Moonstone Shadows Read online

  Moonstone Shadows

  Crystal Magic, Book 7

  Patricia Rice

  Contents

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  Acknowledgments

  Hillvale

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Thirty-two

  Thirty-three

  Thirty-four

  Crystal Magic Characters

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  Crystal Magic Series

  About the Author

  Also by Patricia Rice

  About Book View Café

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  Acknowledgments

  As every author since the beginning of time has acknowledged—a book cannot be written without the help of a village or tribe of people willing to contribute knowledge, ideas, and a sympathetic ear. After all these years, my tribe is enormous. I love you all dearly, although I’m usually too reticent to say so.

  In no particular order, I offer gratitude to: My fellow wenches—their support and brainstorming skills are par none. My BVC partners—without their skill and expertise these books are never likely to happen. To my cover designer—without whom this cover would be a green rectangle with a title. And to my family—who allow me to drift off into my head without warning and give me the space I need to work. Hugs to all of you!

  And last, but certainly not least, I thank my readers for following me from the wild West, through the misty murk of revolutions, to the tearooms of the Regency, and into the living rooms of today. I love you all!

  Hillvale

  The following is a purely directional map, not proportional or representative, but just for the sheer fun of it. Enjoy!

  One

  Hearing Look away, look away. . .in his head, Aaron ignored the mental admonition and swept his walking stick across the path. The expression whistling Dixie took on another whole level of meaning when roaming Hillvale’s haunted hills.

  Except Dixieland wasn’t the word coming to mind—Fairyland, maybe. Evil land made more sense, even in the original song, he realized sardonically. His subconscious was working overtime.

  If he could only find and destroy the source of the evil. . . He’d feel free to abandon this isolated town, maybe travel again, visit his childhood home in the Shetlands.

  Except his hand-carved staff had yet to locate any of the new vibrations the women had reported. They were now calling their crystal-knobbed staffs Lucy sticks after a Hollywood fantasy director had referred to them that way. Aaron preferred staff as in “Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.”

  The thick walnut killed snakes too.

  Ah, there it was. The stick twitched in his hand, and the crystal eyes of the eagle handle glowed hot against his palm.

  He’d done many wrong things in his checkered career. Too much knowledge jaded the mind and blurred the line between right and wrong. It could be that his attempt to right old wrongs by guarding this mountain was as perverted as the people who initially bled evil into the dirt.

  But he could only act on what he knew, and he could feel the evil rising in agitation. The Force had awakened, as his renter, Harvey, had claimed, in his own inimitable way.

  The late afternoon shadows were growing longer as Aaron followed the vibrations through the old pines on this shadier side of the mountain. This wasn’t old growth by any means. Centuries of native slaves, settlers, farmers, and miners had cleared the original forest—until everyone died, often unpleasantly. The dirt beneath Aaron’s feet reeked of centuries of torment—and the evil that had been interred here.

  A clearing opened ahead—the consecrated ground of an old church. Spanish missionaries had attempted to establish a mission in the early 1700s, long before the miners and the farmers. Nothing grew on that ground these days but native grasses, brown after a dry summer.

  Something disturbed the grasses now—or someone.

  In surprise, Aaron halted at the clearing’s edge. Although the land was owned by the local resort, even tourists steered clear of this side of the mountain. The darkness was that bad. Could this be the cause of the disturbance?

  He’d almost start believing in fairies if the figure sprawled on a blanket in the patch of sunlight wasn’t so obviously human. A spill of honey-blond hair fell over her shoulder and a shaggy fringe hid her forehead as she slept on her side. This was August, so she’d apparently shed her hiking gear in the heat and used it as a pillow. Pale ivory skin revealed her unfamiliarity with California’s perpetual sunshine. Her incandescent pink t-shirt outlined nice but not large breasts and a too-slender waist.

  He’d never seen her before. Sooner or later, every tourist who visited Hillvale traipsed through his antiques store, drawn by the whimsical and the historical in his display windows. He’d have remembered this visitor.

  Look away, look away. . .

  He couldn’t. Why, by all that was holy, had the woman chosen the only safe patch of ground on the mountain to sleep? No rattlesnake or spider would bother her there. The evil in the woods wouldn’t touch her, but it sure the hell knew she was present.

  “Back off, Aaron,” he told himself, even as he took a step forward. “You know she has to be a Lucy. You don’t mess with Lucys,” he reminded himself. “They cling like limpets.”

  But it was his self-imposed duty to keep Hillvale safe from the evil lurking in these hills, and this sleeping princess was agitating the spirits.

  Of course, he could just be crazy, but that was part of the territory.

  He would just touch the backpack, then decide whether it was safe to leave her there. He’d mastered the nuances of psychometry—the ability to read the past on objects—better than he had human nature.

