Unless he didn’t want anyone else to know.

  I opened the note to read, walking back upstairs slowly to absorb the lines of writing.

  Come see me at the library. Open your special senses when you approach. Do the same thing outside my house. Please, please PLEASE don’t tell Tammy. Wulfric and Gran, okay. But NO Tammy.

  “What the—stars above, he’s gotten weird,” I said. I handed the note to Wulfric, who managed to take it without disturbing Gus. He began to read by the low light, raising a brow when he finished.

  “Why would Tammy care about something magical at the library, unless it was a man with a magical wallet?”

  “And abs. You forgot abs,” I said, sliding back under the sheets. There was residual toastiness on my side, but not enough. Naturally, I cuddled Wulfric to begin robbing him of his endless warmth. I’m a true helper.

  “The only thing to do is go cast your senses at the library and find the root of his concern. Shall I go with you?”

  “I don’t think there are any beasties hiding in the library, but I appreciate the offer. I’ll get some books as long as I’m there. Want anything?” I asked, drawing lazy circles on his chest.

  He discarded the note after a final look, turning to me. “Are there any books about cake?”

  “Cake? Just cake?”

  “Yes. Preferably with pictures. Many cakes, of various kinds. I love waffles, and I love pancakes, but if you are challenged with a book filled with magnificent cakes—”

  “I will feel compelled to bake in order to assert my authority? You, love, are diabolical,” I said, thinking about how many layers I could fit into one cake. He was right.

  “See? It’s all about picking your fights, lad,” he told Gus, who headbutted him in solidarity.

  “Hmph. I see how it is.” I looked at the clock. “Time for sleep, or start the day early?”

  Wulfric’s smile was brilliant in the light. He gently put Gus on the floor, rolling to look me in the eyes with a heat that warmed me more than the covers. “I think. . . neither.”

  Chapter Nine: Sharing is Caring

  My charms were cool to the touch as I made my way to Brendan’s house. I put the odd nature of his note out of my mind, approaching the problem as a simple request from a nerdy friend. Handsome, but nerdy.

  “Okay buddy. Let’s see what’s got you spooked.” Considering the fact he’d seen a wight try to eat me, I felt confident that his concerns were legitimate. As to the nature of his worry, what Brendan didn’t know was that libraries were hotbeds of wee folk and fae, who naturally gravitated toward buildings filled with interesting things. The fae tended to be a bit handsy with shiny objects, or old things, or anything of interest, which meant that a vintage library was virtually irresistible. The same was true of Brendan’s house, which looked exactly like a librarian lived there, but with more interesting furniture. He had good taste, except for women. He was the anti-Tammy that way, so it made sense that—

  “Wait a minute,” I said to the air. “Tammy? Why would Tammy care about a magical being, unless. . .”

  I let my power rise and spread in a warm field of practiced energy. I was outside his house, and aside from a few interesting echoes of previous magic, there was nothing.

  Except a shadow.

  “Hmph.” I moseyed over to the back porch, feeling my way toward a minor source of magic. It might be nothing, or it might be something masking itself. I felt around the edges and cast a spell of discovery with a muttered word, pointing to the house with my right-hand index finger.

  The echo came back as something small, like a discarded bit of charm or magical item. Perfectly natural given the collection of books he had; it was an open secret that many old tomes were imbued with some kind of spell. I’d even seen a microwave cookbook from 1979 that had a spell of expertise cast upon it, which made sense if you’ve ever tried to actually cook anything in a microwave.

  “Okay, not here.” The day was cool, the sky blue, and I was fresh out of menacing beasties causing my friend to write midnight notes in a panicked hand. I moved on to the library, knowing it would be far more challenging. The Halfway Library would be glowing with residual magic, and discerning what mattered to Brendan could take some time.

  Of course, I could just ask him, but I sensed he had his reasons, and friends get the benefit of the doubt. And free spells, too.

  In three minutes, even my legs got me to the library, so I stood outside in the early morning light watching the growing day wash over the white walls. “Time for something with a little more oomph.” I plucked at two charms, an oak leaf in bronze and a silver coin, binding them together with a word. “Finye!” I said with some force, and the spell obeyed.

