"Do you have time to talk to me about Keegan's case?" I needed her version of what Keegan said Sunday night to Felicia.
She pursed her full pink lips. "No, Ira's all set to go."
"Will we disrupt the class?" I wondered if outsiders would be a distraction.
"No, they're used to observers—like me." Shirley tapped the clipboard. "I'm doing my doctorate on the psychological effects of shape-shifting. They sign a release at the start of the semester." She held the clipboard out to me. "You need to sign a release too that you accept the risk of trauma of observing a shape-shift."
After Rusty and I signed, Shirley pressed the clipboard to her chest. "Go ahead in and have a seat."
In the middle of the classroom, the students' chairs formed a circle around an air mattress, where Ira sat cross-legged with his back to us. The desks and a wooden podium were bunched together in the back. Ragged posters and notices drooped from bulletin boards. On the blackboard someone had scrawled Don't read Chapter Four. It will confuse you.
Ira swiveled to face us while we settled into chairs behind him and deposited our purses and coffees on the floor. He wore a gray T-shirt flecked with white splotches. The USMC across his chest reminded me he'd been a Marine.
"Welcome to our shape-shifting study," Ira said. "Everyone, Petra Rakowitz and Rusty Brock are here to observe."
His voice rumbled round me. I wanted to lean forward to hear better.
He looked around the circle, drawing the students' gazes to him. They wore loose-fitting clothes, T-shirts and sweats, except for one woman crammed into a tank top and tattered shorts. She probably had goose bumps. Already the classroom air chilled me.
When he reached for the coffee, his snake tattoo glittered, and its tongue flickered.
"All of you have taken on another's form and returned to yourself," Ira said. "Sometimes it's been rough. The next step is to hold the shape-shift together while you think and act with the other's personality." Ira smiled like a wolf—teeth prominent, amber eyes searching. "Tonight, I'll become my brother Keegan. He's heavy on my mind."
Ira uncoiled, standing just off the air mattress. "Petra, I'd like to use my empathy powers to look into your mind." He stretched out the hand with the snake's head.
"How do you want me to help?" I needed time to think. In the old days, empaths had to wear spell-detector crystals and red berets so people could see and avoid them. The ethical code of empaths—Touch minds only with consent—meant he needed me to agree. The scared kid inside me flinched at the thought of a mental intrusion.
"My students use an exterior image to begin their shape-shifts. It gives them an objective basis for the transformation. Tonight, I'll show the class how empathy powers can create the shape-shift image. I touch your hand and pull out the image of the last time you saw Keegan."
I gripped the edge of the chair. "You mean like a Vulcan mind meld?"
Two gray-haired students laughed.
Rusty patted my arm. "It's okay. A flash across your mind."
Fast as a bullet. I hesitated to let him enter my head. Yet curiosity made me want to experience an empath's touch and, yes, Ira's. I searched his face for a clue to his inner intentions.
Ira waited till the laughter died. "My students have been using photos and videos to start the shape-shift. A telepathic sharing is a live image you pass on to me. It can make the shape-shift more real, more vital. Shirley is allergic to empathic experiences. You won't know I've been there."
"If I share an image with you, what do you leave behind?"
In my head, his voice softly pleaded Please share your image of Keegan.
He wanted to share, not take away. Good. Yet lawyerly misgivings made me ask if he could pick up confidential information. "Can you promise not to do anything but latch on to Keegan's image?"
"I promise to secure only Keegan's image."
After all, he could read my thoughts anytime he wanted if he didn't mind violating the behavior code of empaths. "I agree to this procedure with the limitations we've stipulated." The comfort of legalese.
"Please stand up."
Ira lifted his hands palms up. "Petra, relive the last time you saw Keegan. Hold your hands like mine when you see Keegan in your head. I'll touch you briefly with my hands and mind. When I'm Keegan, we'll have a scene. Play it by ear."
I focused on my last words with Keegan this morning.
