Chapter 16
16
Alistair swallows hard, and his voice drops. "I'm a Redridge and need them for a spell. If I have the right items, I could use the family magic."
"Witch abilities are inherited and if your name is Smith, you're not a full-blooded Redridge. You do not contain the ability to learn complex spells," I reply. "You couldn't perform anything useful."
"But if I have the gems I can use a Redridge spells," he repeats. "I'm a Redridge witch."
"You are not. Non-witches who use magic items tend to injure themselves badly," I add. "Didn't you know this?"
"But I am a witch!"
I scratch my nose. I came across people like him during my short stint at a human high school. They'd cultivate an image as outsiders. Talk about the occult. Pretend they had powers or played around with Ouija boards.
"Barely a witch," I reply.
"I'm a Redridge witch!" he protests again. "I've practiced their spells."
Grayson tightens his grip on the guy. "What spells?"
"Evidently not one for luck," mutters Rowan.
Alistair pulls up his coat sleeve and shows Grayson the inside of his forearm, revealing black tattooed shapes. "Redridge runes! I found incantations, used the runes, and my school grades went from D to B. Magic ."
I'm not venturing into the psychology of a non-magical reason why his grades may improve after a 'spell', and merely give him a tight smile. "Where did you find these runes and incantations?"
Alastair looks at me as if I'm simple. "In a spell book."
I walk over to examine his runes and summon an image of the one on the mole's eyes. A rune on Alistair's arm matches the small circular symbol etched into the rubies. "And where did you find this spell book? Stolen from the museum too?"
"No. A couple of years ago, I researched my family history for a school assignment and discovered my great-great-grandfather was a Redridge—and suspected witch. My grandfather hid Redridge spell books that I found after he died. I started to practice the spells because I'm a witch!"
"And what spell are the gems used for?" I ask.
He grits his teeth, attempting to stop words emerging from his mouth as I force them out. "Mind magic. They magnify a spell to influence people into doing what you want. People should do what I want instead of treating me like crap."
"Oh. That's distasteful," I say.
"And illegal," adds Rowan.
"Do you know the Redridge history?" he snaps. "The council discriminated against Arthur Redridge when they discovered he was a witch. After the founders kicked him off the council, they erased my family's influence and power from history books. Nobody ever showed my relatives respect. People treat me like shit too. I'm going to change that!"
"Let me guess. Arthur was removed for using this 'influential' magic that you intend to perform?" asks Grayson.
Alistair glowers. "Witches have always lived in this town—the Redridges were here before the humans settled! We should be allowed more involvement in running the place."
We?
"There is witch involvement," says Rowan. "But regulated. "
"This spell mentioned a mole's eyes ?" I interrupt in disbelief.
"No. The gems needed for the spell are small and red and a note in the book indicated they went missing around the time Arthur Redridge was accused of witchcraft." He pauses, smiling proudly. "I figured it out. Arthur was a taxidermist—an albino mole would have red eyes. He'd hidden the magic gems from humans who wanted to use them as proof against him. I'd planned to take the mole when we visited the museum on the excursion, but these morons stole it first."
Rowan's brow pinches. "How would these gems work? The mole doesn't contain magic."
"I don't need the mole. If I place them into the Redridge pocket watch, then?—"
"You stole that too?" I interrupt. "Good grief. How?"
Alistair runs a hand through his hair and stares at the floor. "The cabinet with the watch inside was unlocked."
That's the connection. The indents on the image of the watch Rowan showed us must fit the tiny gems. I admit I'm impressed by Arthur Redridge's ingenuity hiding his family magic, but this still doesn't answer my more significant question. Who took and hid the eyes recently, and why?
I tip my chin. "Corrie does not possess the real eyes. I do."
Alistair's eyes bug. "You?"
"Not on my person so if you're considering attacking me to retrieve them, you'll only find broken fingers. Yours."
"How do you have the eyes?" Alistair asks. "Did Corrie and her lowlife friends sell them to you ?"
"We found them… somewhere. Corrie never had the Redridge gems because another person took and hid the mole's eyes before the museum theft," says Rowan. "Likely a witch who could actually use them."
