Familiar Motives

by Delia James

  “Val, it’s me,” I said. “I was talking to Pam Abernathy and Kristen showed up. Val, what happened yesterday? I know Pete was over there. Are you guys okay?” I paused, like I thought I was going to get an answer. “Call me, will you?” I added, and I hung up.

  I stuffed my phone back into my purse and drummed my fingers on the tabletop. This morning was not off to a good start, especially where my resolution to help sort out what had happened to Ramona Forsythe was concerned. The only thing I’d learned from Pam Abernathy was that I wasn’t as smart as I thought.

  No. I flattened my hand against the tabletop. That wasn’t quite true. I had learned something. When she’d had that laugh attack, she hadn’t been laughing at me from surprise, or even contempt.

  That was relief—sheer, shocked relief. Pam had been worried about what I found, or heard, on her phone. Worried enough that she was willing to sit through my not-very-good charade of a pitch session.

  That must mean something. I just wished I knew what it was. There was something in the way she talked, about Ramona, about what had happened, that bothered me. I just couldn’t put my finger on what.

  I thought about ad campaigns and ideas and characters. I thought about all those new samples and mock-ups I’d just seen in Pam’s office. I thought about how many people seemed to depend on Ruby, or at least the image of Ruby, for their livelihood. I thought about how two of those people were Pam and Kristen, and how angry Kristen had looked just now.

  I thought about Cheryl sitting across from Lieutenant Blanchard and calmly offering to lie if Blanchard needed it.

  I thought about Alistair, and how he hadn’t been home, hadn’t been eating, hadn’t been . . . there since I set him the job of finding Ruby. I thought about how the one thing that could keep Alistair from going where he chose was magic. I thought about Julia and her contention that a witch was involved in Ramona’s murder. I thought about Kenisha and how worried she was that Julia might do something drastic if that turned out to be true.

  Julia, who still hadn’t called me back, or come around to the cottage, or anything else since that emergency coven meeting at the Pale Ale.

  I bit my lip and made up my mind. Questions about Pam Abernathy, Cheryl Bell and even Ruby could wait. I needed to sort out what was happening closer to home.

  • • •

  “SORRY, ANNA,” SAID Gabrielle when I got to Midnight Reads. “Julia’s not here.”

  “But . . . Julia’s always here.” Midnight Reads was Julia’s pride and joy. It was open six days a week, and every single one of those days found Julia in her office or behind the counter or somewhere in between.

  “Yeah, I know, surprised me, too.” Gabrielle straightened the copies of Lee Childs’s latest on the NEW ARRIVALS table. “But she said she’s feeling a little under the weather and—”

  “Under the weather?” I cut her off. “She’s sick? Has anybody checked on her?”

  “She says she’s fine—”

  “Julia always says she’s fine. Is she upstairs?”

  “She should be.”

  I didn’t wait to hear anything else. I just left the shop and took the side alley shortcut to the stairs and Julia’s apartment. I got to her door and took a second to catch my breath, because I’d kind of run up the stairs. I raised my hand to the plain brass knocker on the door. Before I could do anything, though, the door flew open.

  But the woman standing there was not Julia.

  She was younger, for one thing, which in this case meant she looked around sixty. She was about my height, with that round, comfortable build that makes you think of hugs and cookies and knitted sweaters.

  The look in her eyes, though, made me fall back two full steps so she’d have plenty of room to get past.

  “Oh, Julia,” the woman said crisply. “You seem to have another visitor.”

  Now Julia did come to the door, and it was instantly evident that Kristen Summers wasn’t the only one who’d had a rough night. I’d never seen my mentor like this. She was pale and bleary-eyed. Her white hair fell loose around her shoulders with just a headband holding it back from her forehead. Max and Leo peeked anxiously around the edges of her plain black skirt. She was slumping. Something close to panic bubbled up in me. Julia never slumped.

  “Anna!” Julia exclaimed. “Is everything all right?”

