The Hoodoo Detective

by Kirsten Weiss

  Her shoulders slumped, her chest hollowing out. The loss of Pen had started the slide. Her sister had never forgiven her. She'd never forgiven herself. And the thought of failing with another child...

  “Riga?” Donovan asked.

  Riga and her doppelganger looked toward the empty steps that lead to the foyer.

  She shook herself. This was a vision, a trap. This wasn't her future — but it was possible — it wouldn't happen. She'd find Pen.

  Wrenching her gaze from her older self, she turned toward the lake. Its reflection rippled, and her insides lurched. She squinted her eyes shut.

  Focusing on the hotel room in New Orleans, she opened her eyes.

  The dark lake spread before her. The dog watched her then laid its head on its paws. Stomach churning, she twisted her wedding band.

  “Take me back!”

  The dog yawned, looked away.

  What if she couldn't get out of this?

  Riga gripped the grand piano, her knuckles going white. Once she'd recognized she was in a vision, she should have easily returned to the here and now. Which meant there had been a trap laid on the pendant. And that, in turn, meant that someone had Pen. Someone she had to find.

  If she could break the trap, she could follow the path of magic to its maker, the person who had Pen. Think!

  It had begun with reflections. The reflection of the pendant, and then in the river. Forcing her to look at this reflection of herself. It was a mirror trap.

  The windows reflected her own figure back at her, and now she could see the age there too. The hardness. Nostrils flaring, she turned sharply, slammed her elbow into the glass. Hot pain rocked her, and the sound of glass shattering. With a lurch, she was on her back on the hotel room carpet, staring up at Donovan's face.

  He ran a hand through his hair. “You're back. I was getting worried.”

  “I came out too soon.” She rolled to her elbow, and he helped her to a seated position.

  Brigitte squatted between her aunts. Pale and unconscious, the two women sprawled across the circle of salt. They twitched and murmured as if caught in the throes of nightmares. Sweat beaded their brows and gray faces.

  The gargoyle peered at Dot. “I do not like this. Ze color is not normal.”

  “Dammit.” Riga crawled to Peregrine and felt for a pulse. It was thin, uneven. “Peregrine! Dot! It's a mirror trap!” She slapped her lightly on the cheeks. Peregrine's head lolled.

  Head bowed, Donovan took Dot's wrist. He looked up. “Brigitte is right. They need to snap out of this.”

  Riga hesitated. There was only one spell she knew that could free her aunts. It would also end any chance of finding Pen through the necklace.

  Dot's breath hitched. Her legs vibrated, heels banging up and down on the floor grotesquely.

  “I'm calling 9-1-1.” Donovan rose.

  “Wait.” Swearing, Riga felt for the in-between, the above and below. She chanted the spell. Electricity rippled up her spine, stirred her hair.

  The lights flickered. A bulb exploded in the overhead lamp, and Brigitte ducked her head.

  Her aunts stirred.

  “We were right.” Dot coughed. “It was a trap after all.”

  “Right!?” Rolling to her side, Peregrine levered herself up on one elbow, her thin arm trembling. “There were three of us. That trap should have been no problem.”

  Dot straightened her glasses. “Were you able to follow its trail to the person who laid the spell?”

  “No.” Peregrine growled. “I snapped out too quickly. I take it you didn't either?”

  Riga and Donovan helped them to the couch.

  “I don't know about you,” Donovan said, “but I could use a drink. What happened?”

  “Brandy, neat,” Peregrine said.

  “I don't suppose you've got any sherry?” Dot asked.

  Donovan strode to the bar, held up a bottle. “Will port do?”

  “Any port in a storm.” Dot laughed weakly. “Riga, did you have any better luck than we did?”

  “No. I couldn't get anywhere near Pen.”

  “That was surprisingly powerful. How did you get us out of it?” Peregrine asked.

  “My electrical spell,” Riga said.

  “What?” Peregrine placed a bony hand to her chest. “But you know that will scrub any trace of Pen from that pendant!”

  “We'll find her another way.”

  “How?”

