A Spell of Murder

by Clea Simon

  “What’s this I’ve been hearing about a summoning spell?”

  “A summoning?” Kathy had appeared, as if flagged down by those colorful scarves.

  “It was…I’ll tell you all about it.” Becca looked down at the kettle, as if the burgeoning steam could explain her own reddening cheeks. “I’m not sure what exactly happened.”

  Turning off the heat, Becca went back to scooping tea leaves as Ande, tall and elegant with a complexion like milk caramel, entered the kitchen. The other new arrival, Marcia, must have caught her on the way in.

  “Luz got a new client today.” Petite Marcia had to look up to address Ande, whose dark curls added an inch to her height. “Going into private practice was the best thing she ever did, for so many reasons.”

  As she always did when Marcia—a paralegal with startlingly large, dark eyes—brought up her pretty Latina roommate, Larissa rolled her own eyes, heavy with mascara. “I’m sure, darling,” she drawled. “But we were talking about Becca’s remarkable success.”

  “I wasn’t talking to—oh, never mind.” Marcia shook her head, as if to free her dark pageboy, and shoved her ever-present Red Sox cap in the pocket of her overalls. “But, yeah, I want to hear about the spell.”

  “What spell?” Ande asked in a stage whisper before someone Clara couldn’t see—Marcia?—shushed her.

  “I’ve been trying to reproduce my results,” Becca explained. “That’s why I don’t have anything set up, and the tea…”

  “Darling Becca,” Larissa’s voice dripped with her usual condescension. “Magic isn’t an exact science, you know. You can’t expect to use the same techniques.” She waved one hand and set her bangles clanking, and Clara retreated to the corner. It wasn’t just the noise, though. Larissa was the oldest member of the coven, by a good ten years, and too vain to wear glasses. Thinking of this, the cautious calico pulled her tail in closer.

  “Here, let me.” Becca turned to take the plate and place it safely on the counter, just as a low, sleek shadow slipped in. If this crew left the kitchen without taking those cookies, Laurel would be on them in a second. The seal-point cat was as omnivorous as Harriet, only she was a better jumper.

  “She’s right, you know.” The women all turned, making room for Trent. “We can’t account for factors beyond our perception—cosmic vibrations, or even atmospheric pressure. But your instincts were dead on.” His smile provoked a low murmur, almost a purr, from all of the women except Marcia. Becca’s blush had deepened, and she turned away as if to hide it.

  “Bother,” she said, looking at the pot in her hands. “I’ve lost count. Now I’ve got to start all over again.”

  Chapter 3

  Harriet and Laurel had already grabbed the prime seating in the living room—Laurel on Becca’s overstuffed armchair and Harriet stretched out on the sofa where everyone could admire her coat. And so, Clara followed Becca once the tea was steeping and hunkered down beneath the table. It wasn’t as comfy there, but she liked being close to her person. More importantly, from this vantage point, she could keep an eye on Harriet.

  “So Becca has had a momentous breakthrough,” Trent began once the customary invocation had been recited. “I don’t know if everyone has heard.”

  “How could we help it?” Kathy’s voice wasn’t as soft as she thought it was, and from where Clara sat, she could see one of the other women—Marcia, probably, considering the high-tops—surreptitiously kick her. “I mean, it sounds so exciting.” Kathy didn’t sound convinced. “Oh, cool necklace, Suzanne.”

  “Thanks.” The nervous hands suddenly appeared in the thin woman’s lap, as if she’d forced them down.

  “Well, I want to hear the details,” Marcia piped up. “Shall I pour?”

  “I rather think that’s Becca’s prerogative tonight, don’t you?” Larissa, in her grand dame role. “By the way, Becca, did you call my friend about the position?”

  “I don’t have a master’s, Larissa.” Becca, standing, seemed to be struggling with the full pot. “And it sounds like your friend is looking for a PhD.”

  “Bosh.” Even from under the table, Clara could picture the dismissive wave.

  “I might have a lead for you.” Kathy was trying to make up for her, well, cattiness. Clara lashed her tail. “What are you looking for again?”