I lower my eyes. Time to conclude the jail visit. I need brisk and reassuring words that give away nothing to the sheriff's department. I'd be more objective and efficient if I disliked Keegan. I know his every movement. He gives a slight jerk of his head. He's going to ask a tough question.
He's digging the receiver into his ear. "Has the state asked for the death penalty yet?"
He looks at me as if I'm pointing a gun at him.
After Ira pressed my upturned palms, he stretched out on the mattress, his fingers interlaced over his stomach. Red marks marred his forehead and upper cheek. The snake's green and gold scales faded away, its tongue disappearing last. Ira's hair tightened into crisp curls, and his skin tone paled from tan to ivory. The Marine Corps shirt loosened over narrowed shoulders.
Startled, I realized that my face, like Ira's, dripped sweat. My hands lifted up until Rusty pressed them down. Hearing the creak of his joints, I tightened my muscles. The marks on his face had shaped into a cut over his brow and a bruise under his eye. His lips—filled out and reddened—twisted. Lids popped open and revealed blue eyes that rolled and then centered.
Lifting on his elbows, he met my look. I recognized Keegan.
"Don't believe everything you hear," he said.
"Don't talk about the case." Interesting legal issue. Could this form of Keegan make incriminating statements?
A flutter went over his face. "Anything you say can and will be used against you."
I smelled sweat so strongly I tasted it. This thing with the rubber face, did it have Keegan's mind? I had to have proof.
"What's the job you always wanted but your family didn't approve of?"
"Being a cop."
"What special reason did you give me for wanting to be a cop?"
Instead of answering, he wrapped his hands around my throat and brushed his thumbs up my neck. His soft touch warmed me, yet I shivered.
"Felicia."
The victim's name jarred me, and I pushed him away. His features pinched together, and he crumpled onto the mattress. Shirley threw down the clipboard to kneel by him.
"I-r-a, I-r-a," she chanted, beckoning me to join her.
Rusty called out, "Chant" and gestured at the students to participate.
Muscle cords tightening on her arms, Shirley pressed on her brother's shoulders. "Help me keep him flat. Put a hand on his heart."
He flinched at my touch. His heart pounded into my hand, while his legs bent up and lifted his lower back. He sucked in breath through clenched teeth. The chanting filled my head and vibrated down my bones. A tremor worked from his head to toe. His fists uncurled, and he lay flat. Under my fingers, I felt his wild heart slow. I breathed in unison with his harsh gasps.
Ira slid his hands over his belly. The snake brightened into shape with the flickering tongue last to form. As the cut and bruise disappeared, Ira blinked under the fluorescent lights. I released him, and the chant stopped. Even though I stepped away from Ira, his heart still beat in my hands.
The students clustered together and watched Ira as if he were a live bomb. When he sat up and coughed, we all exhaled together. Breaking apart, the students picked up their books and bags.
Ira cleared his throat twice. "I hardly ever have a shape-shift disrupt. I lost focus. Thanks for the chant."
The students paused in packing up their belongings, as if uncertain the class was over.
Shirley pulled business cards from her jeans. "If anyone needs help processing, call me or the counseling center. This happens to all shape-shifters. Don't try it at home."
Three students
took cards.
Ira stood up, swayed, and held on to a chair for support. "Students demonstrating shape-shifts next week, see me."
Two students approached Ira, one clutching a laptop, the other a book, The Metaphysics of Magic.
I nodded at Rusty. We met at the back of the room where the desks were pushed together. She handed me my coffee. I gulped down the cold liquid. At the front of the classroom, Ira listened, chin in hand, as the student with the laptop pointed at the screen. I sensed Ira checking my position, even though he didn't look at me. An electric current of something—physical attraction, suspicion—connected me to him. His muscular build and golden eyes held me. I reminded myself I had a rule not to find witnesses and potential suspects either winsome or alluring.
