After we hang up, I slump low in my seat, scrubbing my hands up and down my bare face, surprised to find my cheeks damp. I exhale a drawn-out breath. Absently, I comb my fingers across my scalp and through my long hair, pulling apart a few knots while I think about what Clancy said. It was a good conversation. A necessary one. He feels so deeply troubled that his friends were hurt, that they are still hurting. But I don’t have the luxury of time right now, nor do I want to face the town just yet.
This house hasn’t seen this many overnight guests since my parents’ funeral. So many loved them and came to say goodbye. They were happy to sleep on sofas or on the floor when the bedrooms were all claimed. It didn’t matter where they slept. They just wanted to be here. I should check the linen closet to be sure there’s enough sheets and towels for everyone. And I’llorder groceries to be delivered. If I get started today, I’ll be ready for everyone when they arrive.
When I finish answering all the emails that need my attention, I finally place my mug and teapot in the sink and head upstairs. First thing, I open the windows in the spare bedrooms to let in fresh air. In one of the rooms, the pretty blue feldspar charm I use to attract particulate matter needs magickal recharging. We call it a “dust magnet” at my shop, selling different sizes and strengths of enchanted charms. This small one should be coated in dust and cat hair, but it’s not. It’s perfectly clean, meaning all that dander is collecting elsewhere. I’ll have to thoroughly clean this room today. Another thing to add to my long list. Normally I would recharge it myself, a small zap would have it as good as new. Now, well…
I pick it up, holding it between my thumb and forefinger, staring at the innocuous little stone. My instincts emerge, ready to pour a tiny amount of magick into it. My skin tingles lightly, a familiar remnant of my magick. Then it fades to nothing.
I blink hard and suck in a shuddering breath. I squeeze the now useless rock tightly in my hand, a jagged edge biting into my palm. A welcome distraction to keep me from losing it. Before I end up in tears, I slip it into my pocket to bring to the shop with me later this week for one of my staff to recharge. I should check the other ones too. I wouldn’t want witnesses to my dusty house I seem unable to take care of in my magickless state.
Chapter 3
Ada
Aknock on my front door echoes from the high-ceilinged foyer. Mother Earth in all her glory, please do not let Norrell be the first to arrive. I should have asked Walt or Clancy to be here with me just in case. Even my thoughtful friend Thea, who has been checking in on me since she healed my physical injuries after the attack, would drop everything to help.
My footfalls tap much too loudly as I cross the room toward the front door. The foyer makes a grandiose statement when someone enters the house, but right now it feels like the walls are pressing in on me. I wipe my clammy hands down my dress. When I reach the door, I peek through the eyelet. My tension releases into a noisy exhale when I see it’s nothim. Mayhap he won’t show up. No, that would require luck that abandoned me long ago. While slowing my breathing, I smooth my hair and dress one last time. When I open the door, a stranger and a friend wait at the threshold.
Greeting them both with a genuine, relieved smile, I usher them and their luggage inside saying, “Welcome to Monstera Bluff. And to my home.” Thrusting my hand out to the stranger, a capable-looking bear shifter in her late fifties from Upstate New York, I greet her, “I’m Ada. You must be Aurelia?”
“I am. Good guess. I’m thrilled I snagged a spot in your house. I’m not a fan of cramped spaces. The inn just seemed like it would be too busy for such a long stay,” she answers, blunt but not unfriendly, as she firmly shakes my hand. Her ruddy, tanned skin and the sturdy hiking boots she wears tell me that she spends a lot of time outdoors.
“Well then, I’m very pleased you’re here. The woods are not far, either. Our wolf pack will get you acquainted,” I assure her.
I finally get a good look at my old friend. He’s noticeably matured since I’ve last seen him in person. His dark hair hangs long enough that the ends curl. He always dressed well, but his slacks and collared shirt looked pristinely tailored. He holds himself confidently, having aged out of that cockiness of youth. He looks every bit the part of lead investigator of major crimes committed in the Whispered Folk world, a position earned through his hard work and uniquely powerful magick.
“Niven!” I cheerfully address him, reaching up to hug his tall, lean frame, clutching his unexpectedly broad shoulders. “I’m so happy you accepted my invitation. It will give us time to catch up while you’re here.”
“I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to spend time with you.” As he steps back from the hug, his hands grasp mine, holding them between us in a comforting gesture. “From the bottom of my heart, I am so sorry for what you’re going through. When your clinic contacted us looking for a healing spell or a cursebreaker that could help you, I could scarcely believe it. I won’t rest until we find it,” Niven vows. His voice is deeper and gruffer than I remember.
