Just Like Home

Part One of "North of Midnight," A Spell Weaver Novella

(For Spell Weaver fans, this serial is set in 2016. It falls between books six and seven in the Spell Weaver series. For people new to the series, I will try to provide enough background to make it possible to read this as a standalone. For those of you familiar with the Santa Barbara area, The Spell Weaver universe has a somewhat revised geography. In real life, Montecito is just west of Summerland with no town in between.)

Matt Gush/Shutterstock

I couldn’t have explained why I was drawn to Santa Brígida if my life depended on it. I’d intended to rest in Santa Barbara on my way from San Diego to San Francisco, but as I drove down Interstate 101 and was just passing Summerland, I felt a tingle. I’d always had a little psychic ability, though it seemed to focus primarily on warning me of some impending danger. But on a bright spring afternoon, with a calm ocean sparkling to my south and a small, scenic community whizzing past just north of me, the kind of danger I was used to seemed impossible.

Despite that, I had a strong sense that I needed to take the next offramp. Whether I was headed toward safety or toward danger was more difficult to say. The sensation was still too faint to be sure.

Part of me wanted to just keep driving. The directions in which my psychic abilities had pushed me made my life shrink. I had no social life to speak of. Frankly, getting into a significant relationship might endanger whoever my partner was. But even if I were looking for such a relationship, being in a perpetual battle just to stay alive had worn me down. I was only twenty-two, but I felt a lot more like forty-two. My black hair looked perpetually windblown and badly needed the attention of a stylist. My blue eyes were dulled from too little sleep. I seldom bothered with makeup. I never wore jewelry except for the silver cross that had once been my mother’s. My clothes—mostly loosely fitting sweaters and jeans, shoes with little or no heels—were practical but hardly fashionable, much less alluring. I looked like the before picture in a makeover advertisement.

Aside from having no social prospects, I also had no job. If not for the money I’d inherited from my parents, I’d have been out on the street.

My parents. All that blood. Had I not been driving, I would have closed my eyes, but that wouldn’t have blocked out the memory, anyway. Nor would it have blocked out the reality that my life wasn’t just small. It was empty. I had only psychic alerts and the creatures I almost always encountered afterward.

Despite my conflicted feelings, I slid over into the exit lane. I’d never before ignored one of those tingles and didn’t want to find out what might happen if I did. Anyway, if I ran into the kind of trouble I was used to, I had all my equipment with me. I always did—because I didn’t want to die.

The moment I exited the freeway onto Lake Drive, I felt a full-body tingle like thousands of tiny pinpricks all over me. Could there be something odd about the city boundary? Maybe. But it was still broad daylight, with a reasonable amount of traffic on the streets and quite a few pedestrians on the sidewalk. Everything looked normal to me. Since I was already in Santa Brígida, I might as well figure out why my psychic senses had reacted in such a bizarre way.

I cursed myself when I pulled over to pick a route and remembered that my GPS wasn’t working. I should have gotten it fixed in San Diego, but I knew how to get to San Francisco without it, and I hadn’t anticipated this kind of detour.

I realized I’d been clutching the steering wheel too hard and forced myself to relax. Since Santa Brígida had only one freeway offramp, it couldn’t be that big a place. It was probably a very small city, perhaps even a town. If I were careful, I wouldn’t get lost and could easily find my way back to the interstate. I did some slow, deep breathing to calm myself. Tingle or not, the danger here couldn’t be that great. Everything would be all right.

It didn’t take me long to notice that Lake Drive split into two streets, unimaginatively named East Lake and West Lake. I decided to go west first. I quickly made another discovery—whoever the town’s architects were had been obsessed with Spanish Colonial Revival style. The high school had made a few concessions to modernity with its rectangular windows, some chrome trim, and a digital signboard. But the residential neighborhoods, which seemed to take up most of the town’s square footage, had textbook Spanish Colonial exteriors—plaster and stucco applied in a way designed to mimic adobe brick, reddish-brown clay roof tiles, arched doorways and windows, wood showing its natural grain.

Housing built all at once, as a relatively new community might have, often had a common pattern like that. In fact, it would be unusual not to see it in tract housing—though the place looked pretty upscale for a tract, and the houses differed considerably in size.

