“Son of a—” Sloane shouted and clutched her bath towel tighter.
Elvina sat before her. What’s the matter? You’ve never cared about me seeing you after a shower.
“Are you kidding me?” Sloane strode to her suitcase. “You need to leave.”
I’m not going anywhere. Elvina curled her tail around her legs. Dorathea and I have left you alone the entire day. But now we need to speak with you. We’re waiting in the living room.
Sloane glared at the familiar. “There’s no way to get you out of my head now, is there?”
You were always able to hear me. We first knew you had the ability when you were quite young. Too young to remember. That’s when Jane made me promise only to speak if I needed to protect you . And of course I had to. Several times.
“The warning voice before Morris kicked the door in? It’s always been you?” She lowered her head and mumbled, “You gave me the advantage my partner didn’t have.”
Yes. It has always been me. And I was truly sorry for your loss.
Sloane threw a pair of jeans and a T-shirt on the bed. “Fine. Just go. I’ll be out in a minute.”
Dorathea and Elvina were sitting on the sofa. They had a fire burning in the fireplace. Its warmth and dancing shadows made the room comfortable even though it wasn’t cold out. Sloane sat across from them in one of the armchairs, and they stared at each other.
Tea, dear? Elvina asked.
“Nope.” Sloane popped open a diet soda and looked at Dorathea. “So, what do you want?”
“Do you believe in coincidences?” she asked.
“No. I’m a skeptic,” Sloane answered. “It’s my nature and good for my business.”
“Quite. Neither do I.” Dorathea folded her hands in her lap. “Your grandparents died in a car accident. Then, your mum died the same way a month later. And an attempt on your life followed a month after that.” She paused. “Do you not find this chain of events suspicious?”
“Unfortunate, maybe. Now, if I had died in a car accident…”
“Do you drive?”
“Not in New York City.”
“Then why would you have perished in such a way?”
“I could die as a passenger. Or be run over.”
“You’re being cheeky and avoiding the obvious.”
“No. I’m here because of the obvious. A Musketeer or one of their kids planned to have Harold and me killed for a share of the West and Huxham business property on Old Main.” Sloane set her can on a side table. “I’m pretty damn good at what I do. So don’t you think I’ve already considered Jane and her parents dying were part of that plan? As long as Jane or I were alive, the West land wasn’t reverting to the others.”
Dorathea raised her finger. “Even if you had considered your mum and grandparents part of such a plan, you are unaware of important information. They could not have died from injuries sustained in a car accident.”
Sloane looked out the front windows and mumbled, “Jane did. I was there. I saw her body.”
Dorathea sighed. “I am truly sorry, pet. It is a horrific experience. I know. I was called to identify Nathaniel and Mary.”
Sloane turned back and met Dorathea’s eyes.
“I meant to say that Magicals only succumb to mortal ways of dying if sorcery is involved.”
Sloane wrinkled her brow. “What does that mean? A witch killed them?”
“Wiċċe, not witch, dear. Such a common term. And, yes, possibly.” Dorathea sipped her tea. “I need you to figure out who is behind their murders.”
Sloane recognized the look on Dorathea’s face. Her cousin had more to tell her. “Did anyone else have a reason to kill them?”
“The answer to your question is involved. We are a coven of Protectors. Our identities are hidden from Nogicals and other Magicals. Unless…” Dorathea stared straight ahead, her brow slowly narrowing.
“Unless what?”
“They have a Demon’s help.”
“Jesus. Demons are real?”
Of course, they are, dear , Elvina said. Not the horned, red-skinned “devil” Nogicals teach their young to fear. Demons are malevolent supernaturals. Powerful like us. But they’re not from some hell. They hide in the Nogical world, in plain sight, spreading evil.
“All right. I’m going to need something stronger than soda.Why would a Demon want us dead?”
Dorathea sighed. “It is our greatest fear. Wiċċan Protectors are the only defense against Demons gaining control of the magical world.”
A gravelly moan escaped Sloane’s clenched teeth. Her head had not been this muddled since she was a child, and now Jane wasn’t there to sway her back to stability. She closed her eyes and remembered the pictures in Morris’s pocket. No one believed they existed. Hell, she had even doubted herself, but now they made sense. “Harold’s shooter had photos of us in his pocket, nothing else. That’s how I knew he was a professional.”
Repulsive , Elvina said, wrapping herself in her tail.
“Thing is, as soon as I pulled them out, they disintegrated right there in my hands in a flash of bright green light.”
