More Than Magic: Books of the Kindling, #1

By Donna June Cooper

Books of the Kindling, Book One

267 pages

A malignant secret could turn her mountain sanctuary into their tomb.

DEA agent Nick McKenzie is sure magic exists—a dangerous drug called Smoky Mountain Magic that’s wreaking havoc in Atlanta. He’s also sure that locating and eliminating the source will kill him.

When he arrives undercover on Woodruff Mountain, the beautiful owner’s awkward attempts to scare him off tell him something’s afoot, and it’s not her secret patch of ginseng.

As her dream of seeking medicinal plants in the Amazon fades away, Grace Woodruff struggles to come to terms with a magical gift she didn’t want, and searches desperately for the meaning behind her late grandfather’s final, cryptic message.

The last thing she needs underfoot is a handsome enigmatic writer recovering from a recent illness. Until an accidental touch unleashes a stunning mystical force and Grace senses the wrath of a malicious blight at the heart of the mountain. Now Grace must choose between her need to hide her gift from the world…and her desire to save Nick’s life.

Warning: This book contains a fiery redhead whose magic cannot be contained and a handsome DEA agent whose final case might give him a second chance at life.

More Than Magic is the first book in the Books of the Kindling, a science fantasy romance series that focuses on Woodruff Mountain, the ancient power beneath it, and the family that has hidden its secrets for centuries. It is a story set against the breathtaking backdrop of the Appalachian Mountains where magic is an elemental part of the folklore. But the magic of this mountain, the magic of the Kindling, is even older and more arcane.  It is a story where people who could live in your home town find themselves with abilities they don't understand and are confronted with a world that desperately needs those gifts. It is a story woven of mystery, humor, drama, and suspense, but most of all, it is a story about love.

(This book was previously published by Samhain Publishing, Ltd in February 2014, electronic publication, and January 2015, print publication, and is now re-released.)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Furious Firefly Publishing
• Release date: May 9, 2017
• ISBN: 9780998739809

Book preview

More Than Magic

(Books of the Kindling, Book 1)

Donna June Cooper

Copyright © 2014 by Donna June Cooper

ISBN: 978-0-9987398-0-9

Edited by Noah Chinn Cover by Kanaxa

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

This book was previously published by Samhain Publishing, Ltd in February 2014 and is now re-released.

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eBooks are not transferable.

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Dedication

For Mom, who always knew I could.

Prologue

Grace!

Grace turned around wearily as the gray-haired charge nurse came around the counter. What was her name? Marcie? No. Maggie? Grace resisted the urge to shake her head to clear out the fog. She needed more caffeine, but her stomach was already sour. What she really needed was some sleep, but she hadn’t slept well since—

Or is it Dr. Woodruff now? The nurse glanced at Grace’s casual jeans and sweater.

Not officially. Awaiting all the formalities. If I can manage to live through the next week or so. Just visiting today.

Well, I wanted to tell you I’m so sorry for your loss.

Thank you. I—we appreciated the donation. I hope you got the thank you card.

We did. It’s up on the board over there. She motioned to the nurses’ station. I know—I mean, Tink talks about you and your Pops and your mountain all the time so I know how close you were to him.

Grace managed a nod.

Well, I’m glad that you came by today. The nurse moved closer and Grace read her name tag. Margaret. Maggie. That was it. I need to warn you, she said. Our Tink isn’t doing so well.

Grace sighed. How bad is it?

Maggie sighed and shook her head. "Well, you just enjoy this visit with her to the fullest. She’ll be thrilled. She’s been asking about you."

Thanks for telling me, Maggie, Grace replied, heading toward the room.

"And it is good to see you. We’ve missed that laugh of yours around here."

Grace nodded. That was Maggie’s indirect way of telling her to lighten up a bit before she visited Tink. Grace reached up to check that all her hair was still somewhat secured by the clip she had jammed into it earlier, pinched her cheeks quickly, and mustered a smile as she stuck her head around the doorframe of Tink’s room.

