Six priests.
Oh.
Oh, shit.
2
Taurus
KEYWORDS:
Practical and Sensual
My lip quivered with the desire to say, "I can explain, officer."
Only, I couldn't.
If Special Agent Dominguez smirked when I mentioned zombies, I highly doubted that he'd believe me if I told him that a Goddess had appropriated my body that night.
A Goddess whom, I might add, was currently causing my stomach muscles to clench. She wanted out, and She wanted to destroy the threat. The more frightened I was, the more likely She was to slip her leash.
I put a hand on my belly to steady myself, but all I wanted to do was shout, "It was self-defense. Honest!"
I remembered that night well. I'd come late to the Samhain ritual and opened the door to discover that the Vatican's Order of Eustace had murdered my coven. The order was a secret, possibly unsanctioned organization, whose mission was to continue the work of the Inquisition, in a way. They firmly believed the quote from Exodus, which states, "Thou shalt not suffer a Witch to live."
And there were six of them, one of me. They had bloody knives and silver bullets; I had a plate of chocolate chip cookies. I used the only weapons I had at my disposal: surprise and magic.
Self-defense.
Right?
Anyway, it shouldn't matter, should it? After all, it wasn't me that did the killing, it was Lilith. I called; She came. I went away. Then I woke up with blood on my hands.
Hmmm, okay. That part was going to be tough to explain.
My mouth worked as I struggled for a way to articulate that even though I'd summoned Lilith, I had no idea She'd possess my body and use it to take out the Vatican agents. I hadn't asked Her to kill anyone. I'd simply begged for protection. She was the one who'd decided that required a more permanent solution.
My knees trembled, and I put a hand on the counter to steady myself. From the look the special agent shot me, I realized I'd waited far too long to answer his question. Even if the guy weren't psychic, he'd have to know I was hiding something.
"Yeah," I said, sticking to half-truths, since that was all I could trust myself with. "She works here."
"Do you know when she might be in?"
I shook my head. That was also partly true, since I was feeling a sudden compulsion to run for the hills. I was glad I still had my bug-out bag and cat carrier ready in the hall closet in my apartment. They might come in handy.
In fact, I wondered what the special agent would do if I just bolted for the door right now. I glanced over his shoulder at the street outside, trying to calculate the distance I'd have to cover before he tackled me… or drew his gun.
Of course, this great escape of mine hinged on the idea I could move with any kind of speed or accuracy in the black leather kitten heels I wore. Kicking them off wasn't really an option, since the heels were attached to knee-high boots. I suspected my dear special agent would have a bit of a heads-up that I was making a break for it if I had to find a place to sit down so I could scrunch off my footwear.
Dominguez must have picked up on my sudden sense of panic, but he misunderstood it. He gave me a sympathetic glance. "I know this is quite the shock. But Garnet's involvement might not be criminal. If she's a friend of yours, you should tell her I just want to talk to her about what she might have seen."
"So Garnet's not a suspect?" I tried not to sound as anxious or interested as I was.
Those steely blue eyes caught mine. "Not yet."
Even as those words scared me to death, they made me laugh. I mean, the guy sounded like he read his line off a cue card on Law & Order. I could almost hear the music swelling. Bum-bum!
"You're a Leo, right?" I have no idea how those words came out of my mouth or how the solicitous smile appeared on my lips. Maybe it was some kind of defense mechanism, a kind of judo flirt. "You're totally a Leo. I can tell."
"Taurus," he said, with that kind of whiplash look people get in their eyes when I suddenly change the subject based on some astrological quirk I've noticed. "Why?"
The tone of his last question sounded more like the rest of it might have been, "why are you asking me this right now?" but it was too late. My mouth was open and words were falling out. "That explains the edging of blue in your aura. Zen Sensual."
His eyebrows rose at that. "Zen what? What the hell are you talking about?"
