“You could have just called,” I said as I led her into the break room.
Rowan shook her head. “Witches and cell phones don’t mix well,” she replied. “Ditto computers and other electronics. Something about our energy tends to fry them. Believe me; it’s a real pain.”
Teag brought us both glasses of iced tea, and we sat down at the break room table. “All right,” he said. “What did you find out?”
“We’re certain Alia is in Charleston,” Rowan said. “Searching for her was a delicate business because she’s very powerful, and we didn’t want her to know we were looking for her. That made it easier to track where she’s been than where she is.”
“Did you get any ideas about where they might target?” I asked.
Rowan sighed. Up close, she looked really tired. Whatever she and her coven had done to locate Alia Corona must have taken a lot out of them. “If we get too close to her, she’ll know, so we have to keep our distance. She’s also good at cloaking her power, so that complicates things too.”
“Would Alia have the same kind of difficulties with technology that you do?” I asked suddenly.
“Worse, I’d imagine,” Rowan said. “Why?”
“I’m betting Alia doesn’t pick her targets at random,” I said as an idea formed. “I think she enjoys the hunt too much. Stalking the target is part of the fun for her. So she’s going to scope out the possible sites ahead of time, figure out the best location for them to not be bothered when they’re playing their little ‘game.’”
Rowan nodded. “You’re probably right.”
“If she can’t use computer or cell phone technology to research her possibilities, she’s probably got to visit in person,” I speculated. “Did your coven get any idea of where she’s been, even if you aren’t sure where she is?”
“A little but we were focused on confirming that she was near without tipping our hand,” Rowan said. “Even that required a great deal of energy.”
“Could you tell how long she’d been in Charleston?” Teag asked.
Rowan nodded. “The energy traces we picked up started just a few days ago. The longer she’s in town, the more likely someone like me might notice.” She gave a knowing smile. “There are more witches around than most people realize.”
“So she might not have had a chance to plan too much in advance,” I mused. “Maybe that’s part of the excitement, making it up as they go.” Sorren has mentioned that immortality can get boring after a while. Apparently, that’s a hazard, pushing some immortals to increasingly risky behavior in search of new thrills, or sending others into depression and suicide. I never thought too much life could be a good thing, but apparently, everything has its downside.
“They’ve been doing this kind of thing for a while now,” Teag said. “They’ve probably got a routine.”
“I’m sorry to ask for more,” I said, truly sympathetic since Rowan looked like she’d been up all night. “But it could save lives if we could narrow things down.”
“We know a few details that could shorten the list,” Teag said. “I did some more digging. None of the family murders happened in apartments or condos.”
I nodded. “Makes sense. Too many people around, plus security cameras and thin walls that carry sound.”
“So we’re looking at stand-alone homes,” Teag continued. “Sorren suspects that Alia can’t control a huge crowd, so we can probably rule out big gatherings, like the ones organized by houses of worship, soup kitchens, and restaurants.”
“Alia is powerful, but not all-powerful,” Rowan said. “That’s important to remember. I think Sorren’s right. Exerting control takes a lot of energy. That kind of spell would be hard to put in place, and very difficult to sustain. The more people, the more energy it takes, and the shorter the time the witch can hold the spell.”
“I think she and Brevard want to do their killing in a home because they’re recreating something in a sick sort of way,” I thought out loud. “I’m betting she would want to do some reconnaissance. If we could track where she’s been, that might tell us more than where she is. We’d know where they were considering staging their murders, and we might be able to get there first.”
“Already on it,” Rowan said. She produced a print-out from her purse. “We think Alia has raised wardings on where she’s staying to keep anyone from finding her. But it’s more difficult to hold that kind of spell when you’re moving around, especially for any length of time. Here’s what we have, a list of some of the streets she’s visited. It’s still going to be like hunting a needle in a haystack, but it might make for a smaller haystack.”
“Thank you,” I said, glancing down the locations on the page. “This is a huge help.”
