Chapter 14
Peter was crouched over the remains of the latest failed experiment when his charmed lockets flashed hot. Both of them, the one keyed to the entire town and the newly made one that picked up spells only on the property.
Had a wizard just dismantled the spell around the house?
His pair of lockets flared again, then a third time.
Blood roared in his ears, his thoughts skittering in horrible directions.
The wizard could be inside even now—Beatrix had no warning—why hadn’t he made her a locket keyed to this house or the town, something beyond her own property?
Too late to run down now, too late already!
The intruder could beat him to the brewing room, see her breaking federal law—
Peter thrust his hand into the pocket that held his two precious red leaves, grabbed one and materialized the next instant in the brewing room. Beatrix stood at the other end of the table, eyes wide, her astonishment crashing over him.
“Miss Harper,” he hastened to get in before she could ask what on earth he thought he was doing. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. Where were we?”
Either the situation was odd enough to set off her internal alarm or his gut-clenching anxiety had splashed over to her, because she said, “Just about to start the migraine tincture, Omnimancer,” as if it were perfectly normal for him to teleport into the room to help her with medicine she required no assistance to make.
“Of course, thank you,” he said, looking at the brew she’d just finished, still green from the spell she’d cast to check its efficacy. If she’d been seen or heard, the jig was already up.
He tucked the vial behind ones filled with other medicines, hands trembling. Brewing would be interesting in this condition.
“Omnimancer …” Beatrix bit her lip. “Do you expect any visitors today?”
“Yes,” he said, perhaps a bit too emphatically. He took a deep breath to counteract the adrenaline and said, “You know we can’t go a day without the town adding to the request list.”
Beatrix nodded, eyes watchful. It was a small relief, at least, that she’d grasped the seriousness of the situation.
But then they had to actually make the tincture. He fumbled with his mortar and pestle, straining to catch some proof of an invisible third in the room. Should he cast the spell detector? No—better to make the wizard think they had no idea he was here, surely?
Peter picked up his container of pomegranate juice, realized his hands were shaking, and turned it over to Beatrix rather than attempt to pour it into the beaker himself.
She’d had a panic attack in this very room a few weeks ago, and yet now, while in imminent danger, her hands were steady. Panic, it seemed, hit her in the terrible waiting period between crises. She was good under pressure.
He’d thought he was, too, back in Washington. He was learning all sorts of unfortunate truths about himself these days. He pulled out a leaf to cast the tincture’s first spell and almost botched it.
Fearful, disjointed thoughts kept intruding. He could almost see Wizard Morse in the doorway, staring at them through his dark glasses. Or Garrett. Would that be better or worse?
Peter finished three brews with Beatrix’s help, hypersensitive about not touching her, not talking to her unless necessary, not doing anything to create the impression that he was or aspired to be anything but her employer.
They ate lunch in the kitchen, silent as death.
Afterward, they made four more brews, his spellcasting barely adequate.
Through it all, he kept waiting for something to happen. More spells heating up his lockets. The whisper-quiet sound of a wizard’s coat brushing against the wall. An exhalation from another man’s lungs.
But perhaps there was no other wizard here to do those things. Someone might have recast the phone-tap spell on the exterior of the house and teleported away.
He doubted it. Phone-tap spells were of a class that easily lasted years, so long as they were cast competently.
Besides, the wizard cast three spells. Three was just the right number to dismantle the protection around the house, teleport in and reset the magical shields, the better to avoid detection.
His nerves were so taut that a knock on the door made him lose his grip on the bottle of cough suppressant he was taking to the shelf of finished products. He caught it right before it would have smashed on the floor.
“That should be all for today,” he said, steadying himself. “Would you start cleaning up while I get the door?”
It was probably Miss Knight. She’d been coming every day now, and this was past her normal time. He would have to apprise her of the situation as quickly and quietly as possible and ask her to walk Beatrix home.
But it was Miss Sederey on the porch, not Miss Knight, when he opened the door. Oh, come on.
“Yes?” he said, only barely managing not to snap.
“Hello, Omnimancer.” She dimpled at him. “I’ve come to invite you to the church tea the Saturday after next. Mrs. Hattington—the pastor’s wife, you know—asked me to pass on the invitation personally. Everyone comes. Do say yes, Omnimancer!”
