Brigitte studied her fingernails. “It is a complicated endeavor, to exorcise an entire town.”
The others had left on their various assignments. The wind soughed in the nearby pines. In the darkness of the garden, Riga imagined them bending in response. Police tape fluttered, pale, on the hillside, a reminder of what they had to lose if they failed.
Riga leaned against Donovan, standing against one of the gazebo’s support beams. “Yes.” She wrinkled her brow. “But exorcising a place has been done before. There was a case in England—”
“Ha,” Brigitte said. “A hillside. The magician exorcised a space no larger than an acre of land.”
“And then that hoodoo practitioner—”
“Never have you exorcised a location so large,” Brigitte said. “Your problem is not only Doyle. There are also local environs—woods and streams—that must be cleansed. There will be forces arrayed against you, and these are not simple forest spirits.”
Riga’s mouth compressed. No, there was that fairy queen on the other side of the door, waiting. “Which is why it will take as many magical practitioners as we can get, working together.” If Jayce could get the alchemist from Angels Camp on board, it would help.
They’d be using every tool in their arsenal—shamanism, alchemy, working with the elements, hoodoo. Was this why she’d been drawn to collect magical knowledge? After last year, she’d thought her time was over, and now—
“What’s wrong?” Donovan asked.
“Nothing,” she said. “I was only thinking of what we had to do.”
Brigitte’s coffee eyes narrowed. “Do these witches understand exactly what they have to lose, if they succeed?”
“I’ll make sure they do.” But it was Jayce she worried about, Jayce who had the most to lose. And Riga knew exactly how painful the loss of magic could be.
But when she’d lost her magic, she’d found Donovan. He’d made the loss, the struggle to rebuild, bearable. And Riga had never told him that.
“And not they,” Riga continued. “We. We need your magic too, Brigitte.” She paused. “By the way,” Riga said casually, “the binding ritual I was asking about was for Jack and Emma.”
Donovan shifted against her.
Brigitte sniffed and didn’t meet her gaze. “Well, but of course. Those two will become monsters if their power is left unchecked. I am surprised you did not do it sooner. I would have said something, but...”
“But you’ve had other things on your mind,” Riga said. “I heard you saved Mrs. Steinberg from that sluagh.”
“Yes. I will need a new phone. I only threw it away as a distraction, you understand. I was not panicking. I saw in an instant what needed to be done. Now you must—how do you say? Get your head in a game.” Brigitte snorted. “That ridiculous key.”
“I thought that master key was a good bit of magic,” Donovan said.
“A useless bit of magic,” Brigitte said. “Why use a key when you can walk through walls?”
Riga closed her eyes. Augh. She’d been so used to trying and failing with that unlock spell, and she no longer needed it. Riga’d melted that poor woman’s lock for nothing.
“I wasn’t sure going in-between would work here,” Riga said weakly.
Brigitte canted her head. “Why would it not work?”
“Because of Doyle’s erratic energies,” Riga said. “Never mind. It works. But other spells don’t unless—"
“But when you go in-between, as you call it, it is not a spell,” Brigitte said. “Do you worry about Doyle’s energies when you walk down Main Street? No. You walk. You do not think, you simply step, just as you go in-between, just as I fly— Faugh. You— Never mind.”
“I what?” Riga asked.
“I’m just going to see about something in the inn.” Donovan left hurriedly.
Riga’s eyes narrowed. “I what?”
Brigitte raised her chin. “For a magician, you can be remarkably dense. Pen told me it would be more human if I allowed you to understand this yourself, but you are too slow.”
“What does Pen have to do with this?”
“Nothing. It is you. Monsieur Devil came for you, not your children. True, they will most likely turn demonic. But your problem is you. Your fears that you will go too far and become a monster. Your fears that now that you have killed one man—a man who very much deserved killing—you will go mad and take more lives.”
“It’s a real risk. Of course I’m afraid of that. I should be afraid. Who wouldn’t be?”
“How can you think I would allow it?”
“What do—?”
“Obviously,” Brigitte said, “I will kill you before you go mad. What sort of friend would I be if I did not?”
“That’s—”
“Donovan will not do it.” Brigitte sniffed. “He is a strong man, but I can see he cannot. Pen would, but it would destroy her. But there are at least three other witches here who will be happy to help.” She shrugged eloquently. “I do not know about mademoiselles Rocky and Hermia.”
They could stop her. Riga had never thought she was the baddest magician in town. Just, maybe, the luckiest. She’d spent the last year worrying, watching her reactions, second guessing every emotion. And they’d been watching her too.
The knowledge should have chilled her, but Riga’s body flooded with relief. “Thank you. I’ll hold you to that.”
“You won’t need to. I shall be watching.”
“Is that why you came to Doyle? To make sure I didn’t go off the rails?”
“No,” Brigitte said. “You have not tipped into madness yet. I came because you needed me. Now, will you get back to work?”
“Yes. I think I will,” Riga said, voice thick, and she looked up at the stars. She didn’t have to do this on her own. She’d never been alone.
