I banged my staff against the tile, using my magic as a conduit for my anger. A single wave of defensive power rolled out from the walls of my house and knocked Raynor back a step. Without putting the helmet down, he pointed again.
“You’ve gone too far, Alma,” he called out. “You have to listen to me and do what I say.”
His words only made me angrier. Why? Why did I always have to do what somebody else wanted? When I’d been nine years old, my father had made me steal a pack of cigarettes from a gas station in Virginia for another witch, a blond guy with grabby hands, to stop him from identifying us after a heist.
Us. That’s how he’d put it, like we were equals, in it together, both with the same motives, values, needs, and desires. If I hadn’t stolen the smokes, it would’ve been my fault my father went to jail. That was how he’d pressured me.
I was so sick of being pressured. I banged the staff harder this time, and then again. My mood had flared into a white-hot rage.
Raynor lost his feet in the blast of my power and fell forward as if he’d suddenly decided to drop to the ground and do a few push-ups.
Brightness forgive me, but I grinned. He thought he could just—
Whoops.
One push-up was all Raynor had needed to regain his feet, and now he was blasting me with both hands. Darius stood behind him, amplifying his strength.
Random began whining. I looked down at the big, worried eyes gazing up at me.
What was I doing? I’d just attacked Raynor. He’d been pretty nice to me, but he was a Director of the Protectorate. He was a powerful demon-killing agent with, like me, secret gifts bestowed by an unknown supernatural ancestor. Bosko had just been killed, and my father had been a suspect. Why would I risk antagonizing him now?
It must’ve been the conversation with my father. The story about my mother. There were too many old memories, scars, and bruises rattling around in my soul. I’d lost control of myself.
One more minute and Raynor was going to blast a hole in not just my boundary spells, but the wood frame and siding of my house. Talk about losing your security deposit.
I set down the staff and went over to open the door, silently preparing my humiliating apology. He’d want me to say I’d had no right to defend my own home, which rankled, but I’d have to say it. I’d have to mean it. I turned the knob and began to pull it open.
There was a loud crash, then a blinding flash of green light that lit up the patio, yard, garage, driveway, trees. Raynor and Darius sailed into the air and…
I couldn’t see for a few seconds because of the shock to my eyes. I listened for a thud, shout, blasts, sirens, explosions, thunder, lightning…
With angry witches, anything could happen.
Slowly my vision returned. The yard was dark except for the area lit by the porch light and the rising moon. And over by the redwood, the tiny red glow of a lit pipe.
“Willy?” I asked. It had to be the gnome. “What did you do?”
An ancient, unforgiving voice shot through the dark. “Your visitors had poor manners.”
I pressed my hand to my mouth, flattered by his caring but terrified he’d killed them. I cleared my throat and managed to ask, “Where are they?”
“On their round wheel machines on the shared human property you allow others to use when traveling to you,” he said.
“You mean the road?” I pushed Random back into the house and ran outside and down the driveway.
Thank Brightness, they looked OK. Both men were wearing their helmets, sitting on their motorcycles—which were running—facing the opposite direction.
Instead of running inside, I forced myself to stay and wait as they turned around, parked, and dismounted again. This was really going to infuriate them. I held my hands up in a show of surrender, resigned to my fate. It would be foolish to expect forgiveness after such an insult to their bodily autonomy. And men hated it when you messed with their wheels.
But Raynor and Darius stood next to their bikes, helmets on, facing me. Afraid they were shoring up their power to hex me, I lifted my hands higher, spreading the fingers wider, and waited with my heart pounding in my throat.
Very slowly, Raynor lifted a hand to his helmet and popped the visor open. “Our apologies, Witch Bellrose,” he said. That method of address was an old-fashioned, formal term of respect, more typically directed at elderly witches from respectable families. “Lower your hands and we can express our regret over that drink you mentioned.”
Darius stood still next to Raynor. Was he shaking slightly?
