Tempest in a Teapot, page 6
Morgana gritted her teeth and willed Bridget to say no. Hosting one person was already too much. A second would be overwhelming and crowd the home she considered her sanctuary.
“I’d really rather stay here. With Miranda gone, someone will need to step into her role, and if I’m not here, it might end up being someone completely inappropriate.” Bridget smiled. “You’ll be fine. Morgana might seem cold and unkind, but she is very kind when it counts. Besides, Oracle Bay is surrounded by water, and that much water inevitably contains fish. I hate fish.” She shuddered.
Hazel bit her lip and looked at Morgana out of the corner of her eye. “Okay. I guess that’ll be fine.”
Morgana sighed. “Bridget, I would be honored if you’d accompany Hazel and help her get settled. It will be easier for her if there is one person she knows well. You can also aid with the defenses we will need to strengthen. And although Oracle Bay is bounded by the ocean to the west and the bay to the east, I have never encountered any land fish. If you stay out of the water, you will remain unmolested.”
Bridget opened her mouth to speak, but Morgana held up a hand. “After this is over, and we have neutralized the threat, I will return with you to Willow Grove to help choose the next high priestess.”
“If you’re sure,” Bridget said hesitantly.
“I’m sure,” Morgana replied with forced cheer.
“It’s settled then.” Bridget stood and smoothed down her skirt with her hands. “Besides, any opportunity I have to wear something that isn’t black is an occasion not to be missed.”
Hazel looked around and worried at her lower lip. “Okay, I guess.”
Bridget clapped. “It’s settled, then. We’re all going to America! I’ll pack my bags.”
seven
Morgana glanced around the boarding area in the Dublin airport and sighed in resignation. It was time for her to resume the costume of a 1950s-era housewife. Her contact at the Silver Eye had insisted she not break her cover until the blood witch was apprehended, and Morgana admitted it made sense if the killer had seen her in Seattle or Vancouver. Of course, if she and the earth were wrong, and it was Hazel—or Donovan—her cover was already compromised.
She stood and walked over to where her imminent houseguests were sitting.
“I will be changing my clothes and hair back to the style my friends and neighbors in Oracle Bay are accustomed to seeing me in. I would take it as a great kindness if neither of you mentioned the way I look and dress here. My other persona makes me appear more personable, which increases the number of people who are willing to confide in me and come to me to have their tea leaves read.” Morgana waited for them to nod in acknowledgement, then grabbed her polka-dotted carryon and disappeared into the bathroom.
There had to be a way to make this all work, and work quickly so she could shed the sweater sets by the end of the summer. She looked down at herself, admiring the expanse of creamy, white skin that peeked out above the black tank top, and turned her ankle to let the light glance off the silver buckles of her knee-high 3-inch laced boots. A few minutes later, she was dressed in a mint-green sweater set, pearls, sensible heels, and capris.
Maintaining the disguise was proving more and more difficult—not least because Paska, as the only one who had an inkling why she was doing it, continued to encourage the others to mock her.
Morgana grinned a little. Maybe she’d get a sundress and see if she could make Sandy’s and Misty’s heads explode. The disguise chafed, so she had to find the small joys, and that lay primarily in messing with people’s minds.
Morgana walked out of the bathroom, then dashed back in and pulled her comb out of her bag. She’d almost forgotten the most important part. She closed her eyes and ran the comb through her hair. When she opened them again, a pale woman with delicate features and a sensible brown bob stared back.
Ugh.
When the plane landed in Portland, Morgana rounded up her charges, led them through customs, collected their luggage from baggage claim, and went to reclaim her car. This one was a little more sedate than she preferred—a mid-range beige Lexus—but at least it would fit all three women and their bags.
“How long is the trip?” Bridget asked, settling into the front seat.
“About three hours,” Morgana said. “It’s a pretty drive, though.”
“Will we stay with you?” Hazel asked.
Morgana wrinkled her nose. She was losing control of her carefully orchestrated life one stray person at a time.
“Yes,” she said decisively, not wanting them to know how little they were welcome. “You will both stay with me until we decide what to do next. When Bridget returns to Kilnamanagh, you and I can talk about how long you’ll want to stay and if you wish to find a place of your own. It’ll be safer to stay with me or one of the other psychics, but again, you will not be forced to do anything you don’t want to. This is not jail. You are free to come and go as you please and stay as long as you want.”
“Thank you,” Hazel said. “I hope I’ll be welcome. How much will people know about me?”
“I will have to tell them everything I know,” Morgana said. “They cannot keep their eyes open for the threats that may follow you if they don’t know what they’re looking for.”
eight
Morgana gritted her teeth and pulled open the door to the Pour House. Zeke, a prophet of the Judeo-Christian god and head bartender, lifted his hand in a small wave. It was the friendliest gesture he’d ever made, and Morgana nodded back, hoping he didn’t know something she didn’t about what was happening next.
She made her way to the private alcove that was always reserved for the town’s oracles. Just before she walked in, she lifted her head, straightened her spine, and let the essence that was Morgana settle over her. She might have to wear this ridiculous disguise, but she didn’t have to act the way she looked.
