NOVA NELSON
Copyright © 2018 by Nova Nelson
All rights reserved. FFS Media and Nova Nelson reserve all rights to Queso de los Muertos, EastwindWitches 4. This work may not be shared or reproduced in any fashion without permission of the publisher and/or author. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Cover Design © FFS Media LLC
Illustration elements by Kerry McQuaide
EastwindWitches #4/ Nova Nelson -- 1st ed.
www.novanelson.com
CONTENTS
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
Thank you!
You’re invited
About the Author
FOREWORD
Queso de los Muertos is the forth book of the Eastwind Witches series, which is best read in order.
The three Eastwind Witches books leading up to this were originally published as the Nora Bradbury series in the Witches of Salem World that I shared with Harmony Hart.
Those books have since been revised to exist in a separate world (Eastwind), and as a result, some of the character and location names have been changed since the first editions.
All other aspects of the story have remained largely the same. I apologize for any confusion this may cause, and I hope you enjoy reading QuesodelosMuertosas much as I enjoyed writing it!
-Nova, 4/2/18
The breakfast rush was running itself out, making way for the impending Monday lunch rush at Medium Rare, when Deputy Stu Manchester slogged in. I almost laughed at the friendly jingle of the bell above the door in contrast to his haggard appearance, which was, I should say, not thatmuch more haggard than it had been for the past seven weeks.
“Ms. Ashcroft,” he said hoarsely, sliding up onto a stool at the counter, adjusting his laden duty belt as he did. I set his coffee and apple pie in front of him and waited. Once he stirred in sugar and took his first bite of pie, his rigid shoulders rounded, and he sighed. Then he did exactly what I’d expected him to do.
He gave me the scoop.
“Still no sign of the gold.”
Should Eastwind’s only deputy be divulging the progress of the missing gold reserves with me, the new witch in town who runs a diner in the sketchy Outskirts neighborhood? Pretty sure not. But who was going to get mad at him, Sheriff Bloom? She was too busy digging her way free of an avalanche of paperwork at any given moment to reprimand him for playing a little fast and loose with the
investigation. Besides, what was she going to do, fire the only other law enforcement officer in the town? Not likely.
“And no suspects?” I asked.
He laughed humorlessly. “No, the opposite. Too many suspects. It could be anyone in this town!” Then he lowered his voice and added, “Well, except for you, Donovan, and Grim.”
“Nice to know I’ve been ruled out,” I said, just as quietly. The reason Manchester had ruled out the three of us was something I didn’t want making its way into the main arteries of Eastwind’s gossip channels. Because it had to do with an encounter Stu and I had never outright talked about and had only ever acknowledged in tightlipped innuendo in our daily chats.
It went back to our brush with one another in the Deadwoods, while Donovan, Grim, and I were tracking the drought god who’d been terrorizing Eastwind and Stu was out for a little R&R, galloping through the woods in his elk form. Though the deputy had paused in the clearing and bowed his large antlered head at us, we hadn’t bothered to explain ourselves, and he hadn’t asked … not that he couldwhen he had elk lips.
The following day, when he’d entered Medium Rare for his usual post-shift coffee and pie, he’d nodded, saying “Ms. Ashcroft,” then quickly added, “I believe I understand what yesterday was about, and thank you for handling that particular disturbance. Also, thank you in advance for your discretion.”
Ridiculous, I know. Why was Deputy Manchester embarrassed that he sometimes shifted into his elk form and ran around the Deadwoods to blow off steam? It wasn’t a secret that he was a were-elk.
But that was deep-seated bias for you. If you come at it logically, you’ll only end up puzzled, because it’s not a thing of reason.
Eastwind, despite how it prided itself on acceptance and hospitality, still had a serious hang-up about shifting. Something to do with the war between the werewolves and the witches when the town was first founded. As an effect, the Deadwoods was where the were-things went to let loose. I suspected that was part of the reason it was so dangerous. A small part. There were plenty of other strange and fierce things running around there to make the forest a death trap.
Deputy Manchester’s assumption, then, after seeing us foolishly venturing through the most dangerous area of Eastwind, must’ve been that we were on his side or doing him a favor by handling the entity that had brought intense and targeted drought to town. That way, he could focus all his efforts on cleaning up the mess over in Erin Park. The one that resulted from the demon … god … whatever she actually was, drinking all the booze in Sheehan’s Pub and causing Rainbow Falls to slow to a trickle, exposing the town’s gold reserves, which immediately went missing.
His assumption was correct.
If that got my name scratched off his list of suspects, great. With all the trouble that trip had caused, I would take whatever silver lining I could get.
And if Stu Manchester had the sense not to mention to anyone else that I’d gone traipsing through the Deadwoods with an incredibly attractive man who was not the one I was dating, then Stu was alright in my book, and I’d keep having his pie and coffee ready for him when he showed up each morning.
“Just between us,” Stu said around a mound of warm pie shoved into his cheek, “I think the gold is long gone. Probably stashed in some connecting realm. All the gold reserves in Eastwind would be nothing more than a drop in the bucket in, say, Avalon.”
“You think the person who took them is also gone?”
He sighed. “It would make sense, wouldn’t it? Why send the money someplace where it’s not readily available to you? That’s the lead I’ve been following, but I haven’t heard about anyone moving out of Eastwind around the time of the theft. I’ve even asked Blanche Bridgewater and the Flufferbum brothers.” He rolled his eyes like, don’task.“If anyone keeps up with the mundane comings and goings of Eastwind, it’s them.”
“Maybe you’ve got a smarter criminal on your hands than you think.”
He frowned, bobbing his head, then sipped his piping hot coffee. “Yeah, I’m afraid that’s the case. Probably stashed it until the heat dies down on the investigation then he or she will find some convenient excuse to leave town. The death of a relative, a made-up job opportunity. You know, something like that.”
The bell above the door rang again, and I looked up to see two of the last faces I’d wanted to see today. Or ever, really.
