Obsidian Curse (16 page)

Chapter 28

Back on Main Street, I saw people walking out of the bookstore and toward the Black Opal, so I made a left and went there first.

I hung the coat up because it was starting to make me sweat and I didn’t want the stink tattooed on my skin.

A young bartender walked over to me and took my drink order just as Cinnamon sat down next to me.

“Hey, where’s Chance?” she asked. Tony handed me my bag and then went behind the bar to assist with the cocktail orders.

“He was tired. Had a long day.”

The bartender, who smelled faintly of motor oil, handed me a glass of Merlot. She smiled at me and I couldn’t help but notice she was stunning. Long jet black hair, amber eyes, and pinup-girl curves.

“Thank you.” I studied her with the intensity of a boxer sizing up his opponent.

Cinnamon said, “Hey, Daphne, this is my cousin, Stacy.”

“Nice to meet you,” she said cheerfully.

“Likewise.”

Cinnamon told Daphne to start a tab for the crowd and she turned around to ring up the wine.

I watched the long-haired bartender walk over to Tony. She touched his arm as she talked to him, pointed to a few things, and when he shifted over to stock the beer cooler, I couldn’t help but notice she let her eyes linger on him a little too long.

The woman certainly fit the description that Birdie and the aunts had given me of the Leanan Sidhe. Perhaps she wanted a host who looked like herself? That, coupled with the fact that the bartender smelled like motor oil—because they insisted the fairy mistress would smell like her target—and seemed a bit too interested in Tony gave me pause.

“Who is she?” I asked my cousin.

“She’s new in town. From Las Vegas.”

“Las Vegas? What’s she doing here?”

Cinnamon shrugged. “I’m not sure. She said her parents were raised here, but they’re gone now. Said she’s helping out an aunt who’s ill. She fills in here sometimes, but she’s mostly been at the garage helping Tony.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You’re going to let that around your husband?” I sipped my wine. It was peppery and warm.

Cin rolled her eyes. “I don’t think I need to worry about that.” She slid her eyes in the direction of where Daphne had been standing.

When I traced her gaze, I caught Daphne staring straight at me. She quickly averted her eyes and busied herself lining up glasses and filling them with ice.

Cin let out a snort. “She plays for the other team. And I think she likes you.”

Or that’s her cover,
I thought, deciding that it might be a good idea to keep an eye on Daphne. And possibly Tony for any changes.

“I hope you put that on my tab.” Blade sidled up next to me and ordered a scotch on the rocks from Daphne.

Cinnamon slid off her stool. “Don’t worry, Knight. Drinks are on you.” She disappeared into the bathroom.

“Well, actually, they’re on my publisher.” He smiled and scanned the room. “Where’s the boyfriend?”

“He went home.”

He cocked a brow. “Nothing I said, I hope?”

I gave Blade a wry smile. “Actually yes, he hated the reading.”

“Touché.” He clinked my glass.

“So what did you want to talk about?” I asked.

He leaned in and said, “I asked Leo if he could track down the original suspects listed in the report. He said he’d get on that tomorrow. I was wondering if you’d go to my parents’ house with me.”

“Why?” I took another sip of my wine.

“You know, do that voodoo that you do so well.”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay. I have two interviews in the morning. I’ll text you when I’m done. In the meantime, I found out a few things. I’ll fill you in on the details later, but I want you to work the room and tell whoever will listen that your next project is a retelling of Silverberg’s
Book of Skulls
.”

“Why?”

“I have a hunch.”

Blade said, “Okay. Come on, I want you to meet my agent.”

I followed Blade to the far side of the bar. Frieda was standing near Lolly’s coat, admiring the plushness of it.

She stopped me. “Hi, Stacy. This is yours, right? I thought I saw you wearing it in the bookstore.”

“Actually it belongs to my aunt.” I motioned to Blade that I’d be right there.

“May I?” she asked, her voice giddy.

“Knock yourself out.”

She tried on the coat that thousands of stuffed animals must have given their lives for, admiring the stitching.

Gladys came up to me then, a screwdriver in her hand. She pointed out her interview subjects and I told her I’d love to meet them after I met Blade’s agent.

I wove through the tables and found my way to the corner where Blade stood, and a few other people were gathered.

“Stacy, this is Yvonne, my agent.”

She was in her late forties, with a sleek haircut and hungry eyes. She looked every bit the New Yorker in a navy coatdress tailored to fit her thin hips, boots that cost more than my mortgage, and a bag that likely hadn’t fallen off the back of a truck. She smelled like old money and new books.

I stuck my hand out. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Yvonne declined my hand and said, “I’m afraid I have a terrible cold. Wouldn’t want to pass it on to the woman who’s working with my star author. Have to keep you both healthy so he can pump out the next book.” She smiled warmly, then held a tissue to her red nose.

