Chapter Eight #2
“What the hell, Beau? I’m not asking for relationship details. I just need to know if she ever gave you anything to hang onto for her. Photos, mementos, anything like that.”
“Oh. No, she didn’t.” He looked serious for a moment.
“Look, we were a comfort to each other, Betty. Two lonely people trying to be a little less alone. I would’ve liked more, but her heart belonged to someone else.
So, I contented myself with what we had, which wasn’t all that deep.
” His blue eyes misted over. “I miss her.”
“Me, too.”
“Whatever she did, you’ve got to know how much she loved you. Your safety was on her mind all the time.”
“So I hear.”
He shrugged. “She was a good person.”
“I know.”
“I know you know,” he replied.
“I also know that you would’ve been a cool stepdad. Where were you when I was a kid?” I asked, both to lighten the mood and because I meant it. He really would’ve been a lot of fun.
“Right? I’d have let you do pretty much anything you wanted, probably encouraged you to get in trouble—good trouble.” He handed me the capped vial. “Be safe out there, Betty. Alpha Pallás is no joke. He’s power-hungry and evil as shit. And that second of his isn’t any better.”
“You’re preaching to the choir.” I tucked the vial into my bag, and Beau disposed of the lancet. “I’ll get you the charm as soon as it’s finished. My guys are on it, but they take time to craft.”
He nodded. “It’s cool. Is there anything else you need? Books? Maybe something to cut the tension?” He gestured toward the back room where he kept the marijuana-related paraphernalia he sold.
“Lavender is my herb of choice, thanks all the same,” I said.
“If I’m being honest, chamomile is mine. In tea form.” He grinned. “But people have expectations of ‘Stoner Beau.’”
“I know. And I get the reason for the subterfuge. Just, don’t let the weight of other people’s expectations crush who you really are, Beau, because you’re pretty damn wonderful in my eyes.”
“Aw, thanks, kid. And backatcha.”
I walked out to where my Mini was parked on the street in plain view of Beau’s business. I’d chosen the spot specifically to keep an eye on it from inside, so I was more than a little shocked when I discovered a note tucked beneath the driver’s side wiper.
My name was scrawled on the folded piece of paper. The handwriting wasn’t familiar, which meant it wasn’t from Floyd. I’d seen enough potentially incriminating documents to recognize his terrible writing.
Before I touched it, I reached into my pocket for a pinch of Siete Saguaro soil.
I dusted both hands and waited for the heat-vapor-absorb cycle to kick in.
This wasn’t something Mom or Abuela Lulu had ever done.
In fact, I’d never heard of another earth witch with this ability, and it made me wonder if it had come from my father’s side.
Proof that my magics can coexist?
I didn’t know for sure, but it was a question that had kept me up at night since I found out I was Bertrand Sexton’s granddaughter.
Reveal.
The note pulsed with silver light—once, twice—slid out from beneath the wiper, unfolded itself, and flattened against the hood. Psychokinesis wasn’t a specialty of mine, but I could sometimes swing it with a little extra magic.
Call before it’s too late.
Below the words was a phone number. Not local.
I sent a little more magic into the paper to see if it, or the ink, was spelled or poisoned.
It wasn’t, so I snatched up the note and got into my car.
The whole time I’d been casting, my head had been on a swivel, watching for humans and enemies alike.
Paranoia hung on me like a wool coat that was growing wetter by the second.
Instead of calling the number, I drove to Bronwyn’s shop. There were spells that could be cast over a phone line, and I wasn’t risking it. Best to make the call with another witch by my side who could break the spell’s hold if necessary.
I drove to Wicked in record time, even considering that Beau’s Oddities was a couple streets over.
I left the Mini in the back lot, since apparently parking where I could see my car had done me little good at Beau’s.
Besides, Bronwyn’s front window was blocked by a display of crystals and herbal teas, so I wouldn’t have been able to see it on the street anyway.
Maya, Margaux, and Bronwyn were working. There was a line at the counter made up of six humans, three paranormals I knew, and a very tall man who could’ve been either.
With the note burning a hole in my pocket, I waited until the customers cleared out before approaching the witches with it.
“I need a favor,” I said.
Five minutes later, the front door was locked and the Back in Ten Minutes sign was hanging on the window.
“I’m thinking salt circle,” I said. “Margaux?”
She was back to her normal harsh coiffure, ebony hair slicked and pulled into a smooth chignon, the streak of silver swirling from her temple to her crown. When she looked like this, severe and confident, she reminded me of a Spanish queen.
“Yes?” she asked.
“What do you think? Will a salt circle be enough?”
Her eyes widened. “You’re asking me?”
“Yeah.” I looked from Bronwyn to Margaux. “What? Am I speaking Spanish without realizing it?” I asked, sarcasm heavy in my tone. “No, that can’t be it, because you’re fluent in Spanish and Portuguese as well as English so you’d be able to understand me.”
Margaux cleared her throat. “How do you know all that?”
“Mom told me.”
“She did?” That appeared to surprise her. Her red lips twitched, revealing a shy smile. “I didn’t think Lila spoke about me to you—in detail, I mean.”