I gestured with my cup at Ira and hoped Rusty couldn't read my interest in him. "Why did the shape-shift fall apart?" The instant I spoke, I realized I may have caused the problem, just as I supposedly disrupted the demon dissolution in Chris's office. I didn't count the statue in the church since I wasn't sure what had happened there. Worry about whether Ernie's spell had unleashed magic power in me derailed my focus. I needed to concentrate on Keegan's case. "You know, Ira could've returned to Felicia's apartment Monday morning, had a confrontation with her, and then when he left, shape-shifted into Keegan's form."
"That's a working theory." Rusty scrutinized me, her eyes pausing at my fingers clamped around the coffee cup. "These shape-shifts are painful to watch. Are you okay?"
My joints ached from tensing up as Ira struggled with his shape-shift. The thought that I might be leaking magic or unconsciously using it gave me a pounding headache. "I'm fine. I think I will stroll down the hall and loosen up." It would be a relief to get some distance from the memory of Ira's heart beating under my hand.
CHAPTER TWELVE
WEDNESDAY EVENING
I caught up with Shirley as she strode down the corridor. "Can we talk?"
She frowned. "Sorry. I have to leave right now for my shift at UPS. How about tomorrow?"
Thursday was pretty booked, but I needed to ask her about Sunday night. "I start court at nine and won't finish till around three."
"I get off my shift at UPS at seven tomorrow morning. Can we get together before you start court?"
"How about my office around 7:30? It's not far from downtown."
She nodded, and we continued down the hall. Chattering students emerged from the classroom where they'd been grinding with pestles. A lavender scent floated along with them. Shirley joined the tail end of the students who were starting down the stairs.
The restroom next to the stairwell was empty. White ceramic tiles gave it a cheery look. Trash spilled out of the wastebaskets. As I tugged at a stubborn paper towel, the door whooshed open, and a young man entered—the one who had been hanging around outside Ira's classroom. He gave a quick glance around, locked the deadbolt, and backed up against the door.
"Hey, what are you doing?" I reached for my cell phone then realized I'd left it in the classroom with my purse. We stepped forward at the same time, almost bumping into each other before I swerved to the right.
I made my voice loud as I moved around him. "You let me out of here right now, or I start screaming!"
He pressed his back against the door and pushed trembling hands at me. He looked around eighteen. Skinny, he had ears that stuck out and a prominent Adam's apple.
"It's okay." His voice quavered. "I just want to talk to you."
I moved back and lowered my volume. "It's not okay. Please let me out."
He half turned and put his hand on the lock. "I'll unlock it if you promise to talk to me. Okay?"
"In the hallway. You open the door now." I put my hand in my pocket and made a fist. "You have up to the count of three before I pull out my cell phone and dial nine-one-one." My heart beat so hard I almost couldn't breathe.
He unbolted the door. "I'm desperate."
I wanted to rush past him to Ira's classroom. I disciplined myself to walk normally and stand in the middle of the hall. No one was around. I thought if I darted away he might panic and grab at me. However, he seemed to be trying to compose himself, letting his arms hang at his side.
I pointed down the hall. "I'm going back to the classroom I came from. You can talk to me on the way."
He walked by my side for five paces, paused, and pulled out his cell phone.
"It's my sister. The one who got killed. Felicia." His face screwed up. "I heard you say you're one of his lawyers. I have to know. Did he kill her?"
I stopped, relaxed my muscles, and kept my tone level. "Let's slow down here. What's your name?"
"Salvador Morlatti."
"I'm very sorry about your sister's death."
"I want to know—did he kill her?"
"I'm his lawyer, young man. Of course I'm going to say he's innocent."
He rubbed at his short hair, sending it up in dark spikes. "The TV said he pleaded not guilty at court. What does that mean?"
I lowered my voice and spaced my words out to try to focus him. "Everybody pleads not guilty at that hearing. It's just to consider bail and give the guy a court date. You shouldn't be talking to me. Why don't you talk to the detective on the case?"
His brow furrowed. "He won't talk to me, only my dad."
"Has your family hired a lawyer?"
"My dad's talking about it. He doesn't know what a lawyer would do."
"Look out for your interests in court," I said.