I get that a lot. "Taurus is ruled by Venus, the Goddess of love and beauty," I explained. "Your Sun energy—that's what people are talking about when they ask your sign, your Sun sign. Anyway, um, Taurus is very steadfast, loyal, but also secretly very… sexy."
"Uh-huh," he said with a tone that screamed, "cuckoo," but there was a twinkle in his eyes. Something I'd said caused me to pass into that "insane, but sort of cute" phase, I could tell.
"You should let me do your chart," I said. Then, thank the Goddess, I stopped talking.
Dominguez stared at me. I had no idea what he was thinking, but his gaze nicked over me one inch at a time. I held on to my smile, but it was starting to fray at the edges. In another minute or so, I'd probably pass out, throw up, or confess all my crimes starting with the time when I was six and I accidentally walked out of the Piggly Wiggly with a gumdrop in my coat pocket. Finally, he gave me a twitch of a grin. "Yeah, sure. Why not? Sounds like a hoot."
"Great!" I said with entirely too much enthusiasm. I scrambled around for a piece of scrap paper and a pen. "So, tell me where you were born."
"Barcelona."
"Spain, really?" Yeah, I thought with a smile, I could see a little Antonio Banderas in him. I wanted to ask him how he came about such startlingly blue eyes, but it seemed a little rude to ask questions about his ethnic origins.
"I don't remember it. My parents only lived there the first few months of my life. Is that all you need?"
"I need date of birth: month, day, and year."
"May 2, 1970."
I looked up at that. He was younger than I'd thought. Maybe it was the strain of being psychic and not really knowing it, especially in the kind of job where you see the things he undoubtedly saw and where nice people like me lied to you on a regular basis, but I'd have put him at forty. He had fairly pronounced lines near his mouth and eyes, like he spent a lot of time squinting in the sun or laughing. It looked good on him, actually. Like he had some mileage on him, like he'd lived a bit of life.
When I realized I'd been staring, I added, "Do you happen to know the time you were born? I need it to be pretty specific, hour and minute. It's sometimes on birth certificates. Or your mother might remember."
"Ten thirty-four p.m. My father checked his watch." At my look of surprise, he explained. "He likes to tell me how involved he was. I guess he helped the doctor catch me or something."
I nodded, scribbling all the information down. "I can have the chart for you in a couple of days."
"Good, because I'd like to stop by some time when you know Garnet will be in."
"Garnet? Uh." I asked, having forgotten momentarily the ruse I'd been playing. Then I felt the blood drain from my face. Luckily, my makeup covered my reaction somewhat. Desperate for a distraction, I grabbed the counterfeit dollar from the counter. "What about this? Do you think someone's up to something?"
Dominguez took the bill I all but thrust at him. He gave it another cursory glance, then pulled out an evidence bag from his pocket and stuffed it in. "I'll send it to the lab."
"Cool." We stared at each other. I felt completely transparent under his gaze, only not in a good way. "So do you keep a supply of those baggies on hand?"
"Yes," he said without elaboration. "You couldn't check the schedule for me and let me know when Garnet will be in, could you?" When he broke our silence, I nearly jumped. "I know you don't want to get your friend in trouble, but I only want to talk to her, you understand?"
That's what they always said in the movies right before they set up the ambush.
"Uh, sure. But what makes you think Garnet knows anything about these murders?"
Dominguez gave me the once-over, his eyes clearly deciding whether or not to trust me. "A rental car belonging to the victims"—I cringed a little bit when he used that word—"was found near where neighbors claimed a Wiccan coven gathered regularly. People remembered it because the house burned to the ground on Halloween. It made the papers. Eleven bodies were recovered and positively identified. There was a presumption of a twelfth member, but, of course, coven membership is highly secretive."
Duh. Especially when you have Vatican assassins out to get you. "But if coven membership is such a secret, how do you know she was part of that one?"
"We don't for sure. That's part of what I want to ask her."
Except you got my name, so someone in the magical community in Minneapolis must have cracked under pressure.
Or maybe, if I wanted to be generous, it was someone who thought she or he was doing me a favor. "Yeah," I muttered.
