by Beth Byers
A moment later, the copper from earlier rushed the door. Ariadne dropped her magic immediately so it seemed that the screaming goons had gone crazy. On her knees, with forced tears, she looked like a victim as she reached for the copper. She screamed to draw his attention to her from Echo. “Help! Help me, please!”
Police swarmed the room, and Ariadne was yanked to her feet by the first copper to reach her. He glanced her over, muttered, “Fool doll,” and shoved her behind him.
She shivered and whimpered and thanked the whole of the group repetitively with big crocodile tears, backing towards the wall. Her dress, her mussed makeup, and her tears were enough for the blokes to not realize she was one of the criminals. Just another doll caught up with the wrong man. She waited until they were all looking the other way, wrestling the goons down, and she slid into the shadows, pulling them around her.
The coppers didn’t know about the escape tunnel where Echo had already disappeared, followed by Lindsey Noel. Echo had sealed it against any but Ariadne, so the fuzz were gathering up the men who couldn’t use their tunnel while she slipped through, cloaked in darkness and magic.
Using the athamé in her handbag, Ariadne carved a rune of the door to keep it locked. She ignored the skittering of rats and the cool touch of the dead as she hurried down the tunnel.
“Go back to sleep,” she murmured to the dead, hoping they’d comply. Otherwise the boys who worked for Blind Billy would find themselves chilled in body and spirit.
The old church had a crypt underneath, so it was better not to look into the dark entrances of side rooms if you wanted to avoid looking at the remnants of the living. The tunnels went from the crypt to beyond the graveyard behind the church, following beneath the road. Blind Billy’s men had extended the tunnels even farther. With that kind of work ethic, what might those goons have been capable of if they bothered working for good?
Ariadne mocked herself—knowing she was a criminal too—and moved quickly through the tunnels. There were exits for a good mile down the tunnel road if you knew where to look and what to look for.
The vast majority of Ariadne’s booze delivery was still in the auto garage where one of the exits from the tunnels led. The bottles were loaded on the back of her truck. Echo already had their truck running and was just loading the last of the whiskey bottles that had been previously unloaded. Any speakeasy could make gin in their bathtub. Magically aged liqueurs, wines, and whiskey required a witch, a different country, or a very expensive operation that risked prison time. Ariadne sealed the tunnel behind her with the same rune she’d used before. Someone would have to find the runes she’d used and destroy them before the exit would open. Otherwise it would take hours for the spell to fade.
She looked away from her spell and eyed her sister. Echo looked a little mussed but none the worse for wear. “Anyone left here?”
“Just Timmy,” Echo grunted as she grabbed the bag of their clothes from behind the truck’s seat. “Poor boy. My spell got him hard in the gut when he tried to dodge. He’ll have sore ribs if Blind Billy doesn’t kill him for losing us and the booze.”
“Did Lindsey get out?” Ariadne asked as she shimmied out of her evening gown. Echo tossed Ariadne a wool skirt and blouse, and they stripped down in the auto garage, changing from party clothes to one step away from an initiate for a nunnery.
“He got out when I did, but he was bright enough not to follow me here. We need to consider a change of employment. If things had gone differently, Circe would be raising Medea and Cassiopeia. I love Circe, but…”
Ariadne winced. It was true. If there had been more coppers or if the fellows were a little more trigger happy, they’d have been in trouble. With enough guns blazing, even witches wouldn’t have survived.
Ariadne told Echo, “Aunt Beatrix said she was interested in taking over. She has more people. That…that…flimflam that just happened to us wouldn’t have happened to her. Not with her sons. Jasper and Gerard with those broad shoulders and thick jaws? Let alone their magic? They won’t get the same garbage we’re getting.”
“We’ll still get our cut too,” Echo reminded Ariadne with a telling glance. “Beatrix promised it when she wanted to take on the work. You engineered the spells for aging the booze like we do, and Beatrix knows it. We have to be careful, Ariadne—at least until Medea and Cassiopeia are older. They’re too little to lose you too.”
It wasn’t Echo’s words that convinced Ariadne. It was the memory of the gun being swung her sister’s way. If Echo hadn’t been prepared for someone to turn their gun on her, if her magic hadn’t been inclined towards the dead, if they’d been firing guns haphazardly, if the sisters had been a little less lucky, Ariadne might have lost her sister. No amount of dough was worth that.
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Copyright © 2020 by Beth Byers, Amanda A. Allen
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