Chapter 3
Heather clapped her hand over her mouth. She tried to hide her distress, but the tiny shriek was impossible to hold in. Mike was looking at her, wide-eyed with concern. He slowed down and stopped at the edge of the road.
Just as he was asking her what was wrong, Heather heard her phone ringing in her purse.
She smiled at Mike. “That was embarrassing, but it’s nothing. Gas attack from a bad Mahi-Mahi sandwich. It happened earlier, too, but I’m fine. Do you mind if I get this?”
“Sure. I’ll get back on the road.”
Heather saw the call was from Michelle.
“Sorry to bother you on your date, but it might be urgent,” Michelle said. “We can’t take any chances. Omar’s out on bail. I just saw him in the elevator. Anyway, he said there would be dangerous consequences if anyone else had the diamond. I know it might sound strange, but you need to take it off right away. Put it somewhere safe where no one can get to it. Mike’s taking you home, right?”
“Yes.”
“When you get back here call me up, no matter how late—or tomorrow morning, I don’t care when. I’ll come get it. I don’t want you to touch it, and don’t let Mike touch it, either.”
“He already did,” Heather said. She was pulling her hair out of the way to take the chain off over her head.
“I don’t mean to panic or anything. Omar might have said that just to scare me. But to be on the safe side, maybe you could store it in Mike’s glove compartment?”
“It’s off,” Heather said. “I’ll put it in there. That’s real bad news about Omar. We’ll talk about what to do later.”
“You have a great time tonight,” Michelle said. “I think Mike’s the one for you. You’re always dangling about five guys at a time, but he sounds special.”
Heather laughed and said, “Perhaps.” She snapped the phone closed.
She looked at Mike and held the necklace up. “Can I put this in your glove compartment?”
“You’re not going to wear it?”
Heather shook her head and pressed the button for the glove box. She lay the necklace on top of some maps Mike stored there and shut the door. A couple of seconds later she thought she heard a thump from inside the compartment, but it could have been a bump in the road.
Mike parked the car at the Japanese Cultural Center and they went inside the banquet room. It was a dinner-dance, and the room was decorated in a motif of gold and red with hints of the Orient in the designs on the walls. The tables were decorated with lace linen, fine crystal goblets, and ornate silverware for the dinner. There would be an auction later that night with proceeds going to the Queens Medical Center. A dance band was on a raised stage, now playing softly as people got drinks at the bar and mingled.
Since Mike was on local TV almost every night as a weatherman, known for his great on-camera personality, he was practically a celebrity on Oahu. He and Heather were greeted by the mayor of Honolulu, and they were surrounded by his friends from the TV station.
Heather was not as well known, but appeared familiar to many because she was featured in many TV commercials and magazines advertising Hawaii. Since she had been injured by lightning, she couldn’t be photographed in bikinis anymore. Still, she was a popular model in spite of her tiny stature. Most models were extremely tall, featured in snarky, arrogantly fashionable magazine spreads, but Heather was au courant in Hawaii, and especially well known in Japan, where she did a lot of modeling work. She had a sweet, wholesome, golden blond California look; plus she made the Japanese businessmen appear gigantic in commercials while standing next to her—something they enjoyed very much.
The evening was fun; the food superb. Later, after the auction, Heather felt like she was dancing with a Hercules. Mike wasn’t an especially tall man, but he made it up in strength, whirling her around the dance floor untill they were both laughing. At the end of one fast number Mike asked, “Are you good at planking?”
“Planking?” Heather asked, puzzled.
“We’re going to show off,” Mike said laughing. “Plank: make yourself stiff as a board. Bring your arms straight up over your head. Don’t worry, I won’t drop you.”
Mike lifted Heather up by her waist, raised her up horizontally, his arms high up over his head. Heather planked.
He turned around quickly several times, along with the musical beat. Then he gently lowered her to the floor. She felt his arms lock around her tightly, so she wouldn’t fall if she was dizzy. He felt solid as a rock.
Heather suddenly noted people around them were clapping enthusiastically and flashbulbs were going off. It was the most fun she’d had in ages.
