I felt the heat rise to my cheeks, so to cover I let my napkin slide to the floor. Cole and I both bent to retrieve it at the same time. As his hand brushed against mine, I felt an electric shock run through me at his touch.
“Something wrong?’ He asked as we straightened.
“I—I guess I’ll never reconcile a warm touch with a vampire,” I murmured. “Even an Inheritor.”
He smiled. “For such a young girl you can seem so terribly old-fashioned at times.”
“So?” My jaw thrust forward. “It’s not a crime, is it?”
“No—nor is open-mindedness.”
I swallowed. Now seemed an excellent time for a change of subject.
“Florrie’s friend Drucilla noticed you straightaway in the cafeteria,” I blurted. “You were with the Dean. She said you were a dreamboat.”
Something in those black eyes flickered. “Did she now? And what did you say?”
“Me?” I squeaked.
“Yes, you.”
“What do you care what I said?”
He laughed. “Who said I did?”
I threw up my hands. “You’re impossible. Do all Inheritors fish for compliments? I agreed, of course, as I had no other choice.”
He toyed with one of the spoons and chuckled. “How stupid of me. I should know you’d not pay me a compliment unless it were in the line of duty, so to speak.”
“Glad you understand, pal. So, back to the business at hand. Have you ever heard of the term Odic Force?”
He shook his head. “Can’t say I have.”
“I did some research on it. It’s got roots in both Wiccan and Haitian Voodoo. The voodoo part, however, could involve some sort of human sacrifice.”
Cole rubbed at his chin. “Human sacrifice, eh? Now, there could be the reason behind our killer’s little collection of body parts—a ritual involving this Odic Force?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t discount it. And here’s another interesting tidbit. Drucilla said she heard Florrie arguing with Graft over something to do with seven points. Same thing Mrs. Alban overheard her daughter discussing on the phone.”
“Interesting.” He moved his shoulders, fingers drumming against the collection of silverware in front of him. “So, seven points you say. But points of what?”
“I have no idea in Hades, but Xia told me the symbol for mystical energy is a seven pointed star.”
“You think mystical energy and odic force are the same?”
“I don’t know, but I think it’s an interesting coincidence, don’t you?”
His eyebrow went straight up. “I thought you didn’t believe in coincidence,” he said dryly.
“I don’t, but I’m broad-minded enough to know there can be exceptions to every rule,” I shot back, cupped my chin in my palm. “Lord, you can be so thick at times, Cole.” I gave him a sidelong glance, and my eyes narrowed. “Or are you playing with me?”
He laughed. “Who could resist? You get so—so fiery when you’re annoyed.”
“You know, you really are a pain in the rear.” I snatched up the wineglass, took a long sip. “If I get hired as Graft’s assistant, I just might find out some of these answers.”
He picked up his glass, twirled it so the liquid swirled around in the glass. “Interesting you just mentioned Graft. You’d be working for Morrow as well, you know.”
“Somehow Graft seems a tad more interesting at the moment than Morrow. Morrow, as far as I can tell, is rather nondescript. I haven’t seen Erdos yet, have you?”
“Not as yet.” Cole pursed his lips. “Yes, it would seem Graft has the lead in our suspect race—at least so far. But you know what they say—the obvious answer isn’t always the correct one.”
“And, once again, there are exceptions to every rule.” I took another sip of wine. “Graft said I’d learn a lot working with him. He helps people tap into their inner selves.”
His hand shot out, brushed a stray curl from my forehead. “Is that what you want, Morgan? To tap into your inner self?”
I glared at him. “What do you think?”
He laughed lightly. “I think getting close to people is something you’re not very good at.”
“Oh, really?” I reached for the wineglass, saw it was empty, picked up the water goblet instead. “You have your degree in psychology, do you?”
“I don’t need one to read you. You’re an open book.”
In the other room, the band started to play. My tongue darted out, licked over my lips. “God, they have live music? This place is classy.”
His hand shot out, covered mine. “They have dancing too. Want to dance?”
I hung back. “I—I’m not very good at it.”
