Obsidian Curse (17 page)

If I was right, then everything—Blade showing up when he did, the newspaper clippings about me, the strange feelings I had when I was near him, him seeking my help—would make sense.

It wasn’t long before Lolly found a passage and read aloud. “The Seeker shall cross paths with the first Scribe of the New Age. Quill and sword must unite to protect a legend long ago lost.”

“So what does that mean?” Birdie asked.

I took a deep breath and grabbed my grandmother’s shoulders.

“It means that Blade is the Scribe. It means his parents didn’t know where the skull was. It means that the Council member who tracked the lineage of the original Scribe was right. He just had the wrong Conrad.”

Birdie’s eyes widened. “It means no one could find the skull because thirty years ago, the rest of the story hadn’t been written.”

Chapter 30

Blade Knight had gifted his entire collection of Tracey Stone books to the library at the inn. He had signed each and every one of them, and Birdie and the aunts agreed that his personal stamp on the page might give us an advantage in searching out clues in the text. Clues we hoped would lead us to the obsidian skull, and in turn, the Leanan Sidhe. Since the Council member who had tracked the Conrad family all those years ago believed there was a lineage link to the original scribe who had begun the story in the
Book of Dun Cow
, it made sense that Blade was the one to finish it.

I found it interesting that Blade had told me about the writer’s subconscious and how it leaked into his work.

He didn’t know the half of it. Scribes are gifted at birth with storytelling, but more importantly, they hold the keys to history. Those keys—or rather clues—were embedded in their work completely unbeknownst to the author.

Like a perpetual state of automatic writing.

Birdie, the aunts, and I were all convinced that Blade’s books held the key to the location of the skull—and possibly other treasures we had yet to learn about. And that my great-grandmother Meagan’s vision was dead-on accurate.

Now, we just had to pick apart the story and piece it together again.

“So here we are, ladies. Everyone grab a book.” Fiona said.

I reached for
Stone Cold
and went to grab a seat, but Birdie stopped me.

“Stacy, a word, please.”

She pulled me aside to the hallway that separated the library from the parlor.

“It has come to my attention that perhaps Chance has fallen under the Leanan Sidhe’s spell.”

I shot a look at the witch who had approached me on the street earlier. She was probably only twenty-two or twenty-three years old, but I expected more from an initiated coven member. I could handle my own messes; I didn’t need a neophyte tattling on me to my grandmother. The young witch felt my eyes on her and turned, smiling. The smile fell from her thin lips when she caught my glare.

“Now don’t go blaming poor Shannon. She was only doing what I asked of her.”

My glare quickly shifted to Birdie. “What you asked of her? What are you talking about?”

Birdie’s voice was irritatingly calm. “You have quite a task to fulfill, not to mention an army of angry Fae on your tail. You cannot possibly do this all by yourself. I’ve asked everyone to keep their eyes and ears open and report back to me any unusual behavior.”

“It’s under control, Birdie. Chance is fine.”

I wasn’t 100 percent certain about that, but I was certain I could find a better way to protect him myself than having complete strangers follow him around town. I could bind him if I had to. Weave a protection spell all around him. That would be better, because who knew if Birdie’s coven members could be trusted? These were woman I had only met a handful of times if at all.

No way was I going to trust Chance’s safety to anyone but me.

“We’re all in this together, Stacy,” my grandmother said. “You need to learn to work with a team when it’s required.”

“I don’t need a team when it comes to Chance.”

She lowered her voice. “Then be prepared to lose him.” She carried her book into the parlor and sat down to read, without giving me another look.

Maybe she was right, maybe I did need help, but it wouldn’t come from someone I hardly knew.

I texted Caleb and asked how Chance was doing. He texted back that Chance was fine. He had just gotten home and they were having a beer.

So where had he been these last couple of hours?

I sighed, grabbed the book, and found my own spot in the parlor.

Every witch was using her own method for ferreting out information from the books. Some were using scrying mirrors, others crystal balls; one woman had a turquoise necklace around her neck to aid intuitive powers. I was using the locket.

No one was actually reading the books. We were all skimming the pages, using our instincts, spirit guides, and internal messaging systems to highlight passages that jumped out at us. At someone’s suggestion, Lolly had rolled a large whiteboard into the room and, every once in a while, a witch would jump up from her seat and jot down a line that seemed important.

An hour later, Shannon scooted over to me. “I hear
Stone Cold
is about you.”

I didn’t look at her as I said, “You heard wrong.”

She tried another approach. “Did you find anything good?”

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see when we piece it together.”

She folded her legs beneath her. “So that’s the locket, huh? The Seeker’s locket? Wow, it must be so cool to have that title.”

