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I ignored the alerts on my cell phone and leaned back in my chair, staring at the framed degree that hung above my office door.
I checked my desk drawer and found Doirsain, the amethyst soul stone that amplified my natural power to supernatural levels, right where I'd left her. Sasha, her silver wyvern guardian, opened one sleepy eye and looked at me before curling tighter around the stone and going back to sleep. The little dragon could become massive at need, but right now, he was less than two inches long. I grinned. I'd never say it out loud, but he looked cute.
Mmmph. Watch your mouth. The sleepy thought snaked through my head as I closed the drawer. Anyone wearing a purple lace blouse over a white cami has no right to talk about cute.
Stay out of my head and you won’t hear thoughts that bother you. I looked down at the offending tunic and snorted. The flowy material was soft and sheer, with a faint design you could barely see. It had a rich look to it without being uncomfortable. It was one of my favorite tops. "Besides, this is business attire in Florida. And it's a lavender tunic, not a purple blouse."
Semantics. A faint snore echoed in my thoughts and I let it go. Life was quieter when Sasha was napping.
Working from the home I shared with Lena, and sometimes my boyfriend, Cole Delaney, certainly had its advantages. One was the ability to dress as I pleased, at least on the bottom where the Vroom camera couldn't see. I rubbed a hand over my wear-softened jeans. Not exactly professional, but I was the only one who'd know, and it was nice to be comfortable while you worked.
Another plus was the magically constructed passageway Cole had installed between our two homes.
Cole was a semi-famous fashion designer who lived and worked in New York City. For obvious reasons, a move to Hawthorne, Florida, wasn't in the cards for him, but we wanted the relationship to work.
So, after our recent adventures in the big city, he'd asked Solcruth, his soul stone, to create a passage between our two homes. Now we split our time between the two places as convenience and desire dictated. Remembering some of those moments of desire, I shivered.
Working from home also meant that instead of sedate pumps, I was barefoot, a concession to Florida's May weather.
I checked the clock on the wall, knowing I needed to get ready for the call with my first client.
A client I fully intended to turn down.
"Don't be so sure about that."
I started, my gaze dropping to the chair on the other side of the desk. A chair that should have been empty, but that was now filled with the nebulous form of Neala Delaney, my deceased maternal grandmother.
Frowning, I glanced at the sachet Aunt Shawn had given me. Made from one of Neala's handkerchiefs, it provided a focal object, which made these visits easier for Gran. I had it in a crystal bowl, so it looked less like a summoning artifact and more like a knickknack. Sort of.
She grumbled softly, pushing me to respond.
I turned my attention back to her. "I am NOT working for Zelmara O'Connor. I passed the bar. I'm a lawyer and I don't have time to join a coven." The words bounced lightly off the oak-paneled walls, but Neala just smiled.
"As you say, dear. But I suggest you keep an open mind." The ghost tilted her head to one side as if listening. "Where is Lena, then?"
Lena was out with Marcus, a nursing student at Shadow Hills University, my alma mater. Lena and Marcus had been dating for about a month, and I hoped the romance would run its course soon. Marcus seemed nice enough on the surface, but there was something about him...
"Out on a date," I said when Neala cleared her throat impatiently. Ghosts had a hard time holding a manifestation for more than a few minutes, even with a practiced medium. Not that I had called her. What do you want, anyway?
Aware that the question would sound rude if I put it that way, I adjusted my approach. "It's good to see you, Gran. Is everything all right?"
"I thought you'd like to know Simon has passed over."
Surprise washed through me. I hadn't seen or heard from Simon since locking him in a deceased vodnik's empty lair. Not that I expected to. I hadn't exactly given him a phone before throwing him in there. Given the state the ghosts had left him in, I guess I should have expected the news, but it was still a bit of a shock.
The truth was, I hadn't really believed something that evil could die.
"He's in the Summerlands?" I asked slowly.
"Tcha. I suppose you could say so, after a fashion. He's there, but he keeps to the dark shore. None will speak with him, tainted as he is with evil. Keeps to himself, he does, and he's quiet about it at least."