I wasn’t entirely certain Lucent Lovelace and Seamus Shaw were allowed in here. If anyone had the honor of being on our no-dine list, it was those two. Surely someone—either Tanner or the former owner, Bruce—had banned them.
To my memory, they’d never been by Medium Rare before. I didn’t doubt that they spent quite a bit of time causing trouble in the Outskirts, which was a predominantly werewolf neighborhood, even though Lucent still lived in Hightower Gardens, Eastwind’s wealthiest werewolf neighborhood and the socioeconomic antithesis of the Outskirts.
I’d had the privilege of avoiding Seamus Shaw for the last couple months. The last time I’d seen the leprechaun was when he’d made
a sloppy pass at me in Sheehan’s Pub and Tanner had set him straight.
Seamus didn’t appear drunk at the moment, which struck me as odd. Never in any of the town’s gossip I was subjected to on a daily basis by loyal patrons was there a mention of Seamus sober. Never mind that it was currently noon on a Monday. I’d once heard about him fighting a duck—a regular one, not a wereduck—just after sunrise on a Tuesday. I wasn’t sure if “It’s five o’clock somewhere,” was a phrase Eastwind was familiar with, but regardless of if he had the words for it or not, it was a creed Seamus lived by.
And, strangely, one that everyone just sort of tolerated. I wondered if they knew about staging an intervention in this town.
“Well, hello there, beautiful,” Seamus said, leaning against the countertop on one side of Stu with Lucent flanking the deputy on the other.
I tried not to laugh at Seamus, who was hardly tall enough to peer over the counter at me. Leprechauns were sensitive about their height (or lack of it), and I didn’t want to give him any reason to cause a scene.
Seamus nodded at Stu. “Sorry to cut in, Manchester, but I could tell she wasn’t into your flirting.”
I glanced at Stu who rolled his eyes. “Probably because I wasn’t flirting, Shaw. Ms. Ashcroft was simply asking me about the ongoing investigation of the missing gold reserves.”
“Oh yeah?” Seamus said, perking up. “Can’t do it yourself, Deputy? Trying to get a woman to help ya out?”
Stu scrunched up his nose like he’d smelled something rotten. “Obviously. I have women help me all the time. The sheriff of this town is a woman, if you’ve forgotten. Most intelligent person I know,
too. Ms. Ashcroft is a close second. I’d be lucky to have her help in just about anything.”
While I appreciated the compliment, I couldn’t help but suspect Stu’s adulation was due more to a desire to put Seamus in his place than it was a special fondness for me.
Don’t get me wrong, I let it go straight to my head regardless.
“What are you two shysters doing up this early anyway?” Stu added, changing the subject. “Decide to get an early start on the day? Get a little food on your stomach to soak up last night’s liquid dinner?”
Rather than trying to fight the deputy, which wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, Seamus laughed and patted Stu on the back. “Ya got me pegged, Deputy.” Then he reached in his pocket and pulled out a small fistful of coppers, setting them on the counter. “Stu’s meal is on me.”
“What?” said Manchester, jerking his head back to stare down at the leprechaun. “Why?”
“For the bang-up job you did over in Erin Park. Got the placed cleaned right up and kept the rioters from destroying Sheehan’s Pub.”
Ah yes. Seamus’s home away from home. Made sense that he would be protective of it. You know, when he wasn’t busy stumbling around in it, breaking arms off the wooden chairs and sending the wall decorations crashing to the floor.
I decided not to point out that Seamus’s name had come up in every story I’d heard about the rioting at Sheehan’s when the bar dried up.
“And now,” Seamus continued, “they’re opening back up after the Lunasa Festival tomorrow, and I can get back to my routine. I owe ya one, so there it is.” He nodded to the coins then turned his eyes
on me. “Tanner better keep watch on you or else someone might just snatch ya up. And when us leprechauns sink our fingers into a woman, she’ll never again spare a thought for the likes of a simple West Wind witch. We don’t needwands to work magic.” He winked.
“Ew,” I said without meaning to.
“That’s no way to speak to her,” Stu said, puffing up paternally. “You leave Ms. Ashcroft alone. Hellhounds, I’ll take your order myself if I have to.”
“Grumpy,” said Lucent with a smile like a glass shard. But then the werewolf and leprechaun stepped away from the counter and headed for a booth at the corner.
Only one problem: it was already occupied.
“Don’t you own this place?” Stu said.
“Half of it.”
“Which half? Because if it’s the front half, I suggest you kick those two no-good scoundrels out of here and tell them not to come back. The only good sense I ever saw from Echo Chambers was when he banned Seamus from Lyre Lounge. You have every right to ”
Shouting at the back of the diner cut him off before he could finish.
If Seamus wasn’t drunk, he must have been high, because only someone not in their right mind would holler at a grim reaper like he was.
From everything I knew about Ted, he was a pacifist, and while I wasn’t always keen on his awkward flirting, I knew he had a good heart.
And no one was going to treat one of my most loyal customers that way.
I yanked off my apron, tossing it onto the counter, ready in case this turned into a school-yard brawl, and stomped over toward the trouble.
“But I always sit here,” said Ted calmly from his seat on the shiny red booth. His book, which he’d been quietly reading before Seamus approached, was open and facedown on the table. Ted may have appeared calm and collected to anyone who happened not to notice that his gloved hands gripped the handle of his sickle, which rested across his lap.
“Always except today,” said Seamus, standing a pace ahead of Lucent, whose arms were crossed as he leered over the leprechaun’s head with a silent scowl.
“Seamus Shaw,” I said, closing the distance in a few long steps. “There are open tables all over the place. I suggest you take one of those or find another place to eat.”
He turned toward my voice and sneered as his eyes crawled up and down my body. “Ah, I see it now. Tanner lets ya think ya run this place. But I know a lass who could use some taming when I see one.”
I opened my mouth to shut down whatever twisted fantasy was forming in Seamus’s head, when a sudden dark movement caught my eye. Ted stood quickly from his booth, his sickle still gripped firmly in both hands, and slammed the end of the handle down on the linoleum floor.
