60 Birdie
BIRDIE
I wake up in Jasper’s bed to the sound of my phone alarm.
Sitting up, the quilt someone put over me slips down around my hips.
Glasses askew, I search for my phone, finding it tucked by my hip under the quilt.
I turn off the alarm and glance around. I’m surrounded by my laptop and the open Dent journals.
Damn it! I fell asleep.
Okay, more like I passed out. I came up here just to get some quiet while I searched the journals. I know I made it as late as three in the morning because that’s when Dáinn came in to check on me. He pet my hair, told me I looked tired, and I can’t remember anything after—
I gasp.
Oh, that sneaky little shit!
Slinging my legs out of the bed, I stand. “Dáinn? Are you in here?”
No response.
I swear, if he used his persuasion magic to put me to sleep, I’m gonna lock him in the bathroom with Pickles. It’ll be a cage match to the freaking death!
I hurry out of the room and take the stairs two at a time. I peek my head into the living room and my anxiety settles somewhat. Jasper is crashed asleep on the couch. Pickles lies curled up on his chest. I wait a beat, watching the rise and fall of Jasper’s breathing chest under the cat.
The clink of dishes has me heading for the kitchen.
I find Hortie there, surrounded by all the trappings of an apothecary.
She’s traded out her tie-dye kaftan for zebra stripe pajamas and a lavender house coat.
There’s a cast iron pot on the stove, little open vials of potion ingredients everywhere.
But all the witchy stuff on display isn’t what’s stopping me in my tracks.
No, it’s the magic. All around the room, a broom sweeps itself, a rag wipes down the counters, and the dishes wash in the sink.
Hortie is leaning against the island, sipping coffee and playing Candy Crush on her phone.
She senses me and turns. “Oh, Birdie, dear. Coffee?”
Recovering my senses, I step into the room. “No, I’m fine. Is the wraith here?”
“No, dear. He left around sunrise.”
He left? Where the heck did he go? My heart sinks as I glance outside. Based on the alarm I set, it’s only now a little after seven o’clock. “Have you been up all night?”
“Mhmm. Jasper asked me to brew a few potions we might need in the coming days.” She gestures to the sunny kitchen window where a row of colorful potions rest, corked in little glass bottles.
There’s a pretty pink one on the end, a sickly green-colored one, and a tall, skinny bottle with a potion that glitters like sapphires.
“Some of these take a day or two to mature,” she goes on.
“So, I decided to get a jump on them last night. I’m not sleeping much these days anyway. ”
Ducking around the self-sweeping broom, I step over to the kitchen window. I reach out a hand but quickly pull it back. These are magic potions, after all. “Can I touch them?”
“Hmm . . . best not touch the pink one, dear. That’s fae fyre.”
Okay, yikes. The pink one is the one I wanted to touch most. “What’s fae fyre?”
“A powerful little potion,” she replies. “Just shake up the bottle, let the potion loose, and you’ll have a fyre hot as dragon’s breath. It’ll burn through pretty much anything. There won’t even be ash left over when it finally dies out.”
Right. Note to self: Never touch a pink bottle of anything in this house.
Other note to self: Never cross Hortense Hastings.
“And the other bottles?”
She plucks up the biggest bottle full of a dark green gloopy-looking liquid. “This is my secret recipe drain dispeller.”
“Drain dispeller?”
“Yep. I call it Hortie’s Horrendous Hangover Hooch! Sure, it’s great for pepping you up after a night of too much tequila. But it’s really for when you overdraw yourself. Cures the brain twisties caused by the magic drain.”
“Ah.” I laugh. “Jasper might have mentioned this one. He said it was like a highly concentrated energy drink.”
She winks behind her glasses. “Patent pending.”
I laugh again. “And the blue one?”
“Marvelous Midnight,” she coos. “For when you need to make a quick escape . . . or hide a nefarious action.”
“You said they need time to mature?”
“Mhmm.” She sets her hangover hooch potion back on the sill. “Sunshine helps some potions cure a little faster. But you can’t rush magic, dear. It’s no different than baking a cake. It takes the time that it takes. An impatient witch tries to cut corners. But the only result will be a ruined cake.”
I nod, feeling like there’s probably a metaphor for life buried in there somewhere. I glance over my shoulder to where I can just see the tips of Jasper’s feet on the end of the couch. He never came up to bed. “Is he okay?”
“Why wouldn’t he be?” Eyes narrowing on me, she gasps. “Oh, sweet Circe, did you two quarrel?”
I swallow a groan. I am not allowed to feel put out that I hogged his bed with piles of research, forcing him to sleep on the couch.
“I just assumed, what with that fetching little love bite on your neck, that things were starting to settle between you.”
“Oh god—” I slap my hand over the mark. “Hortie, I’m sorry.”
She just chuckles. “Don’t be. I was young once too, you know. Still am, come to that. And Jasper is a fine catch. Scorpios make divine lovers, dear. Well, I don’t have to tell you that—”
“Yeah, look,” I say over her, backing out of the kitchen. “I really gotta go get ready for work and umm . . . crawl into a hole.” I bump into her self-sweeping broom, sending it clattering to the floor.
