Chapter 15

On the surface, Emory, Washington looked like every other small town in America, but underneath things were a bit more complicated.

It was founded by George Emory, a prospector who had struck it rich in the Virginia City gold rush. He sold his claim and journeyed back to New York to play with the rich folk. He showed up later in Seattle in the 188o’s with a high society wife named Adelia and built her a mansion on Capitol Hill. He looked around for a while, made some investments and immediately set to work building a town in the wilderness north that was the Robe Valley. There was money to be made in the logging business, and there were rumors of gold up the valley at a place called Monte Cristo.

His wife, Ada, was the one who stirred in the oddness. Like a lot of Victorian women, she was wild for the occult, with her money the town by the end of the century had attracted all manner of astrologers, palm readers and fortune tellers. Among them was a certain Abigail Goodfellow, late of Lily Dale, NY. Unlike the other faux spiritualists, Abigail was the real deal, a 12th circle witchcrafter. She came to town to check on a rumor of the magic and immediately felt the effects of the Opari Thinning — a rent in the fabric of reality that leaked an unimaginable amount of magic or spirit power, as it was then called.

Abigail immediately sent word back to her sisters. No one noticed when real witches started trickling in soon after.

No one thought to ask permission from the people who called themselves the Kin. The shapeshifters, who had fled the lands of the Fae and had been peacefully coexisting with the First Nation Folk for thousands of years.

Welcome to Emory, the Magic’s hometown, Quinn thought sourly as they drove into town.

His first impression was that something about the town was off. His glyphs prickled as they drove in.

Mother of all, why did they have the road into town warded? What the hell was going on?

He glanced over at Mandy to see if she reacted. She seemed oblivious. Odd. With all her training, she had to be far more sensitive than he was. Maybe the wards were the result of some new paranoia of the Covens.

A banner stretched across the road that advertised the Annual Loggers Rodeo and Western Days Week.

“Damn I forgot, it’s Founder’s Week, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Mandy, “The town is full of tourists.”

A herd of dairy cows blocked the highway. Emory was in the center of dairy country. The milking done, a couple of boys and two dogs were pushing them across the road that lead up to the pasture over the hills overlooking the town.