A shockwave rolled out from it, one I couldn’t see or hear but could feel ripple through me.
Dread. Bone-chilling dread. Like everything I’d ever feared was about to pounce on me from behind.
And then, in a blink, it was gone.
At least for me, it was. It didn’t seem to work that way for everyone, though.
The handful of other diners in Medium Rare leaped out of their seats and sprinted from the restaurant, not screaming exactly, but making low wailing noises that were somewhere between a moan and a shout.
While Seamus and Lucent appeared more reticent to show their fear, they, too, skedaddled, and the bell above the door whipped back and forth, ringing like a fire station alarm as everyone left.
Everyone except for me, Ted, Deputy Manchester, and … Grim.
My familiar pushed through the double doors connecting the kitchen to the dining area and padded over. He’d undoubtedly decided to sleep by Anton’s feet today, hoping the ogre line cook would drop a morsel here and there, sometimes by accident and sometimes just feigning accident. He had a soft spot for Grim, which I suspected had something to do with the fact that he couldn’t hear my familiar’s thoughts like I could.
“What the jumping jackalope just happened? I’ve never felt so alive! Life has never felt so full of endless beautiful possibility,” he said, communicating telepathically to me like he always did.
“Care to explain?” said Deputy Manchester, wiping a splotch of apple from his mustache as he dismounted the stool and approached the epicenter of the shockwave.
The grim reaper bowed his hooded head like a chastened child. “Sorry, Nora. I didn’t mean to run off all your customers. I can cover their walked tabs.”
“More like sprinted tabs,” I said, then waved him off. “Don’t worry about that. You were standing up for me. Consider us even. But seriously, Ted, what wasthat?”
He shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, his bones rubbing together like pieces of chalk. “Just a trick I learned for work. Sometimes when I come to collect a body, everyone’s so sad and dramatic, throwing themselves on top of the corpse and so on, that I can’t get them out of the way. If I pound the edge of my sickle on the ground like this—” He made to do it again, but I reached forward and grabbed the handle so I didn’t have to experience the same wave of dread. However, the handle felt repulsive in my grip, like holding a thick, ice-cold snake, and I immediately released it and recoiled. Ted got the point. “Oh, sorry. Doesn’t affect me the same, so I forget how potent it can be. Anyway, you saw the effect. Sort of clears a room. Heh.”
“Sure does,” I said, forcing a smile.
“Hey!” he said, straightening up. “I bet you could do something like it, Nora. It’s just death magic after all! You’re a death witch ”
“Fifth Wind witch,” I corrected.
“—and I bet if you got a sickle ”
“Nope.” I said. My funds were still recovering from the custommade wand Ezra Ares had delivered to me a month ago (and that I had yet to learn to use). “Not the sickle type of girl.”
“TellTedI willhelphimbuildhisfireproofbirdhousesifhe does thatdeathmagicagain.”
“Notachance,Grim.Forone, youdon’thaveopposablethumbs, so I doubtyour woodworking ability. But also, you know where he lives. You have my blessing to head into the Deadwoods on a day triptovisitTedanytimeyouwant.”
“You knowIcan’tgo backthere for a while.WhatifAcher Lake isstilllow?Thosehellhoundswillhavemyhide.TheonlyreasonI’m not dead already is that nothing, and I mean nothing, could convinceahellhoundtoleavethesafetyoftheDeadwoods.”
“Safety” and “Deadwoods” were not two words I would pair, but okay.
“Whataboutifthathellhounddies,isrebornasagrimthenturns intoaFifthWindwitch’sfamiliar?”
“Okay,somaybeinthatcase.Butprobablynothingelse.”
Officer Manchester cleared his throat. “So, long as it’s nice and quiet in here, Ms. Ashcroft, I think I might stay awhile longer and enjoy another slice of pie.”
“Sure thing, Stu.” I turned to Ted. “You need a refill on your coffee?”
He lowered into the booth again. “Yes, that would be great. And again, sorry about, um, you know, running everyone off.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “It actually gives me more time to work on my recipe for tomorrow.”
I grabbed the coffee pot and topped up Manchester’s cup before moving to Ted’s.
“This is your first Lunasa Festival in Eastwind, right?” the grim reaper asked.
“In Eastwind or anywhere else.”
“Oh, Nora,” Ted said, his dry voice cracking with excitement. “You’re going to have a great time. Everyone is there.”
“Are you going?” I said, turning to Stu.
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
I served him up another piece of pie and told them to holler at me if they needed anything or, heck, just help themselves to it. They knew where everything was and both were good for the money.
Then I grabbed my apron off the counter, tied it back on, and headed to the kitchen to work on my top secret recipe for the Lunasa cook-off.
There is nothing quite like hot, creamy queso. When done right, the corn chips become entirely unnecessary, and eating it with a spoon is preferable, even if it’s not socially acceptable.
The possible repercussions of introducing Eastwind to queso was something I’d considered fully. To be honest, I’d probably considered it more than a sane person would. But my love for good chips and queso burdened me with a responsibility of being the best liaison I could so that the town’s first impression of the appetizer was what it ought to be, and vivalaquesorevolución!
If you’re not from Texas, you might not understand the fuss I’m making. But if you are, you know the sensation of immediate relaxation that overtakes your body when you scoop that first bite of gooey white queso into your mouth on a perfectly salted corn tortilla chip.
Honestly, I feel a little dirty just talking about it.
The time was ripe to bring the light of melted cheese to the magical realm of Eastwind. And from everything I’d heard, if I wanted to make a real splash, the unveiling should take place at the Lunasa Festival’s annual cook-off.
I had no doubt I would win by a landslide, and then there would be crowds lining up around the block (not the safest thing in the Outskirts, but what can you do?) to get into Medium Rare the following day to get their first taste of the award-winning appetizer.
