Midnight Magic (7 page)

Spinning sharply to eye the bird that had suddenly sounded a lot like her mother, Cassie hunted for something—anything—that might’ve spawned the bird’s proclamation. Murietta chewed blissfully on a sunflower seed and stared at Cassie as if to inquire,
What?

“Aw, what could she possibly know?” Cassie muttered.

Partway up the long, front staircase, she heard, “More than you imagine child,
awk.
”

Cassie dropped her bag and computer case and sprinted back down the stairs. Face to face with Murietta, she stroked her soft feathers, searching for clues. “Mother?”

“Silly girl. Silly girl,
awk.
” Reaching out with her beak, the bird rubbed it against Cassie’s fingers. Her avian eyes looked, well, birdlike, and Cassie felt oddly disappointed.

It’s just that I miss Mom so much I’m imagining things...

Dispiritedly, she turned away from the now-silent parrot and made her way back up the stairs, collecting her things from the landing.

Cassionetta unlocked the deadbolt and let herself into her room. She looked around for Hector, but the cat hadn’t followed her.

“Phooey.” She blew out air between pursed lips and tossed her purse and computer bag on a small sofa tucked beneath a dormer window. Reaching inside the shoulder bag, she pulled out her ruined top, gingerly clasped it between thumb and forefinger, and carried it to a wastebasket. Her bed was just like she’d left it: unmade, coverlet hanging on the floor.

The heavy four-poster took up half the floor space in the room, but she’d always loved the flamboyant old cherry wood frame adorned with nymphs, satyrs, and garlands of intricately carved flowers. A matching dresser, two nightstands, and old-fashioned hand-painted lamps completed the room she’d inhabited since she was old enough to sleep by herself. Kicking off her high-heeled boots, still soaked with questionable fluids from her trip through the catacombs, she dumped her three-quarter length skirt and teal sweater on a chair. The jacket was still pretty wet, so she hung it over a hook in the closet.

Raising both hands over her head, she twisted her body from side to side in a futile attempt to get the kinks out. It didn’t work. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the dresser and groaned.

Shit, I look anorexic
.

She vowed to eat more regularly and padded toward the claw foot tub in the adjoining bathroom where she flipped on the
hot
tap. It took so long for warm water to make its way from the inner workings of the huge house, she rarely needed to mix in any cold.

She stood under the handheld shower spray letting first lukewarm, then hotter, water sluice over her, as she scrubbed her hair and body with lavender-scented shampoo and soap. Even though she still didn’t feel quite clean, she finally shut the water off and stepped from the tub. She didn’t want to take the time to dry her hair, so she wrapped her head in a towel. The tile floor was chilly on her bare feet, so she hustled back to the carpeted bedroom, a second towel in hand to dry her body.

Cassie pawed through her messy closet for clothes, wishing she was better organized. She put on her favorite striped sweat pants, a black shirt, and slippers. Unwrapping the towel from her hair, she shook it out.

For some reason, worry about her mother intensified. Cassie’s hunches were generally right on, so she left her room, intent on locating Eleanora.

Out in the hall she stopped to change the combination to the wall safe where the keys to her mother’s car had been. Before she slammed the metal door, she glanced inside, wondering if Tyler had helped himself to anything else. Cassie sifted through the safe’s contents and then shook her head. Since she didn’t really know what was supposed to be in there, her efforts wouldn’t do much good. She chucked the Aston Martin’s keys inside and relocked it.

Even if it’s kind of like shutting the barn door after the cow’s left, I’ll make an inventory list—tomorrow.

“Mom,” she called, checking the rest of the second floor rooms. She stopped for a moment, staring into Eleanora’s bedroom. It was an amazing place; in the daytime jewel-toned light from a bank of stained-glass windows spilled through it. Tonight, however, it remained dark and silent. As always, a vestige of her mother’s soothing scent lingered. Taking the stairs to the third floor two at a time, Cassie switched on the lights to the upper hall and searched all seven bedrooms. Eleanora wasn’t in any of them.

Hearing a
thunk
behind her, she twirled around, her heart pounding way too fast. Hector stared up at her, his tail swishing back and forth.

“
Mrrrrow?
” he inquired as he sashayed past with understated grace.