  “Detective work.” Riga turned and walked into the bedroom. Stopping in front of the mirror, she braced her hands on the bureau and took a shuddering breath. The vision had been a fake, designed to trap her in her own fear and ego. She'd find Pen. And as to her and Donovan, they could adopt. He wanted children, and there was always a way. That vision would not come true.

  There was a light rap on the door, and Donovan walked inside. He shut the door softly behind him. “Riga? Are you all right?”

  “A little shaken, that's all. How are the aunts?”

  “Embarrassed, I think.” He ran his hands down her arms. “You did the right thing. They weren't holding up well. And we'll find Pen.”

  “Someone took Pen's pendant,” Riga said, “laid a complex spell on it, knocked out the PI, and left it for us to find. She's been taken.” She leaned into him, felt the rising and falling of his chest.

  His arms encircled her. “What happened in there?”

  “It was only a nightmare. It wasn't real.” But what if it had been?

  Stepping back, he looked into her eyes. “If someone has her, they'll be a ransom demand.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I've been thinking about Hannah,” he said. “Why did the Old Man lead us to her?”

  “And why was Pen taken while we were with her? I need to run a background check on the Hoodoo Queen and Jenny Wade.”

  In the other room, Riga's cell phone rang. They glanced at each other worriedly.

  Riga hurried into the living area and snatched her phone off the table. Pen's name flashed on the screen.

  She jammed the phone to her ear. “Pen?”

  “Sorry, Pen's tied up,” Jenny said.

  Riga's neck corded, blood pounding in her ears. “Let me talk to her.”

  “Not yet. You're going to—”

  Riga hung up, hands shaking.

  “Who?” Donovan asked.

  “Jenny Wade. She has Pen.”

  “And you hung up on her?” Dot's eyes widened. “What are you doing?”

  Riga paced the narrow corridor between the table and the back of the couch. “Taking control.” Jenny didn't know what she was doing, and that presented an opportunity.

  Dot shook your head. “I don't think—”

  “Let me do this!”

  The phone rang again. Twice.

  Riga picked up. “Put Pen on.”

  “You don't seem to understand the situation—”

  “I want proof she's alive. I want her on the phone, or you get nothing.”

  “You are not—”

  Riga hung up, heart leaping, looked at Donovan.

  He nodded.

  “I am not sure it is such a good idea to provoke ze woman,” Brigitte said.

  Riga turned to her aunts. “How do you two feel about a little B and E?”

  “Breaking and entering?” Peregrine cocked her head. “You are a cool one.”

  Dot sniffed. “I've always said she's good in a crisis.”

  “I'm a multitasker,” Riga said. “Well? Will you do it?”

  “I've never turned down a crime in a good cause.”

  The phone rang. Riga picked up.

  “Riga?” Pen's voice wavered.

  Riga slumped, relief flooding her system. “What can you tell me?”

  “It's dark. I can't see. Magic, I think. Does my mom know?”

  “She knows, Pen. We'll get you back.”

  There was a clatter on the other end.

  “Only if you do what I say,” Jenny said. “I'll call you tomorrow and te
ll you where to come. Come alone.”

  “No, Pen will call me tomorrow. I do nothing without proof of life.”

  “You're in no position to bargain.”

  “Aren't I? I've seen what the Old Man did to your friends. You want me as badly as I want Pen.” The phone's plastic creaked beneath her tightening fingers. “And if you hurt her, I'll gut you barehanded.”

  “Interesting visual. And Riga, if you bring the cops in, I'll know, and she'll die.”

  “How original.”

  “Who do you think your two cops on that silly reality show work for?”

  Riga's breath hitched. Long and Short? Was it possible?

  “Why do you think you were allowed to get involved in those investigations,” Jenny continued, “to stay involved as long as you did? And they aren't my only friends on the force. No police.”

  “No police,” Riga said dully.

  “Tomorrow, then.” Jenny hung up.

  “Well?” Brigitte asked.

  Riga looked at the others. “She's going to call tomorrow with my orders.”

  “It will be a trap,” Donovan said. “It's time we bring in the police.”

