Chapter 4
After dinner, Sahara had the library table covered in notes, charts, and exactly one coffee mug that read Witches Do It With Wonder. Victoria was on the monitor sipping from a mug that read “British Fashion is Pants.” A tease to lighten Crystal’s mood.
Sahara tapped her pen against the edge of the notebook. “We’ve tried tracking spells, emotional resonance readings, even magnetic imaging.” She sighed, flipping open her phone. “Time to call in the European branch.”
Across from her, Crystal lifted one eyebrow. “The what?”
Sahara was already dialing. “Bas,” she said as soon as the line clicked, her voice warming. “Got a situation. One of ours just leaked power all over the Eastern Seaboard, and I think she’s got water magic in her bones.”
A faint, accented chuckle drifted through the speaker. “Let me guess… Your blonde sharpshooter is stirring up the Atlantic.”
Crystal leaned in. “How do you know about that?”
“Because,” Bas said smoothly, “I read the weekly reports, and your week sounded like a storm in heels. You should do a DNA enchantment.”
Sahara perked up. “You mean the lineage spell?”
“Exactly,” Bas said. “It will tell you if her magic runs in the blood or if it’s an acquired anomaly. If it’s bloodline, the sea magic could go back centuries. She might even have natural protection from the sea.”
Crystal folded her arms. “What if it says I’m just a fluke with good aim?”
“Well, then, you still have good aim,” Bas said.
Crystal rolled her eyes.
The call ended with Bas promising to send the specific ritual. Sahara turned to Crystal with a gleam in her eyes. “Ready to spit in a cup?”
“That’s the least weird thing I’ll have done this week,” Crystal said.
They set up the spell at the far end of the table—a circle of salt, a silver and black enamel basin half-filled with water from the nearest shoreline. Crystal placed both hands on the basin’s rim and let Sahara murmur the incantation Bas had sent.
The black water stilled, then swirled. Images shimmered in the depths. Rigged sailing ships on stormy seas, a woman in a long coat standing at a cliff’s edge, her hands raised against a squall. Her blue eyes were exactly like Crystal’s.
Words etched themselves in silver across the basin: Descendant of the Watchers of the Channel. Navigatrix of Bound Currents. Bloodline sworn to guard the British coast in war and storm.
Crystal swallowed. “I think the Watchers of the Channel are from the Napoleonic era.”
Sahara smiled. “Looks like your ancestors are Sea witches. Hopefully, the rare, nice, kind who can find anything in open water and change the course of a storm.”
Crystal looked down at her reflection, now ringed with spectral compasses and tide charts. “Well,” she said softly, “that explains a few things.”
“Like?” Sahara asked.
“Why I’ve never experienced more than the threat of a storm when onboard a ship. They all seemed to miss me.”
“Good,” said Joell, stepping into the library like she’d been eavesdropping for the last five minutes, waiting for a dramatic reveal.
She carried a mug that read Ask Me About My Coven and had the air of someone prepared to start assigning jobs.
“Now that we know what you are, we can decide what to do with you.”
Crystal eyed her warily. “That’s vaguely ominous.”
“Not ominous,” Joell said. “Practical. And when am I ever vague? Whatever’s stirring out there probably isn’t a hurricane. Sahara’s readings already ruled that out, but it’s drawing on the same kind of energy. And it’s getting closer.”
Victoria sipped her tea on the monitor. “So, basically a magical storm impersonator?”
Sahara was flipping through her notes. “Or something riding the currents and masking itself as natural turbulence.”
Joell set her mug down at the head of the table. “And that’s where you come in. With your bloodline, you can feel disturbances long before our instruments can. You’re our compass.”
“Not bait?” Crystal asked.
“That depends on how the day goes,” Victoria said.
Lioness was already sketching. “If we pair your navigational sense with your seabird familiar’s and my remote viewing skills, I can triangulate the exact location. Then we send the team in before whatever-it-is can get any closer to shore.”
Victoria’s raccoon climbed into view, dragging a small globe across her desk and spinning it until a paw landed on Fiji.
Crystal gave it a flat look. “Wrong ocean, Captain.”
Sahara leaned forward, voice calm but carrying weight.
“You’ll start at the nearest coastal point where the currents feel…
off. Work in arcs. Report back the moment your readings spike.
We’ll be running a relay. Victoria monitoring remotely, Rayna logging data, and the rest of us ready to move if something tries to relocate. ”
“Where is Rayna, by the way?” Brianna asked, glancing around the room as if she were about to reveal her presence.
