A Spell to Die For

by Gretchen Galway

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  I put the torc on the table next to the yellow sticker advertising a sixty percent discount. Knowing what had happened to Bosko, I needed to be especially careful about how I worded my wish. Silverpool was in danger from a fire—but extinguishing it might only delay its destruction from some other method. Protecting it from all damage would be too risky, causing all kinds of unpredictable magic to be unleashed: the inability to enter or leave, for instance, or the death of anyone with dangerous thoughts.

  “You said once you wanted your customers to be happy,” I said. “I’m worried I might fall into a trap and wish for something I’d regret.”

  She shrugged. “I do my best,” she said, throwing the red band next to the torc. “But remember what they say. Perfect is the enemy of the good.”

  Great. A genie quoting inspirational posters. But the smell of smoke was getting stronger, reminding me of how little time I had. “You’ve gotten to know people here pretty well. When you execute my wish, whatever I ask for is always going to be within the boundaries of the motives, values, and welfare of humans who live in this town.” I took a deep breath, hoping that would limit any unintended damage. “My wish is to protect the town from unnatural, magical destruction, but that ordinary, limited damage is part of life and should proceed.”

  She stared at my mouth, hanging on every word. A faint crease formed between her eyebrows, warning me of a flaw in my request.

  “Except for wildfire,” I added. “Protect the town from that too, even if it’s natural.” Because at this stage, based on magical technicalities I could only imagine, the expansion of the fire set by the Protectorate could be dismissed as natural.

  Her frown vanished. The corners of her lips curved up, her eyes sparkled, and her posture straightened as if pulled by a string. Casting aside her beer and vape pen, she jumped out of the hammock, picked up the torc, and faded into the shadows.

  Then her voice came out of nowhere, enveloping me like vape smoke. “Don’t forget,” it whispered. “Trust nobody.”

  I froze, my heart pounding, afraid of what she might do. Had I put enough limitations on my request? Maybe I should’ve specified which humans she should consider when measuring motives, values, and welfare. Those who had settled in Silverpool weren’t the most collectivist social butterflies on the planet. Were my quiet neighbors actually secret misanthropes who collectively, on average, desired the rest of us to explode in a puff of smoke, never to bother them again?

  Speaking of smoke…

  I hurried outside to see if there had been any change in the color of the sky.

  Yes. It was a clear, bright blue from the tops of the trees along the ridge to the roofs and utility poles of downtown. The air was clean, as crisp as the coast, and smelled of damp earth and evergreen trees.

  Relief rushed through me. Something about fire was worse than any demon attack. It had no motive but to consume and destroy, growing more powerful with each inch it traveled.

  But the genie hadn’t stopped the exodus, only the fire, and the traffic along Main Street continued to flow smoothly, each car rolling at the same speed as before as if it were a freight train.

  It was the witches who were leaving now, their belongings strapped on car roofs, into truck beds, and pulled behind in trailers. I saw the family that owned the taqueria in their catering van; the pink-haired witch in her nineties who I’d only seen online organizing food drives; the retired Protectorate agents with the B and B with private beach on the river. Everyone was leaving now, willing or not, just because Flor was ambitious, Bosko was a bigot, and Jen Bardak, who I liked more than either of them, was willing to let the world burn to obey her code of supernatural commerce.

  Perhaps that was unfair; she’d said it was a curse. Perfect was the enemy of the good, even for the semi-immortal.

  I got in my Jeep and headed for the winery, where I hoped Flor was with the rest of the agents. They wouldn’t have evacuated until the last human had departed. They had to be upset the fire was out. Would Raynor, as the highest-ranking official, be blamed for the failure?

  My trip to the winery was stalled by the flow of traffic; I had to cast a spell to force a gap big enough for me to slide between a red pickup and an unmarked white van, go over the bridge, avoid the suspicious gazes of the utility workers, and then turn left at the entrance to the winery.