  Rubbing her arms, Riga walked to the thermostat and fiddled with it. Suddenly, the room felt frigid. Unable to meet their gazes, she focused on the dial. “Jenny said the cops on Dirk's show are in her pay, and she's got others on the take.”

  “Do you believe her?” Donovan asked.

  “I've consulted with police before, so it made sense they'd use me. But there was a point where even I realized I was looking like a suspect, yet they kept me in. So it's possible. What do you think?”

  “Police are human,” Donovan said, “they can be corrupted.”

  “She said to come alone.”

  “That's not going to happen, no matter what she says. We need to discuss how we're going to handle this.”

  “I agree. We need to find Pen before her call,” Riga said. “Dot and Peregrine, if you two go to her house and get something that belongs to her—”

  “We can scry their location.” Dot nodded, her chins wobbling. “You have her address?”

  Donovan opened his mouth as if to speak, but went to the desk, wrote the address on a piece of hotel stationary, handed it to Peregrine.

  “We'll go now,” Peregrine said, “while it's still dark. What will you three be doing?”

  “Learning everything I can about Jenny and the hoodoo queen,” Riga said.

  “Sounds like a sixties rock band,” Dot said. “Who's the hoodoo queen?”

  “Hannah LaRue. The Old Man's been pointing me in her direction.”

  “Then it's likely a distraction,” Peregrine said.

  “Maybe.” Riga leaned her hip against the table. “But I made a mistake with Jenny, not considering her a part of this. I'm not going to make that error twice. Everyone's a suspect.”

  “Come on, Dot.” Peregrine grabbed her purse off the table. “We're wasting moonlight.”

  “Fortunately, there's not much of that.” Dot followed her sister to the door. “Tomorrow will be the new moon.” She paused, turning to Riga. “Coincidence, you think, the new moon is when Jenny plans to spring her trap?”

  “Not a coincidence,” Riga said. “But it does give me an idea.”

  Chapter 28

  Riga sat at the desk in the living area, her laptop open before her, dog at her feet. Outside the curtained window, the sky had lightened to steel, the mansard roofs of the French Quarter cobalt silhouettes.

  Fear for Pen slithered through Riga's gut. Uneven surges of adrenaline wore her down, made her hands tremble.

  She glanced out the windows. Brigitte would have to return soon. The gargoyle was out circling the city, her sharp eyes and magical senses searching for Pen. In the bedroom next door, Donovan's voice rumbled, making phone calls, calling in favors.

  She'd spent the night researching Jenny and the Hoodoo Queen, supplemented by the background checks provided by the PI firm. Both the women had led public lives, promoting their businesses. Hannah's professional life had been contentious, combating the perception that hoodoo was evil, and there had been some rather nasty online spats with voodoo practitioners. It was sad and strange, Riga thought, the way different magical arts could brawl like competing religions.

  But about Hannah's personal life she'd uncovered little. Her social media pages made no mention of her daily life – where she liked to eat, her friends, books she'd read or movies she'd seen.

  Jenny had been similarly circumspect, something Riga appreciated since she only used social media to snoop into others' lives.

  Donovan rapped lightly on the door and walked inside, frowning.

  “Anything?” Riga asked.

  “Not on Jenny. The woman is scrupulous with her taxes, and her clients had nothing useful to say. Have you noticed that so far, Jenny's the only person in that occult group with a real job?”

  “You’re right. She doesn't fit the idle-rich profile. What about Hannah?”

  “Did you know Hannah was married?”

  Riga remembered the tan line on her finger. “I wondered, but the PI firm didn't turn that up.”

  “Different name, same social security number. She filed a joint return with her husband, Harold Harkness.”

  Leaning forward, Riga began typing. “Harkness? Spelled like it sounds?”

  “I've got his driver's license, if it helps.” He handed her his tablet computer.

  She drew a sharp breath. Freckles, sandy hair, broad grin... “That's Harry Howdini, the hoodoo hit man.” The pieces were falling into place.

  “Why did the Old Man point us toward her?”

  “Not to do us any favors,” she said, grim.

