Phantom Quartz: A Stacy Justice Witch Mystery Book 6 (Stacy Justice Magical Mysteries) (7 page)

Chapter 12

People often used to tell me how young my mother looked. There was a very good reason for that. She
was
young. Mom met Dad when she was eighteen and he was twenty-one. She was working at the inn, trying to earn some money to start her own herbal potion shop. This was back when Gramps was heavy into real estate and owned quite a few buildings in town. He offered to rent one of his Main Street properties to her, dirt cheap, so that she could jumpstart her business, but she still needed a good chunk of change for supplies, so she waited tables during the week and helped out at the inn on the weekends. It was one of those weekends that my mother met my father. He was on his way to a job interview with a newspaper in Chicago, having just graduated college and stopped off to rest for the night in Amethyst.

Dad took one look at mom and decided there was nowhere else he wanted to be.

He had received a hefty inheritance when his parents died, so he opted to turn down the columnist job in the city and set his sights on the town’s quiet, failing newspaper—and my mother. From what I was told, it was a whirlwind romance. A year later, I came into the world. It was all picture perfect. Until he died.

I regarded my mother now, wondering how often she thought of him. I couldn’t imagine losing the love of my life, especially in such a tragic manner. How painful it must have been for her. At the time, she wasn’t much older than I was now. To be ripped away from your child not long after losing your husband must have been utterly heart-wrenching. The emptiness she must have felt. I wondered how she had gotten through any of it at all.

“Stop staring at me, Stacy. It’s creeping me out,” she said.

Then again, the women in my family weren’t known for their sentimentality.

“Sorry,” I said.

We were upstairs in Birdie’s hidden magical chamber, and all the Geraghty Girls were present. The room was papered in flocked velvet and always smelled of white sage. An enormous, intricately carved round table stood in the center surrounded by lion-footed chairs with red velvet seats. Cabinets lined the walls filled with potions and herbs, spellcasting tools, and a wardrobe where an assortment of ritual capes hung. It looked like the inside of Merlin’s castle.

Lolly had shrugged a green cape over her festive outfit. Fiona, the middle sister, stood next to Lolly, make-up expertly applied, a blue cape dusting her dainty shoulders. Birdie reached into the large, ornately carved wardrobe for her own cape—black velvet with a huge silver triquetra embroidered on the back—and slipped into it. Even my mother wore a shimmery turquoise number with the moon phases etched into the fabric.

It was then that I noticed it was just me seated on this side of the table and that I was the only one without a cape. Not because I was completely oblivious, but because I had hung back to invite Chance to dinner.

I felt an ambush lurking around the corner. I hated when they did that. I stood, kicking the lion footed chair back. “All right, what’s going on?”

Fiona was the only one smiling. Everyone else had a stoic look plastered to her face—even Lolly, who had graduated from Bailey’s and coffee to Jameson on the rocks.

“Well, you see dear, your mother and Birdie are quite worried about you,” Fiona smiled in that way that could charm the pants off a sailor. Fortunately, it had little effect on me.

I crossed my arms. “Really? How so?” I set my gaze first on my mother, then Birdie.

Birdie said, “Go on, Sloane. She’s your daughter, you talk to her.” Birdie nudged my mother forward.

Mom tucked an auburn lock behind her ear and cleared her throat. “The Geraghty Girls and I feel as if you rely too much on technology for your missions as the Seeker of Justice. Your tactics in battle, while impressive, have overshadowed your ability as a witch. The magic should always come first and foremost in your quests.”

I looked from one to the other of them, searching for a crack, a twitch of the cheek, a wide-eyed stare that would reveal an open mind among them. There was none. So it was four against one. Not good odds. I swallowed hard, took stock of the floor for a moment, choosing my words carefully.

“Okay, sure. I’ll reduce my use of technology. Is there anything else?” I knew how to pick my battles. And this was one I didn’t want to discuss at the moment, so why not humor them all and be done with it.

Birdie narrowed her eyes. She exchanged a look with Lolly and Fiona. The three of them huddled behind my mother who shot me a curious glance.

“Yeah, they do that a lot.” I buffed a nail on my jeans.

The Geraghty Girls turned back to face me and Birdie said, “We suspect you’re being insincere. You’ll have to prove it.”

“Okay, first of all, calling your granddaughter a liar is not nice. And second, how do you want me to prove it?”

“Dismantle the Seeker’s Den,” my mother said.

Birdie snapped her head toward Mom and I suspected that wasn’t my grandmother’s first choice.

