It took four hours Monday afternoon to track down an advocate who could come right away. Although Darius had pushed New York, I was a California girl. There was a glut of witch lawyers in LA, no time zone to worry about, and short, hourly flights. The woman flew into Oakland just after sunset and banged on Helen’s door at eleven. She was shouting on the phone at a Protectorate official in the bedroom next to mine as I fell asleep that night. The sound of her strident, angry voice through the wall soothed me to sleep, confident I’d chosen well.
And I was right. On Wednesday morning, without an apology or explanation, the Protectorate released Malcolm on the sidewalk between our two houses and told him to call himself a ride or walk. His advocate was prepared to sue for the insult, but Malcolm talked her down. By noon, I was driving him, with Random in the back seat, across town to his house in Pacific Heights, and the advocate was flying back to LA.
“She wasn’t cheap,” Malcolm said as we walked up the stairs to his house. It looked smaller than it had on his wedding night, making me realize he’d enchanted the property to look more luxurious than it was. An empty parking space out front, which had only appeared as he approached, had to have been part of the spell as well. “I had to vow to give her one of the gold necklaces I put in my will for you.”
“As if you’ll ever die, Father,” I said, bringing Random inside the house on his leash and closing the door behind me. Malcolm always liked to talk about his will, manipulating me with its contents, but I no longer believed he’d ever written one.
In the foyer near the front door was a pile of suitcases and a few boxes. I recognized an antique tapestry bag from my childhood. He’d already packed up his life’s belongings. He’d always traveled light.
The house was empty—chilly, dark, and cold. The chandelier was gone, the carpets were gone, the wall decorations and furniture and potted plants—gone. I touched my focus string and pushed my senses into the floor at my feet, searching for a hint of what had happened. Had the Protectorate taken everything as evidence? Should I call the lawyer back from the airport?
I unleashed Random, who trotted off to explore the empty mansion. As I followed him, walking deeper into the house, I realized nothing had been taken. It had all been an illusion.
I let out a low whistle. “You’re kind of amazing, Dad,” I said, impressed.
“You think I’d actually pay for all that? Or this?” He smirked. “I’m a little disappointed you didn’t see through it right away. It’s a rental, of course. I’m paid through tomorrow. It was worth paying the advocate her outrageous fee to get my luggage before the landlord threw it out on the street.”
“How did you hold the spell while so many witches were here, poking and probing it? And it even held after Bosko—” I cut myself off when I saw the sad look on his face.
“Even after Bosko killed her,” he said with a sigh. He walked over and sat at the bottom of the stairs, propping his chin in his hands. “I should’ve seen it coming. He’d had it in for me for years.”
I went over and sat next to him, feeling oddly protective of him. “How could you see it coming? You didn’t know what she was.” I looked at him more closely. “Right?”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. He would’ve found some other excuse to stop the wedding. I’m sure he came here ready to get me somehow. Stabbing somebody was just a bonus.”
I noticed his uncritical reference to his dead bride. “I know she was a demon, but I kind of liked her.”
He turned his head and regarded me the same way he looked at a locked museum. “Did you kill Bosko? They’ve already scanned me. It’s safe to unburden yourself if you—”
“No, of course not! I have an Incurable Inability, haven’t you heard?”
He continued to study me, weighing my tone, my expression, and my magic aura, then finally nodded, satisfied. “Good. Now I can enjoy his death without worrying about you being sent to the Mojave for it. I’ll never forgive him for what he did to poor Vera.”
Poor Vera? It was my turn to study him. “Did you know what she was?”
“Of course I didn’t know,” he said. “She had me enchanted. Oh Brightness, did she ever. It was great. I wish she’d come back and do it to me again.”
I flinched at the word wish. “Don’t say that, Dad. She’d possessed a human being. I’m not glad she was stabbed at the wedding, but you couldn’t marry her. The Circle would’ve bonded you for eternity, which for her true spirit is a really long time.”
“Maybe it would’ve been worth it.” He smiled at the empty space in front of us. “She was so pretty. I liked her skin, too. It was really soft.”
“It was a stolen body. Don’t forget.”
“I loved listening to her sing in the shower,” he said. “Such a beautiful voice.”
“You’re still enchanted,” I said. “We can find a witch who specializes in breaking love spells…”
“Why would I want that? It feels nice. I haven’t felt this good since I was with your—” He got to his feet. “Never mind. Well, I might as well unpack a few things. That advocate told me I’d better stay here a week or two so the Protectorate doesn’t have an excuse to abduct me again. I suppose I could hex someone at the property management company to cover the rent—”
I jumped up. “No, I’m not going to let you change the subject. Not this time.”
“Will you be staying here tonight? There’s only one real mattress in the place, and I’ll be using it.” He cocked his head, listening to Random’s toenails echoing on the hardwood floors in another room. Just a few months ago, the dog had been his indentured accomplice in burglaries. “He can relieve himself on the patio, but make sure you pick up anything solid he leaves behind. I want to get my security deposit back. Those flower petals were expensive.”
He started to walk over to the suitcases, but I blocked him.