  There was a scratching at the balcony door, and Donovan let Brigitte inside. The dog watched the gargoyle, its gaze intent.

  Brigitte hopped along the floor, her stone-feathered head low. “Nothing. I am as useless as that stupid dog.”

  Oz raised his head, ears lifting.

  “It was a long shot.” Riga bent and ruffled his tawny fur, trying to hide her disappointment.

  “A long shot?” Brigitte’s feathers ruffled. “You sent me on a long shot? And why is that dog staring at me?”

  Donovan laid a hand on Riga's shoulder. “Pen's alive and that's what counts. Jenny won't harm her as long as she can use Pen to get to you. It was quick thinking, demanding proof of life on Jenny's next call.”

  “We need to find Pen before she makes that call.” Riga rose, her knees cracking, and winced. “I thought my aunts would be back by now.”

  “They’ll get here soon enough.”

  “But not too soon for you?”

  He sighed. “They’ve made mistakes in the past, but they’ll do their best for Pen.”

  “They are a menace.” Brigitte sniffed. “What else have you learned about our suspects?”

  Riga told the gargoyle about Hannah's marriage to the hit man.

  Brigitte hopped on the table with a clatter. It creaked beneath her weight. “So. Ze Hoodoo Queen is married to ze hoodoo hit man, who we believe was hired to kill you by someone in ze group of occult losers. But someone killed ze hit man first, and because he failed, ze necromancer who hired him was killed. Ze question is, who killed ze hit man and why? Though I am not sure it matters. We know who has Pen.”

  “She's right,” Donovan said. “The mystery of the hit man is secondary. We need to focus on Pen.”

  There was a knock at the door. “I'll get it.” Donovan strode from the room. The sound of a door opening and women's excited chatter.

  The dog stood and woofed.

  “Oh, Riga.” Dot shook her head and collapsed on the couch, her black skirt spreading upon it like a shroud. Soot powdered her cheeks, and she smelled of smoke. “It was an utter failure.”

  “What happened?” Riga asked.

  Peregrine folded herself onto a lounge chair. “Someone anticipated us.”

  “You were attacked?”
/>   “Worse. Defeated,” Peregrine said. “No sooner did we lay a hand on the windowsill when the house...” She looked to her sister.

  “They're calling it a gas explosion. The entire thing went up. And then we couldn't leave, because other homes were so close and looked like they might go up. It was all we could do to contain the fire.”

  Boneless, Riga sat. Why hadn't she thought to grab something when they'd been there earlier? Fool!

  “Was anyone hurt?” Donovan asked.

  “Only my ego,” Peregrine said. “I'm afraid there's absolutely nothing left of Miss Wade's house. It was a magical trap.”

  “What about her office?” Donovan asked.

  Riga ran her palm across the soft fabric of the chair arm. “We can try.”

  “We will try,” Dot said. “Do you think she burned her own house?”

  “I don’t know,” Riga said. “She might have set the trap for me, thinking I’d be killed. Or maybe she really didn’t want to leave any trace behind for me to use.”

  Riga looked more closely at her aunts. Soot wasn't the only thing tingeing their cheeks gray. Their skin sagged with weariness, and their eyes were dull. “Rest first.” She checked her watch. Five A.M. “None of us has slept, and we need to be sharp when Jenny calls.”

  Peregrine shook her head. “We haven't time. If we're going to figure out where she's keeping Pen before that call, we've got to get into Jenny’s office before it opens.”

  “Rest first.” Riga scrubbed her hand over her face. “Besides, you'll need to wash up if you don't want to leave ashy footprints all over your next crime scene.”

  “Ashy...?” Dot craned forward, stared at the trail across the carpet. “Oh, good heavens. How could we be so sloppy?”

  “We should all get some sleep,” Donovan said.

  “Mm,” Riga said, noncommittal. She had things to do. And though her eyes felt like the butt ends of cigarettes, her blood pumped, energy sparking through her veins.

  Donovan gave her a look, one corner of his mouth twisting. She never fooled him.

  He called a cab to take the two sisters back to their hotel. Bustling her aunts inside the taxi, Riga assured them of further consultations.