Dorathea’s eyebrow arched. “A gedwínan hex.”
“A what hex?”
To destroy, dear , Elvina said. And the green light could have indicated a demonic influence. Demons have an aura, an energy represented by a light within the people or things under their possession.
“Jesus. So Morris was a wizard possessed by a demon with a thing for green? Makes sense. When we fought, he jumped up despite a hit I gave him that would have knocked any normal man out cold.”
“Wiċċa , dear, not wizard.”
Sloane turned to Elvina. “What’s the difference? Wizard, witch, wiċċan?”
Wizard and witch are Nogical terms, dear. Wiċċa is what Nogicals call wizard. Wiċċe is a witch. Wiċċan covers both. You are wiċċe and your practice is wiċċedōn. Elvina smiled and nibbled on her scone.
“The green light indicated Morris was colluding with a Demon, indeed.” Dorathea flicked her hand, and steam rose from the teapot. “You will help us, then?”
“Yeah. But why haven’t you tried to find the wiċċan or Demon, or whatever they are?”
“Please tell me you have been listening?” Dorathea’s voice was impatient. “I believed I was the last of our coven. None of us knew about you. Your grandparents and mother had been killed. I was isolating to protect myself.”
“Can’t you just get more wiċċan for the coven?”
“No, indeed, covens are hereditary. Only after intricate rituals can we receive nondirect bloodlines. There was no time,” answered Dorathea.
“Wait. I’m the last of the West bloodline?”
“You are the last of the West Protector bloodline. Your great-great-grandfather’s ability was to protect. When Protectors are born, they create a coven and live here, in the Nogical world. Their eldest sisters join them. From then on, the sisters are bound to the coven until their firstborn daughters are ready to take their place. My great-grandmother was your great-great-grandfather’s eldest sister.”
Sloane tilted her head. “All right. So your mother married a Denham and you took her place…” Sloane stared at her with a blank face.
“Obviously, I will be unable to continue that tradition,” Dorathea said.
Don’t you mean unwilling, dear?
Her cousin looked at Elvina with hard, stony eyes, and Sloane knew that was a subject for another time. “All right. There are two of us now. Are we safe? Can we go to Harold’s funeral? Charles doesn’t want me there, but I’m sure he wouldn’t object if I turned up with you.”
“Do you believe our killer will be there?” Dorathea asked.
“I know they’ll be.”
Dorathea looked at Elvina.
We are safer no w, the feline familiar said.
“From the evil or whatever?”
“For goodness’ sake, pet. Are you always so flippant?”
“Not always.” Sloane tapped her fingers on the chair’s arm.
“Yes. With Elvina we have greater power. But we need a coven of at least three wiċċan to enable defensive spells to be strong enough against a demon. Two points, we are but a line with no form. Three points give us dimension—the triangle, a symbol of power. I have requested the Grand Coven prepare one of our cousins to assist us. Unfortunately it will take time. But you will meet him eventually.” Dorathea stared at Sloane’s tatty T-shirt, sweater, and jeans. “Harold’s service is at ten a.m. I will pick you up at nine o’clock sharp. Did you bring something appropriate to wear?”
Sloane smoothed the front of her favorite T-shirt. “I’ve got a darker cardigan and black jeans.”
Dorathea snapped her fingers. Sloane’s clothes transformed into a black dress, and her wet hair slicked back behind her head into a twisted knot.
“Hey, what the hell?” She touched her body and hair. “Where are my clothes?”
They aren’t gone, dear. Elvina’s voice was calm and soothing.
“Then give them back. I don’t wear dresses.”
“Everyone is a critic.” Dorathea admired the dress. “Shame.” She flicked her wrist, and the dress turned into a black suit. “Better? I can do something with your face, too.”
“Stop it. Stop doing that. Just—don’t change things. I get it. You’re a witch. Bear’s a—”
Elvina, dear. Your familiar.
“Whatever. That’s who you are. This is happening. But I’m capable of dressing myself. I don’t do”—she flailed her hands around in the air—“these magical things.”
Not yet, anyway.
“Elvina is correct, pet. You must learn.”
“You want to teach me?” Excitement surged through Sloane.
“Yes, indeed. You will be a powerful wiċċe. Just like your mum.”
Oh, Dorathea. You have no idea. Sloane possesses strength beyond her control , Elvina said. Her promise scared Jane.
“Is that right?” Dorathea’s eyes widened. “This is a welcomed development and just in time.”