“Where is she?” Cassie demanded. Another meow, with a long purr tacked on, was all she got. The cat did stop at the bottom of the spiral stairs to the attic. He looked back at Cassionetta and mewed plaintively.

Reluctantly, she started up the bare wooden risers. Hector seemed to think Eleanora was up here, which made sense. There wasn’t anywhere else to look—except the basement. The uppermost floor of the house always gave Cassie the creeps. She’d gotten tangled in a spell there when she was around five or six, and hours passed before anyone thought to look for her.

The corners of her mouth turned downward. That had been when her father was still in residence, and it had been one of
those
days—the ones where he and Eleanora never left their bedroom. Her parents assigned spirits to watch over her, but sometimes the fairies had odd ideas about what was funny.

Exhaling sharply, she distanced herself from her childhood memories. Cassie pulled open the door at the top of the stairs and entered the attic. She brushed aside cobwebs as she hunted for the pull chain to illuminate the single room that stretched the length and breadth of the large house. Feeling her way forward, she chided herself for not bringing a flashlight.

Aha. Found it.

Blinking stupidly in the sudden raw glare from a hundred watt bulb, she spotted Eleanora crouched in a corner, hair falling about her like a mantle. One of her bats was perched on a shoulder, its wings folded against its dark body.

“Momma.” Cassie came close and squatted next to her mother. “Momma, please come back. I really need you... I-I think I’m in danger.”

Eleanora stared straight ahead, her eyes unfocussed, her jaw slack. The bat chattered angrily before winging toward the rafters far above.

“Come on.” Cassie tugged gently at her mother’s arm. “Let’s go downstairs. You know I don’t like it up here.” Something in that last statement, maybe her tone, maybe the words, seemed to reach Eleanora.

She straightened creakily and allowed Cassie to guide her toward the stairs. As usual, she was dressed all in black: long skirt, threadbare sweater, and woolen shawl. A silver Celtic cross hung from her neck. The stark piece of jewelry accentuated bones that practically stuck through her translucent skin.

Eleanora shook Cassie’s hand off her arm in the lighted hallway below. Moving quickly, her skirt in constant motion, she continued on down two more floors, turned into the library, and came to a halt next to Murietta’s perch. Hector joined them. Eyeing the tableau, Cassie thought ruefully that every creature in the house missed Eleanora beyond reckoning.

“Momma magic,
awk
,” the bird cooed. “Momma magic.”

Hector rubbed against Eleanora’s legs, purring like a mad thing. The closer he got, the more uncomfortable the bird looked, ruffling her feathers and squawking.

“Eleanora, what a nice surprise.” Jeremy, who’d managed to slip into the library without making a sound, insinuated his body between her and the parrot. He stretched out his arms and gave her a quick hug, kissing each cheek. “I’ve missed you.” He smiled at her, while placing a hand on either side of her ageless face.

For a moment she allowed the contact, but then she twisted away.

Watching closely, Cassie saw Jeremy nod as he drew his brows together. She wanted to ask if he’d been able to sense anything, but was afraid she’d disturb Eleanora, who rarely stayed in one place for very long. She looked at Jeremy, furling her brows into question marks, but he shook his head almost imperceptibly.

Even that subtle exchange seemed to trouble Eleanora. She turned and strode from the library with Hector right behind.

“Should I go after her?” Cassie looked at Jeremy.

“Wouldn’t do any good. Found her in the attic, didn’t you?”

“How’d you know?”

“It’s the farthest she can get from the filth Tyler’s spread through here.”

“You can feel it?” she asked, appalled.

“
Awk
, dirty man. Dirty man,” Murietta chimed in, as if she understood the gist of the conversation and wanted to be a part of things.

Jeremy smoothed feathers on the bird’s soft, gray head. “These old ones, they know,” he murmured. The bird pecked gently at his wrist. “After I finished my snack, I wandered some. Tyler stays on this floor in the north wing, huh?”

She nodded, thought about asking how he knew that, but then remembered she’d told him. Off on an internal tangent, she called up an image of her proper British father. Well, perhaps not so proper as all that. After all, he’d been thoroughly besotted with Eleanora.

