The teapot was a custom piece, so I had to assume that Jacob’s grandmother had ordered whatever message had been inscribed inside. I also had to take into consideration the teapot itself. This was no flowery little tea set trifle; the severely modern form of the black teapot indicated that it was meant for serious business. Whatever was going on here, this piece was not built for the small personal spells for which Jacob’s grandmother was known.
I realized that I had another problem. Because I had not been able to do paperwork with Jacob, I’d never given him that dollar bill to transfer the ownership of the teapot to Pentacle Pawn. I had in my possession a live grenade, and Jacob had the pin.
I retrieved the paper bag and taped the teapot back into it as best I could. Jacob’s mother had been right: this thing was dangerous. I spread the twine out on my desk, placed the package in the center of it and worked the string up over the package’s shoulders until the herb ball rested back in its place on top. To whatever wards Jacob’s mother had placed on the package, I added one of my own before I took the teapot downstairs and stored it in a lead-lined bin in my vault for safekeeping.
Finding Jacob Carroll just became a priority.
♦
It had been another weird night, and I couldn’t wait to get home to John. My last appointment left around four so I let Lissa go home early. Twenty minutes later, I tucked my Ferragamo pumps back into my desk drawer, slid into my Vans, and I was out the door myself.
Sunrise was still a couple of hours away, and the alley was dark. We’ve never put security lighting out there because we don’t want to draw attention to our door. Most of our clients use flashlights or a bit of magic illumination so they don’t trip on the cobblestones. But, after being in business here for several years, I could navigate the alley just fine in the pre-dawn light.
The temperature had been well over 100 the day before, and the walls and pavement still held their heat. I threw my coat over my arm and turned right, toward the parking lot where my Beemer waited for me. I had only taken a couple of steps when I sensed someone behind me.
Two figures in jeans and hoodies slouched against the wall at the sidewalk end of the alley. They were silhouetted in the streetlights in front of Bronwyn’s shop. It looked like the goth kids were back to make another try at the alley door.
“Hey!” I shouted. They looked up at me, but their faces were still in shadow. “Didn’t get enough the first time?”
The taller figure raised his arm and pointed at me. A shot whizzed past my ear.
“Door! Alarm!” I yelled as I dove back inside. The door slammed behind me.
“Well, that was fun,” Frank said. I hadn’t noticed him slink up next to my elbow. He winced. “Can’t you do something about that noise?”
The alarm on my alley door does not sound like a car alarm. It wails like the gates of hell itself have opened. Even at that hour, someone in the bars or hotels in the neighborhood would call the cops.
Just as all calls to Uber for the alley shop are magically routed to Stella, all calls to the police department regarding that address go to my cousin Jim, a Scottsdale detective. He works nights, and the door admitted him seven minutes later.
I was still shaking, cross-legged on the floor, when Jim got there. Frank had crawled up into my lap. He had informed me that it was for my own protection, and he permitted me to stroke his fur because I might be in shock. He pretended that he didn’t like it.
“I thought it was just the goth kids again,” I said to Jim through chattering teeth.
“What goth kids?”
I filled him in. “I never mentioned it because they didn’t get in, and the door took care of it. That’s why I was so surprised to see them out there. Usually, all it takes is one encounter with the door to make the point.”
“And you think this was them, again?”
I shook my head. “They were just teenagers looking to get a little trouble. I can’t imagine them carrying a gun.” I shivered again. “These guys weren’t burglars. They were waiting for me.”
Jim sighed. “I’m guessing it would be pointless to ask you whether you’ve made any enemies lately?” He was aware of the nature of my clientele, and coming from a witchy family himself, he knew how volatile our lifestyle could be.
I thought about it. “Sorry, nobody stands out.”
He shook his head in frustration. “Okay, let’s look at the video.”
There’s a security camera above the alley door, but it’s usually not turned on — my clientele would not appreciate having their comings and goings recorded. But once the alarm is tripped, the camera captures the 180-degree view of whatever is going on in the alley for the next 30 minutes.
The video confirmed what I remembered: two forms leaning against the wall at the mouth of the alley. They were a few feet back from the sidewalk, and the camera had caught them only as shadows. The light silhouetted the taller one as he stepped into a shooting stance and raised his arm. The muzzle flash flared a few frames to white as he fired at me.
I glanced over at Jim while he watched the footage. His jaw was locked. “It doesn’t look like you ever had a chance to see their faces,” he said. He was right; the video showed only shadows and blurs. He scowled. “There’s not much to work with here.”
“So, are they coming back?” I asked.
Jim considered the question. “If this was a normal business, and you were a normal person, I would say no. I’d tell you not to be out on the streets alone at night. But considering the circumstances, my best advice is to keep your eyes open. If you can, get one of your friends to escort you back and forth to work, and maybe keep watch while you come down that alley. At least do that much. Agreed?”
I gave him what I hoped was a compliant smile. I could get Stella to Uber me back and forth, and I certainly could make an effort to be more aware of my surroundings. I’d turn on the camera and keep the app open in the corner of my desk computer so I could keep an eye out for Lissa and our clients as they came and went.
