by Sharon Pape
“Aha,” Merlin said. “I know what I did wrong.” He tried again, and again we waited. Still nothing. I wondered if I could be convicted for the murder of someone who’d technically been dead since the Middle Ages. Twenty minutes later, Merlin was frustrated, and I wasn’t sure if I was more angry or scared. If this had been a film set, we would have been up to “take” thirty-two. The Tilly-dragon must have been awfully thirsty, because she sipped the rest of the distasteful tea, an act that looked ridiculous, given her present state. But I was all out of giggles.
After a brief respite, during which Merlin paced around the kitchen muttering, he stopped and threw his hands up. “How could I have forgotten to reverse the last phrase?! What has befallen my memory of late?”
“You knew you had memory problems, yet you still thought it was a good idea to try this?” My anger and my voice had reached the boiling point.
“I forgot,” he responded. “That is what forgetting is about, after all.”
“Do you remember what to do now?” I could have won an Oscar for keeping my temper under control.
“Behold,” he said with the renewed confidence of a showman. On take thirty-two, he nailed it. A minute later Tilly was back to herself, asking if I’d taken a picture of her as a dragon. A picture? I’d been too busy worrying about her well-being to think of it. I’m not proud to admit that I lied and told her the camera wasn’t capable of capturing such powerful magick.
“Have I passed your test?” Merlin asked with aplomb.
“Yes, you have.” I’d thought about saying “no” to shake him up a bit for what he’d put me through. But the truth was that he had proven himself. I’d never met any witch, wizard, or sorcerer who could have done what he did, mistakes notwithstanding.
“Then might I lie down for a while? I believe I do suffer from that lagging malady you mentioned.”
“You’re welcome to rest at my house too,” Tilly said sweetly before I could answer. “I have two empty bedrooms; you can have your pick.”
Tired as he seemed, Merlin perked up at her offer. Had he been a dog, I’m certain that his ears would have stood at attention. “And where might that be?” he asked.
“The next block, but I have my car here.”
“If it means getting to ride in one of your modern conveyances, I cannot refuse your kind offer. What a remarkable day this has been.”
Tilly turned to me, happier than I’d seen her in days. “You don’t mind, Kailyn, do you?”
I didn’t have the heart to object. It stung a little that Merlin picked her over me, but only until I’d had a moment to think about it. The last thing I needed was the additional time and work he would add to my already complicated life. He wasn’t a friend who’d dropped by for the weekend. We had no way of knowing how long he would be staying or, for that matter, if he would ever be able to return home. “No, of course not,” I was able to say with complete honesty.
I saw them out to Tilly’s car, a snazzy red Camaro she’d purchased on a whim two years earlier, despite the fact that she’d had some difficulty climbing in and out of the car in the showroom. To her credit, I never heard her utter a single word of regret or complaint about it.
As I waved them off, I heard the phone inside ringing. I ran in, colliding with the cats who were assembled at the door, hoping for Merlin’s return. They scattered, tripping me and making it more difficult to avoid stepping on any paws. After I made it through the gauntlet without inflicting injury, the cats resumed their vigil at the door. They had a long night ahead of them. Sashkatu had retired to the top of the living room couch. From there he could keep an eye on the foyer in comfort. I grabbed the phone off the table beside the couch.
“I’m so glad you’re home,” Elise Harkens said in response to my hello. Her voice was so thin and raspy, she sounded as if she was being strangled.
“What’s up” I asked.
“I don’t know if you heard . . .”
“Heard what?”
“The killer used Jim’s gun to murder him. So now I’m—”
“Elise,” I interrupted her, “why don’t you come over to my house so we can talk?” Given this new evidence, Duggan might have put a tap on her line. Elise arrived ten minutes later, looking more distraught than she had on the day Jim died. I picked my way through the cats to open the door for her, then led her around them into the living room. When we sat on the couch, Sashkatu took umbrage at having his space invaded. With a plaintive yowl, he climbed down from his perch, using my body as a stairway to the floor and whacking me in the nose with his sturdy tail on the way. It was probably intentional, but this was not the time to scold him.