  “I did online and library research.” Becca sounded tired, though it wasn’t clear if that was because of the heavy teapot or the subject. “I’ve been hoping to finish my library sciences degree, but…” A sigh and the thud. At least the pouring was done. “I can type too, but I’m hoping to find something in my field before unemployment runs out.”

  “We should talk.” Clara could almost hear Kathy nodding, but when she tried to poke her head up to catch Becca’s reaction, she found herself blocked by a foot.

  “These are good.” Trent again. “Did you make these, Larissa?”

  Over on the sofa, Harriet’s head jerked up as if she’d been shocked. The crunch, as Trent bit again into one of the cookies, had brought her to her feet. Harriet, like most cats, could summon food, as she did with that pillow. But like that pillow, it would be pulled from the ether—with about as much flavor. And Harriet had a particular weakness for sweets. That, Clara knew, could mean trouble.

  “So, this spell…” Larissa’s foot swung under the table. She had those pointy-toed heels on, but Clara scooted out of the way in time, losing sight of Harriet. “I want to hear the details.”

  “I’m not sure exactly what I did—or did differently.” Becca had tucked her red sneakers under her chair, as she did when she was nervous. Looking at all the shoes around her, Clara didn’t blame the tender human. This was scary territory. And Harriet wasn’t likely to make it any easier. The calico crept forward while Becca explained. “I was reciting the Ars Advocabit—the summoning spell—from the book, just like we’ve all done. And then—there it was.”

  “There what was?” Larissa’s tone matched those shoes.

  “A pillow.” Becca’s voice went soft. “I’d summoned a pillow. And before you say anything, yes, it really was a new pillow. Not anything I had in the house before. It was gold velvet and very soft.”

  From her new vantage point, Clara could see Harriet stretch with satisfaction, and she relaxed a little. “And it has tassels!” Her oldest sister was purring with pride.

  “Can we see it?” Ande, ignoring the cat as people usually do, sounded skeptical.

  “Yes.” Becca pushed her chair back. “I left it where it was. I thought, maybe, the placement was important.”

  More purrs from Harriet, although when Becca slid the pillow from beneath her warm bulk, the contented rumble faded. If Becca truly had any sensitivities, supernatural or otherwise, she would have been burned by the intensity of Harriet’s stare as she brought the pillow back to the table.

  “It is very soft.” Ande kneaded it with her long fingers.

  “Let me.” Harriet sat up as the pillow was passed to Suzanne and then Marcia, and finally Kathy, the cat’s yellow eyes focused like lasers as it moved from hand to hand.

  “Why did you summon something so tacky?” Kathy’s freckled nose wrinkled as she flicked a tassel.

  Harriet’s ears went flat, a low growl beginning deep in her cream-colored chest as her back began to arch.

  “Becca!” Suzanne sounded alarmed. “Is something wrong with your cat?”

  “What?” Becca’s chair scraped the floor. “Oh, Harriet! I’m afraid she’s adopted that pillow as her own. It does kind of match her fur. Doesn’t it?”

  The murmured responses didn’t sound that convinced, but Harriet seemed to accept them. At any rate, once Kathy had relinquished the pillow, she sank back down on the sofa and her ears resumed their natural perkiness.

  “The problem,” Becca continued, stroking the plush object, “is that I haven’t been able to d
uplicate it. I was wondering if there was something about the moon last Thursday? Or maybe an astral projection?”

  “Let me consult the chart.” Trent’s low voice calmed the assembled women like a warm hand on fur, and as the gathering fell back into its usual rhythms, Clara closed her eyes. Even Harriet seemed to calm down once the pillow was returned to its rightful place on the sofa. And although Becca tried reading the summoning spell several times, no further furnishings appeared, which Clara found a relief—and which left Harriet feeling rather smug.

  “Oh, please…” Laurel extended one paw, the better to admire her claws, as the meeting droned on. “If these humans don’t move on soon…”

  Clara glared, but just then a familiar chant broke in.

  “And by the rule of three, blessed be.” And with that, the chairs scraped back and the coven members began to rise. Out of habit, the calico accompanied Becca into the kitchen, the now empty teapot in hand. Suzanne followed with the mugs.

