A Charmed Death

by Madelyn Alt

  Now it was Marcus’s turn to jut out his chin. “You’ll do no such thing.”

  “Try and stop me.”

  She turned on her chunky heel and ran out of the store before he could say anything else.

  Marcus puffed out his breath along with the tension that had gathered in his shoulders. “That girl.”

  He didn’t elaborate, but then again, he didn’t need to. His frustration and worry were buzzing along my nerve endings already. “She’ll be all right, Marcus. A lot of kids go through that at her age.”

  “I know,” he groaned, clapping his hand to his face and scrubbing with his palm. “I did myself. That’s why I’m so worried. I know what I did. If she takes after me, my Uncle Lou will have a heart attack.”

  “And what did you do?”

  “Ran off and joined the Army.”

  “Is that all?” He looked so gloomy, I couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s hardly something to panic about. It’s rather noble. Romantic, really. Running off to put your life on the line for the love of country.”

  “That would have been noble, sure.” He nodded sagely. “Of course, I joined up solely to piss my mom off. It worked, too. See, I told you it was stupid.”

  I tried to picture him in a soldier’s uniform, hair buzzed in a high-and-tight above the ears, or even in a pair of camouflage BDUs. Nope, couldn’t do it. “What did you do in the Army?”

  “Military Intelligence. I could tell you about it, but then I’d have to kill you.”

  “Wow, that smarts. You know what they say about paranoia.”

  “You bet your boots, sweet cheeks. Didn’t you know, the Army invented the word?”

  Chapter 9

  Paranoia can be a crippling emotion, but nothing is as crippling as a girl’s biggest phobia. I’m not talking spiders here. Ever since I was a little girl, I’d had certain . . . experiences . . . when faced with funeral homes and cemeteries. Certain disquieting experiences that I’d buried deep into my subconscious by avoiding those places for more than ten years.

  Avoidance has its upside. For me, that meant never having to face the truth about what I’d been feeling, and why. Until Isabella Harding. The events following Felicity’s sister’s death had been my crash refresher course in utilizing what Liss liked to call my “abilities.” Disabilities, more like. Most of the time that meant feeling the onslaught of another person’s emotions, whether I wanted to or not. Every once in a while, it also meant sensing things from the other side. So far I’d not had to purposely test this new aspect of my personality in an active role. Things had happened to me, sure, things that before Isabella I might have passed off as sheer coincidence. But tonight was different. This evening’s N.I.G.H.T.S. investigation was real time. The height of unpredictability.

  It was a little intimidating.

  Evie had asked for a ride to the meeting, and I was only too happy to have the company. I pulled up to the curb in front of her parents’ house, a sprawling brick ranch in a 1950s-era subdivision near the hospital. At one time it was an area filled with doctors, lawyers, judges, the cream of Stony Mill society, but over the years they’d drifted into newer, more extravagant subdivisions, leaving their middle-class homes to the up-and-comings. Evie’s parents fit the bill. Middle-class people, middle-class values, middle-class lives.

  Mrs. Carpenter opened the door when I rang the bell. A pretty blonde in a white sweater and jeans, she looked like a more up-to-date version of Donna Reed. The briefcase and a pair of kicked-off stilettos, however, proved how deceiving appearances can be—Evie’s mom was an HR manager who made the pilgrimage to corporate Fort Wayne on a daily basis.

  “You must be Maggie,” she said, holding out her hand. “Evie has spoken of little else since she started working at Enchantments.”

  I solemnly shook her hand. French manicure, I noticed. Very chic. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Carpenter.”

  “Call me Janet. Everyone does.”

  Evie appeared from a room just off the foyer. “Hi, Maggie. Thanks for giving me a ride tonight.”

  “Thanks to your mom for letting you work extra tonight,” I said, giving my coached answer with only a little nudge of guilt.

  Evie’s mom gave her daughter’s hair a soft stroke. “You won’t be too late?”

  “Don’t worry, Mom. Homework’s done. Dishes are in the dishwasher. I have my cell phone, so you can call me if you get anxious. It’s all good. And no, I won’t be too late. Promise.”

