Riga eyed Jayce warily. Energy crackling, the earth witch paced the bedroom in their B&B. There isn’t much that’s more dangerous than a boiling mad witch. Especially a witch who gained power off her emotions.
But Riga’d never calmed a situation meeting anger with anger, so she tried to look relaxed. She braced one shoulder against the wall of their room in the B&B, jostling a blurry photo of lights in the sky.
Curtains fluttered at the open window. Riga wondered what would happen if she dove out.
Donovan sat in the wing chair and pretended to read the Davidge’s magazine. Or maybe he wasn’t pretending. With Donovan, it could be hard to tell.
“I am sick and tired of being kept in the dark,” Jayce said. “We all are. And it’s dangerous. How are we supposed to deal with the sluagh and murder and who knows what else when we have to be on guard around you?”
The witch had a point. “I’m not hiding anything relevant to what’s going on in Doyle.”
Jayce glared. “How do you know what’s relevant and what’s not?”
That… was also a good point.
“And I don’t appreciate being in the middle between you and Brigitte,” Jayce continued. “I mean, what are we? Teenagers?”
Riga started. “You saw Brigitte?”
“She won’t tell me what’s going on either. And what’s with her? This afternoon she high-jumped Mrs. Steinberg and scared the sluagh into some power lines. It’s still flying around somewhere.”
Power lines hadn’t stopped it? “What happened? Exactly?”
Jayce told her.
“That’s good news.” Riga stood so quickly she nearly bumped into Jayce.
“How is that good news?” Jayce asked. “A power line couldn’t stop it.”
“It’s good news that it went for Brigitte and Mrs. Steinberg instead of that kid. Don’t you see? Typical predator behavior would have sent the sluagh to the most vulnerable food source. It went for two full grown adults—magicians—instead. It may become a threat to the town, but so far, it’s focused on us.”
Jayce rolled her eyes. “Oh, that is good news. But it doesn’t change the fact that your friend isn’t completely human, and who knows what other secrets you’re keeping? We can’t trust you.”
“Brigitte used to be my familiar.”
The young witch stopped pacing and shook her head. “Nice try. People can’t be familiars.”
“No. People can’t.”
“That’s… You can’t…” An odd expression crossed Jayce’s face. “So she’s really not human,” she said slowly.
“She is now.” Mostly. “But she wasn’t when we first met.”
“Then what was she before?”
“A gargoyle.”
“A gar...” Jayce snapped her mouth shut, swallowed. “The gargoyles. That’s why she was more worried about...”
“About what?”
“The gargoyle that nearly crushed me. Brigitte went to check out the roof and the other gargoyles there. She was pretty upset.” Jayce angled slightly away from Riga, and her eyes narrowed. “How does someone become a witch’s familiar and then a human?”
Donovan’s magazine rustled. He turned a page.
“Brigitte was a familiar to a dark magician. She had no choice in the matter,” Riga added quickly. “I was investigating a string of murders and had gone to his lab to look for evidence. I thought the lab was empty. I was wrong. I was responsible for his death, and—”
“That’s not the way I heard it,” Donovan said mildly.
“The magician was responsible for his own death,” Riga corrected, not looking at her husband. “But I was there, and I was a factor. When he died, the magic that bound Brigitte to him transferred to me. I don’t understand exactly how it works, but we were bound, magician and familiar.”
“But why is she human now?” Jayce deflated onto the edge of the bed.
Riga hesitated. “I’m not sure. A sorcerer invoked a demon, invited it into his body. He—they—broke into our house. I wasn’t there—”
From the gas station to their own house. She’d tried so hard not to bring it home. Riga’s throat closed. She took a breath. “Brigitte got between him and our children. We thought he’d killed her, but she became human instead.”
And Brigitte had made the sacrifice willingly. What had happened to Brigitte hadn’t been Riga’s fault. For Riga to tell herself otherwise would take that sacrifice from Brigitte.
“What happened to the sorcerer?” Jayce asked.
Riga walked to the desk and leaned against it, facing her. “I shot him. He died.”
“Did he kill anyone?” Jayce asked quietly.
Lottery tickets, unspooling from the broken machine, soaking in a pool of blood. And then she saw him, the boy. Old enough to sell liquor but not old enough to die. He slumped against a shelf, his copper-flecked eyes empty, and he was gone.
