Chapter 3 #2
He found the switch that would turn on the overhead light without needing to feel for it, the location ingrained in memory. The bare light bulbs down there were soft white, brightening a space no one but the three of them ever entered, and now it would just be him and Aisling.
The concrete walls of the stillroom were painted white to help make the space feel bigger.
The floor was painted a dark moss green, while the pentagram circle that touched all four walls was a riot of colors from the flowers designed into it.
The witchmarks representing the Gallagher coven were painted bright gold, the magic imbued in the circle glowing softly as Bran and Aisling stepped onto the floor.
It recognized and welcomed them, a faint buzz tingling against his skin.
One wall was fitted with a metal shelving unit where the Shoppe’s extra inventory was kept.
Wooden shelves had been drilled into the rest of the walls, with a tall cabinet centered against one.
A rectangular worktable sat in the middle of the stillroom, jars and sachets scattered across it, and a hot plate sitting next to a chopping board.
Herbs, plants, and vials of liquid and oil ringed the cutting board, with empty jars and tins stacked at one end of the worktable, filled ones at the other.
Lughnasa had recently passed, and the potency of some plants was stronger after that holiday.
His mother must have gone foraging in the forest.
He wondered if that was how the lights had found her and followed her home.
It should have been peaceful, being in their mother’s favorite space, but Bran only felt broken.
Bran approached the cabinet and opened the wooden doors.
He scanned the interior, frowning when his gaze settled on the empty spot between two leather-bound books on the top shelf where their coven’s grimoire should have been.
The space was wider than his hand, the grimoire holding centuries of his coven’s spellwork history, and it wasn’t there.
Aisling tugged fiercely on his shirt, trying to get his attention. Bran glanced at her, not liking how wide her eyes were as she pointed at where the grimoire was always stored when their mother wasn’t using it.
“Did Mom take it back to the house with her?” Bran asked, thinking of the worst-case scenario. That whatever had followed her home had done so to deprive their coven of power.
Aisling shook her head before writing out another text on her phone. You know Dad never liked it staying there.
Fear left Bran cold, more than the air in the stillroom could.
He turned away from the cabinet and knelt over a line on the pentagram’s circle.
He pressed his palm flat over a gold-painted witchmark, seeking out the magic embedded in it.
He blinked back tears at the touch of magic, the last remnants of his mother’s power there in the space she’d built and maintained.
He sent a pulse of magic through it, watching as the gold shimmered against the floor in a wave, washing through every painted line until it returned.
“The circle is intact. No one broke through the spells,” Bran said slowly.
He made a fist with his hand, letting the protective magic in the pentagram fade away.
Aisling patted his shoulder, but he didn’t need to look at her to know what she wanted to say, but couldn’t.
“I know that doesn’t mean anything if Mom left with the grimoire. ”
Which meant the grimoire could be anywhere.
Including in the hands of the enemy.
Bran strangled the urge to panic the same way he’d strangled his grief, shoving it down into a hard little knot that sat heavy in his chest. “Maybe she left it upstairs.”
Maybe it was tucked away behind the sales counter or somewhere in the apartment. Maybe, if they were lucky, the police had taken it as evidence, and he could get Mac to retrieve it for them somehow.
Maybe the history of the Gallagher coven wasn’t missing, only temporarily misplaced.
Bran glanced up at the ceiling as the sound of someone knocking loudly on the front door echoed down to them.
He shared a look with Aisling before they hurried back upstairs.
Bran lowered the basement door and reset the latch before straightening.
Aisling popped up beside him, both of them staring at the front door.
Through the front window, he could make out the black truck of a ranger parked out front next to his car.
“I think it’s Mac,” Bran said.
Neither of them moved.
It was daylight, but that didn’t mean the threats from the forest wouldn’t come out and make themselves known when the sun was in the sky. They just preferred the cover of night.
Bran curled his fingers, but before he could call up his magic, Jupiter cawed a greeting from the porch.
Bran let out a breath and went to open the door, squinting at where Mac stood on the porch, a backpack slung over his shoulder.
