Ghost Witching

by Ally Shields

  “A curse? Are you kidding me?” Annie nearly dropped a bag of cosmetics. “My granny will be frantic.”

  “Then don’t tell her,” Maggie suggested.

  “Oh, I won’t have to. She’ll know.” Annie seemed more worried by her grandmother’s reaction than the threat to herself.

  It didn’t take long to gather what she needed, lock her apartment, and return to the street where the crowd was still fixated on the police activities. Maggie unlocked her car door to put Annie’s bags inside. “Hand me—” She stopped in the process of reaching for the overnight bag. “Josh, it’s Brice. Over there.” She pointed to the far side of the crowd.

  “What the hell?” Josh set down the case with a hard thump. He and Maggie moved quickly through the crowd to intercept Brice, but he spotted them and took off running. “Stop that guy in the blue shirt,” Josh yelled at two nearby officers.

  Bystanders reacted to Josh’s call for police assistance as if Brice were a terrorist and blocked his escape route. Two big guys grabbed and took him down even before the patrol officers got there. He was cuffed and back on his feet when Maggie and Josh pushed through the gathering.

  “Is this your guy?” the officer asked.

  “He’s one of our prime suspects,” Maggie confirmed. She acknowledged the two citizens, the crowd who’d cut off Brice’s escape, and the officers involved. “Nice work, everyone. Thanks.”

  “Well, Mr. Brice, or whatever your name is,” Josh said with a firm hand on his shoulder, “you’ve been a hard man to find. Why don’t we have a chat at the station?” He looked at Maggie. “While you get Annie situated, I’ll keep him on ice. I’m sure these officers will be happy to give me a hand if he isn’t cooperative.”

  No one gave Brice a choice. Josh and the two cops hustled the reporter through the crowd, and Maggie returned to Annie and Harry waiting at her car.

  “Is that the hacker?” Annie asked, her dilated pupils making her eyes look bigger and darker than usual. “Did he send me the curse?”

  “I don’t know, but he’s definitely a person of interest. That’s the guy who’s been calling himself Duncan Brice.”

  “Oh, yeah, the freelancer who doesn’t exist.” Annie paused before getting in the car and craned her neck to look again. The suspect was already hidden among his taller escorts.

  “Let’s get you to Harry’s apartment,” Maggie said, trying to hurry them along. “I’m eager to get Brice into Interrogation.”

  * * *

  Maggie found Josh in the observation room watching Brice through the one-way mirror. The suspect sat stiffly in a straight-backed wooden chair inside Interrogation, his arms crossed in front of his chest, posturing as a put-upon innocent.

  “Did he say anything?” she asked.

  “Nothing relevant. He spouted off about knowing his rights, blah, blah, blah. The usual stuff. At one point, he came close to asking for a lawyer but backed off. We’ll need to tread lightly if we want to keep him talking. But we’ve got an ID.” Josh handed her a computer printout. “Fingerprint match on a Eugene Mallory from New Hampshire. A few minor arrests for trespass and disturbing the peace.” He handed her a second paper. “A web search turned up this article. Our guy here is the great-grandson of Earl Mallory, a vocal paranormal skeptic from the mid-1900s. Nothing about this guy working as a freelancer under the alias of Duncan Brice, but his real name appears in the credits for a cable show titled Frauds and Falsehoods.”

  “Never heard of it. But it sounds like the perfect show for him.”

  Josh cut off a chuckle. “I don’t think the title refers to his own shortcomings. It’s advertized as a paranormal exposé, and he’s the investigative host. That doesn’t rule him out as a witch killer. To the contrary, his family history implies he might love the role.”

  “Well now, I guess we should find out.”

  Brice’s head whipped up when Maggie and Josh entered the interrogation room. “You have no grounds to arrest me. I’ve done nothing illegal.”

  “You lied to a police officer,” Josh said, pulling out two chairs on the opposite side of the table. He chose one; Maggie took the other. “To several officers, in fact. So why don’t we get off on the right foot, starting with your correct name.”

