Dime Store Magic

by Kelley Armstrong

  I nodded and left.

  No one escorted me downstairs. I passed Friesen and another half-demon guard, whom I'd only heard called Anton. Both cast subtle glances my way, but gave no sign that they were watching me. I knew they were, though.

  Despite my intent to stay with Savannah, I'll admit to an inkling of temptation as I passed the front door. Earlier I hadn't thought of running. Now, though, as I neared the living room, I had to ask myself what Nast wanted.

  I knew Nast had no intention of taking me back to Los Angeles. So long as I was alive, I'd be a threat. A minor one, but a threat nonetheless. Once I'd served my purpose, he'd have me killed. The only question was: When?

  As I passed the door, I wondered whether I'd already outlived my usefulness. I hesitated, but only for a second. Nast's hold on Savannah wasn't strong enough to risk incurring her wrath. I had a few more days at least. Enough time to come up with a plan.

  When I pushed open the living room door, Nast was inside, laughing as Sandford relayed an anecdote about a shaman.

  "Paige, come in," Nast said. "Have a seat."

  I did.

  "Would you like a drink? Port? Claret? Brandy?"

  "Claret would be fine. Thank you."

  Sandford's brows arched, as if surprised I'd accept a drink. I had to trust in my conviction that they wouldn't kill me yet, and behave as if I trusted them.

  Once Sandford passed around glasses of claret, Nast settled back in his chair.

  "You asked earlier how we knew about Savannah's menses. I thought you should know the truth, though dinner hardly seemed an appropriate time to discuss it." He sipped his drink, taking his time before continuing. "I'll be blunt, Paige. Victoria Alden told us."

  The glass almost fell from my hand.

  "I realize you won't believe me," he continued. "Let me offer proof that I've been speaking to Miss Alden. As for the ceremony, the Coven disapproved of it, but your mother did it for you. Miss Alden believes you borrowed Margaret Levine's car Tuesday night, not to get the tea ingredients, as you told Margaret, but to get the required ceremonial materials."

  I leaped to my feet. "What did you do to Victoria?"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "You said Victoria told you. You forced her to talk, didn't you? What--"

  Sandford's laugh cut me short.

  Nast smiled. "Touching, isn't it? How she jumps to the defense of her Coven sister, even after that very person has exiled her from the Coven? We didn't hurt Victoria, Paige. We never even contacted her. She called us."

  "No. She wouldn't do that."

  "Oh, but she did. She got Gabe's number from Mr. Cary's office, then called and offered us a deal. Information for protection. She'd tell us crucial details about Savannah if we'd promise to take my daughter and leave town."

  "No! She'd never--!"

  "You don't believe me?" Nast lifted a cell phone from the table by his arm. "Call her yourself."

  I made no move to take the phone.

  "No? Allow me, then."

  He dialed the number, lifted the phone to his ear and said a few words, then passed it to me. I snatched the phone from his hand.

  "Tell me he's lying," I said.

  "He isn't," Victoria said. "I have the Coven's interests to consider, Paige. I will not--"

  "You--Do you have any idea what you've done?"

  "I've given Savannah to her father."

  "No, you've given her to a--"

  "A Cabal. Yes, I realize that. I know all about them, despite what I said the other day. Savannah is the daughter of a sorcerer and a black witch. She deserves to be where she's going. Evil begets evil."

  "No!" I shouted, flinging the phone into the fireplace.

  "Hear that crash, Gabe?" Nast said. "It's the sound of illusions shattering." He looked at me. "I thought you should know, so you're fully aware of the situation. You may leave now."

  Without even waiting for me to go, he turned back to Sandford and resumed their conversation. I stormed from the room.

  CHAPTER 44

  COMPREHENSIVE

  INSURANCE POLICY

  Savannah was asleep when I returned to our bedroom. Olivia left with only a murmured good-bye, perhaps realizing I was too stunned to hear her, much less respond.

  How could the Elders have betrayed us? Banishing me from the Coven I could understand--barely--but this, this was beyond fathoming. They'd sold Savannah for their own peace of mind. How could their own security be worth so great a price?

  No matter how much I railed against the Elders, I believed them to be good women. They'd spent their lives fighting the temptation of evil and rooting it out of their Coven. Yes, they went too far, placed too many restrictions on us, robbed us of our potential. Yet I never doubted that their intentions were good.

