The Ninepenny Element Page 3

  “He’s…also a witch.”

  “Clairvoyant, technically. Psychic. But he can do some minor spellwork.”

  “I hope you know how this sounds.”

  “Believe me, I do. I wouldn’t risk you walking out of here if I wasn’t right.”

  “And you think you’re right about this.”

  “And you aren’t leaving.”

  “I’m about this close.” Lia held up fingers. An inch apart. But the other hand stayed in Verity’s.

  Verity glanced around. Nobody looking, lots of bodies busy: their own concerns, their own caffeine, the overall New York etiquette of disinterest.

  She stuck her other hand into a jacket-pocket. Fished around. Came up with a rough bit of clear quartz; general focus and healing and clarity, that’d work. “Hold out your arm?”

  Lia did, silently. The crimson edge of her sleeve, coffee-spotted, gathered neatly at her wrist.

  Verity breathed in and out, tapped at the ever-present hum of extra senses, and asked the universe nicely; she collected small flickering flares of light as they came in response, and let the clear clean lines of the quartz guide what she wanted. This would only be tiny, enough for a demonstration; she wouldn’t use that responsibility, that sense of the wide and generous world, for more. But this was important. A tipping-point.

  She touched the quartz to Lia’s sleeve. Stains dwindled, shrunk, disappeared.

  Lia, wide-eyed, gazed at her arm; transferred the gaze to Verity’s face, astounded, delighted, not running.

  “So,” Verity said, “magic.”

  “Magic,” Lia breathed.

  “Come home with me?”

  “Your brother’s apartment, you mean?” That smile returned: conspiratorial, mischievous, giddy as another snowfall of sugar. “Yes. Tell me more on the way.”

  Chapter 4

  Settled in on Dan’s sofa, the three of them looked at each other: Verity, Lia, and Dan himself. The sofa, despite its beige blandness, provided impressive coziness; Dan had wandered out of his study, stared at them for a second, and then asked whether Lia wanted to borrow less coffee-baptized clothing.

  Lia, now in a pair of Dan’s plaid pajama pants and an NYC Writers Workshop shirt that clung to her height and curves, had regarded this fashion descent with a sort of grim good humor. She’d left her briefcase by the sofa’s foot, where it sat in companionable support. She’d also taken down her hair and was currently braiding it into an infinite platinum river over one shoulder, as if needing something to do with her hands. Verity was having a hard time not watching every quicksilver motion.

  “I tripped over your bathroom rug when I was changing,” Lia said, to Dan. “And you’re out of hand soap.”

  “I just bought—never mind.” Dan let this go. Verity liked him even more. “Sterling says he’ll be home in five minutes.”

  “I’m still not used to him working,” Verity said. “Not outside the family.”

  “Not the biggest question of the day,” Dan said, and they both looked at Lia.

  Lia held up hands. “No, I don’t know what’s happening. I’m trying to not freak out about being in Daniel Rose’s apartment, also. My dad loves your books. And the films.”

  “Ouch,” Dan said. “No, seriously, that’s awesome. Let me know if I can send you home with a signed copy of something. Tell me again how you met Verity.”

  “I told you,” Verity said. “I spilled coffee on her.”

  “You tried not to,” Lia said.

  Dan looked from Verity to Lia and back, and beamed. Verity pondered the etiquette involved in kicking one’s brother’s boyfriend and apartment-host.

  “You know about magic,” Lia said, to Dan. “That…honestly, that makes it both more and less real. Of course you would. As a famous author. But then…you are a famous author. I’m talking to you about magic. And this day keeps sounding more and more like an unsuccessful insanity plea.”

  “The first time I met Sterling,” Dan observed, “he raided my pantry and then told me he was here for an exorcism and then conjured up ghosts in my living room. In comparison, you’re probably winning.”

  Soot, in coal-black diaphanous smoke-form, drifted over to nuzzle against Lia’s leg. She glanced down, blinked, then cautiously put a hand out. The ghost-puppy rubbed against her palm with satisfied approval, then hopped up on the sofa-arm and settled into a sleepy ball of semi-opaque onyx fluff.

