Magicians' Reckoning Page 8

  Someone tapped on the door.

  “Come in,” Auric called.

  Their elderly servant, Will, entered. “Excuse me, sir, but a coach just pulled up in front of the Manor. Looks like the sheriff.”

  “I wonder if it’s about the woman who died.” Auric stood. “Maybe they found out who she was.”

  “Maybe.” Jericho’s mouth formed a dour line. “Seems early to be calling about that—I wish I knew what Rill is up to.”

  As they emerged into the foyer, Annie entered from the kitchen carrying a platter of bacon. Simultaneously, a baby’s cry drifted from upstairs.

  “Blast. Annie, I have no idea where Rill is and we have company. Do you think you could stand in?” Jericho nodded towards the stairs.

  The cook beamed. “Of course. I love to hold the precious wee ones.” She hurried to set the bacon down.

  Auric scratched his beard. “If you need to go, I can handle the sheriff.”

  “No, Annie will be fine with them for a bit.” Jericho strode towards the door. “I want to hear what he has to say.”

  A sinking feeling overtook Auric’s gut. What if this had something to do with Mother? What if something had happened to her? The door opened revealing the barrel-chested, bald-headed Sheriff Robbins, hat in hand. His face carried a glum expression that set Auric’s stomach reeling.

  “Master Spellsmith, Carver.” He bent his head towards each of them in turn. “I’m afraid something … untoward has happened in the village.”

  Auric motioned towards the parlor. “Should we sit down?”

  “No, I only have a moment. I almost didn’t come, but the men can arrange a search party without me, and I hoped you might lend me your expertise.”

  “Search party?” Jericho tilted his head. “For whom?”

  “Olive Cobb, the shoemaker’s daughter—only eight. Just flat up missing from her bed this morning. Parents in an awful panic. I know your father knew some tracking spells—used them one time to find a stolen horse for me. Can they work with people?”

  “To an extent. They can’t track a particular person, but they can expose footprints invisible to the naked eye.” Auric swallowed. It wasn’t his mother, but it was possibly worse. Had the Fey she was tracking come to Mountain’s Foot? If so, was it already too late for little Olive Cobb? Tracking spells had done no good in the cases in Mill River. “Let me put together some quires and grab a spell book to refresh my memory. It won’t take a half hour.”

  “If it’s all right with you, I need to get back now. When you’re ready, you can join the rest of the searchers at the church.”

  “Of course.” Auric nodded.

  He and Jericho exchanged a glance as the sheriff departed.

  “This is bad,” Auric said.

  “Understatement of the year.” Jericho snorted.

  A sharp yipping rose from the top of the stairs. Jaspyr bounded down the steps, his ears and tail twitching frantically.

  The door to the outside opened again, and Rill strode in. Both men blinked at her. Jericho growled.

  “Where were you?”Jericho asked, his tone sharp.

  She raised a pale eyebrow. “Do I have to ask permission to go on a walk now?”

  “No, of course not, but you left while I was sleeping and the twins were crying—”

  “You don’t own me and neither do the twins.” She brushed past him up the stairs.

  Auric raised his eyebrows. “Is something going on with you two?”

  “I’m going to find out.” Jericho started up the stairs after her.

  Auric sighed. Jaspyr whined at his feet.

  “Come on, boy.” Auric scooped up the metal fox, running his hand down the creature’s cool, smooth back. “We’ve got a little girl to find.”

  Chapter Ten

  Hurrying up the stairs after his wife, Jericho’s entire being felt tense. The door to their bedroom slammed as he made the second floor landing. He paused and let out a hot breath.

  Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Rill had been acting strange, barely speaking to him the day before, then stiffening like a frightened rabbit when he lay in bed beside her that night. Maybe he’d done something, said something, that had her upset with him, but if so she’d given him no inkling as to what, and he wasn’t in the mood to play guessing games.

  He reached for the handle to their door. It didn’t budge. Locked?

  “Rill, it’s me. Let me in.” He waited. Nothing happened.

  “Mistress Rill?” the voice was Annie’s. “Master Jericho—”

  “I heard him. He can wait. I’m doing my hair.”

