The filling station was a block and a half away, by the river. This early, the place wasn’t busy. Quinn parked near the convenience store. They sat there, watching Echo. After a while, her head rolled against the seat. She blinked a few times. Then groaned. “What the hell?”
“What did you see, Echo?” Dad prompted.
“Nothing. Just people sleeping in a house. And then...” Her eyes turned evil, hungry. “...Prey!”
Quinn shook her head and got out of the car. “Anyone want anything?”
“Crane fly!” Echo demanded.
“Don’t you have to use the bathroom?” Quinn asked.
Echo came back again. “Holy cow, yes! Man, I’m not doing that again. The whole thing really sucked.”
At the word ‘sucked,’ Echo grimaced, her face turning green. She tumbled out of the car and ran for the bathroom.
Chapter 15
“If Chelby isn’t creating the lion—” Harvest started.
Dad interrupted. “She must be a more powerful witch than I’d guessed. I’m actually shocked how developed your powers are. It hasn’t even been a year. Even if I’m misinterpreting the kind of spell needed, Chelby has to be behind this. We’re talking about the summoning of an African lion, after all, not a mountain lion or bobcat.”
Harvest didn’t like the way he shot her down. Dad might know more about magic, but according to the evidence, Chelby shouldn’t even be a person of interest.
Quinn got back in the car, handing out coffee from a cardboard carrier. “My big question is: why did the lion go after another trooper. I just looked at the paper. The gangsters are in custody.”
“Yeah, huh?” Harvest thought about it and faced Dad. “Why didn’t he?”
Dad took the lid off his cup and blew. “Maybe this vendetta must be taken on in sequence. First, the trooper who shot Barif, next the man who started the shootout. We don’t know what part the victims played. Maybe Chelby won’t even go after the men from Detroit.”
Echo got in the back seat with a long sigh. She grabbed the last cup. “What do we do now? Call her out? Have a magic battle?”
“This isn’t like Harry Potter, Squirt,” Dad lightly chided. “The way to put the brakes on Chelby is by zapping that lion. It’s a big spell, it’ll really come back on her.”
“I don’t want to hurt Chelby,” Echo sipped. “She’s nice, she’s a young mom. Could it be that she’s not casting the lion on purpose?”
Dad ran a hand through his messy hair. “Dreams and nightmares bridge the gap between this reality and the Twih. Chelby has undergone more trauma than most girls her age. It’s possible, but not likely.”
“We could stake out the jail, I guess. The sheriff’s department and I don’t exactly get along. It’ll have to be from a distance.” The former sheriff had been murdered and dumped on the threshold of the Chandlery, the Grams’ business. Even before, Sheriff Bennett had been vocal about state constables being a waste of taxpayer money. He was also secretly a member of the Jade Coven.
Echo asked, “You really think the lion would go after men in the jail? There’s lots of guards and prisoners around.”
“It attacked a cop on the grounds of the state police barracks,” Quinn started the SUV. “The thing is fearless.”
“If the lion follows his M.O., he’ll only kill one man per night. Circumstance might dictate the pattern, but the animal didn’t kill any other cops.”
“He did go after that trooper who got out of his car.” Echo noted.
“I think she’s right. The lion chased us instead of attacking the trooper. Call it normal cat behavior, the urge to chase,” Dad said.
Harvest tapped her fingers on the dashboard. “Our spellcaster may not have a whole lot of control over the shadow lion.”
“Good point. Chelby is young. She’s very mature for her age, but she couldn’t have been working magic for very long,” Dad said.
“Yeah, well, neither have we,” Harvest said.
The vehicle raced up 5th Ave. Dad grabbed the handle above the door. “Considering Quinn is driving like a maniac so she can shower before work, why don’t we all get some rest this afternoon, and put a watch on the jail after dark.”
“As long as I’m not turning into bugs.” Echo folded her arms.