As I hunched over the large cauldron in the kitchen of Medium Rare, stirring the melted cheese, carefully adding in the sprinkle of chili powder, the fresh-made pico de gallo, monitoring the heat to make sure the cheese didn’t burn, I heard someone enter through the back door. I already knew who it was. Tanner had left an hour earlier to pick up more bacon from the butcher, and I’d figured that as soon as he’d returned, he’d be trying to get a taste of the goods.
But then I heard the back door open and shut again, and five minutes later, he came back inside and did just what I’d expected him to do in the first place, making a beeline for me.
At the sound of his footsteps, I asked, “Did you forget something?”
“What do you mean?”
I glanced over my shoulder at him. Good Gaia, he was a sight for sore eyes. “You came in, then you left then you came back. Did you forget something?”
He shook his head, pouting out his bottom lip. “Nope. Just got here, came straight for the queso. Why?”
I waved him off. “I just thought— Never mind.” I returned my attention to the queso, and when an arm reached over my shoulder toward the cauldron, I swatted it away.
“Seriously, Tanner. You’ll get a taste at the festival. But if you stick your finger in it now, all you’ll get is a first-degree burn.”
He pulled his arm away and ran his hands down my sides as he pressed close behind me. “But it smells so good. You’ve been teasing me with it all week.”
I tapped the spoon clean and set it aside before turning to face him. For a moment, my breath caught. We’d been officially together for about two months, but still I kind of couldn’t believe my eyes every time I looked at him and thought, thisguyisintome.
Normally, when I had that thought at Medium Rare, the next thought was, andhe’s also my boss. But quick on the heels of that was, andI’mhisboss.Andhisbusinesspartner .
Yeah, it’s convoluted. But personal justifications for doing whatever we darn well please usually are.
In short, I worked as a waitress at Medium Rare and Tanner was my manager. But we also both co-owned the place.
It didn’t hurt that Eastwind’s social expectations were more loosely-goosey when it came to who dated whom—part of being a small town and having limited options, I supposed.
Or at least in theory the options were limited.
Yet, I’d been in town only half a year, and things had already become complicated in the dating department.
No. Scratch that. They weren’t complicated. They were quite simple.
I was with Tanner.
Donovan Stringfellow was complicated, but I wasn’t with him, nor would I ever be. I’d closed the door on that the moment I’d kissed Tanner in the middle of Medium Rare, blood soaking my shirt, my hair in tangles from having fought off an evil spirit in the Deadwoods … and from Donovan’s fingers tangling through it while he kissed me.
Nope. Not dwelling on that. It was a mistake. An error made with judgment blurred by the connection ritual he and I had just performed.
Tanner took advantage of his status as my boyfriend and lowered his head, pressing his lips to mine. I tried to focus on it so I didn’t feel like a complete jerk. Then I gently pushed him away. “The queso is going to burn if you get me distracted, and then there goes our whole plan for realm domination.”
“Mmm …” he said, his eyelids heavy with lust. “King and Queen of the Diners. I do like the sound of that.” He stretched, groaning as he did, and then leaned against the counter next to the cauldron, staring at me. “Before I forget, any reason why Anton is nowhere to be found and it’s just after noon but the only two people in the dining room are Stu and Ted?”
“Yep. There’s a reason.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“Nah, not really.”
He grunted. “Okay, let me try this again. Would you please elaborate?”
I shrugged and scraped the edges where the cheese was starting to stick. “Seamus came in and was being Seamus, and Ted got tired of it and banged his sickle against the floor and sent everyone running in fear with some death spell.”
“Oh,” said Tanner. “Huh. Okay.” After a moment of silent nodding, he added, “Well, Seamus is definitelybanned from this place.”
“Works for me.”
I tapped the spoon on the side of the cauldron and turned to face him. He rubbed his chin and squinted at nothing as he said, “I don’t know how he wasn’t banned before now.”
“Yeah, me neither. Don’t worry about it. No harm done. And, actually, it gives us a little alone time.” I snuck a flirty glance at him and turned off the heat under the cauldron.
A gorgeous half-grin tugged at the corner of his lips. “We’ll have plenty of alone time tomorrow. After the festival, that is.”
“When was the last time you actually closed Medium Rare for an entire day?” I asked.
He considered it, narrowing his eyes and staring up at the ceiling as he ran a hand over his head from back to front. “I guess when we found Bruce’s body.”
Oh right. That. “That was the day we met,” I said.
“Don’t go getting all sentimental on me, Nora Ashcroft.”
“Ah yes, that glorious day when I died, crossed over into a new realm, discovered that werewolves were a thing by finding a murdered one, was accused of murdering said werewolf, was told I was actually a witch, and was visited by the ghost of the murdered werewolf. There’sa day I wish I could relive over and over again.”
His half-grin spread into a full crescent. He loved when I gave him sass. “As I said, don’t go getting all sentimental.”
He pushed off from the counter and returned a moment later with two eggs and a frying pan. Perfect. I could go for a snack.
“Over-medium?” he asked before lighting the stove.
“You know it.”
“The High Council will love it, Nora. I guarantee we’re going to win.”
The judges of the Lunasa cook-off were none other than Eastwind’s High Council, the people who ran the town, or at least wanted everyone to believe they ran the town. I’d been here for months and only met two of the seven in person. Was I a little stressed out about the queso being perfect because I wanted my first impression to be good?
Nooo … not at all.
But seriously, Count Sebastian Malavic, a vampire who acted like he owned the world and everyone in it, with his air of superiority and frustratingly sexy Eastern European accent, was the town treasurer and held a seat on the Council. So yeah, it would feel pretty incredible to make him admit that myentry was the best.
I tended to avoid competitions, because I’m not that competitive, but I was all-in on this one and would be happy with nothing less than a unanimous vote that my chips and queso were the best thing to come to Eastwind since long before the witches ever arrived.
So, okay, fine. I was a little competitive. Perhaps I’d even been described as “cutthroat” before. But Tanner didn’t need to know that.
“If you really want to win, you might need to schmooze,” he said from beside me, as if reading my thoughts.
“No problem. I’m great at schmoozing.”