  The army-green canvas was old and tattered. The memories on it might go deep. Summoning his concentration, he let his right hand hover over the backpack. Detecting nothing dangerous, he skimmed his fingertips over the surface—

  And conjured a faint vision of someone weeping as she added an old diary and a fountain pen to the empty bag.

  The fairy-woman on the ground abruptly sat up and stared at him. Her eyes were the color of the forest in autumn, a honey gold like the hair nearly falling into them, only darker. Framed by long dark lashes and round cheeks, her eyes were nearly oblong, more so as she narrowed them.

  “Not you again,” she cried. “Not while I’m dying!”

  As abruptly as she’d woken, she lay down and fell back to sleep.

  Dying? Stunned, Aaron backed away. “Not again,” he muttered, unconsciously repeating her warning. “Not ever again.” He’d barely survived the last time.

  Standing to his full height, he marched in the direction of the road. Not his problem, he told himself sternly. She was perfectly safe where she wa
s.

  Upon reaching the gravel road to civilization, he discovered Cassandra waiting for him—of course. Cass never set foot on this ground unless it was an emergency. Faex, shit—the Latin curse was as familiar to him as the English.

  Silver-haired, slim, and erect as any professional model, the omniscient witch waited for him to speak first—even though she had to be here because she knew something he didn’t.

  Angry at himself, angry at the sleeping woman for sucking him in like that, he stopped only to announce, “She’s one of yours. Keep her away from me.”

  Not waiting to hear Cass’s warnings, Aaron whacked his stick against the hard ground and increased his stride toward town.

  “Wake up, child, it’s late and the air is cooling. You’ll catch pneumonia or lure predators.”

  A hand shook Hannah’s shoulder. Stretching, slowly awakening from what felt like the first good sleep she’d had in years, Hannah let peace fill her before responding.

  Had she dreamed the striking man in black with the sexy goatee? Of course she had. Ever since she’d encountered the painting in Keegan’s castle, she’d been dreaming of a tall dark knight with a neat chin beard. In this past year, the dreams had become so insistent that she’d been forced to question her sanity. Eventually, those dreams, and the fainting spells that ensued, had caused her to seek medical assistance.

  Perhaps if she’d heeded the warning of the painting sooner—but it was too late now.

  She rubbed her eyes and sat up. The sun was gone from the clearing. The pine shadows were long. She’d slept the hours away instead of calling Keegan! What was wrong with her?

  Frowning down at her was a fairy godmother, or a woman quite magical to behold, at least.

  “Sorry, am I trespassing?” she asked, scrambling to pull on the jacket she’d worn on the plane. The woman watching her wore a sleeveless linen ankle-length dress—maybe she was a druid emerging from the pines.

  “You’re not trespassing if you’re a guest of the lodge. But we have mountain lions and rattlesnakes here. You’re better off sleeping in your bed.”

  Apparently, fairy godmothers sounded like every disapproving school teacher she’d ever had.

  Hannah stood and folded her blanket. “I didn’t mean to sleep so long. I’d only meant to take a quick look at my new home. I’m jet-lagged, and this place is so peaceful. Sorry if I worried you. Thank you for warning me. I’ll be fine. I’m pretty sure I know how to get back.”

  “You’re not fine,” she said severely. “I’m Cassandra Tolliver. I assume you’re the librarian Keegan said would be visiting.”

  Ah, small town, right. She knew how that worked. “Librarian, historian, teacher, jack of all trades.” Hannah shoved the blanket into her backpack and started toward the path she remembered following. “Good to meet you, Mrs. Tolliver. I’m Hannah Simon.”

  She didn’t intend to follow up that line about not being fine. Hannah knew she wasn’t fine. From communication with her Cousin Keegan and his wife, Mariah, Hannah knew the old lady was the self-appointed leader of the prescient Lucys. Lucys didn’t really know anything more than she did, which was next to nothing. They just made educated guesses, as she did.

  “People here call me Cass. Keegan said you might be interested in teaching in the school we’re starting.” Cass strode with a long-legged confidence that belied her silver-haired status.

  “Or perhaps I could help setting up your history museum. I’m not sure I can teach a one-room school.”

  Cassandra nodded. “Thanks to several wealthy donors, our school will be better equipped than you’re thinking. We’ll have computers connected to teachers from around the state. We’ve hired an elementary grade teacher. As of now, you’d only have one student above that level.”

  “Wow. The mind boggles.” Hannah hesitated, not eager to explain her predicament. She might have a year or ten years. She had to support herself while she searched for the painting that might hold clues to a cure. A museum director just sounded nicely isolated and less emotionally involved.

  She really didn’t want to fall down dead in front of little kids.

