Casting Spells (17 page)

“Spill,” Janice demanded. “Why did the Mother of the Year and her evil spawn trash your place?”

“In thirty words or less,” Lynette said.

“I can do it in four: the Book of Spells.”

“That woman needs a good family therapist,” Janice said with an eye roll, “not the Book of Spells.”

“I’m with Jan,” Lynette said. “She’s a bitch who’s just trying to annoy you.”

I took another swig of coffee. “What exactly do you two know about the Book?”

“Only that it’s the Holy Grail for sorcerers,” Janice said.

“And that it passes down through the female line of your family,” Lynette added.

“Have you ever seen it?”

“Nobody has,” Janice said. “You Hobbs women keep a pretty close eye on it.”

“Sorcha never showed it to you?”

“She guarded it with her life,” Lynette said.

“So you don’t know what it looks like? I mean, if it’s red or blue or leatherbound or—”

Janice clapped a hand over her mouth to hold back the scream. “Tell me you didn’t lose it.”

“I didn’t lose it,” I said quickly. “I never knew where it was in the first place. Sorcha said I would understand everything when the time was right.”

“Meaning when you came into your powers,” Lynette said.

“Exactly,” I said. “And we all know how well that’s worked out.”

Janice shifted to her game face. “So what if Isadora gets her hands on it. It’s not like she’d be able to use it or anything. She’s not a Hobbs woman.”

“It’s not that simple, Jan. Until the Book is secured by a Hobbs woman with full powers, it’s fair game.”

Up until I came along, that minor detail had never been a problem. I waited while the bad news registered.

“Crap.” Janice always got right to the point. “We’re screwed.”

Lynette leaned over and smacked her on the arm. “Don’t say that!”

“We’re not screwed,” I said. “Compromised, but not screwed.”

“Why is she so hot to get it now?” Janice demanded. “I mean, it’s been floating out there for almost twenty-five years. She could have made her move anytime.”

“According to Gunnar, the spell protects the Book as well as the town, and we all agree it’s growing weaker by the day.”

Janice was not about to be mollified. “If you don’t know where the Book is, how will you know if it’s missing?”

“We’re talking about Isadora,” I reminded her. “If she gets her hands on it, everyone in Sugar Maple will know.”

“Good point,” Janice said. “Terrifying, but good.”

“Gunnar should be here,” Lynette said. “I want to hear what he knows about this.”

“Maybe he’s duking it out with his brother again.” Janice mimed a right hook. “And Mama Bear is refereeing the match.”

“Maybe Isadora and Dane found the Book, and Gunnar is trying to get it away from them.” Lynette has always had a flair for the melodramatic.

“He’s probably sleeping,” I said. “He really looked like hell tonight.”

“He hasn’t been looking well at all lately,” Lynette, the tenderhearted, mused. “And that brother of his is probably going around like a well-fed cat.”

“I saw Dane last night,” I said. “He didn’t look too great but he’s in better shape than Gunnar.”

Janice nodded her agreement. “That’s exactly what Trixie told me when she came through the mist last week for highlights.”

I took a deep breath and plunged in. “Gunnar heard a banshee wail the night Suzanne Marsden died.”

“Oh, please.” Janice rolled her eyes. “If I had a nickel for every banshee wail I’ve heard, I wouldn’t be waxing the Griggs family on a weekly basis.”

“Banshees are nothing but a Vegas lounge act,” Lynette said, laughing. “Lots of noise, not much substance.”

“There’s more,” I said. “The cop and I heard it tonight. I told him it was a fisher over a kill but it wasn’t.”

“Since when are you an expert on banshees?”

“I’m not,” I said, “but he seems to know a lot about them.”

Lynette nodded. “It’s that whole Celtic vibe he has going on. I mean, my Irish grandmother actually believed in leprechauns.”

“We have a leprechaun living at Sugar Maple Assisted Living,” I reminded her.

“Okay, bad example,” Lynette said, “but you know what I mean.”

“What if banshees do exist?” I persisted. “If you hear a banshee wail, does that really mean someone you know is about to die?”

“You’re starting to get on my nerves,” Janice said. “Listen to me: banshees are imaginary. They. Do. Not. Exist.”

“But what if they do?” I couldn’t let it go. “Most people think trolls and sprites and vampires are imaginary too but we know better.”

“Point taken, but I still say you heard a fisher.”

“I know what a fisher sounds like, and this wasn’t a fisher.” Fishers on a kill made a sound like the scream of a terrified child. The cry I heard tonight was different. Mournful. Filled with foreboding. “Gunnar heard the banshee and Suzanne died. I heard the banshee tonight ...”

Lynette mimed a shiver. “I’m not crazy about banshee talk.”

“Neither am I,” I said, “but what if there’s something to it.”

“Call Pam at Sugar Maple Assisted Living,” Janice said. “Ask her if anyone’s about to tip over to the other side.”

“I can’t do that.” I started to laugh despite myself. “I’ll check the obituaries tomorrow.”

“Wuss,” Janice said, but she laughed too. “This place is giving me a headache. I can’t think in this mess.”

She reached into the felted tote bag she carried everywhere and pulled out two plastic baggies filled with dried herbs and flowers then placed a pinch from each in the palm of her left hand. Her incantation was low and melodic and utterly incomprehensible to me. She passed her right hand over her open palm, and right before my eyes the tiny pile of fragrant plant matter vanished.

Dishes pieced themselves back together and marched obediently back into the cupboards. Glasses unshattered and resumed their rightful places on the shelves. Cans, boxes, silver, they all stood up, brushed themselves off, and went back where they belonged.

Even better was the fact that the same thing was happening in the rest of the house.

