The Water Witch (15 page)

Only when the shadows lengthened across the floor did I stop. Then I stood back and looked at the library. The floors and brass lamps gleamed. The books stood on the shelves like soldiers arrayed for battle. I’d also rearranged the furniture. The room glowed … and it no longer held any trace of Liam.
It was only a matter of time, I assured myself, before I’d be able to say the same for myself.

I reached into my pocket and took out the Aelvestone. “If we are really connected,” I whispered to the stone, “show me!
Monstrare leoht
!”

A blinding gold light blazed out of the stone. And then the doorbell rang.

I
slipped the stone back in my pocket and fumbled my way to the door, my eyes still dazzled by the light. I opened the door, squinting against the light that formed a corona around the dark figure of a man. My heart beat harder and I thought of Liam in my last dream of him, his face dark against a blaze of Aelvesgold. He
had
come back to me!

But then the man stepped closer and his face came into focus.
Not Liam
. He was good-looking, though, with fair hair that swooped up from a high brow and then fell over one eye like a wing. He wore a wrinkled linen suit and carried a worn leather satchel—the kind British schoolboys used in
Goodbye Mr. Chips
—strapped across his chest. He would have looked like a British schoolboy if his features hadn’t been so severe. He had a strong jaw, high cheekbones, and piercing blue eyes that narrowed at me.

“I’m sorry,” he said with a sexy Scottish accent. “You look disappointed. Were you expecting someone else? Dean Book told me to come as soon as I arrived in town. You are Cailleach McFay?”

He pronounced my name correctly, so he’d probably heard
it from someone who knew me. Still, I didn’t want to leap to any conclusions.

“Who are you?” I asked brusquely, still trying to get over my disappointment that he wasn’t Liam.

He took out a card from the inside of his linen jacket and handed it to me.
DUNCAN LAIRD, DMA
was engraved on the heavy cream cardstock.

“It doesn’t say wizard,” I said.

He smiled, relieving the severe lines of his face and revealing very white teeth. “Oh, but it does,” he said, “if you look at it the right way. Focus your energy on it. You’ve got enough magic coursing through you right now to light up the Eastern Seaboard.”

I stared at the card
harder
, focusing the energy that was fizzing through my veins. A watermark appeared in the paper—a five-pointed star within a circle. A pentacle.

“Cool,” I said. “Does the reverse side have a picture of Jesus blessing the masses …?” I flipped the card over while making my, admittedly, lame joke—really, I was just trying to give myself time to recover from my ridiculous idea that I’d summoned Liam to my door—but the smile vanished from my face when the card burst into flame.

“Uh oh,” Duncan Laird said. “It only does that when it senses an overload of magical power. The spell circle was right. You
do
have a most unusual energy signature. It’s going to take a lot of work to harness your power, but when we do …” He gave me a frankly appraising look that made me blush from the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair. “… you’re going to be magnificent! But,” he added, “I can’t start your training on the front porch.”

He lifted an expectant eyebrow and I realized I was standing with both arms spread across the doorway, hands gripping the frame, effectively barring his entry. “Oh, I’m sorry,”
I said, letting go of the doorframe and stepping to one side. “Please come in.”

Duncan Laird smiled and stepped over the lintel, closing the door behind him. The change in air flow puffed the curtains out in the library.

“It’s an old house,” I said, apologizing for the noise. “Come in …”

I was going to lead him into the parlor but, drawn by the breeze from the open windows, he was already heading for the library. “I love old houses,” he said, running his long elegant fingers over my books. Thank goodness I’d just dusted. I caught a glimpse of Ralph scurrying behind the backs of the books and hoped Duncan Laird hadn’t seen him. “They have their own power. This one feels …” He paused and lifted his head, his aquiline nose creasing as he sniffed the air. “
Charged
. Something has been going on in this room.”

