Boundary Born (Boundary Magic Book 3) (9 page)

C
hapter 14

Lily decided that I needed food to go with my IV fluid, and everyone but Quinn needed coffee. She went to the apartment’s little kitchenette and began banging around, muttering under her breath, as Simon told Quinn and me the story.

Lily and Ardie had attended CU at the same time—Lily as an undergrad, Ardie as a masters student in ecology. They knew each other a little from witch business, but CU was the first time they’d met on neutral territory. Both were from old witch families, both were idealistic and optimistic about magic, and both wanted to break out of the family mold. The way Simon told the story, it was almost inevitable that they would start dating.

Unfortunately, both families objected. The Atwoods were homophobic, not to mention worried about dying out. They wanted Ardie to have babies as soon as possible. “They had actually tried to push Ardie at
me
a few times, hoping to increase their political capital, but I was with Tracy,” Simon told us. “Anyway, they got pissed about Ardie dating a non-reproductive option, even if she was a Pellar.”

Meanwhile, Hazel Pellar couldn’t care less about bisexuality, but she considered her children, and the Pellar line, better than the “backwoods Atwoods,” who would surely drag Lily down into the mud with them.

Tensions increased, and then the Atwoods made Ardie an offer: full tuition for as much education as she wanted, plus a down payment on a house anywhere but Boulder. And although women didn’t usually inherit in their clan, her family offered to make her the Atwood heir should anything happen to Billy—which was a safe bet, since he was already something of a cretin. All Ardie had to do was agree to leave Lily and have kids with a man.

When she heard about the offer, Lily got ready for a knock-down, drag-out battle for love, assuming Ardie would feel the same. But Ardie took the money.

“I’m not sure she ever cared as much about Lily as Lily did for her,” Simon said in a low voice. “But at any rate, she was Lily’s first big love, and getting dumped kind of crushed her. Especially because Ardie would sneak back into town now and then to, um . . . reconnect. And then she’d leave again.”

My eyes narrowed. “So she used Lily.”

Simon nodded. “For years.” He looked angry and sad, but also just . . . tired. This was an old story, one that all the Pellars had wanted to forget. Now we were dredging it up again.

“You said she studied ecology,” I said, trying to sound tactful, even though I wanted to slap this woman I’d never met. “Isn’t it possible that Ardie grows belladonna?”

Simon shrugged. “She’d know how, sure, but so would my mom, or pretty much anyone with a rudimentary understanding of gardening. Or an internet connection.
Growing
it is easy. The hard part is finding the belladonna seeds from the ancient strain.”

“But if Atwood had it on the property, and Ardie inherited . . .” Quinn spoke up.

“No.” Lily banged down a sloshing coffeepot. Simon hastily took a mug from the counter and began filling it while Lily set a couple of granola bars in front of me. “Keep eating,” Lily told me. To all of us, she added, “Ardie
always
said the fetters were too dangerous to dick around with. She’s many things, but she’s careful.”

“Calculating, more like,” Simon muttered into his mug before taking a long sip. Lily glared at him, but he just shrugged and swallowed. “She might have changed her mind about the belladonna, Lil. Or she might have moved to Finland, and she’s got nothing to do with any of this. We haven’t seen her in years.”

A guilty look flitted across Lily’s face, but Simon didn’t notice. I didn’t want to call Lily out in front of the others, so I got to my feet, not needing to feign the shakiness. “Lily, can you help me in the bathroom for a second?” I asked.

She looked a little surprised by the request, as did Quinn, but she unhooked my IV bag from the coatrack and led me down the hall, helping me weave around Simon’s piles of equipment. When we got into the small bathroom, I closed the door and sagged against a counter. “You’ve seen Ardie recently?” I said gently.

Her dark skin flushed, but she nodded. “She stopped by last year, after Billy’s funeral. But I still don’t think she’d mess with the fetters.”

“Do you have her address or phone number?”

Lily bit her lip. “Simon made me delete her numbers from my phone . . . but I know she works at the Denver Botanic Gardens. She’s a horticulturist.”

“Okay. Quinn and I are going to need to pay her a visit.”

“I know.” Lily switched the IV bag from one hand to the other, uneasy. “I should go with you.”

“I don’t think that’d be a great idea.”

“She might not talk to you.”

“Oh, she’ll talk to me.” Something in my face must have hardened, because Lily took an unconscious step backward, the IV tubing wobbling between us. “You can stay here and give Simon a hand, okay?”

She nodded again, and I turned to grab the doorknob. Before I could turn it, Lily reached out and touched my arm. “You’re not going to ask me about sleeping with girls?”