“Margaux, I’m happy to delve into my mother’s inappropriate sharing problem at a future time, but I’m in a bit of a rush right now.”
The witch snapped into herself. “Use earth, not salt. Preferably your own, but I’m aware that you can use any soil for your magic. Bronwyn and I’ll go ahead and set up a salt circle outside your soil just as a precaution, but your magic is the strongest when you use your element to cast.”
“Especially now that the saguaros are back.” Bronwyn grabbed a length of pink ribbon from her pocket and secured her long, braided hair in a thick ponytail. “You’re uniquely connected to your soil and that makes you powerful.”
Margaux nodded sagely. “The land responds to no one the way it does to you, Betty.”
“It responded to Mom. It responds to Joon.”
“Not like you,” she said firmly.
Baek Ye-Joon was a mage friend of mine. He was the only person I’d ever considered selling the property to, primarily because the soil did seem to like him, though Margaux was right—it didn’t respond to him the way it did me.
Bronwyn unearthed a bag of rock salt.
I didn’t have enough Siete Saguaro soil in my pockets to form even a small circle, so I had to supplement with some garden soil Bronwyn had picked up for the Nepenthes she’d had to babysit recently.
It didn’t matter. A benefit of my reconnection to the Siete Saguaros soil meant that once I’d poured power and intention into the garden soil, it was mine.
The witches formed their salt circle on the outside of my soil ring. Bronwyn used another length of ribbon to tie a knot in her swishy skirt to ensure she didn’t accidentally break the ring and spell, and Margaux chanted over the salt as she drizzled it on the floor in a solid, thick line.
I smoothed the soil clinging to my hands over my arms, waiting until it steamed into my blood before dialing the number on the note, setting the phone on speaker, and placing it inside the circles.
The line was answered on the third ring, and the click and beep that followed told me it was a recording.
“Betty Lennox, a colleague of mine is missing. Mason Hartman.”
The voice was vaguely European. A Nordic accent, maybe. It also had a prim, I’m-looking-down-my-nose-at-you-peasant quality.
Bronwyn let out a tiny gasp.
The recording continued: “You don’t need to know who I am.
What you do need to know is if Hartman doesn’t turn up within the next forty-eight hours, you, and everyone you care about, will understand the true meaning of scorched earth.
I will burn La Paloma and Smokethorn to the ground.
Kill every ally. And I will start with Ida Summer. ”
The rest of the message consisted of another phone number to call when we found Mason, dead or alive.
When the recording ended, I broke the circles, retrieved my phone, and turned my attention to Bronwyn.
“Tell me everything you know about Mason Hartman. Everything.”
“It won’t help. I only know a few things.” Her voice was low and nervous, the way someone might sound after receiving shocking news. She cared more about the man than she let on, and I didn’t have time to dance around her feelings for him.
“He’s in love with you. You know him. Start talking.”
She looked away, her expression troubled.
Where Bronwyn appeared worried, the ex-coven leader merely looked thoughtful. She grabbed a broom and dustpan and swept up the salt, leaving the soil untouched.
“Don’t think I’m not looking at you, too, Margaux.
You were directly involved with Mason when you worked for Floyd.
You made a side deal with him.” I repeated what she’d said after ditching me to investigate her old coven alone.
“And I’ll tell you one last thing. If you need help, there’s someone you can call.
He’ll hate it, but he’ll come. Tell him it’s to save Bronwyn.
Tell him it was Margaux’s last request. Tell him we’re even after this. ”
“What do you want to know, Betty?” Margaux asked in that haughty tone I despised.
“Start with who he is.”
“He’s the Pallás pack second.” She set the broom aside and clapped her hands to rid them of any remaining dust. “Other than that, and that he’s in love with Bronwyn, I don’t know anything about the wolf.”
“Bullshit.” I charged up to her, crowded her back a step.
“Lie to me one more time, directly or indirectly, and we’re done.
This isn’t a game. That caller will do what he said he’d do.
” I leaned in, backing her up another step.
“And that means my people are in danger. Ida is in danger. If you’ve learned nothing else about me, you should at least know this—I’ll do anything to protect the people I love.
There are no lines I won’t cross. None.”
When Margaux didn’t respond immediately, I turned away from them both and stomped out of the storeroom.
Maya, who’d been scrolling on her cell, immediately set the phone on the counter.
Although she was a shifter and strong in her own right, she’d remained out here in case anything happened to us.
Someone had to call Ronan, Ida, and the boys if shit went sideways.
“Betty? Are you okay?” she asked.
“No the fuck I am not,” I snapped.
“Wait. Betty, please.” Bronwyn caught up to me next to a display of enchanted rose water. “Please.”
I stopped, crossed my arms over my chest, and gave her an expectant look.
She averted her gaze from me then swiftly returned it. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you. Goddess knows, I’ve wanted to, even tried a few times. But I can’t.”
“Why not?” I asked laconically. “Mason spelled you to secrecy?”
“No.” She let her head fall to her chest. “The organization that sent us here did.”