Blinking furiously, Riga stared at the rug and imagined she saw a shape in its twisting pattern. “Too many people. At least four residents of a local care facility, and a young gas station attendant.”
Jayce braced her elbows on her knees and buried her head in her hands. “God. I used to think magic was fun. Now…”
The witch looked up, her expression lined with pain. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I never know. I just wing it. But you’ve seen what can happen. You know. One wrong step and someone dies. And I’ve made so many mistakes. Mac—”
“I don’t see how you could have stopped what happened to him.”
“I do. There’ve been too many murders in this town. We know the deaths are connected to the fairy door. If we could have closed it completely—”
“But you couldn’t then.” Riga reached behind her hips and gripped the edge of the desk with both hands. “And closing it may never be possible.”
Jayce made a low sound in her throat.
“You’re doing good work here,” Riga said. “You’re doing your best. That’s all anyone can do.”
“It isn’t enough. And I’ve messed up so often. You have no idea.”
“Everyone makes mistakes,” Riga said. “What matters is how you move forward afterward.” Her grip tightened on the desk, because what had Riga done after that terrible night?
She’d quit.
“You don’t understand,” Jayce said. “Mac—”
“It was my fault the attendant died,” Riga said quietly.
Jayce shook her head. “I’m sure it wasn’t—”
“No, it was my fault. They were chasing me—the sorcerer and demon. I ran into the gas station, looking for safety. I should have known there’d be someone in there, that locking the door behind me wouldn’t be enough, but I’d panicked. I wasn’t thinking.” Riga’s eyes burned, and she looked toward Donovan.
The magazine was in his lap. His emerald gaze met hers, unblinking. “Riga. It’s not that clear cut.”
“It is.”
“I’m sorry.” Jayce stared at her knotted hands. “That’s… terrible.”
Riga’s throat closed. Gone. The attendant’s face rose before her, but now she saw the moment before his death, his expression determined, his shotgun raised.
Determined. He’d been afraid too, yes, but determined.
He’d made a choice too, a choice to defend her, to do the right thing. And by putting the responsibility for those awful moments all on herself, she’d taken that from him, too.
“He was… He was brave,” Riga said, meeting Donovan’s gaze.
Something seemed to shift in his expression, the muscles in his face relaxing, and he nodded.
“I love the magic too,” Riga said. “When I first went looking for it, I wanted to prove there was something more. And then I discovered I was right, it was real, and… it was wonderful. But there’s a price, and the more powerful you are, the higher that price.”
“I’m not sure Doyle can afford it anymore,” Jayce said.
Riga sighed. “You’re not the cause of what’s happening in Doyle.”
“I’m a symptom though, aren’t I? I’ve got this power because I’m a part of Doyle, I’m connected to the land, to the fairy gate.”
“That may be part of it,” Riga admitted.
The three were silent for a long time.
“You said you saw Brigitte?” Riga asked.
“This afternoon. Her phone was fried when the sluagh hit the power lines. That’s why you haven’t been able to get in touch with her, and why she couldn’t tell Lenore she wouldn’t be there.”
“I guess that’s some good news,” Riga said. “At least this isn’t about the binding.”
“Binding?” Jayce asked.
“After hearing about your sister, I asked Brigitte about binding spells. I thought— We have two children with way too much power and no moral or mental understanding of how to wield it. I guess I’m a little desperate.”
Donovan raised his head. His brow furrowed.
“I want them to live a normal life,” Riga said. “I want them to play with other children. Go to school. Get crummy, low-paying summer jobs and save to buy whatever stupid technology is popular. Not become monsters. When I heard your sister’s story about being bound as a child and saw how... normal and lovely she was... Karin let me raid your aunt’s attic looking for notes on her binding. So far, I haven’t found anything.”
“Well.” Jayce blew out a breath. “Broomsticks.”
“Yeah.” Riga sat beside her. “I’ve still no idea how to bind someone else’s magic.”
“Mrs. Steinberg might,” Jayce said.
Riga’s pulse quickened. “Why do you say that?”
“Her old lodge bound her after she went against their orders. She didn’t do anything wrong. Just... not what they wanted. And they were supposed to be the good guys.”