As I traveled north, it looked as if I might be close to the edge of town. I passed a large, woodsy park and noticed an unseasonal fog rolling in. It obscured much of what lay ahead, but I couldn’t make out many buildings beyond the park. Not wanting to get lost or drive into the forests I knew lay north of here, I took a cross street, St. David’s Lane, and made my way south on East Lake.

Aside from the fog, which had been weird, I saw nothing that set off any real alarm bells. The small business district near the town’s eastern edge didn’t betray any obvious danger, either. There were a couple of office buildings and lots of smaller shops, all done in the same Spanish Colonial pattern. I noticed what looked like a decent hotel and decided to reserve a room for the night. I would have settled for a motel, but I hadn’t seen any around.

I parked in one of the street spaces right in front of the hotel and walked through the heavy oak front door. The lobby looked just as I had pictured it, with white plaster walls, a highly polished, wood parquet floor, an exposed-wood-beam ceiling, and strategically arranged potted palms. No one else was in the lobby except a desk clerk, who looked young enough to be a high school girl working part time. However, her simple navy-blue hotel uniform and the way her blond hair was tied back in a bun lent her a certain amount of gravitas.

“Welcome to the Santa Brígida Hotel,” she said, smiling broadly. “How can I help you today?”

“I’d like a room for the night,” I said, looking past her to the compartments that held the room keys not currently in use. Most of the keys were still there, so I shouldn’t have a problem getting something.

“A single?” asked the clerk as if she expected a traveling companion to materialize out of thin air.

“Yes, Janice,” I said, having glanced at her gold name tag. You would have thought I’d just displayed my psychic powers. Her eyes widened. Then she clutched at her name tag as if suddenly remembering it was there. If this wasn’t her first day at work, it was close.

She still seemed flustered, but she managed to get through the room rates. I picked the cheapest one and gave her a credit card to run.

“Alexandra Luminitra,” she said, half to herself. Then, realizing she’d spoken aloud, she added, “That’s such a pretty name.”

“Thank you,” I said, smiling to avoid making her any more nervous than she already was.

She got my signature, handed my card back to me, and rang the bell on the desk before I could tell her I didn’t have much luggage.

A bellboy appeared with such speed that I was certain he must have been lurking nearby. Like the desk clerk, he looked as if he couldn’t yet be out of high school, which made me self-conscious about my suddenly increased heartbeat.

He wore the hotel’s navy-blue uniform, which he filled out rather well. If I’d had to guess, I’d say he was an athlete—soccer player, maybe. Or perhaps a swimmer. His dark tan suggested he’d already spent some time at the beach, even though it wasn’t yet summer. His black hair looked too carefully styled to belong to a teenager. His dark brown eyes—

I had to stop myself. I was only here to check out my psychic alarm. I was profoundly not here to admire the eye candy—or do more—even if he turned out to be eighteen, which I doubted.

“Take Ms. Lumintra’s bags to her room, please,” said Janice. She almost managed to sound professional. But then she noticed that no bags were visible and seemed momentarily at a loss for words.

“I have just one,” I said, “Well, two, if you count my carryon. They’re in my car out front. I can take care of them myself.

“That’s what I’m here for,” said the bellboy—Antonio was the name on his tag. He started to move toward the door.

“I’m kind of in a hurry,” I said. “I’ll unload later.” I wasn’t really in a hurry, though I thought about exploring more of the cross streets. But Antonio was making me feel a little light-headed—unnaturally so. He was a good-looking guy, but I was too aware of the causes for such irrational attractions, none of which were good.

Antonio raised an eyebrow. Presumably, he couldn’t figure out what I was in a hurry to do. After all, this was a small town. But there were some businesses. Surely, it was plausible that I could have an appointment with someone.

“You here to see Ms. Winn?”

I had no idea who Ms. Winn was. It would be too easy to get caught in a lie if I tried to fake knowing her. On the other hand, I couldn’t very well admit I wanted to keep the luggage in the car in case I needed to make a run for it.

“Why would you think that?” I asked.