  I sensed Janet Carpenter’s eyes on our backs as we walked to Christine at the curb. “So, she doesn’t know, then?” I asked Evie as we settled in.

  Evie gazed up at the house, where her mother stood peering at us from behind a lace curtain. “No. Neither does my dad. And unfortunately I have to keep it that way.”

  “Because you’re a psychic?”

  “Because our church is of the opinion that a person chooses this path, and that Satan’s leading the way. My mom may look all modern and enlightened, but when it comes to her faith, she’s a throwback to the dark ages.” She gave her mom a cheery wave as Christine puttered into motion.

  “My mom, too,” I confided. “Always has been. I’ve had to learn to be my own person over the years. To listen to myself. Moms mean well, but they had to learn to be their own persons, too.” I took a deep breath. “Do you know the way?”

  She took a folded piece of paper out of her pocket and, as the sun went down, read me the directions with the aid of my handy-dandy keychain photon light. “Uh-huh . . . okay . . . right here . . . okay . . . okay . . . next left . . . wow, neat barn . . . just a ways down this road, now. There it is, see?” She pointed just ahead.

  I couldn’t have missed it. There was only a faint glimmer of light left along the horizon, but it was just enough to make out the jagged teeth of tombstones silhouetted against the skyline, the corn in the field behind the cemetery having been cropped to the nubs. In the distance beneath the high-watt glow of a security light, I could make out a small farm. Other than the cemetery, it was the only hub of habitation around. The next set of lights were at least a half-mile distant—although I supposed there might be Amish families in between. We’d passed plenty of farm-houses with nothing more than the dim glow of a kerosene lamp in the kitchen and barn and not an electric pole in sight. “Is that Joe’s place?”

  “Yup. We’ve been out here before. Lots of activity, this cemetery. On Joe’s place, too.”

  Lots of activity. Great.

  Reaching into the dark corners of my memory, I thought back to my first encounter with the N.I.G.H.T.S., on a dark October night in the loft. The night that Felicity had introduced me to her cohorts and companions in the quest for Truth with a capital T. Two months had passed since that night, eight weeks that I had spent alternately (A) probing into the theory and history of the hidden mysteries of the world around me, and (B) thinking I had landed in the middle of a den of eccentrics. Before that day, I had been an innocent. A bystander in the secular world—never very taken with the paranoid brimstone theories of the world’s religious leaders, but equally certain of the truth behind the assertions that things like witches, ghosts, and magic were all a part of the illusions of a world too superstitious to make sense of phenomena that were essentially part of the natural order. Of course it was all Felicity’s fault that I had come to this end. How could I not want to discover the truth for myself when faced with a lot of intriguing little hints of things hitherto thought to be nothing more than self-indulgent fantasy?

  Of course, it was at times like these that my curiosity got me into big trouble. Hopefully tonight’s endeavor wouldn’t follow that pattern.

  No fear, Maggie, remember?

  Tell that to the squirrels and chipmunks currently making a playground of my stomach.

  “Remind me again why we’re doing this?” I said nervously.

  “Because it’s active, so we’re sure to get readings.”

  “But we’ve taken measurements here before.”
r />   “Yes, preliminary baseline readings. But since Joe says that activity is actually increasing, we wanted to test current readings against that data.”

  I guess it made sense.

  We bumped into a long-forgotten, rutted drive and pulled off to one side. I paused only a moment beside a faded and peeling sign that stated the cemetery closed at sundown. “Do we have permission to be here after dark?” I asked Evie.

  “The cemetery’s on Joe’s property, and he takes care of it, even though it fell into disuse long ago. There shouldn’t be a problem.”

  So much for last hopes.

  We parked beside an old rust-bucket F150, complete with gun rack in the back window. Ordinarily a pickup like that wouldn’t draw much attention—except for the fact that its owner was a former nun who now owned a bait-and-tackle store near a string of lakes in the northern part of the county. Gen waved and headed over to greet us.