I shrugged. “None of my business.”

Something sad and bitter touched her eyes for a moment. “Some women would be worried that I was secretly lusting after them.”

It hadn’t occurred to me, but I cocked an eyebrow as dramatically as I could. “Lily, are you secretly lusting after my body?”

An actual giggle spilled from her lips. “Not so much.”

“Well, obviously you have no standards and I pity you.”

She threw her head back and laughed.

Lily made me sit still through two more bags of IV fluid. While I did that, Quinn called his contacts to dig up Ardie’s home address. I didn’t know much about how he got that kind of information, but I didn’t really want to know, either. Simon and Lily, meanwhile, worked out a schedule for the next couple of days so one of them would always be in the apartment with Maven. As long as word didn’t get out that Simon was hiding her, they would be okay. Even if someone did come for Maven, Simon was living there, which meant a vampire would have to be invited in. Lily or Simon could probably handle any other unwelcome guests with apex magic.

By the time I finished the last bag of fluid, I felt like I’d been brought back from the brink of death . . . although since I actually
had
returned from death a couple of times, I suppose that was hyperbole. At any rate, I also really had to pee. When I got back from the bathroom, Quinn was waiting with a Post-it Note in hand: Ardie Atwood’s address in Denver.

The two of us made a quick stop at my cabin to change clothes—he had a drawer in my room—and feed the herd, since I wasn’t sure when we’d be back. I also put on an unseasonably heavy jacket, still chilled from the IV fluids.

Then we were on the road.

C
hapter 15

I kept my eyes in my lap while Quinn drove us in the Jeep. Part of me was hoping I’d eventually get used to the sight of a translucent, half-decapitated man wandering the intersection at 30th and Arapahoe, or the two little girls who ran skipping into the street every night on Baseline Road. At the same time, though, I didn’t
want
to get used to it. I didn’t want the horror of their deaths to fade into normality. I had a sudden flash of memory: the ghost of Hugh Mark, former manager of the Boulderado, begging me to help the hotel’s remnants cross the line between living and dead. He’d wanted me to make them whole again on the other side, but I had no idea how to do that. I reminded myself that when this was over I needed to go back and push Nellie for more information on boundary magic. For now, though, I just stared at my hands and hoped no one had died in Ardie Atwood’s house.

I didn’t need to worry. Ardie Atwood lived in a fairly new “planned community” neighborhood in Aurora, the kind of place where the homeowner’s association forbids large dogs and everyone has to have their lawn cut to regulation length. It was after one a.m. by the time we pulled into the driveway, but there was a small light on in one of the upstairs bedrooms. A reading lamp, maybe.

When we rang the doorbell, I instinctively braced myself for barking out of habit, but this house remained silent. After a long moment, I reached for the doorbell again, but Quinn stayed my hand. A light had popped on inside, and a moment later the small window in the door revealed a woman in her late thirties padding down carpeted steps.

I’m not sure what I was expecting from Ardie Atwood, but it was definitely on the supermodel side of attractive, like one of those celebrities who’s so good-looking they could seduce men, women, and most forms of plant life. But the woman who opened the door seemed like nothing special: shorter than me, blonde hair chopped short, fashionable square plastic glasses. She was in her late thirties or early forties, and wore old-fashioned button-down pajamas with slippers, along with a few extra pounds on her hips. There was a faint odor clinging to her, and after a moment I realized she’d been smoking pot recently. “Yes?” she said, frowning up at us.

I let Quinn take the lead. “Ardie Atwood?”

“
Doctor
Atwood-Kazinsky,” she corrected, straightening up. “Who are you?”

“I’m Quinn, this is Lex. We represent Maven’s interests.”

When he mentioned Maven’s name, I watched Ardie carefully. She reacted, certainly, but I couldn’t tell if it was an “oh shit what does she want” reaction or an “oh shit the vampire I conspired to murder” reaction.

After a glance behind us for witnesses, she opened the door wider. “You’d better come in, I suppose. You’re lucky my husband and children are out of town this week.” She turned on her heel, assuming we would follow.

Quinn and I exchanged a look, but trailed her through a beige hallway into a small, tidy living room. Ardie had said she had children, but you would never know that from seeing the house, or at least the downstairs. There was no sign of any toys or clothes, let alone the cheerful clutter that always infested John’s house. The paint, carpeting, and furniture were all different shades of beige and gray. It was like a conservative dentist’s office without the old magazines.

“You can sit there,” she said, pointing at a sofa. She dropped into the opposite armchair. “What is this about?”

