“This,” Brigitte said, examining her nails, “is so typical. I leave you for one day, and you are nearly killed by something out of Fairy. That is simply embarrassing.”
On the edge of the hotel’s bed, Riga grunted and studied her ankle. It was bruised and swollen, but neither sprained nor broken. Worse was the stench of the sluagh she couldn’t get out of her nostrils. Its stink of corruption clung to her skin and clothes.
Riga dug a pair of tennis shoes from her suitcase and gingerly inserted one foot. Experimentally, she wriggled her toes, tested her weight. It didn’t feel great, but she could walk, and it took her mind off her aching shoulder.
“I do not know how you have survived without me, since…” Brigitte hesitated.
Riga looked up.
“Since I became Pen’s familiar,” Brigitte finished.
But she was no one’s familiar now. “Thanks for stepping in with the sluagh. You could have been hurt.”
Brigitte sniffed. “Pen would have been annoyed if I had returned without you.”
“I need a shower.” Riga hurried into the bathroom and took her time beneath the hot water. Even after scrubbing, she still smelled the sluagh. She hoped it was in her head.
Riga toweled off, dried her hair, and dressed. When she emerged from the bathroom, Brigitte was in the same place she’d left her.
“Where did you go yesterday?” Riga asked casually, brushing her hair. And why had she returned, her aura thick with magic? Brigitte had been up to something, and Riga wasn’t sure she wanted to know what.
Brigitte rose from her chair and dropped onto the bed, jouncing Riga. Riga gritted her teeth against the pain that flared in her shoulder in response.
“There is a fairy spring,” Brigitte said. “I paid a visit.”
“Did you find anything?”
“Magic was done there, and quite recently. But whoever cast the spell left no trace.”
“A powerful spell?”
Brigitte’s forehead wrinkled. “An… opening. Any fool can do that.”
“The summoning of the sluagh?”
“Perhaps.”
Terrific. “It’s irritating that the magic with the biggest harm can take the least strength or talent.”
“And then there is Big Magic, like what happened to me. You cannot command it. It simply is, like gravity, like your in-between trick. I saw you practicing at Lake Tahoe,” Brigitte said casually, “when you thought no one was looking. You are getting quite good at traveling in-between.”
“I suppose I’m a little afraid to try that spell here, given Doyle’s weird magic.”
“It is no spell. The in-between is a part of you. So. We shall find this sluagh. We shall find this magician who summoned it. And we shall destroy them both.”
“We don’t know it was summoned by anyone in the Black Lodge. Like you said, anyone could open a door.” Though that didn’t discount the men in the lodge.
Brigitte shook her head. “But who else would be foolish enough to do so?”
Riga’s stomach rumbled. “Breakfast first. Investigating dark magic second.”
They ate at a restaurant called Alchemy, because the name charmed Brigitte. And then they wandered the Gold Rush-era town and searched for traces of magic.
“It is everywhere.” Brigitte stared at a red barn that had been converted into a burger joint.
“But it was different at Wits’ End,” Riga said. “And the men from the Black Lodge didn’t seem to have any magic at all.”
“Unless theirs was cloaked or masked by the magic of this town.”
“Maybe,” Riga said, uneasy. But the answer didn’t sit right with her. “The magic seems calmer today. Smoother, even if there is still a lot of it.”
“A sluagh has been set free. The damage has been done.”
Riga nodded. The worst of the chaotic feeling had preceded the appearance—or summoning—of the sluagh. “I checked the local papers. There weren’t any reports of animal attacks or deaths by long drops last night.”
“Curious. And more curious that this creature’s first victim was you.”
Riga studied a boarded-up shop window across the street. “Do you think it’s attracted to magical people?”
“I believe it sees you as a threat, and one to be dealt with.”
They wandered across an arched stone bridge. A monarch butterfly flitted in the garden blossoming around the visitor center. Oonagh emerged from behind the circular, stone hut. Tears streaked her face. Her long, golden hair was wild.
A man in jeans and a plaid shirt hurried after Oonagh and lightly grasped her hand.
Oonagh turned to him and shook her head, and he released her. She fled past Riga and Brigitte, her flowered dress rustling a nearby rosemary bush.
The man stared after her a long moment. Then his mouth firmed, and he strode toward a dirt-splattered pickup. He drove off.
Thoughtful, Riga continued down the sidewalk, and Brigitte followed.
“I have not been in a place like this in centuries.” Brigitte stopped and gripped a wooden post fence.
“Where was that?”
“Freudenberg.”
“There’s a fairy gate there?”
“There was,” Brigitte said.
