Page 75 of Bewitched By the Djinn
Kevin squints at the list in his hand. “Still looking for quartz and amethyst.”
“We can get the star anise in the kitchen. I know we have an amethyst on one of these shelves.” I move over next to Bennet, reaching up to a higher shelf, fingers seeking a jewelry box. It’s around here somewhere. “It’s an old brooch, Mom kept it around here somewhere.”
An object shifts, sliding against the wood above my head, not visible from below. A whisper of movement that makes the hairs on my arms stand up. A corner appears over my head, a box sliding along the very top of the bookcase.
“What the?—?”
Then it falls, aiming straight toward my head. I duck.
Bennet, quick as lightning, reaches out and snatches it out of the air before it can knock me in the head.
“Kevin. Did you ask the ghost to help us?” I ask.
He shrugs, standing up and wiping his hands on his jeans. “Maybe.”
“Could you maybe have asked for him not to brain me with the object?”
“He can’t help where it was.”
Bennet opens the jewelry box. It’s a butterfly-shaped brooch, the wings lined with amethyst. He holds it up. “That should be everything. Or close enough.”
I glance around the office one last time. There’s something about being here, going through these things—my parents’ things—that makes me painfully aware of their absence.
Bennet must sense it, because he rests a hand on my back, and the tension ebbs.
I inhale deeply and nod. “All right. Let’s go see what Helen can do.”
Chapter
Twenty
The sky is painted in deep shades of violet and umber three hours later as we step into the garden, the last golden slivers of sunlight sinking below the horizon. A crisp autumn breeze stirs the air, carrying the scents of damp earth and charred firewood.
Helen kneels on the cool grass and spreads out her tools on a flat stone nestled between the roots of an oak. She moves with quiet precision, drawing symbols into the dirt with the tip of her finger. A small brass dish rests at the center of her setup, filled with the herbs we helped gather.
She places three crystals around it while Bennet and I settle in the grass in front of her. Delores is at her side.
The air hums with energy as she strikes a match, dropping it into the brass dish. The herbs catch instantly, the smoke rising in slow, curling tendrils, the scent thick and intoxicating.
She presses her hands to the earth. “We’ll start in the great hall. Try not to speak. I’ll have to concentrate to scry where we wish.”
A glow pulses beneath her fingertips, like embers smoldering under the soil. The smoke thickens, coiling toward the stone as if drawn by some invisible tether.
At first, the surface remains dark. Then it ripples and a picture forms, like a projection.
A grand hall comes into view, opulent and glowing. Chandeliers glint overhead, casting warm golden light over long tables dressed for a feast. Laughter echoes from the image. Servers glide past noble guests carrying silver trays.
It’s some kind of party, I guess, a scene straight out ofGame of Thrones, orRobin Hood: Men in Tights.
At the far end of the hall, a raised dais dominates the room with four people seated around the head table. One of the occupants—middle aged, dark hair threaded with silver—lifts a goblet in toast. “Thank you all for being here to celebrate the marriage of my beloved niece to Lord Wallace.”
Helen’s breath catches.
Bennet stiffens beside me.
Two figures step up beside their uncle. A man with Bennet’s sharp jaw and calm poise. A woman with Helen’s same long dark hair and graceful smile. The crowd erupts in cheers.
Then another man steps into view with broad shoulders, his bearing regal and confident. He takes the false Helen’s hand, presses a kiss to her knuckles.
