My father signaled one of the many waiters, and in a few moments I had a flute of champagne in my hand.
“So tell me,” I said, forcing a polite smile for Vera, who seemed quite nice. Really nice. “How did you meet?”
Chapter Four
“That’s the funny thing,” Vera said. “We think we met years ago.”
“You think?” I asked.
“She remembers it,” Malcolm said, giving Vera an amused look. “I don’t. Of course I’m a little older. Memory isn’t what it was.” He sighed self-deprecatingly. Although he was at least a decade older, he looked the same age as his future bride. Magic was better than plastic surgery.
“I work in a library in Denver,” she said, then caught herself, shooting a smile at Malcolm. “Worked. Past tense. I live here now, of course.”
“Are you going to be working in a library here, too?” I asked. Could there be some angle for my father to steal something? Antiquities in a guarded collection, perhaps?
But Vera shook her head. “Your dad and I are launching a nonprofit. I’ve always wanted to work with disadvantaged youth,” she said. “Young witches without the advantage of a family name or connections.”
A nonprofit? My father? He himself had been born with all the advantages of our old family name, but had always acted repulsed by the idea of sharing those privileges with anyone else.
“Don’t look so skeptical,” Malcolm told me, smiling tightly. “Vera might get the wrong idea about what kind of people we are.”
I stared at him. “We?” There had to be some kind of angle. Maybe not for Vera—it was possible she was sincere, but manners prevented me from using a truth spell on my future stepmother, at least while she would notice—but my father only acted for his own interests. “I’m all for helping out young witches who need it. But you, Dad—”
“Am going to get some of those oysters.” He rose gracefully to his feet, holding out a hand to Vera. “There’s caviar too, darling. We want to get our money’s worth.”
Our money? I wondered if that explained the match: she was rich. But then why would she have been working at a public library? And the jewelry she wore was modest, just a few pieces of gold here and there, a fine chain, hoop earrings, a topaz stone on her ring. Rich witches heavily adorned themselves with platinum and gemstones, usually as ancient as their illustrious family trees. Her jewelry was mass-produced and modern.
Their engagement made less sense to me now than when I’d received the surprise invitation less than a month ago.
We got up, Vera taking my father’s hand, and walked a few steps together before I turned away and headed for the pastries and fruit. Raw oysters weren’t appealing at the moment. My father was slippery enough for one gathering.
I filled my plate and hurried back to our table in time to do a quick scan of Vera’s magical residue before she returned. Pretending to tidy up, I held her napkin, moved her water glass, and rested my palm on the tablecloth where hers had been.
Her magical fingerprints were faint but steady and smooth, precisely what I’d expect from an average witch of her age in a nonmagical profession. A Protectorate agent might leave a concentrated taste of silver, which in its enchanted state was used to hunt demons, whereas the impression of a witch who drifted in the gray area between Bright and Shadow magic, like my father, might feel as rough and slightly damaged as a ragged fingernail.
Hers was as even as my own. There was a faint hint of silver, but she’d been wearing a few pieces, typical for middle-income witches who couldn’t afford pure gold or platinum.
Malcolm and Vera returned with heavy plates, and as we ate, conversation turned away from dangerous topics like morality and life choices to the food, the view, and the weather. Reluctantly I told her about my brief career in the Protectorate, glossing over my dismissal for my Incurable Inability to kill demons, and how I was now happy making jewelry. She expressed interest and pleasant enthusiasm for my artistic choices.
My father seemed to genuinely adore her. The only enchantment I could detect was the natural haze that ensnared all humans, magical and not, when they were in the irrational fever of new love. My father’s feelings were stronger than hers, I decided, but she seemed genuinely happy to be sitting at his side.
I’d brought a gift but had waited to give it to her until I’d had time to measure her up a little. Now I took the small, white cardboard box out of my pocket and held it out to her.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I said, intentionally not saying anything about us being a family because that would be misleading. Malcolm and I weren’t like normal people. I wouldn’t pretend we were.
Vera’s eyes widened—were they actually shining?—and slowly reached out for the box. She stared at me a moment before opening the lid. “One of yours,” she said, not a question, drawing out the necklace. Hung from a braided silk cord was an oval pendant about the size of a quarter I’d made from copper wire and polished redwood. The copper bore only its own innate magic, but I’d infused the redwood with some of mine.
“If you only want the natural energy, let me know and I can wipe out my fingerprints,” I said. Some witches wouldn’t want to wear an object that was created by a stranger, unless it had been verified and certified by a Protectorate mage. I’d run into customers like that. They didn’t trust their own powers to sniff out dangerous or ineffective amulets.
Vera, however, immediately clasped it around her neck and gave me a huge smile. “It’s wonderful.” She rested her open hand over the pendant, and I could feel her magic blending with mine like two voices in a song.
I smiled back until I saw the triumphant grin on my father’s face. I sank back in my seat and dropped my gaze to my plate. Old memories of being emotionally manipulated made me tighten my grip on my fork and stab a chunk of watermelon.
“Such a lovely day,” Vera said, still smiling as she looked out the window. “The water’s so blue, like sapphires.”