When a freshly brewed pot of coffee magically appeared in the center of the table and poured itself into our waiting cups, I sighed with pleasure.

“I owe you, Janice,” I said.

“I know,” Janice said with a grin. “You can repay me when you crack that Book of Spells.”

“How big do you think it is?” I asked. “Paperback? Hard-cover? Coffee-table book?”

Janice shrugged. “I’ve seen them tiny as a grain of sand and big as the side of a bus. It all depends on the creator.”

“We’ll need to search the entire town,” Lynette said.

“And we can’t be obvious about it,” I reminded her. “Not while Luke’s living here.”

We divided the search into three sections. I would tackle my cottage, the knit shop, and the pet store that was being turned into a police station. Lynette would take the east side of town, Janice the west.

“Don’t tell anyone,” I warned them. “Not even Lilith. If Isadora gets wind of what we’re doing, she’ll level the town.”

Which would sound like an exaggeration if you didn’t know Isadora the way we did. She made the Wicked Witch of the West look like Mary Poppins minus the edge.

“What about Gunnar?” Janice asked.

“First one who sees him clues him in,” I said, a little miffed that he still hadn’t answered my call.

“You’re going to have to keep Duke busy for a few days,” Lynette reminded me.

“Luke,” I said. “His name is Luke MacKenzie.” The minute I said his name, my stomach seemed to turn upside down. Not to mention inside out. “I need some water.”

Janice was back in a flash with a bottle of Poland Spring. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.” I rested my head on the table. “I think I had too much wine at dinner.”

Janice placed a cool hand against my forehead. “You’re burning up.”

It was Lynette’s turn to check my temperature. “There’s a flu going around. I’ll bet you picked it up from one of those sniffling knitters the other night.”

“I don’t have time for the flu. I’m holding six more work-shops between now and Christmas.” I aimed a meaningful look in Janice’s direction. “You’re supposed to be connected to the natural world. Help me!”

“You should have asked me before you got crazy with the vino,” she said, laughing in the face of my misery. “I could have set you up with a nice little charm that would have protected you but now ...”

“Janice! That isn’t helping.”

“Take the potion anyway,” Janice advised. “You can never be too careful.”

The house had been set to rights. We had mapped out a plan to find the Book of Spells. The coffeepot was empty.

And Gunnar still hadn’t called.

“You know what it’s like beyond the mist,” Lynette said with a wave of her hand. “God knows how we ever get a message through to any of them.”

Actually I didn’t have the slightest idea what it was like beyond the mist, and to be honest, I hoped I never would. If Isadora and Dane were any example of what went on when Fae were left to their own devices, I would rather take my chances with known felons of the human persuasion.

I hugged Janice and Lynette and thanked them for abandoning their nice warm beds to help me out.

“Oh, you’ll pay,” Janice said.

“Definitely,” Lynette said, laughing. “I’m thinking cashmere.”

“Cashmere’s good,” Janice agreed. “But quiviut’s even better.”

“We’ll talk,” I said. The truth? I was so thankful for their friendship that not even my mother’s self-replenishing stash would be enough to show my gratitude.

Lynette was the first to leave. She slowly shrank down to a pinpoint of gunmetal gray and I watched, spellbound, as she just as slowly evolved into a sleek homing pigeon that circled my living room then whooshed up the chimney.

Believe me when I say it never got old.

“The girl knows how to make an exit,” I said, shaking my head in wonder. My best exit was the time I tripped leaving Fully Caffeinated and spilled a mocha latte on my favorite ivory mohair scarf.

“Your cop is coming in at noon to question me. Anything I should watch out for?”

“He’s not my cop, Jan.”

“You’re blushing!” She leaned closer and inspected my face. “I’ve never seen you blush before.”

“I’m having a hot flash,” I lied. “I told you I was premenopausal.”

Her expression grew more serious. “Honey, listen to me: he’s not for you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re looking for a future and that’s something you can never have with a human.”

“I had dinner with him, Jan. A business dinner. Nothing more.”

“You kissed him.”

I felt like I had been sucker-punched. “Were you spying on us?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t have to. Your aura changed. I saw it the second I arrived.”

“It was a preemptive measure. I had to distract him from what was going on in here.”

“Do you really expect me to believe that?”

“And do you really think I’m crazy enough to get involved with a human cop? Give me some credit, Janice.”

The look she gave me was part wonder, part pity, completely annoying. “Sometimes a woman doesn’t have a choice.”

“This is the twenty-first century. We always have a choice.” And mine usually involved wine and old movies.

“Just keep Saturday night open,” Janice said. “My cousin Haydon said he would stop by on his way to the Wizards Annual Winter Solstice Convention in Halifax. I think you’ll like him.”

“You wouldn’t try to sneak another troll by me, would you?”

“Six feet two inches of pure wizardry,” she promised. “You won’t be disappointed.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I already was.

13

LUKE

 

I hooked up with Paul Griggs and his sons in front of the old pet shop the next morning. The sun was just beginning to rise over the mountains to the east, and the boys already had five o’clock shadows.

“How old did you say your sons are?” I asked as they fell on the donuts and coffee I’d picked up at Fully Caffeinated.

“Fourteen and fifteen,” Paul said. “They’re big for their age.”

That was an understatement. Both kids were taller than me and I’m six-three. They were also the hairiest pair of teenage boys I had ever seen. Their old man was no slouch in the body hair department, but clearly puberty had hit those kids hard.

“Sorry I’m late,” I said as I grabbed a donut for myself. “Damn truck stalled out on the bridge. Took ten minutes to get it to turn over again.” I didn’t mention that my wipers went wonky and the radio kept blaring disco instead of the sports preset.

“I know a shortcut,” Paul said. “You can avoid the bridge entirely. On icy days that’s not a bad thing.”