He pulled me up. “You don’t have to be. I’ll lead, not to worry.”
I allowed him to lead me onto the tiny dance floor just left of our alcove. The strains of a familiar classic reached my ears, and I involuntarily pressed closer to him.
Cole’s breath, hot in my ear. “See—when someone gets close to pinning down your emotions, you shut down and start with the wisecracks. Don’t get me wrong, getting close to Graft is important, but I hadn’t bargained on his hiring you on when we started this. Are you sure you want to do this?”
I looked up at him. “Yes, I am. Why do you ask?”
His finger rubbed absently against my knuckle. “I know how difficult dealing with voodoo is for you. Being Graft’s assistant may well put you right in the thick of things. I need you to be sure.”
“Someone very wise said to me once you fall off a horse, it’s best to get right back on. Maybe I’ve been in hiding from the truth for too long.” I swallowed. “Yes, Cole, I’m sure.”
Those voices again, strong, scared. You have to help us.
I swayed slightly against him. “I have to go through with this.”
We stopped dead in the middle of the floor. Cole regarded me for a moment. “Be very sure, Morgan. After all, you’re under no obligation to Special Forces.”
Not, not to them. “I realize that. I’m sure.”
I found myself pressed up against Cole’s chest, his arm tight around me. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against his chest. “Commander Stone said she didn’t want me, and you championed for me,” I murmured against the soft silk of his shirt. I raised my gaze, viewed him through my veil of lashes. “Why, Cole? Why did you insist on me?”
He chuckled. “I could say I’m a sucker for hopeless cases—“
“Thanks a bunch!”
“But the truth is, I think you got yourself a raw deal. There’s a lot you have to offer, Morgan Hawkes. I imagine I wanted to give you the opportunity to find out.” His lips twisted into a smile and his arm around my waist tightened. “Who knows? Perhaps I have other, less noble motives. It’s hard to say at this point in time.”
He put his finger under my chin, tilted my face up to his. His eyes were soft, almost tender as he looked at me. I pulled away abruptly, pointed toward our table. “Look,” I said quickly, “there’s our food. Finally! Let’s eat. I’m starved.”
A different waiter set down oversized plates laden with sizzling meat, and roasted red potatoes. We returned to our seats and once the waiter had seen to it our water and wine was refilled, I popped some meat into my mouth, chewed deliberately.
“My god,” I breathed, “It’s like butter.”
“Like the surroundings,” Cole remarked. “Only the best.”
We ate in silence for a few minutes before I asked, “How about you? How was your first day subbing?”
“Actually, I didn’t teach today. I spent the day with the Dean. Fascinating man. He’s aware of our cover, of course, and he promised to cooperate in every way possible.”
I reached for the fresh glass of ice water. “He’s supposed to be pretty tight with Graft and Morrow. Cole, what if one of them do turn out to be involved in this society, and are behind some dark, sinister plot? You think we can count on the Dean’s cooperation
?”
Cole shrugged. “We’ll have to see how it shakes down, won’t we?”
I resumed cutting my meat. “It’s one way to look at it.”
We ate dinner, discussed a few more case details. Although the band played on, Cole didn’t ask me to dance again. It was nearly eleven when we walked outside into the restaurant’s brightly lit parking lot.
“How gallant of you to walk me to my car,” I said, pausing beside my little blue convertible. “Afraid I might be prey for the witch killer and won’t report to work tomorrow?”
He shook his head. “Actually, in a one on one, I’d fear more for the killer than you. On your mouth alone, you’d no doubt win.”
“I’ve either been complimented or insulted. I believe I’ll take the former.” I opened my purse, withdrew my keys. As I shifted them to my other hand, Cole reached out to touch my keychain.
“A rather unusual charm,” he murmured.
I held it up. “Like it. It’s supposed to be a likeness of Simbi.”
He frowned. “Who?”
“Simbi. The Master Magician, the lwa voodoo god of all fresh waters. He’s sort of a patron of magic. I saw it in a little shop in Louisiana and bought it. I take it with me everywhere.”