"Does he have a choice? You said no one talks to him." A shiver rippled through me and I worked to keep it hidden. The Summerlands was supposed to be a beautiful place, peaceful and serene. But an eternity of solitary existence sounded awfully harsh. Even for someone like Simon.
Neala fluttered her fingers dismissively. "Don't you waste any sympathy on that rascal. Do him good to have a few centuries to think about what he's done. Now, back to my original question. Where is Lena?"
"I told you. She's on a... date." The word stuck in my throat.
Neala leaned toward me, a mischievous grin on her lined face. "With someone you don't like, I take it."
Ghosts could take on the appearance of any age they'd lived through, so I always found it interesting that Gran chose to look as she had when she passed. I flicked the thought away and focused on her words.
"It isn't that I don't like him..." I said, my words trailing off as she chuckled.
"Being the elder sister is a burden, to be sure. What's his name?"
There was no harm in telling her. "Marcus Tidewell. He's a nursing student at—"
"Tidewell?" Her eyes widened. "Does he have family in Cassadaga?"
I arched an eyebrow. Something in her reaction told me this was more than casual interest in her granddaughter's love life. "I don't know. Why?"
"You need to find out," she said, her tone grim. "If he's a Cassadaga Tidewell, you'll be wanting to watch him carefully."
A tingle of alarm trembled in my belly. "Why Gran? What's wrong with the Cassadaga Tidewells?"
"Whisht." She waved my question away. "It's probably nothing. Lena's got a good head on her shoulders. She wouldn't date someone who dabbled in—" She cut her sentence short, giving me a shrewd look as her presence began to fade. "Just find out. And don't turn Zelmara down out of hand. Life can take turns you didn't expect, but that doesn't mean you're headed down a wrong path."
She was transparent now. Nearly invisible. I jumped to my feet. "Gran! Come back here. Dabbled in what? What do you know about the Tidewells?"
"Nothing you can't discover for yourself, should you need to." Her voice faded with her, becoming a whispered thread of sound in the still air.
"Dammit, Gran! Come back here!" Silence greeted me. She was gone, and it didn't seem like she planned on returning any time soon.
My computer chimed, letting me know that a caller was waiting on my Vroom app. Dammit all to Hades.
Settling into my chair, I ran a hand through my white-blond hair out of nervous habit. I clicked the waiting room icon, letting Zelmara know I'd seen the call and would be with her in a moment.
A quick check of my appearance told me everything was buttoned, but my blouse had rucked up to display half my ribcage on the right. Glad that I'd checked, I blew out a slow breath, pulled the fabric down and smoothed out the wrinkles.
Clicking on the answer icon, my face assumed the calm, professional demeanor I'd been practicing. "Good morning, Ms. O'Connor. I hope things are going well today."
"They are not." The woman in the Vroom frame scowled, her unlined, pale features framed by waves of long, red hair caught up in a sleek bun at the back of her head. Silver glinted in the thick tresses, looking more like a fashion choice than a sign of aging. She wore a peasant blouse of bleached muslin, embroidery brightening the yoked collar and sleeves. Long, black painted nails drummed against her desk as she pinched her lips together, pressing so hard their normally full contours looked like a thin line of palest pink. "Things are not going well at all."
I blinked. "I'm sorry to hear that. How can I help?" I asked reluctantly. Zelmara had been trying, with my late father's connivance, to get me to join their coven for five years now, and I was pretty sure this was just one more attempt. But the distress in her dark eyes looked real. Maybe this call was legit.
She closed her eyes briefly and when she opened them, I caught a new look of determination in them. "Not important right now. I have an offer of employment for you."
Not this again. "We discussed this last week, Ms. O'Connor," I said. "I'm not interested in joining the coven."
"We did discuss that last week, and I respect your position. This is a different matter."
I blinked at her. That's a new tactic. "I see. Please go on."
"The coven needs a lawyer. Eli Weisenhoff, our former legal counsel, is retiring. As you know, he is not one of us, but he served us well over the last decade."