Rowan gave a tired smile. “Happy to help. We’ll stay on it. Maybe we’ll get a break.”
Teag and I thanked her again, and Rowan left. I was hoping she had time for a nap. She looked exhausted, and I figured she’d earned it.
I handed the list to Teag. “How about if you see what you can turn up on the computer with these addresses, and I’ll go up front and help Maggie.” From the sound of it, we’d gotten several customers while we had been in the back, and Maggie could probably use some assistance.
“I’m on it,” he said, taking the list and heading for the office.
Normally it helps take my mind off problems when the store is busy. Although Trifles and Folly is technically a cover operation for the Alliance, it’s also been my family’s business for centuries, and I take pride in it operating profitably. I’m certain Sorren would underwrite us if need be, but I liked running the store like a real business, and that meant viewing customers as a good thing, not a distraction from saving the world.
“Thanks, Cassidy,” Maggie said when I came up front. “We’ve been slammed—which is great.”
I headed over to answer questions about some antique books while Maggie went to help a woman who was eyeing our estate jewelry. Fortunately, most old objects don’t carry any resonance, or if they do, it’s neutral or positive. The objects that have a negative vibe to them, we try to cleanse. The pieces that are magically malicious or have tainted energy, Sorren takes to the Alliance to either be safely stored or destroyed.
We were so busy; I lost track of time. It’s the holiday season, and if people aren’t looking for a one-of-a-kind centerpiece for Thanksgiving, they’re searching for the perfect gift for the person who has everything. Fortunately, we can help with both. Maggie and I finally got a break in the traffic late in the afternoon, and we sagged against the counters and shared a sympathetic glance.
“Damn, that was a lot of people!” Maggie said. She fanned herself. “At this rate, we’ll have a banner month for sales.” Maggie is a retired teacher who started working for Trifles and Folly part-time when she got bored. She’s smart and sassy, with a wardrobe from Woodstock and a mind for business that’s all Wall Street.
“Why don’t you go take a break, and I’ll hold the fort,” I suggested. Teag hadn’t surfaced yet, but I figured he would have some data soon, and I knew Maggie needed a break.
No one was in the store, so I took out my phone. Teag had mentioned Brevard’s mother being a Wilmot, and I that name triggered a memory. I did a search and turned up what I was looking for. The Wilmots had, indeed, been important in Charleston, though the family had now died out. Hmm, did Brevard and Alia have anything to do with that? I wondered. A few more clicks got me pictures of an old brick home that had seen better days. The Josiah Wilmot house had a historic plaque on the front and had been named a site for preservation, but right now, it looked sad and dilapidated from years of disuse.
“Damn,” I muttered under my breath. I had been hoping to find out the house was occupied. Given the connection, that would have made it the prime suspect for Brevard’s murder spree.
A few more customers came in, and I tried to keep my attention from wandering as I answered their questions. People seemed to be in the mood to buy, and I ran
g up several sales. But I couldn’t get my mind off the danger at hand. If we didn’t figure out Alia’s plan, more people were going to die. I didn’t want to live with the knowledge that we failed to protect them. There had to be a way to figure out their next move.
“Teag asked me to send you back to talk to him,” Maggie said as she came up front. “Go on. I’ve had some coffee and a snack. I’m good for a while.”
I grinned and thanked her, and went back to the office, where Teag was hunched over the computer. “Find something?” I asked, crossing my fingers.
Teag shrugged. “Sort of. I cross-referenced the addresses on the section of each street where Rowan’s group said Alia’s energy was strongest—meaning that she paused there or walked a stretch more than once. A couple of the houses showed up on lists of people willing to take in college students or foreign exchange students. When I made a couple of discreet calls, I found out they were already full—and the guests appear to be bona fide students from the university.”
He gave me a guilty smile. “I’ll admit that I posed as a reporter doing a story on families who welcome strangers to their Thanksgiving,” he said. “They were happy to talk to me, and I got enough information that I’m sure their guests don’t match what we know about Alia. They gave me the names of the students, and I hacked the college database. They’re legit.”
