by Shara Lanel
“Maybe the dark cloud is because I haven’t decided whether I want you to know where I am.” Shylah cleared her throat so that her voice wouldn’t sound so squeaky.
“Why would you not want me to know where you are?”
She smiled. “Why would you need to know where I am?” She hadn’t told him the last times she’d moved either, but he always divined her general location. She plopped down on the couch. “Look, I called because I have a question about the tarot. I had a strange reading that perhaps I’m interpreting all wrong.”
“No small talk? No telling me how you are? I haven’t heard from you in months.”
“I would’ve just been whining about the mean town people. Same old song and dance.”
He sighed. “Have you moved again?”
“No. I’m trying to stick it out this time. I’m innocent of what I’ve been accused, and I’m not running away with my tail between my legs.” She said it with force, so that Alain would not question her, though she still doubted her decision every day.
“Bravo! About time you figured that out. What are you accused of?”
She didn’t know why, but she didn’t want to tell him about the murder, and she didn’t want him to know where she was. The gods seemed to agree with her, since he could only see a dark cloud in his divination. She forced a chuckle. “The school didn’t get accreditation, so the teachers are under review and the students may have to retest.”
“And this is your fault how?”
“Apparently the mere fact that I’m a practicing witch is enough to blame me for the problem.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re holding out. You’re a good teacher.”
Except she was a fired teacher, but she didn’t mention this. Although she was chomping at the bit to discuss Gabe’s tarot reading, she listened as Alain filled her in on coven news. They’d had thirteen members until Shylah left, and it had taken Alain a long time to find someone to fill her slot. The newbie’s name was Star—how clichéd—Rivers, but Alain had barely mentioned her since the first time. She wondered if they’d had to replace her after all. “How is Star working out?”
He sighed. “Star decided to work with another coven. Apparently we weren’t fluffy bunny enough for her.”
“Poser, I guess,” Shylah said, though she wasn’t sure she disagreed with Star now that she’d had time and space to reflect.
“So where are you?”
“Maryland.” She hoped he didn’t recognize the area code. “A small town.”
“So, other than the school issue, do you like it there? Because New Orleans surely misses you.” He said it like N’awlins, with that accent that used to curl her toes.
“Pretty much. I have a great little house with a stamp-sized yard for my herb garden.”
“Met anyone?”
Ah, she sensed that was the question Alain was very interested in. She didn’t know why though. He’d never actually loved her, not romantically anyway. “Nope. Small town—that’s one of the downsides.” She kept mum about Gabe as well. No need to advertise that little mistake, though Alain might’ve been able to offer her a pregnancy divining spell. She realized she still cared what he thought, even after all this time and all her fears about him.
“Have you at least found a new coven to practice with? How close are you to Baltimore? I’m sure you’d find one there.”
“Actually, I’m fine as a solitary. It gives me a different focus.” She took a deep breath. “So…about the reading?”
“All right, tell me about the cards.”
She pulled out her notes and detailed Gabe’s spread of the Celtic Cross, including her interpretation of physical death. She didn’t say how much she knew Gabe, or that she thought the Lovers card referred to her.
Alain responded card by card, sometimes agreeing with Shylah’s interpretation and sometimes seeing something different.
“Wheel of Fortune at the beginning. You say unusual loss, but it could also be destiny or that the wheel is spinning and the atmosphere is very much in flux.”
“Hmm.” Shylah didn’t explain that she thought the unusual loss could refer to Gabe’s cousin, Lalia. “Go on.”
“Let’s see. Hermit. You see that as a specific person? I think I’d agree with that. Three of pentacles. I’d agree that he just got paid for something regarding work. Justice reversed. Is he dealing with prejudice or abuse?”
“I don’t know.” She knew that she was dealing with prejudice and abuse. Perhaps the reverse meant that Gabe was coming at this with his own bias, believing her guilty.
“Well, Lovers…did you ask him if he was getting married?”
“He didn’t mention it. The Moon means he fears deception, right? Lovers could also refer to trust.”
“Yes. He’s dealing with a lot of negative opinions from those around him.”
“Uh huh.”
“Emperor. Why did you narrow in on accomplishment?”
“A feeling. I don’t think he’s after money in this endeavor.”
“And death. Why do you feel this means physical death, rather than transformation?”
Shylah pictured Gabe’s face during the reading and shivered. “The last four cards just gave me a really strong negative vibe, and for a moment—this is crazy—I thought I saw the shadow of a skull over his face.”
“Wow.” He sounded admiring. “But it might not mean his physical death. It could also mean the loss of another or illness, and I think either of those meanings would jive with the skull.”
Shylah thought he was being overly optimistic. She’d never seen a death omen like that before, and she’d only managed to push it out of her mind because later events, dinner and sex, had happened so fast on its heels. “Thanks for giving me a well-rounded view of this. Sometimes the vibes I get overwhelm the literal interpretations.”
“Which is why you’re a good reader, but the vibrations combined with the cards’ meanings have to be considered together.”
