Ghost of an enchantment, p.20
Ghost of an Enchantment, page 20
Thor raced in, his tail wagging frantically back and forth. Lucas scanned the area for Stella’s cat, but couldn’t see him.
Nose to the floor, Thor searched the kitchen, then headed to the living room.
“Thor. Here,” he commanded, not wanting him to disturb anything in the next room, and Thor came back to the kitchen to sit beside him.
With Thor watching him, he dug around in the cupboards, looking for something for his dog to eat. He found a box of dried cat food under the sink and gave it a shake. About half full, but Thor was a big eater. Lucas would get some more cat food to replace it the next time he was at the store.
Grabbing another ceramic bowl out of the cupboard, Lucas left Thor to munch on the tidbits and perused the destruction in the living room. The longer he stared at the mess, the more he questioned whether Stella would be able to do this on her own.
The table was flipped. Not only turned over, it looked like it had somersaulted end over end, several feet away from where he’d set it up. And a couple of the ceramic bowls were broken, white shards everywhere.
How had this happened? Had someone been in here with her? But it had been just the two of them, no one else. His gaze scanned to the front door. Locked. And he’d been in the back yard. No one had come in that way.
Questions weren’t getting the mess cleaned up. He reached for the first chair, then hesitated. Would touching things be okay? Something transpired here he didn’t understand; would he make it worse by cleaning up? When he grabbed the back of the chair and nothing happened, he let out a breath. If something started to feel weird, he’d stop cleaning up, but he wanted to help her with this if he could.
He started with the two chairs, returning them to the kitchen, then came the table. He collapsed the legs and replaced it in the front closet. The dried herbs were next. He placed everything in one of the unbroken bowls and set it in the bottom of the box by the couch. He’d need to find a vacuum for the really fine stuff. He picked up the largest of the bowl pieces and set the smaller ones inside to be disposed of.
He picked up the candles, the braided ribbon, the lighter, the mortar and pestle—everything into the box too.
The oil was the worst mess. The puddle on the area rug and the splashes on the couch were going to be hard to remove. When he went to the kitchen to grab some paper towels, Thor was done with his lunch and followed him back into the living room. Lucas sopped up the oil the best he could, the sage fragrance mixing with the heavier scents.
The last thing was the orange notebook, almost entirely hidden underneath the couch. He picked it up, and let it fall open naturally in his hand. Rhymes. The book was full of rhymes that spoke of water, wind, and fire. How could words create the mess he’d cleaned up? Not understanding any of it, he tossed it in the box.
With everything cleaned up the best he could make it, Lucas sat back on his haunches and stared at the area rug. Taking the edge in hand, he flipped half of it over. The black circle was there, exactly where he’d seen it the first day. His eyes went to the faint circle on the ceiling, then back to the one on the floor.
Certainty straightened his spine. Whatever Mr. Pritt had heard, the sound he himself heard, made this mark on her floor—and it wasn’t expected, or Stella would have had the area rug here earlier instead of putting the side table on top of it. The sound was something new, and if the events of today were a clue, then it was connected to something dangerous.
A protective surge raced through his veins, the need to shield a woman he cared about from harm, the want to rush into her room and demand answers. He held himself still, processing everything, coming to terms with why these emotions and Stella were entangled. When Thor headed down the hallway, his nose to the floor, Lucas called him back.
He’d let her sleep. For now.
Crossing through the kitchen, he opened the back door to let Thor out again. Stella’s cat was hiding somewhere and obviously didn’t like dogs much. Lucas didn’t want a repeat of the screeching that would surely wake up Stella.
As he stood by the door watching Thor race after a bird, his eyes went to the stairs to the basement.
She’d gone to the basement to retrieve her box of goods, but something else pulled him toward the doorway. He knew it was outright snooping, but he told himself it was for her own good. Even as that thought didn’t sit well, he pushed his uneasiness aside, letting the cop in him take over.
The stairs creaked under his feet.
The basement wasn’t finished like upstairs, the floor covered in cracked linoleum. No drywall here, the house’s foundation exposed behind plain wood shelving filled with storage bins and boxes. Some were labeled, “Christmas,” and “Stella’s High School Stuff,” but others were unmarked. On the far side of the space, plumbing had been roughed in for a second bathroom.
A chill overcame him when he found what he searched for—a black circle on the floor in line with the one on the first floor. A matched circle was burned into the exposed studs of the ceiling. Lucas crouched beside the one on the ground, brushing his fingers against the color. They came away tinged with an oily soot. Rubbing his fingers together, he stood and held them close to his face to inhale. A slightly charred scent greeted him.
He stepped in between the circles, one over his head, one beneath his feet. He didn’t know what he expected, but nothing happened, nothing felt different. But again, he was struck by how the space between would fit a person perfectly.
Whatever had created these marks had not only been on the above floor, it had extended into the earth as well. If Stella had lived in an apartment, would all of the floors above and below be marked in the same manner? As he wondered the question, he felt certain the answer would be yes. With more questions on his mind than ever, Lucas jogged up the steps.
