There wasn’t any spark, snap, or stink—a person walking by wouldn’t have noticed a thing—but I felt a tug in my cheeks as if I were hanging upside down, and then back up again, sideways, up, down, around, and back up. I’d tried resting the torc on my lap instead of holding it in the air, hoping its immobility would make the spell less nauseating for me, but it had made no difference. When my vision cleared, I saw a pool of water form beneath the leaves in the dry earth in front of me: the wellspring that gave Silverpool its name.
I filled up the bottles I’d brought with me, appreciating the magic that kept any of the leaves from sticking to the water, and carried them to my Jeep parked nearby. Storing large quantities of springwater was dangerous, which was why it was hard to come by. It attracted demons and fae, potentially putting you in the middle of the brutal conflict between them. I’d have to be careful and spread out my stash as soon as I could.
We hadn’t had a big storm yet, and the news mentioned it might be a drought year again. If it did finally rain, water would drain into the valleys, fill the Vago River, and rush the remaining miles down to the Pacific while the wellspring would rise up to the surface in the patch of ground where I’d filled the bottles. Until then, only the torc could get large amounts of water from the dry earth. Only the person holding it. Me.
I returned to the wellspring, which had already drained mostly away, leaving only a shallow patch of water amid the mud and leaves. The fairies didn’t want to be seen, but I saw them gathered around the puddle: wood sprites and flower fae, the bridge troll, a thin goblin in a brick-red dress. As at an oasis in the desert, ancient enemies kept an uneasy truce, watching each other out of the corners of their eyes as they crept up to the remnants of the precious springwater.
I lifted the torc with both hands, enduring the vertigo again, and more water bubbled to the surface. The fae didn’t thank me—the green-faced bridge fairy gave me a sour, bitter look—but I enjoyed watching their pleasure secondhand. My favorite were the tiny flower creatures who flashed gold sparks and fluttered down to the drink with delightful enthusiasm. The wood sprites, some as big as human toddlers and who could be dangerous and nasty when stressed, were now cheerful as they took out wood bowls and discarded human bottles to collect the liquid for later. Until the wellspring rose naturally to the surface after the winter rains, only these local fae would enjoy my generosity. Late December, countless other spirit creatures from far away would arrive in town to celebrate. It was that crowd that Flor probably intended to study.
If they let her. I wondered what magic she had to compel them to show themselves to her. There were amulets witches used, or perhaps her years of fae research had taught her methods I’d never had to learn because of my innate, secret talent of seeing them naturally. Tristan, the former Protector, had used a combination of metal magic and old herb lore. Many of the plants in my front yard had ended up in Tristan’s potions and potpourri gift bags.
Lots of unwanted memories of Tristan were coming to me since I’d been to the winery last night. He hadn’t been perfect, but he’d been a good witch, and the town had prospered under his Protectorship. Back in my car, I sat with my grief for several minutes until I felt strong enough to drive home and pack up the car.
It didn’t have to be this way, my mind argued. It’s not fair! my heart cried. But I started the engine and pulled out onto the road, watching the drunk fae in my rearview mirror, accepting it might be the last time for a while. How old was Bosko? A lifetime appointment could mean decades. Or maybe…
As I drove home, I consoled myself with dark thoughts about him adopting a ten-pack-a-day smoking habit or passion for solo free climbing in the Himalayas. When I turned the corner to drive up the hill to my house, I was feeling a little better.
But then Flor jumped out from behind a bush and ran in front of my car. She was waving her arms and screaming. For a split second I thought she might be part of my guilty daydream, but I snapped out of it when she slapped the hood of my car with both hands, then stumbled out of sight.
Adrenaline surging, I slammed on the brakes and killed the engine. When I jumped out, Flor was already there, seizing me by the shoulders, her eyes wild.
“He’s dead!” she shouted. “He wasn’t asleep, he was dead!”
“Who?” I demanded.
“Bosko! The stupid bastard died! Our first day! What in Shadow am I supposed to do now? He was my ticket! I planned so long for this! It’s not fair!”