His brow rose. “Everywhere?”
I felt heat rise to my cheeks and looked down. “Yeah. I keep thinking he’ll change my luck.”
“I see.” Cole’s gaze was inscrutable. “And has he?”
I shrugged. “Not so far.”
“Ah, too bad. I rather hoped you’d say yes. After all, you have gotten to know me. Many women would consider it a ridiculous amount of good luck.”
“Blazing Hades, you have to be the most conceited—“
I stopped speaking as his arm encircled my shoulders, he pulled me to him, and his lips were on mine. The kiss was gentle, almost sweet, and lasted less than ten seconds before he gently pushed me back.
I looked at him. “What—what did you do that for?”
He took his finger, pressed it against my lips. “Many reasons, actually. To help change your luck, of course. For looking so fabulous in your outfit. And, perhaps, I’m testing out my motivations. Good night, Morgan.”
And then he vanished, leaving me alone on my porch, as I tried unsuccessfully to balance the fluttering sensation in my stomach with the lingering tingle of his lips on mine.
Chapter 12
I sat in the back of the classroom and listened to the woman drone on about a subject I knew practically by heart. Well, what did I expect? There had to be a downside to being an undercover agent, and this certainly qualified.
The lecture was called The Wiccan Year and the Professor, Adina Jerrold, was a short, pot-bellied woman who reminded me a little of Aunt Bea in those old Andy Griffith reruns on Nick at Nite. She even had her iron-gray hair done up in the same kind of bun. She adjusted her glasses on the edge of her beak-shaped nose and continued to drone.
“Wicca is actually a modern religion, based on ancient tradition. The original practitioners used the stars to mark events tied to worship of the gods. For example, lunar eclipses were considered to be caused by the god’s actions. In this course, we will examine the eight seasons that make up the Wiccan year.”
I thanked my lucky stars I sat next to the window, and I turned my head, gave a casual glance outside. The classroom was located just north of the main entrance, and I had an excellent view of the front steps. I saw a girl sitting on the top flight, her back to me, and as she turned her head slightly I recognized the flame-haired girl from my other class. She had a well-worn book on her lap, flipping through the pages, pausing every now and then to peruse one. It seemed to me she might be looking for something. After a few minutes she closed the book and stood up. As she turned to go up the steps, she suddenly froze. A moment later I saw Drucilla stride toward her. The two of them spoke, and I wished with all my might I could be a fly or a bee or an ant, something small, so I could squat on those steps and listen, because judging from the expression on their faces, they weren’t talking about the weather. Drucilla shook her fist in the other’s face, and the girl took a few steps backward. Dru lunged forward, and with the speed of a jungle cat snatched the book from her hand and started to flip through it. The other girl tried to take it back, but Dru sidestepped her, shouting something over her shoulder at her. She took the book and flung it against the steps. The redhead lifted her hand as if to slap Dru, but Dru caught her wrist and bent it off to the side.
Hey, nice move. Not bad, not bad at all.
The redhead, rubbing her wrist, suddenly pushed herself up close to Dru and whispered something in her ear. Dru pulled away, jaw set, turned on her heel and stomped in the opposite direction. The redhead watched with a sort of self-satisfied smirk on her face, and then she turned too and started back into the University. As I debated slipping out of the lecture hall and try to find her, the professor uttered some words commanded my full attention.
“We’ll also discuss in detail Season Seven of the Wiccan Year, known as Lughnasad. Celebrated on August 1, it represents the first day of the Celtic autumn and the last of the four great fire festivals, or Sabbats, of the Celtic year. It’s named for Lugh, Sun-God of the ending summer. Now, can anyone here tell me who Lugh’s father was?”
A boy sitting in the front raised his hand. “Dagda, I believe.”
She nodded. “Correct, Aaron. Dagda, for those of you not up on your Celtic gods, has often been called “Mighty One of Great Knowledge”. It’s believed Dagda controls the weather and is responsible for the harvest’s life. His attributes include the cauldron of transformation, among other symbols.”
Ago angajan asogwe. Lughnasadh.