“Was? Past tense?”
“It is gone now.” Brigitte shrugged. “Everything changes. Ley lines shift. And that earthquake in Japan changed many things.”
“Ley lines...” Riga smiled bitterly. More big magic. More things she couldn’t control. “Is there a way for us to track the sluagh?”
“No.”
“Just like that? No?”
“It is a part of Doyle now, a part of its magic. Your little pendulum would simply spin in circles again.”
“You mean it’s camouflaged by all this magic.”
“You could put it that way.” Brigitte’s tone implied it would be very stupid to do so.
Riga checked her watch. “Today’s my day to start with Karin Bonheim. Do you want to come?”
“No. You know how to teach. After all, you taught Pen.”
“You did most of the teaching.”
“I only taught your niece magic. What you taught her was more important.”
A lump hardened Riga’s throat. “What will you do?” She tried to sound cheerful.
“Investigate these ley lines. Investigate this place’s magic. Protect Mrs. Steinberg.”
Riga eyed her. “You think she needs protecting?”
“Do you not agree?”
Riga nodded. “She may. Her defenses are weak, and that old lady knows more about Doyle than...” Than Mac Davidge had? Had he known something that had gotten him killed?
“Than what?”
They turned and walked down the wide street.
“Than anyone alive,” Riga said. “Be careful.”
“Oh, la. You think I cannot defend myself?”
And here was an opportunity to ask about the magic she’d sensed on Brigitte. Riga didn’t have the heart to take it. “Did you notice anything at that B&B where I was attacked?”
“I noticed a sluagh. Surely even you noticed that.”
“I meant the magic there.”
“I feel old magic,” she said, and Riga nodded again.
“Mac and his wife were staying there. His wife is still staying there.”
“Were they now?” Brigitte arched a brow. “What an intriguing choice.”
“I thought so too,” Riga said. “And there’s something else. Three black lodge members are staying at our hotel. Be—”
“Careful. Yes. I know.”
Riga hesitated. “Brigitte, is there anything else you’d like to tell me?”
“Perhaps.” Brigitte ran her hand along the bark of an elm beside the fence. She drew herself straighter and turned to Riga. “I have had a dream.”
Riga smothered a groan. Gargoyles do not dream. However, gargoyles who have inexplicably become human, do. And Brigitte insisted on telling Riga all about this novel experience. Unfortunately for Riga, an ex-gargoyle’s dreams were about as interesting as anyone else’s, which is to say, not at all.
“I was in a small, old-west town,” Brigitte said. “It was charming. Filled with tourists—”
“Doyle?”
“No, not Doyle. It was in a flat, desert land. I needed to gather local folklore about UFO abductions, though I cannot remember why. Also, I was running for vice president, and I wore an outstanding dress of blue brocade. Your President drove us—”
“Us? I was in your dream?”
“Yes. Do not interrupt. Your President drove us to a souvenir shop, and you were looking at old-fashioned cameras. I confess, I became interested too, but you bought one. I kept waiting for press to interview me, but they seemed to be having trouble finding me.”
Riga grunted and wished she were elsewhere.
“And then I was in a forest, and two great beasts were fighting. I could not see them, but I could feel their crashing, like a great weight, and hear branches snapping. Somehow I knew only one could survive. And then I was at that Brazilian restaurant in Las Vegas. You remember it? It serves all those delicious meats, and a waiter kept filling my plate.”
Riga nodded. Gargoyles don’t eat either. But as a human, Brigitte was a committed carnivore. “And then you woke up and were hungry?”
“How did you know?”
“Just a wild guess. Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?”
A station wagon drove slowly past.
“Such as what?” Brigitte asked.
“Such as why I smelled magic on you when you found me at Wits’ End.” Brigitte’s magic had smelled like damp earth after a rain.
Brigitte wrapped her arm around the elm. “I was trying to help—”
“No, you didn’t use magic against the sluagh. There was magic on you from before you arrived. Why did you have to cast a spell in Doyle?”
“I had my reasons.” Brigitte sniffed.
“Such as?”
Brigitte stamped her foot, raising a tiny dust cloud. “Because you will not.”
“Me? What do I have to do with it?”
“Nothing. Nothing since last year. You do nothing. You are a metaphysical detective, and… nothing.”
Riga stiffened. “That’s not fair—”
“Faugh!” She stalked away.
∞
Riga adjusted her hands on the wheel and piloted the Lincoln down the mountain. A bead of sweat trickled down her back. She turned on the air conditioning. It wheezed hot air, and she snapped it off.
It wasn’t fair. Riga had cast her doorknob spell. It hadn’t worked, but she’d cast it.
