What about? I texted an hour later. I didn’t expect an answer, but the nonanswer might be interesting.
Bring all your unregistered amulets.
I made a face at my phone. Nobody registered their magic anymore. Nobody. My garage is full of jewelry material, I wrote. Can’t bring it all.
Not that! Real magic.
Although I did get tired of the dismissive attitude toward hearth magic, sometimes there were benefits to being underestimated. Almost everything I had was either uninteresting to Bosko or was under safe, undetectable storage in my living room filing cabinet.
But I did spare a thought for how fun it would be to bring the torc and wave it around like no big deal, just to see his reaction.
BTW high moon is 2059, she wrote. See you then.
I didn’t reply. Scheduling by moon position was an old-fashioned protocol, and nine at night was lucky. Sometimes a mage would demand attendance at highest moon even if it was three in the morning and then wouldn’t show up himself until after breakfast, keeping the lesser witch waiting in sleepy misery.
I spent the rest of the day trying to pack, but it didn’t feel right. It took two hours for me to fill one suitcase and a single box of kitchen supplies. Even if I was really leaving, how much did I want to bring with me? With nowhere to go, I’d need to travel light. Birdie could have everything I left behind.
When night finally came, I gathered the magic I was willing to show Bosko. I filled a plastic box with a few harmless pieces of my jewelry, a tarnished silver spoon from babyhood, and all the pieces I’d been wearing to the wedding, which he might remember, and then locked up the house. I was nervous and stopped a moment to gaze at the sky and breathe. It was only a few days until the full moon, and the forest was well lit. In rural Silverpool, the moon’s phase made a big difference. I made some of my most powerful necklaces, all of which I was wearing now, in the backyard under its bright glow.
I got behind the wheel of my Jeep, my pulse higher than I would’ve liked, and twisted the copper ring on my finger three times for good luck. Then five. Then seven. I made myself stop before I sawed my finger off.
Suddenly I remembered that unfriendly Protectorate agents had seen me that summer with my staff. Reluctantly I went back inside to get it, grumbling to myself. I’d rather hide it at home, but it wasn’t worth the risk of looking like a scofflaw from the start.
The winery was a very short drive down the hill, over the river, and up a nicely landscaped vineyard driveway to the private residence, the winery, and a small structure with a tasting room overlooking the valley. I’d had a complicated relationship with the former Protector, Tristan Price, and had spent a lot of time there. Including after his murder.
Flor met me at the open door and looked past me at the Jeep. “Did you bring everything?”
I held the storage bin with both hands, the staff held under a belt at my waist. “I’m wearing it or it’s in the box.”
“What’s the stick?”
I was happy not to bring it inside. “Should I put it back in the car?”
“Just kidding. Nice staff. Very wizardish.” She patted me on the shoulder. “Come on in. The Protector is on the back patio. Want a drink?”
“No, thanks.” I didn’t want anything to slow me down. When she turned to lead me into the house, I cast a quick spell to wash off her touch again on my shoulder. Remembering how I would be unable to wash away Kurt Bosko’s touch, I clenched my teeth.
The ring, I reminded myself. I’m wearing the ring. It worked for Raynor. Relax.
The patio had an excellent view of the vineyard. Bosko stood in front of a low stone wall next to a potted lemon tree, gazing at the rolling hills of dormant vines under the moonlight. One pleasant night a long time ago, I’d kissed Tristan in the same spot, warmed as much by his company as the large propane patio heater.
I swatted aside memories of the past. I couldn’t afford to get lost in soft feelings at the moment. Setting the box down on a bench, I pulled the staff out of my belt and turned to Bosko.
“I feel a somewhat strong piece of magic in your hand, Alma,” he said, scratching the side of his neck with his left hand as he turned. The right held a drink of some kind.
I stepped closer to see if he wore the opal ring, but not so close to antagonize him and risk an aggressive probing. The staff, which I hadn’t wanted to bring, suddenly became indispensable. With a stealth I wouldn’t have been able to manage without it, I scanned both his hands with a swift, powerful probe of my own.