  The vineyard along the drive up to the house was overrun with fae who had fled the fire, showing the estate had been sitting in a bubble of magical protection. Fairies danced and twirled in a cloud around the building holding the tasting room, wood dryads camped out along the barren vines, and a bridge fairy swam in the fountain, squirting water from his green, jagged-toothed mouth at the angry gargoyle, who in a show of impressive endurance, had escaped the house and crawled onto the top of a rose arbor.

  I parked as far from the fountain as I could, then got out with my staff. As I recast the protective spells around my Jeep, I thought how Darius would’ve told me I should’ve left it at Cypress and walked. Thinking of him, I took out my phone to send him a text, then found he’d sent me several messages within the past ten minutes in increasing urgency.

  I’m coming over, his last message said. Tell the gnome to go easy on me.

  I’m at the winery, I wrote back. Fire seems to be out.

  Even if I’d wanted to tell him my role in that one, the genie had made that impossible. Nice of him, though, to risk his life to come rescue me, even if he’d only been following orders.

  As I turned away from the Jeep to walk to the main house, I saw a black Audi sedan parked between two black SUVs. Flor was here.

  I had no way of proving she’d been responsible for Bosko’s murder even if I’d been able to talk about the genie. But if I wanted to prevent the Protectorate from new draconian measures in Silverpool, I’d have to find a way to get her on the hook somehow.

  The smallest fae—a yellow-and-green type, smaller than moths—fluttered in a cloud under the rose arbor leading to the fountain. The gargoyle was still there, flinging insults and magical firebombs at the bridge fairy. When one of his bombs missed the fairy in the fountain and struck a patch of dried grass, it burst into fire. At that moment Flor strode out from behind the house and, after putting out the fire with a quick extinguishing spell, aimed directly at the gargoyle and blasted him off the arbor. He fell to the ground in his natural state: a jade figurine. Nodding in satisfaction, Flor spun toward the fountain and hexed the bridge fairy too.

  Her perfect aim confirmed she was able to see him as clearly as I did. My own ancestry was a mystery, but I accepted that somewhere in my family tree was a man or woman who had been demon possessed, leaving their mark on me. Did Flor know which ancestor of hers had been possessed? Was it a family secret she’d known about for years, or had it been the shock that sent her into a breakdown when we were at school?

  The moment Flor’s hex struck the bridge fairy, every fae in the region fled. The cloud of tiny fairies under the arbor dispersed for a second like an explosion before drawing back together and flying off to the trees. The bridge fairy, limping from Flor’s hex, crawled out of the fountain and ran across the dry, exposed earth—a habitat bridge fae usually avoided at all costs.

  The crunch of tires on gravel made me turn around.

  I stared in shock at Birdie’s RAV4 turning in to a parking spot just behind me. She saw me through the window and waved.

  I strode over, angry because I was afraid. “What are you doing here?”

  Smiling, she climbed out of the car. “I can’t leave you to face this alone. What kind of friend would I be then?”

  Birdie shouldn’t be here. It was too dangerous. “I put a spell on the car,” I said. “How did you break it?”

  She patted the beaded chain around her neck that I’d made for her. “You’re a good teacher.”

  Regretting our lessons, I looked into the Toyota. It was filled with belongings but not my dog. “Where’s Random
?”

  “He’s with Seth,” she said. “Don’t worry. He brought him to the beach until this blows over.”

  A black fairy the size of a monarch butterfly fluttered past my nose. I spun back to Flor, who was still standing by the fountain, rotating in place with her hands extended. Every fairy, dryad, and troll had disappeared. And if I couldn’t see them, that meant they’d fled the area. Even the vineyard was bare of the larger fae I’d seen when I arrived.

  What had she done to them? I thought back to the moment she’d struck the troll. She hadn’t been aiming at them, but they’d fled in terror.

  Terror. Maybe Flor wasn’t just demon stained, but…

  No. She never would’ve taken a job with Bosko if she was a demon, especially with the opal ring so close.