“She meets with a lot of exotic people,” said Antonio, examining me but trying not to be too obvious about it. “And they always seem to be in a hurry.”

Antonio smiled at me, and his eyes dilated ever so slightly. Could it be he found the idea of my meeting with Ms. Winn exciting? It was hard to believe he found me exciting, given the way I looked.

“It’s not polite to call people exotic,” I said.

“I didn’t mean anything by it. I just, uh, I just thought Luminitra is a pretty name, that’s all. And it wasn’t one I’ve ever heard before, so uh—”

“It’s Romanian,” I said, deciding to give him a break. “And no, I don’t know Ms. Winn. I actually have an appointment with—”

I paused for a moment, realizing my mouth was working faster than my brain. I didn’t know anyone in Santa Brígida, much less someone I could plausibly claim to have a time-sensitive appointment with.

“Uh, well, I really shouldn’t say,” I added. “Confidential.”

I knew that risked arousing their curiosity, but I didn’t see any alternative. “I’d better go.”

It was a good thing I wasn’t wearing heels. My exit was so quick that I would surely have broken at least one of them.

To my great relief, Antonio made no attempt to follow me. I got into the car, but instead of exploring the cross street nearer at hand, I drove north—toward the fog. It was still daylight, after all. The creatures given the greatest advantage by reduced visibility couldn’t be out and about right now.

The fog turned out to be a little thinner now, but as the road began to curve west, the pinpricks hit me again. At about the same time, the fog parted, and I saw what could be the only building in Santa Brígida to break the Spanish Colonial mold. No, not just break it—smash it to bits and dance all over it.

Partly concealed by oaks that suggested a forest, though I was sure they had been arranged by human ingenuity, stood what looked from a distance like an honest-to-god castle. An ornate fence appeared to surround the property, though I noticed the front gate was open. I had a clear view of the stone facade rising up several floors. It had no windows until about the fourth story, as if the builder had designed it to be siege-resistant. The wall culminated several floors up in medieval crenellations. Four massive towers, one at each corner of the building, rose far above the roof level.

As if someone had feared all the stonework wasn’t enough, the place was surrounded by an ornamental moat and had an equally ornamental drawbridge instead of a front porch. The oak door on the other side of the drawbridge looked just as sturdy as the stone. Anyone wanting to break in would have to have had a catapult on hand.

I half expected to see guards in chainmail wielding spears, but just outside the gate, I saw two men in what looked like hand-tailored suits instead. I was moving too fast to check for gun bulges, but I got a strong feeling that they were armed. I thought I could see two more standing at the drawbridge.

Who was the castle’s owner, and how had he or she gotten away with deviating so far from the architectural norm? More to the point, was that person connected in any way with the psychic alarms I was getting?

The cold looks the security people had given me left me no room to drive more slowly as I passed, let alone stop. A little past the castle, I noticed a much smaller road heading further north. Probably, it connected to Interstate 192 and led to the northern part of Montecito, though I didn’t spot any obvious signs. I wanted to find out where it went, but I could practically feel the gaze of the security guards burning into the back of my head. I kept driving, and the street began to veer south, back toward the town. No more adventures today!

Unless, of course, I tingled myself into one. I tried hard not to think about that. The mysterious fog didn’t reappear, and the pinpricks faded away. So far, so good.

The fastest route back to the hotel would have involved making a U-turn and driving past the castle again. I couldn’t bring myself to do that, so I settled for looping back through the western part of town instead.

Just before I hit the residential area, I saw flashing lights in my rearview mirror. A police cruiser was signaling me to pull over over—but for what? I was well within the speed limit, and my registration was current.

I pulled to the side of the road, rolled down the driver’s side window, and got ready to present my license and registration.

An officer got out of the cruiser and sauntered toward me. Whatever he’d stopped me for must not have been urgent. His face looked deliberately neutral, giving me no clues about his mood or intent.

I felt a tingle, but why? It was late afternoon. The sun was still clearly visible. Before, this particular tingle had always meant—

“License and registration, please,” said the officer. His voice was as bland as his facial expression. I handed the documents over to him, and he looked at them with more care than seemed to be warranted.