She sighed and rolled down the window. Things had begun to fall off her aging car. The Lincoln was sixteen years old. It had earned the right to fall apart. But she had the mournful sense this trip to Doyle was their last road trip together.
At least she might get a chance to meet the alchemist of Angels Camp today. She’d heard good things about the magical equipment the woman crafted. If things went well, Riga planned to stop in after meeting with Karin.
Following the directions on her phone, she wound along a residential street dotted with neat Victorians. The homes were all set well back from the road, private. Easy to burgle.
Riga parked beneath an elm in front of a ranch house and squinted at it through her windshield.
This house would not be so easy to break into. A magical ward protected it, and it had been well done. But it looked like it only kept out ill-wishers, so Riga should be able to get through. She checked her watch. She was early.
She called her husband from her car.
“Riga.” His voice rumbled through her. Other noises sounded through the line. Shrieks. Squeals of metal.
“Are you all right?” she asked, alarmed.
He laughed. “We’re at the Scottish Fair.”
Her heart stopped. “We? You took the kids?” Out in public?
“They’re fine,” he said.
“It’s not them I’m worried about.”
“There was some minor levitation—”
Her hand spasmed on the phone. “What?”
“Trust me, in this crowd, no one noticed.”
“Donovan—”
“They need to get out of the house,” he said.
She bowed her head. He was right. Of course he was right. But their magic... She swallowed. If she couldn’t trust her husband’s judgment, she had bigger problems than her children’s magic. “Have fun.”
“We are. What’s happening on your end?” The line crackled, the last consonant dropping.
“Things have gotten more interesting,” she said more loudly and checked the phone’s screen. Only two bars. Annoying. She thought she’d get better reception in Angels Camp since it was lower on the mountain. Obviously, she’d been wrong.
“Oh?” His voice razored.
She told him about the sluagh.
“Sorry,” he said, “you broke up there for a moment. It sounded like you said you were attacked by a giant bat.”
“More humanoid than batlike, but... yeah.”
“And it’s still out there?”
Her face warmed. She’d left it out there, and who else might it hurt? But she was damned if she knew how to catch the thing. “Yes.”
The line hissed.
“Donovan? Can you hear me?”
The call dropped. She phoned him back, but it didn’t even ring. Riga texted.
ALL WELL HERE. BAD RECEPTION. WILL CALL FROM HOTEL.
She waited a moment for a reply that didn’t come, then stepped from the car.
A spring in the seat groaned. Riga turned and studied the faded leather warily. Shaking her head, she strode up the walk.
A faint shiver of magic raised the hair on her arms as she crossed the boundary of the ward, but no worse. She knocked on the door.
It sprang open a minute later. Karin smiled out, pink-faced and chest heaving. “You’re right on time. Come on in.” She wore blue slacks and a simple white blouse, all business.
Riga followed her down a neat hallway and into a carpeted living room. Tall windows overlooked the street. A toy chest had been wedged in one corner of the room, dolls and trucks and blocks piled pell-mell inside it.
“Are your children home?” Riga asked.
“No. Nick took the day off and took them to a park. Nick’s my husband.” Her cheeks turned a deeper shade of rose. “Have a seat.” She motioned to the pale-blue couch. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?”
“No, thanks.” Riga sat.
Karin dropped into an armchair across from her and swallowed. “So how does this work?”
Riga rested her elbows on her knees, and pain shot through her damaged shoulder. She winced. “The training I propose first focuses on magical fundamentals. Some, you may already know, some you may not. I want to know which is which so we don’t waste time.”
Karin nodded. “Okay.”
“Next, I’d like to learn more about your magic. Everyone’s got their own strengths and weaknesses. It’s best to build on what you’re good at, at what works for you. So we’ll work together to design training that fits you.”
“Makes sense.”
“Finally, since you’ve got black lodge issues, we’ll work on defensive and offensive tactics. Though by the look of the ward around your house, you’ve got a good start on defense.”
“We all worked on that ward,” Karin said. “My sisters and I together, I mean.”
“It’s strong. Tell me about your knot magic.”
Karin’s fingers twined together. “I’m still figuring it out,” she said.
Riga nodded, encouraging. “Everyone is.” She shifted, and the couch made the same noise the seat of her car had.
“I think it’s about more than traditional knot magic—” Karin said. “I mean casting spells with knots in string. I can do that, but I can also see the energies connecting people, and ley lines, the earth’s energies. Someone once told me my writing was part of my magic too, but I’m not sure about that.”
“How are you with visioning?”
