Trinkets, Treasures, and Other Bloody Magic (13 page)

“So Jade, right? I’m Hoyt.”

“Utter moron,” Kandy said with more glee.

“You don’t have to be such a bitch about it,” Hoyt said with a sneer that suited his thin face a whole lot more than the smile had. Magic glimmered across his fingers, the bland cucumber taste resolving itself into something tinged with licorice.

I wrinkled my nose. “Fennel, ugh. Everyone is constantly cooking with fennel now, and I can’t stand the taste. I’d keep that curse to yourself if I was you.”

Hoyt stared at me. His mouth was actually hanging open. People did that a lot around me these days. I had a feeling I was speaking out loud a lot more than I used to, and most magic users didn’t see or taste magic like I did.

“Oh, yeah?” Kandy said as she pivoted back. “I’m not a fan of licorice but I’d be happy bite the moron’s fingers off if he even wiggles them in the wrong direction.”

“See? Drop the curse, spellcaster, or lose the fingers,” I said. “And just hand me the damn letter.”

He grimaced, shook the curse he’d been readying off his fingers, and held out the letter to me.

I reached for it, but right before I touched it, I felt cool fingers on my wrist. Kett had snapped out of his fugue state to touch me lightly. The tingly peppermint of his magic itched my skin, but I didn’t shake him off. It was rare that he touched me. His fingers were lightly pressed to the pulse points of my wrist.

Hoyt flinched. His reaction time was purely on human levels. Unlike my own, obviously.

“Blackwell is well known to the Conclave,” Kett said. “Your grandmother would not be pleased.” His voice was barely a murmur, but this statement wasn’t offered as a warning. And Gran being displeased was her currently natural state of being.

“The chances of the spell actually being keyed to me are slim,” I said. To key a spell to that level, a witch would need the hair, blood, or saliva of her target. But I didn’t think a sorcerer could even work magic on that level, not without a magical object. As far as I could tell without touching it, the envelope didn’t contain such an object. Knowledgeable of me, hey? I couldn’t claim natural intelligence though. Kett had me studying witch and sorcerer magic as a basis for the alchemy.
 

“True,” Kett answered, but he kept his fingers on my wrist as I reached the last inch to take the letter from Hoyt.

The spell on the envelope dispersed as it transferred to my hand. Hoyt’s reedy shoulders sagged in relief. The magic embedded in the letter had simply compelled him to hand it over to me, or at least to a person he thought to be me. I wondered if he’d even known what I looked like ahead of time.

“What are you still doing here?” Kandy snarled at the courier. The top of her head was level with his nose, and yet he stumbled back from her ferocity. Curse magic bloomed across all his fingertips before he seemingly reminded himself that Kandy didn’t scare him. Yeah, right.

“I have to wait for an answer,” Hoyt said.

I opened the envelope. The sorcerer’s magic danced within the ink on the single sheet of card stock within. The paper was so thick it was practically fabric. Maybe it was woven linen?

The card read,
Jade Godfrey, Dowser. Granddaughter of Pearl Godfrey, Witch. Convocation Chair. Please accept my invitation to view
 —
 

“Yes,” Kett said.

Err, what?

“I need the answer from her,” Hoyt said. “You know, the person the invitation is actually addressed to.”

Kett rolled his shoulders. That was a whole lot of reaction from him. Kandy noticed as well. The werewolf paused her pacing to eye the vampire. I wasn’t sure if either of us were quick enough to stop Kett from ripping Hoyt’s throat out.

The courier shifted on his feet, aware he’d done something wrong or that something was happening, but not sure what.

“Continue,” the vampire said. He didn’t take his eyes off Hoyt.

I reluctantly dropped my gaze to the invitation. Man, I never knew what would insult the vampire. And here I was without an outside tap in the alley. Trying to clean up the blood would be really obvious by daylight.

Jade Godfrey, Dowser. Granddaughter of Pearl Godfrey, Witch. Convocation Chair.

Please accept my invitation to view

The North American Blackwell Collection

Your expertise as a dowser would be greatly appreciated.

Please reply as soon as possible.

 
 — Mot Blackwell, Lord & Sorcerer

More power was poured into that signature than I saw in most of the Adept — face to face — in Vancouver. Mot Blackwell, Lord and Sorcerer, was not to be trifled with. Which was okay, because I really wasn’t a fan of trifle. Too boozy. Too much mushy cake and not enough icing.