Tink’s real name was Isabella, but her father’s nickname of Tinker Bell had apparently stuck, and she insisted on Tink. And when you are barely seven years old, insistence can be loud and repetitive.

However, as Maggie had warned, Tink wasn’t the slightest bit noisy today. She lay quiet in the hospital bed, her face pale beneath the bright pink kerchief tied over her bald head.

Grace nodded at Tink’s mom, ever present and hopeful in the chair next to the bed. Her mother smiled back, but it was easy to tell that, despite Grace being a welcome visitor, things weren’t going well.

Hey, Bink.

Tink’s eyes flew open and, for a moment, the pale face was transformed by a joyful grin, soon replaced by a practiced frown. Tink. You know it’s Tink, Dr. Grace.

Oh, I’m sorry, Pink.

A dimple peeked through, but Tink was trying hard to maintain their routine. Not Pink! Tink!

Yes, sorry. How are things today, Dink?

"Tink! Like Tinker Bell. My name is Tink!" She folded her arms and lifted her chin.

Oh! I’m so sorry. I didn’t see the wings! Obviously you are Tinker Bell! My deepest apologies, Your Fairyness. Grace curtsied.

Tink sniffed. "Well, I’ve missed you lots and lots, so I forgive you this once."

Grace smiled and looked over at Tink’s mom, who nodded gratefully and left the room for a much needed break. Grace’s visits had been a welcome diversion now that she was off clinical rotation.

Settling carefully on the edge of the bed, avoiding tubes, wires and monitors with practiced ease, Grace folded one leg beneath her and leaned close.

So, may I have my sprinkle of fairy dust, madam?

There was a tentative nod, then Tink dusted her carefully with a handful of sparkling nothingness.

Oh! Not too much! Grace grabbed at the railing. I don’t want to float up and get stuck on the ceiling!

Tink looked up at the ceiling, her face solemn. "Is that what I’ll do, Dr. Grace? Daddy says I’ll float through the ceiling right straight to heaven. But it’s solid. Her fingers curled into Grace’s sweater. Did your Pops float up that way? Did you see him?"

Grace nearly gasped at the sudden pressure in her chest. It was too much, too soon. She would not lose anyone else, especially not this vibrant little being who was hanging on to life with both fists.

It was difficult to get the words past the painful constriction in her throat. Well, Pops was on his mountain under a beautiful blue sky, so he had a pretty good shot at heaven without any ceilings getting in the way. Grace took a deep breath. "Besides, fairies don’t have problems with ceilings. And if you float off, who’s going to sprinkle me? I haven’t gotten the knack of this flying thing yet!"

But I’m not really a fairy. I’m a girl. The lower lip was out now. "And I wanna go home now. I don’t want to go to heaven yet."

Dammit, dammit, dammit. Had Brian been right? Should she have come back from the funeral, grabbed her diploma, and headed off with him to the Amazon? Turned her back on everything else, everyone else?

No. She took a deep breath. So, is your tummy upset today? Is that what’s wrong? Or are you hurting—

You can fix me so I can go home, Dr. Grace. I know you can. Tink’s voice trembled, but she leaned forward to whisper. Your mountain sang to me.

My—my mountain sang to you?

You know. It sings. The pink kerchief bobbed with certainty. About the magic.

Grace tried to recall what she might have told the little girl about the mountain that would have spun this tale.

Go ahead and fix me. I won’t tell anyone. And I—I can be home in time for my birthday. The little hand trembled as she held it out toward Grace.

Wha—

It’s like fairies. You just believe in the magic.

Grace couldn’t do anything but take the little hand between her own. I do?

Say it.

What?

Say you believe.

I—I believe, but sweetie—

You have to close your eyes.

Of course. She closed her eyes, playing along, I be—

Inky black nothingness, poisonous and vile, smothering the last vestiges of bright glowing life of Isabella, of Tink, like some malignant fog, choking her.