Very belatedly realizing they were afraid of me, I lowered my hands. They’d thought I was threatening them, not surrendering. For Brightness’ sake. How was I going to get out of this?
“Of course. Please enter my home,” I said quickly. Maybe I could defuse the situation by pretending I’d thought they were imposters. “This is all just a terrible misunderstanding. Raynor, is that really you? And, don’t tell me, could that possibly be Darius Ironford, my former partner and current and future friend?”
They looked at each other, then Darius took off the helmet. “Witch Bellrose, forgive me for disrespecting you. I vow I shall never do it again.”
I risked a glance over my shoulder at the redwood tree. Was it me they feared or my gnome neighbor? The tiny glow was gone. Job done, Willy had gone back to bed.
I put my hands behind my back and turned to the men. “Look, guys, I’m really sorry,” I said. “I’ve had a stressful week. Will you come in?”
They looked at each other again. Raynor gave a small nod, and a few minutes later they were walking into my kitchen without a single golden sledgehammer or patronizing demand.
I’d have to give Willy a wine barrel filled with wellspring water.
“I didn’t believe it was you,” I said, not too contrite to lie.
“You knocked over a young woman wearing the uniform of a nonmagical utility worker,” Darius said.
“That was really bad, you’re right,” I said, “but I thought the Protectorate agents were here, wanting to talk to me, and would be angry if I didn’t show up as soon as possible.”
“How did you know agents had been here at your house?” Raynor frowned in Seth’s direction. “Is that wise, being in contact with the changeling, especially now?”
“Birdie called me on my cell and told me she’d seen them,” I said. “I’m allowed to talk to my best friend, aren’t I?” Smiling to break the tension, I went to the fridge and got everyone a beer.
Raynor sat at my kitchen table, drank most of it down in one go, then wiped his lips. To my surprise, the look he gave me wasn’t angry, but sympathetic.
“They’re burying Silverpool,” he said.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Feeling weak, I sank into a chair with my untouched beer. “Burying? What do you mean?”
“Before the solstice,” Raynor said. “All witches are to leave as soon as possible and not come back. Nonmag people will get the impulse to move away. We’ve already arranged for a fleet of one-way rental trucks and trailers to be available at Cypress Hardware.”
“The solstice is in less than three weeks,” I said, gripping the table.
“There’s going to be a massive landslide before then,” Raynor said.
“All this because of Bosko?” I asked.
Raynor peeled the label off his bottle. “The town will become more inhospitable than usual.”
I shook my head. “What about the investigation into Bosko’s death? That’ll destroy evidence.”
“They’ve concluded the demon he killed at your father’s wedding returned and took revenge,” Raynor said. “They can’t punish an evil spirit, but they can eliminate the draw to future demons by burying the wellspring.”
I didn’t believe Vera had killed Bosko. “That’s insane,” I said. “The wellspring provides the only springwater for hundreds of miles, and its location here, with the old-growth redwoods and the Pacific nearby, makes the water e
specially powerful. More fae gather here than in any other—”
“New York doesn’t care about the redwoods, the fae, or the springwater,” Raynor said. “They have their own wellsprings they protect and draw from. By their thinking, California might as well be on Pluto.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Nobody could’ve loved Kurt Bosko enough to destroy a town because of his death. Could somebody be trying to cover up a crime? Was there someone else in Silverpool they were trying to destroy? “But—”
“You’ll need a new house, and for that you’ll probably need a job, given the astronomical rental market these days,” Raynor said. “I’m pleased to report that the Protectorate no longer considers your Incurable Inability bad enough to preclude your employment.”
It just kept getting worse. My head spun. “Even after I attacked you?”
Raynor brushed that aside with a large hand. “That was the gnome. You’re hardly in control of him. Nobody can control a gnome.” He put the hand on Darius’ shoulder. “Darius has decided he’d be honored to have you as his partner again. If you’re willing.”