Ah. He wasn’t wearing the ring. I let out the breath I’d been holding. The drink in his hand was laced with springwater.
“Yes, Protector,” I said. “Flor said to bring everything.”
The corner of his mouth curved in a disdainful smile. “There’s no metal inlay or hardware on the wood of that staff, though, is there?”
“No.”
“It’s barely more than a giant pencil,” he said, then snorted and added, “Less. At least the pencil has graphite.”
“And aluminum,” I said.
His smile softened as if he felt sorry for me. “Indeed.” He sipped his drink and held out his right hand for a handshake—the inevitable display of witch dominance. “Set the stick down first,” he said.
He’d spoken contemptuously about my staff, but I noticed he was afraid of my using it to block his magic. “Sure.” I set it on a bench and took his hand with a careful blend of innocent wariness and indifference.
His grip was painful, like other bullying men I’d known, crushing my finger bones together like too many books on a shelf. His skin was cold, and the magic he swept over me had a stinging, prickly character that went uncomfortably deep into my spirit. Given his new job in town, I could only grit my teeth and wait it out. His probe was similar to what the Protectorate mages would do with young Flints who joined the organization to measure their innate abilities.
Finger by finger, he released my hand and then took another drink, watching me carefully. “You’re stronger than I expected.”
I made no comment. I knew why he’d expected me to be weak. He was a man who measured strength by its ability to hurt, overpower, and destroy.
He went over to my storage box and opened it. Not putting down his drink, he reached inside and rifled dismissively through my things as he cast a probing scan. Unimpressed, he put the lid back on carelessly and turned to me again.
“My assistant said you were at the top of your class,” he said. “Just beneath her.”
I glanced at Flor, who lifted a hand to adjust her red hair bow. She probably had been at the top of our class, but I had no memory of my own ranking. I’d been to so many schools and seldom paid attention to grades or competitions. “That was a long time ago,” I said.
He lifted his glass to his lips. “Spoken like a child. You’re both too young to take seriously.” The rings on his hand caught the light as he drank. Because I had the staff, I could tell he wasn’t wearing the opal. He had so many other rings, though, and I wondered what they did, if they told him other things I’d rather hide.
What an unpleasant witch. Why did he have to come to Silverpool? I wish—
No. I picked up my staff and drew a bubble of magical nullity around me. No more wishes. Cypress Hardware was less than a mile away.
“Assistant, I need a refill,” he said to Flor. She nodded, took his glass, and went back into the house.
Bosko gestured for me to sit with him on unpadded teak chairs facing one another. “I brought you up here to give you the opportunity I’m sure you wanted,” he said, crossing his legs, “but didn’t know how to go about getting.”
Opportunity? He couldn’t be talking about giving me the chance to push him headfirst off the patio into the rows of golden-brown grapevines, but that was the first thought that came to mind. “Excuse me?”
“Your father thanked me immediately,” he continued. “The first moment he was able. The Protectorate truth spell had just been cast,
so it was especially heartfelt.”
I stared at him, realizing he was talking about the wedding. “He thanked you for killing V— The demon, is that what you mean?”
“Of course. Even with his crimes, Malcolm is a human being—a witch and a Bellrose—and didn’t deserve to be bonded with a demon.” He reached over and patted my knee. “They took you home before you too could thank me personally, but you must be unspeakably horrified at the thought a monster from Shadow almost became your mother.”
“Stepmother,” I muttered. Oh Brightness, I had to say more than that, but my lips wouldn’t move. The touch of his hand on my knee made me want to vomit.
I was glad it was dark enough to hide my features from close scrutiny. Pretending to like somebody had never been one of my strengths. It was taking all my energy to hide how much I loathed him.
The staff. It had come through once for me tonight; I’d try it again. Balancing it over my knees with both hands, I tapped into its strength and poured the magic into a smooth, convincing lie. It was worth the risk of using a spell he might detect; even a powerful witch was disarmed by hearing what he wanted to hear.