I marked my page and shut the book. “I’m trying to work, Shannon. Don’t you have work to do?”

She gave a nervous laugh. “Oh, I finished mine. You want me to finish yours?”

What was with this girl?

“No.” There was an edge to my voice I couldn’t control.

Shannon inched closer to me and I suddenly yearned for a flyswatter.

“Look, I’m sorry about, um, the thing. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.” Her green eyes seemed sincere and I felt like an ass all of a sudden.

“I’m a grown woman, Shannon. You didn’t get me in trouble with my grandmother.”

“Oh.” She flicked her eyes to Birdie, who looked up as Pickle bounced in the room. “Because she kind of scares me.”

I looked at Birdie too. Her reading glasses were perched on her nose.

“Yeah. She has that effect on people.”

“Not you, though. You’re strong. Stronger than all of us.” Shannon looked behind her quickly. Birdie was reading a note Pickle had handed to her. The girl’s voice was barely a whisper when she spoke. “Maybe even stronger than her.”

“I doubt that.” I looked at Shannon. “I forgive you, okay? Let’s forget it.”

Shannon bobbed her head up and down like a puppy. “Cool.”

Then Birdie said, “The rebels have been taken care of. Now who would like to check on Sleeping Beauty?”

That reminded me. I wondered how Cinnamon was doing.

Shannon shot her hand up. “I will!”

She galloped up the stairs two at a time, her cape in her hands.

“Brownnoser,” I muttered.

The witch sitting next to me snickered.

From across the room, Birdie sighed loudly. “Yes.” Her eyes trained on me. “She’s like the granddaughter I never had.”

I rolled my eyes and went back to the book. There were only a few pages left and I found nothing in them.

I closed the book and stood up to stretch.

Lolly and Fiona were arranging the clues on the board. Several other witches got up to assist. I heard them chattering away, arguing about where the puzzle pieces fit, as I twisted my back and stretched my legs. Birdie played ringmaster until they had a sensible text to work with.

They all took a step back just as a car door slammed. I rushed over to peek out the window. When I saw Blade’s car I chained the door.

“He’s back,” I said.

“Well, that’s unfortunate. Because something’s missing. And we’ve been over every line of all these texts.”

“Something’s missing all right,” Shannon said from the top of the stairs. We all looked over to her. “Monique.”

Chapter 31

“Fiona,” Birdie said.

“I’m on it,” said Fiona.

I gave Birdie a curious look.

“She put a tracking spell on the harlot. She won’t be hard to find.”

Two of the witches turned the board around as I heard a key slide into the lock. I scanned the room.

“The tools,” I hissed.

The witches got busy putting all their talismans away and hurriedly took their seats, books in hand, looking like some sort of book club from an Alice Hoffman novel.

The bell rang and I went to unlock the door.

Blade and his agent, Yvonne, entered the parlor.

The author said, “That was strange. My key didn’t work.”

“Hmm” was my response.

Blade looked around the room at all the women holding his novels. “What do we have here? A new fan club?”

“Something like that,” I said.

Yvonne said, “Wow. Well, you have the author at your disposal. Any questions?”

The women all looked at each other as Blade stood there expectantly.

“Guess not,” I said.

“I have a question,” Shannon said from the top of the stairs. “What happens next?”

Blade’s eyes trailed to the landing.

“Well, young lady, I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

She descended the steps slowly, swinging her hips back and forth. Her voice took on a sultry tone that would impress even Fiona. “Oh, come on. I’m sure you have an unpublished manuscript on your
hard
drive.”

Oh, brother. This was too much. He’d never fall for it.

Blade said, “Well…”

Yvonne looked at him as if the cheese had slid off his cracker. She parked a hand on her hip. “Well, what?”

He shrugged. “They’re my fans. What could it hurt?”

Yvonne slapped him upside the head. “It could hurt sales, you nitwit.” She coughed.

“We won’t leak it, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Shannon purred. She danced her fingers up Blade’s arm.

“See. They won’t leak it,” Blade said to Yvonne.

The agent pulled her author aside and said through gritted teeth, “Do you honestly want to show these people your WIP before your beta readers even see it? Hell, I haven’t even read it. What if it sucks?”

Blade looked hurt. Shannon swooped in to massage his ego.

“Oh, I doubt that very much. Blade’s a master at his craft,” she said.

Blade tightened his collar. “She has faith in me.”

Yvonne sneezed and threw up her hands. “I give up. I’m going to bed. Do what you want.”

Blade watched as Yvonne ascended the stairs. When she was gone, he turned to the group with the enthusiasm of a kid who just popped his first wheelie. “Be right back.”