"Could you check that schedule for me?" Dominguez asked again. "I really believe she has information that could be critical to solving this case."
"Shouldn't Inter… ?" I stopped myself just in time. I'd been about to ask why the FBI was investigating this, since I'd have thought Interpol would be in charge of a case involving foreign nationals, but then I couldn't remember if he'd told me that the dead priests were from the Vatican or not. "Shouldn't I… yeah, I should go get that schedule right now."
I blinked at him stupidly for a moment. Then I practically tripped over myself hurrying to the storeroom.
When the door shut behind me, I let the back of my head rest on the cool wood. I closed my eyes and tried to take in a deep breath to calm my pounding heart. I sucked at being a criminal mastermind. I would so suspect me if I were this guy—psychic or not.
I stared longingly at the back door. My bicycle was parked in the alley outside. It would be easy to open the door, hop on, and ride away. But then what? If Dominguez had found me here at the store, he probably also knew where I lived. Although maybe not. I wasn't listed in the phone book, and my landlord was just some guy, not a corporation. Still, running would make me look very, very guilty.
Grabbing the schedule from where it was taped to the wall, right below the Serenity Prayer, I took in another steadying breath. Breathe, Garnet, I told myself, go to your special place like they told you in that mediation class. Except I never did settle on a particular image, since I kept falling asleep during the sessions. Besides, if anything, my astral coping mechanism tended to involve shoving ugly thoughts and memories into a large closet with the words "Do Not Disturb" scrawled in blood on the door.
So I did a deep-breathing exercise, ran my fingers through my hair, smoothed my leather pants, squared my shoulders, and… almost fainted when I saw my coworker, William, chatting with Dominguez when I opened the door.
William worked at the bookstore part time while attending the university. After three years at school, he still hadn't declared a major. That kind of summed up William, generally. I'd have thought after he discovered vampires were real, he'd finally embrace a particular brand of spirituality. But no. William was currently into shamanism. He'd let his mouse-brown hair grow long enough to put into a ponytail and was wearing a "Free Leonard Peltier" T-shirt. Little round John Lennon glasses, which I suspected were also merely an affectation, perched on the end of his nose. Normally seeing William made me smile, but my heart froze.
William's hand lifted in a wave. In a second he was going to blow my cover. I made a slashing motion across my throat. William's eyes went wide. I had no idea what he thought my gesture meant, but he nodded solemnly.
My heels dragged. The distance between the storeroom and the register felt far too short. Had William already identified me? What had they said to each other? Was I about to leave the store in handcuffs?
Both men watched my progress. Sweat prickled under my arms. As I got closer I noticed that William was holding the photo of me. He shook his head. Handing it back to the special agent, he said, "No, I've never seen her before."
"Really? I thought she worked here." Dominguez looked to me.
"No," William said with a sly smile. "Trust me, I'd remember a hottie like that."
Nice. I wasn't sure if I should be relieved or insulted.
"So, you don't know Garnet Lacey?"
"Garnet Lacey?" William looked at me, then back at the FBI agent. I tried to give William a stare that suggested this might be the thing I didn't want him to talk about, but he was too busy snatching the photo back from Dominguez. "That's a picture of Garnet? No way!"
"I've got the schedule." Hoping to distract Dominguez, I waved the paper under his nose. Of course, my name was all over the thing, given that I was the manager.
"Garnet is supposed to be working right now," Dominguez said after a quick scan of the list.
"She called in sick," I said. "I'm Marlena. I get called in to fill in odd hours here and there. That's me," I said, pointing to Marlena Ito's contact information on the bottom of the sheet.
"Ito?" Dominguez gave me an appraising look.
"Excuse me? Did I ask you where you got your blue eyes?" I huffed indignantly.
"Marlena," William said. "Check out this picture of Garnet! Did you even know she was a blonde?"
"She's changed her hair?" Dominguez asked, reaching in his pants pocket for the ubiquitous cop notepad.
