Ground

by Kirsten Weiss

  “Everyone used Matt,” he said, “He knew his stuff. Matt was meticulous.”

  “And you never had any problems,” I said.

  “Did someone say there were problems?” he asked.

  “No.” My gaze lost focus. Who was Matt, really? The careful contractor or the seedy snoop? Both?

  Rasha squared her shoulders, her expression less friendly. “Why?”

  “I’m just trying to get a better picture of Matt,” I said. “I know it sounds stupid, but after my truck was used to move his body, well, I feel like I should.”

  “Right,” Eric said. “He did some work for you too. You know his quality.”

  “Mm hmm.” And Matt had done quality work on those shelves, even if the project had taken longer than expected.

  Rasha’s nostrils flared. “So what—”

  The front door jingled open, and Doc Toeller strode inside. She sported an ice-blue trench coat, belted at her slim waist. The doctor shut the door, and the overhead lights glinted off her cap of silver-gold hair. “Hello, Jayce. Buying a Christmas gift for Karin?”

  “That obvious?” I asked.

  Eric's face shuttered. Rasha tucked her arm in his and pulled herself close.

  “Hello, Eric,” the doctor said. “I know you're not here to buy yarn.”

  “No,” he said, stiffening.

  “I didn't know you knit, Doctor,” I said, glancing between the two. Doc Toeller's expression was cool, but Eric's was arctic.

  “Needlepoint,” she said. “I know it's old fashioned and impractical, but I find it soothing.”

  Eric flashed a smile at me. “Nice seeing you again, Jayce.” He nodded. “Doctor.” He marched his wife from the store.

  “How strange,” the doctor said. “Eric seemed upset about something.” She stared at the slowly closing door.

  “We were talking about Matt's murder,” I said. “I think he and Matt were close.”

  “Everybody knew Matt. He even did some repair work for me.” She leaned closer. “A terrible snoop. I caught him going through my lingerie drawer.” She winked. “Fortunately, that’s not where I keep my incriminating photos.”

  “Do you think that’s why someone killed him?”

  She pursed her lips, thoughtful. “It’s possible. But I suppose that depends on what secret he uncovered. If any. And I’m ashamed of myself for speculating.”

  “I’m not. The police invited me to the station yesterday for more questioning.”

  “Invited?” The doctor laughed. “You can be so droll.”

  “They're not happy about Matt's body being found in my truck.”

  Her blue eyes widened. “It’s hardly your fault your truck was stolen by a murderer. You reported the theft to the police, didn't you?”

  “Not five minutes after it had been stolen. Unfortunately, the police have a different point of view when it comes to potential suspects.”

  “They can't help but do their jobs.” She shrugged. “I wouldn't take it personally.”

  “It's impossible not to.”

  “Impossible? I don't think so. Difficult, perhaps.”

  “Who could have a secret worth killing over?” I asked.

  “I really couldn't speculate.”

  “But you must have heard something.” I wasn’t learning anything of value, and if the doctor didn’t have a clue—

  “I hear lots of things,” she said. “But if I gossiped, no one would trust me again. Doctor-patient confidentiality exists for a good reason.”

  “I know.” My face tightened. Doctor-patient confidentiality. Attorney-client privilege. They were great concepts until you had to know something.

  Leaving Doc Toeller to peruse the thread section, I bought the yarn and walked up the hill. There was one person who might know something, and she wasn’t bound by any confidentiality rules.

  Bags of lunch and yarn in hand, I hiked upward, past cutesy cottages, and crossed the snowline. A tingle buzzed through me, alerting me to this natural boundary, and I slowed. The sidewalks were clear, and the snow light on the ground in people's gardens. But the roads could be deceptively slick.

  I approached Melanie Zana's cottage of wood and stone. Lights glowed through the curtains in the front window.

  Walking up the porch steps, I knocked on the door.

  It swung open beneath my fist. Instinctively, the top half of my body angled away. I forced myself to lean inside. “Hello?”

  No one answered, and a chill rippled my flesh.

