The Sunken Tower Page 6

  “I could shield us…” Elise’s voice shook after a near-miss from another tiny car driven by a confused-looking man. Her hand convulsed in a death grip on the passenger side door strap. Melanie was a better driver than Hagatha. She still drove fast, but her reflexes were quicker, and she didn’t take unnecessary risks.

  “Yeah, but someone might notice in this close traffic that we bumped off a car,” Melanie said. “Maybe just shield us inside the car?”

  Elise considered her request. She’d never tried anything like it, but it made sense. “I can do that. Might even take up less energy, too.”

  Emergency vehicles surrounded the lake near where the bell tower stood. From the traffic jam in the area, half the village had come out to see the spectacle.

  Melanie found a parking spot at the rear of a long line of cars just as an ambulance pulled away with sirens blaring.

  Elise heard her companion let out a breath as the vehicle passed.

  “My mother’s a doctor,” Melanie said. “Seen too many emergency vehicles. I’m always glad when they’re running with lights and sirens. Means the patient is still alive.”

  Elise nodded. Several emergency vehicles still remained by the lake. From what she could see, the rescue work happened by the submerged bell tower. She got out of the Fiat with Melanie, and the two of them walked to where most of the crowd watched the efforts.

  “What happened?” Elise inquired of a woman in police uniform.

  “Tourist kids went out to the bell tower on the ice,” she said in accented English. “Several fell through. They’re trying to get the last one out now.”

  Elise stared, startled, at an impromptu food truck by the road selling hot cocoa and coffee. She’d seen them on her walk into the village. They must have gotten word that most of the customers were out there.

  “I wish there was something we could do,” Melanie murmured in undertones to her.

  Elise nodded. She counted at least a hundred people by the side of the road and probably half a dozen rescuers out on the ice. “Not with this many people.”

  A shout sounded from the rescuers.

  “A man in a diver’s suit is coming out of a hole in the ice by the steeple,” Elise reported to Melanie. She could occasionally see over the heads of the crowd, but her companion could not. “He’s got a kid.”

  She couldn’t see anything else for several minutes.

  “They’ve got him on a stretcher,” she reported. “They’re bringing them in.”

  “He’s dead,” a man said in a New York accent. “Been under the ice for a while.”

  Melanie’s exhale misted in the air. Her voice rang out in the cold winter air as she looked toward a weeping woman being comforted by a man who was not the paramedic with a stern face hiding what must be tears as well.

  “No sir, he’s not dead until he’s warm and dead. Sometimes people under the ice can be in suspended animation, and it’s possible they’ll revive,” Melanie said.

  “Are you a doctor?” The police officer pushed through the crowd to them.

  “No,” Melanie said. “My mother is, but she is not here. I used to read her medical journals in school.”

  He nodded.

  Soon enough, rescuers brought a stretcher to a waiting ambulance, and the vehicle went off with lights and sirens running.

  An older Italian woman swore, her words rising in a wail above the now-dissipating crowd.

  Elise headed back toward the car. They managed to get out ahead of the welter of folks who’d parked closer to the lake. Instead of heading back toward the village, Melanie took a side road and drove around to the far side of the lake.

  “What did the woman say?” Elise asked her once they were clear of the largest knot of traffic.

  “She said the church was cursed,” Melanie replied. “She believed it was so since it was built, and it’s only been worse since they flooded the lake to provide electricity. She was railing about all manner of bad things happening. Did you notice some of the men in the crowd tapping their groins? It’s Italian superstition, tocca palle, it’s similar to knock on wood.”

  That last elicited giggles from both of them.

  “You think the church is part of the sea dragons’ undersea tunnels?” Melanie asked. She parked the Fiat at a spot where they would look at the steeple. No other cars were nearby, and they had a decent view of the church and the gaping hole in the ice which appeared to already be freezing over.

  “It seems very possible,” Elise said. “You know the clapper was removed from the bell when they flooded the lake sixty-some years ago? A man with a tour guide in the bakery told me that.”