  She’d studied around the world. She must’ve learned tricks and secrets of the fae that others didn’t know. I was no expert myself, preferring instead the botanical arts, but she had a passion for them. She loved them enough to have been willing to kill Bosko, just to study them at Silverpool.

  Flor lowered her hands and began walking toward me.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Gripping my staff, I turned to Birdie. “Go. It’s not safe.” I didn’t think Flor would do anything—she didn’t know her secret was blown—but I couldn’t be sure.

  Birdie shook her head, her expression serious now. “No way.”

  I spoke tightly in a low whisper. “Please, it’ll be easier for me if you leave. I won’t have to worry—”

  “Alma?” Flor called out behind me. “Darius was looking for you.” She continued to approach, pulling something out of the pocket of a silver-embedded jacket.

  I put my hand on Birdie’s arm, my breath coming faster. “At least go inside.”

  Ignoring me, Birdie looked over at Flor, her head tilting curiously. “Isn’t that your friend?”

  I thought of the genie’s whisper: trust nobody. “Not anymore,” I muttered. “People change.”

  “I don’t think so,” Birdie said. “You just get to know them better.”

  Flor walked under the arbor, touching up her hair bow, which today was a bright green. The black-and-silver jacket, dark jeans, and black boots provided a sinister contrast to the preppy color. The item in her hand wasn’t a weapon, but car keys. She aimed the fob at her Audi, which chirped.

  She was leaving.

  I realized that I might not have another chance to confront her. She’d traveled the world; she could be out of the country in hours, out of my reach. Without evidence, the Protectorate wouldn’t waste time or resources chasing her down.

  But with the genie’s wish, I didn’t need to prove Bosko’s murder to the Protectorate anymore. I could let her go. Had she really murdered him, just making a wish?

  Yes, I believed she had. She’d murdered a man and might do it again. The Protectorate needed to know.

  For enough power to force a confession, I could tap into Birdie’s natural power even if she didn’t know the spell herself. And my house was just close enough to amplify the power of my staff.

  Flor paused in front of us, just out of arm’s length. “Why haven’t you evacuated?” She studied Birdie, obviously non-Protectorate. “Everyone should be feeling it.”

  “I feel it,” I said. “Though it’s better in here. The winery is protected, right?”

  Flor looked around at the sloping vineyard. “Just around the house. The fae were swarming, but they seem to have gone now.”

  “Seem to,” I said.

  “Maybe they noticed the forest wasn’t on fire anymore,” Birdie said cheerfully. “Boy, that was terrifying, wasn’t it? I’m so glad you guys put it out.”

  Flor frowned at me. “It wasn’t the Protectorate who put it out.”

  I used my staff to wrap me in a veil of truthfulness. “Maybe New York changed its mind,” I said. “Realized it was overkill.”

  Her probe rolled over me, prodding at the edges of my words, searching for deceit, but I’d made a suggestive statement that was too slippery to pin down.

  “They sent Raynor up here to find out what happened,” Flor said. “He’s on his way now.”

  I glanced at the keys she was holding. “So why are you leaving?”

  She flung up her hands and let out a loud, exasperated sigh. “They don’t need me here anymore—can you believe that? Fired, basically. I’ll be lucky if they give me my old job back. Bosko’s death will haunt me forever. He never even made me an apprentice, but it won’t matter. No other mage will want me, not in this country.” Her voice was loaded with the self-pity she’d expressed after the murder, but now I knew better. She did feel sorry for herself, that was true, now more than ever—but only because she’d felt killing Bosko had been necessary for her own survival and she resented the consequences. And now she was already laying the groundwork for an excuse to leave the country.

  “You should stay here and show them how dedicated you are,” Birdie said with surprising career advice. I’d avoided talking about my years in the Protectorate, and she couldn’t know much about it. “If you leave now, they’ll think you’re only looking out for yourself.”

  I caught Birdie’s eye. Did she know something? I’d made a bad habit of underestimating her. “I agree,” I said. “Especially with Raynor on the way. If he sees you here, helping out, he can put a word in for you.”