Someone asked what he was working on next and Blade, true to what we had discussed, began gushing about a retelling of
The
Book of Skulls
.

Yvonne snapped her head around so fast, I was afraid she popped something out of place.

She seemed to debate calling Blade out right there, thought better of it, and instead turned to me. “I thought he was doing a true-crime piece about small towns in the Midwest. I thought that’s why he was here talking to you.”

I shrugged. “Authors.”

She gave Blade an odd look, then excused herself. I watched her walk to the bar and order something.

Caleb approached me then. “Where’s my brother?”

“He went home. Do you think you could check on him? He seemed…upset.”

“Why? Because of this clown?”

“I honestly don’t know,” I said. And I didn’t. Maybe Chance was stressed out from working too much. I hoped that’s all it was anyway.

Caleb must have seen something in my face because he kissed my cheek and said, “I’ll take care of it.”

“I appreciate that, Caleb.”

He winked, grabbed his coat, and left.

Derek was sitting at the bar next to Gladys. She was talking to a tall woman with bobbed hair angled at her chin, dressed in a very complicated collection of scarves, jewelry, leggings, a skirt, and a sequined tank top with a sweater and a shawl. I could only assume it was the fashion designer. She looked to be in her fifties, judging from the lines on her ringed hand, but either Botox or time had been kind to her.

I squeezed into an open spot next to Derek, who was flirting with the bartender as effectively as a guy with a lazy eye who lives with his parents.

“Hey, Romeo. How’s it going?”

I turned my back to the bar and plopped my elbows on it. Daphne asked if I needed anything and I declined. She frowned and whisked away to serve another patron.

“Why do you always do that?” Derek asked.

“Do what?”

“Crunch my mojo.”

“Well, the way Cin tells it, your mojo is wasted on tall, dark, and luscious.”

“Why? Boyfriend?”

“Nope. Let’s just say she butters her bread on the other side of the toast.”

Derek frowned. “No. Really?”

“That’s the word on the street.”

He sulked into his beer and I told him the article was in his in-box.

Gladys said, “Stacy. Please to meet Lucinda. She is fashion design lady.” I walked over to them. Lucinda took one look at my attire and said, “Honey, you need to come to New York and let me dress you.” She flicked her eyes toward the coat rack. “And burn that piece of shag carpet the minute you get home.”

I instantly disliked Lucinda.

“I’ll get right on that.”

She turned her head to lift her martini and I caught a glimpse of her earrings. Black skulls. She was certainly old enough to have known Blade’s parents. I was just about to ask her if she knew the author when a text from Birdie chirped on my phone.

Come home immediately. We have word from the Council. Blade Knight is not who he appears to be.

I looked at Blade, who caught my eye and winked. Yvonne was standing next to him drinking a mug of steaming something, talking to the scientist I was supposed to interview tomorrow.

“Hey, guys, I have to leave,” I said to Derek and Gladys. To Lucinda, I said, “Nice to meet you.” She nodded as if the pleasure was all mine.

I made a mental note to pump Gladys for all the information I could about Lucinda before I left the Black Opal.

As I walked out, I felt two pairs of eyes boring through my back.

Chapter 29

I jogged up the hill toward the Geraghty Girls’ House, wondering what Birdie could have meant by that message. I kept my eye out for wayward fairies the entire way, making sure the coat was buttoned all the way up to my throat.

A block before I reached the house, I tripped over some sort of vine in the middle of the street.

Except it wasn’t a vine. It was a trap.

I heard snickering and smelled chocolate chip cookies before I saw him. I reached inside the inner pocket of the coat where Lolly had said there was an athame, but before I could get my hands on it, the sneaky little toad lassoed my legs. I crashed to the pavement and caught a glimpse of him as I squirmed there on the street like a worm after a hard rain. He looked like he should have been on a cereal box instead of trying to hog-tie a human four times his size. I reached out with my right hand and grabbed the rope. The damn thing was sizzling hot and it seared my flesh.

“Agh!” I yelled.

Captain Butt Munch snickered.

I assessed my surroundings as he dragged me to a nearby tree. His home, I assumed. There was a garden shovel and a rake that someone had left near their garage, but I was way too far to reach either of them.

He pulled me farther through the lawn and I was clutching clumps of dirt and grass, trying to secure a hold on something, anything. At one point, the rogue fairy dragged me close enough to grab a good-sized rock. I hurled it at him. Missed.

Then he lassoed my right arm.

Frantic now, I kicked and screamed, shouting every enchantment I could think of for banishment, but none worked.

The little bastard was freakishly strong and he kept chugging along like a redneck at a tractor pull.