The one thing I could not do was tell John. When I got home, I told him that I was having some trouble with the Beemer, and that Stella would be driving me for the rest of the week until I had time to take it into the shop.
He was always pretty good with cars, and I could tell it was killing him — pardon the expression — to look down from the balcony and know he couldn’t just go out to the parking lot and fix it.
“Just let it go,” I finally pleaded, and to my great relief, he did. With any luck, that would be the end of it — but I doubted it. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t over.
Chapter Six
The next night, Lissa ducked out for a few hours: Orion had planned a special dinner for them at one of the swanky restaurants in Old Town. I was happy for the time alone.
Tonight, I was starting my search for Jacob Carroll.
Jacob hadn’t required a referral to Pentacle Pawn because he and his late mother were longtime clients, but now I needed to know more.
I called Enoch Dobbins, the lawyer who was handling Jerry’s lottery wins and did occasional legal work for my shop. Enoch had been around town a long time, way before the Indian casinos became everybody’s Saturday night, and he loved roulette and craps. I figured that Enoch quite literally knew where the bodies were buried.
It was after 10 p.m., but when I called his home number, Enoch picked up on the first ring.
“I was wondering when you’d call,” Enoch said in his cigar-graveled baritone. “I hear it’s been busy over there.”
Magical communities are like small towns, and gossip travels fast. And, despite its status as an international resort, Scottsdale is a small town. Enoch Dobbins is a leader of both, and secrets are his stock in trade.
“A bit busier than I’d like,” I admitted. “What can you tell me about Jacob Carroll?”
I heard him chuckle. “Ah, Jacob. What’s he been up to now?”
“I’m not really sure. I ended up with some propert
y that belongs to him, and I need to return it as soon as possible. I was hoping that you might know how to contact him.”
Enoch took a moment to consider. He was weighing our relative value to him, Jacob’s and mine. He must’ve decided that I was the better long-term prospect.
“That boy sure is a handful,” Enoch said. “His poor mama...well, she did her best with him, I suppose, but since she passed, he’s been bound and determined to run through her money like it was water.”
“Then you administer his trust?”
“Can’t confirm or deny,” Enoch said. I heard him take a long draw on his cigar. “Ask another question.”
I thought about it. “I’m trying to figure out why he would be in such a big hurry to pick up a valuable brooch that his mother had left with me, and the very next day he turns around and wants to leave one of his grandmother’s heirlooms. I thought he was cashing out.”
Enoch snorted. “That, I can answer. He’s into some serious people for some serious money. That’s why he wanted to cash in his mother’s jewelry. That heirloom he wanted to leave with you — was it witchy, or just a collectible?”
“I don’t do collectibles. Something is going on with that teapot; I’m just not quite sure yet what.” I told him about how Jacob had abandoned the teapot in Stella’s car.
Enoch was thoughtful. “That doesn’t sound like he was hiding it from his creditors. More likely, he wanted to keep it away from somebody who knew what it could do.” He took another drag on the cigar. “I’ll be happy to make some calls.”
♦
Bronwyn left a phone message as she left for the day that a Mrs. Phoebe Sandringham had stopped by at lunchtime to say hello. The name didn’t ring a bell, but Mrs. Sandringham said she was a friend of my mother Hazel’s and mentioned how lovely Daisy’s garden was at the New Orleans shop.
It was entirely possible that Mrs. Sandringham was exactly who she claimed to be, but by the time I got Bronwyn’s message, my mother would have been asleep for hours. Lissa had apparently picked up the message and spoken with my mother, because she had penciled Mrs. Sandringham in for the following night. I was overdue to give Hazel a call anyway, so I promised myself I’d check in with my mother in the morning.
But, just before midnight, the door admitted a small, thin, elderly woman with caramel skin and purple hair. Sorry to barge in early, she apologized, but she was only in town for a few days. She was playing tourist, and nobody in “our set” visited Arizona without stopping by Pentacle Pawn. In the magical community, it would be like skipping the Grand Canyon, she said in an accent that revealed her youth in the Indian subcontinent.
I was flattered, if a bit mystified. I was positive that we had never met, but there was something about her that was so familiar.
I made Mrs. Sandringham some tea and showed her around the shop. As we spoke, I studied her. We chatted about my recent renovation — the cover story I’d put out to explain being closed for three weeks after Penelope had sacked the place in her quest for a blue amber amulet and its spellbook — and Mrs. Sandringham gushed over the museum-quality antiques that had replaced my smashed cabinets and counters. A little gesture here, a turn of a phrase there: it was killing me that I couldn’t place her.
Lissa came in just as we were finishing our tea. I introduced her to Mrs. Sandringham and thanked her for setting up the appointment. Lissa started to say something, but Mrs. Sandringham set aside her teacup and rose from the settee.
“I’ve had such a lovely visit — thank you both!” she gushed as she sashayed toward the door. “I’ll be sure to let your mother know what a lovely evening I had visiting with you.”
And with that, she was out the door.
“I wish I could remember when I met her,” I said to Lissa. “She seems so familiar, but I just can’t put my finger on it. What did my mother tell you about her?”
