“Cormac, how nice to hear from you!” A muffled shifting sounded, as if she tilted away the phone and said over her shoulder, “It’s that tough fellow who knows Amelia Parker.”
“What’s he want?” Frida muttered back.
Judi came back on the line. “If I can help, I’ll certainly try.”
“You ever hear of someone named Isabelle Durant?”
“No, should I have?”
“Just thought I’d try. I think she’s either working some bad magic herself or hiring someone to do it for her. I spotted her in the Rapid City, South Dakota area. You know any witches out here who might be casting spells to impersonate someone using their hair?”
After a pause, Judi answered, her voice gone from cheerful to somber. “That’s some very unplea
sant magic.”
“Yeah, it is. I’ve got a whole lot of unpleasant going on up here.”
“I see.”
“I know it’s a long shot but I thought you might know someone or have heard something, given your contacts.” Judi played the part of an unassuming dabbler, but she had serious chops. “I was hoping you could maybe ask around.”
He heard whispering—the two women in a hushed conference. He waited patiently.
Judi returned and asked, “Are you still there?” He murmured that he was. “Rapid City is it?” Yes. . . “You’ll want to talk Gregory at Tea on the Range, in Deadwood.” Tea on the Range? In Deadwood? Seriously? “I’m not saying he has anything to do with whatever trouble you’re mixed up in, he’s much too sensible for that. But if there’s something fishy going on, he might have caught the scent.”
He wasn’t quite able to keep the skepticism out of his tone. “Okay. I appreciate the tip.”
“I promise you, you won’t regret meeting him,” she said cheerfully.
“So do you guys have an organization of unassuming shop owners who are also magicians, or what?”
Judi deftly ignored him. “And how is Lady Amelia?”
Cormac hesitated, frowning. He wished he knew. “That’s part of my problem right now. I’m not really sure.”
“Oh, dear.” He could sense her worry. But then, he suspected Judi liked Amelia better than him.
“If. . .if you hear anything from her, can you let me know?” That was a long shot. He wasn’t even sure how that would work. But he would try anything at this point. He’d even ask for help.
“We certainly will. Good hunting.”
“Thanks,” he said, clicking off before she made him explain any more of what was happening, or worse, deliver any soothing platitudes.
Could Amelia be out there. . .somewhere? If so, would she be able to contact him? How? This was her area of expertise. He was at a loss.
A great deal of magic was imagination. Visualization. Picturing what one wished to accomplish. Ritual helped focus that intention; ingredients and symbols with inherent properties could be manipulated. But before any ritual could be enacted, one must know what one wanted to accomplish, specifically and with confidence.
Amelia still had that tool, at least. But so much of her thoughts were currently occupied in just keeping herself whole. She had gotten out of the practice of doing this.
Back at the Colorado Territorial Correctional Facility, when her physical body had been hanged for murder, she had transferred her mind, her consciousness, into the very foundation of the place and had stayed there for almost a century. She had learned to travel through brick and stone, to possess in a minimal way some of the people there. With practice, she could see and hear and feel, at least enough to plan. Finally, she had met Cormac, and he had let her in. He understood something of what she was, and they had been able to work together. When he left the prison, he took her with him.
Now, though, she didn’t even have those rudimentary abilities. She could sense no foundation, no pathways through stone or wood that could help her. There was no one here at all. Then, she had been disembodied. Here, she was entirely trapped.
Her mind would split apart if she kept screaming. So she stopped.
First, she must find some way, however small and slim, to reach the outside world. Second, she must discover what had happened to Cormac, learn if he was still alive and what had uprooted her.
He could not be dead. She refused to believe it.