Her fingers tripped a switch that in turn caused a loud grinding sound. Emma took a step back to watch in amazement as a door opened in the back wall of the wine cellar. She approached this door cautiously to wait for something to spring out at her, perhaps some kind of booby trap meant to strike down an intruder. There was nothing.
The door led to a small earthen chamber, inside which were carved a variety of hieroglyphics. In the center of the chamber, someone—presumably Isis—had drawn a stick figure with the arms curved down. Emma didn’t dare touch this; she sensed the power in it. From a pocket she took out a small digital camera, which she used to snap pictures of the chamber. The witches would know what to make of this, but she knew enough to know they were in trouble.
Chapter 26
By the time the first guests arrived, Emma felt as if she had run a marathon. Mustafa had worked her and the rest of the wait staff furiously to prepare for the party. For whatever reason, his interests went far beyond the food; Emma had to wipe at a spot on the floor with a wet rag. She scrubbed at it until she could see her unfamiliar face in the marble tiles. Only then did she allow herself a relieved sigh.
The moment didn’t last long, as Mustafa pounded out of the kitchen. “Little one, what are you doing on the floor? Now is not the time for napping. Go get ready for our guests!”
“Yes, sir,” Emma mumbled. At the back of the kitchen she took a moment to smooth down her hair and straighten the wrinkles out of her dress. She practiced a smile into the reflective surface of a pot to get used to these different facial muscles. Then someone thrust a tray of hors d'oeuvres into her hands.
She arrived in the dining room as Dan led in the first group of guests. Emma recognized many of these older men and women from various museum functions over the years. With a fake smile plastered on her face, she swept into their midst with the tray of food. They paid her little mind as they picked the food off the tray; she doubted they would have recognized her even if she weren’t in disguise.
Once her tray was empty, Emma returned to the kitchen. She didn’t have time to relax as another tray was pressed into her hands. If she survived the night, she promised to never leave less than a twenty-five-percent tip at a restaurant again.
On her third trip into the dining room, she saw Becky. Her best friend was also in a disguise of sorts, her body lean and muscular beneath a simple lavender sheath. There was a vacantness to Becky’s expression that indicated she did not act of her free will. Becky was a puppet and Isis pulled the strings. Though Emma tried to stay away, Becky navigated through the crowd to find her. “What do you call these?” she asked.
“Sambosa,” Emma said. As with Dan, she tried to keep her eyes on the floor so that Becky wouldn’t recognize her.
Becky popped the appetizer into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “These are good. You’ll have to get me the recipe.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Emma turned to go, but Becky put a hand on her shoulder. “I was only kidding.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What’s your name?”
“Jasmine.”
“Have we met somewhere before? You seem familiar.”
Emma focused for a moment on her breathing to remain calm. Becky hadn’t recognized her yet; there was no need to panic. “I don’t think so, ma’am.”
“I’m sure I’ve seen you before.”
Emma looked back to the kitchen in desperation. Never had she wanted to see Mustafa more than now. “I had better go.”
“Oh, sure. I didn’t mean to hold you up.”
With that Emma hurried back to the kitchen; she let out a breath when she made it through the doors. Mustafa spotted her and strode towards her like an angry storm cloud. “What are you doing?” he screamed at her in Arabic. “There’s no time to rest. Get back to work or you’re fired!”
“Yes, sir,” Emma said. She had never quit on anything in her life, but she started to seriously consider it.
On Emma’s fourth trip into the crowd, Isis made her grand entrance. There were no trumpets, but the way the woman glided down the steps, Emma could imagine Isis heard them in her mind. Guests turned in waves to watch as Isis descended the stairs. Emma nearly lost the tray in her hand as she watched Dan reach out to take his wife’s hand. He swept her onto the ballroom floor as if they were about to begin an impromptu waltz.