He turned toward me, arching an eyebrow my way. “Really? You don’t strike me as the type. You’re more of the ‘I’ll do it my way and you either like it or you don’t’ type.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. And you’re right. I didn’t say I like schmoozing, I just said I’m great at it. How do you think I made my money in an industry full of people with lots of money who think that makes them better than everyone? Schmooze, schmooze, schmooze. And maybe a little alcohol.”
“Ah, the old schmooze and booze. You won’t need to worry about that last bit at Lunasa. If this year is anything like the years before, the Council will already have the boozing taken care of. This is one of the few days a year where they get to let their hair down and be seen as actual people rather than the high and mighty of Eastwind. They act like they want to be up there on the pedestal, and maybe they do most of the time, but everyone wants to let loose
sometimes. Just be careful of Liberty Freeman when he gets a few glasses of mead in him.”
I’d never met Liberty, the genie who sat on the Council, but I’d heard stories. They were all good. “What happens when he drinks?”
Tanner shook the frying pan to keep the eggs from sticking. “He hugs a little too hard. It’s best to take a deep breath right before he grabs you. Then you let it out slowly until the hug is over. If you go in with empty lungs, you’ll be gasping for air and your life will be flashing before your eyes by the time he lets go.”
“Oh wow. Even hugging is deadly in this town. Thanks for yet another survival tip I didn’t know I needed.”
I waited until Tanner turned his back to me to grab two plates for the eggs before I snuck a taste of the queso. It was perfect. “What was that spell again?”
Tanner plated the eggs for us. “Which one?”
“The one you showed me the other day that allows the food to be reheated to the right temperature instantly.”
“Oh. It’s kind of complicated. You want me to show you so you can do it, or ”
I waved him off. “Just do it yourself. I can learn it some other time.”
“You mean you can get Oliver to teach you?” he asked casually, but I knew that tone.
No matter how many times I explained that Oliver Bridgewater was my tutor and nothing more, Tanner’s hints of jealousy remained every time the arrangement was mentioned.
“No,” I said, “I mean youcan teach me later. Oliver doesn’t teach me practical stuff yet. It’s all spell books and discussion.”
The rigidness of Tanner’s shoulders eased. “Ah, yeah, he’s a pretty boring witch.” Pulling up the back of his shirt, he grabbed his
wand from his waistband and waved it at the queso. It was a spell he’d done a million times, having worked in a restaurant for so many years, and he made it look effortless—eyes open, no muttering of incantations like I would have to do. Oliver had explained this to me as something that happened with magic. It was like muscle memory, but with a wand. And once a witch mastered a spell well enough, he or she didn’t even need a wand to perform it. I’d seen Ruby, my landlady and fellow Fifth Wind witch, cast spells without a wand before, but until Oliver explained it, I didn’t realize how powerful that meant she was. Made me think twice about leaving dirty dishes in the sink, that’s for sure.
“Someday,” I said, once the spell was complete and I placed the cover on the cauldron, “I won’t be a mostly useless witch.”
“What are you talking about?” he said, his eyes growing wide. “You’re the most useful witch I know.” He stepped closer, his voice lowering. “Or at least I can think of plenty of uses for you.”
He was flirting, but I was feeling too competitive and, additionally, too useless. Not a great combo for getting in the mood.
Immediately picking up on my reluctance to play that game, he backed off. “You’re just new to it, Nora. You gotta give yourself a little time.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
He handed me the plate with my egg over-medium, and I grabbed a nearby fork and stabbed into it, letting the yoke run.
“Maybe it’s about time you meet Evangeline,” he said. “She’s way newer than you and probably less advanced at magic. I bet she wouldn’t mind meeting another novice.”
There was some truth to that.
Evangeline Moody had entered Eastwind a few weeks before. Or at least that’s when I’d first heard about her. She’d wrested the title
of Newest Eastwinder from me, and I wasn’t sorry to see it go. Apparently, she was from my world, too, so you’d think I’d want to hunt her down and press her for all the latest news.
But, as it turned out, I didn’t care. Not only did I not care about my old world, I wanted to forget about it entirely. It hadn’t served me well, and I hadn’t been my best self in it. Eastwind was my shot to reinvent, and that’s what I’d done and continued to do. All my old world had gotten me was the loss of my parents, a heap of stress, lots of money I had no one to spend it on, and untimely death.
Can you blame me for wanting to pretend it didn’t exist?
I was being selfish, of course. Maybe her life had been better before she ended up here who-knew-how. Maybe she missed our world and would have liked to meet someone who could talk about it. I hadn’t even bothered to find that out, as I’d been avoiding Fluke Mountain, where she was staying in one of the cabins owned by Darius Pine, for weeks.
Now I was out of excuses, because the Lunasa Festival was held on Fluke Mountain.
“You’re right,” I said. “I bet she wouldn’t mind meeting another novice. I’ll be sure to introduce myself tomorrow. But first, I intend to beat the pants off of Franco’s Pizza in the cook-off.” I snuck a quick kiss from him before finishing my egg.
Then I heard the crunching.
At first, I couldn’t make sense of what sounded like someone trampling through dried leaves in the shelves behind me. Then it clicked all at once.
“For fang’s sake! Grim!” I ran over to the source of the sound and found exactly what I thought I would: my big, fluffy canine familiar with his head buried in a bag of the corn chips I’d spent days making by hand.
Even though we could communicate telepathically, and he understood my speech as well, I reverted back to what I’d always done when I caught an animal where it shouldn’t be. I shouted, “Hey!” and clapped my hands as loudly as I could.
It worked.
He yanked his head out of the bag and scuttled back a few steps, large, startled eyes locking onto me as his ears pressed flat against his head.
“Bad dog!”
“That’s what I’ve been telling you!” he said, low-key licking the salt from his jowls.
Then he glanced back at the bag.
“Ohnoyoudon’t,”I warned him.
“Don’t look at me like that. You’re the one who didn’t feed me today.”