  I stepped inside, scanning the narrow foyer. Clutching the paper bags to my chest, I crept past the green-carpeted living room filled with its jumble of boxes. “Hello? Melanie? Are you all right?”

  “What are you doing here?” a voice behind me growled.

  I jumped, dropping my bags, and whirled around.

  Melanie stood between me and the front door. Her red hair was a tangle. Her striped blouse was rumpled, stained.

  “Melanie!” I pressed my palm to my chest. “The door was half-open. When no one answered, I... Are you okay?”

  “Get out.”

  “I'm sorry,” I stammered. Kneeling, I grabbed my bags.

  “You're all the same. Wanting things. Taking. Lying.”

  “I didn't mean—”

  “Out!”

  I fled.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “And then she slammed the door behind me.” I groaned, prodding my spaghetti with a fork.

  My sisters and I sat around the dining table at our aunt's – now Lenore’s – house. The windows reflected black against the night. A cheerful blue-and-white checked cloth covered the table. Garlands of holly and pine branches twined with twinkle lights swagged the windows. A Christmas tree decorated with white lights and rustic, wooden ornaments stood in one corner. For our house, this was minimalist decorating, but with Ellen gone, none of us were really in the mood for the holidays. I wondered where our aunt's old holiday tablecloth was, and my throat closed. This would be our first Christmas without Aunt Ellen.

  Karin tucked a strand of auburn hair behind one ear. “You're lucky Melanie didn't shoot you.” She'd changed out of her miniskirt and into a blue cashmere cardigan over a t-shirt and jeans.

  “Do you think she's got a gun?” I asked.

  “This is Doyle,” Karin said. “Everyone's got a gun.”

  “You don't,” I said.

  “Yes, I do,” she said.

  “What?” I yelped. “When?”

  “I've had it for years.” Karin filled her empty water glass from the pitcher on the table. “I practice at the range in Angels Camp.”

  “Good to know,” I said.

  “I don't plan on shooting anyone with it,” Karin said, wry. “Unless they break into my house. Like I said, you were lucky.”

  “Her front door was practically open,” I said. “It was like one of those cheesy horror movies.”

  “And so you walked inside like one of those cheesy movie heroines,” Karin said.

  I turned to Lenore. “Help me.”

  Pale in her gray turtleneck and slacks, Lenore grimaced. “Don't look at me. And I've got a shotgun.”

  “When did my sisters turn into Annie Oakleys?” I asked.

  “A shotgun is excellent for home defense,” Lenore said. “And I got it last summer.”

  Last summer had thrown us all. “The point is, I got nowhere,” I said. “Rasha couldn't tell me anything. The doctor told me she caught Matt snooping, but… I didn't even get a chance to ask Melanie about her husband.”

  Lenore braced her elbows on the table, her pale forehead wrinkling. “It sounds like she's not doing too well. Maybe I should talk to her.”

  “Don't you dare.” I didn't want Lenore anywhere near this mess. “She might accuse you of having an affair with her husband too.”

  “Why did you go over there?” Karin pushed aside her plate. “You knew she had the wrong idea about you and Matt.”

  “Isn't it obvious?” I asked. “She's the wife of
the murder victim, suspect numero uno.”

  Karin's mouth compressed. “I don't think you're being strategic.”

  “Strategic?” I gaped at her. “How am I supposed to be strategic when my whole life is in chaos? Again!” Was this my fault? Had I somehow invited it?

  “I think we should focus on the curse.” Lenore collected the plates and carried them to the kitchen. She returned with a pot of coffee, and I inhaled, recognizing one of my own blends. “Let the police deal with gathering evidence about the murderer. That's a concrete, mundane world problem.”

  “Agreed,” Karin said. “We should play to our strengths.” She shot me a look. “Which are definitely not detecting.”

  “You're a fine one to talk,” I said. “You played detective last summer, even though I asked you not to.”

  “And nearly got Nick and myself killed,” she said. “I've learned my lesson.”