“Tell me what happened,” I said to Elise.
“Whenever I think things can’t get any worse, they do,” she said, tearing up.
“Maybe it’s not that bad,” I said, worried that it was. “Did Jim keep the gun at home or in his office?”
“As far as I know it’s always been in the house. When Jim bought it nine, ten years ago, it was at the time of those break-ins around the area.”
“I remember that. Didn’t the police eventually catch the guys who were responsible?”
“Yes. Luckily, Jim never had to use the gun against an intruder. I’d almost forgotten about it until today. Knowing that Jim’s killer is still on the loose, I figured I should keep it handy, you know, in case he tries to come after the boys or me. When I went to get it out of the lockbox, it was gone.”
“Did Jim ever lend the gun to anyone?”
“No, that would be illegal. He would never do it. But he lost the key months ago and never got around to buying a new box.
“Then we have to assume the killer broke into your house to steal the gun.”
“To frame me, right? Why else would someone do that?”
I tried to come up with another possibility, but nothing else made sense. “How many people knew you kept a gun in the house?”
Elise thought about it for a minute. “A few, unless Jim mentioned it to people when I wasn’t with him. I’ll make a list of the people I’m aware of.”
“It’s a start. Did you report the gun stolen yet?”
She shook her head. “I’ve been wracking my brain trying to figure out when there might have been a break-in, so I don’t sound like a complete lame-brain when I talk to them. Who wouldn’t know when they’ve been burglarized?”
“Do you always arm your security system?”
“We used to, when we first got it, also around the time of those burglaries. But after everything died down, we didn’t put it on unless we were going out of town. I mean, this is tiny New Camel.”
I understood her point. Living in New Camel, you felt safe. It was easy to forget about crime. If you weren’t a member of my family, that is. Whether there was crime, war, or peace, we relied on protective wards for security. “Vigilance is the price we must pay for the powers that make us different,” my grandmother used to say. “Never forget, Kailyn, we have not always been welcome.” Not long before she and my mother died, they’d had a basic alarm system installed, because our magick had become too unpredictable.
“The killer must have stolen the gun recently,” I said, thinking out loud. “He would have wanted to minimize the odds of Jim realizing the gun was gone. And when he stole it, he would have been careful not to mess up the house in any way that would have raised a red flag. Think back a couple of weeks. If the killer made any mistakes, they were probably small ones. Something you might have attributed to Jim or the boys.”
Elise shook her head. “I never came home and found the door unlocked or the—” Her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes widened. “I know when it happened. Ten days ago I found one of the big kitchen windows open. I assumed it was my cleaning lady’s fault, because she sometimes forgets to close and lock all the windows after she cleans them.”
“But that actually could have been the cleaning lady’s fault. So we still need some other clue to corroborate the fact it hap
pened that day. Something small, a book out of place or items switched around in a closet, a drawer not closed all the way.”
Elise’s brow furrowed. “Wait—I blamed my boys for tracking mud onto my bedroom carpet right after it was cleaned. They swore they hadn’t been in there, but I didn’t believe them,” she added sheepishly.
“Mud? I don’t think we had any rain that week though.”
“No, but our sprinklers were on and they make the flower bed under the kitchen windows muddy.”
“Here’s the problem,” I said. “If I’m right, the killer wouldn’t have left any evidence of being in the house. He would have cleaned up after himself.” And I’d been doing so well up to that point. So much for trying to fill Nancy Drew’s big shoes.
“The dirt was smeared as if the person tried to clean it,” Elise said. “It’s a lot easier to get up when it’s dry. It vacuums right up. If you try to wipe up wet dirt, it leaves a mess.”
Maybe there was still hope for me as a sleuth. “It could be the killer knew that, but didn’t have the time to hang around and wait for it to dry. He left, hoping you wouldn’t tie the mud to the break-in. And he got lucky. Was there mud anywhere else in the house?”
“I didn’t see any, but the other floors are ceramic or hardwood, way easier to clean.”