  The suspect hesitated. “It’s Eugene Mallory. But Brice is a legitimate alias and pen name, especially when traveling. I prefer it. The family name is useful for the show, but otherwise, it’s hard to work with fans hanging around.”

  “Your preference is noted for the record,” Josh said, referring to the built-in microphone that was capturing the session. As the interview progressed, Brice confirmed his family history, his cable TV show, and admitted his interest in the current series of occult cases.

  “It’s my mission to debunk sensational headlines like your local papers have indulged in the last couple of weeks. These self-declared witches are frauds.” Brice shifted his body forward as his vehemence grew. “They’re no more capable of magic or curses than you and I, and no supernatural devil ordered them to carry out acts like human sacrifice. They’re society’s misfits. Witchcraft exists only in their demented minds.” He temporarily ran out of venom and leaned back, maintaining a deep scowl as if daring them to refute his claims.

  “You’ve made your opinion clear,” Maggie said. “Our question is what are you doing about it?”

  “I’m not killing anyone, if that’s what you suspect. Think of me as a modern witch hunter, ghost buster, or paranormal exorcist. But instead of killing or fighting them, I expose their lies to the public. I’m collecting data for a special report on New Orleans’ Paranormal Demystified. Catchy title, don’t you think?”

  “So you dispute all paranormal claims? Why are you focused on the Witching Hour Society and the satanic coven?”

  “They’re in the news.” He gave a raspy grunt. “Paranormal, supernatural, magic…anything you want to call it, it’s all crap, and those who profit from such outrageous claims should be burned at the stake. Not that I’d do it,” he hastened to add. He grimaced. “A bad choice of words under the circumstances, but they should face public ridicule and prosecution by authorities.”

  Try telling that to my relatives, Maggie thought.

  Josh took the conversation in a new direction, exploring Brice’s activities since coming to New Orleans and particularly his whereabouts on the dates of recent incidents. Brice’s answers were vague on time periods, and instead of his fictional freelance job, he fell back on his cable show as an excuse for visiting the crime scenes.

  “That doesn’t explain why you were in the crowd tonight,” Josh said.

  “I heard the call for the bomb squad on the police radio. Since I was headed home for the night, I thought I’d swing by. Then I spotted you.” Brice tipped his head toward Josh, before turning to Maggie. “And you. I knew I’d stumbled onto something big. What was in the package? Does it connect to the occult murders?”

  Josh gave away nothing. “Police business. And none of yours. Preston isn’t the only case we have. If you’re so innocent, why’d you run?”

  “I knew you were looking for me.”

  Josh crooked a brow. “Again, same question. Why’d you run?”

  Brice’s face reddened with anger. “To avoid police harassment,” he snapped. “Just like you’re doing. But you cops are all alike, jumping to conclusions. I’m done talking. You want to ask me anything else, talk to my lawyers. Can I go now?”

  “Sure.” Josh spread his hands. “You’re just wasting our time anyway.”

  Maggie stood and opened the door. “One piece of advice—stay away from our crime scenes and our witnesses. If you bother anyone again, you’ll be cooling your heels in lockup.”

  “Not for long.” Brice swaggered past her. “First Amendment rights, you know. My lawyers would have me out in a flash.”

  “Don’t bet on it. Oh, and Brice?” She waited until he glanced back at her. “Watch your back. If these witches catch you messing around, they mi
ght not be as friendly as we’ve been.”

  “Yeah, OK. I’m so scared.”

  Little prick. He should be. Maggie kept her eyes on him until he turned the corner to the front entrance. “That went well,” she said sarcastically, turning back to Josh. “His attitude will get him into serious trouble someday.”

  “I hope it doesn’t happen in New Orleans.” Josh strode toward the door. “I’d have a hard time putting my heart into solving his murder.”

  * * *

  Maggie indulged herself in a lazy Sunday morning. It was after midnight when she and Josh had finished with Brice the night before. Then Annie called while Maggie was driving home from the station. She’d wanted to hear every word of Brice’s interview, and the conversation had continued long after Maggie reached home. When she finally got to bed, she tossed and turned, kept awake by fears she’d gotten her friend into real trouble, frustration about the unresolved situation with Josh, and imagining just how bad the blowback at the office would be on Monday.