PUSHING THIRTY, QUINN was getting a little long in the tooth for all-nighters. She eyed the stack of new foster placement reports. It seemed unmanageable, but she dug in and got to work. She filled out her calendar with visits to the homes. She read through each report. One was a tear-jerker—a single mother who died from cancer left a boy and girl behind. With no relatives to take them in, they’d been dumped into the system.
Quinn felt ambivalent about foster homes. Some worked great, while others seemed to be people scamming the state out of money. Abuse was rampant, not as much here in northwestern PA, but she kept a close eye on her clients. It was almost always better to place children with family. Quinn pursed her lips and made a decision. Robert and Cammy Simpson deserved a visit today. She checked her watch. School was almost out.
“If it’s okay with you, Danielle, I’m going to visit the Simpson kids and then head home.”
Dr. Park gazed at her with sardonic eyes. “What are you doing in your off hours, Quinn? Yes, go visit our new charges, go home and get some sleep for God’s sake.”
Part of the reason Quinn wanted to visit the Simpsons was that the home they were placed in was not far from Clarendon. If she were lucky, she could get in a chat with George Cochran. Had the police investigation left him even more anxious?
The foster home was also a large machine shop, run by Art Davis and his wife, Daisey. Daisey kept the books, and Art did the wrenching. As foster parents, the Davises had successfully shepherded two children into adulthood, including a girl who was now in college.
“Hey, Art.” She found him beneath a dump truck, hands slicked with oil up to the elbows.
“Quinn. I’d shake hands.” He shrugged.
“How are the kids doing?”
He turned his attention back to the machine. “About how you’d expect. They’re in the kitchen, doing homework. Go on in, Daisey’s expecting you.”
“Nice to see you again, Quinn.” Daisey sat in a little office off the living room. The children sat at the kitchen table, heads down, silent.
“They seem so hard at work. I don’t know if I should interrupt.”
Daisey rolled her office chair back. “I think any distraction from homework would be appreciated.”
They walked together into the kitchen. Neither child looked up. Quinn noted a plate of cookies and two glasses of milk, untouched. “Hey, guys, do you remember me?”
Robert was eight. Turning emotionless eyes on her, he nodded. “Miss Hutchinson.”
“I’m just checking in on you. I want you to know that there are a bunch of people watching out for you.” Unnerved by the boy’s lack of expression, she nearly bolted from the room when Cammy, five, stared at her with that same lack of expression. Shock. Traumatized. What did she expect?
Neither child spoke. Daisey gave her the eye. The two of them walked back to the little office. Quinn shut the door.
“They’ll come around, in time,” Daisey said. “Abbey Simpson laid some of the ground work before she passed. Still, I can’t imagine what those two are going through emotionally.”
Quinn had grown up with a mother who was little more than a story and a father who appeared every few years or so. Still, she always had hope that she would connect with one or both. What did Robert and Cammy have to hope for?
“They’ve got you to lean on,” Quinn said. “I guess we can’t do better than that.”
She said goodbye to her charges and their foster parents. Sorrow still lingered as she drove away. Would the Simpson kids rally in a good home, or would they succumb to the trauma of losing their mother? Only time would tell.
Quinn’s job wasn’t about life and death struggles. It was much harder than that. She was p
urely concerned with life, hopefully a long life, making the most out of opportunities, avoiding pitfalls, surviving tragedies. Screwing up at an early state in the game could mean a lifetime of hurt. Thoughts turned over in her exhausted brain as she drove south toward the Cochran’s house.
She found George standing in Paul’s driveway, talking with whom she presumed to be Paul. They leaned on their bikes and watched her pull up. Quinn buzzed down the window. “Hey, George, you wanna get some ice cream? Hello,” she said to Paul.
Paul stood there in awkward confusion.
“Heck yeah,” George tossed his bike down on the lawn and ran around to the passenger side.
She texted his father as George clambered in the big SUV. “Oops, your father says you haven’t had dinner yet. No ice cream for you. How about a coke?”