“Lughnasad is a time for uncertainty and for embracing the unknown,” Professor Jerrold went on. “On the positive side, its aspects embody the anticipation and rewards of success. However, as we know from our life lessons, even the best plans can be thwarted, no matter how careful the planning.”
Yes, that is what I have to do. Thwart this killer’s carefully laid plan. But first I have to figure out just what it is.
The lecture over, I gathered up my books and headed straight for the main entrance. I smoothed out my tunic top and glanced at my watch. I had a good hour before my next class, which was a lecture by Professor Erdos. I needed to find a quiet corner, write down some of the thoughts and ideas making a jumble in my brain. I’d always found, particularly when I’d worked Homicide, writing down notes and details helped my concentration. I retraced my steps into the main hall and found myself looking straight at a massive bulletin board where at least a dozen other students stood, all laughing, talking and pointing. I looked in the same direction and there it was, larger than life, right on top where no one could miss it.
RESEARCH ASSISTANT WANTED. GOOD PAY, TERRIBLE HOURS. SEE PROFESSOR ATTICUS GRAFT, ROOM 999, OR PROFESSOR GENE MORROW, ROOM 869
They seemed to have a sense of humor, at least. Still, it struck me as kind of odd they’d rushed to post the opening now, when Graft had said the end of the week. To my mind, that could only mean they knew Florrie would not be coming back.
The pricking at the base of my neck made me look up and my eyes locked with Drucilla’s. She’d just finished taking a drink at the water fountain, and she raised her hand, a gesture for me to approach. Up close, her appearance startled me. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, her cheeks damp. My hand shot out, grabbed her arm.
“Drucilla—you’ve been crying. What’s wrong?”
She shook her head as she fumbled in her bag, pulled out a Kleenex, and dabbed at her eyes. “The Dean got news of Florrie. She’s gone.”
The pricking sensation was lower now, inching along the base of my spine. “Gone? You mean—“
“I mean she left, she’s gone. As in gonzo, goodbye. Flown the coop. She’s quit the University program.”
“Quit? How do you know?”
“The Dean got a letter and a phonecall from her mother. Seems sh
e’s taken off to find herself. Can you imagine? It’s usually what a guy says to a gal when he wants out of a relationship.” She dabbed at her eyes again. “I mean, I know she’s been confused of late, but to just take off—and not say anything to me—“
I felt the air whoosh out of my lungs in a sigh of relief. “Is that why you were crying? Because she didn’t contact you directly?”
“Yes, and I’m just upset she’s gone. Why?” Her eyes widened. “Don’t tell me you thought she—“
“I thought maybe something happened, yes,” I admitted. “Frankly, I’m glad she’s just left and not anything more…sinister.” I took a step backward. “So, I take it you spoke with the Dean?”
“No, with Margit Culhane. Her aunt works in Admissions. You’ve probably seen her around. She takes a lot of the Supernatural Science classes.”
Now I thought I understood the little scene on the steps. “Not the shapely redhead?”
Dru nodded. “Yeah, her. She’s a damned busybody, always nosing where she doesn’t belong.” She hung her head. “I—I had words with her outside, just a bit ago. Said she’s applying for Florrie’s job, and she’ll get it, too. I told her it’d be a cold day in Hell before a slimy Satanist like her snagged the post, and she shouldn’t think just because she pushed her nose up Graft’s behind she had a lock on it. I know I shouldn’t have lost my temper, but—she just pushes my buttons.” She threw me a look. “She’s always so smug. And a thief, besides.”
“A thief?”
Dru dragged one hand through her brown curls. “I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just that—she tried to take something from Florrie, something Florrie thought to be very valuable. Florrie hid it in our dorm room. I looked the other day and couldn’t find it, so I accused Margit of stealing it.” She let out a breath. “Turns out I was wrong, but I still don’t trust her. Anyway, it’s neither here nor there.”
“What did you think she’d taken?”
The other girl shook her head. “Sorry. I said too much already. I promised Florrie—you understand.”
No Rest for the Wicca Page 13