He almost did, just to get her to go away—if everyone went, what did it matter—but then considered that she would see it as saying yes to her.
“I’m—I’m afraid I’ll be out of town that day,” he said, unable to think up a better excuse. Well, he could always go out of town. Or put his car under an invisibility spell.
“Oh,” she said, so disappointed that he felt sorry for her. But not sorry enough to change his mind.
“Thank you for the invitation, Miss Sederey,” he said. “Now I’d best get back to work.”
“Yes.” She managed a smile. “Well—good-bye, Omnimancer.”
He rushed back to the brewing room. Beatrix was fine. The wizard, presumably, was still here—what was the man’s end game? Peter scrubbed the table, picturing Garrett just waiting to get him alone.
Knock, knock, knock.
“I’ll get it,” he told Beatrix, stomping out.
Miss Hennessey.
This time he did snap. “Yes?”
She took a step back but quickly reset her smile. “Omnimancer, have you heard about the church tea a week from Saturday?”
“I have, and I’m afraid I will be out of town.”
“Ah. What a shame! Mrs. Hattington will be so disappointed. She asked me to ask you, you know.” She cocked her head and batted—actually batted—her lashes at him. “Couldn’t we persuade you to rearrange your calendar?”
“No, Miss Hennessey.”
Her lips thinned before smoothing back into a smile. “We’ll miss you.”
He managed a civil, “Thank you for the invitation,” and shut the door. It was the least of their troubles, but he hoped Beatrix was too busy in the brewing room to catch on to what the girls had actually wanted.
He turned to find Beatrix coming into the hallway. “I know we just cleaned up, Omnimancer, but it occurred to me—I ought to take care of those requests that came in yesterday.”
No requests came in yesterday. She was giving him a reason to keep her here.
The thought of staying in this house alone made his stomach lurch, that was undeniable. But he wanted her safely out more than he feared what Garrett—if it was Garrett—would do when she was gone.
“No, Miss Harper, but thank you,” he said.
Still—what if it was Morse? What if the wizard realized how critical she was to her sister? What if he intended to follow her into the forest and …
Peter almost blurted out, “I’ll drive you home,” but no, that would never do. If it was Garrett, the man would see that as some sort of declaration.
“Wait,” he said. “I’d better give you your pay for the week now.”
Hoping he could grab a few moments unobserved, he all but ran into the receiving room. He ducked behind the desk, unhooked from his neck the locket keyed to the town and hid it in a pocket, then fished his checkbook out of the desk drawer and stood to make a check out to Beatrix.
She walked in, face grave.
“I really think I ought to get that extra work done today, Omnimancer,” she said, an edge to the words.
“No, Miss Harper.”
“Omnimancer—”
He reached over the desk and pressed the locket into her palm with one hand while using the other to cover it with the check. Her eyes widened.
“I don’t want to risk the efficacy of the brews,” he murmured. “But I’d appreciate it if you would speak to the mayor about the ginger order on your way home. It was nice of him to offer to drive you.”
“Very nice,” she said, frowning. She did not agree with his plan, that was obvious, but she was unable to gainsay him further without making clear to the intruder that she was not a normal employee.
“Good-bye, Miss Harper,” he said.
Her glare suggested all sorts of caustic things. But her voice trembled on her answering “good-bye.”
She was worried about him. That gave him an extra zing of adrenaline.
He took down the shielding around the house. She gave him a look that seemed to be a combination of be careful and how could you, and walked out.
The instant he closed the door, the locket still around his neck—the one keyed to the house—flared to sudden life. Seconds later came a hammering on the door, and he opened it to find Beatrix, his other locket still clutched in her hand.
“I’m not leaving,” she hissed.
Just what he needed Garrett to see. But he had a strong suspicion, given the timing, that Garrett—if it had been him—was now gone.
“Omnimancer—”
“All right,” he said. “Come in.”
He reset the protective spell and dropped demarcation stones in the four corners of the receiving room. Time to risk it. “Lang rēad lēoht.”
The remnants of a few old spells glowed around the desk, with a brighter white spot in the corner where he stood—the designated area for casting this spell.
That was all. No telltale sign of dematerialization.
Shit.
He gathered up the stones, ran to the brewing room and repeated the procedure. There, near the doorway, was the body-like afterimage left over from the exit point of teleportation.