Halfway Hexed (2 page)

“No need,” he said, rounding the counter to set the mail into Cookie’s straw mail basket. That was George. Mail delivery with military precision.

“All right, have a good day on your route,” I said, moving toward the back.

“Just a moment, young lady.”

“Yes?” I said, turning to face him again.

“We’ve got to discuss the situation at your house.”

I frowned, thinking about our family home, which had sustained fire damage and was under repair. I was staying at my ex-husband Zach Sutton’s house while he was out of town. I’d had my mail forwarded there. “Well, the situation at my house is being handled. Between TJ’s construction crew and Stucky’s brother-in-law, Chuy Vargas, who’s the best carpenter in a hundred miles, they’ll put it to rights. Chuy did the built-in bookshelves at Bryn Lyons’s house, and I can tell you firsthand, he does the most beautiful work you’ve ever seen.”

“That may be the case, but that still doesn’t address the situation
I’m
talking about.”

“I had my mail forwarded, George. Filled out all the paperwork two days ago, and the mail already came yesterday. You guys are a top-notch operation.”

George rattled off Zach’s address with a frown.

“Right, that’s where I’m staying.”

“It’s not on my route.”

My jaw dropped a little. “Right, but I’m not moving off your route permanently. It’s just until my house is fixed.”

“Shoreside is on my route. Highest tax bracket in Duvall, and I’m on that route
by request
. I believe you could stay there if you wanted to.”

“I can’t move in with Bryn Lyons just so you can deliver my mail!”

“You’ve got a package all the way from London, England. Airmail. Express with insurance attached. You going to trust something of that nature to the likes of Jeffrey Fritz?”

“I’ve got a package from England?” I asked, half amused that George couldn’t stand for a high-priority package to be delivered by his rival. “I haven’t ordered anything. And I don’t know anyone there.”

“International mail,” George said with a solemn nod.

“Sounds important. Do you happen to have it on your truck?”

“In my bag,” George said in a grave whisper, as if the package contained state secrets that spies in foreign countries had lost their lives to bringus.

“Well, that sure is convenient. Do I need to sign for it?”

“No. I’ve got my computer. I’ll take care of everything,” he said. He took out the small package and scanned its label, then handed it over. “Zach Sutton’s mailbox isn’t large enough to hold that.”

“George, how did you know I’d be here today? I didn’t arrange with Miss Cookie to use the bakery until last night. I can’t imagine who even knew I’d be here.”

“You’re part of my route,” George said crisply.

I laughed and couldn’t help wondering whether George might have one of the town ghosts as some sort of spirit guide. No one was better informed than the Duvall ghost network.

With his sworn duty fulfilled, George marched out of the bakery, head held high.

I took a pair of scissors and carefully opened the box. There was a double layer of bubble plastic, which I unfolded to find a disc-shaped object, heavily wrapped in white foam packing sheets, making it about three inches in diameter. I raised it. Concealed underneath was a folded piece of thick stationery. I lifted the corner to read the note.

Never let it be taken from you. Keep it secret. Keep it safe.

A chill ran down my spine. I turned the paper over. No signature. Nothing written on it besides the three sentences in fancy black script.

I flipped up the box flap to look at the label. No return address. I set the note down carefully and returned to the mystery object. I pulled off the tape and slowly unrolled it. Peeling away layer after layer, I finally uncovered a beautiful antique cameo brooch. It was about two inches tall. The carved white image of a young woman’s profile stood out from the pinkish-red background. There were flowers tucked into her upswept hair, and she had delicate features, angelic and pretty. The oval rim of the brooch was laced in gold and dotted with the tiniest pearls I’d ever seen. So many precious details. It made me feel like factory-manufactured jewelry ought to be outlawed.

Could Momma or Aunt Melanie have sent it? If so, why hadn’t they written a longer message? And why would they be in England? Or, if it wasn’t from them, who else in the world would have sent it to me?

