Hex at a House Party

by Gretchen Galway

  “We’re not important enough to merit the full hostess treatment,” Tierra said, taking my bait. “She saves that for the VIPs. Phil Thornton’s here, for instance.”

  That made me forget the cold. “The Silicon Valley guy?” If there was a financial crime, it made sense to look for the finances.

  “That’s the one,” Tierra said. “Retired now, but richer than ever. Anyway, he should be at dinner with his wife. I forget her name. A friend of Crystal’s, similar type. Socialite.”

  Could her friend be in on the financial crime with her? We said goodbye, and Birdie escorted me into the Dog House.

  The decorating was upscale cottage B & B, with thick comforters on four-poster beds and antique wool rugs over distressed wood plank flooring. Dog bowls and an old blanket rested in a basket near the door.

  But all I noticed at first glance was the view. Perched near the cliff above the beach, my bedroom windows gave a panoramic view of the Pacific stretching out to the horizon and crashing against miles of wild, rocky coastline. Had this been a hotel room, the cost for the week would be more than my monthly income.

  Birdie pulled me into the bathroom that was between her room and mine, pointed out the jet tub, two showerheads above it, a blooming purple orchid in a ceramic planter, and plush charcoal-gray towels.

  “Did she really say the Phil Thornton is here?” Birdie asked, smelling the hand soap appreciatively and then holding it under my nose. Eucalyptus.

  “Witch society is full of snobs,” I said. “An old name like Hawk carries a lot of weight. Phil Thornton is rich and famous now, but his family hasn’t been important for centuries like Warren Hawk’s.”

  “But how can Phil Thornton be a witch? He’s so famous.”

  “There are a few witches at the top of the food chain. Some just can’t help themselves from using their power.” I had an unwelcome thought of my father. For him, risks were even more tempting than riches. Even as he got older, he still couldn’t resist a thrill. “Most witches avoid public life because it’s too dangerous. Other witches, demons, nonmagicals who know about us—it’s just asking for trouble to make yourself too visible.”

  “But the Thorntons must be like billionaires.” She frowned at herself in the mirror. “I didn’t bring anything nice enough to wear. At least I got my hair done, which I’m really grateful for now, although maybe I should flat-iron it. But—”

  “Don’t worry about what you look like,” I said, turning away from my own image in the mirror, pushing aside the impulse to ask her for the flat iron because my curls had turned to frizz. “Worry about the magic. Practice with your beads. Focus on blocking and hiding.”

  Birdie sighed. “OK. But it’s so boring.”

  “Boring is good. That means nobody’s trying to kill you.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Demon’s balls, there’s Phil Thornton,” Birdie said in my ear, holding out a glass of white wine.

  I looked away from the handsome man in his fifties who stood with an equally attractive woman of about the same age at the edge of the dining room.

  “What did you say?” I asked Birdie.

  “Phil—”

  “No. Demon’s— You said demon’s balls.”

  She grinned. “I’m learning the lingo.”

  It was impossible not to smile back at her. “You’re a fast learner.”

  “Do all demons have them?”

  I was looking suspiciously at my wine. I never liked drinking anything from a witch I didn’t know well, but it seemed untouched by magic. “What?”

  “Are they all male?” She lowered her voice. “Demons, I mean.”

  “Actually, proper old witches insist the balls is short for eyeballs. But no,” I said. “They possess bodies of all kinds, gender, age, or even species.” I looked out on the open space around the house, at the ragged cutoff where the brown grass reached the sudden drop to the sea. Something continued to nag at me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I’d have to go for a walk after dinner and explore the sensation in solitude. Closed up in a stranger’s house with so many witches, I couldn’t afford to lower my defenses and truly absorb my environment.

  “Species?” Birdie asked. “You mean animals?”

  I nodded and sipped the wine. In spite of living in Sonoma County, I knew nothing about wine, but it tasted good to me.

  “I’ll tell you more when we’re alone,” I said quietly. Phil and his companion were walking over to us.