"I'd say," William said with a snort. "I can't get over this. Can I keep this?"
"No," Dominguez said, grabbing the photo back.
"She's a redhead now," I supplied.
"So, you're really FBI?" William asked. Dominguez was busy taking notes on his pad, but he nodded slightly. "What's the deal with Area 51? Have we made contact with the aliens? Give it to me straight."
Dominguez hardly missed a beat. "That's the military."
"Right, I knew that," William nodded. "Who killed Kennedy?"
"Not my department."
"But you're homicide, right?"
"Nice shirt," Dominguez said with a sneer.
"Oh, thanks," William said, apparently completely oblivious to Dominguez's tone and the fact that Peltier was in jail for his alleged role in the deaths of FBI agents.
Dominguez gave me a long-suffering look. He fished in his pocket for a business card and handed it to me. "Please tell Garnet to call me, won't you?"
"Sure," I said, absently tucking the embossed card into my wallet.
"Typically evasive," William muttered, as we watched Dominguez head out the door. "Freaking FBI."
I nodded, not really hearing him. Dominguez paused to look back at us, and I gave him a smile and a wave. Then he disappeared into the crowd as he headed down State Street.
My knees buckled. I fell to the floor hyperventilating.
"Oh my god, Garnet!" William said, scrambling around the counter to kneel next to me.
He gaped at me in horror, and, as I was having trouble controlling my breath, I did the same in return.
"You haven't fainted. You're hyperventilating," he said with a deer-in-the-headlights-oh-crap-I'm-in-charge-during-a-medical-emergency quiver.
I wanted to help calm William down, but I couldn't. My brain had gone tilt. The only coherent thought in my head had to do with spending the rest of my life in a federal prison with a roommate named Bull.
"You need a paper bag," William announced. He turned away from me for a moment and began scrounging around behind the counter. I heard him mutter something about handles versus plastic. Then he jumped upright. "Don't go anywhere," he commanded, "and don't die."
I put my head down between my knees, though all it did was bring the floor closer. We needed to mop back here. Thanks to an unseasonably early snowfall, the hardwood was gross. Luckily the little bits of mud and slush couldn't penetrate my leather pants, though the thought of ending up face down in it kept me struggling for breath. Focusing on the need to tidy up helped for a moment. Suddenly I rem
embered that there was frost on the ground the night I used a pitchfork from the garden shed at the covenstead to poke holes in the tarp-wrapped bodies of the Vatican agents before Parrish and I loaded them into the back of his van. Goddess, why did I ever think we were going to get away with it?
An urge to throw up almost overwhelmed my desire to breathe, especially once William returned with a brown paper lunch sack that smelled like yesterday's tofu curry salad. He pressed it to my face. I tried to wave it away, but he held it around my mouth with a surprising amount of determination. His face was close to mine, and I could see moisture glistening in his eyes as he pleaded, "Please, Garnet. Don't you dare pass out on me, I never know if I'm supposed to call the hospital or not."
I laughed, but it came out as a cough. The rhythm of the bag had steadied me. I managed to croak, "No hospital."
"So I should cancel the ambulance?" When he saw my eyes widen and heard my breath hitch, William raised a hand. "Bad time for a joke. Very bad time. See, I suck at this."
I was wracked by another laugh/cough, but I patted William's knee. "I'm okay."
William cautiously removed the bag. A finger lightly touched a corner of my eye. "Your makeup is smudged."
I nodded, staring at the dirt-encrusted floor. I heard William settle his back against the counter.
"This is about Minneapolis, isn't it? And what Lilith did, right?"
I blinked up at William. Sometimes I forgot that I'd trusted him with one of the darkest secrets of my soul.
"You've got to tell them the truth, Marlena. Don't you ever watch TV? You don't lie to the cops, they always figure you out."
"William," I said. "Who's going to believe that a Goddess killed those Vatican agents? Especially when I tell them She did it while inhabiting my body."
Dead Sexy Page 2