Murder Casts Its Spell

by Margaret C. Morse

  "Hey, witch!" A shout to my left.

  Stupidly, I turned my head and saw someone moving in the row across from us. A heavy chunky thing hit me below the collarbone and banged onto the pavement.

  Father Bob rushed past us. "Stop!"

  Rusty pushed me into the truck then shoved Salvador toward his pickup. By now, enough people had left so that we could exit quickly. A block from the church, Rusty pulled into a convenience market.

  She turned to me, her face creased in worry. "Are you okay?"

  I rubbed the spot where I'd been hit, feeling a lump. "I think it's just a bump, nothing broken. What was it?" I couldn't understand what'd happened.

  Rusty cupped her hand over the injury and lightly probed with her fingertips. "Half a brick. I don't feel anything broken. Do you want to go to the emergency room?"

  "No. I can't believe how they went crazy. It all happened so fast."

  "Being infiltrated by WAI is one of their biggest fears. They're obsessed that magic will sneak up and take them over. Do you want to call the cops?"

  I stiffened. "Oh, no, can't you see the headlines? Local Lawyer Disrupts SOS Meeting. I can't believe we got away without anyone taking a cell phone picture."

  "They were all trying to escape before you zapped them with a spell." She turned in her seat to face me. "Which is something we need to discuss. But first—" She reached for her wallet. "I'm going to get something cold to put on that bruise to take down the swelling."

  While she was in the store, I let myself cry. The sobs, ugly sounds, made me feel better until I replayed the scene, convinced I could have prevented it if I'd reacted faster. It was a relief to stop the instant replays when Rusty returned with a bulging bag and a large cup of ice.

  She took down the rosary hanging from her rearview mirror. "I think we can pass on the crucifix tonight. Okay, we got two things going on. First, you do a spell and get hurt. Second, Sal still wants to talk to us."

  I rolled the icy cup on the bump. "Let's do the second item first. Where's Salvador?"

  "I told him to hang out at La Pradera Park. It's not far from here. If you want, I can take you home and arrange to meet him somewhere."

  The idea of being alone with my thoughts at home alarmed me as much as the brick throwing. "No, I want to hear what he has to say. It will distract me." I expected Salvador to rant, not to be an intellectual challenge. As she turned the key in the ignition, I added, "About item one, the calming spell on Salvador, I can't quite explain it yet."

  She flicked on the headlights. "Don't analyze everything. When you're ready, just tell the story."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  THURSDAY EVENING

  Even though the sky had darkened, lights from La Pradera's basketball court illuminated three nearby picnic tables where Salvador paced. As Rusty parked, he tossed something down. The pungent smell of marijuana greeted us. My suspicions at the church were right. He medicated his grief with drugs.

  Rusty sat on a picnic table, using the bench as a footstool. Salvador settled next to her. She handed me a diet cola and a small bag of tortilla chips that she retrieved from the convenience store bag. "You got yourself calmed down, Sal?"

  He jerked his head in the general direction of St. Stephen's. "That couldn't have gone more wrong."

  I tried two large gulps of the cola. Sometimes caffeine quieted me down. We all need drugs.

  Rusty opened a bag of pork rinds and sipped on a bottle of green tea. "I've seen worse messes."

  "Rusty's worked as a bouncer at Blisters." I swallowed my first bite of chips.

  He looked her up and down. "How many fights do you break up a night?"

  "I stop them before they start."

  Remembering I still had his phone, I returned it to Salvador, who passed it to Rusty.

  "Here's my sister. Those dudes back there jumped me for pulling out my cell phone."

  Rusty studied Felicia's picture. "They may have thought you were pulling a gun. Felicia was a beautiful woman."

  He snatched up his energizer drink and chugged half of it. Twenty-one, dealing with death for the first time. An immature, drug-addled brain. Testosterone making every flag a red one.

  "She didn't care about him anymore."

  I interjected, hoping he was talking about Keegan. "Who?"

  "The guy the cops say killed her, that Keegan."

  "What was her relationship with Keegan?"

  "He was nothing but a nuisance to her. She had to keep him around because of the kid."

  "When's the last time you talked with your sister?"