“Itotallyfedyou!Yougottwofriedeggsassoonaswegothere. Infact,IfedyoubeforeIfedmyself.”
“Eggsdon’tcount.”
“Who even knows how much Anton gave you from thegriddle. You’respoiled.That’swhatitis.It’sbaconandsteakornothing.”
He plopped his wide butt down on the tile floor. “I’mgladyou’re startingtogetit.”
“What’s going—” Tanner rounded the corner of the shelves and sucked in air when he saw the mess. “Did Grim do this?”
“Of course he did.”
“Did you forget to feed him?”
“What? No! I fed him two eggs and he’s been scavenging from Anton all day!”
Tanner tilted his head slowly and frowned apologetically at me. “Oh. But Nora, you know Grim needs his bacon.” He turned to my
familiar and crouched down. “Don’t cha, boy?”
Grim trotted over to get his pets, and as the two of them did their weird thing where Tanner mumbled praise in a low voice and Grim moaned inappropriately, which only I could hear, I took stock of the rest of my inventory.
He’d only gotten into one bag. I still had three others, each the size of a typical kitchen trash bag. Did I salvage the chips he’d gotten into, despite it not being the best food safety?
I sighed, resting my hands on my hips. No, I’d just ditch that bag and take the other three. I’d have extra work to do to remake the chips we needed for Medium Rare when I started serving the dish the day after tomorrow.
“Sweet baby jackalope,” muttered Grim. I glanced over. He was on his back, a hind leg kicking furiously with each belly scratch.
“Howdoesheknowallthespots?!”
“Oh holy spirits,” I said, averting my eyes. “Please stop, Tanner. You’re just reinforcing bad behavior.”
“Ah, yeah, that’s probably true.” Tanner stopped and stood up. “Someone better go check on Stu and Ted anyway. How about you cut out early and, um, I dunno, shop or something?” He clearly had no idea what women did in their free time, but, to be fair, neither did I. “And I’ll move your queso to the freezer and take it from here until Jane and Bryant come in.”
“Sounds good.” All except the shopping part, at least.
After another stolen kiss, I told Grim it was time to go and headed back toward Ruby’s house, excited for a magical shower, some hot tea, hopefully a quick lesson from Ruby, followed by a full night’s sleep before the big day.
I may not have the kind of magic that impressed in Eastwind, but, dang it, I had queso. And that would be more than enough, I
was certain.
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when learning the writings of Zard. He was absorbed—fascinated— and looking at him I again felt the icy hand of terror grip my mind.
I shrugged it off. So far there had been no invasion of my thoughts. My beliefs were still mine, and although my body was trapped, my spirit was free. And if I could not reach him with my mind, there was always a weapon to rely upon—something that would fit my hand— something blunt to smash—something sharp to drive through skin and flesh into his blackened heart.
But despite my freedom I was watched by seen and unseen eyes. No weapon I could find remained long in my hand. It was the ultimate frustration. And finally I gave it up. I would have to mark the location of weapons and bide my time until Wolverton was close enough to one which I could seize and slay him before his minions could prevent me. Slowly I learned cunning—to dissemble—to hide my intent—to wait.
And while I waited Wolverton talked to me, and I listened, fascinated by the evil of the man. For not only did he mock the Word, he despised It, calling It a superstition-tainted mass of primitive Mumbo Jumbo—whatever that might be. But except for this flouting of the Word, Wolverton was not so evil as I thought. There was a gentleness about him that was strange. My own people had little of this. After all, Promised Land was not an easy world to tame, and our rise to greatness had been the product of unending struggle against an unfriendly if not inimical environment. But in the end, the Word and those who believed in It, were triumphant. Did we not tame and rule three-quarters of this world? Were we not the Chosen? Often I had to go back to basics after a talk with Wolverton. He disarmed me with his friendly voice and with his logic. It was getting harder to resist him —and I understood now how the others had fallen. Wolverton, if he tried, could charm the birds from the trees, make black look white, evil virtuous, and righteousness unrighteous. He was truly a terrible man and I looked forward to his daily visits with mingled dread and anticipation. There was something toward which he was leading me and I dreaded the revelation even while I enjoyed the trip.
We—or rather Wolverton—talked of philosophy—of science—of history—of distant worlds which he had visited with such disarming charm that I learned despite my obstinacy. Soon I began to know them—Earth—green Earth, the home-world of the race with her impossible blue skies and seas, gray clouds, white snows, fierce arid deserts, tall mountains and greenly verdant valleys. From her vast forests to her broad plains and great cities, Earth was a thing of loveliness. I could feel Wolverton's passion when he spoke of it—nor was I surprised when he at last confessed that he was born there.
And I learned of Mars—rust red and rugged—harsh and cold—where men lived under domes and husbanded the scanty air and water with miser's care.
And Proxima—first star colony of Earth—a gentle world of soft pastels and grays—a barren world which men reclaimed and made beautiful, drawing from their skill and science to mold the primitive life forms into things of beauty and utility.
And golden Fanar—ripe and lovely with its humanoids and developing civilization that blossomed to full flower when men came and lent their skills and science to their cousins.
And Kungtze—delicate fairyland of violet skies and soft rounded hills like virgin bosoms waiting to be kissed.
And Samar—not the Samar I knew, but a land of seas and islands, tall ships and gracious living.
And Halsey—harsh—forested and forbidding—a world that distrusted and did not welcome man—a world peopled by savage humanoids who united only in the face of danger. And more—many more.
I learned of them all in the days of their youth—together with the struggles and pain that went into their taming. Wolverton's words were wings that sent my spirit soaring. His tales—filled with courage and adventure, of blood and treachery, of honor and fair dealing,
made me proud of my race. We were not perfect, we men—but there was within us the seed of greatness that would perhaps flower into the true bloom. It made me proud to learn the past glories of our race. Almost I could feel that Wolverton was a brother in the great brotherhood of man.
And then he killed the dream—brought it crashing to the ground in a brutal series of horridly frank solidograph projections. These were real people that bled and died and performed unspeakable brutalities upon each other and upon the worlds where they lived.
