Obsidian Curse (A Stacy Justice Mystery Book Five) Read online

Chance was just kicking the rest of the glass out of the way when I pivoted back around. He offered me his arm and I took it.

  We walked a little bit more in silence, listening to the crickets. Someone was making popcorn in an apartment above a shop and, farther down, the sounds of a piano drifted out into the street.

  “We should probably head back,” I said.

  Chance pulled me toward him tightly. He put both hands on my cheeks, looking at me with the intensity of a man just back from war. He sunk his lips into mine, and we kissed under a cloudy night sky.

  His hands unbuttoned my coat and he slid them around me, pulling me closer still. “Not yet. I need you all to myself a little longer.”

  I responded to his kisses enthusiastically, my heart beating faster, my breath coming in short gasps. Chance moaned and unbuttoned my pants. His hand slipped around, cupping my backside, and my pants almost fell to the ground.

  I grabbed them with my left hand. “What are you doing?”

  He grinned at me, his eyes dark, devilish. “Come on.” He glanced around. “No one’s looking,” he said in a husky voice.

  “I don’t think so.”

  I started to button my jeans, but he pulled me back to him by the waistband, turning with me until I was up against the wall. He kissed me again. Hotter, deeper, his tongue probing my mouth and I felt my arms circle his neck against my wishes. He stuck his hand up my shirt and cupped my breast, then yanked my pants down with the other hand.

  The shock of the cold air brought me to my senses.

  “Chance, stop it.”

  I pulled my pants up and got them buttoned again.

  He grabbed me one last time. “I need you, baby.” His eyes were unfocused, glassy.

  That’s when I slapped him across the face. “I said no!”

  Chance stepped back, confused. He rubbed his cheek where my handprint had formed.

  Then he looked at me, completely horrified. “I, I…I’m so sorry.” His voice cracked and he took a step backwards. He stared down at his hands a moment as if they had betrayed him. As if he didn’t recognize them.

  “Chance, it’s okay.”

  He swallowed hard, ran his hands through his hair, and I thought I saw tears well up in his eyes. “No it’s not. I have to go.”

  He turned.

  “Wait! Chance, wait!”

  I started toward him and he stopped, but he didn’t turn around. “I have to go, Stacy. Can you get back okay?”

  We were only two blocks from the bookstore. “Yes.” This time it was my voice that cracked.

  He nodded and disappeared around the corner.

  Behind me, a voice said, “He’s been tainted.”

  I whipped around to see the young witch from Birdie’s coven and the bookstore; she was carrying a sack that was kicking.

  “No,” I said forcefully. “You’re wrong. He’s just under stress.” He couldn’t have been compromised. Monique was safe inside Birdie’s house.

  Unless we were wrong. Unless the fairy mistress had found another host. But who?

  I looked at the witch.

  “He’s strong. He wouldn’t let it happen.”

  She looked doubtful but she didn’t say anything. She just turned and took her sack of trolls with her.

  I stood there, alone, on a dark street beneath a shallow moon, more determined than ever to find the bitch who had destroyed love for generations of Geraghtys and run her out of my town.

  And if that didn’t work, I’d kill her.

  Chapter 28

  Back on Main Street, I saw people walking out of the bookstore and toward the Black Opal, so I made a left and went there first.

  I hung the coat up because it was starting to make me sweat and I didn’t want the stink tattooed on my skin.

  A young bartender walked over to me and took my drink order just as Cinnamon sat down next to me.

  “Hey, where’s Chance?” she asked. Tony handed me my bag and then went behind the bar to assist with the cocktail orders.

  “He was tired. Had a long day.”

  The bartender, who smelled faintly of motor oil, handed me a glass of Merlot. She smiled at me and I couldn’t help but notice she was stunning. Long jet black hair, amber eyes, and pinup-girl curves.

  “Thank you.” I studied her with the intensity of a boxer sizing up his opponent.