“I was unspeakably horrified at the idea, Protector Bosko. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.” The staff was warm under my fingers, giving me more power to build on my deceit and hopefully shield its use from him. “You were a hero. And at such risk to yourself, jumping into the Circle when the rites were just about to begin. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Bile rose into my throat, but I clenched my teeth together and swallowed it back down while holding a smile on my face.
He nodded, smugly satisfied. “You’re welcome. Now, on to business. I’m sure Tristan had his own methods”—his smug expression twisted—“but I’ll expect all witches in Silverpool to report to me every week for scanning. In addition, I will be notified of all supernatural activity, minor and major, within an hour of its occurrence. This includes so-called benevolent creatures.”
“So-called… Do you mean the fae?” I asked slowly.
“Of course the fae. But I was speaking in particular of the tiniest of them that are generally forgotten—wisps and other insect-sized fairies, for instance. With special amulets, we can see the microscopic ones. If they let themselves be seen, they need to be dealt with, no matter how quote unquote cute they seem to the ignorant.” Flor returned and handed him his drink, which he took with a grunt. “My assistants will be compiling an inventory. We can’t let these things run loose anymore. Your friend here has a pretty good track record with wild fairies. She worked in Sweden, Ireland…”
When he trailed off, Flor said, “And Costa Rica,” and Bosko gave her a mock salute.
He was nuts. I assumed Flor was just humoring him to get ahead. What did he suggest doing to the tiny creatures—blasting them with fire and burning down the forest?
Maybe he did.
“Alma?” he asked sharply.
I’d been gaping at him. He would be scanning witches weekly, expected frequent updates, and wanted to create an inventory of even the tiniest of fairies, who he believed to be dangerous. The larger beings could cause trouble, of course, and had rebelled just that summer, but the vast majority were as harmless as dragonflies.
Given their mythical name, he probably wanted to kill the dragonflies too.
Raynor’s insistence that I leave town was making more sense. I got to my feet. “Forgive me, Protector. It’s getting late. Do you mind if I go home and we can continue this conversation when I return for my first weekly, uh, scan?” I’d make sure to be gone by then. He was going to be worse than I’d imagined, which made my departure easier to accept. He would make life intolerable for me and every other witch within twenty miles of the wellspring. I didn’t believe he’d be able to control the fae—they’d hide or leave, as they had left other places humans made inhospitable—but I’d be miserable. I just had to face reality. I’d gotten too attached to my life there. I should’ve remembered how much it hurt when I was a kid to be uprooted. It was better to never put down roots at all. Better not to get attached to anything or anyone.
“You may leave after my apprentice arrives. I want him to meet all witches here in person.” Bosko had his phone in his hand and was tapping the screen impatiently. “He left San Francisco an hour ago. He never mastered the art of casting spells on the road. I should’ve sent the new girl. She at least doesn’t drive like an old woman.”
I looked over to see if Flor was irritated with the way he’d addressed her. Protocol called for addresses like “Protector” or “Apprentice” or, at the very least, “Witch”—and although most trainee agents were called by their first names, that was an improvement over “the new girl.” I wondered if he knew her name. I wondered if he’d ever bother to learn it.
The nasty thought cheered me enough to ask Flor for a cup of herbal tea, and I sipped it as I endured twenty minutes of Bosko’s complaints about California freeways before his apprentice arrived from San Francisco.
When Percy, the apprentice, finally arrived and came out onto the patio, Bosko’s temper had deteriorated.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Protector,” Percy said. “I came as soon as—”
“This is Alma Bellrose. Malcolm’s daughter,” Bosko snapped, pushing his empty glass at him. “She lives here.”
Percy was a thin, dark-haired man about my age or a little older who might’ve been tall if he stood up straight. He had onyx plugs in his ears, a heavy gold necklace, eyebrow and nose studs, and numerous rings of metal and stone. He took the glass from the mage he served with a polite bow of his head.