I leaned against the wall, cradling a cup of coffee. “So now what?”
“One of the houses on her route was the Wilmot House,” Teag said. “Heard of it?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I just looked it up. But no one’s living in it right now.”
“Maybe she didn’t know that,” he replied. “It would have been at the top of my list.”
“How about the other places Rowan identified?”
“I played the reporter card and called them, saying I’d heard they were hosting a Thanksgiving dinner for visitors,” he said. “I’m still waiting to hear back from a couple places where I left messages, but the others were all private gatherings for different clubs that welcome members traveling over the holidays. They were very clear about the fact that only members were welcome. I think it would be hard for Alia to fake it.”
Charleston can be wonderfully hospitable to tourists and newcomers, but there are certain social circles that are incredibly cliquish. Private societies are fanatic about their membership requirements, and secrecy is part of the appeal for some people. Party-crashers need not apply.
“So we’ve got nothing?”
Teag sighed. “Not yet. Like I said, I’m waiting to see if a few more people return my calls. But I’m afraid I struck out.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket, telling me I had new email. I was feeling rather discouraged about the wall Teag’s research had hit, and I glanced at my inbox to distract me, then let out a low whistle.
“We’ve got a complication.” I swore under my breath as I read my emails on my phone.
“What’s wrong?”
“Check your email. Did you get something from the Historical Archive’s Holiday Events Committee?” We’re on their email list since the store makes a nice donation every year in thanks for all the help the Archive provides with our research projects. That means we’re among the first to hear whenever there’s a new exhibition or special event.
Teag glanced down at his phone and thumbed through a couple of screens. “Just an invitation to—holy hell.”
I figured he’d come to the same conclusion as I had, looking at the announcement. Charleston is a huge historic preservation city, and the Archive often throws a cocktail party, holiday ball, or special dinner to raise money to restore a neglected historic home or acquire an important piece of art.
“Thanksgiving dinner at the Wilmot House,” Teag read, looking a little stunned. “A fundraiser to support restoration of the Josiah Wilmot House, a Charleston architectural treasure.”
“You think this might catch Alia’s eye?”
Teag nodded. “Yeah. I haven’t been able to find out a whole lot about Brevard since he was turned, but he came from a wealthy family when he was mortal. If Sorren’s right and Brevard is a psycho vamp-child, he might like the idea of having his holiday ‘feast’ somewhere that has a connection to his mother.”
Teag looked down at the invitation. “Seating is extremely limited, so respond early. This will be a night to remember.”
“You’re not just whistlin’ Dixie,” I muttered.
“Do you think you could persuade Mrs. Morrissey to hold the party on another night?” Teag asked. Over the years, I’ve gotten to be good friends with Mrs. Benjamin Morrissey, the doyenne Director of the Historical Archive. She knows everyone in town, and she’s been an invaluable asset as we’ve researched some past problems. But she doesn’t know about the Alliance, although she may suspect that the store and I are a bit more than we appear to be.
“What do you suggest? Maybe call her up and tell her we need to cancel the fundraiser because there’s a child vampire with a nasty disposition on the loose?” I was frustrated, and it showed in my voice.
“If we don’t do something, it’s going to be a bloodbath,” Teag replied.
I studied the invitation. “There are only a dozen seats available at the table,” I noted. “The price per plate is pretty pricey.”
“Mrs. Morrissey won’t have any problem filling that,” Teag predicted. “She’ll probably have a waiting list.”
“Let’s find out.” I have Mrs. Morrissey’s number on speed dial because she’s one of our best sources when we need to research something about the city’s history. I expected to need to leave a message, but to my surprise, she picked up on the third ring. I put the call on speaker so Teag could hear.
“Cassidy! Lovely to hear from you. Happy Thanksgiving!” Mrs. Morrissey is a dynamo, despite being up in years. “How can I help you?”