  Lenore poured cups of coffee and handed them to me and Karin. “The curse,” she said gently. “A human may have murdered Matt Zana, but the darkness growing over this town is magical. It’s influencing everyone. That’s where the troubles began.”

  My skin prickled. “What have you felt?”

  “The spirits are agitated.” Lenore sat and stared into her mug. “And my journeys to Lower and Upper Worlds are becoming more difficult.”

  Karin knit her fingers beneath her chin. “Difficult? How?”

  Lenore lifted the sleeve of her nubby gray sweater. Three, angry red lines marked her forearm, and I sucked in a quick breath. The lines were raised, as if infected.

  “Why didn't you come to me?” I demanded. “I could have given you something for that.” She knew I made my own magical salves and healing potions, and they worked too.

  Lenore shook her head. “I've put your four thieves ointment on it—”

  “Which clearly isn't enough.” I rose, pacing the wooden floor. “When did it happen?”

  “Last night,” she said.

  “But it's not supposed to happen at all,” Karin said. “Your journeys aren't on the physical plane. Nothing there should be able to harm you like that.”

  Lenore shook her head. “That's not quite true. Shamanic healings take place in Lower World and affect the physical body. The opposite can happen.”

  “And has happened,” I said. “Is this the first time?”

  “It’s the first time I've been left with an actual mark,” she said.

  Karin leaned back in her wooden chair. Folding her arms, she lowered her chin. “I've been seeing things. Something’s changed. It's like a stained film has been laid over Doyle. Everything’s grown murky. What about you?” she asked me.

  “The only change I saw was the tree blight I told you about,” I said. The memory stirred my disquiet. “I don't think it was natural. It’s infected the trees near the spring.” I didn't need to say which spring.

  “But why would an unseelie cause a tree blight?” Karin asked

  I rumpled my hair. “Why would an unseelie come to Doyle and curse my assistant manager with bad luck and our family line with dying in childbirth?”

  “It’s more than that,” Karin said. “You were square in the middle of a murder last summer. Now you’re bang in the middle of another. It can’t be a coincidence. A human may have killed Matt, but your connection to these deaths has got to be connected to our family curse.”

  “Or the unseelie really doesn’t like you,” Lenore chimed in.

  My foot bounced. “Thanks. How and why should the fair… unseelie change its modus operandi from killing us in childbirth to getting me in trouble with the law?” I asked.

  “Because we should all be dead by now,” Lenore said.

  Karin and I stared.

  “Think about it,” Lenore said. “Yes, all the women in our family died in childbirth, but they also died young. In the past, women were having children much earlier. We’ve just turned twenty-nine and have already outlived every woman listed in our family Bible.”

  “You think the unseelie’s lost her patience?” I stopped in front of the paned window and gazed at my reflection in the black glass. My face wavered, distorted. “I thought immortals took the long view. If we're right, this unseelie has been haunting Doyle for over a century. Why freak out if we're a few years behind schedule?”

  None of us had an answer.

  “It's a stupid curse anyway,” I burst out. “None of us have to have children. We can adopt. And I'm having way too much fun to settle down now.” Except... Brayden. I’d allowed myself to believe he was the one man worth giving up my single life for. A sudden longing struck me, so intense I smothered a gasp. Where was Brayden now? I squeezed my eyes shut, glad my back was to my sisters.

  “But the curse was effective in the past,” Karin said. “I think you're both right. The world has changed, and so has the unseelie’s tactics.”

  “This is all guesswork,” I muttered.

  Lenore rose and walked to a high shelf. A thick, worn, leather-bound tome lay sideways atop it.

  We watched in silence as she pulled down the book and opened it on the table. I knew which page she'd turn to. In spite of the fact I'd read the passage before — I nearly had the damn thing memorized – I stood behind her and read over her shoulder.

  “Nathaniel hied away to the fae spring

  To gather herbs and flowers for his bride.

  Belle, mischief mad, behold anon the man.

  Oh Moon, she raved, smit dreadfulle to her heart,

  She wove her magic spelle and bound him close.

  Away to me, she called, forget your love,

  Forget your mortal pledge, a haunting cry.