—lieve.

Grace started, opening her eyes. Tink was lying back on her pillow, eyes closed, one hand wrapped around Grace’s fingers, murmuring fervently, I believe, I believe, I believe, I believe, I believe.

She knew it was only a vivid hallucination brought on by her lack of sleep and emotional exhaustion—just like the oily blackness she had seen in her nightmares that suffocated Pops before she could reach him. But this had been so…real, so present. She tightened her grasp on Tink’s hand and glanced around the room, taking a shaky breath.

Poor Tink expected Grace to be the funny student doctor whose touch always made her feel better, but instead she got this mournful, demented echo of her. And Tink looked so hopeful, sitting there with her little face screwed up in concentration, her eyes tightly shut. It wouldn’t do to have her open them and find Dr. Grace sitting there looking nervous—not even trying. Grace could at least pretend. So she obediently squeezed her eyes shut once more.

Which was a mistake, because this time the image was more intense. She knew it wasn’t real, but she fought the urge to retreat—and the darkness rolled away from her. She nearly opened her eyes in surprise, but then she caught a sense, a feeling, a hint of bright sweetness—light and innocent—beneath that foulness. Tink. She knew it was Tink. Like sweet sunlight behind the churning black of a storm—a storm that boiled around the edges of Grace’s vision, crowding in, malevolent and possessive. She reached for that sweetness and the smoky stain slunk away again, but then coiled upward over her head, like some noxious living thing.

This was too much like her nightmares, reaching for Pops only to see him swept away by the blackness. But Tink was alive and breathing and real, ready to sprinkle her magic fairy dust on anyone who came within reach.

You just believe, Tink had said. Believe in magic and mountains that sing. Believe in fairy dust. But she couldn’t believe in any of this. She couldn’t trust any of this. She was a doctor. A scientist. Yet when she looked down, in this strange dream of hers, her hands were full of the sparkling stuff. No. It was impossible. Impossible. And half in anger, half in frustration, she flung it at the blackness around her. Shimmering gold cascaded out in a wide arc, dissolving the smoke the way the sun melted away fog on the mountain.

But there was too much of the darkness, boiling away into crevices and cracks, crawling off to hide from the brilliant corrosion. Death and disease and shadow. This was what had taken Pops from her, and now it threatened to drain the bright life from Tink. And nothing made a difference. Not science. Not magic. Nothing.

There was a roar in her ears that might have been music, if it weren’t so raw and penetrating. And suddenly it was as if she had become light, pouring from somewhere that wasn’t here, throbbing with power. She could only aim it at the darkness, scrub at it, obliterate it, and cancel it out. But she could feel her strength starting to fail before the task was finished. She had to hang on until nothing remained but glowing life.

Yet, when she opened her eyes once more, she still sat on the edge of the bed clutching Tink’s hand, and it seemed scarce seconds had passed. Only now Grace was sweaty and dizzy and nauseated, and Tink lay pale and unnaturally still against her pillow.

There was a scream from somewhere, as Tink and the room and the world spun away from Grace into gray smoke.

Chapter One

Smoky, and old. Older than any mountains Nick had seen before, and he had seen a few. But he couldn’t say why, or what it was he was sensing from them. They simply felt ancient. He gazed out Matt’s office window at the riotous color still clinging to the foothills and the purple ridges marching away into the fading light.

Looks like someone dumped a paint box up there.

Paint box? You taking up a new hobby? Matt looked like he was struggling not to smile. "Don’t get me wrong, I’m really glad to see you slowing down enough to notice that there is such a thing as a tree, much less that the leaves change color."

But Nick heard the unspoken question. Even if Matt was too much of a Southern gentleman to ask it outright, he was too much of an ex-agent not to ask it in his own way—What the hell are you up to, McKenzie?

So, you’re withdrawing the invite then? You’ve been after me for a long time to come and bask in the glories of your mountains. He held up the framed picture of Matt and his wife and a tow-headed toddler that he had picked up off the desk. And meet Nathan.