  After finally getting out of bed, she checked on Annie—who was fine—but Maggie still couldn’t work up any enthusiasm for much else. She considered consulting with Dalia about the curses. While Maggie knew enough to recognize the chicken bones were a part of the ritual, she hadn’t paid much attention when her cousin had talked about the dark aspects of the Craft. Frankly, she hadn’t been interested. Unless it involved ghosts or the monthly blessing ceremonies—which she’d secretly learned to enjoy—she didn’t have much use for witchcraft and was still nearly as skeptical as Brice of other claims. Often she relied on her cousins to sort truth from fiction. But today she wasn’t in the mood for that either. Maybe she’d her call later. Or better yet, first thing Monday morning.

  She finally dressed and left the house, spending an hour at the gun range and stopping at a sidewalk cafe to indulge in beignets. Still feeling unsettled, she headed for the local animal shelter. Maggie loved cats. Allergies and housing restrictions had convinced her she couldn’t have one of her own, so she compensated whenever possible by volunteering with homeless animals. After logging two hours with the cats and a playful puppy, she finally shook off her funky mood and went home.

  Maggie slept well that night, a good thing, since Monday morning was even more chaotic than expected, coping with the fallout of the weekend’s events, and she again put off calling her cousin. While she and Josh attempted to verify what Brice/Mallory had told them, they also fielded calls from the bomb squad, avoided persistent calls and texts from the media, and referred the lawyers from the cable exposé program to the NOPD’s legal department.

  In the middle of this flurry of activity, Captain Jenson summoned Maggie and Josh to his office around eleven, his face set in grim lines. They stopped just inside the office door, waiting to learn the details of what had the captain in a stew this time.

  “Sit down. Sit down.” He waved them toward the straight-backed chairs in front of his desk and circled behind it to his own leather swivel. “You two had a busy weekend. Do you know how much they charge my budget for that robotic unit?” Since he obviously didn’t expect an answer, neither Maggie nor Josh said anything, and the captain continued. “Too much. And this cable outfit is threatening to sue for false arrest.”

  “I can explain…” Maggie began.

  “No doubt. But first I want to hear what precipitated this event. Just what cyber theft are my homicide detectives investigating? And how’s it involve Brandt’s brother and this Annie Moore—a friend of yours, I believe—who received some kind of voodoo thing?”

  “It wasn’t voodoo—” When Jenson’s brows dipped, Maggie started over. With Josh’s help, she filled the captain in on the current tangles in their investigation. They skipped a few of the steps involved—primarily those that involved the three ghosts or Maggie’s relatives—and glossed over Annie’s methods in identifying the hacker.

  Jenson abruptly cleared his throat. “Don’t tell me you used one illegal hacker to find another.” Maggie opened her mouth to point out again the somewhat vague authorization from Madame LeMontaire, but the captain interrupted. “I said don’t tell me.” His expression hardened. “You’re too close to the line. Get back on the side of the angels. Routine police work may not get us all the answers we want—or as fast as we want them—but illegal evidence is useless, at best. Now get out of my office and lock up these killers before someone else dies.”

  They didn’t hesitate in making their escape from the station before Jenson received another irritating call, and they headed out to lunch. On the way, Maggie attempted to call Dalia’s house phone, then her mobile, but the calls went to messaging. Not unusual, as her older cousin often forgot to take or turn on her cell phone when she left the house. Maggie would try again later.

  “Brice is a consummate liar,” Maggie said, pushing the olive in her lunch salad to one side. “He has no alibis, except to claim he was researching. He even described himself as a modern witch hunter. What if his real crusade is to eliminate witches, not just expose them as fakes?”

  Josh studied her face. “And our other suspects? Not guilty? Or are you proposing multiple killers with unrelated motives?”