Chapter Nineteen
Flor shook me by the shoulders, repeating the same words over and over—it’s not fair, he’s dead, what in Shadow do I do now? Why me?
I twisted her fingers loose and squeezed them. “Tell me what happened.” By instinct I cast a calming spell over her. I could feel her racing pulse through her hands.
“I don’t know,” she gasped, falling quiet. Then, under the effects of my spell, she began to speak more slowly. “He fell or something. He… he’s in his room. Just lying there. He doesn’t use a bed, so I thought he was sleeping, but his mat is in the corner and he’s in the middle, sprawled out in a weird way. Like he fell. He looks like he fell.”
I squeezed her hands harder. “Who’s there now with the body? Percy?”
“No, I couldn’t find him. We were supposed to meet first thing this morning, that’s why I went looking for Bosko when he didn’t show up.”
Now I was the one to start shouting. “So Bosko’s body is alone up there?”
“Of course not. The cleaner is there. She’s not a witch, but she used to work for Tristan and knows about us. We locked the door. She’s standing guard.”
“What did Raynor say?”
“I’m hardly important enough to have his direct number,” she snapped. “That’s why I came to get you.”
“You could’ve called somebody else at Diamond Street,” I said. “You worked there.”
“He’s dead, Alma. He would’ve promoted me. Percy was always getting on his nerves. I would’ve been an app before the equinox if I’d had the chance to prove myself, but he’s dead… I worked so hard, so hard, you have no idea… and now he’s dead…” Her voice rose to a wail.
I sent a stronger sedating spell into her nostrils. After her third breath, she slumped forward, put her arms around me, and began to weep softly.
“I’ll go with you,” I said in a soothing voice, patting her back as I indulged in an eye roll. She should’ve called Diamond Street, not come to me. “Don’t worry. Get in my car. Let’s go.” She was easy to guide over to the passenger side and seemed relieved about my driving her back to the winery.
For Brightness’ sake. The last thing I wanted was to get swept into another crime scene. Or was I too hasty to assume it was a crime?
“You said he might’ve fallen from something?” I asked. “How?”
Silence. I looked over.
She was asleep. Her head was slumped forward, and drool was hanging down her lip onto the seat belt, leaving a shiny trail on the black strap.
Great. I’d have to wake her up to deal with the Protectorate, because I sure wasn’t going to be the one. And where was Percy? If Bosko had been killed, which was likely, the apprentice might have been hurt too. Of course, if he’d been the murderer, he could be fleeing the country. Had he finally snapped? Or had Bosko used the opal ring on him, discovered he was a demon, tried to stab him but this time the app was prepared and—
It was fruitless for me to speculate on so little information. And it wasn’t my job to figure it out.
I parked in front of the tasting room and went around to the passenger seat to wake her up. Only more magic could overcome the spell I’d knocked her out with, so I had to draw upon my beads again and send stimulating energy into her nostrils this time.
The moment her eyes opened, she began muttering, “He’s dead, he’s dead,” but she wasn’t shouting, so I left her alone until she calmed herself down. A minute later, she shuddered and got out of the car. “What in Shadow did
you do to me?”
“You were hysterical,” I said.
She rubbed her temples. “Where did you learn that kind of spell?” She gave her head a shake, sighing. “I feel like I’ve been partying for a week.”
“Sorry.”
“No, seriously,” she said. “I didn’t have a chance to fight it off. Did you do something to my nose?”
“You inhaled a little calming energy, that’s all.”
“I didn’t know that would work.” She frowned at me. “I guess they teach agents the good stuff.”
I hadn’t learned it at the Protectorate—I hadn’t learned it anywhere; it just seemed natural—but it was easier if she believed that. “I guess.” She seemed awake enough now, so I waved my phone in front of her face. “I’m going to dial Raynor. You’re going to tell him what happened.”
“You aren’t going to introduce me?”
“He knows who you are. Just give your name and tell him what you told me. Without the shouting.” I hit Raynor’s number and handed her the phone.