  A silent golden vine grew from my feet, racing around the library grounds and spreading like lightning. Glowing leaves sprouted from the main line, flexing in a magical breeze as the spectral plant began to grow inward until it touched the walls in a sorcerous embrace.

  “Show me,” I whispered, and the vine did just that.

  The library was alive with magic, but it was benign; even pretty to my witchy senses. There was nothing malevolent here, but there were bits and bobs of magical history strewn throughout the sturdy old building.

  Except for the hole.

  “That’s interesting,” I told myself, and it was, but not because of what I saw. It was what was missing.

  A small, dark gap emerged in the library’s ghostly outline, visible only to my eyes, and I knew exactly where the gap would be once I went inside the building. I broke the spell with a whisper, watching the golden motes fade upward into a sky that pulsed with that lurid autumnal blue. It was an hour until Brendan would arrive, which meant I had time for tea and a chat with Gran.

  Brendan told me not to share my findings with Tammy. He said nothing about Gran, and I thought it was time to bring her onboard for a trip to the library, so I began my second walk of the morning, this time back across the street and up to Gran’s, where we would share a cup of tea and her wisdom.

  The door opened as I got ready to knock, and she smiled. “Why are you casting powerful spells of discovery in the street like a charlatan who has found a magical object? How indelicate.”

  “Well, I got a letter,” I began, kissing her cheek and stepping inside. Naturally, there were cups of tea waiting and the aroma was heavenly. A fall blend that reminded me of ginger and moss, and maybe even apples.

  Gran’s house is as much my sanctuary as it is hers, and I let the calm wash over me as we sat down, ridding myself of any remaining magical aftereffects. “This is good,” I told her, sipping at my cup. The tea made me feel like I was standing under a tree as the red and yellow autumn leaves waved overhead. I let my senses fill, then told her the story of Brendan’s letter, my spell, and for good measure, the new cook, Dub and his seamless progress at the diner.

  “I rather like his name,” she said. I agreed. As to the letter, and Brendan’s plea to keep Tammy out of the loop, Gran’s smile grew wide with abundant joy. “It’s a woman, of course.”

  “I guess?”

  “And you’re thinking that Brendan has never been secretive about his lady companions in the past, so why would he develop a sudden sense of shyness now?” She lifted a brow over the rim of her cup, blue eyes twinkling.

  “I saw him one night, getting pork rinds at the Quik Mart. They were for his current paramour, and he seemed rather smitten. Said she was from out of town—”

  Gran held up a finger, pursing her lips. “Did you see the woman?”

  “No,” I admitted.

  “Did you find evidence of anything wrong at his home? At the library?”

  “Well, not really. It’s more of what I didn’t see that has me concerned. There’s a kind of gap, in the library. A place that is no longer a place, like a small error in the feedback I got from my spell,” I said.

  Gran thought about that before answering. When she spoke, her voice had lost its playful edge. “Have you seen anyone around the diner that made you look at them twice? Any sense of danger?”

  “None. Other than the gross, ambulatory mushroom people, we’ve had a rather quiet month. Luna is bright, the nights are cool.” I shrugged. “It’s been pleasant.”

  “This, ah, gap? Does it have a signal? Like a color, in your spell? Is it un-space, as opposed to a thing?” Grans asked.

  “Yes. I’d say that’s the closest thing it can be. A lack of anything, impenetrable to my magic, but not giving off any of its own.”

  “Where is it, in the library?” she asked. Her fingers steepled as she spoke. It was her most thoughtful affectation, which told me she was considering an old memory.

  “It’s in the basement, not the cellar. It’s where—oh, stars above. No, it’s,” I shook my head as the location came clear in my mind. I knew exactly where it was, because I’d been there before more than a year ago.

  “Carlie?” Gran prompted.