A quick glance through the back window revealed Thor still happily running around in the backyard. Noticing the pitcher beside the fridge, he took a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water. Glass in hand, he headed down the hall toward Stella and cracked open the door to her bedroom.
She opened her eyes when he stepped inside, then sat up abruptly, the afghan clutched to her chest. The droop of the blanket revealed creamy shoulders and smooth skin. Wide eyes tracked him as he strode near.
The mattress dipped as he sat on the edge of the bed. “We need to talk,” he said, passing her the glass, careful not to get too close. Her naked and warm body distracted him and he needed to keep focus.
Taking the glass, she watched him over the rim, sipping once before setting it on the bedside table. “I know,” she agreed, but from the frown wrinkling her brow, it didn’t look like she was looking forward to it.
Hair tousled from sex, lips shining red, she drew him like no other, making him want to touch her. But he knew if he did, his questions wouldn’t be answered. At least, not today, because he was pretty sure they’d spend the rest of the day in bed and he’d show her what going slow really meant.
“Meet me in the living room,” he said shooting to his feet, then closing the door behind him to give her privacy—and to stop himself from going in there and kissing her like he really wanted.
Five minutes later, as he stood at the bay window looking through ferns and vines to watch the quiet street, he heard movement behind him.
“Are you feeling better?” he asked, turning to her.
Stella hesitated in the living room entrance wearing a white T-shirt and jeans. “Yes, thank you,” she said, taking a tentative step toward him, her cheeks tinged pink. Eyes scanning the living room, her lips parted. “You cleaned up.”
He nodded once.
Letting out a shaky breath, she ran her hand over her hair. “Thank you. You didn’t need to do that.”
“I wanted to help,” he said and meant it. When it came to Stella, he was starting to realize he would do a lot for her.
After studying him a moment, she made her way to the kitchen, bare feet padding softly against the hardwood floor. He followed, watching as she took out a coffee can from the cupboard and filled the top of the coffee maker with water.
He leaned against the door jamb to watch. “What happened with your spell?” he asked once she’d pressed the start button on the machine.
She only hesitated a moment before turning around and crossing her arms over her chest. “It backfired a little,” she said softly.
“A little,” he repeated. He couldn’t deal in generalities, not this time. “What does that mean? Tell me exactly what you had been trying to do, and what exactly backfired. Spell it out to me like I didn’t know real witches existed a week ago.”
She licked her lips, her gaze focused on his chest rather than his eyes. He could tell she was debating how truthful to be, had seen it hundreds of times when questioning suspects.
In those situations, it was usually best to find the answers he needed in a roundabout way. “Has that happened to you before? Backfiring? That mess in the living room?”
“Not to that degree, no,” she answered quickly, her eyes meeting his before returning to his torso.
“Can you tell me more about it?”
He watched her wage an internal battle, her lip caught between her teeth, and as the coffee maker bubbled behind her, she looked everywhere but at him.
And still she didn’t answer. He’d let her take her time, but she had to know he wasn’t leaving until he had answers.
When Thor yipped at the screen door, she didn’t hesitate to let him in, didn’t seem bothered to have him smell between her legs before putting his nose to the floor in search of her cat.
“Would you like coffee?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Sure,” he said. From police work he knew if a person was nervous about something, busy work helped focus their thoughts.
“Cream? Sugar?” She glanced at him over her shoulder.
“Black,” he said and watched as she went about fixing the drinks, her movements graceful and fluid.
She passed him a mug. He took it, then cocked his head to the living room. Pressing her lips together, she led the way until they stood near the center of the room.
He’d left the carpet half-flipped, exposing the black circle beneath. “Can you tell me about this?” he asked, staring at the marking, then at her.
Mug cradled between her hands, she stared too, swallowing. “It’s not safe,” she whispered.
Not safe to explain it to him, or the circle wasn’t safe in and of itself? Whatever the answer, it was distressing her to talk about.
But he needed answers. “Let’s start back at the beginning.” He took her mug from her and set it down on one of the side tables before leading her to sit on the couch. “That day I came to your house on a call, was it the same day this mark was created?” He kept her hands in his so she’d focus on him.
She nodded, her gaze still fixed on the black circle.
“And was it connected to the sound my partner and I heard?”
She nodded again.
“What caused it?”
Her eyes met his and he could see the conflict in her. She wanted to tell him what was going on, but held back for some reason.
She didn’t trust him. That had to be it. She didn’t trust him with whatever truth explained what had happened, either because he was a cop or because she couldn’t trust anyone in that way.
He gave her hands a gentle squeeze. “I will not break your trust,” he said, keeping her gaze, infusing everything in him into the words. “I will not hurt you.”
Lips parting, she stared at him, her eyes searching his face. Finally, her shoulders slumped. “It was caused by an otherworld portal.”
“An otherworld portal.” He repeated the words, but they didn’t make sense.
She nodded. “Earth lies on one plane of existence, but there are others.”
“Plane of existence,” he repeated, still trying to process what she meant.
Nodding, she confirmed what she’d said.