  Melanie wrapped her arms around her slender body despite the warm winter coat she wore. Her mouth firmed in determined lines.

  “I heard what I heard.”

  “I believe you,” Elise said. “Others have heard the bells as well.”

  “Lake’s been frozen over for months now.” Melanie stepped to the edge to peer closer. “Temperatures have not risen. Everything else is still bitter cold, yet kids fall through right after the cruise line wrecks. You think the creatures came up through the waters last night?”

  Elise considered that. “It’s possible. Seems like what Grendel was trying to tell us was that the undersea tunnels are more or less their version of the Ways and the steeples and other edifices could well be their—WayGates? So we could perhaps expect the dragons to come out of there.”

  Silence. They exchanged a look in the darkened car. Elise contemplated suggesting they call Marcus. Melanie glanced down at her engagement ring.

  If I call my father, how can I ever prove that I am capable of running an op on my own?

  “No way am I going to try and walk out there and find out,” Melanie shook her head.

  “Let me try and scry.” Elise stepped out of the car and aimed her magic at the tower. Cold deeper than anything she’d experienced in Colorado knifed at her brain. She tried a second time and went back to the car, shaking her head.

  “I can’t tell if it’s the cold off the lake or some kind of shield, but I can’t get past it.”

  “We could stake the place out and see if people come out,” Melanie suggested.

  “That’s not a bad idea,” Elise said. “I could shield the car so they wouldn’t see it.”

  “I’m calling Hagatha at the room so she doesn’t worry about us,” Melanie said. She let the phone ring and left her a message when she didn’t answer.

  “Funny,” she commented. “Hagatha said she wasn’t going out.”

  Elise chuckled. “Hagatha is unpredictable. Hopefully, she’s doing something that will cheer her up.”

  What are you moping about? Hagatha stared at the invitation to the Machiavelli wedding. It’s Friday night in Italy. You might as well go! After all, Melanie said “You can have him.”

  A shower restored some of her good humor. Magic smoothed out her white curls and added opalescent shades of purples, blues, and pinks to them. She’d seen a picture on one of Melanie’s fashion sites that called the color Pearl, or something likethat—it was quite fetching with her lavender eyes, and it definitely suited her fondness for tie dye. Next, she conjured up a tight-fitting little black dress and a set of high-heeled platform boots to match.

  A knock sounded at the door when she was putting on the finishing touches.

  “Melanie?” the hot Italian stud-muffin standing there asked. He was a long, tall drink of water, with thick raven curls and eyes dark as a new moon midnight. The wicked smile on his lips as he looked purposely down the front of her dress promised all the fun she could hope for.

  “She’s not here,” Hagatha said. “But I’m Harmony. She said I could comfort you instead.” She decided her original name fit better in this instance than the one she’d taken when she joined House Macrow. Harmony Sunshine Hendricks was going to come out tonight and dance at a wedding like there was no tomorrow.

  “Why not?” He grinned lasciviously and offered his
arm. “We’ll have a good time.”

  Locals in the lobby all acknowledged her date with broad grins and waves. An older woman, in a maid’s outfit, shook her head at him and said something in broken English that Hagatha couldn’t understand.

  Hagatha smiled broadly at all of them, letting some of the fame splash off on her.

  “First, we go to my brother-in-law’s house,” Aldo suggested as he helped her into a low-slung, lipstick-red Ferrari. Hagatha winced as she folded herself into the passenger seat.

  When the engine roared to life, she let out a sigh of contentment. Oh, she wouldn’t give up her VW Microbus anytime soon, but the leather seat transmitted the engine’s power throughout her body in sensual waves.

  The minute they crossed the threshold, Hagatha realized it wasn’t precisely a party she was going to—more a pranking. Half a dozen people were already at the luxurious-looking mansion with marble floors and Old World styling that would suit it for a movie set as much as a home.

  Roman columns were already draped with toilet paper. Signs in Italian, which Hagatha suspected from the crude drawings were quite lewd, adorned the spaces in front of paintings with architectural key-lighting above them. All manner of sex toys were spread about the house atop elegant furnishings.