With the practiced ease of a bride and groom walking down the aisle, they floated across the floor to the statue of Isis. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Dan began, “I want to thank you all for coming tonight. You are the first people outside my family to see the treasures on display here. But of course there’s no more beautiful treasure in this house than my lovely wife, Isis. She’s going to tell you about another Isis.” Dan released his wife’s hand so he could applaud her.
Isis, ever the gracious hostess, blushed at this applause. “Thank you. Isis is one of the oldest Egyptian goddesses and also the most beautiful. But I might be a little biased about that.” Isis waited for the laughter to stop before she continued, “In the Book of the Dead, Isis is described as:
She who gives birth to heaven and earth,
She who knows the orphan,
She who knows the widow spider,
She who seeks justice for the poor people,
She who seeks shelter for the weak people,
She who seeks the righteousness in her people.
“She is all of these things and more. I am honored to share my name with her and I am even more honored that my husband and I can share these beautiful artifacts with all of you.”
As Isis’s speech wound down, Emma left her empty tray behind a large pot of flowers. Then she began to ease along the wall, to the door for the foyer. She opened the door and then imitated the mating call of a thrush. The witches appeared a few moments later.
“Are you all right, dear? You look a bit piqued,” Mrs. Chiostro said.
“I’m a little tired.”
“Is everything going as planned?”
“So far,” Emma said. She instructed the witches how to get down to the wine cellar and gave her camera to Mrs. Chiostro to help them find the hidden room. Then she hurried away from them to find Dan’s study to carry out the next phase of the plan.
***
Mrs. Chiostro checked her watch and then sat down on a bus stop bench to rest. She had used more magic in the last week than in the last hundred years and before the night was over, she would have to use far more. She didn’t know if she would have the strength for it.
While she rested, Sylvia took a bronze dagger from one pocket of her camouflage pants to polish it. “I can’t wait to sink this into that bitch’s heart.”
“You know we aren’t here to kill her, dear.”
“Yeah, well, after this little exorcism goes south, we aren’t going to have a choice.”
“It could work,” Tabitha said, though she didn’t sound convinced either.
“There’s no way that girl’s soul could survive hosting something like that. By now it’s completely engulfed her.”
“It’s worth a try,” Mrs. Chiostro said.
“I’d feel better about it if there were more of us,” Tabitha said. “Do you think three will be enough to do it?”
“Let’s hope so.”
They waited a few more minutes before they started their hike up to Dan and Isis’s house. It was not the largest in the wealthy neighborhood known as the Heights, but it was still impressive, at least four times bigger than Mrs. Chiostro’s home. She could understand now why Isis had chosen Dan Dreyfus for her husband. To live in a house like this with a handsome man while she gathered her power was certainly a sweet deal.
There were security guards at the gate and video cameras to monitor who came and went. This wasn’t a problem for the witches. Tabitha used a basic sleep spell on the guards while Sylvia used a sparkler spell to blind the cameras. The witches used the opening to ease through the gates; they walked casually so to anyone who
might see them they belonged at the party.
Then they had to wait for an hour in the bushes. Throughout this wait security guards passed near the bushes, but never took the time to look through them. Just in case, Mrs. Chiostro had kept a mute spell on her lips so the guards would be unable to sound an alert.
While they waited, Sylvia polished another dagger, this one made of bone. She also went through an inventory of the various darts she had brought along, each smothered with a different toxin. Mrs. Chiostro thought to explain to her sister again they weren’t here to kill Isis—at least not yet.
Mrs. Chiostro had her own concerns about the plan, concerns she had not dared to tell anyone else. Like her sister, Mrs. Chiostro didn’t hold out much hope that the real Isis was still alive inside that body. When a presence as densely evil as the dark one possessed someone, she didn’t simply take over the body; she consumed the soul as well. In that case an exorcism would be useless.
She still believed they had to try if only because of how earnestly Emma felt about this. The girl could not bring herself to kill anyone, even a creature as evil as Isis. In part out of guilt that she had abandoned Emma and in part out of respect for the girl’s convictions, Mrs. Chiostro had decided to go along with the plan. And who knew, it might even work.
