Elemental Enchantment (9 page)

Pulling his truck up the curving, gravel driveway, he turned it off and got out. The scent of wood smoke and something sweet and heavy hung in the air, drawing him up toward the house. What the hell was that? Some kind of incense?

As he rounded the corner of the house, he saw her. Her back was to him, and she sat crossed-legged in front of what appeared to be some kind of low-sided, metal pot with the fire burning on the other side of it. It was fairly shallow, but wide in diameter. Drawing closer, he heard her singing. No…it wasn’t quite singing. It was more like chanting. What the fuck was going on here?

Moving as quietly as he was able, he crept close enough to see that the container looked to be filled with water that reflected the dancing flames—until suddenly, it wasn’t. It was as if the reflection of the fire vanished, and other images moved across the liquid surface.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he watched the likeness of an older model, gold Lincoln Town Car pull up alongside where Ava Billings, dressed in a red raincoat and matching boots, played on the sidewalk jumping in puddles. A man in a heavy, gray hoodie leaned across the front seat, pushed open the door and motioned for the child to come to the car.

Eli’s stomach sank as he watched Ava skip heedlessly to the vehicle, and his breath stalled in his chest as he saw the guy’s arm reach out and yank her into the car then race away from the curb as the child’s mother ran down the street screaming after them. He couldn’t hear any sound, but he didn’t need to. The anguish and fear were plain on her face as she picked up the single red boot that had fallen off her daughter’s foot. It was the same little boot she’d clutched to her chest in every televised plea for her daughter’s life.

The sound of Meaghan’s lilting voice carried to him on the breeze that had sprung up around him. He couldn’t quite make out what she was saying, but the water in front of her cleared then shifted. Instead of Ava’s mother, he saw the latest missing child, Daisy, playing on the monkey bars at the park before wandering off to chase a squirrel near the trees by the parking lot while her mother pushed her baby brother in an infant swing. The woman called to her child as the little girl headed toward the open door of the gold car, but it was too late. The guy in the car reached out and grabbed her as she turned to look back at her mother.

There were flashes of other images, too. He wanted to look for whatever was projecting them onto the water, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the broken and disjointed pictures in front of him. He glimpsed wooden apple crates, a barn door, hay, dirty tan floor mats, rope and a small window set high in a wall, too grimy to see through. The last thing that appeared in the water was Daisy huddled behind stacked bales of hay on an old blanket, her little wrists tied behind her back. Just as quickly as they came, all the images vanished and the water showed nothing but the reflection of the fire.

Meaghan’s head dropped back, her eyes closed and her cheeks stained with tears. For a moment, she sat like that, and he stayed silent, needing a little time to process what he’d seen before confronting her. Was she some kind of accomplice? He didn’t want to believe that of her, but given what he’d just seen, what choice did he have?

Finally, she shifted and stood, swiping at her cheeks. She turned, screaming when she caught sight of him.

“How long have you been there?” she demanded, her trembling hand pressed against her chest.

“Long enough to want an explanation for whatever the fuck you were just doing. Where the hell are Ava and Daisy?”

Confusion furrowed her brow. “How would I know?”

“I just saw some kind of footage of them both getting kidnapped. If you’ve got that, it stands to reason that you’re involved.” He stepped closer to her, afraid she might run.

Meaghan’s eyes widened in shock. “No! I was trying to find them.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her. He didn’t want to believe she was part of this, but there was no way she’d have access to this footage if she wasn’t. “I need you to come to the station with me.”

“What? Why?” Her voice was practically a shriek.

“Because judging from what I just saw, you obviously know far more than you’re telling me.” He reached out to grab her arm, but she backed away.

“That wasn’t a recording, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Then what the hell was it? How did you do it?”

She took a deep breath. “I was scrying.”

“And that is?”

Resignation settled over her features, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s a method of divination. It’s a way to look into the past or sometimes the future. I was trying to see if I could find out where the girls were or who took them. It really only works if you’re doing it for yourself or someone you have a connection to.”