“Morgana! You’re back.” Sandy smiled at her, and the girl’s smile was so infectious, Morgana almost smiled back. She’d have to ensure Hazel was attached to Sandy—the two would be well-matched in friendship and experience.
“Of course I am,” she said brusquely. She took an open seat near the doorway, ending up between Paska and Jezebel, then looked around. “We will need two more open seats closer to me. My guests will arrive soon.”
Chairs shuffled as people moved around. If Andy or Zeke decided to join in, they’d find themselves with standing room only.
“Guests?” Misty asked, eyebrows flying up to her hairline.
Morgana pasted a tight smile on her lips. She’d anticipated a reaction like this. In the ten years she’d spent in Oracle Bay, she’d never had a houseguest. “A young woman who needs a place to stay for a while and an old acquaintance who has come to get her settled while she does so. I will tell you their story so that you can be prepared for the fallout that may come from having them as my guests and residents of this town.”
“Sounds interesting,” Sandy said. “Are they in danger?”
Morgana pursed her lips. “I believe the young woman, Hazel, is in danger. But I do not want to start the story there. There is some background information you may require, and I am considering how much I need to tell you.”
Something touched her ankle, and she jumped. When she looked down, she saw Paska’s beat-up sneaker tapping against her foot. She recognized the cadence for the shorthand language they’d developed to communicate when they couldn’t be certain they weren’t being spied on, although it’d been a number of years since they’d had occasion to use it.
It would take a couple minutes for the language to flood back into her mind, but she knew what he was asking, anyway. He wanted to know how far back she was going to go, and if he needed to be prepared for her to reveal any of his secrets.
Morgana shrugged slightly, then tapped back in a rough precursor to Morse Code. You are safe.
Paska’s shoulders relaxed, although she didn’t think anyone else at the table would notice how tense he’d been.
“Before you get started, can I tell everyone the news I’ve been holding onto for a few days?” Misty asked. “I didn’t want to talk about it until I was sure, and then I didn’t want to say anything until we were all together.”
“Get on with it, girl,” Paska growled. “You’re holding up Morgana’s most fascinating tale, which I’m sure she’d like to get through before her guests arrive—and before the bar closes.”
Misty wrinkled her nose at Paska. “You are the most cantankerous old fogey I’ve ever met.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere except out of time to make your big reveal.” Paska grabbed a full pint of beer and drained half of it before setting it back down on the table with a solid clunk.
Misty tossed her dark, wild curls over her shoulder. “Fine. And I’ll even make it quick. As you know, Oracle Bay’s police department has had a few…challenges over the last year. I’m pleased to report we’ve finally hired someone to serve as Chief of Police for Oracle Bay.”
“I fail to see how more cops are good news,” Drew said. “We already have an entire barrel of them.”
“Two isn’t a barrel,” Misty said. “And the reason why I’m pleased is because he comes with a supernatural résumé and a list of recommendations as long as my arm. He’s well-versed in dealing with magical crime—something we’ve had a lot of—and has zero hesitation about working with psychics and other magical creatures. He’s less interested in policing and more interested in keeping the peace.”
Morgana closed her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose, and exhaled. She already knew the answer to the question she was going to ask. “What’s his name?”
“Are you okay?” Misty asked.
“His name, Mystic,” Morgana said, dropping her hand to the table to grab the whiskey Paska hastily slid in front of her.
“Donovan Davies.”
“Isn’t that just fucking great.” Morgana drained her whiskey, then looked up to see six pairs of eyes staring at her in shock. Paska was shaking with silent laughter next to her.
“Do you know him?” Misty asked hesitantly.
Morgana grimaced. She’d lost the careful control she’d cultivated more times than she cared to think about in the last week. “I do. And I’m sure he’s eminently qualified. He certainly knows a lot about supernatural crime. He’s a witch hunter.”
Misty and Sandy stared at her blankly, but Ceri paled—no mean feat for a woman who was already giving paper a run for its money.
“Do you trust him?” Ceri asked. Her eyes were darting around as if looking for an escape route.
“No,” Morgana said bluntly. “I will never trust a witch hunter. However, he won’t be in town to surveil any of us. He will be here to monitor Hazel, my younger houseguest, and to serve as the trap for which she is the bait. I thought he was going to watch from afar. I had no idea he would find a way to secure a job in Oracle Bay within three days of deciding the course of action.”
“He applied two months ago,” Misty said. “We’ve only just now got through all the paperwork and formalities. I offered him the job before you left for your trip, and he accepted the day before you left after a final in-person interview.”
Morgana drained her beer, stood, and walked out of the alcove to stand in the middle of the bar. She could hear the whispered conversation behind her.
“Should I apologize? Fire him? I don’t know what to do,” Misty said.
“No to both,” Paska replied. “What’s done is done. She said she knew he’d be around anyway, so she was expecting his presence. It will take some getting used to, and she hates it when she doesn’t see something coming.”
“We all do,” Ceri said in a strained voice. “I might need to leave town for a while. I don’t think I can do this.”