She grimaced. “I’m okay. As a writer, I live a lot in my head. Visualization comes easily. But I can’t journey like Lenore. I imagine a journey. She’s right there, in it.”
“What’s a typical day?”
Karin rose and left the room, returning with a day planner. She opened it on the wooden coffee table between them. “The kids keep me pretty busy.”
“Do they have magic too?”
Karin drummed her fingers on the leather planner. “Why do you ask?”
“I have twins. They seem to have inherited some of my powers.” She made a face. “It hasn’t made motherhood easier.”
Karin smiled faintly in response. “I think Emmie and Mitch may have some talent, but if they do, it’s subtle.”
“Emmie?” Riga asked, delighted. “My daughter’s name is Emma. Tell me about your training so far.”
“Our aunt taught us the basics. We took them for granted as something one does, like keeping a broom by the front door to sweep away evil. That sort of thing. We’ve been trying to figure out the rest on our own, but I’m a little behind my sisters.” Karin’s smile turned bitter.
“Why?”
“My aunt bound my powers when I was little.”
Riga started. That was possible? “How— She bound you and not your sisters?”
Karin picked up a child’s ball, hidden behind the arm of her chair. “I could see things I wasn’t supposed to.”
Riga’s mouth went dry. “How did she do it?”
She leaned sideways and tossed the ball into the toy chest. It bounced and rolled out. “I don’t know. She only bound my sight, but it seems like that’s the root of my magic.”
But binding was possible. It had been done. Brigitte might even know how. The gargoyle knew so much...
“Are you okay?” Karin leaned forward, her forehead creased with concern.
“Sorry.” Riga shook herself. “I thought you might have the answer to a problem of my own. My son and daughter... I’m planning on homeschooling them, which is fine. I’m retired after all…”
“Homeschooling is becoming quite reputable,” Karin said.
Riga swallowed. “But... It sounds like they were a lot like you as a child. I’ve been worried they wouldn’t be able to live a normal life, play with others, get in fights and get knocked down and get up again without magic. I’m afraid...” Afraid they’d turn into monsters.
The scent of remembered sulfur torched her nostrils. Her upper lip grew damp with sweat. She deepened her breathing to slow her racing heart.
“My aunt left notebooks,” Karin said.
Riga’s head jerked up.
“I’ve been worried about my two as well,” Karin continued in a low voice. “So far... There’ve only been hints they’ve got magic. Our magic is inherited, so it’s natural they would. But I haven’t been sure how to handle it either if theirs started too soon. My sisters were later bloomers.”
“And being bound,” Riga said. “How... Has it affected you?”
“I didn’t know I was bound. I just knew that as my sisters were coming into their powers, mine were weaker and uneven.”
“But you’re not bound now?”
“My aunt released the spell before she passed. I guess you could say I was unbound.”
And Karin was normal. Happy. Or as happy and normal as a witch who’d been raised on a fairy gate could be.
Riga licked her lips. “Would it be possible for me to see those notebooks?”
Karin pulled out her cellphone and made a call. “Lenore? Can Riga and I get into your attic? We’d like to look over some of Ellen’s notebooks... Thanks.” She hung up. “Want to go now?”
Relief blossomed in Riga’s chest. “Yes.”
“We can take my car.”
“Since I’m staying in Doyle, it might make more sense to take two.”
Karin nodded. Gathering their things, they left for Doyle. Riga followed Karin’s cherry-red SUV to a stone and shingled gabled house. Karin pulled into its gravel driveway.
Parking on the street, Riga stepped from her car. She joined the young witch on the porch. “You mentioned seeing was the root of your powers?”
Karin nodded. “I can see the energies that connect people and things.” She hesitated. “And I can manipulate those energies, though I’d never manipulate people,” she added quickly. “It’s wrong. It’s dark magic. So in a sense, I’m still bound, but by ethics.”
“We all are,” Riga said. “Though I don’t think it’s unethical to use that power in self-defense.” She paused, remembering and her stomach rolled. “The problem comes when you start expanding the definition of self-defense to include things people might do, or to people who’ve only hurt your pride.”
Riga closed her mouth, embarrassed. Was she trying to convince herself? She hadn’t retired because of her children, though that’s what she told people. The shame was she’d started telling herself that too.
“It’s a slippery slope, isn’t it?” Karin pulled a set of keys from the pocket of her slacks. She reached for the blue front door, the keys jangling. “After you justify the first instance, it’s so easy to justify the second. Like breaking a diet.”
Riga’s stomach turned over. And that, she thought, was the crux of it, that was why she’d quit. “When it’s easy,” she said heavily, “you’ve got a problem.”