too? When did that start?”
“This afternoon,” I deadpan, folding my arms.
She pulls out a notepad and scribbles a few lines. “That’s something I need to add to my research. If you’re able to get psychometric visions, that could open a whole new path we need to walk down.”
“Psycho-what?” I blink.
She sighs. “Of course the person who can do it is the one who doesn’t understand it.”
“I’ve never done it before a few hours ago. I didn’t even want to. Just touched the crystal and whammo.”
“Right,” says Natalie. “From what I’ve read about them, people who can get psychometric visions usually receive them at a subconscious level when handling objects that have been exposed to high levels of emotional, spiritual, or magical energy. Maybe you’ve never touched anything with enough mojo in it before.”
I shrug. “Maybe.”
“Can she do this whenever she wants to, or only randomly?” asks Lawrence.
“I’m an enchanter, not a psychic. I only read a lot. But, I think if she practices at it, she’ll get some control.” Natalie sets the crystal down on the counter and holds her hands out over it. She intones a few indecipherable words definitely not in English, or Spanish, or even Swahili. A pair of concentric circles of orange light appear over the crystal, about four inches apart. Mystical symbols fill in the space between the rings, and hair-thin threads of energy wisp from the emptiness in the middle to the crystal.
Lawrence stands still and quiet, one eyebrow raised.
This trick, I’ve seen before. She’s ‘reading’ the item. The spell she used should tell her exactly what it is, assuming it’s enchanted.
“Oh, it’s a spellstore.” At a quick little finger motion from Natalie, the glowing sigil she made disappears. “It’s got a twelve-thread capacity and a somewhat dangerous sub-enchant. At first, I thought it a ridiculous thing to even do, but it makes sense given how you found it.”
Lawrence leans in close, pulling out a notepad. “Go on.”
“Dangerous? I guess you could say burning a place to the ground is dangerous.” I set my hands on my hips.
“I can see the last magic someone put into this thing.” Natalie eyes Lawrence. “Your friend looks like he doesn’t know magic from a double-caramel latte.”
“Not the least bit.” He grins.
“Okay. A spellstore is an enchanted item that a mage can cast magic into, and it holds it. Later, the object can be invoked, and the spell proceeds,” says Natalie.
Lawrence jots, while nodding.
“Every aspect of a spell is based on threads. If a spell does two things, it has two arcane threads running it. Like a spell that makes light. If that light is also capable of following its creator around, the motion part is a second thread.” Natalie picks up the crystal. “This is a pretty advanced spellstore, and also rare Dragon Quartz.”
“Valuable?” I ask.
“Not for being a gem. It’s still basically quartz.” She waves it at me. “Like different metals conduct electricity better, different crystals, metals, and gems absorb magic at varying degrees. Dragon Quartz is close to perfect, even as a semiprecious stone. You don’t really get better than this unless you get into expensive stuff like rubies, sapphires, or diamonds.”
“Are there ‘Dragon Diamonds,’ too?” asks Lawrence.
I hold up a hand, smiling. “Don’t get her started, or we’ll be here until tomorrow.”
She shoots me a ‘go to heck’ look before leaning toward Lawrence. “Yes, there are. ‘Dragon’ only means the gem/crystal/rock/whatever has been exposed to magical energies over long periods, usually from being in rocks sitting on ley lines. It’s got nothing to do with actual dragons. Anyway, so I don’t ‘keep you here all day’”―she sticks her tongue out at me―“the last magic inside this crystal was twelve single-thread fire spells.”
“I’m shocked,” I say.
Lawrence chuckles.
“Magic fire is hotter than normal fire, right?” I ask. “I kinda remember that. The place was a damn cinder before we even got there.”
“Yep.” She nods. “The spells put in this one were combat magic. Most non-wizards call them ‘firebolts.’ They’re quite a bit h
otter than ambient, natural fire. They only last for a second or three at most, and a single one has been known to kill people.”
“Hmm.” I tap my fingers on the counter. “The other investigators found twelve points where they think ignition occurred, and you’re saying that crystal held twelve spells.”
“Yep.” She mutters two words in that indecipherable language again and pokes her finger at the air, making a glowing white dot. “Crystal here.” One by one, she traces lines outward from it, like writing with glowing paint on a nonexistent piece of glass, each one radiating in a spiral until she’s drawn a pinwheel. “Uncontained ray-type spells almost always curve. Left and high when north of the Equator, right and down if south. If you draw something like this over a blueprint of that restaurant that burned, I bet you’ll connect to the locations where they think the fire started.”