  “Hey, you two. Glad you could make it. Devin’s running late—he’ll no doubt regale us with a multitude of reasons when he arrives.” Devin McAllister, perennial college student extraordinaire for the sole reason that it irritated the hell out of his banker father, was habitually tardy. He also ran one of the largest underground paranormal Internet newsletters in the country, all from his studio apartment on the college campus. Just goes to show what a little ingenuity and a good desktop publishing program can do for you.

  “Unfortunately he also has most of the electronics with him,” she continued. “We may need to start without him.”

  “No worries.” Marcus came up from behind us and put his arms around Evie’s shoulders with an affectionate squeeze. The heated blush that lit her cheeks could be felt even in the semidarkness. “I brought my pocket recorder. Maybe we can get some EVPs while we wait. Not exactly top quality, but we might get something anyway.”

  EVP was ghostbusting shorthand for Electronic Voice Phenomena, which as I had learned only recently signified the faint voices sometimes to be found on tape recordings taken in spiritually active locations, even when no voices ought to be present. Scoff if you will, but I’d heard samples and, I have to say, found them a little too eerie for my peace of mind.

  “And there are always the old standbys,” Joe Aames added as he joined the lot of us. A hulking ex-jock whose muscles hadn’t yet gone to fat, he had a quiet energy that surrounded him with an aura of warmth and stability. His very presence reassured me. Kind of ironic when you considered the fact that he was the reason we were all there tonight. He nodded in the direction of his companion.

  “Right there’s an old standby if I ever saw one.” He laughed at his own joke.

  I glanced over to find Eli Yoder walking slowly, purposefully, among the stones, his hand slightly outstretched before him. Something dangled from his fingers.

  “What’s that he’s doing?” I asked Joe.

  “Him? Dowsing. Eli’s specialty. That man can find anything with that thing. Damnedest thing I ever seen,” Joe said, shaking his head in combined bemusement and admiration.

  I watched the older Amish man’s progress, curious. “What is he holding? I’ve heard of dowsing for underground water before—most people have heard the old wives’ tales—but I always thought that was with an uncoiled wire hanger or a stick or something.”

  “He made it himself,” Marcus said, leaning up against Christine’s curved bumper. “Out of a Goddess stone he found on his property and a piece of twine. But don’t let him hear you call dowsing an old wives’ tale. He swears by it.”

  “What’s a Goddess stone?” Evie asked Marcus, saving me the trouble.

  He smiled indulgently down at her. “A stone, usually round, with a smooth hole in its center. They’re said to be good luck if you find one.”

  I couldn’t help wondering if there was truth to that after all. An Amish man, plain as they come in both appearance and lifestyle, Eli was still one of the most contented people I have ever met. He ran a furniture-making business out of a barn on his property, filling his days with sawdust and sandpaper, stains and oils, and the solid heft of wood. He lived without electricity or any other kind of modern convenience, drove a horse-drawn buggy, and derived satisfaction in the simple rhythms of life. From the moment I met him, I have thought we could all take a lesson from him. Perhaps it was true that a person made their own luck.

  “You want to try?” Eli offered the makeshift device to me with a shy smile. “It is not so hard. You try, ja?”

  I looked to Marcus for guidance. He shrugged as if to say, Why not?

  Why not, indeed?

  I took the stone from Eli, a little self-conscious with everyone standing around me, watching my every move. The stone was round and surprisingly warm to the touch, despite the cold evening air that was making me shiver. I cupped it in my hand, traced the smooth surface of the inner circle with the pad of my thumb. “What do I do?”

  Eli stood behind me and to one side. “Stretch your hand out, like so.” He demonstrated holding the end of the string so that it was no more than eight inches long. “Not straight with the arm. You will tire, your muscles contract. Results no good when that happens. Concentrate. You hold your arm still, but relaxed. Then you focus. Breathe deep. Watch the stone. When you feel at peace, you ask to speak with your guide.”

  I frowned. “My spirit guide?”

  Eli nodded.

  “How do I know I have one?”

  “Everybody have one. Some more than one. That little voice you hear in your head that is not yours, ja?”