“A warm compress and my homemade witch hazel cream will clear that right up,” she calls after me. “That is if you even want it gone!”
Her mirth follows me up the stairs.
Peep is the only car in the lot when I arrive at the historical society by eight o’clock. Lucky for me, the sign on the door says “OPEN.” Rich Everetts is inside, waiting at the front desk.
“Welcome to the—oh—” He chuckles. “Only you, Birdie.”
“I was hoping you’d be here,” I say with a smile.
“Well, aren’t you the sweetest. Caramel?” He offers me the dish on the counter, shaking the little crinkle-wrapped candies.
“Thanks.” I pluck a candy from the dish.
“Actually, I was hoping you could help me out. See, on Monday, Howe sent me on a sort of secret mission, and I left early. Too early to get my keycard and my login access for the archive sorted. Can you help? I’m due up at the dig site by nine, but Howe asked me to print something out first.”
“Sure,” the old docent chimes. “Happy to be of service.”
Well, that was the easiest hustle I ever pulled.
Rich climbs off his stool and leads the way to the elevators.
He asks me exactly one question about my morning before he launches into a long story about the history of the East Port Lumber Mill.
I let him talk, following him down to the archive floor, though the glass doors, and over to the command center.
“Keycards should be in here,” he says, rattling open one of the lower drawers. “I know how busy Director Howe is these days. We can’t have his new assistant locked out of the archive.”
“No, we can’t,” I echo with a smile.
It takes nothing for him to wake up the computer, log in, and register a keycard to me within the system. “Here you go.” He hands it over to me with a flourish. “This also works to open the main door upstairs.”
“Thank you.” I pocket the card.
“Now, about the database access . . .” He turns to the computer, clicking around with the mouse.
“I logged in using Howe’s credentials, so whatever he needs you to get, you should have access to it.
Just—better keep this little hack between you and me,” he adds under his breath.
“Technically speaking, we’re all supposed to use our own login information. ”
“Oh, I won’t tell a soul,” I assure him.
“Right. Well, here you go. Get whatever the boss needs and have fun today, eh?” He steps back, leaving me to the computer.
I feel like I’m sitting before a ticking time bomb as I sink onto the wheely desk chair. The monitor just glows at me, showing the Burr Island Historical Society logo on the home screen.
“See you later, alligator,” Rich calls with a wave, heading through the glass doors and out towards the elevator.
I just wave over my shoulder, distracted by the potential that lies before me.
I didn’t think it would be this easy to gain access to all of Howe’s files.
Without wasting a second, I duck down for my messenger bag and dig in the front pocket, pulling out a flash drive.
Inserting it into the USB port, I open up the documents folder and start to browse.
It’s like my fingers have a life of their own as they left and right click, copying and pasting any and all files of interest onto the flash drive.
There’s a whole folder labeled HOMEWOOD and another labeled RHG.
That has to be for the Raven Hill Group.
The folder on the island founders is an easy add too.
While I wait for all the files to transfer, I open up the HOMEWOOD folder.
It’s easily over four gigabytes’ worth of content.
I scroll the list of subfolders, stopping on the one labeled “Zone Mapping.” My heart ticks a few beats faster.
This has to be about the GPR, right? When archaeologists plot out an area to scan, they typically break the area into zones.
Makes it easier to keep track of what you’ve scanned and analyze all the data when you do it in smaller bites.
The folder contains a mess of disorganized files, including some PDFs and JPEGs.
Heart still pounding, I open a JPEG labeled “All Zones.” The screen fills with an aerial image of the Homewood dig site.
It’s not a proper drone image, showing real features like trees.
It’s more of a simplified rendering of the area as seen from above.
The dig site is divided into five zones.
Zone 1 is the area that has already largely been excavated.
It includes a few of the homes, including the historically reconstructed one they use for the site tours.
Zone 2 is the area currently under excavation.
It was a larger structure, likely a barn.
Zone 3 is marked with more lines and hashes that denote still more architectural foundations.
All small and scattered. More homes maybe? A blacksmith’s forge? Grain storage?
Zone 4 is the smallest plot, somewhat kitty-corner to Zone 3.
The area is shaded a slightly darker grey.
No information. No mapping. Same for Zone 5.
It’s a narrow strip of land that runs alongside Zone 3.
Following the lines of topography, I can see that the hill starts to slope away in Zone 5, heading down towards a stream.
If I were burying bodies, I wouldn’t bury them on the edge of a sloping hill. My gaze drifts back to Zone 4. It’s a small patch of land in a flat area, far enough from the row of houses to not be underfoot . . .
Smiling, I tap my finger to the screen. “Found you.”
I’d bet any money Zone 4 is where the bodies are buried. Slipping my phone from my pocket, I quickly take a few pictures of the screen. At the same time, the computer dings, letting me know all the files have transferred.
Heart still racing, I jerk the flash drive loose from the USB port and tuck it in my pocket. The clock is ticking. I have to get up to Homewood. Howe thinks he’s about to start mapping Zone 4 today. In case Jasper’s little magic trick doesn’t work, I have to be in place and ready to stop him.