“Neither sea nor sapphire is as lovely as your eyes,” Malcolm said, tilting his head toward her.
I suppressed the urge to grimace, turning my attention instead to a powdered-sugar-dusted waffle. As I chewed, I noticed a little girl standing at Vera’s shoulder, who was trying to see past her out the window. Other tables surrounded by occupied seats made getting close to the window difficult, especially for a little kid.
Before I could move aside and invite her to look out the window next to me, Vera stood and said to the little girl, “Isn’t it beautiful? Sit here. You can get a better look.”
The girl, about five or six, stayed on her feet but leaned closer, pointing out the window to the northwest. “Is that the ocean over there?”
“On the other side of the Golden Gate Bridge,” Vera said. “See that little orange thing poking up? That’s the bridge.”
“It doesn’t look orange,” the girl said. “Mommy said we’re going there on a bus without a roof.”
Suddenly a woman, presumably the mommy, appeared beside us and took the girl’s arm. “Brianna, you can’t just run away like that.” She turned to us, flashing an embarrassed smile as she pulled the girl away. “Sorry. She’s never seen the ocean before.”
They returned to their table farther from the windows, and Vera sat back down, watching the girl and her family. “I’d offer them our table, but I think it’s too late. See? They’re already leaving.”
I looked at my father, expecting him to scoff at the idea of giving their primo table to land-locked tourists, but an unflappable, dopey smile clung to his lips.
“Shame we didn’t notice them earlier,” he said.
I turned back to Vera, studying her more critically. Did she have him under a spell? The Malcolm Bellrose I knew would never allow a prize of his to be given away for nothing.
But maybe her goodwill was the prize.
“Shame,” I muttered.
Vera got to her feet and picked up her small purse. “Excuse me. I need to use the ladies’ room.” She pu
t her hand over her wineglass. “Don’t let them give me any more champagne. My head’s swimming.” She smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and walked away.
Malcolm’s gaze followed her as she disappeared between the crowded tables. Touching a bead on my bracelet, I risked a quick scan of my father’s hand on the table. If I tried anything closer to his chest or head, he might notice my probing, but the hand, caressing the water glass with his elegant, tapered fingers, was probably safe.
I detected nothing, not even a boundary spell. Was that in itself suspicious? No, there it was. It was simply weak under the alcohol; he’d been drinking the bottomless champagne as well. And blended in with the booze and the personal ward was a warm, golden thread of something I didn’t associate with my thieving, amoral father.
Love.
How strange. I’d never sensed anything so Bright in him before, even when I’d been a cute kid. His cute kid.
I was almost jealous. How annoying of me. Why would I mind if he’d finally discovered how to care for another living thing? The world would be a better place if Malcolm’s heart had grown a few sizes. It would be wrong to resent his personal growth. I, unlike him, always sought to be as Bright as I could be, which would mean wanting others to be Bright as well. Wishing he had a selfish, sinister reason for marrying a nice woman would make me as cynical as he was.
And yet…
“I need to pee too,” I said.
Malcolm wrinkled his nose, probably because of my language, making me happy to see the man I knew again. I was smiling as I walked to the ladies’ room.
I stopped, however, when I saw Vera had paused with a few other diners near the piano, where a tuxedoed man was playing what I thought was Mozart. Standing a few inches away from Vera was an older lady in a tailored navy suit, wearing more gold than I thought would be comfortable for such a petite, frail-looking woman. Her wrists were heavy with bangles and bracelets, and her throat was encircled with beads, chains, pendants, and lockets. A quick scan told me she had no magic, but she certainly wore enough precious metal to be a witch.
Vera hadn’t seen me yet, and I stayed where I was, out of her line of sight, watching her. Maybe I’d been stupid. Maybe Vera had suddenly needed to use the restroom not because of the champagne, but because she’d sensed a vulnerable old nonmagical woman laden with gold.
While I watched, all my powers on alert for magic, Vera leaned over, picked something small off the ground—something gold—and handed it to the woman.
I couldn’t hear what Vera said over the piano, but the lady suddenly reached for her earlobe, exclaimed “oh!” and took the object from Vera with a grateful, effusive smile.
I moved closer to hear better.
“Thank you, thank you,” the woman said, clutching it in her fist. “It’s a clip, you know. An antique. I wear it because it was my grandmother’s—you can imagine how old that must be—but it’s always falling off. I think I should just leave it in my jewelry box at home. I would be heartbroken to lose it.”
“Then I’m so glad I noticed you dropped it,” Vera said.
I squatted down, pretending to tie my shoe—though I was wearing boots without laces—and sent out a spell to probe Vera. Was she pretending to return one item so she could steal another? If so, I wasn’t able to feel any magic coming from her. I touched my throat and increased the power as I—
As I probed the open air. Vera had walked away.
I stood and used my magic to feel around where she’d been standing, where the earring had fallen, where the old woman, now returning to her seat with a younger one, had stood as she listened to Mozart.
I felt nothing. Vera must’ve seen the earring by chance, without magic, and returned it to its owner like any good person would.