  “Becca.” Suzanne deposited the mugs on the counter. “What I wanted to ask you about—”

  Before she could finish, Larissa walked in and Suzanne turned to face her.

  “Do you have something I can put the leftover cookies in?” The older woman opened one of the cabinets without waiting for an answer. “I want my plate back.”

  “Sure.” Becca looked around. “I’ve got a clean Tupperware here somewhere.”

  “Can’t you just summon one?” Marcia had crowded in too.

  “I wish.” Becca’s smile was beginning to look forced. Clara, meanwhile, wrapped her tail around her forepaws. Lashing it would have fit her mood better, but with this many feet in the kitchen, she wasn’t going to take any chances.

  “Marcia, please.” Trent, standing in the doorway, came to the rescue. “You know Becca did her best.”

  “She wasn’t—” Ande, playing peacemaker again. “She was just teasing. You know that, don’t you, Becca?”

  “Of course.” Becca’s voice was close to cracking as she wiped off Suzanne’s cake knife, taking extra care over its inlaid handle. “Oh, thanks.” Ande had found the errant plastic container and was passing it over.

  “Silly.” A low hiss—Harriet had waddled up behind her sister. “You could’ve tripped her.”

  “Why would I want to do that?” Clara turned to face her, confused.

  “Cookies!” Harriet’s yellow eyes flashed as she crowded in. “There were some left. It’s too late now.” True enough, the plastic lid snapped shut.

  “Would you like a ride too?” Trent was herding the women out. “I’ve got room.”

  “No, thanks.” Not all. Suzanne was hanging back, the loaf pan and her knife clasped close. “I’ll walk,” she said.

  “If you’re sure…” Trent’s voice sounded like a purr, and Clara leaned forward, eager to catch more.

  “There are crumbs on the table.” Laurel sauntered in, licking her chops. “What?” She looked at her sisters, who had both turned on her.

  “I was trying to hear what they were saying,” Clara nearly hissed.

  “The clown was eavesdropping,” said Harriet as she peered around the corner. She was peeved, it was obvious. Not only that her youngest sister had failed to trip the cookie carrier but that Laurel had found the crumbs before she could.

  “I’m concerned about Becca.” Clara’s mew was too soft for their person to hear, she was pretty sure, but still she looked up in concern. Laurel sniffed and began to wash, removing the last trace of baked goods from her sleek tan fur, while Harriet waddled back into the living room in the obvious hope that her fastidious sister had left something behind.

  “So, Suzanne, what’s going on?” Becca was looking at her guest. From the living room, she could hear Trent’s deep, warm voice and an answering torrent of giggles. “I should see them out.”

  “They’re fine.” Suzanne’s voice had an edge it hadn’t before. Shaking her head, she wiped the few remaining crumbs from the cake plate into the sink before sliding it and the inlaid server into her bag.

  “Suzanne!” a voice, half laughing, called. “You promised!”

  “Ande.” Suzanne sighed. “I forgot. Look, Becca. I need to talk to you.”

  “Train’s leaving the station!” More laughter, and this time it was Larissa who called. “Zany, come on!”

  “Coming!” Suzanne called, loud enough that Clara flicked her ears—only to be momentarily distracted by the snuffling of Harriet as she hoovered up the last remaining crumbs.

  “—not where they can hear.” Suzanne had lowered her voice to an urgent whisper. “Look, I’ll explain more—Saturday at my place. Noonish? Please, Becca. It’s important.”

  “Saturday at your place.” Becca sounded tired. “But if it involves the entire coven…”

  “Just trust me, Becca.” Suzanne turned back one final time, her face drawn. “This is—this could be—big. And, please, for the Goddess’s sake, be careful.”

  Chapter 4

  The following two days passed with no more magic, but no catastrophes either, whether feline or human. Saturday dawned with all the sunny promise of the season, and the intoxicating scent of flowers and damp new grass through the open window had all three cats’ whiskers bristling. Only Clara noticed that Becca didn’t seem pleased by the beauty of the day. It was hours until Becca was due to meet Suzanne, but clearly, something was on her mind. Not that she forgot to feed the cats—she’d never do that—but she did almost mix up their bowls, putting the lion’s—or the lioness’—portion in Clara’s multicolored dish instead of Harriet’s before she caught her error. And when she committed the cardinal sin of laying down Clara’s dish ahead of Harriet’s, the calico stepped back before her big sister could even turn to glare, knowing that the first bites of breakfast were worth sacrificing for peace.