She was transported back five years ago, when she’d first met Alain, when he’d started teaching her the Craft. He’d used the same tone of voice to encourage her through each lesson. At times, it had made her feel like a twelve-year-old, but usually it had comforted and steadied her and turned her on. This time she found it a bit patronizing. She was no longer the student. She wanted an equal to share ideas with, not someone who condescended to her. Maybe it had been a mistake to call.
Suddenly she wanted to get off the phone. To do what, she didn’t know, but it seemed necessary. Immediately. “Well, thank you. I better get going.”
“Wait, Shylah, tell me about…” His Louisiana drawl crawled up her skin as he drew out each syllable longer than necessary.
“No, I’m so sorry, Alain, since I called you, but I really have to go now. I have an appointment.” She quickly hung up as a feeling of ants marched from her palm up her arm. She yanked her hand away from the phone and the feeling lessened but didn’t go away until she jumped up from the chair and scooted into the kitchen. Only then did the creepy-crawly sensation cease.
Geez, where had that sudden paranoia come from? She bent over her window box and breathed in the mingled scents of cooking herbs. She plucked off a lavender flower and held it under her nose before rubbing it against the pulse points on her wrists. As she calmed down, that paranoid feeling lessened, until it seemed like part of a nightmare.
* * * * *
Hain had allowed Gabe to look at the actual chalice found at the kids’ crime scene and compared it to the photo of the one found at the NOLA scene. Identical, as far as he could tell. Now he just needed a chance to search Shylah’s house. Should he be straightforward and ask to see her magical tools, break in when she wasn’t home or divert her attention and try to search while she was there? Most damning would be if she had a matching bowl or other object but no chalice. He decided to take the straightforward approach; he wanted to see if it made her nervous when he asked.
Shylah opened the door at his k
nock, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe. She seemed more stunningly beautiful than before. She looked surprised and didn’t open the door all the way.
He tried to remember the purpose of his visit. “May I come in?”
“Um, yeah, I guess.” She backed out of the way and opened the door a little wider, so he could step across the threshold. “I didn’t expect to see you.” The unspoken “ever” hung in the air.
“I’ve got a job, and I’m not so easily diverted.” His voice sounded harsher than he meant it to.
Shylah placed her hands on her hips, blocking the way from the foyer to the living room. “I hope you’re not saying I was trying to divert you with sex, since you’re the one who clearly started it.”
He forced a friendlier expression to his face. “Yes, I did start it. I probably shouldn’t have.”
“Probably not.”
They stared at each other. Gabe knew he should ask her how she felt after their night together, if she thought she could be pregnant. Even if it never happened again, he should treat her as something more than a suspect.
But it was not treating her like a suspect that had gotten them in bed together in the first place. He should stick to the investigation.
“Well, in an effort at transparency, will you let me see your altar and tools?”
“To compare with the chalice?” Again she proved knowledgeable of the crime scene.
“Both chalices, including the one at the scene of Wanda Nance’s murder.”
She looked away, her expression growing guarded. “Ah.” Without waiting for more, she turned, leading him through the living room. They wended though the small kitchen, a tiny utility room with drying herbs suspended from the ceiling, down a few stairs to a cramped mudroom packed with potatoes, home-canned veggies and various mushrooms. Dried herbs were woven into grapevine wreathes, half finished. Others were in vases and jars. There were empty vials, containers with what seemed to be olive oil and herbs smashed in a granite mortar and pestle. There were sachet bags, some filled, some empty.
“What is this place?”
“I guess it’s technically a mudroom, but I use it as my work room.”
“It’s quite chilly.”
“It keeps herbs fresher if they’re a little bit below room temperature.”
But she didn’t linger in the mudroom either. She went up a couple of steps and opened a wood door painted with a woman holding the earth in her arms. Beyond was a jungle, which they stepped into, the dense humidity making it feel like it was about to rain.
“My solarium,” she said matter-of-factly. “It’s the reason I bought the house.”
“It’s pretty small for a Florida room.”
“Yeah, but they didn’t mean it for relaxation.”
“They?”
“The previous owners. They were flower buffs, particularly interested in exotic varieties. They actually took most of the flowers with them on their move, hence the mossy spaces you’ll see. Anyway, I gather they tacked on this little greenhouse based on their budget.”
“So this is where you hack up the bodies and use them as fertilizer?” He thought his tone humorous, but Shylah didn’t laugh. “Hey, I was trying to be funny.”
“And you might be if you weren’t also accusing me of murdering three people.”
“So you don’t deny your connection to the other murder?”
“Of course not. My coven was investigated. It’s a matter of record.”
“It seems awfully odd that, while most people never have murder touch them, you’ve had two.”
“It is odd. I’m starting to feel jinxed.” She pulled a palm frond toward her then let it go so that it sprung back into place. Almost to herself she said, “It’s as if the murderer is following me.”
“Isn’t it more likely that you’re the murderer?”