The night was still balmy when they got in Mike’s car, the stars twinkling above and a big full moon showing through the tree-lined streets as they made their way back into the Honolulu area. Heather heard that strange thump again from the glove box as they went down Ala Moana. Then the door to the compartment fell open, almost hitting her knees.
“Strange,” Mike said. He leaned over and slammed the box closed, but it fell open again. As he was reaching to close it again, Heather yelled, “Mike!”
A car was racing directly toward them on the wrong side of the road, the headlights blinding. Mike grabbed the wheel with both hands and swerved to the right. The car side-swiped Mike’s BMW and was close enough to sheer off the left side view mirror as it careened past, smacking the back bumper.
Mike slowed down. “Whoa, close one. I need to get out.” He pulled off the road onto a side street and stopped, getting out of the car. Heather did the same. They both turned and watched as the car that almost crashed into them finally moved into the correct lane. Luckily, it was late at night and there wasn’t much traffic. The car was still hurtling way over the speed limit when it disappeared.
“Let’s walk a bit. I need to get rid of the adrenalin shakes,” Mike said, swinging his arms around and shaking his shoulders. He took hold of Heather’s hand firmly and they moved across the street to a grassy area and long pathway that ran parallel to the Ala Wai Canal and Ala Moana Boulevard. It was a favorite jogging place that ran along the northern boundary of the tourist part of Waikiki. They started walking briskly down the path.
“I’m so sorry about your car,” Heather said.
“As long as you’re okay?”
“Just a little shaky,” Heather said. She was thinking about the strange thump from the glove box, then the door falling open, almost like it was providing a distraction from what would have been a deadly head-on crash if Mike hadn’t had such fast reflexes. She wondered about the diamond necklace. Could it really be cursed?
Mike shook his head. “I’ve got to report this to the police. Should have done it immediately. That driver could cause an accident. Did you notice the color or make of the car?”
“The bright lights blinded me,” Heather said. “It was a dark color. An older sedan, I think.”
Mike pulled his cell out of his jacket pocket and called 911. He reported what happened, standing outside his car. Then he swiftly called his insurance carrier. As he was doing this, Heather got in the car and pulled out her own cell. She wanted to let Michelle know they’d be back in about ten minutes and she could come and get the diamond necklace.
When they got to Heather’s building, Heather opened the glove box. She didn’t see the necklace.
“We’re not supposed to touch it,” Heather said to Mike. “I don’t see it.”
“Maybe it fell on the floor when the door fell open.” Mike said. He got out of the car and looked under his seat. “Why can’t we touch it?”
He didn’t wait for her answer, but ran around the car and opened the door on Heather’s side. She got out and he looked under the seat. “There it is,” he said, and reached for it.
“Wait!” Heather said.
“Ouch,” Mike said, holding it up. “Sharp facets. Almost felt like it bit me.”
“Put it down,” Heather said sharply. “On the car seat.”
“We need to wait for Michelle. It’s a long story, about the diamond. Michelle saw the guy who gave it to her today—and you know the stories about big diamonds bringing bad luck?”
Mike nodded.
“It’s something like that.”
Mike looked a little surprised, but said. “I’m open-minded. I’d like to hear.” Then he added, “You don’t mean to say it’s a real diamond?”
“I’ll tell you later. Here she comes,” Heather said with relief, noting that Michelle was hurrying around the circular drive in front of the condominium toward the car.
Heather introduced Mike.
“Nice to meet you,” Michelle said. They shook hands. “I’ve seen you dozens of times on TV. I hope you both had a good time tonight.”
“It was wonderful,” Heather said. “The dinner was great and Mike bought a beautiful sculpture at the auction. I’ll come over, usual time tomorrow, and tell you all about it.” She gestured to the car. “The necklace is on the seat.”
Michelle leaned over and picked up the necklace. When she straightened up she winked at Heather and said, “Keep him,” under her breath, very softly, so Mike wouldn’t hear.