  The woman reached us first, her smiling eyes matching the dimples in each pink cheek. Her blond hair was cut in flattering layers around her face, a fashionable style that would need cutting every month to look so effortless. Her outfit was casual but probably cost more than my entire wardrobe, including my best boots.

  What did I expect? That the billionaire’s wife cut her own hair with garden shears and shopped at Target?

  “Hi, I’m Zoe,” she said, saluting me with her wineglass. That was a courtesy I appreciated—we didn’t really want to shake hands with each other. Skin-to-skin contact with a witch could be more revealing than an FBI background check. “This is Phil, the light of my life.”

  He shot her an amused glance. “They’ll think you’re being sarcastic, honey.” He turned his warm smile to both of us and saluted us as Zoe had done. “It’s nice to see some fresh faces here. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “I’m Elizabeth Crow,” my housemate said. “Call me Birdie. I love that rocket you sent up last year. Are you really selling tickets to the ocean floor for charity? That’s so amazing. Is that a real sapphire? I’m sorry, none of my business. It’s beautiful either way. You’re beautiful. Both of you. Were you that way before you got rich? But maybe you were born ri—”

  “Yes, it’s a real sapphire,” Phil said, holding up his right hand, which held a ring set with a massive blue stone. Good for Birdie to have noticed it—I’d been too distracted by his wife’s hair. “Would you like to hold it?”

  Before Birdie could protest—she didn’t—he slipped it off his finger and handed it to her.

  Sharing gems was a generous courtesy between witches. It was a rare pleasure to hold a stone that was as beautiful and powerful as a large sapphire. Even from two feet away, the pleasant aura of the rock soothed me like a lullaby.

  I noticed now that Phil and Zoe were well-adorned with gold, platinum, and silver—in the form of necklaces, cuff links, pins, bracelets, earrings, and rings. The fact that I hadn’t noticed at first glance suggested a powerful spell at work to distract me.

  “It’s beautiful.” Birdie cupped it between her hands as if any rough movement might make it explode.

  Good instincts. With a witch’s jewelry, you never knew. Birdie handed it back just as carefully.

  Zoe smiled. “You’re very sweet, Birdie, but you’re much more beautiful than either us or a little blue rock.” She turned to me, still smiling as if to share the compliment. “You actually do look familiar. Have we met?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. It was impossible not to like her, which was in itself suspicious. Was she using a spell on me? “I’m Alma Bellrose.”

  “Ah! Malcolm’s daughter?” she asked.

  Unlike most witches who had heard of him, she looked pleased to mention his name. “That’s me.”

  “I’ve never met him in person, but I’ve studied your family for years. It’s my hobby, writing histories of the old witch families.” She brought the wineglass to her lips and paused. “I’m living vicariously, of course. I couldn’t find anyone interesting in my own family.”

  I smiled. “Lucky you.”

  “It’s more than a hobby,” Phil said. “It’s a career. Zoe consults with important Protectorate mages all over the world. Directors can’t trust just anyone with official secrets, can they? Agents need to be screened. Flints need to be studied before they become Granite or Emerald. Family histories are essential in personnel decisions.”

  The high status of old witch families was the on
ly reason I, an infamous burglar’s daughter, had enlisted into the Protectorate. The Bellrose name went back almost as far as Hawk. One bad apple—the Malcolm apple—could be excused. But if a witch had no illustrious name to lean on, he or she would have to rely on talent, merit, or wealth.

  Had Phil? He was wealthy, but did he have talent, too? Given his phenomenal success in business, I assumed he did. Witches used their power if they had it. It wouldn’t be obvious, but it would be there. I wondered if he was dangerous.

  Of course he was dangerous. Everyone was dangerous.

  “Not all witches want their family history to be widely known,” Zoe said. “I’ve made more than a few enemies over the years.”

  “I’ll protect you, sweetheart.” Phil put an arm around her and kissed her cheek, making her blush.

  They were a cute couple. Almost too cute to believe.

  “He says that, but then he has us stay in a cold little shack isolated from the main house,” Zoe said. “Anybody could break a window and get me.”