  Jericho raised his eyebrows. This was ridiculous. He dug in his vest pocket for a paper quire and his stylus. He scratched out a simple unlocking spell, and the latch clicked.

  Rill sat on the edge of the bed, running a brush through her beautiful hair, now loose about her shoulders. She eyed him coldly.

  He crossed his arms. “What’s going on?”

  “Am I not allowed a moment alone?” She sniffed.

  “That’s not what I mean. Blast, Rill, you’re acting off, and I don’t like it.”

  She tilted her head, blue eyes flashing. “Oh, so I should change my behavior because it displeases you?”

  Annie sat in the rocker with one of the twins on her shoulder, Ric, he thought, from the slightly darker hair, but it was hard to tell from behind. He flushed, annoyed that Rill was forcing him to do this in front of the older woman. He moved away from the door, hoping Annie would get the hint and leave them alone for their discussion.

  “Stop twisting my words. Did I do something wrong? If you’re mad at me, tell me why so we can discuss it like adults. Don’t play childish games.”

  Annie careful laid Ric in his cradle and edged towards the door.

  “Annie, stay,” Rill said, her tone imperious. “I might need your help with the twins.”

  The cook grimaced, but obediently returned to the rocking chair.

  Jericho shut the door. No need for anyone else to listen in on their spat. For all he knew, Auric was still in the foyer, getting an earful. “Look, Rill, I know things have been rough for you lately—”

  “Do you?” She strode towards him. “Do you know what it’s like to be stuck in a tiny room with two screaming children, day in and day out, while your husband lives your dream? The dream that should’ve been your birthright as a magician’s daughter? What was your father, Jerry? I’ve forgotten. Oh, that’s right.” Her lips curled in contempt. “The town drunk.”

  Heat rose in Jericho’s chest. “Don’t make this about my family, Rill. That’s not fair.”

  “I think it is very much about your family, Jericho Carver. You learned well, how to keep a woman under your thumb and crush her to the point where she’ll do your bidding. Except I made it easier on you than your mother did on him, didn’t I? I practically handed you my inheritance. You weren’t forced to beat the spirit out of me.” She tossed her hair.

  Jericho’s throat tightened, the comparison to his father like claws in his heart. It wasn’t fair … but this was Rill. Rill who had given him nothing but sympathy when he’d told her about his abusive upbringing, Rill who had been supportive when he’d taken the position as her father’s apprentice, Rill who he loved more than life itself. These words couldn’t be coming from Rill. His mind spun, trying to find sense in it. She’d said she didn’t feel like herself anymore, but this change was night and day.

  “Rill.” He touched her shoulder, but she jerked away.

  “Don’t touch me!” she snapped. “You’re just a bully.” Her fingers twitched in front of her, as if she were stirring the air, her whole body taut and quivering with rage.

  Sharp pain cut through his chest. This didn’t make sense. “Dammit, Rill! Stop it!”

  She flinched. “Don’t swear at me.”

  “This is ridiculous.” He stepped closer, trying to push down the rage building in him. “What is going on? Truthfully?”

 
“Maybe I simply realized I made a poor choice in spouse. Maybe I realized I’d have been better off leaving this God awful place to study instead of settling for the first man to smile at me and getting myself impregnated. I could’ve held out for a wealthy man, an influential man, or at least a smart one, but no, I married the board-pounding son of a man who choked in his own vomit.” She turned away, shoulders shaking. “That should’ve been a sign. Such a fool.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “Don’t speak for me!” She whirled about, eyes flashing. Her finger jabbed into his chest. “What have you done since the twins were born? Yoked it up with my brother and played at magician.” Her finger hit his ribs again. He winced as a sharp pain cut through him. His head swam. What the hell was going on? This had to be a nightmare.

  “Rill, stop.” He tried to ward off her hand, but her finger hit again.

  “You’re worthless, and the only way you can feel good about yourself is keeping me here, stuck with your spawn. Well, I’ve had enough.” Again her finger hit. Again a blade pierced him.

  “Stop!” he barked.

  “Why? Too weak to handle being called out by a helpless woman?” She laughed. Her beautiful laugh but with an edge of venom.

