Magical Influence Book One (16 page)

Don't ask me why. Maybe it was
the mere thought that the only thing protecting me from the
creature outside was a couple of
centimeters of old, moth eaten green
velvet.

Seconds later, my grandmother
was back in the room, and she marched right over to me, latched a
hand on my shoulder, and pulled me back, settling me somewhere in
the
center
of the room before she walked over to the window, tugged the
curtain open slightly, brought her hand up and wrote something on
the glass.

Seconds later there was a hiss
like steam escaping a
pressurized pipe.

“What's going on here? And what the hell
was that?” Jacob still had his gun in his hand.

I wasn’t usually a particularly good
judge of character; my grandmother said that I didn't have enough
life experience to be going around trying to judge others who had
more. But I knew enough to tell that Jacob was not reacting how he
should.

All I had seen was a shadow at the
window. Something dark, something that I had felt should not be
there, and something that my witchly senses had told me was trying
to make its nefarious way into the house. While Jacob was acting as
if he had seen an assailant. A monster, something other than a
swarm of dark light.

Perhaps my grandmother
realized this also,
because she turned sharply and stared at Jacob. And for the first
time it appeared as if she were actually looking at him. She didn't
seem to be taken by the fact he was handsome, by the fact he was an
eligible bachelor, and by the fact she could try to drug him into
joining the family. Now she looked past that to what was
inside.

Jacob swallowed, finally letting his
gun drop, but not settling it back in his holster as he stared back
at my grandmother.

“What did you see?” Granny crossed her
arms. “Tell me everything.”

It sounded as if she were trying to
play the psychiatrist; getting the confused and frightened man to
admit to whatever illusion was chasing around his mind.

“What's going on here?” he repeated,
darting his gaze around the room, then nestling it back on those
green velvet curtains and whatever evil prospect lay
beyond.

“Young man, what you did see?” my
grandmother asked again, but this time her voice was laced with
something more than frustration and force. Magic, a startling
amount of it. The air even sizzled from it.

His lips dropped open with a
jerk, as if someone had tugged them free with
string
. “A
man, with a knife in his hand, and black wings, a spider crawling
across his hand, a scorpion on his cheek,” Jacob answered, except
his voice didn't seem his own. It sounded like my
grandmother's.

I knew what she was doing. She was
using her magic to reach inside his mind, and use him like a
marionette.

It was something she would never do
under ordinary circumstances, especially not to a normal
human.

These were not ordinary
circumstances.

And as I looked at Jacob, I wondered
if he were even an ordinary human; where I had seen nothing but a
shadow, he had seen a fully formed apparition.

My grandmother's eyes narrowed
carefully, and she took a step forward, leaning her head down as
she appeared to appraise Jacob carefully
. “Any history of magic in your
family?”

“What are you talking about?” Jacob
apparently had control of his voice again, and it was
shaking.

“Probably not, I think I would know if you
were holding something like that back from me. Which means, my dear
Agent Jacob Fairweather, that you have natural talent.”

I balked at the phrase natural
talent.

“Where my granddaughter saw nothing but
shadow, you saw what was really there. You certainly are the
perfect addition to the Sinclair family,” a small but
satisfied-looking smile spread her lips.

Jacob shook his head. It was clear he
had no idea what was going on, and why should he? I was a witch, I
was related to my grandmother, and I had no idea either.

“That's it, you really have to tell me
what's going on now, or I am going to call the authorities,” Jacob
backed off.

“I have already told you what is going
on,” my grandmother replied coldly, casting her glance back to the
green curtains for a moment. “My granddaughter and I are witches.
Due to my granddaughter’s persistent complaining and whingeing, she
has brought a rift into her life. A rift that has left her open for
attack. Now that both of the oak trees that had previously held
guard at this property have been destroyed, we are under real
threat of attack. What you saw at the window was the first
wave.”

So much for telling him what was going
on; even I had trouble understanding her disjointed account of
affairs.

To Jacob's credit, he didn't
pull up his gun and shoot us both though
. “You drugged me,” he suddenly came
up with his own conclusion. As he did, his cheeks paled, and he
brought his gun up in a swinging, quick motion. “Jesus Christ, you
put something in those biscuits, didn't you?”

“I haven’t drugged you
yet
,” my grandmother defended herself.

Jacob acted predictably on the
term
“yet.”

He stepped back, brought his
other hand up to his gun, held it exactly as a professional should,
and pointed it over at me
. “You two are going to prison this
time.”

“Look, it's just a misunderstanding,” I
tried fruitlessly.

My grandmother waved me off into
silence.

“I knew there was something up with you
too,” Jacob stated through clenched teeth.

My grandmother's expressions
soured
. “Is
this the thanks I get for hauling you out of that storm and healing
your injuries? Young man, you need to learn some manners.
“

“Stay exactly where you are,” Jacob took
one hand off his gun and reached into his pocket and then plucked
out his mobile phone.

Great, the cavalry was about to get
involved.

“Good luck trying to get any reception; I
imagine the only thing you're going to hear when you open up that
is the chatter of demons and lost souls,” Granny crossed her
arms.

Jacob did not take her warning.
He opened the phone, expression a severe one, then
dialed the number.
Seconds later he pressed it to his ear.

Then he all but dropped it as he gave
an involuntary shudder.