Then, I saw my chance. A metal garden stake was inches away from my left hand. I yanked it out quickly, but he was faster and captured my last free limb.

We were getting closer to the tree and I desperately searched for something, anything, that would get me out of this mess.

I saw nothing.

He stood in front of the maple, me on my back, helpless as an infant, and waved his hands around. The tree trunk yawned open, revealing a bright light. I couldn’t see anything inside of it. All I could think was,
So this is how it ends? Lassoed by a Kellogg’s character and buried in a tree trunk. Awesome.

Then, just as he turned to yank me through to the other side of whatever the hell was beyond the tree, Pickle plummeted from the sky and knocked my attacker unconscious.

The fairy was camouflaged in sunset-colored fall leaves. He must have been hiding in the treetop. He shot me a grin, then got busy securing the enemy in a gunnysack. He walked over, took out a blade, and severed the ties around my legs and arms. Then he licked my hand.

“Happy to see you too, my friend,” I said, scrambling to my feet. “Happy to see you too.”

Birdie opened the door back at the inn. “Well, it’s about time you got here,” she said.

“Sorry. I was tied up.”

I didn’t know where Pickle had gotten off to, but he wasn’t behind me when Birdie shut the door.

I hung up the coat and went to use the restroom, realizing I hadn’t eaten dinner yet. With everything that had happened earlier, I wasn’t even sure there was dinner. My stomach growled angrily and I went back into the parlor to ask Birdie if there was any food.

“Yes, yes, upstairs in the Magic Chamber. Come now, there’s much to do.”

She grabbed my hand and I yowled.

“I burned my hand, Birdie.”

She examined it, said there was ointment in her medicine bag, and rushed upstairs. I followed.

There was another door at the top of the front stairs that separated the private quarters from the guest suites. Birdie unlocked it, grabbed some salve from the medicine bag that was still in the bathroom, handed it to me, then hurried down the hall.

I followed her through the door at the end of the hallway that led to the chamber room. We had to crawl down a narrow passageway first, but we reached it in moments. There was another door and Birdie simply waved a hand to open it.

The full coven was there, donned in ritual garb, and Birdie took her seat at the helm of the round table. The massive table was etched with scenes and symbols of our Celtic heritage, highlighted with glittering gold filigree. There were thirteen red velvet chairs situated around it, and in all but one sat a witch of varying age and ethnicity.

I smeared the ointment on the burn, then grabbed some olive tapenade, three tea sandwiches, and some cranberry juice.

My grandmother held a gavel in her hand as she instructed me to sit. She smacked the gavel on the table and called the meeting to order. She was wearing her special pentagram necklace and it jingled as she took her seat. It had been crafted for occasions just like these, with a thick pewter base, pyrite on each point, and a huge black obsidian in the center—all of which aid in fighting dark magic.

“What I am about to say does not leave this room,” she began. “Each of you will be sworn to uphold the Celtic laws of a program that has been in place for more than a millennium.”

The women chattered in hushed whispers among themselves, anxious for what Birdie was about to say. Lolly passed around the Blessed Book and each woman took a moment to swear secrecy and alliance.

“Birdie, do you think this is a good idea?” My eyes darted around the room. While I knew most of the women and Birdie certainly trusted them, in our line of work one couldn’t be too careful. You never knew when a friend would turn foe. There were several attractive women in this room who would certainly serve the Leanan’s purposes.

She looked at me, her eyes fierce. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

The Council must have given her some sort of temporary pass to include the coven in this mission. Whatever it was.

My knee was shaking. There was a lot to do and I wished she’d just get on with it.

Fiona turned on the laptop I bought them and pulled up an Internet page. I was so proud. They’d come such a long way technologically speaking since the last time I had sat in this room.

She clicked to the website of the Royal Irish Academy and I sat up a little straighter in my seat. Now they really had my attention. I nibbled at my dinner, waiting for the briefing.

Fiona maneuvered the mouse and clicked on another page. The image on the screen was that of an ancient text written in old script.

“This is the
Book of Dun Cow
. It was written in the years 1090 to 1106. The primary scribe was Mael Muire. It is the oldest surviving record of Irish literature. The manuscript contains, among other things, the first known recording of the Otherworld fantasies and the introduction of Queen Maeve, who was instrumental in negotiating the peace treaty between the Tuatha Dé Danann and the Druids.”

I heard a loud snore and looked to find Thor napping beneath the table.

Birdie continued. “So as you can see, the book is part fantasy, part reality. Much of the text was destroyed in the Viking wars, but for the most part, our ancestors had been able to determine fact from fiction. Except for one story.”

Birdie nodded to Fiona, who clicked the mouse again. A ravaged page popped up on the screen.