"That's my dad's thing. Not mine."
"What do you want?"
He clenched his right fist. "If he killed her, I want—" He advanced toward me. "Do you know how she died? Smashed to the ground. It was horrible, so bad, my dad could barely identify her. He wouldn't let me see her."
"I'm sorry. I know it's hard."
He gulped and pressed a hand flat against his mouth. He shuddered once but didn't puke. I sidled around him to walk toward the classroom, which was about twenty feet away.
"She was beautiful. Look."
The kid's voice had gone up a notch. He held the phone toward me so I could see the picture of a dark-haired woman and a big man. Felicia Morlatti had her arm around the man, who seemed to be in his fifties. They both had oval faces and dark arched eyebrows. Felicia was tall and willowy like the kid, whereas the man had a square build twice her width. The screen changed to more pictures of Felicia and other dark-haired people, mostly with the stocky build. She caught the eye, always on the verge of speaking or laughing. The kid stopped at a picture of Felicia sitting on a stone wall with a view of mountains behind her.
"That's the last time I saw her." He shut off the phone. "You know what I want? I want that Keegan to know how it feels to have someone you love die. Then I want him to feel himself die."
A door down the hall opened. Ira walked up, his hands in his pockets. "Hey, man, I'm sorry, class ran late. I need to talk to this lady. Do you want to wait?"
Salvador pounded his forehead with his right fist. "Crap. My dad's been calling me for hours. Wants me home. I gotta go."
Ira squeezed his shoulder. "See you."
Salvador pointed the phone at me. "Remember her. Remember me."
Almost running, he headed out, already talking on the phone.
I stepped in front of Ira. "Why didn't you tell me he was here?"
"He was here to see me."
Ira's calm demeanor irritated me. How could he not know the confrontation with the kid had been stressful? "You could have warned me. He stalked me. He locked himself in the restroom with me and ranted for fifteen minutes until you sauntered out."
I stomped away and found Rusty in the classroom. "That was Felicia's brother standing in the hall across from this class. He had the nerve to follow me into the restroom and lock the door."
Rusty's eyes widened. "How did you get out?"
"He unlocked it when I told him to. Then he followed me down the hall and went on about his sister."
"What did he
want?"
"To vent on somebody. Of course, he's an emotional wreck."
Rusty reached for her bag. "Want me to go after him and give him a talking to?"
"He's got enough problems. I admit, he scared me at first. He didn't do anything."
Ira brushed my arm with his fingertips. "You okay?"
I jumped at his warm touch. "He startled me, that's all. I never expected the victim's brother to be waiting to talk to me."
"Felicia and I were okay even after she filed charges against Keegan. I thought I could help him by staying friendly with her. We'd meet for breakfast. Sal came along a few times. I gave him some pointers on his drawing. He wants to be a cartoonist." Ira's tightened jaw disclosed the bone structure of his face. Up close, I saw the lines hard living had cut into his skin. The snake tattoo writhed around his arm.
He looked as tired as I felt. A soft part of me wanted to go easy on him. The hard lawyer part would make him tell me what he'd said and done to Felicia before she died.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
WEDNESDAY EVENING
I gestured toward the chairs. "You must be tired. Let's go ahead with the interview."
"Deal." Ira sat on the mattress cross-legged, looking at me as if he expected something. "I've never told you, but I saw you doing your lawyer thing once."
I knew he wasn't one of the woebegone tribe I'd represented as a public defender. "When?"
"Two years ago, in city court. I was with a buddy. You got a drunk driving charge dropped for him because the cops screwed up." Ira pulled out a wallet, the leather worn at the edges, and searched through business cards. "I did a sketch of you on your card."
Rusty took the card from him and turned it over. On the back a green eye rested on an open hand. "What's this, a modernist portrait of Petra?"
He retrieved the card, studied it and then me. "Your eyes and hands, they're always moving."
I thought the sketch was complimentary in an odd way. "What do you want to tell me?"
Murder Casts Its Spell Page 7