“Someone really wanted that little bistro gone,” says Lawrence. “It’s more common than you think for restaurants that aren’t doing too well to have ‘accidents.’ Though, this goes a bit above and beyond the usual kitchen fire.”
“What’s the other part?” I gesture at the crystal. “You said something in it’s dangerous?”
“Oh yeah.” Natalie cringes. “I don’t think this spellstore is even sellable with the other enchantment in it. Every day at noon, it releases any spells inside it all at once, hence the pinwheel of death.”
“They made a damn bomb,” I say.
Lawrence’s eyebrows go up.
“Correct.” Natalie thrusts her finger into the air. Her drawing fades out.
“Wait a sec…” I tilt my head. “How does magic know what time zone it’s in? Would it still go off at noon in California?”
She sighs. “Noon is a simplification. The enchantment isn’t really aware of time in the sense of what the clock’s doing. It’s sensitive to the energy flow between the Sun and the Earth relative to the position of the enchanted object on the surface. When the alignment of the cosmic radiation reaches a certain angle, the effect triggers. It’s much simpler to say ‘at noon.’”
“Right. Sorry I asked.” I rub my forehead.
“So, someone committed arson with this crystal?” asks Natalie.
Lawrence grins. “Your friend is psychic, too?”
“No,” says Natalie. “You’re both wearing fire department uniforms asking about a device with a bunch of delayed release fire spells in it. I guessed.” She waits a tick. “And you mentioned a restaurant being burned down before.”
“So we did. Heh.” He picks the crystal up. “Kinda lost myself in all this magic talk. Hmm. Brooklyn, you saw the back of a man’s head, and we know this is the ignition source.”
I reach for it. “Let me see that again?”
He hands it over. “Knock yourself out.”
“Uhh, that might be more literal than you think.” I look at Natalie. “How’s this psychometry thing work?”
She raises an eyebrow. “You’re asking the enchanter for help with psychic stuff?”
“An enchanter with a reading fetish.” I poke her in the chest. “Come on, you can think of something, right?”
“Well. Okay. Gimme a sec.” Natalie runs off into the back of her shop, humming. At the far end, she ducks past a purple curtain covered in silver stars.
Lawrence leans on the counter. He’s calm, almost casual, and highly patient. I spend the few minutes while waiting for her to return gazing at the crystal and trying to read it like I can read people, but nothing happens.
“Here it is,” singsongs Natalie, as she emerges from the curtain with a book. She leafs over pages on her way to the counter. “Okay, it says here, a clairvoyant will clear all thought out of their mind and try to think of nothing. Once they are able to center themselves, any latent impressions in the object should rise to the surface.”
“Great. You know how difficult it is to think about nothing?” I ask.
She drops the book on the glass top, above a row of dark wooden wands. “Maybe you should try meditation?” Natalie folds her arms and rests her weight on the counter behind the book.
“Right. Clear my mind… Easier said than done.”
They’re both quiet, watching me ogle the crystal in my hands. I close my eyes and grip the little lavender gem in my right fist. Thinking about nothing gets me nowhere quick as my mind keeps leaping on random images. With that failing miserably, I try another approach: I think about the crystal and push the memory of the last image I got of it back to the tip of my brain.
Come on. Link. Open up.
Natalie’s shop is so quiet, the sounds of us all breathing become distracting. Right when I’m about to give up and ask to take this little bastard crystal home with me, I feel a faint rip of energy, like something poked me in the forehead with a teeny knife.
Seizing on that, I envision forcing the slice wider and allowing energy in.
In a flash of green and sunlight, I find myself standing in a park. Or at least, it looks like a park. Lots of grass, trees, a somewhat-paved path lined with pushcarts and stalls. A carnival or something? One stands out: a woman under a blue-awning. She’s behind a table in front of an old-timey wagon, like what snake-oil salesmen used to run around in with horses. This one’s sky blue with white decoration, but no writing.
She looks sixty or so. I remember her dark grey hair from the first vision. She smiles at me as if she knows I’m watching, but that doesn’t make any sense. It’s got to be whoever bought the crystal she’s reacting to. Who are you, lady?