  Three days he tarried in the unseelie bower.

  His home and hearth forgotten in her couch.

  Then fire more fierce than fae's blew through his soul,

  And waking, stumbled to his mountain home.

  Return! She cried. I bind you with my charms,

  I call the Morrigan, tie fast his fate,

  If he resists, its Uffern's gate he'll knock on.”

  “Belle, the unseelie,” Karin said. “Maybe it's time we named our enemy.”

  “Maybe it's time we find our enemy,” I said. “Aunt Ellen thought the unseelie was living in Doyle.”

  “There aren't any Belle's living in Doyle,” Karin said. “Do we interview every woman in town and try to figure out if she's really a supernatural being? We need to be smart about this. And every time we've tried to use magic to find Belle, something bad has happened.”

  “We can scry,” I said.

  My sisters looked at each other, consternation written across their faces.

  “What?” I asked. “Scrying is baby magic. There's hardly any power involved at all. The unseelie won't even notice.”

  “I don't know.” Lenore knotted her blue cloth napkin.

  “The other times we've tried to find her, we've been in the forest, on her territory,” I said. “We can do this here, in our house.”

  “If Aunt Ellen was right,” Karin said, “the entire town is Belle's territory. And that’s not true. We tried at brunch—”

  “In a restaurant,” I said. “We hadn’t prepared. This house is warded like nobody's business. Between our aunt's old enchantments and Lenore's recent protection work on the house, we'll be fine.”

  “Famous last words,” Karin muttered.

  “You can't have it both ways.” I paced in front of the dark window, my movements jerky. “You were the ones who said we should tackle the curse. We can't do that without going after the unseelie behind it. That means we use magic.”

  “I just don't think we should rush into anything,” Karin said.

  “Okay,” I said. “In that case, I'm off to investigate Matt Zana's murder.”

  Karin rolled her eyes and growled. “Fine. We'll try scrying.” She stood and braced her fists on her hips. “Anyone got a pendulum?”

  “Duh.” I lifted the necklace from around my neck. A narrow quartz cr
ystal topped by a gold band hung from the chain. Wrapping a couple inches of chain around my two fingers, I let the crystal dangle. “Anyone got a map of Doyle?”

  Lenore sprang to her feet and hurried from the room. She returned with a tattered winery map. “It's not super detailed,” she said, “but if this works, it should get us closer.” She unfolded it on the checked tablecloth.

  I whisked my cupped hand over the crystal, clearing it. My energy is mine, I thought. It will not mingle with any other energy besides the Divine as I scry tonight.

  Taking three slow, deep breaths, I quieted my mind. I imagined a white, sparkly light flowing down from the above, flowing through my body and filling my aura.

  Karin and Lenore came to stand on either side of me. Energy leapt between us.

  My skin tingling with magic, I dangled the pendant over the map. “Is the unseelie, Belle, in Doyle?”

  The pendant twitched.

  We waited, and I caught myself holding my breath.

  The pendant began to swing, back and forth — a yes.

  “Where is the unseelie now?” I asked.

  The crystal's motion stopped.

  I waited for a tug, for something that would pull my hand towards the spot on the map representing the unseelie.

  Nothing happened.

  I frowned. “Where is the unseelie now?”

  The quartz crystal bounced.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Stopped.

  A bead of sweat trickled down my temple.

  “Where is the unseelie, Belle, now?” I asked, impatient, waiting for the pull.

  A tremor ran up the gold chain, and the room grew cold. The sweat on my brow turned clammy.

  The overhead light dimmed, and I glanced up.

  “Jayce,” Karin murmured. “It’s not working.”

  “No,” I said, “wait.” The crystal swung in a small, slow arc. Its circle widened, quickening. I gripped the chain more tightly, feeling the crystal’s centrifugal tug.

  The crystal flew, nearly parallel to the table. My stomach clenched. This wasn't right. I should have felt the crystal pull my hand somewhere. It wasn't supposed to merry-go-round around. But I'd never scryed for a magical creature before, and someone had once told me patience was a virtue.