“Hey, if you’re buying, I’m not complaining.” Worry crinkled his brow. “You are paying, right? I think I have some change...”
Quinn dropped the car in drive. “On me,” she said to stop George’s furious pocket-digging.
George sat back, relieved. “I’ll get the next one.”
Clarendon had a dearth of drive-throughs, so she headed across the river into Warren. “I just wanted to check in with you about the bad dreams. The bus shelter.”
“No problemo. I took the bus this morning.”
She found a Burger King and waited in line. “No more nightmares?”
“Nuh-uh. I’ll have Sprite, please.”
When they pulled up to the speaker, she ordered two Sprites. She needed to get a nap in. “That’s good to hear, George. I don’t always have identifiable successes in this job. At least, not that I can see right away.”
“That’s weird.” George put the straw in the lid, squeaking it up and down a few times.
“Why weird?”
“Well, normally when a grown-up says they’ll do something—okay, here’s an example. I needed new sneakers for gym class. I told my mom. She says, yeah, we’ll get you some sneakers. Two weeks later, she has me try on shoes while she’s looking for blouses. At WalMart! All they have is bright white, Velcro, old man sneakers. I mean—Come. On!”
She pulled back on the street. “I’m not following.”
“Here’s the difference. You’ll say you’ll do something, and the next day, two cop cars, three state trooper cars, an ambulance, a couple vans, a station wagon and about twenty people show up, flashing lights, sirens. I counted the cars. On the one hand, we have ugly senior citizen shoes as an afterthought, on the other, boom! Full court press emergency response.”
They drove toward Clarendon. “How are you equating the two? Were you expecting your mom to drop everything and race off to get you new shoes?”
“That would’ve been good. But all I really wanted was to go to a sneaker store, get sneakers with laces, maybe sneakers that said Adidas or Puma or Reebok, not—” He lifted his feet from the floorboard. “—Propét?”
Quinn sort of understood. “You have to cut your mom some slack. This bus shelter thing—it was very unusual. Once in a lifetime. It required that kind of response. Maybe, if you get your grades up, bring home a few As on tests, you can revisit the sneaker situation.”
“That’s a good idea. Except for the grades part. You’re pretty smart, Quinn. And you get things done. I like a smart girl who gets things done.”
“You know the best way to get things done?” She side-eyed him.
“How?”
“Get up and go do them.” She slowed as she neared Paul’s house, George’s bike still lying in the yard.
“Nice talk,” he said. “Can I get your number, in case I have nightmares again?”
Quinn debated mentally. It wasn’t like George’s parents didn’t have it. She kept a few business cards above the visor. “Here you go.”
“Thanks. We’ll talk about having that drink after I get my allowance.” He winked, clucked his tongue, shot her with a finger pistol and hopped out of the car.
Chapter 16
They met at The Last Shop to Nowhere at seven, refreshed from naps. In back was an area where paninis were served. Harvest thought it was time to give the Grams a break. They’d been cooking like madwomen since Dad returned home. A few customers walked in and out, locals Harvest recognized. In a couple weeks, trout season would start the influx of nature tourists to the area. For now, things were quiet.
She ordered coffee with her ham and cheese sandwich and pulled up a map of Warren on her phone “Obviously, we can’t park in the lot and stake out the jail. One of the deputies is going to have an issue. We can park across the street, at the historical society, and in the public lot off West 5th Ave. Since the jail backs onto the sheriff’s office, we can cover the whole thing from those three positions.”
They all hunched over the table, looking at Google Maps on her phone.
“That only leaves one of us to watch Chelby,” Dad said.
Echo shrugged. “Do we even need to? Nothing happened last time.”
“I’m sure she’s the one doing this. We know why, but it’s more important to figure out how.” He sipped his coffee. “I’ll do it on my own. No problem.”
“We don’t have walkie-talkies or anything, can we do a conference call?” Quinn lifted a triangle of sandwich to her mouth.
Harvest nodded. “I think that’s the best way to go. I’ll set it up on my phone once we’re in position.”