Yes, but who ? I need to get to the curator asap. Alistair is a good source of information, but we are wasting our time.
"This is all very enlightening, but we've places to be." I step back, my voice calm. "My father must be informed. I will give him the rubies, and you must bring me the pocket watch and spell book."
"They're mine!" he snaps, breaking away from Grayson, his hands balling into fists. "The gems belong to my family."
"Correction: they belonged to your family," I reply, voice cold. "You're entirely incapable of using them safely. Do you even realize what would happen if you tried casting that spell? You might kill yourself or people around you."
Alistair opens his mouth, but no words come out. For a moment, his confidence falters, his gaze darting between me and Rowan. Grayson seizes his arm again, forcing him forward to meet my eyes.
"That type of spell amplifies the caster's mind," I continue. "If by any miracle you performed the spell successfully, your thoughts, desires—everything you are—would flood into anyone nearby. Imagine it for a second, Alistair. All your petty insecurities, your anger, your fear, unleashed and tangled in other people's minds. The spell did not help Arthur Redridge and would not assist you."
His lip trembles, and his defiance wavers. "I need them," he whispers, his voice cracking. "I need them to?—"
"Feel powerful? That type of spell always backfires. That's likely how Arthur accidentally revealed himself."
Alistair swallows hard and extends a hand to me. "Please. I'll be careful with them."
This person is unrelenting and obsessed, a state which is unlikely to change soon. I do not have the time to deal with this deluded human—we need to quieten Alistair and get out of Corrie's house.
"Very well."
"Violet," whispers Rowan in shock.
Stepping forward, I drop the beads back into Alistair's palm and then reach out to his disturbed mind. "You're holding the Redridge gems now," I say, my voice soft but firm, as I weave my magic into his thoughts. "You'll use them in your rituals and spells, and they'll bring you success."
He looks down at the glass in his hand, then at me, smiling broadly. "Yes. The Redridge gems belong to me. Thank you."
"But you won't say a word to anybody that the gems are in your possession. In fact, you can't remember where they came from. Perhaps you found them with your grandfather's spell books?"
His confused expression grows as my words pull tight around his consciousness. "I wouldn't want anybody else to get a hold of my gems."
"But you will bring Violet Blackwood the spell book and pocket watch."
He looks around and whispers conspiratorially, "That's okay because I can take photos of the spells. She won't know."
I sigh. "Give me the house keys. Now."
Alistair created a placebo effect on himself once before—the incantation and runes 'improved' his school grades. In truth, Alistair's belief in the spell likely caused him to work harder and achieve higher grades. Will the Redridge gems give Alistair the confidence to assert himself? Lead him to believe that people change their attitude to him due to magic?
None of my concern. A weak witch is no threat to me when, and if, he discovers my duplicity. I let go of Alistair's mind, moving back as he clutches the beads to his chest.
Behind him, Corrie stares wide-eyed, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter like it's the only thing holding her up. "What's happening? You said Alistair can't have the gems! Were the ones I sold him real? I'm confused!"
"Rowan," I say softly, "Explain to Corrie what occurred here this evening." He nods, understanding what I mean: ensure Corrie forgets about tonight . "We don't want anything upsetting her ."
Rowan nods and smiles at Corrie, whose eyes dart between us. "I don't understand," she says.
Grayson hisses something in Alistair's ear, then releases his arm and shoves him away. I watch as Alistair sneaks towards the kitchen door, clutching the beads, the faintest thread of magic trailing him. Alistair should count himself lucky that he didn't locate the Redridge gems, unaware until now what danger he would've caused himself if he'd attempted that spell.
I turn back. "Dale is waiting outside to take you to the movies, Corrie. Rowan will finish explaining everything and then you should go to him."
But Corrie doesn't register me. Instead, she's fixated on Rowan, who's carefully replacing memories in her head, removing any connected to tonight.
I cross my arms and survey the surroundings. The mole is safe. The teens are safe. But the larger question looms, nagging at the edges of my thoughts.
Who took and hid the mole's eyes before the teens stole it, and why?
The curator knows.
Next stop: the museum.