  Here, though, I was faced with something I could not deny--that they had acted in a way that made them no better than the Cabals, perhaps even worse. In chasing so relentlessly after morality, the Elders had become the very thing they'd fought so hard against: evil. I blanched at the word, instinctively feeling the need to justify, to moderate. Yet there it was. What else could you call their betrayal but an act of unforgivable evil?

  Perhaps now more than ever I wanted to save the Coven. If I did, though, I'd never forget this lesson.

  We had a late breakfast with Nast, who was heading back into Boston for business that day, but promised to return before dinner. After breakfast, we spent an hour in our room--Nast having not yet given us free run of the house. At eleven, Greta and her mother came to give Savannah her surprise.

  "What is it?" Savannah asked as we trooped downstairs.

  "If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise, would it?" Greta said.

  "We'll tell you this much," Olivia said. "It's for your ceremony. Only five more days."

  "But I thought--" Savannah glanced at me. "Kristof said Paige could do the ceremony."

  "Oh, yes, Paige will be conducting it. We'll have to use our own material, though. All Paige's things were lost in the fire. A shame, really. I warned--mentioned to Mr. Nast that he might want to rescue the magical items first, but he didn't see the need."

  "You'll get all new tools anyway, Savannah," Greta said. "Better, too. Also better materials for your ceremony. Do you know whose grave we got the dirt from? Abby Borden, Lizzie Borden's stepmother. She was killed near here, you know."

  "Really?"

  "Really. Now there's someone who was definitely murdered."

  "When did you gather it?" I asked. "It has to be on the first night of her menses."

  "Oh, that's an old wives'--or old witches'--tale," Olivia said. "That's one thing you'll learn, Savannah. A lot of what you've heard is nonsense. Gathering items on certain days, performing rituals at specific times--"

  "You mean I don't need to wait until the eighth day?"

  "No, that one's true. Or so we believe, though no witch I know has ever been willing to test the theory and risk hampering her daughter's powers."

  When we arrived at the back door Roberta Shaw and Anton were waiting to escort us outside. I hadn't seen the necromancer since Monday, at the funeral home. Shaw hadn't been among the staff who'd presented Savannah with gifts, so I'd assumed she'd been sent packing for her role in that horror show. Seeing her still here made me wonder whether Nast's condemnation of the funeral home debacle had been more show than substance.

  "What's she doing here?" Savannah said, shooting a glare at Shaw.

  "I asked Mr. Nast if Roberta could accompany us instead of Leah," Greta explained. She lowered her voice. "I don't know about you, but I don't trust that Volo."

  "Well, I don't trust that necro, either," Savannah said.

  Olivia hushed her. "She was only doing her job, Savannah. Now come along."

  We passed the barn and entered the forest.

  "So are we practicing the ceremony?" Savannah asked.

  "No, we're performing a rite. A special protection rite."

  "Cool."


  "Very cool," Greta said. "Not many young witches get this. It requires very unique ingredients. When we mentioned it to Mr. Nast, though, he gave us carte blanche. Anything to help his little girl on her special day."

  I resisted the urge to make retching noises. "What kind of protection does it give?"

  "The best. Think of it as a comprehensive insurance policy. It'll prevent everything from demonic interference to having Savannah wake up with the flu next Wednesday."

  "Huh," I said. "Sounds good."

  "It's sorcerer magic."

  "Of course."

  They led us into the woods. We passed the spot where we'd practiced the afternoon before and kept going. As we walked, Savannah glanced back at Shaw and Anton.

  "Who's carrying the material?" she asked.

  "What material is that, dear?" Olivia said.

  "For the ritual."

  "Everything we need is at the site."

  "I should have brought my new athame."

  Both Greta and Olivia frowned, then Olivia laughed.

  "Oh, that's right. Coven witches still use their tools. You'll find we've moved beyond that. We all still have an athame as a keepsake--a reminder of our past. As I'm sure you know, the tools aren't actually required for casting."

  "My mom used them," Savannah said.

  "That's because she was raised Coven. It takes a while to shake the old ways. I clung to my tools for years, like a security blanket. You'll find we only use tools that are imperative for casting."