  When I spoke, my voice was unsteady as I tried to process the reason for such a magical anomaly, then shrugged in frustration. There were many questions, and I would have to start at the beginning. Where the place of missing energy was found, in a small room in the library where Brendan kept the old photographic plates that were a century old.

  “Erasmus. It’s the room where the plates of Erasmus were kept, and the only evidence of the chestnut trees that everyone was looking for,” I said, my voice quiet with fear. I’d killed an ancient enemy, freed Erasmus, and brought the whole, poisonous place down in a slurry of water and rock.

  But someone knew there were pictures, and they had done something to them.

  “To the library, Carlie. We’ll let ourselves in and see what this residual magic means.” Gran stood, sliding her purse over an arm as she walked decisively to the door, tea forgotten. When she turned to face me, her eyes were grim. “When you cut the head off a snake, its fangs can still bite. Such is the magic of that place, and I fear that someone knows the power still lurking in that scar on the land.”

  I thought of the tumbling rocks and shattered land, wondering if there was anything else I could have done out there in the deep forest. “There isn’t anything left, Gran. Why would someone want to find a grave?”

  “For the same reason people seek tombs across the ages. For treasure, Carlie, and it will be a kind we cannot imagine.”

  Chapter Ten: Model Citizen

  “Not just misplaced, then. Stolen,” Gran said.

  We were staring into a gap in the collection of antique photographic plates, kept orderly in the basement of the library. I’d been in the room exactly twice; the first time being when a ghost reached out to me across the years, asking for justice. Erasmus was long since at peace, the spring destroyed, so the value of its location was fuzzy.

  I put my hands on my hips, wavering between anger and confusion. Four plates were missing, and there could be no question as to the reason for Brendan’s panic. He knew. Moreover, he knew who had done it, and he wanted me—and by extension, Gran—to find out why and where someone had stolen evidence of a place that could grant life everlasting.

  I say could because the spring was no longer a going concern. It was a sodden hole in the ground, devoid of real magic but still humming with a spectral hangover. It would be toxic for some time, but it was so far out in the forest, I’d never considered placing a spell of masking around it. Until now.

  I crouched to look at the drawer where the plates had been, hoping for a lucky break. “I don’t see a hair or anything else useful.” If there had been evidence of the thief, I could cast a spell of discovery in minutes. We’d know in short order who—and where—they were located.

  Gran peered down at the collection. “Carlie, I want to ask you something odd. Lift out the next slide, carefully, and see if has fingerprints on it that are unusually heavy.”

  “Okay,” I agreed. If Gran asked, I’d comply. I knew she had something in mind.

  I plucked the next slide out with both hands, being careful not to jostle it. The glass was thick enough to handle, but thin enough to make me nervous. Gran held up her phone, turning on the screen to cast a white light that illuminated the glass plate from behind.

  Three fingerprints flared into existence, smeared and messy; two on one side, one on the opposing corner. “Huh. How did you know?” I asked her.

  “I didn’t. I suspected, of course, but one more thing. Smell the prints, if you will?” Gran gave me a winning smile, like when she asks me to clip coupons for two hours or try a tea that tastes like dirty socks. It’s happened before. The trauma of bad tea is too much to bear, so I did as she asked and leaned in to the plate, sniffing like a hound.

  “What the—stars above. Bacon!” I said. “I mean, um. . .pork rinds. Brendan handled this slide? And recently?”

  “I don’t think so, dear.” Gran looked exceedingly smug, like a taller version of Gus, but with better grooming, if such a thing was possible. “I had my suspicions about Brendan’s, ah, lady friend when you told me of his urgent midnight snack run. Then, when you mentioned something might be missing, and his panicked letter, well, the pieces are so obviously connected that I could almost hear her speaking to him. I know exactly what the bacon-loving jezebel did.”

  “Stars above, Gran. Language,” I said, but my shoulders were shaking as I tried to hold in my laughter. Her bawdiness was so gentle it made me feel like a hooligan.

  Gran regarded me with great dignity. “Jezebel is underused as a term, and I for one intend to see to it that this—woman—is properly named. She tricked that man into a night of passion, and then when he was snoring, no doubt, she stole out like a thief in the night to purloin these plates.”