  Phil’s face hardened, revealing a glimpse of the iron threat that lurked beneath the friendly exterior. “Nobody will ever touch you. Don’t even joke about it.”

  Not fazed by his seriousness, Zoe laughed and said to us, “The truth is he can’t bear to have anyone cook for him. He’s like a Roman emperor. The cottage has a kitchenette, and we bring our own food in.” She lowered her voice. “He’ll make an exception for dinner now and then—like tonight, for Crystal’s sake. Warren wouldn’t notice either way.”

  At that moment Crystal approached from the living room, a tray of puff pastry in her hands. Warren was behind her, holding two bottles of wine, frowning at the label of one when he bumped into a telescope set up on a tripod near the window.

  “Careful, Warren,” Crystal said.

  He stopped to frown at the telescope. “Who put that there?”

  “You did. Who else? You were watching the birds again.” She noticed Zoe and smiled. “Zoe! And Phil. When did you arrive? I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you. I was babysitting my canapés in the carriage house.”

  They exchanged greetings, again without touching. Crystal disappeared into the kitchen while Warren uncorked one of the new bottles at the bar. While he was doing that, Tierra and Nathan arrived from upstairs and went directly to him to thank him for the invitation, tell them about their hike, and accept glasses of his wine.

  During the rush of greetings, I stole a peek at Zoe and Phil to see how they felt about the performer Tierra and her tattooed boyfriend manager. Nothing I saw suggested the billionaires were unhappy to mix with the less privileged; their expressions were curious but polite.

  But then Crystal came out of the kitchen again. I was watching Phil’s profile, probably because he was really good-looking for a witch who’d let nature take its course (most hid their age) when I saw a flicker of unfiltered emotion cross his face.

  I’d just met him, but to me, the expression looked a lot like hate.

  Chapter Eleven

  Turning away from Crystal, Phil ducked his head and took a drink from his glass.

  So, not everyone was as warm as they seemed. Why didn’t he like Crystal? His wife seemed to be friends with her. Zoe went over and complimented Crystal on something she was wearing—a thick bracelet with black stones—and they fell into what looked like a warm, animated conversation.

  Warren came over with a glass in hand and walked past us to the telescope. He bent down to look through it, the lens pointed out to the foggy sea. Sipping his wine, he made an adjustment and looked again.

  I walked over. “Can you see anything?”

  He straightened, frowning at me. “What?”

  “In the fog. Are you able to see anything?”

  “Not really,” he said. After a moment staring at me, he brought his wineglass to his lips. A few drops dribbled down his chin onto his sweater. “How about you?”

  He stepped aside for me to look. I bent down and peered out into darkening gray nothingness. I adjusted the focus and turned the telescope downward to the land in front of the house. Scraggly grasses merged with rock, dirt, and shrubs. A fading mound of seaside daisy was being blown backward from the offshore winds.

  Again something seemed to be missing. But what did I expect—tropical flowers? Sunshine? Women in bikinis? It was the frigid north coast, not the Caribbean.

  “On clear nights I watch the moon,” Warren said. “I always did love the moon. My mother was the same way. Father thought it was womanly. But he was a metal witch like his father before him. Never did appreciate the old ways.”

  I stood, smiling as I touched my bead necklace. “My father gives me a hard time too. I use a lot of wood.”

  “I like clay. Earth. Paper. Sometimes fiber and bone. I don’t care if it’s not as powerful as gold, silver, or platinum. I don’t like to work with those materials. I prefer to sculpt in rougher materials, and so that’s what I do. When you get as old as I am, you stop caring what other people think.”

  “I’d like to see your work while I’m here,” I said.

  “I’ve got a show tomorrow night, but it’s all the way down in Mendocino. A gallery in the village that feeds on the tourists.” He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Crystal’s annoyed with me for leaving the party, but it can’t be helped. The show was booked months in advance, but this party of hers was just another one of her last-minute whims.”

  Before I could think of something tactful to say in reply, perhaps an apology for being there, he wandered away and disappeared into the kitchen.

