A Spell to Die For

by Gretchen Galway

  I glanced at the door behind me, thinking I could leave now. I’d told him about the Protector; he’d rejected my warning; I was off the hook. “I was there.”

  “Cypress Hardware?” he asked.

  “You heard?”

  “Kind of hard to miss your old friends setting up a zone of witchy forgetfulness in the middle half of town.”

  “That’s the idea,” I said. “Are you immune to hiding spells?”

  “Only bad ones,” he said. “Those wouldn’t fool a baby bridge troll.”

  “They fooled me,” I admitted. Then, for my pride, I added, “I was a little weak from the fight.”

  His flippant attitude vanished. “Fight?”

  Pleased by his alarmed expression, I said, “It was just a little exorcism. No biggie.”

  “You exorcised a demon?” He looked me up and down. “Have you been scanned for hitchhikers?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “When you kicked it out of its host, it might’ve climbed into you,” he said.

  “It didn’t.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “How do you know for sure? Different spirits have different methods.”

  I thought about the mysterious journey back to my house that I couldn’t remember. Doubt struck me. “I don’t feel anything.”

  He gestured at the square wooden table in his little kitchen near the front door. “Sit. I need to make sure you’re all right.” Three tea candles were arranged around a small Zen garden, and he lit them with a naked fingertip.

  Impressed with his trick—it was magic I couldn’t feel or understand—I paused. “You’re allowed to worry about me, but I’m not allowed to worry about you?”

  “Yes,” he said. “As long as that debt is hanging around my neck, I’ve got a free pass to interfere in your life to ensure your well-being.”

  “Like Shadow you do,” I said. “You have no pass. Not a free one, not a paid one.”

  “Sit,” he repeated. “I saw that look in your face. You’re not sure if you’re alone in there. I’ll take a look to ease your mind.”

  “I’m sure—” I cut myself off. He was right; I wasn’t sure. “Fine,” I snapped, striding over to the table and plopping down.

  Seth sat across from me, reached over the table, and put his hand on mine, flinching as our skin made contact. “Turn those off, will you? The wards?”

  I hesitated, reluctant to expose myself to him, but did as he asked. After everything we’d been through, I trusted him as much as I trusted anyone. Maybe that wasn’t saying much, but would it be crazy to fight for his life if I didn’t trust him enough to lower my boundary spells in his own home?

  “Feel better?” I asked, closing my eyes to confirm the threads of power snaking out from my body and jewelry were no longer coming between us. We were in a cocoon now, wrapped inside my spells. I wondered if he could feel them.

  He raised an eyebrow. “You can’t turn them off completely?”

  “Not without taking everything off,” I said.

  He grinned. “Everything?”

  I began to get to my feet.

  “Hold on,” he said, holding my wrist. “Sorry. Just kidding. Sit your butt down and let me give you a quick once-over.”

  Unsure, I sank back in the chair. If I hadn’t been so worried about what had happened to me after fighting the demon, I never would’ve let him probe me. But I was worried. “Fine. Do it.”

  Leaning forward on his elbows, he took my other hand and closed his eyes. If he were a witch, I would’ve been able to feel something that told me about his spell—hunting for truth, probing for secrets, seeking weakness, distorting a memory. But with Seth, whose changeling status was unique in my experience, I felt nothing.

  After a full minute, I asked, “Well?”

  He shook his head. I took that as instruction to wait, so I did, taking a deep breath and taking the moment to dwell upon Vera Vanders, who that morning had sent me a smiling photo of her wearing the necklace I’d given her.

  Had my father bewitched her? Nobody that good would want to be with my father.

  Another minute went by, and I began to get suspicious. I stared at Seth’s lowered eyelids. “You’re still working?” I expected a smirk and a joke that he’d just wanted to hold hands for a while.

  But he frowned, kept his eyes closed, and gripped my hands tighter. Then I felt a hint of magic, not from him but from the room around us: the candles flickered in a sudden draft, and the spa-friendly, lavender-scented air became acrid and unpleasant.