  Cinnamon said, “Hey, Daphne, this is my cousin, Stacy.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she said cheerfully.

  “Likewise.”

  Cinnamon told Daphne to start a tab for the crowd and she turned around to ring up the wine.

  I watched the long-haired bartender walk over to Tony. She touched his arm as she talked to him, pointed to a few things, and when he shifted over to stock the beer cooler, I couldn’t help but notice she let her eyes linger on him a little too long.

  The woman certainly fit the description that Birdie and the aunts had given me of the Leanan Sidhe. Perhaps she wanted a host who looked like herself? That, coupled with the fact that the bartender smelled like motor oil—because they insisted the fairy mistress would smell like her target—and seemed a bit too interested in Tony gave me pause.

  “Who is she?” I asked my cousin.

  “She’s new in town. From Las Vegas.”

  “Las Vegas? What’s she doing here?”

  Cinnamon shrugged. “I’m not sure. She said her parents were raised here, but they’re gone now. Said she’s helping out an aunt who’s ill. She fills in here sometimes, but she’s mostly been at the garage helping Tony.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “You’re going to let that around your husband?” I sipped my wine. It was peppery and warm.

  Cin rolled her eyes. “I don’t think I need to worry about that.” She slid her eyes in the direction of where Daphne had been standing.

  When I traced her gaze, I caught Daphne staring straight at me. She quickly averted her eyes and busied herself lining up glasses and filling them with ice.

  Cin let out a snort. “She plays for the other team. And I think she likes you.”

  Or that’s her cover, I thought, deciding that it might be a good idea to keep an eye on Daphne. And possibly Tony for any changes.

  “I hope you put that on my tab.” Blade sidled up next to me and ordered a scotch on the rocks from Daphne.

  Cinnamon slid off her stool. “Don’t worry, Knight. Drinks are on you.” She disappeared into the bathroom.

  “Well, actually, they’re on my publisher.” He smiled and scanned the room. “Where’s the boyfriend?”

  “He went home.”

  He cocked a brow. “Nothing I said, I hope?”

  I gave Blade a wry smile. “Actually yes, he hated the reading.”

  “Touché.” He clinked my glass.

  “So what did you want to talk about?” I asked.

  He leaned in and said, “I asked Leo if he could track down the original suspects listed in the report. He said he’d get on that tomorrow. I was wondering if you’d go to my parents’ house with me.”

  “Why?” I took another sip of my wine.

  “You know, do that voodoo that you do so well.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Okay. I have two interviews in the morning. I’ll text you when I’m done. In the meantime, I found out a few things. I’ll fill you in on the details later, but I want you to work the room and tell whoever will listen that your next project is a retelling of Silverberg’s Book of Skulls.”

  “Why?”

  “I have a hunch.”

  Blade said, “Okay. Come on, I want you to meet my agent.”

  I followed Blade to the far side of the bar. Frieda was standing near Lolly’s coat, admiring the plushness of it.

  She stopped me. “Hi, Stacy. This is yours, right? I thought I saw you wearing it in the boo
kstore.”

  “Actually it belongs to my aunt.” I motioned to Blade that I’d be right there.

  “May I?” she asked, her voice giddy.

  “Knock yourself out.”

  She tried on the coat that thousands of stuffed animals must have given their lives for, admiring the stitching.

  Gladys came up to me then, a screwdriver in her hand. She pointed out her interview subjects and I told her I’d love to meet them after I met Blade’s agent.

  I wove through the tables and found my way to the corner where Blade stood, and a few other people were gathered.

  “Stacy, this is Yvonne, my agent.”

  She was in her late forties, with a sleek haircut and hungry eyes. She looked every bit the New Yorker in a navy coatdress tailored to fit her thin hips, boots that cost more than my mortgage, and a bag that likely hadn’t fallen off the back of a truck. She smelled like old money and new books.