  Hagatha’s eyes widened as she followed her date through the house. Part of it looked like a Bosch painting mixed with the morning after a wild party at the Playboy Mansion.

  “Here.” Aldo pulled the covers off the neatly-made bed. He handed her a box and asked her to sprinkle it on the sheets. She sneezed the minute she opened the tab. He chuckled darkly.

  Others were in the beautifully-appointed stainless steel and gleaming polished wood kitchen, adding salt to the coffee and mixing up the labels on the spices. Next, they set to toasting the bride and groom’s good health with their fairly substantial stock of wine.

  Hagatha ended up with her own bottle of red, which she just clanged into whatever the others were toasting with. Her head felt light enough to float off her shoulders, but she giggled happily enough to be the bride herself. Aldo periodically turned to pinch her on the bottom or French kiss her on the mouth. They stormed through each room like locusts, leaving all manner of pranks and twisted sexual innuendoes for the just-married couple. Hagatha’s head got lighter with each room. One thing she noted: at least no one did what she’d consider permanent damage—no mars on the walls or tears in the fabrics. With this size of a house, she was fairly certain some poor underpaid maid would be the one who cleaned up the mess, while the bride and groom went laughing off to their honeymoon. Guilt momentarily stabbed her. A quick spell as they were leaving would clean up the mess for them. But the more she drank, the more that idea receded into a drunken haze.

  Once they were done with the house, they returned to their vehicles and joined the bridal procession from Aldo’s parents’ home to the church. Mostly exotic and luxurious cars of every type lined the narrow streets, the drivers honking and waving to tourists and other passersby.

  The bride and groom walked ahead of the slow-moving procession, off to the side so people could see what was happening: she in heavy white furs, and he in a full-length black leather trench coat. Torchbearers stood on either side of them to light their path. Bridesmaids and groomsmen walked along as well.

  Hagatha giggled when she saw a broom lying across their path. The bride took it up and commenced to sweep. Hagatha grabbed it from her, put it between her legs, and pretended to fly it.

  The men cheered and whistled, calling out in Italian to her.

  Next, someone walked out of a house and held a crying baby out to the bride.

  “Take care of your own kid,” Hagatha commented.

  The men chuckled, but the women gave her the evil eye.

  “It’s tradition,” one of the women who’d been in on the practical jokes giggled at her from the sidelines. “Gabriella is supposed to be able to handle routine household chores.”

  Hagatha shook her head. “I hope they don’t leave a toilet out in this cold for her to clean.”

  The guys standing around her laughed. Women rolled their eyes. Typical.

  Of course, the church was probably the most ornamental building in the entire village. With a soaring white steeple, which reached for the Alps, and an ornamental exterior of polished woods, carved marble, and lush red carpeting, it was near as intimidating and foreboding to Hagatha as the tower sticking out of the lake.

  Aldo handed over the Ferrari to a kid who looked like he swore on his life to protect it. He offered his arm, and they walked into the church among the throng.

  Every nursery for miles must have provided their crop of hothouse roses. Crimson bouquets were everywhere, and an arch of them adorned the altar. Candles provided soft illumination for the scene.

  Of course, the bride was in near snow white. Her gown glittered with pearls and crystals. Hagatha suspected Elise would know the designer and coo over it. The groom in his tux was outclassed. For that matter, so were the bridesmaids in red to match the roses.

  The wedding was a snooze until they got around to passing out the favors. She thought the service would be all Italian traditions, but someone had opted to throw out the bouquet. Hagatha stood up with the single women when it was thrown, and she knocked down two shorter ones to catch the bouquet—of course, red roses with sprays of Baby’s Breath and ferns.

  Aldo caught the red garter. Since her skirt was pretty short already, she didn’t even have to hike it up for him to put it on her. Wolf-whistles and other catcalls accompanied the act. Then they kissed for the photos.