By unspoken agreement, Quinn and I remained standing, even though I still felt a little light-headed. “Several of the Denver vampires have recently succumbed to belladonna,” Quinn said, his voice even.

If Ardie was uncomfortable with us standing, she didn’t show it. She leaned back and crossed her legs. “I don’t know anything about that.” She paused and waved a hand. “Well, of course I know about the plant—I’m a horticulturalist. But I have nothing to do with the fetters.”

“Your cousin Billy dealt them,” I pointed out. “And you inherited his property.”

“Which I sold three months ago,” she said, barely glancing at me. “Cleaning out that junk heap cost me a fortune, but it’s close enough to Boulder to still turn a profit. If I remember correctly, the buyers are currently building a new house on the property.” She stood up. “If that’s all?”

“‘If that’s all?’” I repeated, not bothering to keep the incredulousness out of my voice. “You’re trying to tell us you just . . .
delegated
the removal of hazardous and illegal materials, and we’re supposed to smile and skip out the door?”

Atwood crossed her arms, reddening. “I don’t care what you believe. That’s what happened, and you have no right to come into my home—”

“
You
have no rights here,” I snapped, taking a single step toward her. “You don’t get it, Ardie. We’re not the police, and we don’t answer to anyone but Maven. For
anything
.”

Something in my face scared her, and she swallowed whatever she had planned on saying. Quinn glanced at me, and I saw a flash of curiosity and amusement cross his face before he turned to Ardie. He wasn’t usually the one playing good cop. “Dr. Kazinsky, you must understand why we need to cover our bases here. Vampires were poisoned fifteen minutes away from your house. You work with plants, and at some point you had access to the herb in question.” He spread his hands helplessly, as if to say
what choice do we have
? “We would look awfully stupid if we didn’t at least come speak to you.”

Taking a deep breath, she rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands for a moment. When she lowered them, her gaze seemed clearer. “I suppose I can understand that,” she said with a rueful smile. “And I
do
want to help however I can. Let’s try this again, all right?” She gestured to the couch. “Please.”

She sat back down in the chair, and I followed Quinn to the couch, perching on the edge. I was immensely relieved to be sitting, but I tried not to let it show on my face. “Would you like something to drink, Lex?” she asked. “Hot chocolate, or perhaps something stronger?” Her eyes were eager, hoping to please me. But I wasn’t falling for the new ass-kissing strategy.

“No,” I said flatly. “But I would like to know where Billy Atwood got the belladonna.”

“Ah.” She leaned back in her overstuffed chair, getting comfortable. “Now there’s a good question. Unfortunately, most of Billy’s contacts were out of state.”

“How would you know that, if you weren’t involved with his business?” Quinn asked reasonably.

She didn’t take offense, just pushed up her glasses with one finger and explained, “You have to know a little about our family. The Atwoods, as I’m sure you’ve heard, have something of an unsavory reputation, but we weren’t always this way. Once we were as respected in this state as the Pellars, maybe even more so. We are trades witches, but we have a bit of a talent for growing things. Obviously I’ve inherited it, given my career choices.” She smiled again, her eyes sparking. For the first time I saw it: energy and joy, an enthusiasm that went beyond enjoyment and into the realm of passion. It made her beautiful.
Okay, Lily, I get it.
“Anyway, most Atwoods were farmers, but a hundred years ago, my great-grandfather Amos decided to set a new course. He set up shop as a spiritualist in Sterling, along a branch of the Oregon Trail.” Her smile fell away. “He made a fortune. At first, anyway.”

“Spiritualist?” I asked.

She winced. “‘Medium’ would be a better term, I suppose. He led séances.”

“Was he a boundary witch?” Quinn said.

“No, of course not.” She sounded disgusted, like Quinn had asked if Amos had married his favorite sheep. “He could do a little trades magic, but he was really quite weak.”

“So he duped people,” I put in. “Tricked them out of their money.”

Her eyes hardened, but only a little. “He
wanted
it to be real, though. He developed contacts in the Spiritualist community, but in those days it was easier to travel north and east than to venture into Denver and Boulder. Eventually he got hold of some mandragora.”

“Which brings people back from the dead,” I said quietly.

She sighed. “In theory. You need a hell of a lot of power to make it happen, though, and Amos didn’t have it, even with a coven of twelve behind him.”

“He died?” Quinn asked.

She nodded soberly. “And took all twelve witches with him.”

A chill ran across my shoulders. Thirteen people dead, just so Amos Atwood could prove there was life after death. No wonder people thought the Atwoods were idiots. “None of that explains Billy selling the fetters,” I reminded her.