Eyes widening in obvious fear,
he took a step back from it
. “What the hell is that sound?”

“I told you, demons and lost souls. Now it
is clear that you have a talent for witnessing magic, I'm afraid
you are going to be in for a rough ride. Our house, whether you
like it or not, is currently being assailed by every magical
creature with any claim to the dark side. If you choose to walk out
the door or clamber out a window, I suggest you prepare yourself to
fight off the ghosts and trolls. Should you try to call anyone, or
send off an email, expect to hear nothing but the replies of the
crushed and doomed straight from hell.”

I doubted Jacob actually believed what
my grandma was saying, but the edge to his expression was gone. The
self-righteousness, the anger. In its place was nothing but
confusion and just a grain of determination. He was still holding
onto his gun, after all.

Keeping my hands in the air as
if in surrender, I tried for a smile
. “Look, honestly, this is all just a
misunderstanding,” I said again. It was never going to work
though.

The two of them simply ignored me as
if I were no longer in the room.

“What was in that... potion you gave me?
What have you done to me? Am I hallucinating?” Jacob brought a hand
up and touched his ear, as if expecting to find a couple of streaks
of cocaine dabbed across his face.

Granny
snorted
.
“You don't want to know what was in that potion, neither could you
comprehend it. But you can thank me for the fact you still have
your hearing and that although you have a headache it is only
mild.”

“Please, can't we just sit down, discuss
this,” I suggested, but my voice could hardly be heard over the two
as they continued to bicker.

I took several steps back. This
was
...
beyond unbelievable. This situation had become dangerous very, very
quickly. And I wasn't just talking about the fact this house was
now open for attack. I was talking about Jacob, the angry, armed
Federal Agent. The one my grandmother had admitted we were witches
to. The one my grandmother seemed content to goad at every moment
with magical explanations and potions.

I brought my hands up, locked them on
my cheeks, and felt how frigid cold my fingertips were.

Honestly, I wasn't built for stress
like this. I liked the quiet life, not one filled with shadows at
the window and remarkably perceptive men with guns.

I had to do something.

Didn't I? That was the point. Even
though I was trying to resist my grandmother's meddling, I
understood what lay underneath. If I wanted my life to get back to
normal, I had to take charge.

Take charge.

I latched onto that thought, and took
a deliberate step backwards, turning and heading out the
door.

My grandmother was not the only witch
here. And as I headed through the kitchen, a plan formulated in my
mind.

Unfortunately it would turn out to be
the worst thing I had ever thought of.

Chapter 13

By the time I reached the kitchen I
was cold. Through and through. It wasn't just because the house was
old and draughty and that persistent wind was pushing its way
through the cracks in the floorboards. It was much more than that.
It felt like every trace of warmth or everything that had ever
remembered warmth had been removed from the place. The kitchen
reminded me of the inside of a glacier. Instantly my breath turned
white, and I clutched at my exposed hands.

I knew a thing or two about magic.
Like most forces, it generated heat. A really powerful love spell
would be hot as hell, and of course a fireball wasn't exactly
chilly.

But what I was experiencing
here was something different. When a room or a place or an object
became cold, the kind of freezing temperature you associated with
deep, deep space, it meant something was building. It meant the
life and the magic and the sole had been sucked out of the area, in
preparation for
... something new.

I cast my glance quickly out
the French doors. I had lived here for so long that the view of
that old oak tree had become a fixture in my life. The way it
dappled the light in summer, the way the rays of the sun pushed
through the naked branches in winter
... it was a guttural, tactile
memory.

But now it was gone. And I felt that
loss like you would a limb.

Letting out another puff of air that
turned to white and buffeted against my cheeks, I glanced towards
the fridge. I had come in here for a reason; that reason had been
to gather together all the potions I required for a sleeping spell.
Not just any sleeping draught though, one that would knock out dear
Agent Jacob Fairweather and erase from his memory the last 24
hours. It was the only way. Not only would it remove him from the
house, but it would mean my grandmother's careless admissions would
be forgotten.

Ignoring the cold and the powerful
sense that something was building, I half jogged over to the bench,
pulled out a bowl, and went to open the fridge.

And that would be when I felt
it.

Rushing up from underneath. It
had no wind, the air did not buffet against my feet. It was just a
sense. I couldn't see it, I couldn't hear it
... but a part of me suddenly
stood still from the fright of its approach.

I didn't have the time to scream.
Something latched onto my ankle.

Cold and hard it wrapped around my
flesh and it pulled. My body fell out from underneath me, and I
slammed against the floorboards. The wind was knocked out of my
chest, but before I could catch a breath, a hand latched around my
throat.

It had all happened so fast. If I had
been the kind of capable, powerful witch ready to defend herself, I
might have been able to squeeze off a spell. I wasn't, and to boot,
all I knew was influence magic, and those kind of spells required
time. The kind of time you didn't have when something latched onto
you and tried to tug you through the floor.

The crush of the bone-like hand
against my windpipe filled my senses. Alarm rushed through my body.
But I was pinned down; there was nothing I could do.

Eyes growing wide, mouth spluttering
as I tried to choke out a breath, my gaze turned black at the
edges. I was seconds from unconsciousness, or possibly
death.

I struggled, brought a hand up,
tried to tug off whatever was gripping my throat and ankle. As my
own hand latched around that foreign wrist, I
realized it really was nothing
more than bone.