  “I’m not proposing anything. But there’s something odd about this coven. Their occult practices are too eclectic—borrowed from witchcraft, Satanism, even voodoo. Maybe there’s a rogue witch involved, but the rest could be wannabes or even witch hunters disguised as a coven with Brice as their leader.” Maggie set down her fork with a rueful look. “I’m just brainstorming out loud. As Holmes might say, taking a look at the impossible and improbable.”

  “OK,” Josh said. “I’ll play. Does that make Sutter a lone wolf, a Satanist, or a voodoo king?”

  She gave him a resigned look. “Your point being my imagination’s working overtime? Yeah, OK. I’ll concede that Sutter and Brice are just as likely to be innocent bystanders.”

  Josh shook his head, reflecting his own frustration. “But fifty-fifty doesn’t get them off the murder board. Perhaps they’re all in it together—like Murder on the Orient Express—bound by some motive we’ve yet to uncover. One deadly, killing coven.”

  Late in the afternoon, a new crisis developed. Harry called Josh, and after listening a few minutes, Josh passed the phone across the double desk space to Maggie.

  She took it with a frown. “What’s wrong, Harry?”

  “Annie’s freaking out.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “She’s obsessed with this curse stuff. It started with a pan grease fire at breakfast, then she slipped on soap and hit her head in the shower. She believes it’s the curse.”

  “Really? OK, I’ll talk to her.”

  “It’ll take more than that. Now she’s decided to meet some stranger she found on the dark web.”

  “Whoa. Back up. Why? What’s this stranger have to do with the curse?”

  “The guy claims to know the hacker she tracked for you.” Harry blew out an audible breath. “If she can find him, she thinks she can get the curse lifted. She’s been e-mailing and texting with hackers all day. Now she’s arranged to meet this guy…and insists on going alone. She won’t listen to me.”

  Maggie hurried toward the door, gesturing to Josh. “We’re on the way. Keep her there if you have to lock her in.”

  “She’ll be here,” Harry said. “But hurry.”

  When they arrived at Harry’s apartment, raised voices spilled into the hallway. Maggie and Josh exchanged looks, and he pounded loudly in order to be heard. The angry argument inside didn’t abate, but Harry yanked the door open.

  “I’ve never seen you act so stupid, Annie.”

  “I’ve never been cursed before!”

  Maggie pushed inside to find Annie with her hands on her hips, her face turning a rosy red. “Hey, you two, cool it. The neighbors will be calling the cops.”

  “It looks like somebody already did,” Annie retorted, glaring at Harry.

  “I had no choice.” Harry’s voice dropped back into the norm
al range. “I’m worried about you.”

  Stepping between the two, Maggie turned to Annie. “What’s going on? He’s right about one thing, this isn’t like you.”

  Annie’s arms sagged to her sides, the defiance fading. “I called my granny. She said I’m in a lot of trouble, that it’s a real curse.”

  Maggie hid a flash of disbelief. Annie had grown up in a New Orleans’ family who believed in witchcraft, but she’d never exhibited much effect of that upbringing, except owning a few crystals and her ready acceptance of Maggie’s abilities. Those childhood influences must go deeper than Maggie had suspected.

  Annie continued to quote her granny. “She said the best way to stop a curse is to have it lifted or turn it back on the caster. I have to find the witch or warlock who did this.”

  “It’s not likely to be the hacker.”

  “Maybe not, but it has to be whoever paid him to make the transfers.”

  “That’s possible. Josh and I will check into it. You can’t go chasing after these hackers who live on the dark fringes of the law.”

  Annie rolled her eyes. “You mean hackers like me?”

  “No, not everybody’s like you. Some of those on the dark web are dangerous people.”

  Harry frowned and seemed about to enter the argument again, but Josh shook his head and spoke first. “Something’s fishy about this, Annie. If this guy knows the hacker, why didn’t he just tell you the name? Why insist on a meeting?”

  “He didn’t,” Annie admitted. “I suggested the meeting when he demanded proof I wasn’t a cop. I can convince him to trust me if we meet face-to-face.”

  Geez, Annie. Maggie curbed her exasperation. That he was worried about cops should have been a red flag. But she knew her friend well enough not to say it. “Have you set up a meeting?”