Maybe they were imposters. This was crazy talk.
Darius took a long drink from his beer and shrugged. “Yeah. It’s true.”
“I don’t believe it,” I said.
“He thought you were the worst partner a witch could have,” Raynor said. “Then he discovered you had hidden qualities. Isn’t that right, Darius?”
“Let’s just say I’ve had a run of bad luck,” he said. “And working with you in Mendocino… Well, it showed me you’ve learned a lot since the old days.”
Raynor hadn’t changed. He still insisted on trying to get me back into the Protectorate. “I don’t want to work for—”
I stopped myself. As if by a green flash of blinding gnome magic, I saw a way out. I didn’t believe Kurt Bosko had been killed by a demon—the murder scene just didn’t feel like demons had been involved, and not Vera in particular.
“What if I found out who did do it and could prove it wasn’t a demon?” I began. “Would that stop New York from destroying Silverpool?”
Raynor peeled the rest of his label off the bottle, frowning, and then looked at Darius. “Did you hear that?”
“I did, Director,” Darius said.
“Looks like you two have a job to do together.” Raynor got up and dropped his bottle in my recycling bin near the door. “Better hurry. This is all unofficial, of course. I’ll deny everything. But it sure will be nice to ensure our local source of wellspring water. New York might not care, but we do, don’t we?”
I closed my eyes. I’d been had.
Darius slapped the table. “Well, guess I’ll see you first thing in the morning,” he said. “Maybe tell your gnome friend I’ll be coming by. Cool? Cool.”
“Hey!” I got up and went over to the door, blocking their escape. I expected Raynor to be ruthless; he’d become a Director of the Protectorate. But I wasn’t ever going back as an agent. I would work odd jobs when it suited me, but those amoral mages weren’t ever going to own me. “That’s what this was all about? Trying to blast your way into my home, just to trick me into investigating another case for you?”
Raynor looked at Darius. “She’s not much of a morning person,” he said. “I wouldn’t come by until at least eight.”
“I’ll work with Darius to help Silverpool, but it’s temporary,” I said. “Unofficial. I’m not going to be an agent again.”
Raynor shrugged, his lips curving in a mild smile that suggested he really didn’t care what I called it. “I look forward to hearing your first report,” he said.
“I refuse to fill out any repo—” I began.
“I’ll do them,” Darius said. “You always get the dates wrong anyway.”
“We are not partners,” I said tightly.
Raynor gestured at the door behind me. “It’s late. I accept this is a temporary agreement. But you…” He trailed off, his dark eyes meeting mine and holding them, inscrutable and probing.
I frowned until my curiosity—always a problem—got the better of me. “Yeah? What about me?”
“You’ve shown to me, Darius, and, I hope, yourself, just how powerful you are. You carried me and a fully trained Protectorate agent through the air for at least—what was it, Agent Ironford, thirty meters?—against our will.” His eyebrows reached toward his smooth scalp. “You don’t know how strong you are. And neither do I. Wouldn’t you like to find out?”
Reaching behind me, I turned the doorknob and pulled the door open. “My powers are my own business. Time for you to go.” I would love to think I’d lifted the two witches on my own, but Willy had played a strong supporting role in my show of strength.
“I’m not going to let you waste your talents.” Raynor stepped past me, his massive shoulder brushing my ear, and went outside.
“Get out of here before I use them to hurl you through the air again,” I said.
“Don’t let him tease you. We’re going,” Darius said, waving as he stepped out to follow Raynor. “See you tomorrow.”
Hot with anger, I slammed the door and cast a spell at the kitchen towel hanging on the oven door. It burst into flames, which I had to run over and extinguish with another spell, which helped me get a grip on my temper.
I set the singed towel in the sink and braced my hands on the edge as I counted to ten. What was the matter with me? I’d always had a temper, but I was out of control. And the magic I was using was beyond anything I’d used before, especially against other powerful witches.