Lissa blushed. “She wasn’t supposed to come until tomorrow, so I was going to give New Orleans a call in the morning. I didn’t want to take a chance on waking your mother.”
Smart girl. My mother is a force of nature, and not one that you want to awaken with the phone ringing in the middle of the night.
“No harm done. I’m sure it’s fine, but I’ll call Hazel in the morning, just to be sure.” Lisa wasn’t making eye contact, but she was drawing circles in the nonexistent dust on the countertop with her index finger. She was working up the courage to tell me something. It wasn’t what I expected.
“And?” I left the question hanging in the air.
“And,” she said, “I’m moving in with Orion. He asked me tonight.” “Wow,” was all I could manage to say.
“Oh, it’s not like that,” she said quickly, wiping the rest of the nonexistent dust away with the palm of her hand.
It was exactly like that. Orion is one of the most beautiful men on the planet. Lissa is a vibrant, if a little naive, young woman. I was happy for them both.
♦
Stella stopped by just after Lissa got back, and they gushed girl talk about Lissa’s big news. I envied them a little for the newness of it all, that first time in a real relationship when every emotion is in sharp relief. When I thought about it, my own personal life was new, too, but in a very different way. I loved John, but we were in uncharted territory.
Stella eventually dropped by my desk where I was slogging through the month’s worth of paperwork. “I just wanted to make sure everything was okay,” she said.
I looked up at her from the phone bill on my screen. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“It’s just that... that Mrs. Sandringham? She was a little, well, odd.”
In what way?” Odd would be an accurate description for at least half of my clientele.
“She was doing that same thing that Mr. Carroll did. It was like she was trying to block me from reading her thoughts.”
Stella had my attention. “Is that usual?”
Stella shook her head. “Most people don’t even know that I’m hearing them, and I try not to pry. But sometimes, it’s like people are trying to intentionally generate static. It gives me a headache, but it doesn’t happen very often. That’s why I thought I ought to say something. It’s a weird coincidence to have two of them so close together.”
I’ve said it before: I don’t believe in coincidences. I made a mental note to call my mother about Phoebe Sandringham.
♦
Lissa was down in the vault doing inventory when my cell rang.
“I think I know who your shooter was,” Jim said.
I felt my pulse jump. “Who?”
“Have you done business with one Jacob Carroll?”
That little rat.
I explained to Jim about the brooch and the teapot, and that I had Enoch Dobbins on the lookout for Jacob.
“We heard some chatter from one of our informants that there was a big contract out on a businesswoman here in town. Our snitch says that Jacob picked up that contract to get out from under some gambling debts.”
Somebody put a contract out on my life? My heart caught in my throat. “Who?” I finally whispered. “Who wants me dead?”
“The snitch didn’t know. All he could tell us was that Jacob had tried and missed. Now he’s gone underground. He’ll turn up, one way or the other, but his odds aren’t very good. Maybe we’ll find them, but maybe it’ll be the guys who hold his paper, or whoever put out the contract.”
I felt totally helpless. “So what do I do now?”
“Keep your head down, cousin.”
♦
One of the first things I teach my interns is to always be aware of their surroundings. It’s good advice for anybody walking around in the world, but when you deal with magical objects for a living, it’s a matter of life and death.
I sent Lissa home an hour before sunrise. She was still giddy about her plans with Orion, so at first she didn’t notice the dapper man standing just outside the alley door. He wore an old-fashioned fedora pulled low over his ey
es.
“Hello, pumpkin,” Alex said.
That voice came from Lissa’s distant past, from her oldest dreams. She spun on her heel, instantly awake.
“Daddy?”
Alex had pictured this moment for more than two decades, but now that it was here, he didn’t know what to expect. Would she run from him, or run into his arms? He stood silent and still, afraid to spook her.
Lissa, too, was frozen in place. “Daddy,” she finally said. Her voice was flat, and Alex couldn’t figure out whether she was happy or sad to see him. They both stood their ground.
Lissa couldn’t sort out her own feelings. This was the man who had abandoned her. But here he was, back from the dead. She was angry and over-the-moon joyous in the same breath. He was going to have to make the first move.
As if he could read her thoughts, Alex took a tentative step forward.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I came to see you.”
“No,” Lissa said, more insistent, “I mean: why are you here? You just show up, after all this time?”
“It’s complicated.”
You think?” Lissa couldn’t help herself; she scowled at him. She was breaking in half. Grown-up Lissa couldn’t stand to be near him, the pain of his abandonment too much to bear. But the child inside her, the Lissa who had been left behind all those years ago, saw her father and longed for him.
Alex looked down at the ground and shuffled his feet. “I don’t want anything from you, Lissa. I just wanted to see you, just this one time.”
This one time?” Lissa’s heard her voice rise, as if it was coming from some other girl. “This one time? So, you’re leaving again now?”
“This was a mistake.”
Alex turned and walked out of the alley without looking back.
Chapter Seven
I got a text from Swensen’s private pilot that the banker’s jet had arrived to pick up the drinking horn. Barry was still staying at his cheap motel out by the fairgrounds, so I called Stella to bring him back to Pentacle Pawn, and then take him and the trombone case to the plane.
The Viking Horn Spell Page 6