“So if we open the bottle, it won’t release the sorcerer locked inside?” Bree asked.

  May shook her head. “No, it won’t. There was a period in time where some of the more powerful sorcerers and witches were captured and entrapped within bottles. My guess is this sorcerer comes from that time period. But if you figure out how to free them from the bottles, they won’t grant you a wish like a djinn. You’d have to make a bargain with them, if you want to use their magic. I wonder if your father figured out how to communicate with this particular one and was trying to strike up some bargain to give the power to the Port Townsend Witches Guild.”

  “I doubt we’ll ever know,” Grams said. “But my guess is — with the way your father died — that whoever’s inside that bottle got impatient and decided to kill him.”

  “How could that happen?” I asked, walking over to stare at the bottle again. “If the source is entrapped inside, how is he going to reach out and use his magic against my father? Maybe someone from the Witches Guild got impatient and cast a spell on him?”

  “That could be. There may be a sorcerer hiding in the ranks of the Witches Guild here. I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to say anything about it. And as far as communicating with the sorcerer inside the bottle, that’s probably what the talking board is for.” Grams glanced over at the door leading into the tunnel. “We need to find out where that goes. I suggest that the three of you youngsters take a look, while May and I stay here for backup. If anything seems too far off, get the hell out of there and come back.”

  “All right, let’s get moving,” Bran said. He stood, and motioned for Bree and I to follow him over to the open door. “There’s no time like the present,” he said, and disappeared inside.

  The walls of the tunnel were a weathered black paint over brick, and Bran was barely able to stand straight, the ceiling so low. There was room enough for two of us to go abreast at once, barely, so we went single file to make things easier. I felt better that Grams and May knew where we were, but I still felt like we were walking into the mouth of the dragon. We had been walking for about fifteen minutes when we came to be another door. It was metal and reminded me of the oval doors in a submarine. As Bran reached for the handle, my instincts flared and I grabbed his hand.

  “No, don’t open it. Listen first.”

  Bran frowned, but did as I asked. He pressed his ear against the metal door, he waited for a moment as Bree and I quieted down is much as we could. Then, he abruptly stood straight again and turned around.

  “You were right,” he said. “I hear water on the other side. I have a feeling if I opened the door it would flood the tunnels and your mother’s basement. We’ve been steadily going downhill, on a slight decline. My guess is that we are near the beach. If I opened the door—and I’m not even sure if I could get it open—the water would flood in and we would probably drown, considering how far down the tunnel we are. We need to get back to your mother’s house and seal this up forever. I don’t know what it was used for, but it’s not a good idea to allow anyone have access to it.”

  We headed back to the house, finally emerging from the tunnel.

  Grams jumped up, her face pale. “Thank gods you’re back. We wondered where the hell you went to.”

  “Apparently, the tunnel leads to a door that keeps water from the Salish Sea from flooding the house. The door at the end must be incredibly strong to be able to keep that much pressure at bay. I have no idea what the hell it was used for, but it can’t be good.” Bran shut the door to the tunnel. “This house must be in a pocket that dips down almost to sea level.”

  “I think it does,” I said. If you just drive up the street, you’ll come to a dead end that opens out onto the shore. Who knows, maybe this house was used by smugglers in the past? Maybe this was a way for them to get back out to the beach? It’s high tide right now, so when the tide goes out, maybe it opens out to the shore.”

  “Well, that’s a possibility,” Grams said. “Whatever the case, the tunnel should be filled in, though I’m not sure how one would go about doing so.”

  “Concrete,” Bran said. “We can worry about that later. Meanwhile, what do we do about all this crap here?”

  “Should we contact the source are inside the bottle?” I asked. “I don’t know how much we could trust him, and he’s been in there a long time it seems like, but maybe we can get some idea of what to do with it.”

  “I suppose…” Grams turned to May, a questioning look on her face.

  May worried her lip. “It’s not a safe thing to do, but I don’t know if there’s anywhere else we can get straight answers. I suppose if we took this to one of the sanctioned witches guilds, they could figure it out.”

  “I want to know what my father was involved with. If everyone says no, I’ll go along with it, but I’m invested in this. I want answers.”

  Everyone looked at me, and I could see a mixture of doubt, curiosity, and concern filling their faces.

  “I’ll abide by what everyone thinks is best,” I said.

  “Well, it’s going to take some explanation to your mother as to why were carting stuff out of her basement.” Grams glanced at me. “What do you think?”

  May stared at her for a moment, then slowly inclined her head. “Why don’t we see what he has to say? Or she, we don’t know whether it’s a sorcerer or sorceress.”

  Bran went back into the main basement, returning with three chairs. We spaced them around the table, letting May and Grams sit in the center. Grams gingerly examined the summoning book. “I’m not going to use their spell. I don’t know what else it might do. But I do have one that might work — an entreaty to the dead.”

  There was a candle in the center of the table, next to the spirit board. May held up her finger to the wick and the light erupted as she sparked a flame to catch hold.

  “Spirits here, and spirits far,

  we call you here, from within the jar.

  Speak to us through this board,

  obey our will or join the void.

  The chain stays firm and will not break,

  this spell I weave, so let it take.

