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There was a weight in his voice that told me he spoke the truth, the hidden sweetness piercing my heart. Having a powerful witch hold me in regard was a new experience. People liked my looks, and they liked my family name, but neither of those things mattered a whit to Rafe Gallagher. He might be unsure about kissing me, but we shared a connection, of that I had no doubt.
I hung up my coat and hat, wondering if they’d dry before they froze stiff. Della busied herself setting four candles on the kitchen table. She’d already laid a thin circle of salt, with a small brash dish in the center.
Selfishly, I planted myself close to the little stove, my fingers and toes too stiff with cold to move. Rafe took the chair opposite his mother, his attention fully on the spell she was working.
Della brought a small velvet bag. She poured the contents – dried herbs of some kind – into the brass bowl. She began to hum and then struck a match, tossing it on top of the herbs.
As the herbs began to burn, the scent that rose reminded me of Rafe; smoke and sage, though lighter, with notes of honey. From another bag, Della poured a bit of white powder, then smeared it around on the tabletop. Last, she put the note on the powder by her right hand.
Her humming tune drew power into the room, creating a tension that set my teeth on edge. The powder began to shift and blur, making shapes that I could not interpret.
They meant something to Della, though.
“She’s not far, but she’s moving,” Della murmured. She drew a fingertip though the powder and the powder shifted the way iron filaments are drawn to a magnet. “South and east of us.”
A current of air brushed past me, tinged with the scent of the burning herbs. Della murmured something, words too soft for me to understand, and began to hum.
This time her tune was more demanding and the powder responded in kind. The paper vibrated as if tiny hands were shaking it. I’d never seen this sort of magic and was tempted to move closer. My fingers had thawed out enough for me to bend them and I could almost feel my toes.
“Where?” Rafe said quietly.
Della glanced up at him. “She’s in a tunnel, somewhere underground. Or that’s where she’s headed, anyway.”
“Could it be the cave with Martin’s body?” I asked.
Della didn’t respond right away, her attention wholly on the tabletop.
“Should we check the cave or not?” I prompted.
"She’s not in the cave.” Della traced another line through the powder. “She’s further away than that, probably all the way to Seattle, or she soon will be.”
“Then we should go after her. Leave now.” My desperation made me rather fierce.
“We can’t,” Rafe said, with a note of finality I could barely stand.
“We must.”
Della broke in. “We can’t very well leave her, Rafe. Who knows what they’ll do to her.”
“She could be…” I couldn’t bring myself to say the word dead.
“I know,” he said, “but there’s also the amulet to consider.”
“Oh for pities’ sake.” I spun around, raking a hand through my hair. I looked desperately from mother to son. “We must go after her. You need a weatherwitch, if for no other reason. I’ll go by myself if necessary.”
Della exhaled slowly, and Rafe’s jaw tightened. She held up a hand, forestalling any protest before he could mount it. “He’s right, Rafe, and you know it.”
The relief made me sag, though my relief was short-lived as the impossibility of the situation hit me. “Unless one of us can conjure a boat, we won’t be going anywhere.”
Rafe waved me off. “We have one.”
“Wait. You have a boat?” My voice reached something close to a screech. Mother and son stared at me as if I’d grown a second head.
“Of course,” Rafe said dismissively.
I wanted to slap someone. I’d spent the last week assuming they were trapped unless the supply boat visited. “Why—”
Della interrupted me. “We cloak it.” She wasn’t quite as unconcerned as her son, but that did little to calm me.