“The Blackwell Collection?” I asked.

“It is an unprecedented invitation,” Kett said. This, obviously, didn’t answer my question. “We accept.”

“The invitation is for one,” Hoyt replied. Then he stepped back with a swallow in reaction to whatever he saw on the vampire’s face.

“A dowser of Jade Godfrey’s ability does not travel unescorted. Blackwell would not be so foolish,” Kett said. His tone was typically cool even though his shoulders were rigid. “Where does the collection currently reside?”

“I don’t know, but Blackwell wishes to meet in Portland,” Hoyt answered. His gaze flicked to Kandy.

The green-haired werewolf stiffened and bared her teeth. “Portland is the territory of the West Coast North American Pack. No sorcerer would dare take up residence there.”

“I assume it is simply a rendezvous point.” Kett was actually attempting to soothe the ruffled werewolf. I felt like my head might explode if I hadn’t been distracted by other more seemingly important things.

“What?” I asked. “Like a treasure hunt?” I really wasn’t a fan of those anymore.

“No. More like a neutral — patrolled — territory.”

“None of the Adept would be stupid enough to start something in Portland,” Kandy added.

“Yes,” Kett said. “Far enough away from Pearl Godfrey’s domain, but not too far from Vancouver. Neutral for witch and sorcerer, but not unrestricted.”

“The sorcerer is seriously asking me to look at his collection? Isn’t that the start of some olden-days, crappy pick-up line?”

Kandy smirked. I could always count on the werewolf to find me amusing.

“Blackwell’s collection of magical artifacts is legendary,” Kett answered, as put out as he had the ability to sound.

“For vampires,” Kandy muttered. Kett ignored her.

“When does Blackwell expect us?” the vampire asked archly.

“At your leisure,” Hoyt answered. His tone mocked Kett’s. This guy really was a moron. Either that, or he mistakenly thought a curse would actually be a defense against a vampire. It was comforting to know there were Adepts even more ignorant than I was.

“You may tell him we will be traveling as a party of four. By auto. We will leave tomorrow morning.”

“Kett,” I hissed. The vampire almost imperceptibly shook his head. I clamped my mouth shut, but I wasn’t happy about it.

“You may leave us now.” Kett dismissed Hoyt and turned his back on him. The courier pulled a face behind the vampire’s back and got a snicker from Kandy. I didn’t pout at her finding Hoyt amusing, even though this diminished her sense of humor in my mind.

“I’m to accompany you. As your liaison,” Hoyt said. “Though I assumed we would fly.” This last bit was delivered as a barb to Kett’s shoulder blades, but the vampire didn’t even twitch.

“The bakery. 8:00 a.m.,” Kett replied. “We will provide the transportation.”

Hoyt backed away, moving as quickly as he could without actually running. Before he turned onto Yew Street, which ran perpendicular to West Fourth Avenue, he had a cellphone in his hand.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said. “And I’m certainly not going anywhere on your say so.”

“Yeah, the dowser ain’t leaving,” Kandy added. “Not without permission.”

“Hey,” I said, affronted. “I’ll go where I want to go.”

“I will speak to Scarlett.” Kett smoothly interrupted the argument brewing between Kandy and me. “May I see the invitation?”

I flipped the invite at him with a flick of my wrist. I wasn’t going to be told where and when to go anywhere, not even by my freaking mother. “I have a bakery to run. Have a great trip.” I yanked open the alley back door. “Some sorcerer guy powerful enough to leave traces of magic in his handwriting invites me to Portland, and that isn’t a red flag for either of you? And you call me stupid.”

Kandy shrugged. Her hands were in her pockets and her eyes downcast. “I like red,” she said. The joke fell flat between us.

“And I like magical collections to which I have been denied access for decades,” Kett said. His eyes were on the invitation. “I also never call you stupid, dowser. Just uninformed and untrained.” The vampire briefly flicked his eyes at Kandy. “And shouldn’t you be tracking someone?”

Kandy curled her lip in a snarl. But then, also pulling out her phone, she turned to follow Hoyt out of the alley.
 

I shook my head. When had I become the rational one?

Though it really was a pity, because I’d always wanted to spend a long weekend in Portland.

∞

I slammed the alley door behind me, wondering if I could alter the wards to exclude a certain werewolf and vampire again. I turned around and literally ran into Mory, who’d apparently been loitering by the back door.