  "She called me Monday, the day she died. Before I went to class." Shaking his head, he crammed the phone in his pocket. "She was hyper. Told me I didn't have to come to court with her. She was going to drop the charges. Nothing would happen. Ira had come to see her Sunday. Somehow they worked it all out."

  Maybe Ira had told the truth. What Sal said weakened Keegan's motive to harm Felicia. I resumed my seat on the table and caught the pot smell wafting off Salvador. "We talked with Felicia's neighbor. He said Felicia was crazy about her new lover, but he kept his identity secret—"

  "She wouldn't even tell me his name," Sal said.

  "What do you know about this guy?"

  He faced me. "That's what I wanted to tell you. I can't get my head around this Keegan killing her. I want the cops to check out her new boyfriend. They just blow me off."

  "Why are you suspicious of him?"

  "He was a jerk. Played mind games with her. Gave her grief all the time. Then he shows up out of the blue Sunday night for romance."

  I felt frustrated. It was ridiculous that nobody knew this guy's name. "Why would he kill her if they were happy?"

  "Felicia could take a guy from loving to screaming in seconds." He squeezed his empty bag of barbecue chips into a tight ball. "I'm going to find that jerk. He's going to pay for messing around with my sister. The first word he says, I'll know if he killed her."

  Aside from the illogic of this intuitive identification of a criminal, his quest for vengeance sounded dangerous. Trying to dissuade him would only intensify his purpose. "If you need help in finding him, talk with Rusty. She can find anybody." I worried about him, as if he were an agitated dog I had unleashed.

  Rusty frowned at me but handed Salvador her card, which he stuck in a tattered wallet. His movements were jerky and strong, his coiled muscles ready to spring.

  I felt sorry for the kid. He took everything hard. "Did your sister say anything to you about having her baby exorcised?"

  "She wanted me to tell Dad she wasn't going for the exorcism."

  I slid off the bench and kicked his joint away. It made me nervous. "It was important to your father?"

  Sal shrugged. "I'm not hot like him on the wizard thing. He's a good Catholic. That means no wizards in the family."

  "How did he take it when you told him Felicia wasn't going to have the child exorcised?"

  Salvador squirmed. "I don't know. I left him an email. The next thing I know, Felicia is dead."

  His jaw muscles clenched, and he gripped the edge of the picnic table. When he shut his eyes, I suspected it was to relive the nightmare of the time he learned of Felicia's death.

  I thought we'd wrung him dry of facts for tonight. "You're having a tough time, Salvador. Thanks for talking to us. Be careful about looking for your sister's married boyfriend. He may not want to be found."

  He ignored my advice. "Hey, that was some calming spell you laid on me. Totally worked. Those guys would've kept beating on me if I hadn't cooled off." He squinted at me. "I didn't think you were a wizard."

  I had a panicky flutter inside. "I'm not. I think what you felt was left over from a spell done on me the other day that got messed up. How did you know it was a spell? I thought your family didn't approve of magic."

  "I don't believe everything my parents do. I've experimented." He jumped off the table and headed for his pickup.

  When I plopped down next to Rusty, she
pulled out a cigarette and tapped it on her knee. Five years ago, she watched while I set my last pack of cigarettes on fire. Cigarette craving burned through me. One deep breath and I'd be sucking nicotine into my blood.

  "No way I'm giving you a cigarette." She inhaled deeply.

  "I thought you couldn't read minds."

  "I smell desire comin' outta your pores."

  I reached in my purse and got my emergency M&M's. This packet had lasted six days. I ate ten. "That sounds like the title of a country and Western song. Do you want the truth?"

  She exhaled smoke. "When a lawyer says that, it's always bad."

  "Monday, I accidentally got a spell put on me. This street person tried to bless me, and it misfired. This spell could still be lingering. In Chris's office, my presence interfered with a spell Ira Flynn did." Her face was suspiciously expressionless. "You already know about it. Chris told you." Irritated, I readjusted my thoughts to include her new perception of me. "You've been watching me." I jerked myself away from her on the picnic table. All week, she'd waited to see if I accidentally did any spells. I crammed a handful of M&M's into my mouth.

  Rusty's cigarette glowed as she took a deep drag. "Chris was worried. So was I. We didn't want you to be alone."