“It’s group dynamics—” Riga shook her head. Never mind. “People in the good lodges make mistakes too.” It was what people did. But the good ones learned and moved on.
And it was time Riga did that too.
“Brigitte really was a gargoyle?” Jayce asked.
“Yep.”
Jayce shook her head. “Damn.”
Riga smiled faintly. “You should have seen her fly.”
The witch straightened. “So, what next?”
Riga stood, perversely liking that Jayce hadn’t bothered to apologize. “There’s something here I’d like your opinion on. Come with me.” She walked to the door and to her relief, Jayce followed.
They walked outside and to the spirit house. The incense on the miniature house’s porch was a lump of ash. A breeze whisked a trail of its gray dust into the air.
“I asked Susan about this,” Riga said. “She said the house is fairly new—a gift to her grandmother. But I suspect offerings have been made at this spot for much longer.”
“Offerings to what?”
“I have an idea, but I’m not certain. I’d like to get your take before I tell you, if that’s okay. It’s not a test. I just don’t want to taint your impressions.”
“All right,” Jayce said warily.
“Have you set your magical protection this morning?”
Jayce cocked her head and raised a brow.
“Okay,” Riga said, taking that for a yes. “Then just introduce yourself. Politely.”
The witch closed her eyes and blew out her breath. Riga stepped away, giving her space.
“But don’t give it your full name,” Riga added quickly.
“I’m not a total noob.” Jayce shook her shoulders and bowed her head. “Hi. Er, my name’s Jayce.”
A breeze scented with mountain pine rustled their hair. The yard brightened, and Riga glanced up. But it was only the sun coming from behind a cloud.
Or was it?
Jayce gasped and stepped backward. Her eyes flew open. “There’s something here.”
“What did you sense?”
“I sensed... love. Not romantic love, but a sort of affection. And not for me. I mean, maybe a little for me. But for this place.”
Riga nodded. “There would be some love for you. You’re a part of Doyle.”
Jayce shook her head, her loose, mahogany hair flowing about her shoulders. “No, it’s not...” She squinted. “It’s closer. It’s here, it’s—”
“Connected to this property, and now to the property next to it.”
“Yes, it’s expanding. Augh!” Jayce raked her hands through her hair. “I don’t know what I’m talking about. It’s all jumbled.”
“No,” Riga said. “You do know. This is new, but trust your instincts. You’re an earth witch, and this genius loci is of the earth.”
“This What Now?”
“The spirit of the place. The ancient Romans called them genii locorum. Well, that’s the plural.” She needed to add Latin to their study lists. Jayce would rebel, but Lenore might enjoy the challenge. “They’re protective spirits. And they can be powerful.”
“And Wits’ End has one.”
“Yes, but...” What was here was too powerful for such a small place. She glanced sidelong at the spirit house. It didn’t make sense.
“But what?”
“I need to figure this out.” Riga scrubbed her hands over her face. “It’s important. I don’t know why, but I know it is.” It had to be.
“Okay. I’ll bite.”
“Look. Doyle’s got issues.” Riga paced the lawn. “You’re right about the murder rate. And Doyle’s magic is attracting the attention of bad actors, like that lodge. There’s a powerful spirit here.”
Jayce nodded.
“But a genius loci with this much juice for such a small piece of property doesn’t make sense,” Riga said. “This feels like the spirit of London or Stonehenge and Wits’ End is—”
“A UFO-themed B&B.”
Riga studied the curving roof of the spirit house. How had Susan’s grandmother known? Had it been instinct? Had she been a magical practitioner too? “I mean, Wits’ End is nice, but it’s not the pyramids at Giza. And this genius loci, it’s been here since—”
“From the beginning,” Jayce said excitedly. “Or as near to the beginning as possible.”
“Yes, I felt that too. It may have answers.”
“Okay.” Jayce rubbed the back of her neck, nodding. “Okay. This has potential. I get that. But we’ve got a problem right here right now to deal with, and that’s the Black Lodge.”
“Let me worry about that for now.”
“No can do,” Jayce said. “This is my town. My problem.”
True. Riga turned to her. “Have you figured out who killed your friend Mac yet?”
Jayce’s head jerked backward. “No.”