  “Well,” said the other woman. “So this is the famous Anna Britton.” She did not wait for either of us to confirm or deny the fact, or the adjective. “I had a feeling you might be showing up sooner rather than later.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “But you are . . . ?”

  “Wendy Forsythe. I’m Ramona’s sister.”

  Now that she said it, I could see the resemblance to Ramona, especially in her build and around her eyes.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” I told her.

  “How kind,” she replied, but the words all had ragged edges that grated hard against my mind. I remembered how Allie had asked if the Forsythes would be all right with the guardian coven looking into Ramona’s murder. Right now, the answer did not look positive.

  “Thank you for stopping by, Wendy,” Julia said. Her voice was hoarse, as if she’d been shouting. “I’ll call you later.”

  Wendy did not answer, or even look back. She just lifted her chin and marched straight down the stairs.

  Julia sighed and waved me inside.

  “Has something happened, Anna?”

  “That’s what I wanted to ask you.” As soon as I crossed the threshold, Max and Leo began their usual investigation of my toes and ankles. The whole business seemed far more serious than usual, though. Instead of wagging and yipping, they were quiet, and their tails hung low.

  Julia didn’t answer. She just turned and, leaning heavily on her walking stick, led the dogs and me into her living room.

  Julia’s apartment was a little fussy and a little grand, with its Victorian gold plush and mahogany furniture. It was here, safe within the confines of her home, that her hidden love of knickknacks, mostly featuring dachshunds, was revealed. They filled every surface that wasn’t covered by books or her impressive collection of crystal balls of assorted sizes and colors.

  Julia had set up her altar against the apartment’s eastern wall. The candles were lit, and the scents of warm wax and incense filled the air. A blue velvet cloth with a silver pentacle had been laid down. Five crystal spheres were arranged on the points—a rose quartz, a tigereye, a jade, a smoky quartz and one that was pure, clear glass. Whatever Julia had been doing, it had involved some pretty serious magic. The remains of it crackled through the air and crawled up my arms.

  But why was she working alone instead of gathering the coven?

  “Did Wendy . . . what did she . . .” I stopped, because technically, what Wendy Forsythe wanted with Julia was none of my business.

  Julia moved over to her coffee table. Three handwritten journals, the kind practicing witches call “books of shadow,” had been spread out between the crystals and the china dachshunds. Julia stooped to close them. I saw her hand shake. That was the last straw.

  “Julia, are you okay?”

  “I am fine. There was no need for you to come.”

  “Um, yes. There kind of was,” I told her. “And you are not fine. You need to sit down.”

  “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, thank you.”

  I ignored this. “Have you eaten anything this morning?”

  Julia lifted her chin, but I didn’t see any point in waiting for the answer. Instead, I marched into the kitchen with a determination that would have done Roger proud. A quick tour of the fridge and the cupboards revealed the makings of a turkey sandwich with tomato and cheese. I put that on a plate with a bunch of grapes and poured a big glass of orange juice to go with it. Leo scampered around my feet, supervising and yapping. Max stayed at
Julia’s side, but now his tail was wagging. Good. The dachshunds agreed with me.

  “Here. Eat.” I handed Julia the plate. Maybe I should call Roger and get him over here. She needed somebody to make a proper meal for her.

  “Anna . . . ,” began Julia wearily.

  “No buts, young lady.” I folded my arms and glowered at her in my best imitation of Kenisha on duty. “You eat or I’ll call Grandma B.B. and tell her you’re neglecting your health.”

  The threat worked. Julia ate half of her sandwich, accompanied by long swallows of orange juice. I settled myself onto the sofa. While Max stayed at Julia’s side, Leo trotted over and plumped himself down at my feet, wagging and looking up at me, I think gratefully.

  “So, what’s the matter, Julia?” I asked her finally. “And please don’t tell me ‘nothing.’”

  Julia sighed and set the sandwich plate aside.