  Soooooo, did that mean Grandma Cora was my spirit guide? And if so, who had been my guide before Grandma crossed over into the netherworld? Of course, knowing Grandma C, she’d probably elbowed everyone else aside the moment she got there. I loved her, as much as she’d let anyone love her, but that didn’t diminish the fact that she was probably one of the biggest pains in the patooty I’d ever known.

  “Will she talk back to me, when I ask to speak with her?” I asked, half dreading the answer.

  “Probably not. Not a voice. Until you develop your inner ear, they save that for very important matters.”

  “Then how do I know?”

  “The stone—it circles. One way is yes, one way, no. Easy, ja? Your guide, she show you which is which. You say, show yes answer. She show you. Easy.”

  While I turned a skeptical eye on the stone, a sleek black car purred into the now crowded lane. I would have known it anywhere. Relief flooded through me as Liss slipped from her car with all the understated elegance being British affords you.

  “Hello, loves. How is everyone on this glorious, full moon eve?”

  I cast a glance toward the sky, where fitful clouds threaded across the escalating darkness. I hadn’t noticed the moon before, but there it was, just above the tree line, big and silvery white and luminous. I blew out my breath and watched as the fog I’d created climbed toward the moon.

  “I’ve brought cakes and ginger beer for all,” she was saying. “In honor of the esbat and the Lady.” She raised her hand to her lips and blew two kisses to the moon. Then she turned back to us. “Well, don’t just stand there. I demand a hug from each of you.”

  Gen and Evie were the first to encircle her shoulders with a warm embrace. Joe and Eli came separately, shuffling with embarrassment, but their hugs were no less warm. I moved forward immediately after, embracing her tightly and laying my cheek against hers.

  “You look good, Liss. Really, really good,” I told her.

  She squeezed my shoulders. “I feel good.”

  “Then you have no excuse for not returning to Enchantments as soon as humanly possible. So long as you’re ready to come back,” I amended quickly with the realization that I was being pushy.

  Liss gave a merry laugh. “Slave driver. I’ll have you know I’ve been very busy these last weeks.”

  We parted with a mutual sniffle, and she took my hands in hers. “Hullo, what’s this?” she asked, turning my palm up and exposing the Goddess stone.
>
  “Eli’s teaching me how to dowse.”

  “Smashing. We can cover protecting oneself at the same time.”

  I felt better already.

  Marcus laid his hand on my shoulder. “Are you planning to hog her the whole night, or are you going to let someone else have a shot at the action?” He threw his arm around Liss’s neck and gave her a sound kiss on the cheek. Smiling broadly, Liss raised her hand to his cheek, hugging him close. I turned away, allowing them their privacy.

  I gazed around the motley crew, friends all, and noticed more than Devin was missing. “Wait a minute. Where’s Annie?”

  Annie Miller, owner of Annie-Thing Good, a European-style café that was fast becoming Stony Mill’s newest favorite stomping ground. A Birkenstock-wearing neo-hippie, Annie was a little tornado of a woman, her boundless energy rubbing off on everyone she came into contact with. She was also an integral part of the N.I.G.H.T.S., and not just because of her signature triple fudge brownies.

  “Couldn’t make it tonight,” Gen responded. “Annie’s acting as labor coach for a cousin of hers. She went into labor last night and is still going strong.”

  That was too bad. I liked Annie. But on second thought, I remember once being told that spirits were drawn to Annie’s bright light like moths to a flame, and that if a place held spirit energy, Annie would ferret it out. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing that she would be absent on my first active investigation. Whether or not I was ready remained to be seen, but I knew for a fact I wasn’t ready for Annie’s talent.

  Eli came toward me. “So, you ready, Maggie? I show you.”

  Liss put a staying hand on his arm. “Maggie, since you’ve never done this before, I’d like you to practice shielding yourself first. Just as I’ve shown you. As an empath with telepathic tendencies, and being virtually untrained, I would feel better if we took a preemptive stance. We don’t want any surprises until you are the one in control.” Her gaze swept the group. “It wouldn’t hurt the rest of you to practice this, either.”