  “Rill …” His head hurt. Why was she doing this? Making everything precious they’d built together sound ugly, dredging up his past, taunting him. “Look, you’re not thinking clearly.”

  “Oh, I’m thinking clearly for the first time in a long while.” She stuck her chin in his face. “You aren’t good enough for me, and you aren’t good enough for my children.”

  Confusion and agony swirled in his brain. This wasn’t right. She couldn’t be saying this.

  “Rill …” He tried again.

  “I’m not going to stick with a worthless man.” Her voice dropped to a low hiss. She leaned close to his face. “I’m not an idiot like your mother.”

  His heart leaped to his throat, and his vision blurred. He felt a rush of air pushing against him, driving his arm upward. His fist collided against her. Annie shrieked. Rill grunted and collapsed to the floor before him, cradling her jaw.

  “Master Jericho, no!” Annie gasped.

  Jericho stumbled back a step. What had he done? His knuckles throbbed, obviously having made contact with her … hard contact. Violent contact. No, he hadn’t meant to do that. How had he done that? That wasn’t who he was.

  She glowered at him. Blood trickled from her lower lip. His knees turned to jelly and his breath left him.

  “Rill …” he whispered. “I’m … I’m … sorry.”

  Not enough, never enough. No matter what she’d said, he shouldn’t have done that. He couldn’t have done that. It went against everything he believed in.

  But he could feel the impact, fresh in his memory. He could see the blood, the red mark on her chin. His mind filled with his mother’s cries of pain, his father’s shouting, his own tears, begging that cursed man to stop.

  “Get out!” Rill hissed. “I never want to see you again.”

  Jericho fled.

  Half-blind, he rushed down the stair.

  “Oh, there you are. I think I got everything I need.”

  Panic spiked at Auric’s voice. He looked up and saw Rill’s brother descending the stairs from the workshop, his arms filled with books and quires.

  “Did you and Rill get it sorted?” Auric’s smile died. “Jericho, what happened? You look like someone punched you in the gut.”

  Jericho winced, and it burst from him in a wave of shame and anguish. “I hit Rill.”

  Auric blinked at him. “No. No, you didn’t.”

  “Ask her! Ask Annie, she saw me do it!” Jericho covered his eyes with his hand, trying to kill the memory or at least make sense of it.

  It didn’t make sense, though. That wasn’t something he would do. He’d die a thousand deaths before he’d hurt Rill—but his hand had gone up and Rill had gone down, hurt, bruised, bleeding.

  Oh, God, please forgive me.

  Auric shook his head like a confused child caught between feuding parents. “But you wouldn’t. You and Rill are practically perfect together. It … why?”

  “I don’t know.” Jericho sank onto the bottom step, face in his hands. He pulled at his own hair until it hurt, not as much as he wanted or deserved, but at least it was pain. “She was shouting at me. I couldn’t think straight. She wouldn’t stop and … and I still don’t know.” Magic? No, magic had rules. It couldn’t manipulate minds. Objects, yes, but only in close proximity. Besides, he and Rill were the only magicians in the room, and she hadn’t even been holding a stylus—even if she’d have a reason for making him hurt her, which in itself didn’t make sense. No, there was no way around it. He had done it. But why? Why would he do that to the woman he loved? “I’m so sorry, Auric.”

  Auric cleared his throat. “If you weren’t able to think, it wasn’t a conscious choice.”

  “Doesn’t make it better—maybe worse. If I subconsciously hit my wife, how can I prevent myself from doing it again? How can I trust myself not to hurt the twins someday?” Jericho stood but kept his eyes on the floor. He’d cut himself off from his family like a boat with a severed anchor cord. There was no way he could go back, no way he could trust himself with them. He was a spent quire, used up once the spell had run its course, irredeemable except for burning.

  “I can’t believe it,” Auric’s tone verged on desperation. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Rill will tell you if you won’t take my word for it.” Jericho rubbed the back of his neck, trying to sort his muddled thoughts, to pick a course of action out of the wreckage. “Auric, you’ve been the best friend I could imagine, and I won’t do you the bad turn of making you choose between me and Rill. I made that choice for everyone involved when I—” He swallowed. He couldn’t say it again. The words stuck in his throat like hot coals. “I’ve got to go.”