I reached down to touch it, and a jolt of electricity shot up my arm. My brain seemed to rattle in my skull for a moment and then my vision blurred, the bakery receding.

I staggered, blindly catching myself on the counter just as she appeared. A woman with thick chestnut hair and high cheekbones. Her disheveled clothes, a blouse and skirt, flared out as she ran. I heard her panting breath, the clicking of her heels, and I smelled damp, rain-soaked streets. The haunted look in her wide eyes made my heart contract, and her fear consumed me. I reached out to her, to rescue her, but she went past me and disappeared.

I stood, staring at the spot where she’d been, but there was only black. Trying to catch my breath, I sank shakily to the floor.

Who is she?

The darkness faded, and the bakery reappeared around me. The smell of melted chocolate and baking bread. The ticking of the wall clock that was shaped like a country apron. I shook myself. I was safe at home in Duvall. The girl had been part of a premonition—my first ever. Were they always like that? Yikes. I hoped not.

And who or what had been chasing her? She’d been terrified, running as if her life depended on it. I’d felt what she was feeling. I wasn’t sure if that was normal with psychic visions or not, but it didn’t really matter. Only one thing was important; I had to find out who she was so I could save her from whoever or whatever was chasing her.

Chapter 2

I shook the brooch gently, trying to get the vision to play again, but nothing happened. Turns out, magical brooches aren’t as reliable as DVD players. I was just getting up and dusting myself off when Cookie returned from her lunch. She’s as tough as gristle but has a good heart. At work she wears crisp white shirts with cotton pants under one of her twenty different aprons, and today was no exception. She looked me over with a questioning expression as she grabbed the top apron from the hook and slipped it over her head.

“Good lunch?” I asked, closing the box’s lid on the brooch.

She nodded. “What have you got there?”

“Nothing much. I’m going to step out, but I’ll be back for my meeting with the Fish-and-Fowlladies,” I said, grabbing my tote from the back and hurrying outside. I glanced up at the overcast sky. It looked and smelled like rain. Just like in my vision. Except there was something that made me think that the woman in the premonition wasn’t going to be chased through the streets of Duvall. Although, if she did come to town, it would be a lot easier for me to help her. But what if she didn’t? What then?

I paused for a moment. Why did I feel so strongly that I had to help her? She was a stranger. Presumably wherever she was, she had family, friends, and a local police force. Her problems didn’t have to become my problems . . . but I couldn’t shake the feeling of a bone-deep connection to her. Could she be a distant relative? Some second cousin that I’d never met or heard of?

I drove to Zach’s house and tucked the box under his bed. I could’ve left it in the car, but I didn’t think that was a good idea since I was headed to Bryn Lyons’s mansion for advice. When the note said to keep the brooch secret, I assumed it meant keeping it hidden from Bryn, because he and I were the only magical people in town at the moment.

I pressed the security button at Bryn’s gate and waited.

A voice that I didn’t recognize said, “Can I help you?”

“Sure can. Can you open the gate for me? I’m Tammy Jo. Mr. Lyons probably has me on the list as Tamara, even though no one but him calls me that,” I said, slightly disgruntled at the fact that I’d lost the battle with Bryn over my first name. “My last name is Trask,” I added.

The gate swung open, but I didn’t drive in immediately. Instead, I pressed the button again. “Hello?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“You’re new, huh? Are you Steve’s cousin?” Steve was night security at Bryn’s, and I remembered that Bryn had planned to interview his cousin for the day post.

“Right. I’m Pete.”

“Nice to meet you, Pete. Steve’s a good guy. Maybe he told you that we’re kind of friends?”

“He mentioned you. He said that letting you sneak into the house was how the last daytime security officer got fired.”

That was what Steve had told him?
All
he’d told him? What about the fact that I’d saved Bryn’s life. Twice! Once from poison. The second time from a flame-throwing warlock. Steve should’ve practically considered me his assistant when it came to safeguarding Bryn and his property. Unless you counted the cars I’d wrecked, which I didn’t think anyone should, considering what we’d been up against. I couldn’t believe Steve had told his cousin about my brief stint as a persona non grata at Casa Lyons. I frowned.