I’d felt Willy’s fingerprints in the magic that had expelled them down the driveway. Was he interacting with me still? Had I absorbed his power inside me, or was it consciously given to me only as I’d needed it to defend our shared property?
My questions needed to be answered—but not because Raynor said so. Without the answers, I might hurt myself or somebody else. Or at least burn the house down. But I’d do them at my own pace, on my own terms, and keep my secrets to myself.
Wrapping my hand in an empty velvet pouch, I took Raynor’s bottle out of the bin, tied it closed with a silver-threaded cord, and locked it in my filing cabinet. There were things I could do with his spit—some illegal, some dangerous, some terrible. And all required at least a week to marinate. But some of the spells were fairly mild and could provide an escape hatch for me if he came at me in earnest.
It was time to act more like Helen. She’d survived, even thrived, without the Protectorate. I could too.
Just as I put my head on my pillow, a tap on my bedroom window sent Random flying off the bed in a fit of barking. He jumped onto the chair to attack the intruder, but suddenly stopped and began wagging his tail.
I put my hand on my beads, sent out a probe, and felt Seth’s presence. Turning on a light, I got out of bed and walked over to push Random aside and lift the window. Cold air wafted in as I frowned at Seth’s handsome face.
“Why not knock on the door?” I asked.
“I saw what you did to your last visitors.”
The memory still made me smile. “Willy helped me out.”
“Sorry for the late chat, but the fae are freaking out. What’s up?”
We were still speaking through the open window, both of us hunched over. “You better come in,” I said.
“Can’t. Your spells are worse than ever. Even being this close to your house is giving me a rash.”
I never knew when he was kidding. The situation was too serious to joke around. “The Protectorate is about to drive everyone out of town and bury the wellspring.”
“Ah,” he said.
“Ah? That’s it?”
He shrugged. “Thanks for the information. I’ll let the fae know. They won’t understand, but it’ll make me feel better.”
“They’re going to find you, Seth,” I said in a rush. “You can’t stay here. You’ve got to figure out how to survive away from Sil—”
“I’ve tried everything.”<
br />
“Try again!” My back was aching, so I held up a finger to tell him to wait where he was and then ran through the house to go outside to talk to him. When I reached him, he looked taller—and I realized he was floating several inches above the ground. “I didn’t know you could do that.”
He patted his chest. “I’m amazing, aren’t I? A miracle of supernature. Except for the little side effect of me dying whenever I travel a few miles, it’s great.”
“You’ve got to find a way to survive. You could try digging up the earth and bringing it with you, like in a bag or a huge bag, a truck—”
“Tried it. All kinds of containers.”
“You could try new metal alloys, or springwaters from other wellsprings, maybe gems and stones, herbs…”
The light streaming out from my bedroom illuminated his sad smile. “It’s all right, Alma. I’ve accepted my fate. It was sealed the moment my mother put me in a human baby’s body.”
“Is that it? You still think you deserve this? Maybe your mother does—I don’t know—but you didn’t ask to possess a human. And now the original guy is gone. He’s not coming back. There’s no moral benefit to you… passing on…”
“Dying,” he said. “I think I’ll just be dead. My spirit is melded with this mortal form now.”
“Nobody knows what happens to us, not even fairies like you,” I said. “Stop being so fatalistic and self-hating and fight for yourself.”
“I have fought, Alma. I’ve done everything I can think of. When the Protectorate comes for me, I’ll fight some more. And then I’ll be at peace.” He reached out and cupped my cheek, a rare moment of physical contact between us. “Don’t feel bad. Promise me.”
Tears came to my eyes. I scowled at him. “I won’t promise anything. You’re just depressed. You’re afraid to hope, but I’m not.”
He stroked my cheek, smiling. “You really are an angel.”
I pushed his hand away. “Stop staying that. I’m no better than you are, you… you—” My words failed me. I could hardly motivate him by calling him names.
A Spell to Die For Page 17