“Dad,” I said, hoping the familiar name would kindle some empathy in him. “You’ve got to tell me about my mother. You’ve got to. You can’t leave me hanging like this for the rest of my life.” I put my hand on his—without magic, just skin against skin. “Please. Whatever it is, I can take it.”
He stilled, pursing his lips. Random trotted back into the room and sat at my feet. Finally he said, “You’ll judge me.” He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “You always judge me.”
I fought off a pang of guilt. He was manipulating me again. “When has that ever stopped you from doing what you want to do?” I patted his hand. “Tell me what she looked like.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Dad—”
“See? I knew you’d judge.”
“Seriously? You don’t remember?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I remember how I felt. I was in love. We had a good time. And then she got pregnant and disappeared.” Dropping his head, he clasped his hands together and stroked his bare fingers. The Protectorate must’ve confiscated his rings. “A nonmagical woman, a nurse or social worker I think, called me from a hospital in Berkeley, said your mother had died in childbirth. She’d named me as the father.”
I stood flooded with a mix of emotions until I could bring myself to speak. “I researched. There was no Bellrose born in Berkeley.”
He gave me a disappointed look. “You know, for a witch, especially a Bellrose, you’re awfully gullible.”
“You changed the records,” I said.
“I deleted the records and helped myself to a giant balloon, a floral bouquet, and a year’s supply of formula.”
“Dad,” I said, thinking, Berkeley. I was born in Berkeley. Something tight inside me eased and let go. I wiped the tears off my cheeks. “You should’ve told me.”
“I would have, sweetheart. I would have. But I forgot.”
“Right,” I said, fed up with his evasions. But then I caught myself. His expression was so serious. “You really did?”
“I’ve never been good with emotions. I don’t know if you knew that.”
To my credit, I managed to keep a straight face. More than anyone, I knew he wasn’t good with feelings.
“So when I knew she was gone and never coming back,” he continued, “I— Well, I didn’t think there was any reason for us to suffer, dwelling over the past. So I… forgot.”
Something about his tone told me he meant more than what he was saying. A chill ran through me. Casting destructive spells on your own brain was dangerous. “You hexed yourself?”
“That doesn’t work. I had to pay some guy to do it. Naturally I don’t remember anything about him.”
“But you remember my mother now,” I said. “How?”
“Something about being with Vera brought it back. The love triggered more love or… I don’t know. Maybe I’m just getting old. I wanted to remember. I wanted to feel more than I could from stealing a piece of gold.”
Could I believe him, or was this another one of his cons? “The Protectorate was convinced you were glad they killed Vera. Maybe you’re lying to me.”
“Maybe I’m lying to everyone, even myself. Maybe I’ve been at this so long I don’t know what’s true anymore.” He bent down and scratched his old dog’s head. “Does he still like pad Thai?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Before we could order the Thai food, I got a call from Birdie. “Alma? Where are you?”
I had to walk out to the front landing to get better reception. “San Francisco. How are you? What’s going on there?”
“Are you with your father?” she asked.
I closed the door behind me so Random couldn’t escape and my father couldn’t hear. “How did you guess? I was about to come home.”
“I know your father lives in San Francisco,” she said. “I’m here in Silverpool.”
“I figured,” I said.
“There are a lot of cars in front of your house. Motorcycles, too. I was going to visit, but I couldn’t get through.”
My gut clenched. “Motorcycles?” Protectorate agents with the authority to investigate, interrogate, arrest, and kill rode motorcycles. “What are the riders wearing?”
“Wearing?”
I studied a bearded man walking down the street with a little dog. He didn’t look at me, but I eyed him suspiciously. “Agents usually wear leather jackets heavily adorned with silver,” I said. “Remember?”
“Right,” she said. “Right, of course. They were agents. That’s why I’m telling you.”
The man disappeared around the corner, but another rode up on a pink scooter, pulled over across the street, and took something out of his pocket. I touched my beads, bracing myself, but then I saw it was just his phone. I let out my breath and stepped back into the house, where Random, frantic to be reunited, danced around my legs.
“I better come home,” I said. The Protectorate was jumpy, I could feel it. And when agents got nervous, spells got thrown around like pixie dust on the winter solstice. “Did you see Seth? Were they at his house?”
The line went quiet for a moment, and I asked again, thinking we’d lost the connection.
“I don’t know. I’m sorry,” Birdie said. “When are you coming home?”
“Now. I’ll come right now.” I bent over and stroked Random’s neck, thinking he’d be glad to go home too. Helen had fed him treats—and in typical dog fashion, he’d forgiven Malcolm for all crimes—but he liked his familiar bed. “Go home and stay there as much as you can. The Protectorate is freaking out about Bosko’s death.”
“Will you come see me when you get back?” she asked.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I don’t want to draw attention to you.”
“Everyone already knows we’re close,” she said. “You’re my best friend.”
Already emotional about my mother, her sweet words brought tears to my eyes again. “I promise to check in as soon as I get back to Silverpool,” I said, then repeated my advice to stay home before hanging up.
Malcolm seemed relieved when I told him I was leaving, although he held Random’s collar for a few seconds at the door as if reluctant to let him go with me. Noticing the suspicious guy on the scooter brought him back to the present, and he wished me well and slammed the door between us.