Matt’s eyebrows rose. Riiiiight, he drawled. And this has nothing to do with that new ‘Smoky Mountain Magic’ shit in Atlanta. Or your special assignment in the Deputy Administrator’s office—

Nick turned back to the view. I’m on leave, remember? Damn. He should have known that Matt, despite settling happily back into his old haunts with his new bride and a cushy private sector job, would manage to keep up with all the news from the Agency. And they’re talking about making it permanent.

Sorry, Nick.

Actually, if you can believe it, I’m writing my memoirs, Nick added.

You’re right, I don’t believe it.

Maybe he should’ve skipped this visit. But Matt was his closest friend and his office was just down the street from Asheville’s Federal Building, where Nick had checked in this afternoon. Of course the local guys knew little more than Matt—only that Nick was undercover on a case assigned by the DEA Deputy Administrator himself.

Undercover DEA’s apparently all the rage. Right up there with CSI and FBI profilers, Nick quipped. Sure to be a bestseller.

But he was really here for the same reason that he had visited his mom and his sister and his nephew this past weekend—to remind himself of why he was taking on this one last assignment. He rubbed the gilded wood of the framed photograph. A happy and healthy family, unthreatened by a filthy drug lab in the house next door or a frenzied addict in the street.

Right. Be sure to hang on to the movie options, Matt replied.

For a moment the only sound in the office was the soft shushing from the air vents and the muffled voice of Matt’s admin on the phone out front.

So, you’re still not cleared for duty then. It was a reflection of their long friendship that Matt could read between the lines and get right to the heart of the matter.

And it was a reflection of how dog-tired he felt that Nick didn’t even bristle. Not yet. The guys in the white coats told me to take it easy a while longer.

But…I thought you were…Uh—

You can say it, Matt. Driving a desk. Apparently they don’t even want me doing that at this point. Nick shrugged. Special assignment or no.

"Well, whatever it is you are really here for, you can stay with us."

Nick shook his head. Not right off. I wouldn’t surprise Cheryl like that. But I’m going to be here a while. Got a cabin at some health resort up in the mountains.

Matt’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. "You. Up in the mountains."

It was Nick’s turn to raise an eyebrow. Hey. I know my way around in the woods.

Tropical forests maybe. Columbia. But you’re more at home in the canyons of the big city and the halls of power.

I was born down here, you know.

I know where you were born and trust me, you are a city-boy in every way that counts. Anyway, that proves it’s not an assignment. No one in their right mind would send Slick Nick into those hills. One of the locals would have your metropolitan hide tacked on the wall in no time, alongside the painter skin.

Nick grimaced. Only Matt got away with bandying about that particular nickname. I’m trying real hard not to visualize Van Gogh’s head mounted on a wooden plaque. They have something against art, these mountainfolk?

Art? Matt seemed baffled. "Oh. Painter. He snorted. See? Perfect example. You better not be on a case."

Another raised eyebrow from Nick changed Matt’s expression to a barely concealed smirk.

A painter is a panther. A mountain lion really, but they’ve called them painters up there since the first settlers. Not many left in these mountains now, if any. But bears? We got tons of bears.

Matt seemed to enjoy this far too much, but Nick couldn’t really blame him. He had done his own share of ribbing when the soft-spoken Southerner was stranded away from his beloved mountains in Nick’s more cosmopolitan canyons.

So, do I need a translator or a shotgun or both?

That succeeded in wiping the smile completely off Matt’s face. Likely both, but not for the wildlife. Don’t get me wrong, the majority of folks up there are fine, upstanding citizens. But the isolation of those coves and hollers—hollows, he managed not to smile, barely, attracts some interesting individuals.

Attracts? You mean people move up there on purpose?

Matt looked suddenly serious. "Maybe I should go up there with you."

Nick grinned at the concern in his friend’s voice. Nah. But you could loan me a dictionary. Smoky Mountainese. What is it, a dialect? Or do they have an official language up there?