Fiona chimed in. “Just for a little while perhaps, dear.”

“You could be all that much more powerful,” added Lolly.

Now I was steamed. The Seeker’s Den had saved my life more than once. I spent countless hours setting up the database that connected to the council, not to mention all the time I took uploading the Blessed Book. There was more knowledge tucked away in that hidden room than existed in all the libraries in the country combined. It was where I kept my crystals, herbs, spells, weapons. It was my solitude. There was no way I was going to give it up.

I told them this right after I said, “Hell no.”

Birdie said, “You rely much too heavily on tasers.” She crossed her arms. “That poor harlot could have suffered permanent damage.”

I leaned forward and aimed a finger at Birdie. “You’re the one who told me to keep an eye on Monique, Birdie.” I sighed. “But fine. I’ll ease up on zapping people, although those tasers have saved my life.”

My mother said, “And what of your battle in Ireland—a man older than your grandfather—he bested you did he not? And he used magic to do it.”

Oh good grief, this was going downhill fast. “Aedon was a freak of nature. No one could have fought telekinesis that powerful. The man had decades of experience under his belt, not to mention his partner was a ghost who liked to throw knives.” I frowned recalling my experiences on the Emerald Isle. “And besides, I still don’t think I died.”

They told me I had, but seeing as how I was standing here today, I found that highly unlikely.

More huddling, but this time my mother was invited. I began to panic, but then I thought of all the work I had done with the Blessed Book. All the hours of practice I had been clocking for the past several months.

“Wait, I’ll prove that I’ve been expanding my power,” I said.

My mother stood and the Geraghty Girls followed. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Good. Maybe I could convince them that taking away my den was a terrible idea. I sucked in a deep breath, centering myself. A portal made of white light illuminated my mind and I focused on Lolly’s cocktail glass, chanting an incantation. I no longer needed to call on the gods with every spell I cast. No longer needed physical objects for the small stuff, although they do aid in magic. I had learned to steer my own power and that of the locket to manipulate energy. If need be, I could envision that which would aid my desire—crystals, herbs, the moon—I had memorized and categorized them in the filing cabinet of my third eye so that they were always there, ready to assist the enchantment. Not as strong as the real deal, but effective nonetheless.

I closed my eyes, letting the words flow over me like a spring shower, envisioning the moon above that white light. Then I snapped them open and focused on the glass, watching as the ice blended with the whiskey. It turned slushy, then froze solid. Closing my eyes again, I changed the chant to a rapid beat, imagining Ares, the god of war. The white light in my mind darkened to a blood red, flowing like lava. Heat filled the room as the whiskey ignited.

I lifted my head to meet Birdie’s stare.

She smiled. “Elemental magic. Basic, but very good, Stacy.”

The flame snuffed out.

Lolly clapped and Fiona gushed, “You
have
been keeping up with your studies.”

My mother didn’t look quite as impressed. “I don’t know, ladies. I say we stick with the plan.”

My face fell. “What plan?” My stomach churned as a team of butterflies moved in and camped there.

Birdie passed a doubtful look to my mother, clearly torn. Lolly’s lips drooped, and Fiona just clucked her tongue.

My mother said, “I really think it’s for her own good. We can’t be sending her out there on these dangerous missions with only a blade and her wits. Who knows who she’ll come up against?”

“Sloane, I don’t—” Birdie said.

“I just can’t bear it, Mother. Not after what happened in Ireland.” Her voice cracked and she buried her head in her hands for a moment. 

Lolly and Fiona rushed to comfort her and I tipped backwards, inching towards the door, vying for an escape. “What are you guys talking about? What plan?” There was no telling what they were up to, but history has proven that it would end with a shit storm dumped on my head and me without an umbrella.

A decay invaded my gut as the butterflies died. I was about to be betrayed by my own blood. I just knew it.

The door slammed, locked and bolted behind me. I spun around, ran to it, scrambling to twist the deadbolt open. It wouldn’t budge, as if it were welded shut. I pounded on the thick wood, shouting. For whom, I didn’t know, because no one could hear my cries on the other side of these thick walls.

And even if someone could, who would answer? Most everyone I loved was in this room.

Behind me, my grandmother, my mother, and my two great aunts began to chant.

My legs carried me backwards and I spun again to face their circle.

“What are you doing? Mom? Birdie?”

They didn’t answer, already absorbed in their spellcasting.

Power slipped from me, bit by bit, like petals ripped from a flower. “Stop it! Please!”

