“I know spells. I’m an earth witch.”
She looked as though that explanation would be enough, but I shook my head.
“I’m sorry—I don’t know what that means.”
“An earth witch is connected to the earth,” Flora explained patiently, “and to all the elements within it. That means I work with crystals and other stones, and that I draw strength from the earth’s bones and its past. Mirrors are glass and silver, which are earth elements. Easy-peasy.”
“I’m a Stormwalker,” I said, bewildered. “That’s earth magic, but I can’t begin to repair a magic mirror.”
Flora’s blue eyes filled with admiration. “I know you’re a Stormwalker. More powerful than I can ever hope to be. But it’s different. You’re born of the earth, like dragons are. I’m human, not supernatural. I can touch the power of the earth, and I’ve studied and trained for a long time. So we’re both of the earth but very different. Cassandra’s magic is air and fire—a wonderful combination. Most witches only have one element in their magic, but she has two. It makes her very powerful. If she could find a way to link to water as well, she’d be unstoppable.”
This was all new to me. Mick had taught me a great deal about magic, but his was mostly fire, and he was a supernatural creature. Now that I thought about it, every spell he’d taught me—working wards into the walls, making talismans, or even the tiny door unlocking spells—all involved some sort of spark or simply lighting a smudge stick with a match.
Flora smiled, a wide, warm smile. “You look confused. I suppose that’s natural, waking up after two whole weeks. I hope you’re feeling better.”
“I am,” I said. Much better than I had in a while. “Thanks. But I still don’t understand how, if you say Cassandra is much more powerful than you, you can repair the mirror and she can’t.”
“Sand,” Flora said, as though it should be obvious. “I can make it do as I please. I’ll flow the sand together and fuse it again. The mirror has to let me, of course.”
Of course. I said, “You mean I’ve been searching the globe for a mage skilled enough to repair the thing, and Fremont found you at a sci-fi con in Tucson?”
Flora shrugged. “Funny how things work out. Anyway, I need to finish, or I’ll get behind, and Fremont asked me out to dinner.”
She beamed at me and bustled away up the stairs.
I watched her go, my mouth open again. Flora gave me a little wave before she knocked on one of the guest room doors, then opened it with her key and slipped inside, humming a little tune.
I made myself turn away, entered the saloon, and caught Cassandra’s eye. She was busy being gracious hostess, but she finished with the customers and came to me, and we moved back into the kitchen.
“Flora?” I asked her.
Cassandra actually let down her cool facade to look chagrined. “Sorry, Janet. I don’t like to hire people without asking you, but she’s fine, and we needed the help. No taint, no sign that she works for someone like Emmett.”
“Did she tell you she thinks she can fix the magic mirror?”
Cassandra nodded. “I don’t know if I believe her, but she insists she can do it. Not that I let her near it while you were out.” She paused. “You talked about having dreams. What happened in them?”
I shook my head. “I think I was reliving when I first met Mick, which probably was a good dream. Why’d you all wake me up?”
I was joking, but Cassandra gave me a dark look. “Visions can be compelling, Janet. Don’t let them seduce you.”
“No worries there.” I tried to sound reassuring. “It was only a dream induced when I was knocked on the head by a demon slave.” Or so I kept telling myself.
Cassandra went back to the customers in the saloon, and I made my way to my office. There I found a note on my desk from Mick.
Gone to meditate and make some phone calls. Be back for dinner. Mick.
I’d have known the note was from Mick even if he hadn’t signed it. He has the best handwriting of anyone I know. While many guys these days write with a scrawl if they bother writing at all, Mick’s handwriting could have been taken from the Declaration of Independence. But who knows? He might have helped with the final copy of the thing.
The fact that he left the note warmed me. A year ago, he would have simply disappeared with no explanation and then expressed surprise that I worried about him. The notes were a courtesy to me.
There was absolutely nothing for me to do in my office. Cassandra had taken care of all the details. Orders were up to date, reservations neatly input, every room filled but not overbooked. The staff had gotten paid as well, the invoices done and the data sent to the paycheck service without error.