  “Max and Leo, and I . . . have been unable to find Ruby.”

  “We haven’t been looking for that long,” I tried.

  Julia’s mouth tightened up. “Forgive me, Anna, but if my familiars cannot find something, it is not because they are not trying hard enough. Something is preventing them.”

  “Alistair hasn’t been able to find anything either.”

  “What?” she snapped.

  “I’ve been trying to get Alistair to help find Ruby, but . . . he’s been acting strange, Julia. He’s been gone way more than usual, but I can’t tell what he’s doing or where he’s going, or anything.” I stopped because I was choking up. “You don’t think . . . Ruby could be dead, do you?” It would explain why she hadn’t come home and why there hadn’t been a ransom demand yet.

  Julia shook her head. “That would not keep Max and Leo from finding her. No. What you’ve said about Alistair confirms what I suspected. Ruby is being magically hidden.”

  Which didn’t answer the question about whether she was still alive. I rubbed my hands together.

  “Why would anyone bother to keep her hidden?” I asked slowly. “I mean, cat-napping for ransom makes sense, but there’s been no call or note or anything. And if whoever has her wants the reward, Best Petz has already set up the hotline. They can call anytime. Other than that, what would be the point of holding her? I mean, it’s not like a cat is going to be able to say who killed Ramona. Right?”

  Julia leveled a long, steady look at me. I felt my shoulders and my eyebrows bunch up.

  “Seriously?”

  Julia sighed. “No, probably not. However, those of us with familiars may be able to . . . glean some information from the presence of an intelligent animal. Something you are surely aware of by now.”

  “Um . . .”

  “Anna,” said Julia sternly. “This habit of yours of trying to pick and choose what you are comfortable believing in is a luxury you can no longer afford.”

  Was that what I was doing? Maybe. It was certainly close enough to make me want to change the subject.

  “It also may be, of course, that there is something about Ruby, whatever her condition or location, that would offer a clue to the identity of Ramona’s murderer.” Julia frowned again. Max pawed at her skirt. She lifted him into her lap and petted his back restlessly, her gaze distant and troubled. Leo trotted over and plumped himself down at her feet, wagging his tail until his entire doggy bottom shook. Julia sighed with exaggerated patience and picked him up to settle on her lap beside his brother.

  “There is magic in this,” she said to me. Well, to us, really. “There is magic around Ramona’s death and there is magic around Ruby’s disappearance. It has no clear shape, no intention I can put a name or face to.” She reached up, as if trying to wipe something out of her eyes. “As difficult as it is for me to admit it, I cannot make the pieces fit into any kind of coherent whole.”

  “Kenisha said almost the same thing.”

  Julia’s focus snapped back to the apartment and to me. “Did she? What else has she said?”

  “That she’s worried about you, Julia, and so am I.”

  Instead of answering, Julia got to her feet. She crossed the room to one of the bookshelves, Max and Leo trotting dutifully behind. She picked up another of her crystals—a smoke gray quartz sphere about the size of one of baby Melissa’s fists—and carried it to her altar. She set it down in the exact center of the pentacle and stared at the arrangement for a long time.

  When she turned to face me again, Julia’s gaze was calm and clear. “Anna, if you will permit it, it is possible to use the craft to render you some assistance in your inquiries.”

  “Ummm . . . what kind of assistance?”

  “It would be a form of attraction . . . a kind of summoning. Those with the answers you seek will be drawn to you, or you to them.”

  “You can do that?”

  “I can, but only with your permission. It would not be permanent,” she said. “The influence will only last a handful of days.”

  I hesitated. I trusted Julia absolutely, but this still felt like jumping off the deep end. At the same time, I was the one who’d lain awake all night wishing there was some way to sort this mess out before my friends got hurt. And here it was. But something in me just plain did not like the sound of it. I was seeing Kenisha’s face in my mind and hearing her lectures about mixing magic and law enforcement.