  I stuck my hand out. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Yvonne declined my hand and said, “I’m afraid I have a terrible cold. Wouldn’t want to pass it on to the woman who’s working with my star author. Have to keep you both healthy so he can pump out the next book.” She smiled warmly, then held a tissue to her red nose.

  Someone asked what he was working on next and Blade, true to what we had discussed, began gushing about a retelling of The Book of Skulls.

  Yvonne snapped her head around so fast, I was afraid she popped something out of place.

  She seemed to debate calling Blade out right there, thought better of it, and instead turned to me. “I thought he was doing a true-crime piece about small towns in the Midwest. I thought that’s why he was here talking to you.”

  I shrugged. “Authors.”

  She gave Blade an odd look, then excused herself. I watched her walk to the bar and order something.

  Caleb approached me then. “Where’s my brother?”

  “He went home. Do you think you could check on him? He seemed…upset.”

  “Why? Because of this clown?”

  “I honestly don’t know,” I said. And I didn’t. Maybe Chance was stressed out from working too much. I hoped that’s all it was anyway.

  Caleb must have seen something in my face because he kissed my cheek and said, “I’ll take care of it.”

  “I appreciate that, Caleb.”

  He winked, grabbed his coat, and left.

  Derek was sitting at the bar next to Gladys. She was talking to a tall woman with bobbed hair angled at her chin, dressed in a very complicated collection of scarves, jewelry, leggings, a skirt, and a sequined tank top with a sweater and a shawl. I could only assume it was the fashion designer. She looked to be in her fifties, judging from the lines on her ringed hand, but either Botox or time had been kind to her.

  I squeezed into an open spot next to Derek, who was flirting with the bartender as effectively as a guy with a lazy eye who lives with his parents.

  “Hey, Romeo. How’s it going?”

  I turned my back to the bar and plopped my elbows on it. Daphne asked if I needed anything and I declined. She frowned and whisked away to serve another patron.

  “Why do you always do that?” Derek asked.

  “Do what?”

  “Crunch my mojo.”

  “Well, the way Cin tells it, your mojo is wasted on tall, dark, and luscious.”

  “Why? Boyfriend?”

  “Nope. Let’s just say she butters her bread on the other side of the toast.”

  Derek frowned. “No. Really?”

  “That’s the word on the street.”

  He sulked into his beer and I told him the article was in his in-box.

  Gladys said, “Stacy. Please to meet Lucinda. She is fashion design lady.” I walked over to them. Lucinda took one look at my attire and said, “Honey, you need to come to New York and let me dress you.” She flicked her eyes toward the coat rack. “And burn that piece of shag carpet the minute you get home.”

  I instantly disliked Lucinda.

  “I’ll get right on that.”

  She turned her head to lift her martini and I caught a glimpse of her earrings. Black skulls. She was certainly old enough to have known Blade’s parents. I was just about to ask her if she knew the author when a text from Birdie chirped on my phone.

  Come home immediately. We have word from the Council. Blade Knight is not who he appears to be.

  I looked at Blade, who caught my eye and winked. Yvonne was standing next to him drinking a mug of steaming something, talking to the scientist I was supposed to interview tomorrow.

  “Hey, guys, I have to leave,” I said to Derek and Gladys. To Lucinda, I said, “Nice to meet you.” She nodded as if the pleasure was all mine.

  I made a mental note to pump Gladys for all the information I could about Lucinda before I left the Black Opal.

  As I walked out, I felt two pairs of eyes boring through my back.

  Chapter 29

  I jogged up the hill toward the Geraghty Girls’ House, wondering what Birdie could have meant by that message. I kept my eye out for wayward fairies the entire way, making sure the coat was buttoned all the way up to my throat.

  A block before I reached the house, I tripped over some sort of vine in the middle of the street.

  Except it wasn’t a vine. It was a trap.