  Verity’s heart did something odd. A skip. A warmth. A thump of domesticity. She shoved it down. Problems first. Protecting Lia. “So it happened yesterday. At your office. After a meeting…localized effects, only you…I’d say some sort of hex. Or even a cursed object. Something you’d carry around, or wear…”

  “I’ve changed clothes, though.”

  “And you’re doing okay right now.”

  “You wanted us back here.” Lia finished off the braid; she looked younger, though no less efficient. Her makeup was holding up astonishingly well, highlighting those light eyes. She looked like no one Verity had ever fallen for, as sophisticated and glimmering as a high-powered city skyscraper; she looked like someone Verity might’ve daydreamed about, a princess carved from snow, a lady who’d melt into warmth after being rescued.

  She also had the insight of an attorney, and an impressive streak of practicality that’d accepted the existence of witches and magic and moved ahead with the situation. “Because it wouldn’t be public. But also because there’s something about this apartment? Protections? Some sort of safe house?”

  “Um,” Verity said. “Yeah.” She wanted Lia more; she knew that was wanting, shivery and impressed and aching to take that hand again. She wanted to taste that petal-pink lipstick; she wanted to offer herself, her bared skin and tattoo-ink and lips and hands. “I want you to be safe. But it may not be enough, depending on what we’re dealing with.”

  “Because your brother isn’t exactly a witch?”

  “Well…”

  The door opened. Sterling came in, kicking off shoes. “Hey, guys, what’d I miss? Verity, you reinforced our shields, didn’t you? I could’ve done that. Also, hi, I’m Sterling, you’re the person Dan texted me about, you’re a super-awesome lawyer with McKillop and Stone? Big-name firm. Cool.”

  “No, you couldn’t.” Verity said. “You’re barely a demi-witch. I did it yesterday, how did you not notice? This is Lia. She’s having a hex problem.”

  “Are you sure it is?” Sterling put that head on one side. In tidy navy-blue slacks and a purple button-down and even a tie, he looked more professional than Verity’d ever imagined her little brother could be; he remained himself, though, colorful and clever. She found herself admiring that.

  Sterling came over, kissed Dan, swung himself over the sofa, and slid down onto the spot next to Lia. “Want me to check for you? I’m better at second sight than Verity is. She’s better at the physical. Oh, hey, double meaning not intended, but there if you want it to be.”

  “I’m going to charm all your ties into knots,” Verity muttered. Lia was blushing. “You’ll never be able to get them undone.”

  “Sometimes Dan and I like knots anyway,” Sterling observed sweetly. “Can I hold your hand?”

  Lia, with a glance thrown Verity’s direction, accepted.

  “Right,” Sterling said, “let’s see what’s up—” and his eyes went distant, more radiant, more silver.

  Lia caught breath, eyes wide. Verity knew that look. Magic. The experience. Transcendent.

  The moment stretched out, and quivered as if it’d ring like a bell, if struck. Power eddied inward, coaxed and called.

  Sterling blinked, shook his head, and sat back, loosening his tie. “So. It’s an object. Actually a pretty simple one. Did you lose an earring? And then find it? One of the pair you’re wearing.”

  “What?” Lia said. “How did you know?”

  “I’m a genius. Take them off for a sec.”

  “You’re not a genius,” Verity pointed out. “Just a very good psych
ic.”

  “Same thing.”

  Lia bemusedly removed both earrings—small gold-and-ruby teardrops, not ostentatious but likely astronomically expensive—and held them out.

  “Nah, give them to Verity.” Sterling undid his tie completely and tossed it at the back of the sofa. Verity could all but hear Dan sigh and then remind himself about love and his boyfriend. “Check out the illusion on that post.”

  Verity, gold in hand, focused. The jewelry weighed more than it should have; the non-physical presence of it took shape and heft in the web of energy. Gold and rubies, Lia’s small nod of pleasure at looking and feeling good, the art of adornment and the skill of accessorizing, the presents she’d bought herself because she liked them…

  And something that wasn’t gold. Wood. A spike. One of the posts was wrong.