At last they heard the signal. Mrs. Chiostro led the way to find the young Arab girl Emma had disguised herself as on the front steps. Though it was an unfamiliar face to her, Mrs. Chiostro couldn’t help but notice the girl’s sunken eyes and deep frown. “Are you all right, dear? You look a bit piqued,” Mrs. Chiostro said.
“I’m a little tired.”
“Is everything going as planned?”
“So far,” Emma said. She led them into the foyer and then instructed them on how to get to the wine cellar. “This should help you,” she added. She pressed a digital camera into Mrs. Chiostro’s hands. Then the girl hurried away.
Mrs. Chiostro gave the camera to Tabitha, who figured out how to turn it on and browse its contents. The last picture showed a diagram drawn into a dirt floor of a stick figure with arms turned down—the symbol of Isis. A shiver ran through Mrs. Chiostro. They were in more trouble than she had feared. “She’s nearly regained her powers,” Mrs. Chiostro said. The other witches nodded in agreement.
“We’re screwed,” Sylvia said to summarize the situation in a vulgar, though correct way.
“Not yet,” Mrs. Chiostro said. “Let’s go downstairs and begin setting up.”
The other witches followed, but she could sense their trepidation. The smart thing to do would be to take these pictures back to Glenda and summon the rest of the coven. But at this point not even the entire coven might be enough.
***
The report lay on Lieutenant Donovan’s desk, though she still found it hard to believe. At the moment Captain Kramer’s death had been labeled as a heart attack from “overexertion.” No mention was made in the report of why he had been in the motel room. There was only a brief mention of the unknown woman. She was a “person of interest” in the case, not a suspect.
The only bright side was that the Kramer case had been given to Detective Cielo to handle. As the only witness to come forward in the case, Lieutenant Donovan had been disqualified from consideration. This was a great relief to her as she still had enough crazy cases on her desk, most prominent among those the murders of Lois Early and Steve Scherr. Another bizarre case might have sent her over the edge.
Still, she had snagged a copy of the report out of professional curiosity. No matter how many times she ran through the scene in her mind, she still couldn’t unearth any more details, or make sense of what she had seen. The entire thing was like something out of a vampire novel, except there were no bite marks on Kramer’s neck. Perhaps it was some kind of other evil spirit, or perhaps Lieutenant Donovan had lost her mind.
She snapped the folder shut and turned back to her actual work. No breaks had been made in the Early and Scherr murders after she had identified the murder weapon. She couldn’t very well issue an APB for something called the Black Dragoon and have officers look for a creature in black armor. There was still an APB on Emma Earl, aka the Scarlet Knight, which the lieutenant’s superiors had refused to rescind even after she presented the evidence to rule Earl out as the murderer.
Despite this evidence, Lieutenant Donovan still wanted to talk to Emma Earl; she had the feeling Earl could help her piece together what was going on. If only she could get the warrant for Earl’s arrest rescinded, the girl might come forward on her own. Otherwise she would have to search for who knew how long and meanwhile try to make sense of it all by herself.
The lieutenant rubbed her temples as a migraine came on. Thoughts of scarlet knights and black dragoons were enough to make her head spin. At the academy her instructors had never prepared her for crazy shit like this. She had expected to deal with gangsters, drug peddlers, thieves, and other scum, but not costumed vigilantes. That she had always assumed was the realm of comic books. Except now the comics had come to life.
When the phone rang, Lieutenant Donovan groaned as if someone had hit her over the head with a frying pan. She gingerly took the receiver from its cradle; she assumed it was another reporter who wanted a scoop or a crackpot with a bogus lead.
From what the woman on the other end said initially it sounded like the latter. “I know where you can find Emma Earl,” the woman said.
“Yeah, where’s that? Let me guess, on the teacup ride at Disneyland. Or maybe on Mount Everest with one of those mystical gurus.”