“I know you won’t.” I sigh. “It’s been difficult. The attack… and then my magick… It’s probably like losing a limb, phantom pain and all. But I’ll adjust someday. If I have to.” I chew on my lips to stop rambling.
“You lost a considerable piece of yourself. No one expects you to just get over it. It was a singularly traumatic event,” he reasons, his green-eyed gaze holding mine, welling with sympathy.
I look away when tears sting in my eyes, his compassionate appraisal almost too much to bear. Letting go of Niven’s hands, I slide back into my role as hostess, an easy way to distract from myself from turning into a sad sack.
“I don’t want to bog you down with my issues when there’s so much else to worry about. Let me show you both to your rooms. Then I’ll give you the full tour. It must have been a long trip from New York,” I stammer, gesturing toward the grand staircase to the second story that wraps around the back wall of the foyer.
Aurelia’s face lights up as she says, “I only had to get myself to New York City. The coven transported all of us coming from the tri-State area through their portal. Like pushing your way through a closed curtain charged with static electricity. I’ve never felt anything quite like it!”
“It’s been quite a long time since I traveled through it, but that strange feeling is unforgettable. I always pat myself down to make sure all of me made it!” I agree.
Due to the warlocks giving a travel amulet to the fae, the coven has been vetting all arrivals at our outpost, a building just outside the ward enchanted to look like a decrepit, dirty gas station. It really is a gas station, as well as a post office for mail to and from the human world, and a neutral meeting place. Our coven also maintains our travel portal there, connecting to many other key locations around the world. The high cost of magick spent opening it on both ends requires a good reason or an expensive fee. Well, this qualifies. Some of those coming here will be taking this shortcut, so to speak, and avoid human-made forms of transit, which often require uncomfortable glamors toavoid detection. Aurelia and Niven were born under a lucky star to forego that burden today.
Though I ask out of courtesy, neither Aurelia nor Niven need help carrying their bags. Both are visibly stronger than me. “Go ahead and hop on my back. I’ll carry you too!” Aurelia jokes as she starts walking up the stairs.
Niven, still standing at the base of the stairs with me, quirks his mouth like he finds her amusing. On the surface, they’re a seemingly odd pair to become fast friends, but they clearly get along. Based on my first impression of her, she’s brash with a strong, though not domineering, presence. Niven is more of a chameleon. He can blend into the background or, if you’re the focus of some of his more particular magickal abilities, he’s all you can see.
I asked him to try it on me for fun once, his ability to extract the truth from anyone, no matter how unwilling. It was an unsettling experience I wouldn’t want to repeat, even though he went very easy on me. He had been self-conscious about it since it’s a form of mind control, not wanting to frighten me or do something to fracture our friendship. It took some cajoling, but I managed to convince him by providing a couple benign questions to ask me. When he began, my awareness of the world shrank, confined to just his voice and authority. There was no opportunity to veer from the truth. I folded immediately and divulged my favorite pizza topping and the best book I read that year. If those simple questions were imbued with such intensity, I can’t imagine what it’s like for suspects he interrogates. Mayhap because I knew Niven so well, it didn’t scare me. I trust him not to abuse that power. But I learned I’d never want to be on the receiving end of it in any other circumstance. If criminals knew what they were in for, it would be quite the crime deterrent.
I’m probably one of the few friends he would humor with that experience. Some find it unnerving—I’ve personally overheard other witches talk about it with callous ignorance, saying it’s dangerous and unnatural—but I think it’s fascinating. If that magickal ability had to manifest in someone, he’s the best one for it, though I would never underestimate its burden on him. He has done such good work for the Whispered Folk world, though. I hope he’s found fulfillment in it.
He wouldn’t hesitate if I asked him to be a buffer from Norrell. Maybe I could convince Niven to find out exactly why Norrell left. The thought nearly causes me to snort out loud. I won’t do that to Niven. Norrell, yes, in a heartbeat. He deserves to squirm. But Niven’s magick is in demand for much more important work.
Niven motions for me to go ahead of him, following Aurelia up the steps. I show her to the room she’ll be sharing with Cyrinda and give her a quick rundown of the room and the nearest bathroom for her to use. Then I lead Niven to another room down the hallway, nearest to mine.
“I hope this won’t be too cramped. It used to be my father’s study. I thought you’d like to have a desk to work at in your bedroom. I tried to declutter, but I may not have done a good enough job. If you need more space, I can box up some of these books and knick-knacks,” I offer, my voice upswinging into a question as I motion my hand toward the large, antique desk.
“This is exactly what I hoped for. Thank you for allowing me to use it,” he answers graciously as he rolls his suitcase just inside the doorway.