“I just got the email about the Wilmot House event,” I replied. “And I was wondering how the ticket sales were going.”
“We’ve had a few inquiries from the sign we posted at the house, but the announcement just went out a couple of minutes ago,” she replied. “And the tickets are priced to raise money, so they’re not in everyone’s budget. But any event with limited seating always sells out, so I’m sure we’ll fill up. We’ve got one paid reservation already if you can believe that!”
I could, and a chill went down my spine. “Anyone I know?”
“Doubtful—it’s not one of our usual donors,” Mrs. Morrissey replied. “Lovely woman, said she was here on business and just happened to see the sign. Maybe she’ll become a long-time friend of the Archive.”
I doubted it. “I’m sure you’ll fill up quickly,” I said. “I just wanted to ask because we’d be glad to tell our customers about the event, but I didn’t want to mention it if you were already full.” It was an outright fib, but for a good cause.
“That would be wonderful!” Mrs. Morrissey replied. “Much as I love having our regular donors at events like this, there’s so much potential to bring new patrons into the fold.” She chuckled. “But remember the ticket price. You may not want to mention it until you’ve rung up their purchase!”
I promised to stop by for a visit after the holiday and said goodbye, wishing her a happy Thanksgiving. “I think we’ve found Alia,” Teag said. “And Brevard’s going to have his fill of Charleston blue-bloods if we don’t do something to stop them.”
I cocked my head to one side, thinking. There was the germ of an idea in what he’d said. “What if we filled the event for her?” I said, as a plan formed in my mind. Before Teag could respond, I was texting Sorren.
“Did you see how much each of those tickets cost?” Teag replied.
“Sorren always says that immortality is good for gaining wealth,” I said.
The Wilmot House glittered with holiday welcome. It had once been a showplace, but now the old house just slightly north of Broad Street that had fallen on hard times. The building had “good bones” in term
s of architectural style, although years of neglect had turned it from a showplace into a fixer-upper. Still, a little imagination made it easy to see how the old brick house could return to its old grandeur.
I paused before I started up the steps, stretching out my magic. Some places were so polluted with dark power that I could feel it through the soles of my shoes. I waited, listening to my senses.
“Well?” Teag asked.
I shook my head. “Nothing evil. Just a very sad feeling. I have the oddest feeling that the house might actually like being a tourist attraction.”
Teag and I arrived early, wanting to make certain everything was in place for the evening’s encounter. Sorren had purchased all the remaining tickets for Thanksgiving Day, and Mrs. Morrissey set the next night as the event for the big donors. I hadn’t told her exactly what we were doing, but she was a good friend of my Uncle Evann, who left the store to me, so I think she suspects more about what we do than she lets on. We told her we were trying to catch an art thief. Mrs. Morrissey was glad to help, especially when I told her that the patron whose art we were trying to retrieve wanted it handled quietly and privately.
“Cassidy and Teag! Come on and tell me what you think of the food!” Niella Teller and her mother, Ernestine, were in the kitchen.
“From what I can smell, it should be heavenly!” I said. Teag and I wandered back to the kitchen. The room was dated but functional, like the rest of the house. Niella and Mrs. Teller stood near the big stove, their aprons spotted with food.
“You know we can’t eat any of this,” I said, feeling guilty at the feast that was going to go to waste. “If Sorren’s right, the witch will find a way to poison the food.”
“I know,” Mrs. Teller said, dusting her hands on her apron. “And it’s a crying shame. But if we don’t put some effort into this, that witch will figure something’s up. We might miss our chance.”
I had to give Ernestine Teller credit—she was feisty. She’s in her seventies, and one of the best sweetgrass basket makers in Charleston. Niella is her daughter and an excellent basket weaver in her own right. Both women are talented with Hoodoo and root magic. Mrs. Teller is known far and wide as a root woman, someone who can cure illnesses, repair relationships, and ward off evil. Lucky for us, she and Niella are also damn fine cooks.
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