“No,” the woman said. Her voice sounded almost hurt at the lieutenant’s sarcasm. “You’ll find her at the house of Dr. Daniel Dreyfus.”
Dreyfus? The name stuck out in Lieutenant Donovan’s mind for a reason she couldn’t decipher at the moment. She punched the name into the computer. While she waited for the information to come up, she tried to keep the informant on the line. “How do you know this? Are you at the house?”
“Yes. I’m looking right at her. You’d better hurry before she escapes.” With that the phone went dead.
Lieutenant Donovan snarled a curse, but then the file on Dreyfus came up on her screen. Of course, he worked at the Plaine Museum. That was where she had seen him before. A coworker of Emma Earl—and perhaps more than that—though not one so obvious she had thought to ask him. Earl had probably batted her eyelashes at him and the fool had let her stay in his house. The file indicated Dreyfus had recently married a woman named Isis, which only made things more interesting. Like some kind of goddamned soap opera, she thought.
Lieutenant Donovan picked up the phone and punched in the extension for the SWAT team. There was no way she would let Emma Earl escape, even if she hadn’t actually killed Lois Early. It was time to finish this once and for all.
Chapter 27
As Emma hung up the phone in Dan’s study, a wave of queasiness ran through her. Before long Lieutenant Donovan would have police swarming over Dan’s house to find Emma and arrest her. By that time she planned to be out of sight. But first there was something else she had to do.
She returned to the ballroom, where a chamber orchestra had struck up a traditional waltz, since no one knew any ancient Egyptian dances. In the middle of the dancing pairs were the stars of the show, Dan and Isis. Emma watched how easily they moved about the floor, as if they had done it all their lives. When she saw the happy smile on Dan’s face, a twinge of regret poked Emma. Then she remembered that the Isis Dan danced with—whom Dan had married—was not the real Isis. She was an impostor, an evil creature bent on destruction.
With far less grace than the couples on the floor, Emma scooted between the dancers until she reached Dan and Isis. She tapped him on the shoulder. Isis shot her a dirty look and then said, “Shouldn’t you be in the kitchen? Or serving something?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Mr. Mustafa would like to see Dr. Dreyfus in the kitchen.”
“Tell Mr. Mustafa that my husband is busy.”
It didn’t take much of an effort for Emma to force a pained expression to her face. She looked down helplessly at the floor, and hoped Dan seized the bait. He did. “Now, honey, it should only take a minute. You can dance with Mr. Greybrooke. He’s been giving you the eye all night.” Dan motioned his head towards a dapper old man who leaned on a cane by the glasses of champagne.
“I don’t want to dance with that horny old goat,” Isis said.
“Come on, honey, I’m sure it would give him a thrill.”
“Fine.” Isis stamped her left foot before she stomped away to the old man to ask for a dance. This left Emma alone with Dan.
“Lead on,” he said. She led him across the dance floor and wished she could ask him for one dance. Though she couldn’t dance, she yearned to feel his body close against hers, his cheek to hers. “Is something wrong?”
She realized she stood in the middle of the dance floor. From the tone of his voice, she also knew that to him she was a young Arab girl named Jasmine, a servant who would soon disappear from his life. “No. Follow me.”
They didn’t reach the kitchen. As they neared the doors, Emma reached into the pocket of her dress. Sylvia had given her one of her poisoned darts, which brought to mind five years ago when Emma had filled a syringe with one of Mrs. Chiostro’s potions to knock Dan out and erase his memories of her. This time she decided to be less cruel; the dart would only put him to sleep for a short time.
With one deft flick, the dart stabbed into Dan’s right thigh. His eyes turned wide for a moment and then rolled back into his head. She caught him before he could topple over and propped him up with one arm so no one would suspect anything wrong. “I’m sorry,” she whispered into his ear.
She opened the doors to the kitchen. Mustafa studied her and Dan for a moment. Then the huge man rumbled with laughter. “He must not be able to handle his liquor,” Mustafa said.
Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Call Page 77