“She’s hanging out with Major Hottie at her townhouse. She’s nearby in Brooklyn, so she can get here quickly. Or she might be able to borrow Ft. Hamilton’s tech to monitor our progress.”
“So, the Army is letting us ‘borrow’ their tech now?” Crystal asked.
Sahara chuckled. “From what I understand, the good major is making up for spying on us by letting her spy on anyone she thinks worthy of our attention.”
“And if this anomaly is not alone?” Crystal asked.
Joell’s smile was small and sharp. “Then you’ll steer us right into the heart of it.”
“Who’s ‘us’? Crystal demanded. “I don’t want to put any of you in danger.”
Sahara and Joell glanced at each other. “I think it should be voluntary,” Sahara said.
Joell nodded. “Agreed. I’ll go.”
“Seriously? Crystal exclaimed. “I’m going to have to dive to see what the Sea Witch is doing beneath the surface. You could get caught in something dangerous out there. Do you have your diver’s license?”
Joell shrugged. “I have a driver’s license.”
“Not the same thing.” Crystal huffed.
“I’m a master diver,” said a masculine voice. Then Mason stepped into the room.
“Are you always lurking just out of view?” Crystal jammed her hands on her hips. “Are you a stalker?”
Mason laughed. “No. I guess I just happen to be in the right place at the right time.”
Crystal huffed out a laugh, leaning back in her chair. “Fine. But if you end up on a map marked Here Be Monsters, I’m leaving you out of my footnotes.”
“Duly noted,” he said, and the sea glass pendants, now resting on the table, pulsed in quiet agreement.
Crystal pointed to the charms. “Everyone should be wearing these when we poke the weather-bear.”
“Agreed,” Sahara said. “I’ll call an all-hands meeting for tomorrow. Victoria, I will need you on Canada’s maritime coast, and I don’t care if the pendant clashes with your outfit. I’m overnighting it to you.”
Victoria saluted. “Oui, Quarterly Captain.”
Morning fog clung low to the dunes, blurring the line between sea and sky. Mason’s boots crunched over damp sand as he followed the same coastal path he walked every day before coffee. It was part exercise, part habit, part treasure hunt for whatever the tide decided to spit out overnight.
Today’s prize was not on the usual menu.
A tangled mass of kelp lay high on the shore, well above the tide line, wrapped around something brassy that gleamed under the gray light.
Mason crouched, tugged it free, and found himself holding what looked like a brass compass, except its face wasn’t clear glass.
Swirling, inky water obscured the nav markings.
Tiny motes of light drifted in its depths like algae caught in a current.
He straightened, scanning the horizon. The sea was calm. Too calm. He pocketed the thing in his rolled-up cargo pants and started up the winding path toward the mansion’s patio.
Crystal was there, leaning against one of the stone pillars beneath the overhang, mug of tea in hand, her bird familiar perched on the low stone wall. Her sweats looked like she’d dressed purely for comfort, and she’d dare anyone to comment.
“Morning,” Mason called as he crossed the flagstones. “Guess what I found?”
“Perspective?” she said without glancing over.
He grinned. “Only for you, love.” He pulled the compass from his deep pocket, letting the strange water-face catch what little light the fog allowed. “Found this tangled in some kelp. Figured a certain navigatrix might be interested.”
She took it, turned it over in her hands. “This is…” Her brows pulled together. The water inside the compass shifted toward her fingers like it recognized her touch.
Mason stepped in a fraction closer, just enough to test her boundary. “Looks like it wants you. Bit like me, really.”
Her head snapped up, blue eyes narrowing. “You’re flirting with me while handing me cursed beach junk?”
“Just trying to start your morning right,” he said easily.
Crystal set her mug down on the low stone wall. “Mason?”
“Yeah?”
She planted one palm against his chest and shoved—not hard enough to drop him, but with enough magically-boosted force to make him stumble back two steps and grab the nearest pillar.
“Personal space,” she said. “Respect it, or next time you’ll be out past the dunes before you know what happened.”
The bird let out a sharp, approving whistle. Mason couldn’t help a little grudging respect for her as well. Too bad he had the hots for a woman who could probably drown him with a look.
Mason lifted both hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. No harm meant. Just thought you’d want to see it before Sahara gets her hands on it.”
Crystal studied the compass again, unsettled by the way the inky surface still tugged toward her fingertips.
“You were right about that. Come, bird,” she said at last, then turned and walked inside.
The bird launched from the wall to follow her, silver-tipped wings flashing before disappearing into the shadowed hall.
Mason stayed under the overhang, listening to the muted sound of the surf. “Storms and shipwrecks have nothing on her,” he muttered to himself.