Morgana lifted her chin. She needed to reassure Ceri she was safe. The woman, not quite four hundred years old, was still a child compared to Morgana, and had been through enough lately. Having to leave Oracle Bay, the town that could buoy and restore her as she continued to recoup her strength, would set back her recovery. Morgana liked Ceri, although she might not admit it. She even liked the scryer’s fallen angel, something she definitely wouldn’t admit.
“What have you said to my woman to make her panic?” Andy’s voice was low and dangerous.
“Does she like it when you call her ‘your woman’? Because I would wager that she would not appreciate it.”
Andras Sterling, fallen angel, master brewer, and Pour House proprietor, not to mention Ceri’s partner, took another step forward to stand by her side. “No need to repeat private conversations, is there, witch?”
“If you say so, demon,” Morgana answered. “She is not taking well the news that Oracle Bay’s new police chief is a witch hunter. This is not my doing, by the way. Misty and the town council hired him. I only revealed the news that policing wasn’t his only job. Or at least policing towns. He is more used to policing people like us.”
“And what does that mean?” Andy asked.
The smell of smoke and sulphur was making its way to her nostrils. “Tamp it down, demon. You might not care if people know you’re a fallen angel, but you’ll damage your bar if you burst into flames, and Brandy would never forgive you,” Morgana murmured.
The odor disappeared almost immediately. His control really was almost total now. When he remembered, anyway.
“He and his order,” she sneered the word, “find rogue witches, those who use blood magic or perform dark rituals, and handle them.”
“And let me guess, sometimes they’re a little too loose with the definition of ‘black magic’ and accidentally ‘handle’ an innocent?” Andy’s voice was scathing.
“You have the right of it,” Morgana said. “I do not know him well. We only met a few days ago. I will say to his credit that I believe he is more careful and cautious than many others I’ve met and seems to have zero desire to rush to judgment. However, I have been fooled before.”
“You? I don’t believe it.” Andy’s mocking laugh grated at her, although not as much as it usually did.
“You are correct. I should do away with false modesty. I have never been fooled and never been wrong.”
Andy smiled down at her, his sea-grey eyes enforcing his sincerity. “Hopefully, this won’t be the first time. Now, shall we go comfort my woman?”
Morgana shook her head at him. “I will give Ceri what reassurance I can, and perhaps finally get to tell the tale I came here to impart.”
Andy bowed slightly, his silver hair glinting in the muted bar lights, and swept one arm out in front of him. “After you, witch.”
“My pleasure, demon.”
nine
“I promised her my protection and the protection of the town,” Morgana said after finishing the mostly unabridged recounting of last week’s Irish witch trials. “I don’t know any of the players in Willow Grove, the coven I founded when I lived in Ireland, except Bridget and Lydia, but neither of them seemed to believe it could be a grove member who’s attempting to frame Hazel for their own blood magic use.”
“What are they doing?” Russell asked.
Morgana raised an eyebrow at him, and when he smirked, she glared. Just because she looked more like a librarian than a witch didn’t mean she could be laughed at.
Russell had the grace to look slightly ashamed. “I mean, what is the black magic witch doing with the blood and dark rituals? What’s the goal? If we know what they’re doing, maybe we can figure out why and who.”
Morgana nodded. The boy, or rather middle-aged man, was brighter than his tattoos and too-bushy beard had initially led her to believe. “That’s an excellent question. Donovan Davies was staying behind to see if he could find any evidence of blood rites in the vicinity that had been missed by the Scales—the organization for which he works when he’s not policing small towns. It is possible, probable I would even say, that if there was no immediate evidence of a witch using black magic that she, or he, is raising and storing power.”
“How do you store power like that?” Sandy asked. Her eyes were wide, and Morgana couldn’t tell if it was fear or fascination. Likely a bit of both.
“A focus stone or something similar,” Ceri answered. “It’d have to be something strong to hold that kind of magic. There are a few crystals that would work, although crystals aren’t really my area. Quartz probably, although I’m sure there’s more to it than that. A witch could even have multiple stones if she was hoarding a lot of power for a great work.”
“What kind of ‘great work’ needs death and blood?” Jezebel asked, revulsion evident in her voice.
Morgana let a wisp of satisfaction curl through her soul. The psychics here were good, strong people who would be resistant to the pull of black magic. And, if she wasn’t mistaken, they’d have to be because she’d just put Oracle Bay in the crosshairs of a blood witch.
“Revenge. Murder. And the ability to continue to use the power stolen to take power from stronger and stronger magic users, either through brute force or subtle siphoning.” Morgana turned when movement in the corner of her eye drew her attention. Brandy was leading two women to the alcove. “They’re here. You don’t have to tell them any more about your abilities than you wish to. Please behave yourselves.” She looked at Paska, and he shrugged and favored her with an innocent smile.
Morgana stood and ushered Hazel and Bridget into the alcove.
Once they were seated and had drinks ordered, Morgana started introductions. “Hazel Jackson is a young witch who was living in Ireland, although she hails from Las Vegas. She is also, unfortunately, the victim and possible target in the issue I’ve told you about. She was framed for the dark magic murder of her girlfriend. She has been acquitted of that accusation, and I am completely satisfied that she is innocent.” Morgana glared at every person at the table.