“I was just doing some spring cleaning,” I said. “I hadn’t used this room much recently so I dusted …”

“You’ve been banishing more than dust,” he said, laying his satchel down on the sideboard and removing from it a device that looked like a pocket watch. When he opened it, though, I saw it was no ordinary pocket watch. Its face had three circles on it, each filled with a different symbol and an arrow inside it. Two of the arrows were spinning in opposite directions; the third was pointing straight up and trembling. “You’ve been banishing a presence.” He looked up from the device, keen blue eyes burning into mine with a force that was strangely compelling. Although the last thing I wanted to do was tell this stranger about my romantic troubles, that’s exactly what I ended up doing.

“That would be Liam, my ex.” I was trying for a light tone, but the words came out angry and bitter. “He deceived me!” I didn’t realize how angry I was until the words left me. The
fury rippled from me in a palpable wave. The back door, which I’d left open while cleaning, slammed.

“Ah.” His blue eyes widened and swept around the room and then back to me. “Let me guess, an incubus?”

“How did you know?” I asked, appalled but also impressed at his acuity. “Did Liz Book tell you?”

“No one had to tell me, Cailleach. His presence is still here. An incubus leaves a distinctive mark on a house …” He tilted his head and regarded me. “… and on his victim. It will take more than a little housecleaning to banish his presence.”

“I tried using magic and it went haywire,” I said defensively, afraid he’d somehow intuit that at the end I’d tried to summon Liam instead of banishing him. “So I resorted to Pledge and Windex.”

“And Aelvesgold?” he asked.

“Oh, well … yes. I found this stone and I held it for a little bit just to get some energy from it …”

“A stone? You have a whole stone’s worth of Aelvesgold?”

I removed the Aelvestone from my pocket and held it up for him to see. He took a step back from it, his blue eyes widening, but then reached out for it. I reluctantly put it into his hand.

“Where did you find this?” he asked, his eyes on the stone as he sank down onto the couch. I found it unnerving to see him sitting where Liam had been wont to sit, especially since he said he could feel Liam’s presence.

“In the Undine,” I said, taking a seat across from the couch. “That’s a stream near here.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of it, and I’ve heard rumors that traces of Aelvesgold could be found in it, but I’ve never heard of such a large quantity being discovered or …” He looked up from the stone to me, his blue eyes burning as if they’d absorbed
some of the stone’s power. “… of any witch who could handle this much of it.”

“I’m part fey, on my father’s side, and to tell you the truth, I’m not sure I have been handling it very well. I’ve had strange dreams since I brought it into the house and when I tried to do some spells from Wheelock …” I tapped the book lying on the coffee table. “They went kind of … awry.”

“Show me,” he said or, rather, commanded. His tone was so urgent I dismissed the little bit of pique I felt at being ordered.

“Flagrante ligfyr!”
I said, matching his tone.

The candles on the mantel flared so high they singed the ceiling, but a moment later they sputtered out.

“Fascinating!” Duncan Laird exclaimed, lit up as if the candles still burned. “Try another one.”

I did the wind spell, grateful that there wasn’t any more dust to stir up. Instead a miniature tornado seized Duncan Laird’s satchel, upended it, and scattered a dozen loose sheets of paper across the room.

“I’m so sorry!” I said, leaping to my feet and chasing after the pages.

“No problem,” he replied, clapping his hands and uttering the single word, “
Retrievo
.” All the papers flew into his open hand and shuffled themselves into a neat stack.

“Cool. I could use that for collecting homework assignments.”

“If you tried it right now, you’d probably break half your students’ necks.” He tapped the face of his “pocket watch.” “See this arrow?” He pointed to an arrow that was spinning clockwise within a circle inscribed with a five pointed star. “It measures terrestrial magic. That’s the magic human witches practice using spells, incantations, wards, and hexes. When
you used your spell, it spun out of control, indicating your ability for natural magic is through the roof. Usually, we only get readings like that for wizards of the Ninth Order.”

“Like yourself.”

“Yes,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching. He was flattered but trying not to show it, which was kind of cute. He cleared his throat and went on with his lecture. “But then look at this dial.” He pointed to one that was spinning counterclockwise. It was inside a circle crowned by a pair of outspread wings.

“So the wings stand for fairies?” I asked.