They kept chanting in a language I didn’t recognize—eyes closed, hands bound together as if by an unseen force. Wind ripped around the room. An icy chill surged in my veins. My heartbeat slowed, my lungs labored. I reached for the cocktail glass on the round table and hurled it at the mirror behind them, hoping to startle at least one of the Geraghtys back to her senses.

The tumbler bounced off the frame. Amber liquid slid down the looking glass and hung there in broken threads.

My legs weakened into jelly. My knees buckled, and I fell forward over the table, clinging to it—and consciousness.

“Don’t do this, please,” I whispered, my strength fading further away until a gaping wound settled into my soul.

They only chanted louder. Then I recognized the words they were saying. It was a Druid phrase that meant, “Collect and secure.”

My eyes made a desperate attempt to focus on at least one face. Finally, I reached my mother’s. Eyes green as glass. Same as mine.

“Stop! Mom, stop! You can’t do this. You’re draining me.”

She didn’t wince.

There was only one thing I could do. One way out of this if I was going to keep my power and in turn, my strength.

It was a Hail Mary pass, but it’s the only one I had.

I reached for the Seeker’s locket that lay beneath my sweater and climbed up the backside of a chair. I fumbled with the catch. Opened it.

The words didn’t come. My mind was a fog, I couldn’t recall the spell I was searching for.

Then I remembered what the former Seeker had said when she gifted the locket to me.

It does whatever you need it to do. It’s only a tool. The power is in you.

I dug deep within the recesses of my soul, gathered all the magic I possessed, and held the open locket in the air. I shouted a reversal enchantment, aiming the face of the amulet at their circle, repeating my mantra over and over until the wave of magic streaming towards them shifted, retreated, then settled in the center of the room, swarming the table like a sea of fireflies.

Sparks sizzled as the energy danced across the space, bouncing off of any reflective surface it could find. Fireworks ricocheted off the chandelier, the mirror, the moonbeam shining through the window, and eventually, the Seeker’s amulet.

I held it there, steady for a moment, until all the magic collided together in one wave of shocking bright light. I closed my eyes, imagined reclaiming my power, and held the open-faced locket to my heart. Pain exploded through me as the energy burst into my soul and flooded back into my body.

The last image I saw before I collapsed was my mother’s smile.

Chapter 13

I woke up in total darkness to the faint scent of brimstone, wondering what had happened. Then I remembered. My family tried to kill me.

Well, not exactly, but that was what it felt like.

All these years Birdie had wanted nothing more for me than to gain power, so to rip it from me didn’t make any sense.

Could this have all been my mother’s idea? But why?

I lay there for a few beats wondering if the reversal spell had worked. I tried to reach into my core, feel my inner senses to see if the magic had been returned to me. l could still envision things in my mind’s eye. Colors, recipes, crystals, charms. Could still hear the tiny hum of the magic chamber, although it was softer now. Like music playing from a passing car.

I could not see in the dark however, so I climbed to my feet and stumbled over to where I guessed the door was, tripping over a chair in the process. My head hit the wall, so I was at least making progress. I reached up the wall, feeling around for a light switch until I hit paydirt. The room brightened, and I could see Birdie, Fiona, and Lolly curled up and over each other like a pile of kittens.

My mother was nowhere in sight.

I rushed over and gently shook each of them, but none of the Geraghty Girls moved. I said their names one by one without getting a response. They were breathing, that was clear. Perhaps the spell had knocked them unconscious as it had me. I was about to search the cabinet for something to wake them when the doorbell clanged through the room. There were bells strategically placed throughout the house so that they would never miss a guest arrival.

Damn. Dinner guests.

Or maybe it was Gramps.

I quickly untangled the pile of arms and legs, growing more incensed by the minute for what they had done to me. And more suspicious than ever of my mother’s motives. Was Uncle Deck still alive? Was that why she had concocted this scheme? To keep me from meddling? All good questions to be sure, but the biggest one was—why?

The bell rang again, extinguishing my concerns for the moment.
One problem at a time, Stacy.
I exited the room, dashed through the passageway, and hurried downstairs to the front door where I found Thor standing. He was dressed as Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and was none too happy about it. He grumbled at me.

I shook my head. “I realize that’s an undignified look for you, buddy, but I’ve got my own problems right now. It seems my entire clan has gone batshit bonkers.”

Thor cocked his head and rolled his eyes as if to say,
what else is new?
An image of a cuckoo clock flashed in my brain as I brushed past him. I halted, turned slowly back towards the dog, my eyes trained on him.

“Did you do that?” I asked. “Did you just send me a picture?”