She touched her hair, adjusting a bright yellow bow—as if he’d care how she looked—and then lifted the phone to her ear. “No, Director. This is Florence Werner. Alma gave me her phone.” She paused. “Do you want to talk to her?” She gave me an I-told-you-so look and thrust the phone back at me.
“Hi, Raynor,” I said quickly. “Flor’s going to tell y—”
His voice was an uncompromising growl. “I want to hear it from you. What happened?”
I sighed. “Bosko is dead. She found him in his room this morning.”
“Who else knows?”
“The housekeeper. The door is locked. She’s standing guard outside.”
“The nonmagical woman who worked for Tristan Price?” he asked.
“Yes. Her name is Donna. She knows about us.” I clenched my jaw, braced for his disapproval.
He immediately began ranting that it was completely inappropriate for a nonmagical cleaner to be left in charge of a potential demon-attack scene.
“Not my idea,” I cut in.
“Where’s the app? Percy.”
“Missing,” I said.
“Demon’s balls.”
“Anyway, just thought you should know,” I said. “I’m going home now.”
“Absolutely not. You’re going to secure the scene and alert me of any developments,” he said. “Florence doesn’t have the experience for this. At least she had the sense to get you involved instead of calling just anybody at Diamond Street, or Brightness forbid, the police.”
“I don’t work for—”
“This is really bad for you, Alma. Really bad for your father. You should do exactly what I say.”
“Bad for me? Why?” Now I wouldn’t have to leave town. I was feeling secretly upbeat.
“Another Protector is dead within a year, and the man who killed your father’s bride is now dead, and I bet neither of you has an alibi.”
“I barely knew her!”
“He got the opal ring last night,” Raynor said quietly. “Do what I say.”
“If I’m—” I turned away from Flor, who was watching carefully. Nobody else needed to know I had a motive to fear a man wearing the opal ring. “Why me?”
“Keep Flor and the housekeeper with you at all times,” he said. “Until I get there.”
“Hex me,” I muttered. My car was filled with jugs and bottles of illicit springwater I’d gotten with the stolen torc. If anyone scanned it, they’d sense the powerful water and, given the drought, realize it was me who had the stolen object. And then quickly see through the masking spell that hid it under the front seat. I didn’t know if I could wiggle out of that one, even with Raynor’s help.
“Raynor, I just can’t,” I said, thinking desperately for an excuse. “It’s too… traumatic. You know how much I’ve been through.”
“You might face worse if you don’t listen to me,” he said.
I wanted to bargain—what about Seth?—but Flor was standing there, obviously hanging on every word.
“Fine,” I mumbled.
“I’m on my way,” he said. “You know what to do.” He clicked off.
I swallowed another curse and walked to the front door. “We’re going in together,” I said, gesturing for Flor to follow. “Do what I say. I’m in charge now.”
She walked slowly, frowning at me. “In charge? But they fired you.”
“You’re the one who came and got me,” I snapped. “Open the door, please. I don’t have a key.”
Pursing her lips, Flor took out a key, cast a spell that she actually tried to hide from me, and went in first. “His bedroom is past the living room, at the end of the hallway on the right.”
I knew where it was. There was only one master bedroom, and I’d slept with Tristan in it. Better times, though I hadn’t thought so at the time. Another reminder to be grateful for what you had—although I supposed that went for every moment, including this one. Bosko was dead without a single free climb or unfiltered cigarette, making the world a better place.
As we walked through the airy, expensively decorated rooms of the single-story house, I sent out probing spells for evil or danger but detected nothing I could isolate as foreign to the current residents. Even as we got closer to Bosko’s bedroom, I detected nothing at all unusual.
The housekeeper, Donna, was sitting where Flor had left her, in the hallway beside the closed door of the master bedroom. The last time we’d seen each other was right after Tristan’s death.