  On the other hand, this sounded like something that would require a serious ritual. That meant we’d need to summon the coven. Hope bobbed up inside me. With the others to help, maybe, just maybe, we could get Julia to open up about what she was feeling and what she was doing.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’m in.”

  25

  MY AGREEMENT SEEMED to hang in the air between us for a very long time.

  “So mote it be,” murmured Julia finally. She also let out a long breath. She’d been afraid I’d say no. That idea left me unexpectedly uncomfortable.

  “I’ll need your wand, please, Anna.”

  I frowned. “But . . . wait . . . don’t we . . . I mean . . . shouldn’t we get the others?” I’d had it drilled into me that any serious ritual work should be done using the buddy system. Someone had to be on watch, to help keep the space clear of harmful influences, or in case the spell went wrong, or the practitioner needed help staying calm and focused.

  “There is no need to trouble them,” said Julia. “This is perfectly within the realm of my capabilities. Your wand, please.”

  Of course I had it with me. I’d had no idea what I’d be facing when I left the house this morning, so I’d decided I should be prepared. I just wished I didn’t feel so reluctant to hand it across to her.

  Julia thanked me as she took the wand, and she set it down on her altar, next to the gray quartz sphere. She lifted her walking stick and laid it lengthwise across the edge of the altar.

  Trust Julia to have something a little grander than the usual witch’s wand for her spell work.

  Max and Leo settled themselves down, one on either side of the altar, heads up, tails still.

  Julia raised her arms so that her hands were palm down over the pentacle and the crystals. She closed her eyes.

  The air around us settled into stillness. The candle flames did not so much as flicker, and their white smoke rose in straight lines.

  My fingers prickled, and my palms, and my wrists.

  Julia’s hands hovered over the central crystal—the one that was clear glass—and then drifted to the rose quartz sphere and then to the tigereye, then to my wand and back to the center. I swear I felt the walls shift. The world around us was coming to life, or maybe just realizing how much life it had.

  Something heavy draped over me, like an invisible blanket. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up straight, and my heart banged out of control like I had tried to run a four-minute mile. The sensation, the magic, settled against my skin and slowly dissolved into
me.

  “So mote it be,” murmured Julia. “So mote it be.”

  “Yip!” agreed Max.

  “Yap!” added Leo.

  And just like that, the atmosphere lifted and my heart slowed down. The room was just like a normal room again, and the magic, because that’s what had been weighing us all down, evaporated.

  Julia took a brass candle snuffer off the nearest shelf and used it to extinguish the candles. Only when that was done did she turn to face me.

  “I believe I’ll have the rest of that sandwich now, Anna,” she said. “You should probably eat something as well.”

  I wasn’t going to argue. My insides were a riot, as if my body couldn’t make up its mind whether to be frightened or elated. I helped Julia back to her chair and handed her the plate with the uneaten half sandwich on it. I made myself my own turkey and cheese and carried it to the living room. I stared at it. I was hungry—starving, in fact—but at the same time I was a little afraid to try to eat, because my stomach wouldn’t stop doing flip-flops.

  “Umm . . . so what do we do now?” I asked instead. “I mean, do I go home and wait for the phone to ring?”

  Julia smiled at me, just a little. “Unfortunately, it will not be that easy. You will need to continue with what you have been doing—asking questions, seeking solutions. Going about your daily life. Only now circumstances . . . you could call it luck . . . will be more likely to be in your favor.”

  I looked down at my sandwich, and my stomach turned over again. I was familiar with summonings. Dorothy Hawthorne had done something similar to bring to me to Portsmouth in the first place. But if I was honest with myself, I hadn’t liked the idea much then, and I didn’t like it much now either.

  “I don’t believe I told you, Anna, but before you arrived just now, I had a call from Rachael Forsythe.” Julia started picking the grapes off their stems but was setting them down on the plate instead of eating them.

  “Rachael? She’s Ramona’s daughter?”