I knew Eli. A sharp witted, kind-hearted human who seemed to take in whatever life threw at him without breaking stride — including witches and the rest of the paranormal community in Hawthorne. Zelmara was still talking, drawing my attention back to her.
"...later this month. The consensus is that we would do well to hire someone who is both a lawyer and a witch."
"Why?" I asked.
She sighed. "As I just said, there is a lawsuit pending with pre-trial motions scheduled for later this month. Mr. Weisenhoff is leaving us next week. He assures me he has all the prep work done for the trial, and he will brief you. He’ll even sit in as second chair if you feel it is necessary. But this will be his last case, and we'll need someone going forward."
"Is the suit against an individual, or is the entire coven involved?"
A pale wash of color rose in her cheeks. "One member, but our covenant includes providing legal counsel when necessary."
My eyes narrowed, and I watched her closely as she picked at the embroidery on her sleeve. "And who is the member?"
"Me," she replied, her eyes falling from mine.
Shock tried to rock me back into my chair, but I resisted the urge, struggling to keep my expression impassive and professional. "I see. And who is suing you?"
"I... I don't want to say unless you are going to take the position. There is already enough gossip about this in the community. I don't want it to get worse."
Heat surged up the back of my neck, and I studiously ignored it. "My official status as council aside, I don't gossip, Ms. O'Connor."
She gave me a half-smile. "We've known each other since you were a child. Call me Zel, like you used to. And I'm sorry. I didn't mean to suggest you would be unprofessional enough to talk about the case. I just..." She trailed off, biting her lip. "I need help, Char. And I'm not sure who I can trust."
Something in the way her eyes darted to the picture frame on her desk — its back facing the camera — suggested that she might not be talking about the case anymore, but the impression was lost as she brought her eyes back to lock gazes with mine.
"You can trust that nothing you say to me will go past these office walls. This may only be an interview, but privilege will apply whether I take the position or not."
"All right." She lowered her head. "Dalia Kennedy accused me of mishandling a potion I sold her. She said it not only didn't work, but it made her dog sick."
"Did you? Did it?"
Affronted, Zelmara stiffened, her eyes glowing with irritation. "Of course not. There was nothing in it that would have hurt her pet, even had she dumped the entire contents into his water bowl."
"What was the potion for?"
"Growth. She asked for something to give her an edge at the county gardening competition. She wanted her Black Beauty variety to "come back a winner," as she said. I explained that though the growth potion was easy enough, it wouldn’t have any effect on the roses themselves beyond ensuring their health. A charm that could ensure a win was against the competition rules.”
I nodded. “What did she say to that?”
“She insisted on buying a luck potion. I warned her that luck doesn't always work the way we want it to, but she wouldn't listen."
Of course not. Non-witches rarely had a good understanding of how magick worked, especially not luck charms. Luck, whether good or bad, is highly circumstantial. For instance, is it bad luck to be running late for an important meeting if being late means you also miss a major traffic accident on your way there? Or, in this case, is it lucky to win a big pot of money if doing so is likely to bring greedy relatives out of the woodwork like cockroaches?
I relaxed. This wouldn't be a hard case to win, even considering my lack of experience. It could be good to cut my teeth on something simple. "They often don't," I said at last. "One of the hazards of dealing in magick with non-magickal persons."
"I know, but they also make up around forty percent of my clientele. Turning them away because one of them refuses to listen and be reasonable isn't an option."
"I understand."
Silence descended and sat with us for several minutes until she regained some of her usual impatience. "Are you interested in the position? If not, I have three other meetings lined up. You are local and, though young, I think competent and brave. So, I wanted to give you first refusal."
It didn't take me long to decide. "So long as there is no requirement to join the coven, I will be happy to sign on as your legal counsel." First client, first case! Under the desk, my legs bounced with excitement and I stilled them impatiently.
"No. You've made your position absolutely clear, though if you ever change your mind..." She let the words trail off suggestively and I chose to ignore them.
"Send me Mr. Weisenhoff's contact information and let him know you've retained my services," I said, then rattled off my email address. "I'll get started right away."