  And he could take her into custody, or at least prevent her from going too far.

  Where was Darius? The two of us had made an awkward team because of conflicting values, but if we were working together, we could be impressive. If I had his help, I could hold Flor until Raynor arrived. But he wasn’t here and hadn’t replied to my text.

  Birdie put her hand on my arm, and I felt a sudden surge of energy. It was unsteady and untrained, but I could sense it tapping into the ground under our feet, connecting to the staff, filling me with power. Her bonds to Silverpool, to me, and my staff, were paying off. She couldn’t control her power, but I could draw it out of her.

  And she could be a valid witness to Flor’s confession. Two witches against one—the Protectorate would believe it. But we had to act now.

  Pulling the staff closer to my body, I pushed its tip against the driveway. The aggregate concrete had exposed pebbles—granite, I sensed—which I might be able to use to make her talk.

  Flor moved to step past us. “Raynor isn’t going to put a word in for me unless you tell him to,” she said. “And we both know that’s not going to happen.”

  I tried to look sweet and innocent. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I?”

  She shot me a contemptuous look. “Please. You’ll be glad to get rid of me.”

  That seemed like the perfect excuse to try to get her to stay. “Hey, don’t leave on that note. We might not ever see each other again. It’s bad luck to part on a dark word.” I moved my staff to my left hand and held out my right, smiling. “Please?”

  Eyes narrowing, she hesitated. Then, maybe because Birdie had begun to eat a granola bar she’d had in her pocket, Flor decided it was best to act normal. She put her car fob in her pocket and put her hand in mine.

  I’d centralized every resource into my personal magical well: my body, my beads, the staff, the herbs and amulets in my jacket pockets, the granite in the driveway, my distant house, my nearby friend. Now every spark of my power was swirling around the words I formed in my mouth. It would travel through the air to Flor’s ears, into her brain and heart and skin—and hopefully compel her to tell the truth.

  “Were you responsible for Bosko’s death?” I asked.

  Flor’s eyes widened. She tried to pull away, but I held her. The drain on my power began to tug at me physically, making my limbs tremble.

  “Answer the question,” I intoned in a low growl, my voice altered by the magic pouring through me.

  “No!” Flor shouted. She touched the green bow in her hair, and a stabbing pain ran up my arm, forcing me to release her hand.

&nbs
p; Next to me, Birdie cried out and flung up her hands. A second later, she remained that way, arms up and unmoving with her eyes glued open. I realized she’d been hexed.

  Flor pointed at me. “What made you think that?”

  The genie’s lock on my speech prevented me from alluding to her, even to one who already knew of her existence. “Tell the truth,” I said, and again my voice was unnaturally low.

  She gaped at me. Although we no longer shared skin contact, I clung to the tenuous bond between us. While I watched, shaking as I held the spell, the whites of her eyes became bloodshot. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her mouth twisted to one side, lips pressing hard together. She was about to break.

  But then she jabbed a finger at me. “Tell me how could I have done it.”

  Her seemingly rhetorical question landed in my ears like a bomb. Vision flashing, I lost control of the spell I’d cast over her and staggered back a step. As nausea roiled my stomach, I felt my throat close up. The urge to speak became overpowering, but it was battered by the simultaneous requirement to remain silent.

  The hex I’d cast upon her was now acting upon me—and the genie’s magic stood in the way. Speak, my own spell commanded. Don’t speak, insisted a very powerful, alien force.

  I was being torn in opposite directions. Never before had I felt so much pain—psychic, emotional, physical, magical. How could I fight my own magic without destroying myself?

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I flung aside the staff, afraid Flor was using it against me somehow. The pressure to speak lessened slightly.

  But then Flor stepped closer, her bloodshot eyes blazing. She turned her arm and pulled up her sleeve, exposing a gold cuff bracelet that emitted a white glow that was too bright to look at directly.

  Whatever it was, it was the thing that had reflected my spell.

  She touched the green hair bow, and another blast, harder than the first, struck me between the eyes.