“Me neither. Look, there’s a lot going on. We can stumble over each other and waste time, or we can split the work. Why don’t you focus on Mac for now? I’ll stick to the mystery of Wits’ End. We’ll have to trust the pieces fall into place.”
“That’s it?” Jayce asked. “Go solve a crime?”
“You were going to do it no matter what I said, weren’t you?”
“That’s just...” Jayce gave a disbelieving laugh. “Fine.” She crossed the lawn and turned the corner of the Victorian.
Riga nodded to the spirit house. “All right. You’re old. I get that. You deserve respect. I get that too. So we’ll use the old ways.”
She returned inside the B&B. There had to be a book in her library with instructions on the etiquette for dealing with spirits of a place.
Unfortunately, her library was hours away. Riga had the feeling she didn’t have hours.
Though racing home would make a good excuse to check in on the kids. And that would be ridiculous, because her niece, Pen, was in charge. And Riga was a leaf in a stream.
Riga detoured into the now-empty breakfast room and called Pen.
“The kids are fine,” Pen said.
“Of course they are. You’ve got this. That’s not why I’m calling.”
“The binding spell,” Pen said wearily. “Look, I can’t find anything about it outside of fiction. I even reached out to a lodge member I know—”
“You know someone in a lodge?”
“White lodge. She got really… almost angry when I asked.”
Riga rubbed her bottom lip. “That might… make sense.”
“How?”
“Would you want that spell out in the open, for just anyone to use on you?”
“Not a chance.”
“Okay,” Riga said. “I’ve got a different project for you. I’m dealing with a genius loci.”
“Seriously? Cool.”
“And there’s a certain etiquette for introducing myself. But I can’t remember what it is, since I’ve only ever read about it and never actually done it before.”
“And the answer’s in your library?”
“I think so.” Riga named an author. “Can you see if you can find anything for me?”
“Sure, but why can’t Brigitte help? Doesn’t she know?”
Riga hedged. “She’s working a different angle.”
“Oh, boy. What happened?”
“Brigitte tangled with a sluagh.” But why wasn’t she back yet?
“I have no idea what that is. But I’ll learn, and I’ll see what I can find on genii locorum.”
Pen had even gotten the plural form right. Her niece always had been her best student. And up until now, her only student. “Thanks. Er, how—?”
“They’re fine.” Pen hung up.
Riga jogged upstairs to their room and walked inside. Donovan wasn’t there.
She stepped into the hallway. The door to the room at the end stood open.
On her guard, she walked to it and peered inside.
“No way.” Patrick sat on the bed, his injured leg stretched out before him. He shook his head. “It’s larping. The lodge was fake.”
“I dunno.” Beside the open window, Wincel scratched his head. “You didn’t see her.”
“Why would I lie?” Donovan sat on the desk chair, turned the wrong way round. He braced his elbows on the chair’s back.
“I don’t know you,” Patrick said. “How should I know why you’d lie?”
“Dude,” Wincel said. “He’s like, richer than God. Why would he tell such a crazy story if it wasn’t true?”
“I’m not sure what money has to do with it,” Donovan said, “and I wouldn’t say richer than God—”
Riga rolled her eyes. “Oh, for Pete’s sake.” She reached into the in-between.
Reality slipped sideways. The room lost its color, a blurred chiaroscuro of black, white, and gray. Cold power hooked her gut, tethered to nothing.
Lightly, she pulled on that cord. The color rushed back in, and Riga was standing in front of the bed.
Patrick shouted and fell backward.
She nearly shouted too. She’d done it again, and easily. The in-between had always come naturally, but no salt circle again? Was she adapting to Doyle’s magic? Or was this something else?
Whatever it was, she couldn’t trust it.
“Really, Riga?” Donovan said.
Wincel pointed a shaking finger. “I told you. I told you she was real.”
“It’s a trick.” The blond thrust himself up on his elbows and to sitting. “A trick.”
“Look,” Riga said. “We’re all in danger. Magic is real. We need to move on. Are you with us or not?”
“We’re in,” Wincel said. He shoved his colleague’s shoulder. “Patrick?”
“What does that even mean?” the blond asked. “In with what?”
“You can start,” Riga said, “by giving me the passcode to the laptop your boss stole.” She tilted her head, considering. “And while we’re at it, I’ll need the password to his laptop, too.”