  Verity, perplexed, touched the faux gold. The spellwork wasn’t sophisticated; she could lift it easily. Someone had been clumsy, and not with much power, either.

  She said, “Sterling, you’ve got some hazel and some chili pepper around, right?”

  “Yep—”

  Dan went out to the kitchen and the various racks, which were also labeled; came back with both, without comment.

  “Chili pepper?” Lia asked, not skeptical but intrigued.

  “Good for dispelling hexes. And the hazel’s…complicated.”

  “Why?”

  She should’ve known that wouldn’t work around a lawyer. “It’s got…a few different sides. It’s the ninth tree, which doesn’t mean much, except that threes tend to have mystical resonance, and that’s three threes…a cutting from a live tree that’s not freely given will bring bad luck to the carrier, but a willing version, or a collected shed twig, have sort of…resonances of protection. The inverse.”

  “So that’s in my earring?” Lia peeked at the earring-post. “But how—”

  “When you lost it and then found it,” Verity said. “That happened first, right? And then everything started going wrong after you found it again.”

  “You know, I think that’s true.” Lia eyed the earring in question some more. “You’re the expert. I’ll assume you’re right. Do we just throw them out?”

  “I’d rather defuse it. It’s pretty straightforward, I think. It should be easy.”

  “If you’re sure.” Those pale blue eyes were wide, and stayed on Verity as if pledging loyalty, or as if worried, or as if ready to intervene. “I can certainly give up a pair of earrings. And I don’t want you to do anything dangerous.”

  “Verity?” Sterling said. “She’s basically the family bodyguard. The reservoir. The all-purpose shield.”

  “Shields can get tired.” Lia didn’t look over at him. Verity’s heart did that skip and leap again; her body felt hot, and she wanted to stay right there with that intent gaze anchoring her and caring for her, forever; and she wanted to blush and offer reassurances, when it’d been years since she’d blushed.

  She wanted Lia to look at her more, with all that clear precise attention. Magic suffused the room; Lia, she thought, saw her.

  All at once she wanted to be seen. She wanted to hold Lia’s hand again. Because Lia was someone who cared about people. Someone who’d heard Sterling’s flip comment about shields and thought about the way shields could be worn and scratched and beaten down. That same answer would’ve been given for anyone; Verity was sure of it.

  She also wanted to impress Lia. Lots of conflicting emotions. Complicated.

  She said, “It’ll be fine,” and took the chili pepper—powdered—and shook it over the false earring. Sterling handed over a hazel twig.

  Verity took the twig. Shut both eyes—might as well get this over fast—and fell into magic.

  Chapter 5

  The magic billowed outward around her. She felt it along her skin, in her veins, in her blood and bones: she was a witch, she had this gift, and she was humbled and astounded by the grand and perilous sweep of it every time. Her heartbeat answered the call.

  Ribbons of sapphire and topaz and fuchsia and jade made rivers everyplace she looked. People and animals and plants and even skyscrapers bloomed with life, with energy, with someone’s devotion and time and sweat and blood and commitment.

  She could not hold it all; she never could. Her own skill lay in gathering up that energy for support, pouring it outward; Sterling thought she was a reservoir, but that was wrong. Her own pools were shallow. She did not mind; she did not think he’d understand.

  Lia, she thought, might.

  She brushed Sterling’s hazel over the earring in question, and thought about truth, and revelation, and being seen. She told the world to fix what was wrong, to make it right.

  Magic whispered through her hand.

  She opened both eyes. Lia’s earring sat on her palm: the same matching gold-and-ruby teardrop, but an uglier warped post: a twig, a twisted and split piece of skinny wood, powerless.

  She snapped it out of the gold, where it’d been clumsily grafted on, and tossed it to Sterling. Her brother made a small gesture, opening a dark pinpoint in the air; he flicked the twig through it. Magical objects, like anything else, had afterlives; even broken ones like this deserved burial, he’d said once. He wasn’t sure where they went, only wherever felt right when he did it.

  Lia exhaled, and a shiver ran through her whole body; she looked lighter, weightless, physically relieved. “I felt that.”