I tensed when I realized my mistake. I had been so focused on the cruiser and the officer that I hadn’t noticed a second vehicle had pulled up behind the cruiser. I became aware of its presence only when the sound of a car door closing drew my attention. A man in a bespoke suit walked rapidly in my direction. No doubt, he was one of the castle’s security guards.

“Is there a problem, Officer?” I asked, trying to avoid sounding as nervous as I felt.

He looked up at me just as the security guard came up behind him. “We’ve had a report that you were driving past the Winn residence in a suspicious way.”

Winn? A few pieces of this particular puzzle clicked together.

“I was just doing a little sightseeing. I was traveling on a public street at a rate just below the speed limit. Which part of that is suspicious?”

“I may have been mistaken,” said the security man. “I thought she was someone we’ve had trouble with in the past. Seeing her up close, she doesn’t look like the same person.”

I glanced in his direction and tingled again. His eyes, blue like mine, made me feel as if I was looking through him into someone else. Psychic or not, I’d never felt anything like that before.

I had felt the effects of compulsion, however. Not wanting to take chances, I broke eye contact and looked down. “I’ve never been here before. As I said, I was just sightseeing.”

“I see you’re staying at the Santa Brígida Hotel,” said the security man. I had to look up again. He was still staring directly at me, not looking down at his phone, as I might have expected.

“How could you possibly know that?” I asked, glancing at the officer to gauge his reaction. He stared back at me blankly. The hotel appeared to be the only lodging in town, but there had to be several places in easy driving distance.

“The hotel is one of Ms. Winn’s most recent projects,” the security man replied. “She takes a very hands-on approach, so check-in data is forwarded to her home office. I just checked to make sure you were using the same name that’s on your drivers’ license when you registered.”

The guard looked as if nothing unusual was happening, though he had no device to look up such information, he hadn’t spoken to anyone else, and he wore no earpiece that I could see.

I knew there were other…beings in the supernatural world besides the ones I’d encountered, but I’d never met any of them. I’d always assumed such encounters were uncommon. Yet here I was, faced with a man who guarded a castle and could seemingly draw information out of thin air. The officer acted as if the situation were completely normal—just another Tuesday in Santa Brígida. But I knew that couldn’t be the case.

“Ms. Winn would like to apologize to you personally,” said the security guard, who still had no phone and no earpiece.

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m tired,” I replied. “I was on my way back to have an early dinner at the hotel and get some rest.”

“It’s only four in the afternoon,” said the officer, who apparently still had a voice, despite his earlier silence.

“Since your reason for stopping me has been removed, I take it I am now free to leave,” I said to the officer, who suddenly looked as flummoxed as Janice had earlier. Apparently, one did not say no to an invitation from the mysterious Ms. Winn.

“Of course, you’re free to go,” said the security guard, even though he had no business answering my question. “However, Ms. Winn would consider it a personal favor if you joined her…for dinner. You just said you were going to eat, anyway.”

“Well, Ms. Luminitra, it’s clear you didn’t break the law,” said the officer, handing my license and registration back to me. “Have a nice evening.” He moved back to the cruiser much more rapidly than he had left it.

I wanted to ask him to stay, but I couldn’t figure out how to do that without looking ridiculous. Anyway, the way he was acting, he might not have been any help if the security man tried to strongarm me.

“If you change your mind, you know where to find us,” said the security guard. Rather than pressure me any further, he surprised me by walking back to his vehicle. If Ms. Winn had been so eager to see me, why would he give up so easily?

There could only be one answer—he had a backup plan.

I had to get out of Santa Brígida immediately. Glad that I hadn’t let Antonio persuade me to leave my luggage at the hotel, I plotted my best escape route. The geography of the town was pretty straightforward. All I had to do was continue driving south until I had retraced my steps back to Interstate 101. It wouldn’t take me long to be out of Ms. Winn’s domain and into Montecito. I could exit on Sheffield Drive or just keep going until I hit Santa Barbara, which should be more than far enough. Once I’d made my getaway, it should be easy enough to give the hotel a call and cancel my one-night stay. If they refused me a refund, I’d consider myself lucky to be alive and move on.