  “Seth, what’s—?”

  “Wait,” he said, opening his eyes. “Did you get really close to that demon?”

  “Pretty close. A few feet away.”

  He tilted his head and gave me an inquisitive look. “You had a silver stake?”

  “I wish,” I said. “No, just my jewelry.”

  His gaze dropped to my necklace. “What you’re wearing now?”

  I hesitated. My plan was to keep my mysterious journey home a secret. “No, different pieces. Same general idea though. Redwood. Handcrafted by myself. And a quality shovel.”

  “And the spirit just… left the body without a fight?” he asked.

  “I told you. There was a fight. I fell down, wiped out,” I said.

  “But you seem alive and well now.”

  I still didn’t want to tell him about my lost memory. Overprotective, he might jump to conclusions. “Did you sense anything?” I asked, pulling my hands away. “The aura around you changed.”

  “I’m not sure. You’ve been messed with somehow, but I don’t feel anything that suggests there’s a possession now, or ever was one, within you.”

  My stomach clenched as I again imagined my unconscious body being transported through space. “Messed with how?”

  “I don’t know. The thing is…” He got up and poured himself a glass of springwater at the counter.

  “What?”

  He drank the entire glass and sighed extravagantly before turning to me. “You only remember one demon?”

  I stared, my heart thudding in my chest. “Of course. It’s not like they travel in pairs.” Demons were a secretive, standoffish lot. “Did you feel two?”

  “No, of course not,” he said.

  I let out my breath. One had been bad enough. “Don’t scare me like that.”

  “I felt three,” he said.

  I got to my feet. “Three? Are you crazy?”

  He set down the empty glass. “Of course they weren’t really demons.”

  “Seth—”

  “One of them was. But your Protectorate friends would call all of them that. I’m not sure what they were, but they’ve got their supernatural spirit cooties all over you.”

  I was too shocked—too afraid—to argue with him. Reeling with the idea I’d been violated in some way and didn’t even remember, I moved to the door, suddenly intent on getting home as soon as possible.

  “I don’t think they meant you harm,” he said to my back.

  Hand shaking, I turned the knob. I needed to cast some spells of my own, see if I could find what he’d seen, protect myself from letting whatever they were from touching me, or whatever they did, again. Could the demon have had allies of some kind who sought revenge for casting her out of Samantha? Or had my display of power drawn them to me out of curiosity? Seth said they hadn’t tried to hurt me. What then? The fae were curious, but demons were arrogant monsters who thought they knew everything already.

  The fresh air from outside cleared my head a little, and I turned to him. “If they weren’t demons, what else could they be?” A question struck me, one I’d never thought to ask before. “Are there others like you in Silverpool? Changelings?”

  A familiar mocking smile appeared on his face. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

  I didn’t think he was joking, but I still wanted to know. “Then just give me a hint.”

  “I don’t think they were changelings. I don’t even think they were the same t
hing, each creature. It’s like you… I don’t know, like you were mixed up with a bunch of energies all at once. Like you’ve picked up a few different scents, but now that they’ve mixed together with your own innate spirit, I can’t identify them or tell them apart.”

  I had to get home. My own spells might guide me, might give me an answer or a clue. I stepped outside, inhaling the fresh forest air deeply into my lungs. The acrid odor in his kitchen had given me a headache.

  I turned back to him one last time. “Watch out for yourself, Seth. Something’s up. Something bad.”

  He gave me an unconcerned smile and shrug of his shoulder. “Live in the moment, human. The future never comes. There’s only now.”

  I rolled my eyes at his wannabe Zen ways and went home to find answers of my own.

  Chapter Six

  The November evening was foggy and cold, but I took my herbs, copper, a jar of blackberry jam, and a pint-sized bottle of wellspring water to the backyard, where I liked to sit beneath the redwood tree as I cast my spells. Inside my house, the magical wards I’d woven between the walls might make detecting any lingering spirit impossible. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but if Seth had been able to detect something when I was at his house, then I should be able to find something under my favorite tree.