“So you’re saying you
do
have a connection to them.”

She sighed and rubbed her hand over her eyes. “Not prior to photographing the wedding. I thought I’d try scrying because Ava’s spirit was there and clearly trying to get someone’s attention. Since I managed to photograph her, I thought it might be enough for the scrying to work.” She shrugged, looking absolutely exhausted. “And it was.”

Christ, he needed a drink. “So you’re what? Some kind of fortuneteller?”

Anger flashed briefly in her eyes then her expression went flat. “I’m a witch.”

Several responses flitted through his mind, none of them kind, so he finally settled on, “A witch.”

The flat expression remained. “Yes.”

“So you’re one of those goddess worshipper, tree hugger, Wicca types?”

“I’m surprised you didn’t go with warty, broom-riding, pointy hat-wearing types, instead.”

He shrugged. “Thought about it.”

“Nice.” She just stared at him. “To answer your asked and unasked questions, no, I’m not really any of those things. I just have the ability to use some forms of magic.”

“Magic. Right. Okay, Hermione.” He snorted. He couldn’t help it.

“And
this
is why I don’t date—assholes like you.”

He thought he saw hurt flash in her eyes, but it was gone before he could be sure.

“Why are you even here?” she asked. “Actually, no. I don’t care. Just leave.”

“Since you’re about to become part of this investigation, it’s best that we don’t discuss it.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“C’mon, Meaghan. Magic?”

“What if I show you?”

“Show me what? That same projection or whatever it was with the girls?”

“It wasn’t a projection,” she snapped. She looked for a moment as if she was praying for patience. “What if I show you something that only you would know? Something that I couldn’t possibly know or have seen.”

He studied her for a moment. She seemed completely sincere. He supposed it couldn’t hurt to humor her. At worst, it would delay the inevitable of dragging her to the station for formal questioning. “You realize it’s likely I’ll still need to bring you in.”

“I know.”

He hated the defeated tone in her voice, but he couldn’t bring himself to believe it would end any other way.

She resumed her seat in front of the bowl and patted the ground next to her. Complying, he sat beside to her.

“Since my freedom depends on this, I’d prefer that you have the best view possible.”

He nodded and tried not to breathe in the arousing scent of wood smoke and warm woman. He had to stay focused, but even this ridiculous twist of fate didn’t stop him from wanting her.

“I need you to remain absolutely silent. Try not to react to what you see, okay?”

“Got it.”

Meaghan extended her arms, holding her hands above the water, palms facing down and closed her eyes. “Ancient pathway of prophecy, bring me the sight, so mote it be.”

She repeated the words several more times in a sing-song voice before opening her eyes and staring into the water. He followed her lead, staring at the smooth surface.

For a moment, it looked as if mist was rising, but just as quickly, it cleared and in the water was an image of him at his fifth birthday party with the crooked bowl cut his mother had given him the night before.

His gut tightened, and he glanced at Meaghan. There was no way this could have been filmed. He wasn’t even sure there were photographs of this. Chills skated down his spine as the image changed to his mom carrying his cake. She looked so incredibly young.

That scene vanished as if it never was, and in its place was him at maybe eleven or twelve in his Boy Scout uniform.

He chanced at look at Meaghan. A soft smile played across her lips as she watched him salute. The smile faded slightly as the image wavered and changed, showing her scowling at her Algebra book while he peered at her like a lovesick puppy from across the table.

Another image rose from the depths of the water—one he’d be much happier forgetting. Blood covered his hands and his uniform as he did chest compressions on a kid who hadn’t been more than thirteen or fourteen—another victim of inner city violence. Following that sight was a view of him helping to carry the casket of a fallen officer into the church for the funeral—shot the same night he’d tried to save the kid.