“All right, now that we’ve pinpointed the day it happened, you’ve got to call and report the theft.”
“I know,” Elise said miserably, “but it’s sure going to sound like I’m making the whole thing up—a lame attempt at a defense if ever there was one.”
“Think of it this way: once you report the gun stolen, they’ll have to investigate it and then maybe they’ll find the real killer.”
“Oh, I’m sure they’ll go through the motions. But in the end, there’s a real possibility I’ll go to prison, and my boys . . .” Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. I handed her the small box of tissues from the coffee table in front of the couch. She pulled one out and dabbed at her eyes and nose with it. Then she set the box down next to her as if she thought she might need another one soon. I tried to think of something comforting to say, a reason to be optimistic, but nothing came to me. She was the one to break the silence. “When I called, it wasn’t just to tell you about the gun,” she said, absently kneading the tissue in her hands. “I wanted to know if there’s a spell or potion that would make the killer come forward and confess, or . . . or one that would help Duggan find the guy? Would Aunt Tilly be able to read the killer’s mind if she were in the same room with him?”
Elise and I had never spent much time talking about my family business, hers either, for that matter. Because of the large age gap between us, it wasn’t until the last six years or so that we’d become close adult friends. During that time, I’d taught her some spells and whipped up some potions to help with a variety of things, from bee stings to her difficult mother-in-law. We didn’t see it as odd or any different from asking a friend for help with algebra or advice on how to catch a guy’s attention.
I put my hands over hers, hating to dash her hopes. “I wish it were that simple,” I said. “If it were, I would have already done it. I can’t cast a spell on an unknown individual and I doubt Duggan would be willing to let me practice magick on him for any reason. Unfortunately, Tilly can’t read a person when there’s something they’re trying to hide.”
Elise managed a half-hearted smile. “That’s what I thought, but I had to ask. I had to be sure.” We talked for a few more minutes about how the boys were doing, before she left to get back to them. To reach the door, she had to pick her way around the cats as if she were trying to avoid land mines.
The sound of the door closing drew Sashkatu out from wherever he’d been nursing his snit. He made his way directly to me and began weaving in and out of my legs, which generally meant he wanted my attention and would keep it up until he’d communicated his desire. I looked at my watch. Evening had snuck up on me. The other cats were still fixated on the door and the memory of Merlin, so it had been left to Sashkatu to remind me about dinner. I lined up their dishes on the counter and filled them with kibble and canned tuna with assembly-line efficiency Mr. Ford would have found impressive. Then I set five of them on the floor with fresh water. The sixth one I took into the first floor powder room for Sashkatu and left him to chow down in private. The smell of food had finally drawn the other cats into the kitchen.
I opened the refrigerator, looking for inspiration for my own dinner, but there wasn’t much there to inspire even the most creative chef. There were a couple of eggs, a lone apple, and a container of Chinese takeout that had to be at least two weeks old. I tossed it in the garbage, afraid to peek inside. Okay, that narrowed down my choices. Dinner was going to be an egg with an apple for dessert. No matter what new calamity tomorrow had in store for me, the day would also have to include a trip to the grocery store. I was cracking the egg on the side of a small fry pan when my mother popped in for a visit.
Chapter 8
“What on Earth is going on down there?” Morgana’s voice was so loud and unexpected in the quiet house that I jumped, fumbling the egg for a moment before losing it to the floor.
“I wish you wouldn’t sneak up on me like that,” I said, grabbing a paper towel and stooping to clean up the mess before the cats had a chance to track it all over the house.
“I suppose you have a point,” she replied, more irritated than apologetic. “How would you have me announce myself?”
“I don’t know . . . whisper my name, float silently into sight, ring a little bell.”
“I’ll try to remember that,” she agreed, still a bit huffy.
“Thank you. Is everything all right over there?” I asked, hoping to reset the tone of our conversation.