  “You have time to think about it,” Cassandra said, as if reading her mind, which she might very well be doing. “I trust the Kennedys are offering you a decent rental rate to encourage you to stay?”

  “I just got in today. I’ve not talked to anyone but the desk clerk, not even Keegan. I didn’t know if Mariah had her baby yet. I was supposed to call.” She checked her watch but it was still on UK time.

  “We’re still anxiously awaiting the first child born here in over thirty years. Give them a call once you reach your room. It’s early yet.” Cassandra stopped outside the timber lodge where it appeared a limo was disgorging a bridal party. Women in gauzy gowns laughed and clung to wilting bouquets. Undisturbed by the clamor, Cass continued, “I’ll leave you here. Call on me anytime. Everyone knows where I live.”

  Hannah held out her hand to shake Cass’s. “Thank you. I appreciate that. I hope I’ll be able to stay in Hillvale.” If she didn’t find the painting, couldn’t find a cure, she didn’t know how to plan a nonexistent future.

  A shadow stepped down from the enormous lodge veranda. “What the hell are you doing on my property, you old witch? Didn’t I make it clear I’d have you arrested if you came near what’s mine?”

  Even the noisy wedding party hesitated at the angry cry.

  “Oh dear,” Cassandra said with a sigh, dropping Hannah’s hand. “No good deed goes unpunished.”

  Hannah watched in puzzlement as a lovely, tawny-haired woman dressed in bronze and gold stepped into the light beyond the aging stone porch. She looked like a sun goddess—and screeched like an owl.

  The goddess glared at Hannah. “You, whoever you are, take your trash and leave with her. I’ll not have more of your kind polluting my property.”

  Having utterly no clue what kind she was—mutt?—Hannah felt more embarrassed for the screecher than for herself. The bridal party hurried for the open doors to escape the unpleasant scene.

  “Me?” Hannah pointed at herself. “I’m a paying guest here. You don’t want guests?”

  “It’s only partly her property, dear. She can’t throw you out. Carmel, may I introduce you to our new teacher, Hannah Simon? I don’t believe your sons would appreciate you throwing her out, not if they expect to raise children here.”

  Hannah refrained from mentioning that she hadn’t agreed to teaching yet. Cass had apparently spoken the magic words to stop the squawking. The golden lady stiffened, and her mouth worked, but nothing emerged. Cool.

  “Carmel has been ill, dear, and it appears she’s off her medications again.” Cass took Hannah’s arm and strolled toward an open air shuttle waiting in the drive. “She could make life unpleasant for you if you stay at the lodge. Why don’t we explore alternatives?”

  “All our properties are taken!” Carmel shouted as they turned their backs on her.

  Keegan had said Hillvale was weird. He hadn’t mentioned how weird.

  “What kind am I?” she whispered out of curiosity, climbing in the cart with her companion. “Is she a racist?” Hannah’s distant Asian heritage wasn’t overtly evident, but racists might note the shape of her eyes and conclude she wasn’t like them.

  “You’re a Lucy, dear. Carmel is a witchist, if I may coin a word.”

  “She can tell I’m a Malcolm librarian?” Hannah had grown up knowing she was a Malcolm—or a Lucy as Hillvale called the psychically endowed. Her talent was a minor one for finding family journals and categorizing them, not exactly a gift that was obvious to anyone except herself.

  “I think Carmel simply associates anyone with me as not her kind—unless. . .” Cass pursed her lips and fell into a study.

  Just as Hannah thought she wouldn’t hear the rest of that speculation, the older woman shrugged and completed her sentence.

  “Unless the evil in her recognizes the good in you. I’d rather hope she’s not posses
sed by demons. Here we are. Let’s talk to Aaron, shall we? He has a spare room.”

  Demons? That was the first Hannah had heard of demons.

  Cass climbed off the shuttle in front of an antique store displaying a splendidly ornamental medieval cuirass—just like the one the knight wore in Hannah’s dream.

  In shock, she couldn’t flee but only stare.

  Two

  At the ringing chime over the shop door, Aaron didn’t look up from the clock he was repairing. He knew who had entered. Cassandra managed to emanate disapproval and anger without speaking. The odd. . . serenity. . . entering with her could only be the new Lucy. Both women created recognizable vibrations.

  Gritting his teeth, he continued tinkering. “No,” he said before Cass could phrase the question. “I’m using the room for storage. Let her sleep at your place.”

  “Josh is still using my apartment for his studio. Amber may not be happy if Hannah moves in with him. Amber needs security right now as she rebuilds her career, and having the schoolteacher living in her husband’s office isn’t conducive to that.”

  Using delicate tweezers, Aaron twisted the pin into a gear. “Then she can stay at the lodge until she finds a place.”