“Because you have been acting like a scared simpleton,” Brigitte said.
Riga met her gaze and smiled. “I know.”
“That poor young man in the gas station died, and you stopped living.”
“Yes. You’re right. It was a mistake.”
“Everyone has noticed,” Brigitte said. “It is not only me. How could I let you come here alone in this state?”
Everyone? Riga filed that away for later. “Got it. Everyone’s been worrying about me behind my back and not talking to me about it.” How concerned had they been?
“Ah.” Brigitte studied her nails. “Good.”
“Well,” Riga said, “I’m glad you’re here. We could use your magic.”
Brigitte snorted. “But naturally. You are helpless without me.” She straightened off the gazebo’s bannister and smoothed her long, dark hair. “Besides, an exorcism is a simple matter when you have skilled magicians. It is as simple as a binding spell.”
Riga lurched forward. “Simple as a…? You said—”
“You were being self-pitying and annoying. I saw no reason to tell you what you wanted.”
“Do you know how to cast a binding spell?”
“Of course I know. As I said, it is a simple matter. We can perform this ritual when we return to Lake Tahoe.”
“All clear?” Donovan called from the darkness.
Riga leaned over the railing. “I thought you were going to the B&B.”
“I was distracted by this UFO fountain.” He emerged from the darkness. “Now, tell me more about the binding.”
Brigitte waved her hand negligently. “It locks away one’s magic for a time. That is all.”
“And how will that affect them, as humans, as children?” he asked, climbing the gazebo steps.
“As children? They will be children. Boring, ordinary, human children with no magic but that in their imaginations. It can be excellent magical training, using the imagination.”
“And you say Karin was bound?” Donovan asked Riga.
“Yes, until her late twenties.”
“I’m going to talk to her before we do this,” he said.
Riga nodded. She expected nothing less.
“And I shall prepare our witches for their roles.” Brigitte walked down the gazebo steps to the lawn.
“I thought I just did,” Riga said.
“That? You think that was instruction?” Brigitte shook her head. “You explained, you did not teach. I, Brigitte, shall teach.” She strolled across the thick grass to the B&B. “Summer solstice is in three days. There is much to prepare.”
“That went well,” Donovan said.
An elderly couple from the B&B wandered onto the lawn, and Riga and Donovan ceded the gazebo.
In their room, Riga called Pen. The kids hadn’t blown up Donovan’s casino, so maybe her luck was turning in the right direction. Riga hung up and dropped onto the bed. She stared at the two computers on the desk.
“How are you going to get those back to the sheriff?” Donovan arranged his jacket on the back of the wingchair and rolled up one shirtsleeve.
“I’m not,” she said. “I’m returning Mac’s laptop to his wife. Oonagh can let the sheriff see what’s inside.”
“And the laptop belonging to Aries?” He canted his head toward the desk.
“That I will get to the sheriff. It has nothing to do with his murder, but I have a feeling she’s the right person to have it.”
“A feeling?”
“That earth witch might be rubbing off on me.”
“You made a copy of the hard drive, of course.”
“Of course.” She wasn’t giving up the files of a mid-level black lodge member. Riga was going to send them to every white lodge she knew of, as well as a reporter in San Francisco.
“And Mac’s?”
“I only copied his thesis,” she said guiltily. “And Oonagh told me I could read that.” Not that that had stopped her from going through his other files. They’d confirmed a suspicion she’d had, but the files weren’t evidence of murder.
“When are you going to take it back?” he asked.
“No time like the present.” Riga pulled out her phone and called Oonagh.
“Yes?” Oonagh’s voice sounded shaky, as if she’d been crying.
“I have good news,” Riga said. “I found Mac’s computer.”
“You... Really?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.” Oonagh released a slow breath. “Thank you.”
“When would it be convenient for me to bring it over?”
The phone rang in the pocket of Donovan’s black blazer. He pulled it out, checked the screen, and frowned.
“What about now?” Oonagh asked. “Sorry. I can come to you, but I’ll need to call a rideshare. Our rental—”
“It’s okay.” Riga glanced at Donovan.
Phone to his ear, he walked into the bathroom and shut the door.
“I can bring it to you,” Riga continued. “You’re not far.” Nothing was far in this town.
“Great. I’ll see you soon.”
They hung up.
Riga rose and walked to the bathroom, rapped lightly on the door. “All clear.”
He opened the door, phone still pressed to his ear, and nodded. “Yes... No... It’s not your fault. He likes to throw his weight around. I’ll get it back to you within the hour.” He hung up, a vein throbbing in his forehead.
“Problem?” Riga asked.
“Nothing important. Just a legal document.”
“It sounded urgent.”
“Everything’s urgent when you’re a government bureaucrat who’s made a mistake and—” He grimaced. “They’ve emailed the document to me. I only have to review it and sign. It won’t take more than an hour.”
“All right.” She moved to the desk and tucked Mac’s laptop into her leather satchel. “I’ll get out of your hair. Be back in an hour.”