  I heard snickering and smelled chocolate chip cookies before I saw him. I reached inside the inner pocket of the coat where Lolly had said there was an athame, but before I could get my hands on it, the sneaky little toad lassoed my legs. I crashed to the pavement and caught a glimpse of him as I squirmed there on the street like a worm after a hard rain. He looked like he should have been on a cereal box instead of trying to hog-tie a human four times his size. I reached out with my right hand and grabbed the rope. The damn thing was sizzling hot and it seared my flesh.

  “Agh!” I yelled.

  Captain Butt Munch snickered.

  I assessed my surroundings as he dragged me to a nearby tree. His home, I assumed. There was a garden shovel and a rake that someone had left near their garage, but I was way too far to reach either of them.

  He pulled me farther through the lawn and I was clutching clumps of dirt and grass, trying to secure a hold on something, anything. At one point, the rogue fairy dragged me close enough to grab a good-sized rock. I hurled it at him. Missed.

  Then he lassoed my right arm.

  Frantic now, I kicked and screamed, shouting every enchantment I could think of for banishment, but none worked.

  The little bastard was freakishly strong and he kept chugging along like a redneck at a tractor pull.

  Then, I saw my chance. A metal garden stake was inches away from my left hand. I yanked it out quickly, but he was faster and captured my last free limb.

  We were getting closer to the tree and I desperately searched for something, anything, that would get me out of this mess.

  I saw nothing.

  He stood in front of the maple, me on my back, helpless as an infant, and waved his hands around. The tree trunk yawned open, revealing a bright light. I couldn’t see anything inside of it. All I could think was, So this is how it ends? Lassoed by a Kellogg’s character and buried in a tree trunk. Awesome.

  Then, just as he turned to yank me through to the other side of whatever the hell was beyond the tree, Pickle plummeted from the sky and knocked my attacker unconscious.

  The fairy was camouflaged in sunset-colored fall leaves. He must have been hiding in the treetop. He shot me a grin, then got busy securing the enemy in a gunnysack. He walked over, took out a blade, and severed the ties around my legs and arms. Then he licked my hand.

  “Happy to see you too, my friend,” I said, scrambling to my feet. “Happy to see you too.”

  Birdie opened the door back at the inn.
“Well, it’s about time you got here,” she said.

  “Sorry. I was tied up.”

  I didn’t know where Pickle had gotten off to, but he wasn’t behind me when Birdie shut the door.

  I hung up the coat and went to use the restroom, realizing I hadn’t eaten dinner yet. With everything that had happened earlier, I wasn’t even sure there was dinner. My stomach growled angrily and I went back into the parlor to ask Birdie if there was any food.

  “Yes, yes, upstairs in the Magic Chamber. Come now, there’s much to do.”

  She grabbed my hand and I yowled.

  “I burned my hand, Birdie.”

  She examined it, said there was ointment in her medicine bag, and rushed upstairs. I followed.

  There was another door at the top of the front stairs that separated the private quarters from the guest suites. Birdie unlocked it, grabbed some salve from the medicine bag that was still in the bathroom, handed it to me, then hurried down the hall.

  I followed her through the door at the end of the hallway that led to the chamber room. We had to crawl down a narrow passageway first, but we reached it in moments. There was another door and Birdie simply waved a hand to open it.

  The full coven was there, donned in ritual garb, and Birdie took her seat at the helm of the round table. The massive table was etched with scenes and symbols of our Celtic heritage, highlighted with glittering gold filigree. There were thirteen red velvet chairs situated around it, and in all but one sat a witch of varying age and ethnicity.

  I smeared the ointment on the burn, then grabbed some olive tapenade, three tea sandwiches, and some cranberry juice.

  My grandmother held a gavel in her hand as she instructed me to sit. She smacked the gavel on the table and called the meeting to order. She was wearing her special pentagram necklace and it jingled as she took her seat. It had been crafted for occasions just like these, with a thick pewter base, pyrite on each point, and a huge black obsidian in the center—all of which aid in fighting dark magic.

  “What I am about to say does not leave this room,” she began. “Each of you will be sworn to uphold the Celtic laws of a program that has been in place for more than a millennium.”