"On the average," Wolverton said bitterly, "it takes five to six thousand years, but we have been in space longer than that, and some societies last longer than others, but the end is always inevitable."
He showed me all—a solid month of it.
Earth: A world of legalized cannibalism where men were bred for food —a world of wrecked glory swiftly returning to jungle and desert.
Mars: Redying in slow bitter agony as technology failed under the pressure of excessive population, with legal infanticide, eugenics laws, and tyranny.
Proxima: Bloody and torn—waging suicidal war whose ultimate end would be virtual annihilation of all life.
Fanar: Dead and radioactive.
Kungtze: A huge, monolithic state that owned and controlled everything down to the last living unit, where the population swarmed and jostled in huge collectives that were neither cities nor farms, but something of both—where everything was used even down to the dead bodies of those too old to work, slain by the state to make room for others.
Samar: A matriarchate ruled by the few—filled by the many, where women outnumbered men twenty to one, and the men ruled by the sly and subtle tyranny of sex, and where—despite the disparity of sexes—people swarmed and teemed, and struggled for possession of a place to live and the partial possession of a man.
Halsey: Harsh, forested, and forbidding—a world that distrusted and did not welcome man—a world peopled by savage humanoids who united only in the face of danger. They were united now—armed and ready to resist invasion.
And there were more.
I was sick—sick at the folly of man, who threw away so much for so little. "Whose fault?" I asked. "Why did these things happen?"
"It was no one's fault," Wolverton said, sadly. "It was everyone's. In opening new worlds, people are needed, so they have large families. The tradition becomes established and when at last the world is comfortably filled—instead of stopping—holding the line and consolidating what they have won—people go right on the same old way, producing more and more of their kind until finally the world grows too small. Then they quarrel, fight, and die until they are so reduced that they can start the vicious cycle over again—and in the process civilization becomes barbarism and culture becomes chaos. If the world is lucky, it survives to rise again as Earth will do. If it is unlucky it ends like Fanar
"And that is where you come in. You and the others like you, but you in particular. For you possess in a tremendous degree the ability to convince. I could feel it in you despite my shields. It influenced E'Komo despite his loyalty. It made Doctor Sara waver despite her dedication. I have watched and waited for you for generations—for over two thousand years. For here in this enclave I knew you must some day arrive. Your origin, frankly spiritual and mystic—your development so ruthlessly selective starting with ritual sacrifice of excess—and less desirable—maidens at puberty—your insistence upon developing the spiritual rather than the mechanistic side of culture—all these were bound to develop psi factors. And they have! It is here, I think, where man's salvation lies. Here is the brake on rising population—a person who can convince—who can inculcate into the very soul of men that three children are enough—or that two
are enough—or whatever number is needed to stabilize the population of a planet."
I didn't really hear him. My mind had recoiled from what he had told me. Two thousand years, he had said. Two thousand years! And he was not old! Truly he was the Father of Evil, for only Evil and the soul are immortal! "You said two thousand years, didn't you?"
Wolverton chuckled. "I should have added objective," he said.
I didn't understand.
"It's a trick with time," he explained. "Actually I suppose I'm about forty or forty-five. It's not strange. Anyone with a lightspeed ship can do it as long as one stays in normal space time. Take a two-week trip subjective at Lume One and ten objective years go by just like that. It's an old trick. The Timejumpers knew about it before hyperdrive was developed, but it's been forgotten for centuries. Most of the time I'm not here. The Halsites take care of the Holding for me. I heard about you three years ago so I waited until you made your try for me. It was inevitable that you would. Your Bearers are always trying to get me inspired partly by religious and partly by economic reasons—and they pick the best of each year's crop to try. As a result I get about three new recruits a year. The old ones pick them up and indoctrinate them. But we keep up the fiction of Wolverton being here. It's good business." Wolverton looked at the dumbfounded expression on my face and laughed.
"So you don't understand," he said. "Well, you have plenty of time to learn after we treat about five rim worlds. We'll be practical about it and let you learn about lightspeed and time stasis the normal way—in a spaceship!"
"No," I said.
"But you can't turn me down," he protested. "I thought you understood. People need you—need you badly. Our others can modify a little but they can't convince. It takes a hundred of them to even begin to cover a world—and there aren't very many hopeful worlds left. We have to hold the line or humanity will breed itself into extinction."
"I am still your prisoner," I said, luxuriating in the first real weakness I had found in him. "You might as well know that I still oppose you. I don't believe you. You are Evil and Evil has a smooth tongue—Zard said it long ago, and it is still the truth."
Wolverton groaned.
"Nor will I help you!"
Anger flowed from him. "You stupid fool!" he blazed. "Do you think I'd ask you to do anything for me? His rage struck me like a blow. I'm telling you—not asking. You will do something for your race— something you can do, or so help me God, I'll condition everything out of you except your superstitious prejudices and maroon you on Samar!"
He meant what he said. His anger was a true anger—and he had spoken the Name we all knew yet did not speak aloud. And he was not struck down. I was confused and upset. I shivered with a fear that was as icy as the River of the Dead. There was something wrong here—something I could not understand. Then I saw the light.
"I will bargain with you," I said. Zard's plan was becoming clear. "I will join you in good faith."
"With what reservations?"
"None—I will swear this by Zard's bones."
He looked at me speculatively. "What is the nature of this bargain?"
"I will join you willingly if you leave this world."
He smiled. "Sorry, it's no go. It's too good a psi trap. And your race has a virtual monopoly on the supply. You presume too much on my claims about your value. You're not that valuable."
I sighed. This was not the way Zard would have opened it if it were. I had weakened—but he had not retreated. I had shown a softness in my armor and had given him hope of conquering—and with that little
opening what could he not do? He needed but one break in my defenses—and I would be lost. Already I was dangerously weakened. Rapidly I repeated the catechism of Zard as he talked, and presently his voice faded and was gone as the ecstasy of spiritual union with the Word gripped me in firm protecting hands....