Riga drove her Lincoln rather than walking. She doubted even Bigfoot’s opposite could lift her old Continental in its talons. But as she drove down the winding, residential streets, her gaze kept flicking skyward.
Better that the sluagh come for her than an innocent. Though if it had survived a powerline, she had no idea how she was going to take it down. All they had to do was hold out until the solstice, and then exorcism would banish it as well.
She found Hayleigh’s Victorian in spite of the GPS, which had sent her in circles. Riga wasn’t sure if she should blame the mountains or the town’s chaotic magic on the wonky signals.
She parked on the street, and realized her neck ached with tension. Riga peered out the windshield. A tide of dread flooded her senses, slowing her heartbeat, chilling her blood. But the night sky was clear.
Cautiously, she stepped from the car and craned her neck, studying the stars. This premonition was different. Something was wrong, but it didn’t have the same stench of corruption as the sluagh. It was weaker, maybe farther aw—
“Oh my God.” She froze. Of course, of course. Riga paced beside her car. She could wait, call Donovan for backup. But there might not be time…
Shoulders hunched, she hurried through the lush garden to the porch. Riga rang the bell, shifting from one foot to the other. Her hand clenched and unclenched on the strap of her leather bag.
Oonagh opened the door, then opened it wider. “Hi. Come in and sit down.” She let her inside a hallway painted dusky blue. “I want to hear how you found the laptop. Do you want some tea?”
“Sure. Thanks.” Riga unlatched her satchel, her gaze darting about the cheerful hallway. “Are you alone?”
“Yes, Hayleigh had tickets for a dinner theater in Nowhere, on the other side of the mountain. She’s been driving herself crazy. I told her to go.”
Thank you.
Oonagh led her into the living room and gestured her toward a turquoise couch opposite the elaborate fireplace. Riga set Mac’s laptop on the coffee table, sat back, and waited.
Her hostess reappeared five minutes later carrying a tray with a china teapot and matching cups. “I had some water boiling.” Oonagh set the tray on a side table and poured tea. She handed Riga a steaming cup.
Riga set it on the end table, within throwing reach, and nodded toward the laptop.
Oonagh snatched it up. She sat in the wingchair opposite and ran her palm over the computer. “It’s his. You really found it.” She blinked rapidly, her eyes wet. “How did you get it?”
“I found it in a garbage bin,” Riga lied. “Don’t worry, I cleaned it.”
“A garbage bin?”
“Behind Wits’ End.”
“This is… I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it. I mean, I believe you, it’s here. It’s just… Our wedding photos were on this.”
“Those would be tough to lose.”
“You have no idea. Thank you. Neither of our families were there to take pictures. It was only our best man and maid of honor.”
Riga tasted the tea. It was too hot, and she set it down. “Did you know Mac’s family very well before you got married?”
“Well, I mean, it’s a small town. Everyone knows everyone to some extent. But... no. Mac and I didn’t really connect—not in any important way—until grad school.”
Riga forced a smile. “Funny, you two both leaving Doyle to meet on the other side of the country.”
“I might have followed him. I mean, I had to go to college somewhere, right?”
Riga didn’t respond.
Oonagh looked up from the closed laptop. “I always loved him. Even here, in school. There was this party once, at the fairy spring. I wasn’t invited. I was too young. But it was his party, so I lurked in the background. I’d follow him anywhere,” she whispered.
“How are you coping?”
“I thought staying here would... I don’t know, keep Mac closer somehow. Doyle is Mac’s home. But—” Her voice broke. She cleared her throat.
“But things have changed,” Riga said.
“Yes.” She swallowed, smoothed her hand across the laptop. “Oh. You wanted Mac’s thesis. I know his password. I’ll send it to you.” She opened the computer.
“It’s all right,” Riga said. “I already looked at his laptop.”
Oonagh’s forehead wrinkled. “You did?”
“I wanted to make sure it was his. And the password wasn’t hard to guess.” That was a lie too. Riga would have liked to think she’d have gotten there eventually, but she had Patrick to thank. “I’ve seen everything I need to. Thank you, though.”
“Well. Again, thank you.” She half laughed. “I seem to be saying that a lot lately.”
“What are you going to do now?” Riga held the teacup loosely.
Oonagh bit her lip. “I’m... It’s time for me to leave Doyle. I’m going to Florida to stay with my parents for a bit, and then... We’ll see. Hayleigh and Stetson have been wonderful,” she said quickly.
“I think you’re right to go.” Riga met Oonagh’s gaze. “The sooner the better.”
Oonagh looked at the purple carpet, the elaborate wooden mantel, everywhere but at Riga.
“In fact,” Riga said. “Now would be good.”
Oonagh raised her head, and her blue-eyed gaze met Riga’s. “I think…maybe you’re right.”
“I’ll wait while you get your things,” Riga said.
“Don’t bother,” Hayleigh said from behind her.
There are some noises that are unmistakable. Your child’s cry. A lover’s voice. The racking of a handgun.
Riga went rigid.
“Now give me that laptop.”