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “It does, in a way. What happened to Amos had . . .
reverberations
for us, for generations. No one in the Colorado Old World wanted anything to do with the Atwoods after Amos died. So my immediate ancestors became thieves and swindlers, taking Amos’s relatively benign calling and turning it criminal.”

“Why not just leave the state?” Quinn asked. “Start over somewhere else?”

“Some of us did,” she answered. “But there were a few who insisted that we had no reason to leave our territory. They were the same Atwoods who thought Amos was unfairly maligned. Billy’s father was among them.”

I’d never heard anyone mention Billy’s father. It probably showed on my face, because Ardie nodded as if I’d asked a question. “Oh, Jay was a piece of work. When Billy was quite young, Jay found Amos’s journals in an old wardrobe. He became convinced Amos was innocent, that his spell had been sabotaged. He left Billy’s mother to retrace Amos’s path all the way up to South Dakota and east to Omaha. He reestablished contact with the kinds of witches who . . . well, let’s just say they wouldn’t help the Atwoods’ reputation any.”

“And that’s how Billy got the plants,” Quinn concluded.

She nodded again. “Jay’s gift to his son,” she said wryly. “Personally, I think Jay intended for Billy to use the fetters against the Pellars somehow, tear everything apart. But Billy was never smart enough to make a move.”

But
Ardie
sure seemed smart enough. “And where do you fit into all this?” I asked. “This story about the Atwoods being trashed, it really only gives you more motive to use belladonna against the vampires.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You’ve got it backward. This story is exactly why I would never mess around with belladonna. Playing with the fetters is like giving a child a loaded gun.”

I glanced at Quinn. Vampires can’t exactly smell lies, but I knew he’d be able to pick up the sound of an elevated heartbeat and scent any fear coming off her, which were both pretty good indicators of whether someone was lying. His face remained blank.

“Besides,” she added. “You’re right. I work with plants, I’m related to Billy, and I live close to the vampires who were poisoned. But I’m not an idiot. If I wanted to kill a vampire with belladonna, I certainly wouldn’t do it in my own backyard, where I would be the world’s most obvious suspect.”

As soon as our car doors closed, the windows at Ardie Atwood’s house began to darken. I looked over at Quinn. “What do you think?” I asked, leaning back in the Jeep’s plush seat. All those tarps seemed to have worked—I didn’t see any bloodstains.

“If she’s lying, she’s good.” He started the car and began the drive back to Boulder, looking thoughtful. “Although the marijuana could easily be numbing her enough to fool me.”

“When Lily and I were talking in the bathroom at Simon’s,” I began, “did you overhear us?”

He squirmed in his seat. “I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop—”

“I know. Vampire superpowers. My point is that we can’t trust Ardie. From the way Simon and Lily tell it, she’s a sociopath who uses Lily.”

“You’re so protective of her.” He smiled, then glanced over at me. “It could also be that Ardie’s lonely, that she’s not happy with the deal she made, that she can’t stay away from Lily any more than Lily can say no.”

I thought it over for a few minutes before I grumbled, “Touché, I guess. But what do we do now?”

His eyes flicked down to the clock on the dash. It was almost two. “Would you recognize the belladonna if you saw it?”

“Not yet, but I could study.”

“Let’s take a drive up to the Atwood farm and take a look around.”

I was happy to have an excuse not to look at the road. While I scanned through images of belladonna on my phone, Quinn spent most of the ride on the phone with the human crew at Magic Beans, explaining that Maven had a family emergency and would be gone for a couple of days. He gave them an elaborate story about a sibling in a hospital with no cell service, and was so convincing that
I
almost bought it.

I told him that after he hung up the phone, but Quinn just gave me a wan smile in return. “The humans are easy,” he said. “Maven is a good manager, but she still looks nineteen, and at that age people expect you to disappear every now and then. The problem is going to be if anyone in the Old World comes looking for her.”

“Is that likely?” I was only called in for daytime errands or Old World emergencies; I had no idea what Maven’s day-to-day—well, make that night-to-night—schedule looked like. It was starting to hit me how much work she probably had to do to keep the trains running on time.

Quinn glanced over, looking troubled. “There’s really no way of knowing when she’ll get a call about Old World business. Most cities have their own leadership that’s fairly self-sufficient, but there’s squabbling. She might go a week without any disputes, or there might be three in one night. But this will help.” He reached into his pocket and held up a cell phone.

“Maven’s?”

“Yeah, this is the Batphone. If someone calls with a minor problem, I can text back as Maven. Hopefully it’ll buy us at least a couple of days.”

“Smart.”

He shrugged. “All it would take is one phone call from someone with a huge problem.”

“No pressure or anything.”