Another ring.

Thor sat, harrumphed, and a pissy look crossed over his big muzzle.

I decided to shelve that thought for the moment and opened the door to find Gramps and my mother standing on the front porch.

Gramps charged at me with a bear hug. “Hiya, sweetheart!” He kissed my cheek and I glared at my mother over his shoulder.

Her brows rose, knitted together, then fell back in place, unsure of which stance to take.

Gramps shifted and pulled mom into the happy reunion with his other arm. She tried to curl her arm around my waist, but I stiffened and wiggled away.

I planted my fists on my hips and said, “So you’re just going to stand there and act like nothing happened?” My temper was getting away from me, but I didn’t care. She had a lot of explaining to do.

My mother looked at me, then Gramps. “Honey, what are you talking about?”

Gramps said, “Is it Birdie? Is she mad that I was the one who picked Sloane up? Your mother would have called Birdie, but her flight was delayed and we didn’t want your grandmother driving at night.” He bit his lower lip. “So is she mad?”

“Don’t worry about Birdie, Gramps. I’m the one who’s angry.”

My mother said, “Stacy, I’m going to put my bag in my room, take a shower, and then we’ll talk.”

She started up the stairs, but I grabbed her wrist.

She squealed. “Ouch. You shocked me.” She dropped her bag and rubbed her forearm.

“Well then I guess we’re even.” My voice was cold as stone.

She cocked her head, weighing my words as if she were deciphering a riddle. “Did I do something to upset you, honey?”

“Oh, I think I’ve moved way past upset and well into fiery rage.”

Gramps said, “Come on, now, I can’t have my girls fighting. Your mother’s had a long trip, Stacy. My bones are tired just from the drive to the airport.”

Mom said, “Thanks again for picking me up, Dad.”

“No trouble, sweetie.”

I looked from one to the other. “So now you’re trying to convince me that you just got here?” I scoffed, incredulous at her nerve.

My mother gave me a curious look. “I
did
just get here.”

I swept my eyes over her. She was wearing wide-legged slacks printed with peacock feathers. A cowl neck sweater peeked out from beneath her red princess cut coat, and her feet sported pointy-toed boots.

I frowned. “Don’t move.”

It took me less than a minute to run back to the kitchen. The coat, boots, scarf, and gloves that Mom had discarded earlier were gone. Okay, so she changed clothes. Then she drove back to the airport and asked Gramps to pick her up. It was only twenty minutes away. It was feasible.

Right?

I ran back to the living room where Mom was liberating Thor from his ridiculous costume. He wiggled up next to her, thumping his tail and sniffing her hair. She laughed and scratched his ears. Her head tilted toward me as if sensing my return. “Thor is such a good sport to put up with Aunt Lolly, aren’t you Thor?”

Thor whinnied and pawed at the air, grateful to be free of his alter ego.

“You said that already.”

She twisted her neck toward me. “I did? When?”

They weren’t her exact words, but it was something to that effect. Thor danced around my mother as if he hadn’t seen her in ages and nuzzled her ear, then nibbled on her nose. Most dogs do that if you walk out to the mailbox and back—act as if they haven’t seen you in a week. But not Thor. There was a bit of Fonzie in him. He was too cool for that.

“Can I see your passport?” The thought trampling through my mind was incredibly far-fetched, but maybe...

She rose. “Excuse me?”

“Just let me see it.”

“Young lady, you’re beginning to try my patience.” Her green eyes darkened and her nostrils flared.

I shivered. That was exactly what my mother would say.

“Humor me.”

She scowled, reached into her pocket and pulled out her passport. It looked legit. Had her name on it. Sloane Geraghty Justice.

“What was the last conversation you and I had, Mom?” I handed the passport back.

“Why on earth would you ask me that?” She studied me a beat. “Did you drink some of Aunt Lolly’s tea?”

“Mom!”

She sighed. “Oh, all right. I suppose it was after I got back from Florence with Pearce. I told you about our trip.”

We did have that conversation and she had been there. But anyone could know that.

Gramps stood idly by, probably wondering where this was going, but as a man who had been putting up with Geraghty women for half a century, he knew better than to play referee. He once stepped into a fight between the three sisters and wound up talking like Mickey Mouse for a week.

“Mom, what was your nickname for me when I was little?”

She stood a bit taller. “My little warrior.”

If she had said princess, I would have known it wasn’t her.

“What’s this all about, Stacy? Your mother’s growing irritated.” She tapped her boot to emphasize her point.

That was a good question. What
was
this all about?