  Her words disarmed me—sympathy, not judgment. I slid over, closing the gap between us. "Here's what scares me. Ernie's spell could've awakened magic power in me. I'm supposed to get expert help if I seem to be exhibiting magic power again."

  "You got an expert in mind?"

  "I'd like to talk to Deidre Flynn, Keegan's mom." I found Deidre soothing, with her waves of soft blonde hair and secret smiles. "She's a counselor. I went to her after Eduardo left. It was a group called Get Over It!"

  "Yeah, but Jake Herz is the expert on dysfunctional magic."

  "I know. Monday night, he told me to call him if I had another incident. I prefer Deidre. She's very nurturing. I need that."

  Rusty crushed out the cigarette. "You know I have to tell Chris about tonight?"

  "Don't make a big deal about it."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  THURSDAY EVENING

  Seated in the black leather recliner in my living room, I chugged a Desert Dogs Lager. I'd just called Deidre Flynn's office, Mother of Mercy 24-7 Counseling. I got her voice mail. This is Deidre. I'm doing my antianxiety group. Leave a message, and I'll get right back to you. Don't forget to leave your phone number. She had a husky honeyed voice that seemed to match her clouds of soft blonde hair. She worked nights doing crisis counseling.

  I tried to leave a message that sounded businesslike, not one that expressed the worry eating at me that I was belatedly turning into a wizard. Hello, this is Petra Rakowitz. I have a problem that could hamper my work for Keegan. I need someone to help me get rid of a spell accidentally attached to me. It sporadically does magic, which can be embarrassing. As I gave my phone number, I felt my voice fading because it hit me that Rusty was correct. Deidre probably wasn't the right person for the problem. She was a counselor for personal issues, not like Jake Herz, an expert in dysfunctional wizards.

  I chugged a second beer. I'd built up a thirst talking with Salvador. I was glad we'd met with him. He'd confirmed that Ira's visit to Felicia had really happened. Although Sal typified the proverbial loose cannon, he might lead us to the Mystery Man. I closed my eyes and felt the warmth of an alcohol glow. I relived the heat of Ira's fingers on my neck when he'd shape-shifted into Keegan. It had been a long time since a man had caressed me. The romantic feeling faded as I recalled I'd disrupted his shape-shift. I drank more beer to loosen my tight muscles.

  I wrote an email to my mother telling her I was scared and lonely but deleted it. What was I, a baby who needed to be cuddled? I couldn't interrupt my parents' summer tour of craft fairs where they sold mom's pictures. They'd done enough for me. I still cringed when I remembered mom's discovery that I was cutting on myself when I was a kid and the frantic trips to the counselor.

  My phone rang.

  "Petra," the caller gushed out, "this is Deidre. I'm running late. My insomnia group starts in two seconds. Listen, I'd love to help, but you need someone like Jake Herz. Call him anytime. I don't think he ever sleeps."

  She disconnected before I uttered a syllable. I went to the kitchen and returned with a bag of corn chips and another beer. I didn't have Jake's phone number because somehow I'd lost his card. I'd do an internet search after I finished the beer. The phone buzzed. Chris's number appeared.

  "What?" I knew he was checking on me.

  "Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine, fine, just fine." Rusty must have reported as soon as she dropped me off.

  "Look, Petra, I know you want to see Deidre for your problem, but the person to help you is Jake Herz."

  "Okay, okay, okay, I'll call him."

  "You don't have to bother. I already sent him an email. He'll call you."

  "Thanks."

  I pushed the End button. I'd just finished my beer when the phone announced an unknown caller. It had to be Jake Herz.

  "Lo?"

  "This is Jake Herz, Petra." His voice was warm and upbeat. "I understand you may have unintentionally done a calming spell."

  "Oh, yeah, maybe something like that happened. Everybody says you're the man to consult."

  "Come by tomorrow between four and six. The Disclaimer Ranch, just south of Thirty-ninth Street and Southern. Send me an email with your bio and details of tonight's magic event."

  "Tanks," I said, immediately horrified at my mispronunciation. I'd only had two beers, or maybe three, so I couldn't be even close to drunk.