“Yes. A rather crude symbology considering most of the fey don’t have wings, but then this Thaumascope is rather old. This dial measures fey magic, or what’s sometimes referred to as otherworldly magic. It’s what the fey practiced before they encountered human beings. No one knows how it works—or at least no human knows and none of the otherworlders I’ve spoken to are able to explain it, probably because words don’t lend themselves to describing something that exists without words …” A look of annoyance flashed across his face and he pushed away a lock of hair that had fallen in front of his eyes—as if
that
, and not the fey’s inability to describe their own magic, was bothering him.

“Dory Browne once tried to explain it to me,” I said. “She said that when the fey first started teaching magic to humans they just
thought
a thing and it happened. They had no words for spells. But to communicate with humans they needed to put things into words, and then they found that the words added an unexpected power to their magic. She said that the fey loved the little extra
zing
that language gave magic and that they taught humans magic in exchange for … language.” I blushed, recalling that Dory had admitted that the fey had also traded their magic for sexual favors from humans. Fortunately,
Duncan was busy looking at the dials on his Thaumascope.

“We may not fully understand what it is, but we can measure it. This dial indicates that your ability to perform fey magic is also off the charts. I’ve never seen both dials spinning at the same time.”

“But then why don’t my spells work?” I asked.

“Because of this.” He pointed to the third dial, the one whose arrow had stuttered to a trembling stop in one position. I looked at the circle it was in and saw that inside was a drawing of a naked woman, arms and legs extended to touch the rim of the circle, like a female version of Leonardo da Vinci’s
Vitruvian Man
. “This dial measures an individual’s innate ability to process magic. It’s indicating that you don’t have
any
, which is strange coupled with your ability shown by the other two dials. It’s why your spells misfire. Two types of magic are meeting inside you, like two clashing weather systems creating turbulence.”

“You make me sound like a bad day on the Weather Channel. My grandmother always believed that my magical abilities had been canceled out by my fey blood.”

“That’s an old superstition among witches,” Duncan said with a rueful expression. “I think it’s likely that the superstition arose to discourage sexual relations with the fey. Around the time of the witch hunts, a sect of witches believed that if they could separate themselves from the influence of the fey—or demons, as the Church called them—they could escape persecution.”

“The Great Division,” I said, recalling the expression from the reading I’d done in LaFleur earlier.

“Followed by the War of Fluges,” Duncan said darkly.

“I read about Fluges in LaFleur. Witches and fey lived in harmony in the French village until the anti-fey witches closed
its door to Faerie and …” I closed my eyes, trying to recall the exact wording from LaFleur. It appeared in my head in glowing type. “They erased the town entirely.” I opened my eyes. An afterimage of the glowing text hung in the air between me and Duncan. “But LaFleur doesn’t say exactly what ‘erasing it entirely’ means.”

“No one knows. But think about it: had you ever heard of Fluges before reading about it in LaFleur?”

“No.”

“Neither has any other non-witch human. Not only was it wiped off the map, it was erased from human memory.
That’s
how violently the anti-fey witches felt about the fey. Is it any wonder that they started a rumor that contact with the fey would destroy a witch’s power?”

“Do you think my magical abilities have been canceled out by my fey ancestry?” I asked.

“Quite the opposite. You have tons of magical ability, but there’s a blockage.”

“A blockage of what kind?”

Duncan shook his head. I felt a sinking sensation. If Duncan Laird with his Oxford DMA, Ninth Order of Wizardry, and clever gadgets couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me, who could?

He must have seen the disappointment on my face. He leaned forward and took my hand. I felt a spark as our skin touched, a little electric
zing
that must have been a leftover effect of my internal magical storm.

“But I know what might fix it,” he said, squeezing my hand. “Metaphorical magic.”

“Metaphorical magic?”

“Precisely. When Aelvesgold enters this world from Faerie, it fills the spaces between atoms, connecting all things. One of the tricks that the fey taught the first witches was sympathetic
magic: how to manipulate that connection in order to effect change in objects—and people—at a distance.”

“Oh, like a correlative spell,” I said, glad I’d crammed. “My friend Diana did one on me to fix my spine. She created a correlation between my broken neck and some yarn and then knitted the yarn to heal me. Wheelock says that the most powerful spells are correlative ones.”