“Same old, same old,” she said, which meant nothing to me, since she and my grandmother had never actually told me what it was like on the other side. Either they had no desire to talk about it, highly unlikely, or they’d been sworn to secrecy. Imparting information to the living was probably number one on the hit parade of sins when you reached the other side. Otherwise, we’d all know a lot more on the subject. “I’m here to talk about you,” my mother went on. “Have things gotten worse?” Given how much had happened lately, I waited for her to be more specific. “I thought you were going to summon a familiar of your own.”
“I did, last night,” I said. It didn’t seem possible that it had been less than twenty-four hours ago.
“And yet all you’ve managed to summon is some weird old man.”
I almost didn’t tell her, but then I realized she was bound to figure it out sooner or later and I’d have to account for my reticence on the subject. “He’s not just any old man, Mom, he’s Merlin.”
Her laughter was a combination of a belly laugh and a crackle of electricity. I called it a cackle with a crackle when I described it to Tilly. “There is no way that old sad-sack is the mighty Merlin,” Morgana managed to squeak out as her laughter subsided.
“Then I guess you didn’t catch his little performance,” I said offhandedly.
“What performance was that?”
“He glamoured your sister into a dragon.”
“No way. Not possible.”
“Green scales, yellow eyes, fire-breathing, the whole nine yards.” Morgana didn’t respond. I’d rendered her speechless for the first time in my life.
“Well, I’d have to see that to believe it,” she pronounced, but with an uncharacteristic lack of conviction in her voice.
Priorities forced me to let the remark go unchallenged. As long as she was there, I had a couple of important questions to ask her and I didn’t know when she might be summoned away. “Listen, mom, I can’t find the spell you used to restore Tilly’s powers the last time she lost them. Do you remember where you put it?” She suggested a series of places I could search, all of which I’d already tried. I asked her to let me know if she thought of anywhere else to look and then I
moved on. “Would you happen to know any spells that could help me find a killer?”
She gasped. “A killer? In New Camel?!” I’d forgotten that she didn’t know about Jim’s death, so I quickly filled her in. “I’m gone for a lousy couple of months and everything comes apart at the seams,” she muttered. “Please give Elise my heartfelt condolences—oh, you can’t. Not without really freaking her out. This being dead business is very exasperating.” I didn’t point out that she would probably be adjusting better if she let go of her earthbound ties and embraced her new state of being. She had to be aware of that herself. Besides, I wasn’t ready to let her go.
“Mom, do you know of such a spell?” I prompted when she didn’t respond.
“I’m thinking. I’m thinking.”
Several more minutes passed. “Nothing?”
“Sorry, murder is not something we ever encountered in New Camel. Promise you’ll be careful, Kailyn. I’ve got to run, your grandmother’s calling me. I’ll try to get back to you if we come up with anything. I know, why don’t you ask your friend Merlin for help?” she added dryly, managing to get in the last word.
Thinking about our conversation after she left, I realized she’d made a point that had eluded me. She’d immediately connected Merlin’s appearance to my attempt to summon a familiar. She’d always been good at seeing the forest as well as the trees. But was it possible for a spell to go astray to such a huge degree? Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have bet on it, but then we’d lost “normal” months ago. My epiphany brought with it a stab of guilt. If she was right, Merlin’s voyage through time might all be on me. And guilt brought along its old pal self-doubt. How was I going to help anyone if I was constantly worried about doing more harm than good?
* * *
Sometime during the night, my mesmerized cats finally gave up their vigil at the door and joined Sashkatu and me in bed. At least Merlin’s hypnotic effect on them wasn’t permanent. Although I’d gone to bed half expecting to be awakened by a frantic call from Tilly, I didn’t hear from her until the next morning. When I saw her name on the caller ID I had no idea what awaited me. It turned out to be a pleasant surprise. I sure hadn’t had my quota of those lately. Tilly sounded more cheerful than she’d been since losing Morgana and Bronwen. She gave me a detailed rundown of what she and Merlin had been doing since they’d left my house. She’d made grilled cheese sandwiches for their dinner and Merlin had gobbled up three. She could barely make them fast enough. To the best of her ability, she’d explained how everything in the house worked, from the computer and printer all the way down to the shower and electric toothbrush. According to her, he was like a kid in a candy store on his first sugar high.