It was the exact same thing Heather had whispered to Michelle the first time she met Rod.
***
When Michelle got back inside her apartment she sat down at the table, put on disposable polyethylene gloves, and went through the opposite process she had gone through earlier that day, taking the necklace apart to free the diamond. She liked having the stone, it was so beautiful, but she had noted Heather shaking slightly tonight. She didn’t think it was because of Mike. She knew something had happened. Something evil and dangerous.
Michelle didn’t trust Omar one bit. The gloves were probably unnecessary and she was being paranoid, she knew, but just suppose Omar had coated the diamond with some kind of poison? She wouldn’t put it past him. On the other hand, it had been in the bonfire on the beach on the island of Kauai. Omar hadn’t touched it after that. The fire would have burned off any possible chemical, she thought.
Now she wanted the gem gone—away from her. It was a link between her and Omar. If Professor Vincent Middleton believed Omar had supernatural power, she had to take it seriously. Vincent was a teacher of the occult and had demystified many bogus psychics and charlatans who claimed to perform genuine séances and contact beloved dead relatives, milking people of money with their proclaimed supernatural powers. Yet even Vincent couldn’t explain the things he saw Omar do.
Omar claimed he was a Necromancer, able to speak to the dead. He had witch covens all over the world, proclaiming himself a warlock. He seemed to have the ability to affect electrical phenomena as well. Michelle well remembered how the properties she managed were affected. Elevators stopped working, air conditioning systems went down, the lighting in whole high rise buildings went wonky, blinking on and off. Even the computers went haywire. It caused horrible disasters when emergency sirens went off unexpectedly. A bank in one building was robbed because the vault was suddenly accessible to thieves. Omar’s acolyte, Samson Stoker, had been charged with the felony, but Michelle knew Omar was responsible.
In one horrible incident, Omar had pointed a sword at Heather on the beach while he was conducting a Wiccan ritual on the Windward side of Oahu. She and Heather and Rod had gone to watch. It had been raining that night and there was thunder and lightning. A lot of electricity in the air. A lightning bolt had come out of the sky and hit Heather directly in the chest. She almost died.
Michelle, still wearing the gloves, got tissue paper and wrapped up the diamond, placing it in a large envelope, and sealed it shut.
She glanced around. Lucifer was asleep on his cat tree across the room. She went over to him, stroked his soft white fur to wake him, then picked him up. She wanted him with her for protection if she was going to see Omar.
“I want you to come with me,” Michelle said. Luce licked her chin and gave a great pink yawn.
She took the elevator up to Omar’s penthouse. Lucifer began making some soft sad meows as she went down the hallway and pressed the button to his suite. He laid his head on her shoulder, one arm tight around her neck, still making sad protest sounds.
She heard a woman’s voice through the intercom. “Who is it?”
Look through the peephole, dummy, Michelle thought. “I have something for Omar.”
“He’s busy right now.”
Michelle knocked again. After a long minute the woman finally opened the door. It was one of Omar’s witches. He always had a few of the most beautiful women staying with him. This one was no exception, with long white/gold hair, wearing an abbreviated Muumuu, revealing lots of cleavage. “My name’s Wendy. You brought Lucifer back.” She reached out to take the cat.
Michelle backed away. Lucifer wasn’t meowing. He was making disturbing moans. “I want to give this envelope to Omar in person.”
The woman glanced over her shoulder, smiling. “Uh, he’s busy right now. He was in jail a long time, you know?”
Probably fucking one of his witches, Michelle thought, with distaste. “Just take the envelope. It’s sealed. Don’t open it.”
“Lucifer is chewing your hair,” Wendy said, laughing, and taking the envelope. “I’ll give it to Omar when he’s...not so busy.”
She slammed the door shut.
Michelle finally understood Lucifer was having a kitty panic attack. He was still whimpering and chewing on her hair.
“You poor thing,” Michelle said, when she could get Lucifer’s arm unlatched from around her neck and look him in the eyes. “You thought I was taking you back to Omar? That will never, ever happen. It’s you and me together, Luce. For as long as you want to be with me. I’d never let Omar have you again. Now let’s go home.”