  I make no promise,

  I extended no deal,

  spirit come,

  so be my will.

  The candle flickered and began to melt faster, as the flame flared into the air. The energy surrounded us like a thick blanket, muffling every sound. As I watched Grams and May, it occurred to me how powerful they really were, and I suddenly felt insignificant. I wanted to be like them when I grew older, and strengthened my resolve to learn more about my history and magic. Grams and May put their hands on the planchette, and I grimaced. The thought of touching the actual hand gave me the creeps, but as I watched their calm, resolute faces, I tried to shake off the disgust I felt.

  “You who are trapped within the bottle, can you hear us?” May said.

  One beat… Two beats… Three beats… The planchette began to move, their fingers lightly atop it. It was slow at first, a fraction of an inch, and then suddenly swiped across to the word Yes.

  “Will you tell us your name?” Grams asked.

  Again, it took a few seconds before the planchette moved, but it quickly zoomed around the board, with Grams calling out the letters that it landed on. Bree had had the foresight to bring a pen and paper and was taking notes.

  “T-H-E-O-D-O-S-I-O-U-S.”

  Both Grams and May looked at each other.

  “Theodosius,” Grams said. “You don’t think it can be…”

  “The actual Theodosius?” May asked. “I don’t know. Nobody ever knew what happened to him. Or at least, if they did, it wasn’t written down anywhere.”

  “Who’s Theodosius?” Bree asked.

  “He was a sorcerer who was born in the mid-1800s. While it was recorded that he died, most witchblood think he deliberately thrust his spirit into a bottle like this one, hoping to emerge at a later time. There were a number of people after him, looking to kill him.” May worried her lip. “If we actually have the true Theodosius here, this could mean great trouble. We absolutely cannot let the local witches’ guild—any witches’ guild except the national one—get hold of this bottle. It should go directly to the Queen.”

  “What did he do?” I asked. “And can someone put themselves into stasis like this?”

  “Yes, great sorcerers and witches can transfer their essence into a container like this. Especially if they see death coming. Most witches wouldn’t consider it because it disrupts the natural cycle of reincarnation. But sorcerers? They tend to ignore that factor. Theodosius had such a thirst for power that I wouldn’t put it past him.” Grams walked over to the bottle, staring at it but not touching it. “I recommend we don’t ask any more questions. He’s good at deceit, and I don’t want to open any doors, even accidentally.”

  “Can he hear us talking?” I asked.

  Grams nodded, then looked around. “I hate to leave this here, but we don’t dare take anything out of this room yet. Neither the bottle nor the book. And before you ask, he can probably hear everything that goes on in this house. Theodosius was probably one of the most powerful sorcerers who ever lived.”

  My stomach rumbled, a mixture of hunger and anxiety mingling to the point of where I couldn’t tell if I needed to eat or throw up. “What now?”

  “We lock up this room and decide what to do later. For now, I suggest we return upstairs and get some sleep.” Grams shook her head, forestalling any other questions or comments.

  We made sure the candle was out. Then, led by Grams, we filed out of the secret room and made sure it was securely shut before we went upstairs.

  Once we were back on the main floor, Grams motioned for us to follow her outside, into the night. We slipped out the front door, where I glanced back at the house, wondering how my mother could sleep through all of this. Although honestly, we had barely made any noise. And given her sleeping pill habit, hopefully she wouldn’t dream about us either. Once we were outside, Grams led us toward the front walkway. We stepped out of the gate, onto the sidewalk, where Grams took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  “If we talk inside the house, there’s a chance he’d pick up on it,” she said, keeping her voice low. “That’s probably how he kept tabs on your father. I also believe that your father talked to him so much through that board that Theodosius got his hooks into Malcolm’s psyche. My guess is that he drove your father to suicide, mentally plaguing him when Malcolm failed to set him free. That’s what he’s looking for, you know. Theodosius is looking for a way to re-enter the world. He’s probably looking for someone he can use as an anchor, someone who is weak enough for him to take them over.”

  “Why hasn’t he attempted to use my mother?” I asked.

  “Just because she’s selfish and somewhat of a narcissist does not mean she has a weak will. My bet is that he realizes she would try to use him for her own means, and that’s the last thing he would want. Your mother has a strong enough personality that she wouldn’t be easy to control And she has her own ideas of what she wants to happens,” Grams said.

  May looked around, then let out a long sigh. “I really don’t feel comfortable sleeping here. Your great-grandmother and I need to raise some hefty wards before we go to sleep. We could be targets for him, and while I think we are warded enough to fend him off, I want to make sure that we don’t leave any holes in our protection. I doubt if he’ll target you, or Bran, and he won’t go after Bree.”

  For once, I wasn’t insulted by the implication that I wasn’t powerful enough to be noticed. “So, what do you think went down between my father and him?” I asked.

  “I think Theodosius thought that he could use your father to procure a witch he could control. And I believe that your father thought that he might be handing over something of great research value to the Witches’ Guild.”

  “What makes you think that?” Bran asked.

  “I’m pretty sure, by the look at the way the altar was laid out and by some notes I saw jotted on a piece of paper in there, that your father was trying to figure out how to disempower Theodosius so he could be studied without destroying him,” May said.