“It’s not more likely to me, since I know I didn’t do it.” She left him surrounded by overwhelming palms and vines to move farther into the solarium. There were raised beds for all the plants with a cement walkway in between. Once he moved the fronds out of the way to follow her, he spotted her destination. There was a circle of cement framed by the exotic plants. A warm-colored Indian rug covered almost the entire space, and in the middle was a huge chunk of log. He took a step closer and saw that the stool-size log was shellacked. On the top there was a gorgeous inlaid Ouija board.
“Wow, that had to have taken a lot of work.”
She sat next to it and ran her fingers over the surface, immediately making him think of her fingers on his body. He shook that off and sat on the floor opposite her.
“I inherited it.”
“Your parents were witches?”
“They were, but I inherited it from a distant relative in England, one I don’t even remember.” She closed her eyes, then opened them and stared at his face, but she wasn’t really looking at his face. “It was found in my cousin…uncle, I’m not sure what he was to me…but it was in his attic. They were holding an estate sale to pay for his burial.”
“So no other children?”
She shrugged. “Apparently not. I wish I knew more of the story behind this though.” She laid her palm flat on the wood. “It’s very old.”
“How can you tell that?”
She focused on his eyes. “Can’t you feel it? It’s seen violence, loneliness and joy, over and over, not only while it was standing, but as this table was passed down from generation to generation.”
Hmm. Okay. She certainly seemed to believe what she said, so he wouldn’t quash her fantasy. “So this is your altar?”
“Yes.”
“And your tools?”
She leaned back to the wood border of the raised beds and popped open a cleverly camouflaged drawer. Then she pulled items out one by one. “This will prove nothing, you know, because I could have hidden or sold another set. Really it was quite irresponsible of the murderer to leave a chalice at both scenes.”
“You should look after your tools better.”
Her lips quirked. “I do look after my tools.” She knew he could only take her word for it. She kissed each item and laid them on the altar. The first piece was a bowl carved from a solid piece of wood. “This is for water.” Another wood bowl, lightly stained, newer. “This is to hold the salt.” The next three items were gunmetal gray and downright ugly. “This is my athame.” She set it down. “This is my chalice and this is my candle holder for when I use tapers.”
“Couldn’t you have bought something prettier?”
She looked at them and frowned. “I took a trip to England after I was sent the altar. I wanted to find out more about the man who left it for me. Anyway, I was at a market in London when I saw these on a dented folding table. They called to me. I re-consecrated them, of course, so that no lingering vibrations would infect my magick.”
She sounded more and more flakey, talking about inanimate objects as if they were somehow alive. And yet he believed in her belief. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was his libido hoping to get close to her again. But he was very good at reading faces and catching a person’s tell, the thing that would prove they were lying. Shylah did not have a tell.
Last, she pulled out a blackened cast iron cauldron, about five inches in diameter. “For incense.”
Gabe reached for the cauldron.
“Don’t touch, like I was saying about lingering vibrations.”
“I wanted to sniff it, that’s all.” He was wondering if he could smell previously burned incense. Shylah looked as if she was going to ask why, but then, without another word, she lifted it to his nose but not close enough to touch. He only smelled iron and faintly rancid oil. He nodded, ignoring her smirk. “Did you find out anything more about your relative?”
“Just rumors. Sylvester’s family had owned the manor house for centuries, but the last generation had let it fall into disrepair. Someone did buy it when it was auctioned off after his death, but then they boarded it up and left it there to crumble t
o the ground. The villagers said he had dabbled in the occult and now his ghost floated through the rooms, trapped in between the veils.” She smiled again. “They certainly tell good yarns. One lady was such a good storyteller that I shivered as if a ghost had walked by. She’s the one who told me that Sylvester had a gimp leg, as had every eldest male in his family since the 1100s. I don’t know how she came to that date, but it sounded good. The local historical society had a picture of Sylvester and he did indeed have a gimp leg.”
“Spooky.”
“You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”
“No. I just wish we were sitting around a campfire with marshmallows.” His mom had sent him to a summer camp in the mountains once, the only time he’d ever had s’mores and the only time he’d done a dawn polar bear swim. He’d frozen his ass off and never had the desire to do it since.
She stuck out her tongue at him, and he immediately flashed back to tasting that tongue and so many other things on her body.
“And the other creepy thing the lady told me…the eldest son in his entire line not only had a gimp leg, but they died as soon as their wives gave birth, which is apparently why Sylvester had refused to get married.”
“Well, it sounds as though you have an interesting family, at least Sylvester’s part of it anyway. Do you have brothers, sisters and parents here in the states?”
“My brother’s in Utah, a converted Mormon, therefore he doesn’t speak to me anymore. I’m a pagan sinner, you see. The sad part is I’ve got two nieces who I haven’t seen since they were babies. But you can’t change someone’s prejudices.”
Gabe thought about his father and realized she was right. He picked up the knife and looked at it more closely. “This looks very old.” The blade was dull and clearly hammered flat. The handle was the same piece of metal, but thicker for an easy grip.
“It is. I had it valued while I was in England, and they said it dated back to the Roman Conquest, the end of the Iron Age. Iron is used magically for protection, like an iron gate around a cemetery, meant to keep the ghosts inside its boundaries.”