The scene pulls away from me, sliding off into darkness. My eyes flutter open. Fortunately, I’m still standing. Didn’t faint this time.
“Well?” asks Natalie. “You definitely did something.”
“How can you tell?” I ask.
Lawrence is leaning back, both eyebrows up about as high as they can go. “Because your, umm, eyes lit up blue.”
I put on a sheepish smile. “Is that normal for psychics?” I know it isn’t. It’s probably normal for whatever I am though.
“Dunno.” Natalie opens the book again. “I’ll check though. What did you see?”
“A park or something.” I describe the vision, and the woman.
Natalie looks up from the book. “Oh, that sounds like Silverbough. It’s a village about an hour west of here in the sticks. Lots of magey stuff and shops. Awesome, friendly people. I go there all the time.”
“Guess that’s our next stop,” I say, giving Lawrence the eye.
ilverbough turns out to be a bit of a ride outside the city, but not too far west. Natalie explained the village has been around since colonial days, after European explorers chased the Native Americans away from a point where five ley lines intersect. This, of course, made it a magnet for those who use magic, those who aspire to use magic, and those who simply adore being around magic. Nowadays, the village is part one-stop-shop for magic users, part tourist-attraction, and part getaway/rest spa for practitioners.
The village got its name from the trees that grow around it. Take a wild guess why the trees got that name? Yeah. They’re silver. Not metal, but the bark glimmers like it. White leaves, too. Nat had some pictures on her phone. So, yeah, we’re driving toward the storybook woods.
Natalie visits it at least four times a year to buy supplies. Evidently, being an enchanter is a lot of work. Many of the reagents she needs have bizarre preparation requirements like ‘left out in the light of a full moon undisturbed for one full lunar cycle’ and stuff. Who has time for that? Not my friend. People invented magic before social lives existed, amirite? She makes enough money that she can pop over to the village that technology forgot and stock up on powders, oils, crystals, and whatever else she needs after someone else puts in the grunt work.
Guess that’s commerce.
One nice thing about this temporary assignment, I didn’t have to show up at the stationhouse at six this morning. Yours truly gets to work FMO hours until this investigation’s over. Due in at nine and I still
get to leave around six. It’s a mini-vacation, except I’m probably going to have to be in next Monday, which is usually a day off. Ugh.
Lawrence is quiet on the ride, driving us according to the GPS. Neither one of us have ever been there, and I get the feeling he’s not comfortable around magic, just like Hilleman, my new boss. I guess arson investigators like to deal with stuff they can themselves study up on and replicate, rather than rely on the word of so-called experts. Like me. That’s fair, but boy, if he only knew what sat next to him. The thought puts a grin on my face. My gut (as opposed to my increasingly psychic brain) tells me of the fire department’s arson team, he’s the least freaked out in regards to magic, and probably the most laid back. Guess that’s why he got stuck with me.
So far, I like him. He gives off granddad vibes, which is kinda cool. Gotta be my face. Must be that ‘large eyes’ thing. They make me look innocent. Fate does have a sense of irony, after all.
We pull off the highway a little after ten in the morning. A winding road leads us to a conventional small town, which we go straight past to more twists and bends among pine trees. Not long after the hamlet’s gone behind a wall of leaves, the GPS leads us to the left at a fork onto dirt road.
Fortunately, we’re in a department SUV and the path is no trouble for it. The occasional clank or thump of rocks hitting the wheel wells breaks the silence for a quarter mile or so before we round a sloping curve and a wall of silver greets us. It really is pretty. Looking at it makes me feel like I should be seeing elves cavorting around.
“Well, how ‘bout that?” mutters Lawrence. “Damn, ain’t that a sight.”
I’m speechless.
The forest up ahead goes from normal to fantastic along a perfect line, like I’m staring at a colossal snow globe without a dome. Beyond the last row of normal pine trees, the woods look like nothing that ought to be on this planet.
Gnarled white trunks streaked with silver, like clusters of smaller trees braided together, create a canopy of glimmering silver leaves on wide-reaching branches. A carpet of rust brown, yellow, and dark red upon the ground conjures the feeling of an early-autumn day despite it being March still. Here and there, little balls of light, pastel blue, white, and yellow, glide about. I half-want to call them pixies as they dart and zip about like drunken moths.
Nascent Shadow (Temporal Armistice Book 1) Page 8