  And maybe Willy the Gnome, who lived beneath it, would get curious and help me. He had more powers than I’d assumed when I’d first met him, but I didn’t know the extent of what he could do. He’d helped me in the past, however, as had others of his mysterious, underrated kind. The jam and wellspring water was for him. He loved sweets, and like all fae, coveted the water. Willy appreciated gifts. Calling it payment would insult him. His manners were very particular.

  It was important to me that I not offend him. He’d been here when I moved in, and we’d developed a powerful, although unpredictable, friendship. Up until this year, I’d thought it was my job, as the resident witch, to keep him protected from malicious humans and demons. He’d accepted my help with polite grace.

  But he’d also interfered to help me. He might have saved my life. And he looked after Random when I was away, sometimes breaking through the boundary spells of my house, which I would’ve thought was impossible.

  And so Willy, my little neighbor, was a big mystery, and I worked hard to keep him happy.

  I sat cross-legged in the damp, weedy grass and set the bottle and bags of herbs on a concrete stepping-stone. The copper wire was wrapped around my forearm, with the curving lines of the enchanted tattoo on my skin, above the beaded bracelets I always wore. The old magic in wood was hard to measure or predict, but copper, a metal, was a sure thing. Unlike silver, it wouldn’t kill or frighten the otherworldly but could still give me a steady boost of power. Most modern witches, and all the Protectorate, preferred stone and metal to magnify their power, and it was how I’d been originally trained. Silver for killing, silver for protection, silver for investigation. Gold for everything. Platinum had the same power as gold but was expensive, so the rich preferred it to flaunt their status. At least that was my cynical theory—I’d never owned platinum of my own to experiment with. My father had stolen plenty over the years, but that was different.

  But copper, what I wore tonight, was a practical witch’s metal. Like steel and iron, it was easily attainable at any home-improvement store—such as Cypress Hardware, where I’d bought this particular spool of copper wire. As the only big retailer in town to fulfill the wishes of a diverse, eccentric group of residents, the store sold all kinds of weird odds and ends, even many of the little crafts I used to bead my jewelry. If a demon or other creature had messed with me, I might have better luck finding evidence if I used copper that had been nearby when it happened.

  “Pleasant evening to you, Alma Bellrose.”

  I turned to see Willy at my left elbow, smoking his pipe. He was just over a foot high and wore the old-fashioned velvet jacket of his long-ago European youth.

  “Good evening, Gnome Willy,” I said, smiling. “It’s very nice to see you. I hope you don’t mind me sitting so close to your front door.”

  He bowed slightly and shook his head, making his pointed cap wobble. The little door between the trunk’s base and the roots of the tree appeared, a shimmering red, just behind him. “I was worried you were doing more of your magic, that which is most unpleasant to me, and I feared for your safety, as I know you would not willingly offend me without a good reason, such as being in danger.”

  I flinched inwardly, not knowing which of my herbs was particularly offensive to him. I never could tell. “I appreciate your understanding, Willy. Would you share a sip of springwater with me? In fact, if you were able to store the bottle beneath your tree, in your home, I would really appreciate it. I’ve run out of room in my house.”

  “Of course, dear Alma. You humans are like birds in spring, collecting the worst pieces of garbage and stuffing them in your nests.”

  “Guilty as charged. I’ve got way too much stuff. Will you take it?”

  “It would please me to be doing this favor for you.” He lumbered over and put both arms around the bottle, which was almost as tall as he was, and dragged it along a surface tree root to his door. “Just be giving me a moment, please, most happily.” Never touching the door, he disappeared with the bottle, then reappeared a second later with two thimble-sized cups. He offered one to me, and I took it between my thumb and forefinger.

  He lifted his in a toast. “To the health of your devoted animal, who is wishing I would bring him fresh grass to nibble”—he nodded at Random, curled up on a cushioned lawn chair—“and also to your human life, which is precarious, most sadly for me and your other friends who enjoy your company and thus are not wanting it to end for all time.”