“Hi, Donna,” I said. “It’s me, Alma. We met—”
Her eyes lit up, and she scrambled to her feet. “Thank God, somebody I know.” The winery had changed hands twice since the summer, and she was probably disoriented by the changes. “Tell them I’m not— I’m not one of you. I can’t do anything about whatever is going on here. In fact, I told Flora here—”
“Florence,” Flor said.
Donna waved impatiently. “Told this one I’m not going to work here anymore. The money’s good but not that good. Tristan was bad enough, but now—”
“I understand. Stick around for a few more hours and they’ll make it worth your while, I promise. Get yourself a drink from—”
While I spoke, Donna suddenly looked at the ceiling, made an “ooh” sound, and swayed into Flor, who grabbed her under the arms and guided her to the floor. The remains of a knockout spell wafted up from Donna’s mouth.
“You didn’t have to do that.” Kneeling down, I took off my sweater, bunched it up, and set it under Donna’s head. Her pulse was slow but steady, and her color was good. “She would’ve stayed for a few hundred bucks. Now we’ve got to erase her memory.”
“Her memory will have to be erased anyway. Besides, if you didn’t want me to do that spell, you shouldn’t have taught it to me.” She flashed a wry smile. “What do we do next, boss?”
Chapter Twenty
When Raynor arrived, Flor and I were sitting with Donna’s unconscious body in the hallway, staring at our phones. Even witches wasted time online. Flor had already set up a boundary spell at the threshold and outside windows, and there was nothing else I could do.
“Where in Shadow is Percival Tuff?” Raynor’s booming voice came from inside the house. Then he turned the corner and saw us just as we were hurrying to put away our phones. “Reassure me you haven’t taken any photographs.”
He was alone in the hallway, but I was sure he had agents on hand waiting for orders to approach.
“We haven’t opened the door,” I said.
Raynor pointed at Flor. “But she did this morning,” he said. “Open it now. Your aura is already on the doorknob. It needs to be you.”
“Now?” Flor asked. “Don’t you want witnesses?”
“There are almost three of us here,” he said, glancing at Donna’s unconscious body with disapproval. “How many do you think we need?”
Flor flushed. “Sorry. I don’t know. Never been to a demon hit scene before.”
&
nbsp; “Why do you believe there was a demon here?” Raynor asked.
Looking even more embarrassed, Flor said, “Isn’t it? I mean— it’s Silverpool. Isn’t that why the Protector is here in the first place? I was told there had been a demon attack recently.”
Raynor nodded, absorbing her response but not agreeing or disagreeing with it. “Before you open the door, tell me exactly where you stepped this morning.”
“I didn’t go inside. I just looked through the door,” she said. “He told us to never step on his floor.”
“So you’ve never crossed the threshold?” Raynor asked sharply.
“Never,” Flor said. “I just pushed the door open but stayed out here.”
“I’m surprised you opened it at all,” Raynor said. “Weren’t you afraid of making him angry? His temper is legendary, and it’s only your second day, isn’t that right? Everyone knows you want to make apprentice. You’re just waiting for him to chuck Percy overboard and take you on.”
Flor shot me a panicked look, asking silently for help I didn’t offer. She adjusted her yellow bow and said, “I… I called out and there was no answer. I… I probably shouldn’t have done it, but I had a sixth sense that something was wrong.”
Raynor’s voice dropped. “What did you do?”
“Just tried the handle! It was unlocked, so… I opened the door.” She looked as if she wanted to apparate to Alaska. “It’s just he told us emphatically to be on time this morning. Maybe his spirit gave me a shock or something, letting me know there was danger, because I got so worried all of a sudden and had to see inside. And sure enough, he was lying there. Not moving. And I sent out a probe, just a little one, and I knew he was dead.”
Raynor glanced at me. He would ask me later if I believed her. I thought he should rely on magic and agent legwork to determine the truth instead of my intuition.
“Do exactly what you did this morning,” Raynor said.
Flor clasped the knob, pushed the door open, and peered inside, her toes never crossing the contrasting wood inlay of the threshold. “Like this,” she said.
A Spell to Die For Page 14