I’d loan you mine, but it’s too big for you to carry around with you. Matt glanced over at his bookshelf.

You’re kidding. Nick followed Matt’s gaze and walked over to find there was such a book: an academic looking hardcover of pretty good size.

No joke. It’s a special place up there, Matt said. The culture and language of the settlers and the culture and language of the native tribes, then the land itself…well it created something a bit magical. Lots of New Age types attracted to it, plus the back-to-nature types, and the plain old completely off-the-grid types.

Magical huh? Off-the-grid and back-to-nature and New Age I’ve seen.

Matt’s serious demeanor slipped back into that easy grin of his. You ain’t seen off-the-grid till you see some of the serious self-sufficiency stuff going on up on the balds, and then there’s the way some of the folks back up in those hollers still live. Pure turn of the century.

Balds?

"Hell Nick, why do you want to go up there? Matt was obviously through with the banter. The concerned friend was showing again. There’s no way you’ll be comfortable without at least some city life nearby. And if you’re supposed to be resting—"

If my boss is right, that is exactly what this is about—an excuse to get the sick guy out of his hair and off for a nice rest in the mountains.

"I’ve had enough rest. I need to get back into shape. Someone keeps telling me about the beauty of nature up in those mountains. I figure a few hikes, some fresh air, good food…"

Stay down here. The fall color’s pretty much peaked out up there. And Cheryl’s on this vegan kick. Matt patted a non-existent paunch. I need to get out and do some walking myself. There are some excellent trails.

Nick shook his head. I already have a reservation. And from what they tell me, that place is pretty well known for good food and natural cures. And there’s a hot spring nearby where you can go soak your tired ass, which is sounding real good to me right about now.

Matt nodded. Patton Springs. I know the place. It was pretty famous back in the day. Lots of folks came for the ‘cure’ before it fell out of fashion.

The magic got used up?

Heh. No, it was more mundane than that. Curative waters weren’t so popular anymore. That, and the hotel kept going up in flames.

Nick looked at the smoky hills again.

Nothing sinister. Just bad luck and bad wiring. Matt sounded resigned. "So, where are you staying up there?"

Nick smiled at Matt’s tone. Some place called Woodruff Herb Farm.

Woodruff. Matt hunkered over his keyboard once more. That name sounds familiar for some reason.

And the old investigator raises his pointy head. I better get up the road before it gets dark and I get lost up in one of those ‘hollers’ of yours. Nick replaced the photograph, picked up his jacket and headed for the door. And before you find another reason I shouldn’t go up there.

And before one of the gangs in Atlanta stumbles onto the source for Smoky Mountain Magic and all hell breaks loose right here in your own backyard.

Matt stood, coming around the desk. Can’t you at least have supper and stay the night tonight? Cheryl’ll kill me if—

So don’t tell her. I promise I’ll come back. I have to meet this future quarterback of yours. Maybe Thanksgiving?

Shaking his head, Matt sighed. All right then. Thanksgiving. Absolutely.

Nick started to open the door and Matt reached out to hold it shut.

Nick looked pointedly at the offending hand. "And I promise to bring a good bottle of wine this time?"

"Whatever’s really going on up there, whatever that sixth sense thing of yours is leading you into, be careful. You may not have a little quarterback waiting for you at home, but— Well, maybe you should. It kind of changes your perspective."

I bet it does. But it’s not going to happen.

And stay in touch with somebody this time. You know who your sister calls when she gets worried about you.

I’ve got my cell, Nick said, then added quickly. And before you tell me cells are useless up there, the place I’m going to has a cellular extender. Which is one of the reasons I narrowed my target down to that mountain.

Matt frowned. Really?

Yeah. Really. Nick grinned. "Now can I leave, Dad?"

Matt opened the door and waved him out. Wait until you have one of your own, he said to Nick’s back.

