Chapter 7 #2
A small part of her wondered if trading that acreage for her college education had been worth it.
But as Aggie would say, that cat had already fled the crime scene, and it was too late now.
Jena was just glad they hadn’t clearcut everything and put in condos or something equally ugly.
What they were doing over on Sunnyside was tragic.
A natural breeze ruffled her hair, and she blew out a breath. Right. She needed to finish up and get back to the shop. What else did she need to look for while she was here? Pennyroyal wouldn’t be in bloom, but if she could find some rootstock to take back with her, she might be able to force it.
Jena stood, stretching. A vague memory of a massive stone planter of the stuff teased her mind. Well, that would make sense, considering it was related to mint and would run rampant if given the chance. She meandered away from the reflecting pool toward the moss-covered path.
The garden was laid out in a concentric spiral.
Jena entered and began to walk it deosil, following the clockwise path of the sun deeper into its heart.
Unlike the hillside below, nothing stirred here, and the lack of lesser fae was stark.
Tumbled urns and long stone planters of weeds spilled into the cobbled path’s orbit.
The twisted limbs of dwarf magnolias and flaming Japanese maples strained toward each other across the way.
She pushed their creaking branches aside, passing tiny, overgrown pocket gardens rife with the detritus of neglect.
A crumbling stone bridge arched above the dry banks of a manufactured stream; the basin of the fountain ran thick with green sludge at the far end.
At its center, a statue of the three forms of Hecate stood back-to-back, staring out over the garden with sightless stone eyes.
Jena shivered, the day abruptly not as warm as it had been.
Going to the laundromat to get her stupid sweater cleaned jumped to the top of her to-do list as soon as she was finished here.
The urn she’d been looking for was just across the way.
She adjusted the strap of her spellbag and stepped from the bridge—
Sin, sin, sin, sin…
A wave of nausea went through her, and she stumbled back, falling onto her rear, the breath knocked out of her. She scrambled back. Oh God, that had to be the boundary of the containment circle and what was inside…
The rash of nightmares she’d had the last time she was here flashed before her mind’s eye, and she forced herself to take slow, deep breaths. Be rational Jena…there’s nothing actually in there, there can’t be, not after all this time. It’s just the spell’s residue…
But damn, was it dank, and it called to her power like a beacon. No wonder she’d been scared out of her wits. She chewed her lip, running through all of the other herbs she’d harvested. Did she really need pennyroyal right this very second? Mmm…probably not.
Jena stood, dusting herself off. It was related to mint, right? They had plenty of that, and the substitution wouldn’t throw off the magic too badly. She’d just toss in some of that goldenrod to compensate. Right? Right, yeah. It was a plan.
She turned with an awful certainty something was watching her, her skin crawling, and the small hairs raised up all over her body.
Walk, walk, walk, do not run… It took all her willpower, and her steps were still faster leaving the garden than when she’d come in.
There’s nothing there, there’s nothing there…
Crap. That was bullshit, and whatever her mother had put in that circle, it wanted out.
Chase stepped through the door to The Witchery, the bell above him tinging.
He’d never been able to get a good look at this place, though he’d been dying to for as long as he could remember.
It was one of the few original buildings in town that hadn’t been completely gutted, and damn, was it a beauty.
He gave a low whistle at the coffered ceilings and what he was pretty positive was the original globed central chandelier. Looked like it’d been outfitted for gas and electricity at one point. What were the chances the mechanism to lower it was still intact?
A smile bloomed across his face as he took in the rest of the room. Probably pretty good, considering the dark, arsenic green wallpaper peeking from behind a bookcase. Christ, this shit got his dick hard. He couldn’t wait to get started.
Chase wiped his palms against his jeans and shrugged his tool bag higher onto his shoulder.
The curtains were still pulled across the front bay windows, and the shop was silent.
His nose twitched, picking up the subtle thread of his pheromones beneath the muddled scent of herbs and resin he’d always associated with Jena.