  I held up my hands, eyes closed in horror. “Gran. You have to stop.”

  “Stop what, dear?”

  When I opened my eyes, she was staring at me in genuine confusion.

  “You cannot talk about booty. Ever. Not even a little bit, ever again in my presence and certainly not in the presence of Wulfric, the only person who is more provincial than you are. Do you understand? I love you more than the stars in the sky and Luna herself, but if you make any more comments about,” I hesitated, my lip curled in distaste, “relations, I’ll have no choice but to move to Mars.”

  Gran considered my request for a long moment, then sniffed again, and this time, it was even more dismissive. “I’m just saying that men tend to fall asleep after sex and snacks, and—”

  My eyes went round in horror. “Oh, my stars, Gran. I have to move now. I have to. I wonder if heat spells will work on Mars? I think I can make magic work there, on a planet where my Gran doesn’t talk about—you know.”

  “I have terrible news for you, dear. At some point, we’re going to have to mention what you so delicately refer to as you know because I fully expect grandchildren at some point. It’s in the contract,” Gran said. She seemed quite confident about her stance.

  “Contract? What contract? Did you sign some accord with Wulfric in order to shake me down for babies?” I asked, thinking she might very well have done such a thing.

  “Of course not, don’t be crass. It’s in the contracts they issue at Grandparent School, Boilerplate stuff, but quite specific about—”

  My raspberry stopped her from going on, then she took my arm and laughed. “I do so love watching you turn purple, dear.”

  “I’m never going to be the same. Ever. Relations? Gah.” I let her help me up from my crouch, wondering how serious she was about the babies. Knowing her, there was some truth in it, and if she mentioned it then I’d been thinking it. I would have to examine my life more closely once I got home. Gran had a way of being ahead of the curve in all things, especially those that involved her granddaughter and heir to the power of Halfway.

  “Now that I’m horrified by your knowledge of human anatomy, what do we do about Miss Baconfingers?” I asked.

  “Oh, the best part. We confront Brendan, preferably while he’s with a customer or three. It’s going to be the highlight of our day, trust me,” Gran trilled. She really was taking great joy in the oncoming shaming of our librarian and his pork-rind induced crime wave. Excuse me, pork rinds and booty. I began to warm to her idea, not just because it’s fun to embarrass Brendan, but because his honest reaction would help me determine what was going on in Halfway.

  The spring had been evil, its guardian ever worse, but the lingering pain from victims would be something that the forest would carry, like fallout from a long-ago bomb that spread pain and deceit over a pure, innocent landscape. I’d been correct to smash it apart, and I would do it again without hesitation. The mere fact someone was snooping around made me nervous, a fact that I covered up with the absurd good humor of Gran and the thieving Lady Pork Hands.

  I felt a shadow pass over my heart and knew something was under the surface of our silly little situation. “Gran, this feels wrong. I don’t know how, but there’s more to this than meets the eye.”

  “There always is, Carlie.” Her smile never faded, but I saw an ocean of understanding in her eyes. It was the kind of patient wisdom that eight decades could bring, and nothing else. I paid attention to everything she said, but more importantly, I listened to how she said it.

  “Every time something seems off, it ends with a body. Or three. I don’t want to wait for someone to be hurt in order to understand what’s happening here,” I told her.

  “We won’t have to, but there’s something you should know. Think of it as a secret that you can only discover with time.” She put her hands on my shoulders, the touch light as doves but reassuring. “Sometimes, the damage is done, no matter how vigilant we are. We can watch over Halfway but, we will never fully prevent bad things from finding us here. Do you understand?”

  I did, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. “I know.”

  “And I know you know, but whatever is happening here is already in the past. Don’t shame yourself because you believe that predicting the future should be in your grimoire. It isn’t, nor will it ever be. That’s a trick for parlor women and charlatans. We’re witches. We have the power of the earth and moon under our fingers, and when we see injustice, we squeeze it between those two forces, with us as the fulcrum. Or hammer, as the case may be.”