The next scene was better. And also worse. He’d tied his former lover’s hands behind her back in an intricate series of knots and bent her over the kitchen table. He heard Meaghan’s breath catch as he thrust mercilessly into his lover’s cunt. His cock was instantly hard as he imagined tying Meaghan like that. The image morphed quickly turning into Meaghan spread wide on his hotel bed, his face buried between her legs, her nipples hard and jutting toward the ceiling as she clawed at his head. This time he could actually watch her as she came. She was so fucking beautiful.

Meaghan slashed her hand through the water, dispelling the images but not the sudden tension that had sprung up between them.

“I think…” She cleared her throat. “That other than the bits with me in them, there’s no way I could possibly have knowledge of any of this. I used the same technique when I was looking for answers about the kidnappings.”

He scrubbed his hands over his face. He had no real explanation for what he’d just seen, no way to rationalize her abilities. He wouldn’t be taking her into the station tonight. Considering the way she watched him almost warily, he doubted he’d be taking her in any way at all.

Chapter Eleven

Meaghan needed to put some distance between her and Eli. He hadn’t been kidding—he was good with knots. And the look of passion on that woman’s face… She’d clearly enjoyed it.

A flare of jealousy burned in Meaghan’s gut as she tried to push the picture from her mind. It didn’t help that it was immediately replaced with the one of him going down on her. Thanks to that little trip through Eli’s past, her underwear were utterly soaked. She couldn’t get the image of him fucking that woman out of her head.

He stood and paced back and forth before ending up on the other side of the fire staring at her. “I don’t know how you did that, but no, I’m not taking you in tonight.”

She got to her feet, too. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that. Not tonight, but maybe some other time? Does that mean you’ll be looking for ways to connect me to these crimes?”

“No. I don’t think you’re connected. I don’t understand what just happened, but I don’t believe you’re involved.” He met her gaze across the flames. “I’m not sure I ever really did, but when I saw the girls…”

She nodded. “I get it. If you’re not used to it, it’s…disconcerting.”

“Do I dare ask what else you can do?” He looked a little sheepish. “With magic, I mean.” A frown marred his face. “Half an hour ago, I would have sworn anyone who believed in magic was either a kid or whackjob.”

A breeze kicked up, and Meaghan shivered. “Do you want to go inside? I could use a cup of tea.”

He stared at her.

“That’s not a euphemism for anything,” she cautioned. “Just tea.”

His lips quirked, and he nodded.

She bent to lift the basin of water to dump it on the fire, but he nudged her aside and emptied it, dousing the flames.

“Thanks,” she murmured then narrowed her eyes as she peered at him. “What happened to your face?”

He grimaced. “Drunk football player.” He followed her to the backdoor. “So,” he prodded, “about your super powers?”

She flipped on the light as they entered the kitchen. “I was always taught that magic is an innate ability—the gift of harnessing the elements. All magic requires at least one of the elements.” When he looked quizzically at her, she added, “Water, fire, air, earth or spirit. Some people are just better at connecting with them than others and have different abilities because of it.”

“Like what?” he asked.

“Well, my sister is a medium and interacts with the dead. A few years ago, she found the body of another missing child—Marisol Ramirez—because the little girl’s spirit told her where to look. Emma can do a few spells, but it’s not her strong suit. My friend, Rowan, is really good with plant life and healing spells. I scry well, and I’m good with illusion spells. There are a few people who are good at everything, but that’s not me.”

She filled the kettle and put it on to boil.

“What do you mean illusion spells?” he asked, leaning against the kitchen counter and looking far too much as if he belonged there.

“Close your eyes.”

She watched as he obeyed. Focusing her intention, she visualized his hotel room from the night before and whispered an incantation. “Open them.”

His head whipped back and forth as he looked around the room, his mouth hanging open in shock. To him, she knew it looked as if they were standing in the room, the rumpled bed between them instead of her kitchen table.

She released her focus and let the room fade back to normal.

“That was amazing,” he breathed.

The kettle sputtered as the whistle blew. She turned to the stove and switched off the heat. After grabbing two mugs and some herbal tea from the cupboard, she poured the boiling water over the bags.