  “This doesn’t make sense,” Auric whispered. “There has to be something—some reason—” His voice cracked. “You’re family, Jericho. You can’t just leave.”

  “I have to. Rill doesn’t want me here, and I don’t blame her.”

  Auric glanced at the magical supplies in his arms. He offered them to Jericho. “Look, tracking spells are basic magic, and you’re good at that. It’ll clear your head. Go help the searchers look for Olive. Maybe—I’ll talk to Rill.”

  “Don’t. You can’t fix this. Just be there for her, all right … And keep an eye on her. I know what I did was wrong, and it was all me, but there’s still something off with Rill. She’s not acting like herself, and it worries me.” Jericho took the books. The smell of the cedar quires drifted up to him, familiar, comforting.

  There was a Fey after children—children like his own. Yes, this was something he could do, something he could cling to. Perhaps he was a wash as a man, but he could still be a magician.

  Chapter Eleven

  The shadows under the fir trees grew long on the hot summer afternoon. Jericho wiped his hand across his brow. Two pairs of golden footprints shimmered on the mossy forest floor. The tracking spell had revealed them under Olive Cobb’s bedroom window leading away from the village, her home, and her family but with no sign of a struggle. The second set of footsteps, however, was problematic. From how Iris had described the Leecher, there shouldn’t have been a second set of steps at all. A gaseous shadow-demon didn’t have feet. These, however, were most definitely human prints: larger than Olive’s but not by much. Another child? A woman?

  The various members of the search party tramped through the brush, occasionally calling for Olive. Jericho doubted that would do any good. Whatever this creature was, it had managed to persuade Olive to leave her home without so much as a cry for help. It wouldn’t let her answer human summons.

  “Carver! The footsteps!” Sheriff Robbins barked. Jericho rushed forward. The prints ended abruptly in the middle of a clearing.

  Jericho drew a fresh board of cedar from his
pack and dashed through another tracking spell. Light raced across the symbols, but nothing happened. The trail had gone cold. He tossed the spent wooden quire into the trees and grumbled to himself. Kneeling, he examined the last set of prints. Had the Fey somehow started to fly? Teleported to another area? Used a homing spell of some sort? If that was within its capabilities, though, how come it hadn’t started out with that rather than dragging the girl several miles into the woods? Proximity, perhaps. Human homing spells were limited by where the anchor quire was set, but not by distance. Maybe the Fey equivalent was, though. Iris might know. Of course, he wasn’t sure he could face his mother-in-law after what had happened that morning.

  The memory sent a dart of pain through his soul, and he closed his eyes. He couldn’t go home tonight. Of course, there was his uncle’s home in the village, but he wasn’t looking forward to that. The search had spared him from having to explain his situation to his mother. Part of him would rather stay in the woods overnight.

  “Maybe we can bring in tracking hounds from here,” Sheriff Robbins said.

  “Maybe.” Jericho shifted from foot to foot. Hounds would be unlikely to find a trail if his spell couldn’t.

  The sheriff gazed at the sky and let out a long breath. “By the time we get back to town and reorganize, it will be past sunset. We could go right by her in the dark, even with the dogs.” He narrowed his eyes at Jericho. “Got any more tricks?”

  “Not on hand. Give me ’til tomorrow and maybe I can come up with something.” Jericho remembered the books Auric had given him. One was a basic primer involving tracking spells, but the other was his father’s Fey encyclopedia. Perhaps there was something useful in there on Leechers and their ilk.

  “Do you need a ride back to Spellsmith Manor?” Robbins asked.

  Jericho shook his head. “No. I’ll stay over at my uncle’s.”

  Thankfully Robbins didn’t ask him why he didn’t wish to go home. His mother would probably be more curious.

  After Jericho’s father had died, his father’s older brother had taken it upon himself to care for the family, even marrying Jericho’s mother. Jericho had always suspected that match was more a matter of duty than affection, but Uncle Farris had been kind to them. More than could be said for Jericho’s own dad. His mother and two younger siblings still lived in the shop and his brother was training to take over the family business when Uncle Farris retired.