  I was used to him talking about the precariousness of all mortal beings, but his tone made me nervous. “Thank you.” I held up my cup, then we drank together. It was barely enough to wet my tongue, but good manners were essential. “Is my health precarious in any particular way you might feel inclined to mention, dear friend?” I asked carefully.

  He shuddered and sighed as the springwater hit his system. “Alas I cannot speak of it. You are really needing to be staying home with your animal. The reasons for going away from your safe dwelling are always fooling you with their lies. Why risk yourself with the worst beings the magical fires of the world have created when you can stay in your box of food and bedding until your life comes to a natural end?”

  With a shudder at the second reference to my death, I looked up at my bungalow. The candle I’d lit in the kitchen was a faint, flickering glow through the window. “I’d get bored if I stayed in my box all day and night until I died.”

  “Surely not. The sad day of your death is not very long from now.”

  My breath caught. “It isn’t?”

  “The lives of you humankind are very short, which sometimes I enjoy very much, quite a great many times in the old days, but other times, as with you, your brisk expiration can bring sadness.”

  Although my heart was pounding, I kept my voice level. “Willy, do you have any premonition or information that tells you I’ll die in the next few, uh, turns of the earth or moon?”

  “I am having no information, but I fear a great many things, especially, as I said, when you bring me the precious water from the spring, which has no value to you, peculiar but enjoyable human. You seek me out when you are in distress.”

  “But other than me acting suspicious by coming out here with gifts for you and my magic, has anything else happened to make you fear for my safety?” I asked. “I fought a demon, Willy. I’m worried another… something, maybe another demon… did something to me. Did you notice or can you say if—?”

  He clapped his hands, sending sparks of light into the air. “Oh, how that springwater gets stronger every year. Is this the broken ring of metal that you have that is to thank for the powerful, delicious beverage you’ve shared with me?” The broken ring he refe
rred to was the torc. Willy put his hand to his forehead, knocking the cap off. Then he bent over and stumbled to pick it up again. “I am feeling too dizzy to talk to you, friend. Heed my warning, stay in the nice box of your home.”

  “There has to be something you can tell me—”

  He held up a finger. “Neighbors do not be pressuring neighbors,” he said. “You know my ways. I have told them to you. I thought you learned them.”

  “Yes, but—”

  He scowled at me, shook his head roughly, and disappeared in a flash of light.

  I stared in surprise. If it had been demons he’d felt on me, he would’ve said so. They didn’t scare him as much as they scared other fae. Something he sensed in me, however, had made him both angry and afraid.

  Or was I exaggerating his feelings? He was a gnome. They had all kinds of odd pet peeves that could quickly turn a friendly conversation into an affronted falling-out.

  I looked at Random, who generally ignored Willy’s coming and going unless he had food in his hand. My smart dog wasn’t acting as if he was afraid of me, and he’d had good training—my father had once kept him enchanted as a dragon, making him commit crimes—so how contaminated could I be? And although the demon attack the other day was the most obvious supernatural event I’d experienced recently, it was possible Seth and Willy were feeling something that had happened weeks or months ago. I’d had quite a busy year, after all.

  But I didn’t really believe it was something older than the past few days. They were only noticing it now, and they’d spent time with me since my earlier adventures.

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out a heavy cloth napkin from the brunch in San Francisco. Since the demon attack, the only stranger I’d spent time with had been my father’s fiancée. I’d hoped to ask Willy to scan the napkin, but he’d run away too soon.

  Or maybe he had scanned it, which was why he’d taken off.

  Worried that was the answer, I opened the drawstring on my bag of herbs and spread it open on a flagstone. Mixed in with a handful of dried rose hips was a stick of cedar incense, which I lit with a plastic lighter—not traditional, but effective—and then blew out the flame and set it back down. My backyard became very quiet as the magic began to weave through the air. I draped the napkin over the herbs and smoke, then rested my hands on my heart and throat, closed my eyes, and sent my senses into the white cloth.