  I saw Birdie and Tierra were still talking together, and I was grateful to see they seemed to be enjoying each other’s company. Nathan was chatting up Phil, who nodded politely but caught my eye and invited me over.

  “You have special gifts,” Phil said.

  “I do?”

  He smiled. “You got Warren to speak. A rare feat. The most I’ve ever gotten out of him is a grunt or two.”

  “I asked him about his art,” I said. “He has a show tomorrow night.”

  Phil smiled. “I bet he does. I doubt we’ll see him again the rest of the week. He’s a solitary man.”

  “When he’s in his studio, he loses all track of time,” Tierra said. “When I was his apprentice, I had to make sure he remembered to eat and sleep.”

  “Here I thought old age was his excuse,” Nathan said. “But he was that way twenty years ago?”

  “He’s a genius,” Tierra said.

  “I’ve heard that said many times,” Phil agreed.

  “Sure,” Nathan replied, rolling his eyes.

  Phil gave him a look, mumbled something about refilling his glass, and wandered away.

  “You haven’t seen Warren’s work,” Tierra said. “His sculptures capture the essence of a thing more than any spell. Even nonmag people appreciate them.” She touched my arm. “I’ll take you into his studio sometime this week. He won’t think to offer, but he’d be happy to show us what he’s working on. I learned everything from him. My puppets are totally inspired by his sculptures.”

  Birdie touched my other arm. “She does puppets in her show. Isn’t that cool? Magic puppets. She promised to show me some.”

  Nathan shot his girlfriend an annoyed look. “I thought you were going to leave the props at home.”

  “I’m not going to do a show,” Tierra said. “I just wanted to have a few of my newer puppets here in case Warren had time to look at what I’ve been doing lately.”

  Nathan shook his head. “He won’t have time. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”

  “You’re wrong about him,” Tierra said. “He’s absentminded, that’s all. He cares deeply about things.”

  “His things,” Nathan said. “Not yours.”

  I wondered if they’d gotten into a fight since we’d met upstairs.

  Tierra turned away from her boyfriend with a shrug and gave me a tight smile. “You have to be an artist to understand what other art
ists are like.” She glanced at my throat. “Your work is beautiful, by the way.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  She reached out a hand. “May I? I could feel the magic on those redwood beads from across the room.”

  I nodded, and she brushed her fingertips across them, closing her eyes as if taking a bite of fine chocolate. “Lovely,” she said. “Do you sell them?”

  “I do. It’s how I make a living.”

  Tierra withdrew her hand and smiled. “I knew I liked you. Witches in the arts make the best friends.”

  Having feared a gathering of uptight society witches, I had to admit I was glad to meet her too. If we’d been in school together, we probably would’ve been friends. Artistic misfits, bonding together.

  “I agree,” I said, smiling.

  “I hope you don’t mind my asking,” Tierra continued. “Your father—Malcolm Bellrose?”

  My smile tightened. “Yes?”

  “I’m dying to know about his techniques. The spells, I mean. He makes things disappear for a living, just like me.”

  “Not quite like you,” Nathan said. “You aren’t taking things without permission. They pay to see you. Quite a difference.”

  “Not from a magical standpoint,” Tierra said. “I’m sure a thief uses apparition and deflection spells that are very similar to what I use.”

  “You have enough trouble getting respect for what you do,” Nathan said. “Why draw unflattering comparisons between you and a common criminal?”

  Pride on my father’s behalf rose unbidden inside me. “He’s hardly common,” I said.

  Tierra barked out a laugh. “Exactly! My point. He must be an extraordinary witch.”

  Her admiration made me uneasy, but I appreciated her cheerful frankness. “He is, unfortunately for his victims.”

  “Did you learn anything from him?” Tierra asked. “I mean, did you spend much time with him, growing up?”

  Nathan stepped in. “Tierra, it’s really none of your bus—”

  “I was in school, mostly,” I said. “By the time I was a teenager, I spent vacations with teachers and friends.” Although initially he’d pressured me to continue going on heists with him, he soon stopped when I threatened to send advance warning to the authorities.