“Well, me being off the list and sneaking in—those were unusual circumstances.”

“Let’s hope,” Pete said.

I huffed and drove through. I parked on the circular drive near the mansion’s front door and rang the bell.

Mr. Jenson, Bryn’s elderly butler, opened it and greeted me warmly.

“Is he here?”

“In the dining room. He’s just sitting down to lunch. Have you eaten, Miss Tamara?”

“Breakfast a few hours ago.”

“Very good. You’ll dine here then. We have a special guest chef for the day.”

“He had you bring in a guest chef?” Ismiled and shook my head. “Being rich isn’t the worst thing in the world, is it, Mr. Jenson?”

“It has never appeared to be,” he said with a conspiratorial smile. I followed him down the hall, and he opened the door to the dining room.

If anybody could’ve resisted thinking
wow
, it sure wasn’t me.

There were antique mirrors on one wall and two crystal chandeliers overhead. The wall opposite the mirrors was all windows, showing off the landscaped grounds. The enormous dining room table could’ve comfortably seated fourteen.

Bryn sat at the head of the table closest to the door. He was take-your-breath-away good-looking, but I mostly pretended not to notice. Bryn looked up when Mr. Jenson announced me, and then stood, matching the room’s formality. Mr. Jenson pulled out a chair for me.

“She’s agreed to stay for lunch,” Mr. Jenson said before slipping out.

“That explains the memo I got about hell freezing over,” Bryn said dryly. He’d invited me over for dinner every day since our near-death Halloween night. But I hadn’t been to his house since then, because I’d been working a lot . . . and because I’d been avoiding him. We’d gotten pretty close, which made me nervous. Bryn, of course, never got nervous about anything, even when he had good reason to.

“I’ve been crazy busy, but here I am now, and it’s real good to see you.” I gave him my sweetest smile.

He appraised me with a look that said he wasn’t going to be taken in by a pretty smile. “I’m glad to see you, but dropping by for lunch isn’t the same as accepting a dinner invitation, and we both know it.”

I glanced at the oriental place setting and the white potbellied teapot. “I don’t see what the difference is,” I fibbed. “Mr. Jenson said there’s a guest chef here today, and this dining room’s as fancy as any restaurant. So, what’s for lunch?”

“Sushi,” he said. “My favorite.”

“Makes sense that that’d be your favorite,” I said.

He drew his brows together. “Why?” he asked.

“Your selkie genes.”

After a moment’s contemplation, he burst out laughing. A few days earlier we’d figured out that we’re each part magical creature.

Bryn continued smiling. “I guess that’s one possible reason for my preference, but let’s not spread that theory around.”

I glanced at the empty chairs, then to the room’s corners. “I thought the video surveillance of the downstairs didn’t include sound.”

“It doesn’t, but now’s an excellent time for us to practice concealing our secrets.”

Thinking of the brooch, I agreed, though we clearly had different secrets in mind. “Why?” I asked.

“Several members of the Conclave are en route to Duvall.”

The blood drained from my face, and I braced my hands on the table. The Conclave was supposed to be the World Association of Magic’s version of the CIA and FBI, but the only Conclave guys I’d met had been more into lawbreaking than law enforcement. Plus, the people on the way were sure to be angry and suspicious because of the recent deaths of their colleagues.

“When will they be here?”

“Tomorrow, according to my sources.”

“Well, what should we do? Leave town? Move into a cave or a jungle hut? Somewhere without telephones or ley lines?”

Bryn and I had broken WAM’s laws. We weren’t supposed to associate with each other or to share magic, and all they would have to do to find out Bryn and I had spent time together last week was to ask Bryn’s neighbors. Then the Conclave could lock us up. Or worse.