Stella’s eyes remained on his face as he did his best to comprehend what she meant.
“So then,” he said, clearing his throat, “ghosts live on another place of existence and that’s what was messing with Mr. Pritt’s books?” The explanation had him feeling better about the whole thing. Of course it was ghosts.
Stella crushed his newfound acceptance with, “Uh, no. Ghosts technically live on our plane, they just exist in a different form than we do. But,” she continued with emphasis, “often what I do for the Lillers is help the ghosts pass to an otherworld, what people call heaven.”
“Heaven is a place,” he said, his voice flat.
“Another plane, yes.”
“What about hell?” he heard himself ask.
“I’m afraid so, yes.”
He felt his eyebrows shot up. “Then what decides which place you journey to?”
A delicate shrug lifted her shoulders. “The only thing I’ve read is that the pure of heart cannot pass into hell’s plane.”
Hell was an actual place. So was Heaven. He let his mind try to grasp the concepts others so fiercely believed in, then asked, “If the thing at Mr. Pritt’s house wasn’t a ghost, then what was it?”
Head tipping side to side like she was weighing her options, she finally said, “I think they’re called greeblings.”
“Greeblings,” he repeated, not sure he heard right, but she nodded.
“A mischievous entity that seeks its own comfort,” she explained. “They come from the Fey plane.”
“The Fey plane.” He knew he sounded like a robot, repeating everything she said, but he was really trying to wrap his mind around it.
“The Fey is one of the known planes. I think it’s because some of them are more connected to Earth, to us, than others.”
“And that’s where these greeblings came from?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“How?”
She pressed her lips together.
He could tell he’d hit a wall with her but needed her to open up again, to be honest with him. He’d leave that topic for now and concentrate the thing weighing heavily on his mind since he’d left Stella sleeping in her room.
“You said you needed my energy, that sex would help. Do you need to do that a lot?”
When her brows pinched together, he rephrased the question. “Have you needed to, you know, be with someone immediately after performing spell?”
She looked down at their joined hands. “It’s helped a couple of times before.”
“With whoever’s nearest?”
She didn’t look at him as she shrugged.
The thought of her having wild sex with someone else had his chest tightening. He knew it was irrational; he didn’t own her. Hell, they hadn’t had time yet to have big discussions about what they were doing with each other, if it were a one-off or if they thought something more could be between them.
He wanted more. The world seemed brighter when she was around. He wanted to spend time with her and get to know her better and protect her from whatever she’d gotten herself into with this black circle business.
“If you,” he swallowed against the knot in his throat and started again. “If you need to do that again, because of a spell or whatever, I’ll be there for you, okay?”
She lifted her eyes to his face and blinked. Allowing the statement to sink in, he gave her hands a gentle squeeze.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, she nodded once.
Lucas let out a slow breath, some of the tension living in his chest loosening. Now they needed to get back to the main topic. “What happened with your spell? Why did it backfire?”
She let go of his hand to rub the center of her forehead. “There was an unknown element added to the equation. The greeblings might not be the only things from the Fey living here right now, and I didn’t account for it.”
When she kept rubbing at her forehead, he lifted his hand and pressed his thumb to the same spot. A shuddering breath left her body as she dropped her hand and closed her eyes. He rubbed small circles in the place where she’d been doing the same.
She sighed.
After a few minutes of quiet where all he did was massage her forehead, she opened her eyes. “I’ll need to perform the spell again with the portal in order to return the greeblings to their realm.”
Shock made him drop his hand. “There’s no way you can do that spell again. Look what happened the first time.”
Abruptly, she stood and walked to the front window, wrapping her arms around herself. “I’ll be careful next time,” she said, gazing out into the street. “I know there’s something else out there and this time I’ll leave it alone, but I need to finish the job for the Lillers. And for you,” she added, glancing over her shoulder.
He stood too. “You can’t do that. It’s too dangerous.”
She threw up her hands, turning to him. “And you want invisible goblins running about your city with the ability to pick up and influence objects? How are you going to arrest a greebling when one kills a human for his house?”
He tensed. “Do you think that will happen?”
“I don’t know! But if they can start a blender and make books and couches float, I’m pretty sure they can pick up a knife or fire a gun.”
The thought had crossed his mind too, but with everything else, he’d pushed it away. How could he arrest a ghost? Or a greebling, if that’s what they were? But what if there were a way to escort them to their plane? “Is it possible for a person to walk through to an otherworld?”
Her eyes strayed to the black circle on the floor. “Yes,” she said quietly. “But it’s not safe.”
“Why not?”
She cleared her throat. “All the worlds are connected. If there’s a disruption in one, it’s felt in the others,” she said, her fingertips brushing the leaves of the fern beside her.
“Is that why they’re here, because of a disruption?”
She looked away from him, facing the street once more. He watched as she touched her pendant with one hand and stroked the leaves of the fern with the other.
After a time, she said, “There’s a portal device. Someone sold it to Aubrey at her store and it accidentally went off here. We didn’t know what it was at first.”
