At the end of six months, Mariam announced she was closing the shop. Her mother, who lived in a village several hours away, was ill and needed care. If she wanted, Amelia could continue running the shop. Instead, she decided it was time to travel on. She still had so much to see and continents to cross. Mariam agreed that her path lay away from here.
When she left, Amelia embraced Mariam and her daughters and promised to return to visit someday. She never did. She had not returned to visit any of the friends she had made on her journeys. When she emerged back into the world, she learned of computers and the internet and spent some time searching for the people and places where she had been. There was some small chance that Mariam’s daughters, or perhaps their children, yet lived. But the market in Marrakech was long gone and Amelia could not find them.
That Amelia survived all that she had, she owed to Mariam and her teaching.
Amelia knew how to build walls with her mind, to imagine the color of the stone, the texture of them, the strength of their foundations. She also knew how to break them down. Particularly the walls people built up in their minds to keep their inner selves hidden, their emotions in check, to function in the world. Or not, sometimes. She had driven people mad, beating down their walls.
With Cormac, she finally had to simply ask him to let her in. And where was he, was he all right. . .
Had he just walked away?
When a presence tried to break down the wall she’d built to hold herself together, Amelia held fast. She had a century’s worth of experience doing this. She wouldn’t bend. The presence, however, was filled with rage, and this gave it power.
Who are you who are you what are you who are you tell me tell me.
Well. Something had happened, clearly.
You are not him tell me who are you who are you who are you.
Amelia couldn’t be expected to carry on a conversation with someone who had so little control. So she didn’t. She merely listened and tried to learn.
It was supposed to be him in here, why isn’t it.
Ah, the situation started to become clear. Amelia was the victim of an entrapment spell, a powerful and dangerous piece of magic derived from voudon traditions that sought to control a person’s spirit. Rather than focusing on control of the body, her assailant wanted to possess the mi
nd.
The strike had been directed at Cormac. This was someone from Cormac’s past, then, seeking revenge? They hadn’t known that two souls resided in Cormac’s body. The irony was rather delicious, that rather than trap the oh-so-physical bounty hunter, this assailant had caught perhaps the one magician in all the world who was well equipped to deal with such captivity.
Amelia very nearly relished the coming battle.
Who are you who are you who are you.
Amelia reached out, ever so slightly. Like plucking the branch a spider’s web was anchored to, to see what reaction she got from the spider. Donned a bit of a careless tone.
“Got yourself in a bit of a fix, have you?”
Screaming answered her. The shocked reaction of someone who had not expected her prisoner to have a voice. This was someone who had a plan, and the plan was not going well.
“Ah yes. Would you like to talk about it?”
More screaming. So no.
To work magic one needed a sharp mind. One also needed a physical connection to the world. Amelia no longer had this. But she had a voice screaming at her. Wasn’t much of a wedge, but it would have to serve.
Gregory pulled out a basic road map of the area and spread it on the counter. A pair of women came in, and he had to leave off to help them. They smelled about ten different teas each before picking one, and seemed delighted by everything about the experience, from the old-timey shop to the cute little teapots. Gregory charmed them. Cormac waited patiently and resisted an urge to break something.
“If they were able to come in here, they needed something, even if it was to smell ten different teas and walk out with a smile,” Gregory explained.
Durant was close enough that she could be affected by Gregory’s summoning spell and arrive in no more than an hour or so. The kind of magic she was working, she’d need to be isolated. Away from town, away from people. She was crazy enough to be neck-deep in weird, but not so crazy that she wouldn’t try to hide it. She was used to a certain standard of living, a high level of personal decorum, so she wouldn’t be camping in wilderness. That narrowed things down. Isolated vacation rentals, resorts. Cormac pulled up a map on his phone so he could look at satellite imagery. Separated town from wilderness, searched for dirt roads and isolated buildings, all within an hour or so. National forest surrounded Deadwood. East was open prairie and Badlands National Park. Southeast was the Pine Ridge Reservation. Durant would draw attention at any of those places, a random white woman off by herself working dangerous magic.
That still left a lot of ground to cover, but not an infinite amount. Cormac knew what her car looked like, what she looked like. She would be on the defensive after their encounter. That was fine. He found a pencil and started circling spots on Gregory’s map. Old-fashioned footwork might just do the trick, no magic needed. That was the trouble with magic. Once you had it, you stopped using other tools.
“There,” Cormac said, tapping the page. “I bet she’s in one of those spots. I can probably check most of them before dark.”
Gregory studied the map as if checking his work, then rocked back, nodded sagely. “I guess you don’t need me.”
“Wouldn’t say that. I don’t drink tea, but Amelia does.”