  Grams nodded. “You could be onto something. The Witches’ Guild here is corrupt, but I don’t know if Malcolm knew that. My guess is that they probably promised your father that if he could find a way to harness Theodosius and essentially neuter him, then they would pay a great deal for the bottle and spirit.”

  “And when my father couldn’t comply, when he couldn’t figure out the equation he was looking for, he was worried about the Witches’ Guild putting a whammy on him. Maybe they already paid him, and he spent the money and couldn’t pay it back?”

  “I’m sure it was something like that,” Bran said. “The problem is now, we can’t leave this here for anyone else to find. So, what do you two suggest?” He turned to Grams and May.

  Grams gave me another look. “We celebrate Thanksgiving as usual, and meanwhile I will try getting in touch with the Crown. I’ll ask if they can come pick up the bottle and the book. We need to keep this under wraps. Your mother needs to never know, and we need to seal up that room down there so that she can never find it. The energy has seeped into the walls. I will do my best to cleanse it, but it’s been there a long time, and energy has a way of imprinting itself in time and space.”

  And with that, we agreed that we wouldn’t discuss any of this within the house, and filed back in. As we went to our beds, I couldn’t help but feel nerve-racked. I was grateful that Bree was sleeping with me tonight, because the last thing in the world I wanted was to sleep alone.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The alarm went off at seven a.m.—far too early for my taste. But given it was Thanksgiving, we had a lot of cooking to do. At least we had prepared all the dishes we could in advance. I decided to go with comfortable, so I slipped into a pair of black jeans and a hunter green tank top. I draped a sheer black cardigan over the top, threaded a silver belt through the belt loops, brushed my hair into a ponytail and did my makeup. By the time I was done, Bree was awake and changing clothes.

  “What did you think about last night?” she asked.

  “Shush,” I warned her, giving her a shake of the head. “Not here.”

  “Right, sorry.” Bree dressed quickly and we clattered down the stairs together, into the kitchen. My mother was eating a plate of bacon and eggs, and May was at the stove, making breakfast for everyone. Grams was trussing the turkey. It was a large bird, probably around twenty-four pounds, and it would take until late afternoon to cook. I gave her a kiss on the cheek, then kissed May. Bran was nowhere in sight.

  “Where’s Bran? Is he still sleeping? And Aunt Ciara—when is she supposed to get here?”

  “Bran’s asleep on the sofa, but I imagine he’ll be getting up shortly. He’s used to early mornings.” May handed me two plates, one for Bree and one for myself.

  We took our places at the table with my mother. I leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek. She returned it with a shy smile. There was something different about her this morning, I thought. But I decided to wait to find out what it was.

  “Ciara will be here in about two hours. She’s dropping off some Thanksgiving baskets to a couple of people in town. She does that every year.” My mother waved her fork at me, then went back to her eggs.

  At that moment, Bran entered the kitchen, yawning and rubbing his eyes. He leaned over to give me a kiss, then went over to the stove to hug his mother. She pushed a plate into his hands, then waved him back toward the table.

  “I don’t suppose there’s any coffee to go with that?” he asked.

  “The coffee pot seems to be on the blink,” my mother said. “I don’t have any instant, but your aunt is bringing her coffee pot with her.”

  I groaned. “I can’t wait that long.” I turned to Bran and Bree. “After we finish breakfast, why don’t the three of us go out and bring coffee back for everybody? I want to take a look at the beach, too. It’s one place that I still love up here.”

  I’d come a long way since I first left Port Townsend, but I knew I wouldn’t be going into town anywhere near the building in which the Butcher had trapped Rian and me. There were still too many memories left there. Sometimes you couldn’t shake the baggage, even when you’d rather travel with just a carry-on.

  “Sure,” he said. “I wouldn’t mind taking a look at the Strait.”

  Bree nodded, and we polished off our breakfasts.

  Grams motioned for me to follow her out on the porch. She looped her arm through mine and we walked out to the mailbox, leaning against the fence.

  “Later this morning, I would appreciate it if you would take your mother out for a walk. I want to call my contacts at the Crown, and I don’t want her finding out what I have to say to them. If you could keep her away for about twenty minutes to half an hour, I should be able to get through in that time.”

  “What about Aunt Ciara?”

  “I’m not worried about her. She seems to mind her own business for the most part.”

  “All right, after we get back with the coffee, I’ll take one for the team and go out with my mother.” We headed back inside, where Bree and Bran were getting ready to leave. I grabbed my purse and keys, and after sliding on my jacket, we waved goodbye and headed out to the car.

  Jamba’s Java was open, so we pulled through and I placed the order. “One quad-shot pumpkin spice latte with extra whipped cream, one triple-shot mocha, and one extra-large coffee with two sugars and cream. I’ll also take three double-shot lattes.” As I held out my credit card to her, I smiled at the woman behind the drive-thru counter.

  Five minutes later we were at the beach. We walked out on the shore, under the silvery sky. Seagulls surrounded us, their calls haunting and melancholy in the autumn air. As we sat on one of the driftwood logs, I told them what Grams had asked me to do.