We all watched Blade bound up the stairs and turn the corner.

Birdie said, “Shannon, that was impressive.”

Shannon clapped her hands and looked at me.

“I would have thought of it eventually,” I said.

Birdie jabbed my ribs with her elbow.

“Just kidding. Good job with the author.”

Shannon’s face lit up.

“Bad job losing Monique,” I said.

Her face deflated.

Birdie gave me a hard look.

“Hey, I’m just using your tough-love approach, Birdie.”

The woman never let me slide on a mistake. Never.

“That’s because I expect more out of you.” She smirked.

“Stop doing that. Stop reading my mind.”

It was nearly eleven o’clock when Blade came back down the stairs. I had a big day tomorrow, so I said good night to everyone, called to Thor, and left out the back door with my bag slung over my shoulder.

The night sky was clouded and dark, but there was a light on in the kitchen of my cottage, only it wasn’t the one I had left on. I pulled my Taser out and motioned to Thor. He slinked around to the side of the door and waited for my signal.

I tested the knob. The door was unlocked. Another thing I hadn’t done. Didn’t ever do.

Slowly, I pushed the door, Taser in hand, Thor at the ready.

The cottage was quiet.

Then I heard movement. I kicked the door as hard as I could and hit something on the other side.

“Ouch! Son of a…”

“Chance?”

I pocketed the Taser and peeked around the door. My man was holding his nose with both hands. A slow trickle of blood dripped down, splashing his tee shirt with red splotches.

“Oh, no. I’m so sorry!”

I ran into the bathroom for a towel and dampened it. Ran back out and tried to gently dab Chance’s wound.

He held up his hand. “It’s okay, Barbarella. I got it.”

He sat down on the couch and tried to stop the bleeding.

Thor walked over and put his head in Chance’s lap, explaining that he had nothing to do with it. He was just following orders.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Fixing your window.” He pulled the towel away. “You’re welcome.”

“I’ll get some ice.”

I put a handful of ice in another towel and handed it to him.

He thanked me and put it to his nose.

“I’m really sorry. I didn’t see your truck. I thought maybe someone broke in.”

“I had a couple of beers with Caleb, so I walked. Dropped the window off earlier today. I wanted to surprise you.” He gave a wry smile. “Surprise.”

“That was really sweet. Thank you.”

We sat in silence for a moment. After a while, he pulled the towel away. “Look, Stacy, I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t even mention it. We both got carried away.”

He shook his head. “No. It’s really not okay. I’ve been stressed out and I’m not myself and I acted like a jackass.”

“Hey, everyone does once in a while. What’s got you stressed? What did you do today?”

He gave me a funny look. “I told you. Just work. That committee. Oh, and I gave a girl a ride who was stranded.”

I wanted to ask,
What projects? Where are you working? Who’s on the committee?
But I thought that would be too much too fast. So I worked backwards.

“Oh? What girl?”

“I think she said her name was Daphne. Works at Tony’s auto shop.”

Bingo. That tartlet just made the top of my list. Lesbian, my ass.

“So the committee is going well?”

“That’s done. Next time I see those guys will be at the reunion.”

Guys? Did that mean men, or was he speaking figuratively?

“So who all was on it?”

“I think the only one you know is Monique. The rest were earlier classes.”

I nodded. “So. What about the projects?”

He shrugged. “Couple of remodels. Everybody wants everything done yesterday.”

“Anyone I know?”

He looked at me and his eyes darkened. “What’s with the third degree?”

“Nothing.” I smiled. “Just making conversation.”

He patted my knee and stood. “Well, I’m beat. I’ll see you later.”

I stood too.

Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go.

“Why don’t you stay?”

Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go.

He smiled at me and squeezed my shoulder. “I need to sleep in my own bed. Plus, you’ve got a lot going on with that author.”

“I’ll always make time for you,” I said, stepping closer.

“Maybe we should take a little time for ourselves.”

“If that’s what you want.”

Say no, say no, say no.

“Yes. Just for a few days. I just really need some downtime.”

“Okay,” I said, choking back a tear.

He put his finger under my chin and lifted it up. I met his eyes.

“Hey, I just need rest, that’s all. Don’t go all girly on me and read too much into it. Okay?”

I smiled. “Okay.”

He grabbed his coat. “Besides. It’ll give you more time to work on kicking down doors.”

I gave a small laugh.

“I’ll pick you up for the reunion.”

He kissed my cheek and left.

And for the second time that week, I was sure I was losing the only man I ever loved. The only man I ever needed.

“Come back to me, Chance,” I whispered.