It was a slow drive north to Sonoma County. The sun had already gone down when I reached Riovaca, the largest town before Silverpool on the Vago Highway west of Santa Rosa. My remaining miles through the forest hills to Silverpool, a rolling, twisty drive that was treacherous even during the day, impelled me to set my staff across my lap to drive the fairies away from the Jeep. They liked to lure travelers over the bluffs into the ravines with their enchanting songs. The vertical drops weren’t usually enough to kill, but sometimes… The skeletons of wrecked cars, overgrown with sword fern and oxalis, told the tale.
I held the wheel and cast spells around my car to keep me safe. More than other witches, I was vulnerable at night because I could see the tempting fairy lights, sparkling and elusive, as they celebrated another turning of the earth. The closer we got to the winter solstice, the more dangerous it became.
Because my attention was fixated on the forest, I failed to notice the Protectorate blockade until the agents on duty—in disguise as utility workers, firefighters, and police—had already seen me. If they hadn’t, I would’ve parked the car a half mile back and sneaked by on foot, well hidden by my spells.
But they had seen me.
When I’d left, there’d been a nondescript utility truck at the end of the winery driveway, but now there was a full-blown landslide marked by sputtering flares and orange traffic cones. A crew of Protectorate agents in disguise as police, firefighters, and utility workers stood around their officially marked trucks and cars, turning everyone who wanted to enter Silverpool away.
I slapped the wheel. Why did they always have to use brute force? Hex first, ask questions later. They thought they were being strong, but it was fear that drove them, exposing their cowardice.
Chewing my lip, I weighed my options. I considered walking up to one of the fake cops and identifying myself as a close personal friend of Darius Ironford, but it was possible Darius had orders from Raynor to turn me away. I’d managed to escape on Monday, and maybe the director thought it was better for me to stay that way.
But I wanted to go home. Bosko was gone; I was still here. It would take more than a few Flints in high-vis jackets to block me.
With a tight inhale, I touched my beads and gathered a cloud of power around the Jeep. Then I pulled into the left lane and floored it, using a spell to erase a path through the imaginary rubble. When the “utility” woman shouted at me to stop, I used the staff to knock her safely out of the way. Then I barreled over the bridge, sped around the corner, and drove up the hill. The rearview mirror showed a pair of agents following me on motorcycles, which was inevitable. Once I was on my property, I’d have the power and position to keep them away.
Using the staff, I concealed the turn for my narrow lane, buying me enough time to get down the street to my house. I screeched into my driveway, jumped out with Random, and ran to my back door. In my hurry, I dropped the staff in the grass, Random picked it up, I had to tug it away from him, he thought it was a game, I yelled at him, he barked…
By the time I’d slammed the kitchen door behind me and set up a fresh boundary spell, I was breathing hard and swearing at the universe.
“Alma Bellrose, what in Shadow are you doing?” boomed a voice from the other side of my back door. It sounded like Darius, but I couldn’t be sure it wasn’t enchanted.
I looked over at Random, who was drinking from his water bowl without a care in the world. Sometimes dogs were more trustworthy than magic. If he thought it was safe, it probably was.
I opened the door. “Hi, Darius. What’s up?” I leaned casually against the doorframe, tightening my abdomen so he wouldn’t see the heaving of my lungs from the chase.
“You knocked over a Flint,” he said. “It was her first day.”
That expla
ined why she’d been so easy to hex, but I didn’t say so in case it pushed his temper past its breaking point. He already looked irritated. “I was in a hurry,” I said. “I heard the Protectorate was looking for me, and I didn’t want to keep you waiting.”
Approaching from the driveway, Raynor himself appeared in the beam of my porch light, holding his helmet against his hip. He looked huge and was thrumming with magical power.
I froze, my throat going dry. Had I finally pushed him too far? It took me a second to get air into my lungs. “Good evening, Director. Would you two like to come inside for a cup of coffee or a beer or—?”
“Who do you think you are?” Raynor demanded.
“Look, I’m sorry but—”
He pointed a finger at me. The tip was glowing faintly. “I’ve gone out on a limb for you, and this is how you repay me?”
I stepped back into my house and closed the door. Putting my palm on the wood, I silently rescinded my invitation for the two angry witches to cross the threshold. Maybe after they’d calmed down, I’d offer the drinks again.
While I waited, I peeked through the curtains, still holding the staff. It was much more powerful at home, especially with its tip pressed against the kitchen floor that was old enough to have a layer of asbestos underneath. The natural mineral could cause lung disease, but it also amplified my power.
To my alarm, Raynor was attempting to blast his way through my door. The glow at the end of his finger had grown into a transparent golden rectangle as big as he was, and he was pounding it like a pile driver against my invisible wards.
Until that moment, I’d felt a little guilty about knocking over the Flint, and maybe even for leading them on a chase. But now—
OK. Now I was mad. This was my home, and what had I ever done to deserve the kind of harassment, insults, and extortion I’d experienced at Protectorate hands? Male Protectorate hands. They jumped into brute force when a peaceful conversation might resolve the dispute. Their egos caused so much damage.
A Spell to Die For Page 16