But that wasn’t her. Not really. She was the sharp jolt of ozone after a lightning strike refined by ambergris, hiding behind—
“Are you coming up, or are you casing the joint?” Aggie’s acerbic wheeze called down the stairs. “If it’s the latter, do me a favor and take out that bag of garbage by the door when you go.”
“Uh, actually, I’m here for the bathroom? Second floor?” he called back.
“That’s right. Stairs are straight ahead, but you already knew that, and you’re late.”
Late? Chase glanced at his watch. Eight-o-one. Great. Aggie was one of those. He wove through tables loaded with stuff he couldn’t even begin to classify…damn, there was one hell of a draft at the back of the room. He made a mental note to take a look at that later as he headed up the steps.
Unfortunately, thanks to the pictures Lucy had taken and his previous visit, the second floor was exactly what he’d been expecting.
The door on the landing at the top of the steps opened to one long room that’d been absolutely butchered.
Crown molding, framing, all of it was slathered in white paint.
Nail holes from mini blinds he could see from where he was standing, and he didn’t even know what the hell to make of what they’d done to the fireplace.
It looked like they’d crated it against the wall.
Hopefully what was underneath was intact, but he wasn’t gonna hold his breath.
A half-dozen mismatched armchairs, a couch, and two loveseats ringed the room, and above—Christ, they’d put in a shitty drop ceiling and the fucking floor was linoleum beneath the throw rugs.
But where the paint had been chipped away…he went to one of the floor-to-ceiling windows and ran a hand over the carved acanthus leaves and egg-in-cup borders along the trim. Tiger oak. Those dumbasses had painted over fucking tiger oak.
“If you’re done gawking, I’m in the kitchen, first door to your right.”
Chase pulled himself away from the window and stepped into the other room, his eyes going to the convex tin ceiling. Thank God they hadn’t gotten rid of that, but the rest was definitely not original and a travesty of avocado and rust.
A nasty little mid-century kitchenette had been cobbled together on the far wall, half of which looked like it’d been chopped out with a hacksaw to make room for a Hoosier cabinet. That was loaded with implements like the ones he’d seen downstairs. All witch stuff, he guessed.
The butcher block island in front of it with the stainless-steel gas range was from this century, though the heavy iron cauldron taking up half of it could go either way. It was still a marked improvement from the baby-shit brown Formica and sickly green tiles around the sink.
Aggie cleared her throat, and he jumped, his brain on reno overload.
“Oh, sorry.” He went over to the table in front of the long, inset plastic-covered windows and held out a hand for her to shake. “Chase Montgomery.” Goddamn, were those stained-glass panels along the sides of the panes original? The plastic was so thick he couldn’t really—
“I know who you are,” Aggie snapped, waving his hand away. “And all I got to say is you’re lucky your intentions are pure enough to cross my ward.” She coughed, raising her scant brow at him. “Well, maybe not pure, but there’s no ill intent about you, even if you did swindle your way in here.”
His throat bobbed as he lowered his hand. “Ah, yeah. Sorry about that.”
“No, you’re not,” she coughed, “and lying is only gonna compound your karma.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Shit. How the hell was he supposed to—
“Bathroom is on the other side of the apartment, off the green bedroom. You’ll forgive me if I don’t give you the grand tour. Feel free to poke around, but I catch you sniffing anything you wouldn’t in church, you’re out.” She picked up a magazine, her dismissal plain.
“Um, thanks…is Jena here?”
Aggie glanced at him askance. “No.” She coughed into a handkerchief. Damn. That didn’t sound good—“You’re safe for a couple hours. I’d suggest you get working and make enough progress to have to come back and finish it before she throws you out on your ass.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.” He tipped his cap at her.
She sniffed as he backed out of the door and into the hall. Jesus. Chase gave a huge sigh of relief—
“I heard that.”
Fuck. What the hell had he gotten himself into?