  Once her own dish, with both her name and a golden crown motif, was set down, Harriet moved over. But Clara had barely gotten a few bites of what remained of her own breakfast before Becca set out. Worried as she was about the young woman, her pet knew she had to follow.

  It wasn’t hard. While an otherwise intelligent and observant human, Becca was limited—Clara knew—by the preconceptions of her species. In particular, that meant she considered the cats with whom she cohabited to be house pets, unconscious of their real powers. Being indoors was fine for most felines, especially during what had been a rainy April, and Harriet particularly enjoyed being catered to. But although Clara observed the feline rule about hiding this ability, the fact is that without too much effort, she, like all her kind, could pass through most solid objects, at least if she could get a good focus on them.

  And so as soon as Becca had locked the apartment door behind her, the multicolored kitty had hunkered down and stared at the closed door. Distracted as she was, the pretty brunette was just vaguely aware of the calico’s appearance as she passed through the door and manifested on the street behind her. Half in the shadows of that early spring morning and half a shadow herself, her mottled coloring adding an extra layer of camouflage, the little cat found it easy to trail Becca in her somewhat ethereal fashion. And although Clara did stop to nibble on an intriguing green—it was spring, after all—she easily caught up with her person by the time she had snagged a table at the local coffee house and settled in with a muffin and mug of something steamy.

  “Maddy, over here!” Becca rose and waved, and Clara ducked beneath the table before she could be spotted.

  “Becca!” A pleasantly large woman made her way over from the counter, her own mug in one hand, a slab of coffee cake in the other. “What’s up? You look good. Did you find a new job?”

  “No, but…” Something akin to a purr warmed Becca’s voice as her friend took the seat opposite.

  “Pity,” Maddy mumbled, her mouth full of cake. In some ways, Clara thought, Becca’s old friend resembled Harriet. �
��’Cause if you find something good, I’m going to follow you. Work stress is making me eat.”

  Becca nodded. She’d been hearing about Maddy’s work troubles for as long as her friend had been at Reynolds and Associates, a market research firm in Cambridge’s Central Square.

  “Reynolds has been in a mood recently. It’s enough to make me start smoking again too.” She took another bite of cake, as if in response. “Oh, you know it all.” Her friend didn’t have to be psychic to note how Becca’s focus had drifted. “Wait, did Jeff call you?”

  “No.” The purr was gone. Becca’s voice had gone flat and lifeless. “He’s…that’s over, Maddy. He’s got some new girlfriend now.”

  “I don’t know, Becca. I’ve heard that his new thing didn’t work out.” In the silence, Clara could almost see Becca pushing her pastry around her plate. Maddy didn’t wait long for a response. “I ran into him on the bus a few days ago,” she said, her tone oddly remote. “He was asking about you.”

  “He was?” Becca caught herself before her friend could answer. “No, it doesn’t matter. It’s too late. You know I couldn’t take him back, even if he wanted me to.”

  “Good girl.” The clink of a mug, and Becca’s friend washed the cake down with enthusiastic approval. “He’s no good for you. I was worried, because you’ve been so preoccupied lately.”

  “I know, I’m sorry.” Becca shifted in her seat, scattering a few intriguing crumbs. Cranberry, Clara thought. “I’ve really been trying to be mindful. To be present. But it isn’t Jeff, it’s the coven.”

  “Oh, please.” Maddy’s chair squeaked as she sat back. “You don’t actually believe in that. Do you?”

  “That’s just it.” Becca leaned in, excitement audible even as she kept her voice low. “Maddy, I did…something. I cast a spell. A summoning spell, and it worked.”

  “Becca, please. How long have we known each other? You were the best researcher in Professor Humphries’ seminar, and now you’re saying you believe in magic?”

  “There’s a lot about the natural world that we don’t know.” Becca’s enthusiasm wasn’t going to be that easily shut down.