More confused than ever, I stood near the piano a few more minutes—the player, in a mood shift, was now playing Seal’s “Kiss from a Rose.” I needed time to think, catch my breath, restore my magical equilibrium.
Every piece of evidence showed Vera Vanders to be a loving, decent human being.
So why in the big Bright world was she marrying my father?
Chapter Five
It was already twilight when I got back to Silverpool. The early sunset reminded me of how close we were getting to the winter solstice, the most dangerous and interesting time of the year for our tiny town. Any conflict that affected humanity gave the Protectorate its justification for imposing order through laws, magic, and violence.
The violence was what I had a problem with. Seth wasn’t harmless—he had powers I didn’t understand—but he was a sentient being who didn’t deserve to be executed just because he hadn’t been born into the body he currently possessed.
The Protectorate, unfortunately, had an uncompromising policy about possession. My own opinion was evolving. Seth’s mother had stolen the human form, not Seth; and when Seth reached adulthood, he’d tried to give it back. It wasn’t his fault the original owner of his body had fought him to the death, leaving Seth in the human body by default.
I stood beside the grave of his dead “twin” now, just outside Seth’s house next to mine. It was impossible to tell if Seth was home; he borrowed a car if he needed one, and magic could hide or conjure lights in the window. He was cagey about what magic powers he had. I knew he could apparate, but how far and what else he could do, he wouldn’t tell me.
Without warning, his voice boomed behind me. “Why’d you go to San Francisco?”
I rolled my eyes, accustomed to Seth’s sneaking around but not liking it. I turned. “Can you smell it on my tires or something?”
Seth was absurdly handsome, tall with dark hair, blue eyes, and a dimple in his chin. He raised a pierced eyebrow. “I’m not a search-and-rescue dog,” he said. “Birdie told me. I hear you were missing me desperately.” He put a hand over his heart.
There was no time for his mock flirting. “Can we talk inside?”
“I’d ask ‘My place or yours?’ but since you’ve made your home inhospitable to my kind, let’s say mine.”
I followed him up the steps to his front door. A witch would need to give me permission to go into his domain, but he didn’t seem to do anything other than turn a key and stand aside for me to enter before him.
It was a lovely, inviting home with soft lighting; fresh, natural scents; oversized furniture with lots of pillows; no drafts. The aura was so changed from when Birdie lived there, I knew fairy magic had to be involved. He’d put his essence into the place. He’d intended to stay.
I rubbed my face with both hands, suddenly reluctant to tell him the bad news.
“What happened?” he asked seriously.
I lowered my hands and looked at him. “They’re sending a new Protector to Silverpool.”
He relaxed. “Is that it?” He waved a hand. “That was inevitable. You knew they would eventually.”
“They aren’t just sending anybody,” I said. “Raynor can’t control who gets the job. New York is going to assign an Emerald.”
“Ooh,” he said. “Not pyrite? Or peridot? At least they aren’t sending that nasty coal guy. He’s the worst.”
“An Emerald is a very powerful witch,” I said. “And worse—an ambitious one. It’s one of the top levels of the Protectorate food chain.”
He shrugged. “You’re doing that thing you do again.”
His nonchalance annoyed me. “Keeping you alive?”
“Suffering in a future that may never come.” He kicked off his shoes and unzipped his fleece hoodie. I noticed both showed signs of outdoor adventure—sand and mud on the lug soles, sand and bits of leaf on the jacket. The hems of his jeans were wet.
“Where were you, by the way?” I asked, even more annoyed. “I drove all over looking for you yesterday. Birdie said she saw you walking along the river. Were you going to the wellspring?”
“If only I had the means to acquire meaningful amounts of wellspring water this time of year,” he said, resting a hand over his
heart. “Too bad I gave you the little torc thing that made that possible. I’ve had to start rationing my stash.”
Seth had indeed returned to me a magic amulet of great value. The torc was a thick, C-shaped band of gold, designed to be worn around the neck, that gave year-round access to the water of the wellspring, even when the ground was dry. It had caused significant trouble over the past year, and I felt that keeping it in my possession was a fair trade for the suffering I’d endured. It had changed hands many times and was only mine now because Seth had, at last, bought it from Malcolm and given it to me.
“Please don’t mention that particular item,” I said. If the Protectorate found out I had it, I’d be dragged into San Francisco for questioning or worse.
“I’ll try not to let it slip when me and your agent friends are playing pickle ball next weekend,” he said.
“Stop making jokes! I’m worried about you. A new Protector might kill you.”
“Stop worrying,” he said. “I can take care of myself.”
“Like you did—”
He held up a hand. “I know I can’t repay my debt to you, but I refuse to add to it.”
I rubbed my face again. “You don’t owe me as much as you think. I told them about a demon attack on Friday, which is why they’re sending the Emerald. If I hadn’t, they—”
“They would’ve found out about it anyway,” he said. “They have agents here, I’m sure, or wards and sensors at the very least.”
“They knew about the attack,” I said. “They didn’t know it was a full-blown possession until I told them.”
He looked thoughtful a moment. “And how did you know, but they didn’t?”
A Spell to Die For Page 4