However, when I got to the onramp, it was closed—for construction I was pretty sure I’d have seen when I exited just a short time ago. I didn’t need a psychic tingle this time. I had an ordinary cold chill to let me know I was in trouble. But maybe I wasn’t as trapped as I seemed to be at first glance.

I’d trained myself to be observant. West Lake had a number of cross streets, at least some of which had to connect with Sheffield. East Lake likewise must have at least a few cross-street connections to Ortega Ridge Road. Ortega in turn connected to several Summerland streets. I could head on to Santa Barbara or back toward Ventura. Either way, I could take myself out of play in whatever weird game Winn had going.

Despite all my careful calculations, heading north along West Lake and then following cross streets got me nowhere. They all ended in cul-de-sacs as if whoever planned the city wanted to separate it from surrounding communities, limiting entry and exit only to the 101. But what purpose could such a pattern possibly serve?

After a few minutes of my cul-de-sac tour, I gave up. It was likely Lake Boulevard was sealed off from both Sheffield and Ortega. That still left a possible route to 192. The little road branching off from the northern stretch of Lake would serve no purpose if it were just another cul-de-sac.

But going back there would bring me too close to the castle. If Winn was so intent on meeting with me, she’d certainly have someone posted to watch the connection to 192—if it hadn’t been blocked outright.

I was running out of options. Though I was positive Ms. Winn was keeping me in Santa Brígida, I didn’t have enough evidence to call the state police or solicit any other kind of outside intervention. Even at my most melodramatic, I couldn’t sell the idea that an invitation to dinner and an onramp closure were part of a sinister plot to hold me prisoner.

I thought about hiding. Winn owned the hotel and knew I was staying there. I didn’t think there was any other place to stay, but was there a place I could park and sleep in my car?

No, that wouldn’t work. I hadn’t noticed any place where my car couldn’t easily be seen. I might give the police an excuse to take me into custody. I wasn’t yet sure that they were completely under Winn’s control, but my earlier encounter with an officer didn’t fill me with confidence.

Another complication was the clouds on the western horizon, orange with impending sunset— a reminder that I couldn’t afford to leave myself exposed after dark.

Under the circumstances, my best shot was to head for the hotel. Winn undoubtedly had people watching for me, but at least, it was a public place. And I had a hard time imagining someone like Janice as part of a sinister conspiracy.

I reached the hotel at twilight and allowed myself to hope for a moment. There was no sign of any of the Winn security guards outside the hotel.

I already had the room key, so I pulled into the parking lot behind the hotel. Still no guards. I slung the carryon strap over my shoulder, jumped out, popped the trunk open, and took my suitcase in my right hand. I used my left hand to get the trunk closed again. I walked quickly toward the back entrance of the hotel.

I started tingling as I reached the door. Looking around, I spotted a security camera. If Winn did have people watching for me, they probably already knew exactly where I was. But at this point, that hardly mattered. Twilight was darkening into night, and I had no idea where Winn had placed people. For all I knew, there were now security guards blocking the exit to the parking lot. The only way out was forward.

I swung the door open and walked in. I couldn’t see the lobby from here, though I was pretty sure the hallway directly in front of me led to it. A branch off to the right probably led to the hotel restaurant. To my left was a bank of elevators similar to the one I’d seen just off the lobby.

I wondered which move Winn expected me to make—go straight up to my room, or go to the restaurant? Of course, she probably had enough personnel to cover both routes. If I wanted to catch her by surprise, I was going to need to pick a third alternative.

Moving as fast as I could, I walked straight down the hallway, which did indeed take me all the way to the lobby. Janice, still on duty, jumped a little when I suddenly appeared.

“Now I could use a bellhop,” I said.

Janice rang the bell with more force than seemed necessary, and Antonio popped up just as fast as before. I found myself disturbingly relieved to see him.

“Take the bags up to her room,” said an unfamiliar voice. “She’ll be up later.”

I didn’t even have to turn around to realize that the voice belonged to Ms. Winn. I tingled all over, and I thought about running. But surely, she wouldn’t just grab me here, with both Antonio and Janice as witnesses.

I motioned Antonio to stay where he was and turned to meet my new nemesis.