Nick rolled his eyes at Matt’s assistant, who returned a knowing smile as he left the outer office.

Despite the lecture, he was glad he’d stopped by. It was a good idea for the one person he had ever trusted with his life to know where he was. Not that he didn’t trust his boss, who was the only person who knew the details, or the local guys who only knew he was in their backyard on some special project. But even though Matt had left the Agency, Nick liked to think Matt still had his back. And with luck Matt would never need to know that Nick had pulled the wool over his eyes. He hoped that would be the worst part of this case, deceiving his closest friend. But his gut told him that wasn’t the worst part. Not even close.

His gut told him that, one way or another, he was a dead man.

*****

Poison. It was a whisper in the air, but when Grace spun around there was no one there. Nothing except the filthy blackness boiling along the forest floor, devouring everything in its path.

Grace ran on, slipping on leaves and damp rocks, listening desperately for signs of pursuit, hearing nothing but the mountain’s murmurs and her own ragged breathing.

Blight, came the same soft voice, behind her again, but she knew she would see nothing if she turned.

She clambered sideways, up a rocky outcropping, her fingers slipping on the damp surface so that she nearly fell back into the shadowy miasma. For a moment she looked down at it coiling beneath her like some smoky serpent. She pulled herself up, barely, and staggered on, exhausted.

But no matter which way she went it followed her, slithering toward her home, toward everything and everyone she was trying to protect.

Bane. The voice was urgent and loud at her back now, and the mountain was singing again—that same raw, penetrating sound she had heard in the hospital.

Her own shadow loomed up before her, lurching wildly as if some bright light bloomed and faded behind her. Then the crackling of flames and the smell of burning fabric overwhelmed every other sense.

Ward! The voice, from behind her once more, and the song rose to a crescendo.

Grace spun to see the oily darkness stop and crest, like an ocean wave trembling over her, but moving and bubbling beneath the surface. In front of her stood a woman, her hand upraised, facing the reeking void. Flames leaped up her long skirts to catch her sleeve and then crawled up her long red hair.

Granny Lily?

Overwhelmed, Grace stumbled, falling sideways onto the forest floor as the black wave towered over them and Granny Lily screamed, shrieking defiance at the darkness as half of her face bubbled and burned. WARD!

Grace started awake, the scream still ringing in her ears. Her heart pounded wildly as she jerked upright and caught sight of her own face, pale as smoke, wavering before her on the dark screen of her laptop. Another nightmare. She took a deep breath. And Granny Lily again. This had to stop or—

Another shriek had her shivering and rubbing her arms. She looked out at the garden.

Jamie tumbled around in the leaves outside with Pooka, giggling madly. Apparently raking said leaves had been abandoned in favor of some fun with the old hound. Not a nightmare then. A daymare. Grace sighed and took out her hair clip with unsteady fingers, pulling her hair into a sloppy pony tail. She watched her ghostly reflection disappear as the laptop woke up and the results she had been reviewing flickered onto the screen.

At least the numbers were moving in the right direction. Hard to believe that she would be glad to see the Goldenseal seedlings they worked so hard to propagate actually slow their growth rate. Hopefully, the rhizomes on this group weren’t developed enough to test yet, which would be further proof her efforts were paying off. It had been sheer luck that their last batch of herbs hadn’t been sent to their contract testing lab.

Grace’s cell phone chimed and she checked the display. Daniel.

Hey, you, she answered. What time is it there?

"Konnichiwa, sis. It’s tomorrow here." Daniel didn’t sound like his normal self. But then again, nothing had been normal for a while now.

And where’s here, other than in Japan somewhere?

Tsukuba. Just north of Tokyo. I’m at the National Institute of Livestock and Grassland Science, for the moment.

Continuing your never ending quest to learn to say ‘I love you’ in every language on earth, she teased.

Yeah, well. Would you believe I’m homesick for the mountain? Daniel replied.

So, if you’re so homesick, why are you there and not here? she prodded, only half joking.