His hat shielded his face from the sun, but it couldn’t hide the dark circles under his eyes. “I brought Aisling some clothes.”
Jupiter cawed again, and Bran looked up at the roof. The raven hopped along the rain gutters, flapping her wings, but otherwise appearing unbothered. “Thanks.”
Bran stepped back, allowing Mac to enter. He came inside, glancing around the Shoppe. “The police said the Shoppe hadn’t been broken into.”
Bran held his tongue for the moment about the missing grimoire. “No. The door was locked when we got here last night, and nothing was out of place.”
Mac slid the backpack off his shoulder. It looked as if it might have belonged to one of his kids before they’d gone off to college.
The fabric was a little worn and stretched near to bursting at the seams. Bran wondered how he’d managed to get the zipper closed.
“I packed as much as I could. The house is still a crime scene. When it is finally released into your hands, you’ll need to do some deep cleaning. ”
“Police still aren’t paid enough to do it for us?”
“No.”
Aisling took the backpack from Mac and clutched it to her chest with both hands.
Mac looked at Bran, grimacing a bit. “The medical examiner is coming back today. The bodies are being held in cold storage at the morgue in the ranger’s station.
You need to name them before the medical examiner arrives. ”
Bran couldn’t help the way he flinched at that demand. “You kept the bodies?”
“You know why.”
Pelham didn’t have the resources for a medical examiner’s office, which meant the police department didn’t have anywhere to store the bodies the forest sometimes gave up.
The rangers always handled the dead. Federal funding gave them the ability to have a morgue in their station located midway between Pelham and Belchertown on State Route 202.
Mac’s shoulders slumped a little. “I know it’s not what you want to do, but it should have been done last night when the bodies came to us for holding.”
“Why didn’t you call?” Bran asked.
“Would you have come out last night after everything?”
Bran looked away, staring at the rack of antlers on the nearest display table. The antlers still had their velvet lining, and the price tag neatly written out in his mother’s handwriting accounted for that. “Aisling needs to get dressed.”
“I can wait.”
Bran didn’t want to bring Aisling with him, but neither was he willing to leave her behind. “Fine.”
Aisling hefted the backpack onto her shoulder and scurried upstairs, presumably to get dressed.
Her footsteps were loud on the stairs, and the ceiling squeaked overhead with her passage through the apartment.
Bran crossed his arms over his chest and shifted on his feet, nausea roiling his stomach at the thought of what he had to do.
“How is she doing?” Mac asked.
Bran shrugged one shoulder. “How do you think?”
“Has she spoken yet?”
“No.”
Mac grimaced. “And you? Have you taken up the mantle yet?”
“My mother isn’t even in the ground yet. Don’t talk to me about the mantle.”
Pelham had a cemetery on the north side of town, a bit of land with graves that held dates on headstones going back to the town’s founding.
A corner of the cemetery was reserved for Gallaghers, and Bran wasn’t sure how he’d be able to get through his mother’s funeral, much less the identification of her body.
“I’m sorry,” Mac said gruffly, eyes kind rather than accusing. “But if the lights are back, then the town needs you.”
Bran looked away, staring out the trifecta stained-glass window at the trees beyond. “I know.”
Being a witch meant doing one’s duty, and right now, that duty was to tend to the dead. The grief clawing at his ribs, at his heart, would have to wait.
Aisling clattered back downstairs a few minutes later and barreled into the Shoppe, dressed in her own clothes. She reached for his hand and put his car keys and wallet in his palm, saving him a trip back upstairs. “Thanks.”
“You can follow me to the station,” Mac said, turning and heading for the front door.
They left the Shoppe, Bran pausing only long enough to lock up behind them.
He touched a finger to the witchmark etched into the door above the knob, the magic there warming the wood for a split second.
Then, he headed for the car with Aisling, getting in and starting the engine. “Do you have your iron?”
Aisling nodded. Knowing he couldn’t stall any longer, Bran put the car in reverse and pulled away from the Shoppe, turning the car around to get on the road.