  “Good.” Verity held out the earrings, remembered the coating of chili pepper, and set them hastily on Dan’s table. Dan tactfully did not comment.

  “You look…” Lia hesitated. “You’re all right? That wasn’t anything…hard?”

  “No,” Verity said. “Not that.” She wanted to take Lia’s hand; she wanted to answer the care with a kiss. She did not know what Lia wanted.

  Sterling said brightly, “You know what else would help? An actual protection charm. I’ve got a few of those old ninepenny silvers around.”

  “A nine—oh. I know what you mean. But that’s not for—”

  “There’s one in Dan’s study,” Sterling said. “And under our mattress. I’ve got one more. You can have it.”

  “There’s what under our mattress,” Dan said, in the tone of someone by now used to unexplained references.

  “They’re protection,” Verity said. “Silver generally is. But the ninepence work best when—” She stopped, cheeks hot.

  “When one person loves another person very, very much,” Sterling said. “Or at least has a serious crush and want to jump into bed with them. Either way. That’s the associative power. Ninepenny pieces used to be made out of silver, sweethearts used to give ninepence to each other as love tokens, the love and protection got all tangled up, and a few centuries of repeated patterns did some reinforcement. And the parallel with the ninth wood will balance nicely. So, Lia, want the last one?”

  “You can’t just ask that—” Verity tried.

  Lia said, “Yes, please,” and everyone looked at her.

  This prompted a blush. But also the sort of confidence Verity thought must work so well in meetings, arguments, courtrooms: certainty about a course of action. Lia gave her a stubborn and happy sort of look, and finished, “If it’ll help, and if—if you wouldn’t mind. I would. Accept that, I mean.”

  “Oh,” Verity said, silenced and equally happy.

  “Cool.” Sterling bounced off the sofa and disappeared down the hall.

  Dan leaned over to pet Soot, pretending to be very occupied in ghost-puppy behind-the-ear scratches.

  Verity, gazing at Lia, wasn’t sure what to say. Her fingers held chili pepper dust and the giddy tingle of magic; a bit of hair had fallen into her face; the afternoon flowed gradually into dusk, outside.

  Lia leaned over and tucked the wave of Verity’s hair back behind her ear, and said softly, “You’re incredible,” and the words felt like a kiss.

  Sterling reappeared. Verity had never wanted to strangle her brother quite so much, though maybe not unt
il after he surrendered the ninepence.

  Which he did by tossing it to her. “You have to be the one giving it to her. Love and affection and all that.”

  Verity looked at time-faded silver. Looked up, at Lia, and held it out. “Accept my protection?”

  Lia took it from her hand. Curled fingers around the symbol. “Thank you.”

  The room got warmer. Verity thought this might’ve been magic, might’ve been a vow made and accepted, might’ve been a compact sealed; or it might’ve been only the way she flushed head to toe when their hands met.

  “That one’s got a hole already,” Sterling observed, “so it’s wearable. Also here’s a charmed chain that’ll only open up when the wearer asks it to. I’ve got more in the bedroom. This one was too thin for what we needed.”

  “Why did you need a—never mind! Don’t answer that!”

  “I won’t, but you’re going to have to think about it. Dan and I are going out for dinner—”

  “We are?” Dan said. “Oh. Right. Yes. We are. For at least three hours, probably, if that’s enough time.”

  “—and you two have fun celebrating being bad-luck free.”

  The door shut behind them. The apartment, quiet and fascinated, waited to see what they’d do next.

  “So,” Verity said, and did not know where that sentence was going.

  “So.” Lia threaded delicate links through the ninepenny silver, looped the chain around her own wrist, regarded it there: a small silver diamond against fair skin, over the pale blue traceries of veins and lifeblood. “This’ll work?”

  “It’s protection. It’s not the strongest, but it’s…something.” She bit a lip. “And. Um. It’s got my signature on it. So that’ll mean something.”

  “From what you’ve said it means a lot.” Lia touched the silver, let it fall. “You’re important.”

  “I’m not. Sterling is. My mother is. I’m…” She shrugged. “A workhorse. Sterling figured out the earring.”