I hope to get home sometime during the holidays, he said. Can you hang in there till then?

Grace stood and paced to the sunroom doors. You’ve been talking to Ouida. I’m fine.

You shut down production. You cancel the holiday rentals. You send Ouida and Eddie off on vacation. I don’t even think Eddie’s been off that mountain since he was born.

"I had to overnight Ouida’s recipe card file to her sister’s place, so she seems to be settling in. And Eddie’s grandson texted me a photo that you will not believe of Eddie and a very large fish. So I think they’ll survive for a couple of weeks, Grace sighed. I just…I need some peace and quiet."

Jamie came running up to the doors into the sunroom with Pooka barreling along behind, barking loudly. Is that Dr. Daniel? Is he coming home?

And I can see that you are getting that peace and quiet. Daniel sounded amused.

Well, at least Jamie doesn’t hover and try to feed me comfort food at every hour or follow me around constantly asking me if I need anything, Grace responded. Besides, your girls won’t respond to just anyone.

How are they?

They’re doing well. Jamie’s an excellent beekeeper.

The girls’re fine as frog’s hair, Dr. Daniel! Jamie shouted. But they miss you somethin’ awful.

Grace passed the phone into Jamie’s small and grimy hand so that Daniel could get a quick update on his bees. And since Jamie would chatter non-stop given the chance, Grace went in to put on water for tea.

Jamie’s mom, Beth Campbell, was a neighbor and a close friend. And, because she was single and working as a trauma nurse with an insane commute across the mountains, Grace got an extra pair of hands to help around the place and Beth got free babysitting.

Grace smiled as she turned on the teakettle.

Despite being only nine, Jamie was a wiry little dynamo who was willing to learn anything and do anything, no matter how distasteful. In fact, the most distasteful tasks seemed to be the ones undertaken with the most enthusiasm. Many a time Grace had found it necessary to call Beth to explain the smell and the mess before it arrived on Beth’s doorstep.

Dr. Grace? He wants to talk to you again. Jamie ran into the kitchen waving the phone, followed closely by Pooka, who’d stopped obediently at the kitchen door.

Thanks, sweetie. You go on and do what you can with the leaves. It’ll be dark soon, Grace said.

Don’t worry. I’ll get ’em to the compost pile afore I head home.

Hopefully tomorrow we’ll manage to find some time for your NISC project, Grace added.

Good! I’ll work on the puzzles tonight and then go out on Thursday or Friday to find ’em. A flat grimy hand hit an equally dirty fist emphatically. And I’m gonna nail ’em this time.

I’ll make a botanist of you yet.

No ma’am. I’m gonna be a cryptologist! Jamie grinned and bounced out the doors and through the sunroom into the garden. Pooka hesitated at the door, then followed.

Hey, she said softly into the phone, taking two teabags out of her stash of breakfast tea.

Well, our Jamie hasn’t changed a whit.

If we could just figure out how to bottle that energy and sell it, Grace sighed.

So, Jamie tells me you don’t smile much anymore. Ouida tells me you’re not sleeping well and that you spend every hour you’re awake in the lab. And Eddie tells me you keep going out looking for Pops’s walking stick.

Lovely, Grace growled and poured the boiling water into her mug. Good to see I can still have secrets.

Pops’s prized walking stick, which he was never without, had disappeared the day he died. It hadn’t been found near his body or anywhere on the farm. Only days before, Pops had called Grace and told her to come home for the weekend, that something was wrong with the mountain. Not on the mountain, but with the mountain. But apparently he hadn’t shared his concerns with Eddie, the farm’s long-time handyman, or Ouida, their live-in cook and Grace’s surrogate grandmother.

You know something more about his death, don’t you? Daniel’s voice was tense. Look, this project can wait. I can get on a plane—

No, Daniel. There’s nothing more to know. The sheriff says he fell. Probably forgot his walking stick or mislaid it, and without it he lost his footing, she recited the words like a coroner’s report. "I