"Come with me," Wolverton said a week later. "I have something to show you."
Obediently I rose and followed him. A Halsite followed as we walked out into the sun. We had come a different way than before—a way I had never taken. Before me was a broad concrete plain studded with oddly curved walls. In the center of the area a tall, pinch-waisted, needle-nosed spaceship stood on its landing pads—pointing straight up to the sky. I looked at it with awe. It was bigger even than a trader and it looked oddly menacing yet beautiful.
"Yours?" I asked.
He nodded. "Mine. She's Earth-built—one of the last battle cruisers ever built in an Earth yard. Ships like this aren't made any more— even though she's four thousand objective years old. Come, let's look at her."
As we approached, I could see the ship was enormous. It rose over our heads like some great campanile tower, yet despite its size there was an air of subtle refinement about the mass, an impression almost of delicacy—as though it had been tenderly and carefully constructed by men who loved their work. Each part was beautifully finished and perfectly machined, and the diamond-hard non-corrosive metal gleamed in the golden sunlight. And despite its huge size and absurdly tiny jets, it looked fast!
"It's big enough to move an entire city!" I gasped.
"She has a crew of five—and capacity for fifty marines," Wolverton replied.
"All that size—but—"
"Most of it is taken up with weapons systems," he said. "I could utterly destroy a planet of this size with her weapons. She'll travel at Lume One as long as you care to drive her—or she'll go clear up to ultra band in hyperspace. She's the fastest, deadliest thing in this sector— beautiful—isn't she?" He talked as though the ship was a woman—a woman he loved.
"I wanted you to see her," he pointed at the ship, "so that you will know exactly what I mean when I offer you freedom such as you have never known. With this ship we can do anything—go anywhere. Time means nothing—hours in hyperspace—years in normal spacetime. I'm offering you the Universe if you join with me to work and save—to keep men from following the old paths to racial destruction." His voice, eyes, and entire body were tense. Conviction flowed from him in smothering waves. I had never really felt the power of the man and I was shaken. Shaken and unsure. For the Word seemed oddly weak in the presence of this titanic ship and the equally titanic man who owned it. I could not explain the feelings that surged inside me— missionary to the human race—freedom from worldly bounds—greed for life and knowledge—weariness and surrender to Wolverton's endless urging—all were there, but there was more than that. I kept looking up at the ship, my head whirling from the dizzying sweep of her—her beauty and power filling my eyes. My heart soared with her soaring lines. I felt quite enthralled—uplifted—caught in a force greater than my will. Now—suddenly I knew why Wolverton spoke of the ship with such passion in his voice. It must have shown in my eyes for a great gladness lighted his. "I will join you," I said in a small voice—and inside me something died as soon as I had spoken. I had the hollow feeling I had lost my soul.
"I will not ask you to swear," he said with odd gentleness. "I have pushed you far enough. Let us go to the laboratory and remove that ring and restore your powers."
A voice inside me spoke sluggishly. "Fight fire with fire—craft with craft," it said. "Strike down the Evil doer with his own spear," but the voice was weak. I followed Wolverton and as I walked the voice became stronger. "And the Father of Evil took Zard to the top of Mount Karat, and from this high place he offered the world and
eternal life if Zard would fall down and worship him. And Zard refused." I shook my head. I had promised—but what was a promise when it involved the Father of Evil. To slay him, one could promise anything, and yet receive absolution.
The ring was removed from my neck, and with its removal awareness flowed into me. I was whole again! I could see as only an Adept knew how to see. I turned to Wolverton with pleasure in my eyes, and as I looked at him I stiffened with shock!
His barriers were down!!
I could penetrate his mind as though it were thinnest air, and in my brain the voice rang out loud, clear, quick, eager, triumphant!
Now—NOW!!—KILL!!!
I took his mind in mine, encompassing it. I held his life. One surge of power, one squeeze and he was dead. The Father of Evil—helpless in the grasp of righteousness.
I paused, savoring my triumph searching for the evil I knew lay concealed beneath the surface web of flashing thoughts. I probed beneath them, brushing aside his feeble defenses—and stopped— appalled!
For there was no evil, no guile, no treachery—only a deep limpid pool of abiding faith and selfless love for mankind that transcended anything I had ever dreamed. There was anger, too, a clean bright anger at the stupidities and follies of mankind, impassioned yet impersonal, and oddly lacking in bitterness. He knew that I could snuff him out as easily as an acolyte snuffs a candle upon the Altar of Zard. Yet he neither shrank nor feared. And I realized with numbing shock that he had placed himself in my hands, knowing what I was, and what I would do. Frantically I tried to withdraw, but I was immersed in love, drowned in it, absorbed in a warm golden glow that rushed along the power that connected us.
I shuddered. Father of Evil? If he was evil, then every responding fiber of my heart and mind was evil too, and I was damned beyond redemption. With a groan I wrenched myself free. I could not kill him. Nor could I longer stand the shattering concepts of his mind. And with stark realization I faced the elemental truth that it was I, not he, who was wrong!
He looked down at me as I stood shrunken and defeated before him, and his eyes were kind. "It was a chance I had to take," he said softly "And I was right. You were not conditioned beyond redemption." He sighed and placed his hand on my shoulder It was warm and gentle, and I did not shrink from his touch. "There are many worlds," he murmured, "and it is getting late, and you are unique. Another like you might not appear again. The plan would be useless without you, yet without your complete cooperation it would fail. So I opened my mind, dropped the screen which shielded me." He smiled wryly. "Desperate measures of a desperate man," he said with a trace of the old masking cynicism.
But I knew him now and could see behind the mask. A strange wonder filled me. I had tried to apply the Missionary Creed, but it was he who was the missionary and I the convert. Slowly I knelt and placed my hands in his as I would to a Bearer of the Word. "Show me the way, Master, and I will follow," I said.
He raised me to my feet. "No, Saul," he said. "Not that way. In the struggle to come, you will be the leader. Like your namesake."
THE
END
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