  Why did Melanie ever break up with this stud-muffin? Aldo’s kiss made her knees weak and her head spin. Sweat broke out on her body. She forgot clean about Lord Clarion. All she wanted was him.

  She paused at a table full of brightly wrapped gifts. Something called to her. Surreptitiously, she turned her back so she could use mage sight on the table. Her heart skipped. One of the boxes held her citrine geode! It was the focal stone of the group she used to cast spells. She zeroed in on the box and used her gifts to conjure a studded black leather purse around it to match her outfit.

  Next, just a touch of magic made a couple of bottles of champagne at the bar blow their corks. Her heart thudded when half a dozen men drew guns at the abrupt sound, then commenced to laugh and curse.

  Dear Goddess, this was as bad as being back in Texas, where she grew up. Only she didn’t understand most of what they were saying. Her body shook, and she considered just getting out of there fast.

  While they were distracted, she grabbed her “purse” and headed for the restroom. There, she masked the contents of her purse and smoothed her hair. It was far less wild than usual, but finding the stone and seeing the guns drawn had made it stand on end. She clutched her bag and went back out.

  The dancing was nuts. They joined hands and went one way and then the other until they fell in one big dogpile.

  If she hadn’t thought to do the anti-hangover spell, she might’ve puked on the bridegroom. She giggled as several folks fell over and just didn’t get up. It wasn’t a wedding dance; it felt more like war games.

  Aldo snuck her out before the last dance.

  “What have you got in this bag?” he muttered when he carried it for her. “Rocks?”

  “That’s precisely what I have in that bag,” Hagatha told him.

  He shook his head. “Women. I will never understand why they feel they must carry so much.”

  They ended up back in the hotel room with a bottle of champagne he’d stolen from the wedding, making out like crazy. Aldo was gorgeous, rich, and knew precisely how to please a woman.

  What could possibly go wrong?

  “We’ve got nothing.” Elise blinked as dawn’s light turned the Fiat’s interior a cheerful pink.

  Beside her, Melanie made a sound that was the approximate mix of a growl and a yes. Neither one of them had slept, though they’d tried to relieve each other. The car was j
ust too small, and, in Elise’s case, she kept a shield spell going as well as magical warmth.

  “We need a nap,” Melanie said as she started them back into town.

  “I need to sleep, period,” Elise told her as they pulled into the hotel parking lot. “I will never share a bed with Hagatha again.”

  Normally energetic, Elise pulled herself up the stairs. Two nights of no sleep were taking a toll. There just wasn’t enough caffeine in the world to wake her up.

  She glanced around at the breakfast buffet, expecting Hagatha to be downstairs making inroads. Shrugging, they headed upstairs, too tired to partake of anything but a pillow.

  Elise slid her key into the lock and stepped into the dark room, feeling sleep creeping up on her. She headed for the bed without turning the light on and commenced to pull off her coat.

  “Move over, Hagatha, I need sleep—”

  Her eyes widened at the sight of a well-endowed, naked man lying sprawled beside her cousin in the semi-darkened room. The man’s eyes snapped open, and he surveyed the women staring at him.

  “Bella!” he said, rolling dark eyes toward Melanie. “Mi amore, I’ve waited for you, my little Irish girl...”

  “You have got to be kidding!” Melanie stalked out of the room. “I’m going downstairs for tea.”

  “Bella, bella…” The clearly drunk and naked man followed her. “Please…”

  “Get away from me!” Melanie ran.

  He gave chase, stumbling down the hallway.

  “Well, damn,” Hagatha muttered from the bed and simply rolled over, taking most of the space.

  Elise swore and went after the moving fracas. All they needed was for Melanie to use any bit of her massive powers in the current state she was in, and the building would go down—or worse.

  “Bella!” The man was caught between a pair of tourists who’d hastily doffed their coats to cover him up, so what looked like a group of teenagers in school uniforms didn’t get an eyeful. “Please!”

  Melanie was nowhere to be seen as the local police hauled him off and advised him to get sober. Hagatha belatedly arrived, hastily dressed, with his clothing in hand.