“Sounds so military,” Echo wolfed down her pesto turkey.
They engaged in talk about their day as they ate. Quinn felt she had success with a kid named George. Echo said that Zuri’s nightmares had stopped as well. It seemed they were barking up the right tree. Except...
Dad seemed a little obsessed with Chelby Zambo. While she was the new witch in town, there wasn’t anything that pointed to her as a suspect. It worried her that one of the four of them would be wasted several blocks away doing nothing. Potentially, they could be facing a lion. Maybe it appeared as a shadow, but the carnage it left behind was real enough. So why didn’t she want to say anything?
“I wrote this spell specifically for this purpose.” Quinn brought out sheets of paper. “But I was pretty exhausted when I did it. Let’s go over it, make sure it has the right kind of purpose.”
“The purpose being blasting a shadow lion out of existence?” Echo asked.
Quinn nodded. “That’s the purpose.”
When Harvest read it over, she got that feeling in the pit of her stomach, excitement mixed with anxiety. The sensation told her the spell was a strong one. “I think we’re all set. Let’s go put down this lion.”
ECHO GOT THE MOST BORING spot—right in front of the jail. It was an ominous brick building, not one of the pretty ones around town, but of more recent construction. Only a wide front door and windows a few stories up decorated the structure. But then, were there any pretty jails, really?
Full moonlight silvered the area, the sky cloudless. While people stirred within the jail, few cars drove the street. She got the call from Harvest, and was put on hold. A moment later, all four of them were on the line together.
Remembering the night before, Echo took only moderate sips of her coffee. She sat and watched the jail. Time seemed to slow down. The only excitement was a shift change at the jail, cars pulling in and out of the lot. None of them paid her any mind.
The moon headed for the horizon. A day and a night with only a nap began to catch up with her. Echo’s head bobbed into sleep, and jerked back awake again. Why did she get so excited about stakeouts anyway?
“I got movement.”
At Harvest’s words, she sat upright.
“Where?” Quinn’s voice.
“It’s just sort of a dark cloud moving close to the ground. It’s heading around front. Do you see it, Echo?”
She squinted into the darkness. Harvest was parked by the historical society, to her left.
“The lion is taking shape. I can see legs, a tail. It’s about to move to the front. Ec
ho, do you see it?”
She didn’t. And then she did. “I got him. The lights from the inside are making him faint.”
“Perfect,” Quinn said. “Let’s blast him back to the spellcaster. Ready? By—”
— contraband ray of sun
Darkness we command undone
Dimness we demand be quelled
Shadows we remand dispelled
Evening banned, we split the night
Now at hand is broad daylight
As they always did, the spell was recited three times. The lion stopped in its tracks. Echo saw green eyes move her way. Above, the moon took on a weird pink color. Suddenly, it burst into light as bright as the sun.
The lion roared and vanished. Then, even though she couldn’t see it, Echo heard it roar again. Then she saw it—not the bulky silhouette, but an elongated shadow on the ground that rose up the side of the jail building.
“Echo, what’s happening?”
“The lion isn’t vanishing, it’s gone, but still casting a long shadow. I think it’s heading into the jail. It’s going around the side toward Quinn.” Echo leapt out of the car, chasing after. Birdsong filled the air, the night suddenly as bright as noon. The lion’s shadow shrunk as it closed with the building. She saw the shape of it slide over a lit Pepsi machine outside and slide around to a fenced-in area.
“How can it still be around? The light should obliterate it,” Quinn panted, the sound of her boots audible over the connection.
Echo followed around to a side door, the employee entrance. To her surprise, the faint lion shadow slid along the wall, and then through the narrow gap between door and frame. “It’s inside! I’m going after it!”
A key coded lock secured the door. Echo opted to bypass it with the one spell she could do on her own:
“There are no doors barred to me
for my words serve as a key
Bolt and bar and clasp and latch
By my voice, unlock—detach!”
Bewitched and Bewildered Page 7