“Portland, huh?” the fledgling necromancer asked.

“You have icing on your face. Is that dark-chocolate buttercream?”

Mory wiped her face and observed the transferred streak of icing. “Yup.” She licked the remnant off her hand.

I narrowed my eyes at her. “From a
Cozy in a Cup
?”

“Nope.” Mory offered me a saucy grin. It was the first smile I’d seen from her. However, only two other options with dark-chocolate buttercream icing were currently available in the bakery. The ever-popular
Sex in a Cup
, a cocoa cake with a dash of cinnamon, and the
Desire in a Cup
, a chocolate raspberry cake. I was fairly certain Mory’s mother would not be a fan of her daughter eating either of those for breakfast.

“I like Portland,” Mory said. “Good shopping, big book store, and lots of bridges.” Her grin widened. Someone slept well last night, at least.
 

“If books and bridges are all you’re looking for,” I answered, “then you should never have reason to leave home.” Still pissed about Portland, and sorcerers, and vampires, I crossed back to my workstation and started to transfer cookies from a cooling rack to a tray, just to do something with my hands.

“Rusty took me. A year ago,” Mory said behind me. It was a deliberate mention of her brother designed to tug at my heartstrings. It worked.

“During the beer festival,” I whispered, more to the cookies than Mory. I remembered Rusty talking about it at a fireworks party last summer on the roof of his building. That had been the first time I’d met him. He’d just started dating Sienna, and had managed to stick around long enough for me to bother meeting him.

“Yeah.” Mory continued chatting as if she wasn’t stabbing me in the gut with every word. My guilt resided in my stomach, hence my need to constantly fill it with chocolate, and cookies, and cupcakes. “While he was at the festival, there was this camp thing I went to for two days. I met a bunch of werewolves and we practiced stuff.”

A camp for Adept kids. Great. One more thing I’d never been to. Jesus, I was tired of my own whinging. I was freaking tired of trying to be the best granddaughter, the best dowser, and the best … friend.

Well, I guess I didn’t have to worry about the last one anymore.

“So you’ll take me, then? To the warehouse? To Rusty?”

I turned around, knowing I needed to say no to her face. Knowing she needed to understand that the right thing for me to do was to take her home to her grieving mother. A mother who didn’t need her daughter even more traumatized by my family than she already was.

Then I saw her face.

Mory didn’t really look like Rusty. She was so tiny, but still gangly around the edges as if she wasn’t finished growing yet. Her eyes were dark pools on her face, too large for her round cherub cheeks and pale lips.

“Tima is here,” Mory rushed to add. “So she … so you can leave now, yes?”

Tima came in part-time during the weekends, though with it being summer now, she’d picked up a few weekday shifts. She was only a year or so older than Mory, and had probably just been dropped off by her brother. Her not-dead brother.

I faltered. This wasn’t a decision I should make … but it was a decision I could make. When was the last time I’d chosen, I’d decided? Damn it. Tima covered me midday for yoga and paperwork, not ghost hunting.

“How do you know he’ll be there?”

Mory chewed on her lip. “He’ll come for me.”

“Why?”

“It’s a necromancer thing.”

“You mean you can call any ghost to you from their … from the site of their death?”

Mory hesitated. I folded my arms and stared her down. Necromancer secrets or not, she’d answer my questions or we wouldn’t step one foot away from the bakery.

“No,” Mory said. “Just a blood relative.”

“Why doesn’t your mom take you? You obviously know the location, or at least that it’s a warehouse.”

Mory ducked her head. She was playing with a bracelet on her left wrist. It was too big for her and too manly. Rusty’s, I guessed. “She doesn’t want me to do it. She doesn’t want me to … be tied to him.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s my brother. If I call him, he can choose to stay. To use me as an anchor point.”

My mind boggled at the idea. “I thought ghosts were just impressions of a person’s energy left on this plane of existence?”

“That’s shades.”

“Shades and ghosts aren’t the same thing?”

Mory squirmed uncomfortably.

I crossed my arms, raised my eyebrow, and remained quiet. A technique I was — rather unwillingly — learning from Kett.

“Shades are like … like a photograph, like you said, impressions,” Mory said. “Ghosts can talk, and even answer questions about their life. If you know the right thing to ask. But they don’t … they don’t learn or, like, grow.” Mory fell silent, and bit her lip.