“This is the last page of the book. The title reads: ‘The Places Where the Heads of the Ulster Champions Are Buried.’ It was never completed. For years, the Council has debated on whether this story was fact or fiction. It was suggested that perhaps it could be a blending of the two.”

Heads. Skulls.

I wiped my mouth with a napkin. “So are you saying that the science fiction novel,
The Book of Skulls
, is connected to this story?” I took a sip of the juice.

She rolled her eyes. “Please. They don’t make scribes like they used to. I’m saying that this is a fictionalized version of a true story. A key, if you will, that was to reveal the location of one skull that isn’t a human skull at all, but the legendary—and elusive—obsidian skull.”

Gasps from across the room. Whispers of
I
t really exists
and
I heard one archeologist has been searching for it for decades
and
My art history teacher talked about it
and
My mother told me about it
were scattered across the room. The witch who had collected the gnome and told me Chance had been tainted stared at me. Her makeup-free face was stuck on a look of shock. She scratched her freckled nose, slid her eyes away from me, and tucked a stray dark hair beneath her hood.

I swung my head from one woman to the next.

“What’s the obsidian skull?”

“It was rumored to be the only art the Leanan Sidhe ever fashioned herself. The source of all creativity for humankind. The reason that so many of her lovers went from starving artists to wealthy masters of their crafts. It is the tangible form of the Midas touch. Whoever possesses it would have access either directly or indirectly to an endless pool of valuable creativity. And we believe she may want it back.”

“So if we find it, maybe we can flush her out,” I said.

Fiona said, “It’s our best shot. But she must never lay her hands on it. Because if she destroys it—”

“All art is lost,” I concluded.

Fiona nodded gravely.

The room was silent as every woman absorbed the information.

I asked, “But I don’t understand what this has to do with Blade.”

Birdie said, “We think his parents knew where the skull was located and they were killed because of it.”

Fiona said, “Thirty years ago, a Council member was sent to search for the skull. He checked in, said he had information on its location, and linked it to the Conrads, but he was never heard from again.”

I looked at Birdie.

“It was before I became a Council board member.”

I stood up, pacing the room. So maybe that’s what happened. Maybe Blade’s parents tried to pass off a fake and that’s why the killer became so angry.

But then why destroy the fake? Why risk shooting through my window to do so?

“But wait a minute, if the story was never completed and that was the key to the skull’s whereabouts, then how could anyone have discovered its location?”

“We believe perhaps the father had written a code of his own. Had continued the story of the original scribe. We’ll never know for certain, but the link may have been a lineage back to the original author of the ‘Heads of the Ulster Champions
.’”

I shook my head. “Blade’s father was a teacher and his mother was an artist. Plus, I highly doubt they would have risked their lives and their son’s life. Not to mention, why wouldn’t they give the location of the skull to the Council member to protect?”

“We haven’t determined why that would be. Unless perhaps they intended to use the skull for their own purposes.”

Again, I disputed that. “They bought art at garage sales. They lived on a teacher’s salary. Don’t you think if they had that kind of intention they would have banked on the power of the skull? Cashed in somehow on its creative energy. His mother could have made a fortune selling her own art if that was their plan.”

Birdie began pacing with me, reaching for another avenue.

“Perhaps the Council member was rogue?” Fiona offered.

Birdie looked at her. “Impossible. He was meticulous. Checked in every step of the way throughout the entire mission. He said he had discovered an ancestral link to the original scribe. The Council assumed that link was the Conrads.”

I racked my brain to come up with a solution. What had Caleb said about Blade’s father? He wasn’t just reading
The Book of Skulls
, he was studying it. Highlighting the book, making notes in the margins. He was looking for clues. So maybe someone had tailed the Council member. Someone else must have known that somehow the Conrads were the key to finding the skull.

No. Coach Conrad wasn’t hiding the Leanan’s creation. He was looking for it himself to protect his family. Someone else knew about the skull. If the Council member had linked it to the Conrads, then someone else could have as well. And that person may have thought the Conrads were indeed hiding it, but I didn’t believe that.

I mentioned this to Birdie.

“I suppose it’s possible.”

Fiona said, “Maybe the Council member didn’t get a chance to tell the board everything he knew when last he checked in. Maybe there was more to the story.”

I stopped short and Birdie bumped into me.

“What did you say, Fiona?” I asked.

Fiona repeated her remark.

More to the story. Could that be it? Was it possible that all of this was connected? Was Blade more important to this whole thing than any of us had realized?

I looked at Lolly. “Lolly, is there anything in the Blessed Book about a scribe in the New World? Anything about the Seeker encountering one?”

My hands started sweating as I waited for Lolly to search.

A few of the witches widened their eyes at the word
Seeker
.

“You didn’t tell them that part?” I asked my grandmother.

She gave me an annoyed look.