  "The same goes for materials," Greta said. "We've done away with all the nonessentials. Gemstones with symbolic meanings. Incense for mood. Candles for atmospheric lighting. All they do is complicate and prolong a ceremony."

  "Maybe," Savannah said. "But don't you think they make it kinda ... fun?"

  Greta laughed. "Cabals don't have a budget for fun."

  "Modern witches have made witchcraft modern," Olivia said. "You'll come to appreciate that, Savannah. It makes things much easier if we discard the baggage, both literal and figurative."

  "And here we are," Greta said.

  She stepped off the path, then pulled back a bush and waved us through. Savannah stepped into the clearing first. Through the bushes, I saw her walk forward, eyes on the towering trees. Then she stopped short and yelped. I dove through the bushes to find her standing over a prone figure. It was a boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen. I hurried forward, then saw the steady rise and fall of his chest.

  "He's sleeping," Savannah said. "Weird. He must live around here, huh? Guess we should find someplace else--"

  "He's supposed to be here," Greta said.

  Savannah stared at the young man. He wore a faded denim jacket and jeans. He had light brown hair tied at the nape of his neck and the kind of soft, pretty face that markets so well to teenage girls.

  "Who is he?" Savannah asked.

  "Prince Charming," Greta said. "You've heard of Sleeping Beauty? Well, this is the girl-power version."

  Savannah gave a half-laugh, turning away as her cheeks went scarlet. "No, really, who is he? A sorcerer?"

  "He's nobody. Just a human boy." Greta grabbed a small bag from the side of the clearing. "Now, as I've said, we skip all the ritual preliminaries, so you can just go right ahead and kneel beside him."

  "What? Why?"

  My gut went cold. "What's going on here?"

  "The protection ritual, as we said. Savannah, kneel beside the young man and put your hand on his chest."

  Savannah hesitated, then started to kneel.

  "No," I said. "Get up, Savannah." I turned to Greta and Olivia. "We aren't doing anything until you tell us exactly what this ritual entails."

  Greta turned her back on me.

  "Hey--!" I said.

  I was cut off after the first word, frozen in a binding spell. Savannah started scrambling to her feet, but Anton put his hands on her shoulders and pressed her down.

  "Hey! Don't--! Paige!" Savannah swung her gaze up to Olivia, who stood behind me and was undoubtedly casting the binding spell. "Let her go! Now!"

  "Paige is a Coven witch," Greta said. "She doesn't understand."

  She pulled a thin-bladed knife from her bag and knelt on the other side of the boy.

  "Wh--what are you doing?" Savannah asked.

  "A top-level protection spell requires an exchange. A life protected for a life lost. You should know this, Savannah. Your mother did."

  "No! My mother never--she wouldn't--" Savannah looked at the boy, then wrenched her gaze away and struggled against Anton's grip. "You can't do this! I forbid it."

  "You forbid it?" Greta's lips twisted. "Did you hear that, Mother? She's giving orders already. Well, 'princess,' it's your father who gives orders around here, and he told us to do whatever was necessary to keep his little girl safe. Anton, put her highness's hand on the boy's chest. Over the heart, please."

  Anton forced Savannah's hand to the boy's left breast. Greta moved the blade to the boy's throat.

  "No!" Savannah said. "You can't do this! You can't! He didn't--he didn't do anything."

  "He's a nobody, Savannah," Olivia said from behind me. "A runaway. The only meaning his life has is in protecting yours."

  "Don't bother, Mother," Greta said. "It's obvious Eve coddled the girl. What do you think dark magic is, Savannah?"

  "It's not this. I know it isn't. My mother never did this."

  "Of course she did. She just never let you see it."

  Greta pressed the blade against the boy's throat.

  "No!" Savannah struggled harder, forcing Anton to put all of his weight into holding her down.

  "He's a pretty boy, isn't he?" Greta said. She put her left hand behind the boy's head and lifted it. "Would you like to give him a kiss, Savannah? A last kiss? No? All right then."

  She slashed the knife over the boy's neck so fast that it seemed not to have left a mark. Then his throat split open. Anton shoved Savannah's head forward. Blood jetted into her face and she started to scream.