Lucifer was always like her shadow, following her about, but that night he wouldn’t let her out of his sight for even a moment.
***
Wendy knew she would be next. Omar was a sex stud. She should get ready, primp and fluff, but the envelope was intriguing. Of course, she knew who the black haired woman was who had handed her this package. She hadn’t expected Michelle to be as tall or attractive, the way the others gossiped about her. She was supposed to be a natural witch—this woman Omar was so fixated on. As if he didn’t have enough gorgeous women around him already, Wendy thought resentfully. Omar had given his prized cat, Lucifer, to Michelle—the cat everyone knew was a serious killer even though he looked like a tiny sweet kitten; the cat Omar wouldn’t allow anyone to touch or play with.
Wendy weighed the envelope in her hand and squeezed it. Something inside was round and hard, but she thought she felt it move through the paper. Wendy studied the seal on the envelope and flicked the edge of it with a long red nail. A small part came up and she slipped the tip of her finger inside the tiny opening and pulled carefully so it wouldn’t tear, making it obvious she opened it.
Something cold slid into her hand. She pulled off the tissue and gazed at the most beautiful gem she had ever seen. Wendy’s eyes widened. Wow! It glinted a rainbow of colors into her eyes and she wanted to keep it forever.
Wendy looked around. She couldn’t hide it—Omar would know. But she could hold it for a while. There was whispering inside her head. She found out where she could get one of her own. A beautiful diamond only for her...just for her. She walked like she was in a daze outside on the patio. Her gem was there in the deep blue-black sky when she looked up. It was just like the one she held in her hand, but this one was hers. She reached up but it was just a little too far.
Wendy climbed up onto the balcony railing. First she knelt there swaying a little bit—she didn’t look down. Omar’s penthouse was at the top of the building, twenty-five stories up. If she could just stand on top of the rail, she knew she could get her very own gem to keep forever. It danced brightly, hovering just out of reach. It had to be t
he most beautiful, dazzling thing she had ever seen; Wendy had to get it. She balanced carefully as she stood, waving her arms. Damn. Just out of reach. She stretched up on tip-toe...
***
“You were going to tell me about that necklace,” Mike said. He and Heather were sitting on her lanai patio, enjoying the view and the beautiful warm Hawaiian weather. They were sipping Mai-Tais Heather made with rum, orange curacao, a lime and some orange juice.
Heather smiled, “You said you were open-minded?” She felt a little trepidation about telling him. It involved rape, witchcraft, Necromancy, and psychic powers. He might think she was bonkers. He might be too pragmatic to believe her. Heather decided to go ahead anyway. She was curious about how he would react. First, though, she thought it might be wise to freshen their drinks...with a whole lot of booze.
“It’s a long story,” Heather said. “I’ll bring out the pitcher of Mai Tais.”
Mike smiled, “I’m not in a rush.”
Yay, Heather thought, as she went into the kitchen. He wanted to stay for a while. Maybe overnight? She added some ice, then poured in a generous portion of dark rum into the pitcher and stirred vigorously. Maybe it wasn’t a Love Potion, like the kind the witches and Omar made, but it was great at loosening the inhibitions.
Heather watched Mike’s expression when he tasted the drink she poured into his glass.
He blinked, then said, “Wow. I love the burn when it goes down, but watch out, I might fall asleep right here at the table.”
“We’re young, we can live dangerously,” Heather said. “Anyway, you’ll need it when I tell you the story.” She took a careful sip of her own drink and told him the events that had happened, starting with Michelle’s rape and ending with how she got the diamond.
When she finished Mike said, “Diamonds don’t melt in fire. They have the highest melting point of any substance: about 6400 degrees Fahrenheit. Under normal circumstances you really can’t boil or melt them. They’re made of repeating units of carbon atoms; each atom joins four others. The hardness is measured by Moh’s scale, which is 10 for diamonds, highest on the scale.”
Witchy Woman - Book 2 - The Necromancer Page 3