  I made myself send the email before I finished the beer and chips.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  FRIDAY MORNING

  Email from Jake Herz. I see you're adopted. Do you know any of your family history? My fee is $350 an hour. I'll have you do some assignments that will let me evaluate your magic in action. Dress casually. You may be on your hands and knees or have things spilled on you. Welcome to the Disclaimer Ranch, on Thirty-ninth Street, between a pecan grove and a cactus nursery.

  On the fourth floor of the East Court Building, commissioners handled family court cases for central Phoenix. Metal benches faced each other up and down the hallway. Each courtroom had a sign. Do Not Enter Until Your Name Is Called.

  Most people had their cases scheduled for 8:30 a.m. They actually got into court around 11:00. The idea was that the long delay would cause them to settle their conflicts. It usually worked.

  I hated walking down these hallways filled with tight-lipped men and angry-eyed women. In one of the tiny side rooms where attorneys harangued their clients, I saw Bernie Bantcock, red-faced, shake his finger at Keegan's brother and sister, Paul and Shirley, Oscar's current caretakers. Paul cradled his head in his hands. Shirley glared at Bernie. I didn't envy Bernie the job of Flynn family lawyer.

  Rusty sat on a bench next to a woman who held a child on her lap. As I came up to Rusty, the woman stood. Tall, about my height of five feet eight inches, she had a big-framed build emphasized by wide hips and broad shoulders. Streaks of gray highlighted the black hair pulled back into a bun. Brass hoop earrings, combined with her olive complexion and black eyes, gave her a gypsy appearance, though her white shirt and black slacks were quite conservative. A paisley scarf slashed with gold and violet flowed around her neck. The crystal pendant to detect spells rested where the scarf knotted on her breast.

  When she fixed her black eyes on me with laser focus, I looked away and at the kid, whom I'd seen before. Oscar's black hair had grown from thatches to puffy curls. He scowled, his face scarlet and his lower lip stuck out in a pout.

  Rusty stood. "This is Keegan's aunt, Mona Flynn."

  "I'm Petra Rakowitz." I'd expected Ronan's wife to be the soft motherly type. "I've heard you help care for Oscar."

  "I didn't know we weren't supposed to bring him today." She had a gravelly voice, rough on the ears.

  Rusty sat, sliding over
so I could fit between her and Mona Flynn. "Bernie forgot to tell them not to bring Oscar. He's talking with Shirley and Paul about a temporary agreement with the maternal grandparents." She looked at a man and woman on a bench across the hallway and to our left. "That's Antonio and Bianca Morlatti, Felicia's parents."

  "I recognize them from the pictures on Salvador's cell phone."

  Bianca Morlatti had dark hair, like Felicia, and a face pulled down by time. Antonio Morlatti had a chunky build. The fierce glow in his eyes reminded me of Salvador. She kept glancing at us. He stared fixedly ahead.

  Next to the couple a tiny woman with the buggy eyes of a Chihuahua clasped a burgundy briefcase to her chest. She tapped her left foot continually on the floor. I assumed she was their attorney, one of those divorce court lawyers who never let go once they got their teeth in an opponent.

  Shirley strode up, scowling as fiercely as Oscar. She wore a blue shirt with a scoop neck that emphasized her golden skin. Instead of a ponytail, she'd clipped only part of her hair back and let the rest fall in curls. Today she glowed with her mother Deidre's good looks. I suspected the stain over her right breast was baby drool.

  Oscar squealed with delight, reaching for her. His face transformed from a frown to a big baby grin. I warmed to him when I saw Felicia in his face, his look of joy so like hers. Across the hall, Bianca Morlatti flinched and pressed her hand to her mouth. Antonio Morlatti regarded us for the first time.

  With Oscar cradled in one arm, Shirley reached into a blue diaper bag at Mona's feet and took out a brown teddy bear which she dangled in front of Oscar. He stuck its paw in his mouth.

  Paul Flynn strolled over, trailed by Bernie. Paul apparently considered this a formal occasion. Decked out in a formfitting gray suit, he looked even more handsome than usual. Tall and broad shouldered, he had golden skin and brown hair drizzled with blond. He only resembled Keegan in having blue eyes and a long nose. After he smiled at Rusty and me, he sat next to Mona and gave her a hug.