Cassie was around seven when she realized both her parents were disappointed their only child was normal as a rain-washed counterpane. When Francis’ Atlantic hops first thinned out, then stopped entirely, she asked her mother if it was her fault.

Eleanora had gathered her close, enveloping her in the heady scent from the herbs she always carried in a leather pouch tied round her waist. “Ach, no, sweetling. That’s the problem with grand passions. They flare out as easily as they burned in the first place.”

“Cassie!” A stern note in Jeremy’s voice shocked her out of her musings. “We don’t have all that much time. I need you front and center, not buried in the past.” He grabbed hold of one of her wrists and pulled her toward an over-stuffed floral sofa.

“It will be tough to mask my presence from Tyler,” Jeremy explained. “He’s used to the feel of the house, and my power is hard to disguise. If I hide in your room, though, I just might be able to pull it off since he doesn’t spend any time in there. That way, when you remind him of his promise—and even he is bound by his word—I’ll be close enough to do some good.”

“My room’s locked.” She started to get up, but he shook his head.

“I can defeat any lock.”

She remembered finding him in Eleanora’s office. “Okay, then. One less thing to worry about.”

“What was that you called me earlier? A telepathic cat burglar?” He snorted and squeezed her hand.

Cassie cleared her throat. “What happens after I lure him into my room? Are you going to run him through while he’s on top of me?” She suppressed a fine edge of panic before it dissolved into hysteria. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she struggled to get hold of herself.

A corner of Jeremy’s mouth crooked upward. “Not exactly. I plan to use something a shade more subtle than a saber.”

“Are you sure we have to kill him? I mean, how the hell will we be able to explain away a dead body?”

“Won’t be a problem.”

She turned to him, laying a hand atop one of his. “You’re not thinking. How could a hundred and eighty pound man not be a problem? I suppose we could carry him out of here between the two of us...”

“Cassionetta.” He spoke low, his voice vibrating with suppressed emotion. “The difficulty will be trapping him. Demons don’t stick around once they’ve been exorcised. Neither do the fae. Remember, it’s him...or you and your mother.”

“I
sort of asked you before, but why the sudden escalation?” Cassie trained her gaze on him.

Jeremy creased his high forehead in thought and brushed strands of hair out of his eyes. “I suspect Tyler’s finding it harder to keep all his balls in the air. There’s you, your mother, the ongoing sabotage of e-Ouija... Each of those things would drain his magic over time. If he’s aligned with the Irichna demons, they’ll be making demands on him too. He’s smart enough to deduce his life would be a lot simpler if you were out of the equation.”

“Makes sense. I sort of came up with the same explanation, other than the Irichna demon angle and the draining magic part that I don’t understand.”

“Does he ever drink anything?”

“Sure. He loves wine and brandy too, especially Calvados. Mom has a cellar full of the stuff, but I won’t let him touch it.”

“That’s perfect. It has a strong enough taste to mask almost anything. Run and get a bottle.”

“On my way.”

She glanced at the grandfather clock leaned against the wall as she strode from the library. It was closing on one in the morning. Tyler was bound to be back soon. Anxiety soured her stomach. Part of her wanted to shut herself in her room and forget Jeremy and his bloodthirsty plan. She trotted down the steps to the basement, her hard-soled slippers clattering on the risers. She pulled the chain to illuminate the perpetually damp subterranean space and realized she hadn’t brought the key to unlock the wine cellar. Her mother had never locked it, but Cassie installed the deadbolt to deter Tyler, once she discovered his bottomless taste for hundred dollar bottles of wine.

“Heh, let’s see if I need a key.” Her voice echoed off the basement walls and bounced back at her.

She rattled the knob, not surprised when it opened easily. Her anger heated when she glanced around the mostly empty wine cellar. Tyler had apparently helped himself to what he wanted. As far as he was concerned, the house—and everything in it—was already his. She stomped into the temperature and humidity-controlled room.

Thank God he left a few bottles of Calvados
.

Snatching one, she raced up the stairs. Her misgivings about hurting Tyler dissipated like shards of glass shattering under every step she took.

“Here.” She thrust the bottle into Jeremy’s hands and watched while he cut the wax seal and dispatched the cork. He took a paper bindle out of a pocket and emptied white powder into the bottle. Replacing the stopper, he shook it gently.