It was hard to judge her age. Her hair, though styled in the way an older woman might wear it, was jet-black without a trace of gray. Her face was unwrinkled, though something about her complexion told me that she was no teenager. A young person’s skin is just different—like Antonio’s. Annoyed with myself, I brushed that thought aside so that I could keep my focus on Winn.

Winn’s tone of voice and the way she carried herself suggested that she was used to exercising control over others. I didn’t know much about fashion, but her pale green dress—no, more like a gown—certainly looked expensive. So did her pearl necklace. She might easily have been dressed for a ball instead of a casual meeting with…whoever I was supposed to be to her.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re stalking me?” I asked. My tone was light and conversational, but Janice, who must have been more sensitive to nuances than I gave her credit for, looked flustered again. Antonio’s smile faded. I was sorry to see it go.

As for Ms. Winn, her expression remained flawlessly neutral. “Stalking? I was merely trying to apologize for that incident at Awen…my estate,” she added when I looked confused. “Apparently, you are shy about accepting apologies.”

I looked into her eyes and felt oddly as if I had seen them before.

The security guard’s eyes! They had been somehow like Winn’s. It took every ounce of self-control I had to keep from cringing.

When I had felt I was seeing beyond him, I had, in fact, been seeing Ms. Winn watching me through him. She wasn’t just rich and influential. She also had magic. There could be no other explanation.

“There is no need for further apology,” I said, managing to keep my voice steady.

“At least let me buy you dinner,” said Winn. “I could have offered better fare at Awen, but the restaurant here is excellent, and I know you must be hungry.”

I weighed my options. The restaurant was as public as the lobby. Depending on the extent and power of Winn’s magic, she might abduct me from either place. And I did need food.

“If you insist—” I began.

The hotel’s front door flew open, and through it ran a tall, lanky man with unkempt brown hair. His dark eyes moved rapidly, taking us all in.

Even though he was moving fast, I noticed a couple of tell-tale signs. He wasn’t breathing, despite his obvious exertion. Also, the lights in the lobby were bright enough for me to tell that he wasn’t sweating.

It would have been easy to miss both those signs. But the tingling again felt like being pricked by hundred of small knives. That was always the feeling I got around vampires.

I dropped my suitcase and reached for my carryon. The vampire, seeing my cross, hesitated for a second. I might just have time to get out some holy water—

Winn moved even faster than I—and revealed far more magic than I had expected. With a single gesture, she conjured a massive wave that didn’t seem to wet anything around it but that smashed into the vampire with enough force to send him flying back through the door.

“Security protocol omega,” Winn said with such a calm and quiet voice that I didn’t see how anyone much beyond Antonio could possibly have heard her. But a loud snapping sound indicated that someone had heard her and locked the front door. I guessed the other entrances had probably all locked at the same time.

“The door isn’t going to be strong enough to keep him out,” I said.

For the first time, Winn’s calm mask slipped a little. The vampire hadn’t shaken her, but that I knew what it was apparently did.

“There’s a little magic in that oak,” she replied after a moment. “The security protocol activates it. Before he can break it down, my security men will be upon him.”

“Catch Janice,” she added. I glanced over and saw that the girl was starting to faint. Antonio managed to catch her before she hit the ground and sat her gently in a chair behind the front desk.

“What about the glass?” I asked, pointing to the windows that ran the length of the lobby’s outer wall.

“There’s magic in that, too. You can’t tell from here, but on the outside, it’s a mirrored surface. It was actually designed to expose shapeshifters, but a vampire will avoid standing in front of it. They instinctively avoid reflective surfaces.”

Winn had been looking at the windows, but now, she shifted her attention back to me. “You know quite a bit about vampires. That could come in handy. No one here, including me, has had to face them before.”

Winn’s tone had shifted abruptly. It now sounded almost…collegial. Was she assuming we were now allies?

Winn closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. She looked pale. I could hear screams outside, as well as a few gunshots. The screams were far more numerous, though.

“What’s happening?” asked Antonio, staring out the windows.

More screams. Closer screams.

“There was more than one,” said Winn. “A lot more.”

Peter O’Connor, Bespoke Book Covers