“Hi,” he said quietly to me. “I’m Percival Tuff. Everyone calls me Percy.”
Bosko pointed at the sky, where the moon was sinking. “It’s late.”
Percy’s head sank farther. “I’m so sorry, Protector Bosko.” He took out a small black leather pouch from the front pocket of his jeans. “I had to wait for Mage Dupo.”
I sucked in my breath and held it. When I’d first seen the opal ring at a house party, it had pained me to get near it. Would it give me away now? The Circle at the wedding seemed to have shielded me. I hoped the copper ring was doing the same.
Bosko strode over and took the package from him. “Don’t blame Dupo. It was your nervous driving that made you late.” He weighed the pouch in his palm, magic probes flying, then smiled in satisfaction. “This is it. I thought they might try to send me a fake, but I’m attuned to it now. This is the opal.”
“Why didn’t they want you to have it, Protector?” Flor asked. “You’d think they’d want the best demon detection available near a wellspring.”
“You’d think,” Bosko said with a snort. “But that’s politics for you. Powerful people are afraid of losing their privileges, no matter how just that might be. Because this little stone, witches, has the power to uncover demons—yes—but also demon stain.” He closed his fist around the pouch and thrust his arm into the air.
Percy began cleaning up the crumpled napkins and empty glasses from around the deck. “You really think there are powerful mages who have demon stain?”
“I’m sure of it,” Bosko said. “It’s past time for the Protectorate to go after the Shadow in its own ranks. The ring will help me weed out not only the demons from Silverpool, but any witch with demonic ancestry who comes near it. Such witches are tainted, impure, and dangerous. Amulets like this ring have been locked in storage for too long. They need to be used. This is no time to be cowardly.”
Then he lowered his hand, tucked the ring into a chest pocket, and pointed at Percy. “I missed my dinner. The kitchen here is empty. Go out and find me steak. I’m in the mood for iron.”
“Certainly, Protector,” Percy said, bowing his head over the dirty glasses.
Bosko stared at him, scowled at the glasses, and then shook his head. “Never mind, you’re busy.” He turned to Flor. “You. I’m not particular, just make it beef. Percy will stock up the kitchen tomorrow.”
>
Flor’s mouth opened to protest—she’d been in town for only a day, but it was long enough to notice there probably wasn’t a twenty-four-hour drive-through—but then she smiled tightly. “Of course, Protector. Thank you. It’s my pleasure to serve you.” She mumbled a quick goodbye to Percy and me, then marched into the house, her bow bouncing.
Just a hint of magic tingled the back of my neck, and I looked around, feeling for its source, unable to find it.
Percy stood unmoving, facing the vineyard. The moonlight sent deep shadows across his eye sockets, casting his skin in an ashy glow.
“Well, go on,” Bosko said to him. “Finish cleaning up. Party’s over.”
Percy jerked into life and scurried into the house without a goodbye. The hint of magic lingered. One of them had cast a spell over the other, but I couldn’t tell who had done what to whom.
Sitting down, Bosko crossed his legs and frowned at me. “Well? What are you still doing here? Go on. I’ll be seeing you soon enough. You’ll be coming here every Wednesday at highest moon from now on. Don’t watch the clock—I go by the old ways.”
I gripped my staff and nodded, relieved he wasn’t going to test me with the opal ring tonight. The copper Raynor had given me would probably work as a shield, but it was always safer to completely avoid the conflict altogether.
“See you,” I said, careful not to promise Wednesday since I fully planned on being gone by then.
Of course I didn’t want to leave Silverpool, but it was irrational to argue with reality. Bosko was an Emerald, armed with both position and power. I was outmatched.
But I hoped a fame-hungry witch like him would get tired of being in Silverpool. When he did, I could come back. It didn’t have to be forever.
Who knew what the future would bring?
Chapter Eighteen
Early the next morning, before the sun had risen high enough to cut through the shadows of the redwood forest, I knelt down in a pile of dried leaves near some vicious blackberry brambles and held out the torc.
A Spell to Die For Page 13