  CHAPTER 45

  BROTHERLY LOVE

  I won't detail the next few minutes. I can't. It broke my heart the first time, and even thinking about it is enough to bring me to tears. Savannah's terror and rage were indescribable. All I could do was stand there and watch, trapped in a binding spell.

  Twenty minutes later I was in the bedroom, tucking Savannah into bed. Ringed around us were Nast, Sandford, and Leah.

  On hearing the screams, Leah had come running. In the chaos that ensued, no one had escaped Savannah's blind fury. Leah had a bloodied nose and even I had a scratch across my upper arm. Eventually Shaw managed to sedate Savannah, and she'd collapsed where she stood. Then Sandford had carried her back to the house.

  Once I'd finished getting Savannah into bed, Nast waved for everyone to leave the room. When I tried to stay, he motioned for Leah to remove me. I brushed her off and followed Nast and Sandford into the hall.

  "I can't believe they did that," Nast said.

  "They say you gave them carte blanche," Sandford said.

  "Not for this."

  "It's a common spell, Kris. Not too common, given the risk that comes with kidnapping and killing humans, but it's common enough."

  "But to take her, unprepared, without a word of warning, of explanation ..."

  "I did warn you, Kris," Sandford said, lowering his voice so Leah couldn't hear. "They expected Greta's daughter to succeed her."

  "You think they did this intentionally?"

  "Duh, no, really?" I said, stepping forward. "Of course it was intentional! I can't believe you placed Savannah in the hands of women who had every reason to want her gone. I'm surprised they didn't kill her instead of the boy." I looked from Sandford to Nast. "Oh, I see. You figured they'd toe the party line because they're witches. Too stupid, or too cowed, to plot against you."

  "Are we done with her yet?" Sandford asked, jerking his chin at me.

  Nast looked at me, but his gaze was unfocused, distracted. "Just get her out of h
ere. I'll decide what to do with her later. I haven't time for this right now."

  The moment Sandford asked his question, I'd started whispering the fog spell. I flicked my hand and a cloud of smoke burst from my fingertips, swirling up like a smoke screen. I raced into the bedroom, slammed the door, and cast a lock spell. Then I ran to the window and tugged on the frame. It was painted shut. I grabbed a chair and threw it through.

  "Savannah!" I said, shaking her shoulder.

  She gave only a low groan. I grasped her around the waist and pulled her off the bed. Then I looked out the window. We were on the second story. Maybe I could jump, but I could hardly throw Savannah out.

  Leah pounded at the door. Sandford shouted orders, calling the others. I thought fast. Did I know any spells for getting Savannah down? No. Either I could find a way to lower her to the ground or I'd have to carry her. The first would take too long. I tried lifting her, but could barely get her off the floor.

  The door flew open. Friesen burst through and grabbed Savannah from me. Leah followed at his heels.

  "See, guys?" she said. "No rush, like I said. She wasn't going anywhere."

  "Take her to the secured room," Nast said.

  Leah leaned over me and said in a mock-whisper, "Just a tip. Next time, run for the front door."

  Friesen and Sandford laughed.

  They put me in a secured basement room, but bound and gagged me, leaving me incapable of spell-casting. Then Shaw shot a dose of sedative into my arm. I was unconscious before they left the room.

  I don't know how much time passed, but when I awoke, I found myself staring into Cortez's eyes. I struggled to sit upright, smiling behind my gag. The eyes blinked and I saw within them something so cold I shuddered and skittered backward. Somewhere in the room Gabriel Sandford laughed.

  "Scared of her own shadow," Sandford said. "Just like a witch."

  The man bending over me blinked and the illusion shattered. They were Cortez's eyes, but older. Older and soulless. He moved back and I saw that the resemblance ended at the eyes. This man was in his early forties, shorter than Cortez, with a severe, patrician look that might have been handsome if he smiled, but with frown lines that suggested he never did.

  "You're certain?" he said. "About the relationship?"

  "Certain?" Sandford said. "What do you want? A videotape of your brother banging her?"

  The man turned a cold stare on Sandford, who straightened and cleared his throat.

  "I can't be absolutely certain, as she's not likely to admit to it," Sandford said, his tone formal. "Yet all evidence points to that conclusion. Your brother is searching frantically."