by Bailey Cates
I sidled up beside Iris, who was still staring after Cookie’s handsome husband with wide, dreamy eyes. “He’s gone. You can blink now.”
Startled, she flushed a deep magenta. “Was I obvious?”
“Nah,” I lied. “But he’s some pretty sweet eye candy, I must agree.”
“Mmm,” she sighed.
Laughing, I went back to the office to retrieve Mungo and head for home—and Declan.
On the way, I couldn’t help driving by the address Poppa Jack had given me for Eulora Scanlon. Just so Cookie and I can find it easily tomorrow morning, I told myself as I slowed to a crawl, drinking in the small home and wondering about its inhabitant.
I looked down at Mungo, firmly belted into the passenger seat inside my tote bag. “Maybe I should stop—”
He interrupted me with a noise in the back of his throat.
“No?”
A car honked behind me, making me jump. I tromped on the accelerator, and we shot forward. “Yeah, I should wait for Cookie. Besides, it doesn’t look like anyone is home right now.”
Yip!
* * *
*When I was halfway home, the old-fashioned jangle of my cell’s ringtone sounded from the outside pocket of my bag. Mungo made a disgruntled sound and shifted in the seat.
“Sorry, buddy,” I said, retrieving the vibrating phone. I generally ignored calls when I was driving, but when I saw who it was my curiosity won out.
“Hello?”
“Katie!” Steve said. “I’m glad I caught you. Not interrupting anything, am I?”
Translation: Are you with Declan?
“I’m just driving home from the Honeybee.”
“Long day?”
“They all are. You know I’m there by five most mornings.”
“Right.” His cheerfulness sounded a tiny bit forced.
I waited.
Not for long. “So, this whole thing about Detective Taite and his niece? It’s crazy that he showed up dead, and the whole voodoo thing is, well, worrisome, to say the least. Just because Sam is in my life doesn’t mean . . . well. I want you to know you can count on me to help any way I can.”
Relief flickered through me. Steve had been on my side since I’d moved to Savannah. I’d wondered if his having a new girlfriend meant that would have to change.
“Thanks,” I said. “I don’t suppose you know anyone in the voodoo community.”
“Not really. Sorry.”
I thought about asking if his father might know someone who could help find the missing gris gris, but discarded the idea. Best to avoid owing a debt to Heinrich Dawes if at all possible.
Steve spoke again. “Okay, listen. I also called because I was worried about you meeting Sam in the Honeybee like that.”
Then why did you set it up like that?
“Worried? Why?”
He exhaled. “Oh, good. I thought maybe it was awkward.”
Um, yeah. A little.
“You like her, then?” His tone was casual, but I had the feeling he really wanted my approval.
“Gosh,” I said carefully. “I only talked to her for a second, but she seems nice enough.” If you’re into chicks who read books about how to get what they want and refer to muffins as yummies. “But the important thing is that you like her. Which you obviously do.”
Mungo’s dark eyes studied me as he listened.
“Oh, I do.” Relief threaded his voice. “I really do, Katie. She’s wonderful. Smart, and you saw how pretty she is. Funny, too. She’s even charmed Father.”
I felt my eyebrows climb my forehead. “Heinrich? Wow. Impressive.” Steve’s dad and I had eventually reached a state of mutual respect, but I would never say I’d charmed him. I was pretty sure he didn’t even like me all that much.
“I know, right? I met her at the club a few weeks ago—she moved here from Hilton Head, the only child of a dot-com success story—and she’s right at home with Father’s muckety-muck friends, whether they’re discussing stocks or golf or literature. Samantha can talk to anyone about anything!”
Well, isn’t she wonderful!
I firmly tamped down the green-eyed monster who had, surprisingly, made itself at home in my solar plexus. It took more effort than I liked to admit.
“It’s great that you found someone who fits so well into your social circle,” I said.
He was silent.
Darn it.
“Katie, you’re not angry, are you?”
“Of course not. I’m happy for you.”
I knew I sounded lame. All I wanted was to get off the phone. I pulled into my driveway and turned off the engine. Declan’s truck was parked out in front, and he was inside waiting for me. “Listen, I’m home—”
“You know I feel the same way. About you and Declan, even if he . . . Well, you know.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Declan and Steve had a bitter history long before I’d entered the picture. I got out and went around to the other side of the Bug.
Mungo jumped to the ground but didn’t race toward the door like usual. He sat and watched me gather my things and close the door.
“And, Katie? I really do want to help if I can.”
Declan came across the lawn and reached down to give Mungo a hello scratch. My phone call forgotten, Mungo flipped on his back and wiggled with delight as my boyfriend rubbed his belly.
“I’ll let you know if I need anything,” I said.
“Okay. I’ll let you go. But don’t forget.”
“I won’t. And, Steve?”
Declan’s head jerked up when he heard who I was talking to. “I’m truly happy about you and Sam.”
“Thanks. It means a lot to me.”
We said good-bye, and I ended the call. Declan abandoned Mungo and put his arm around me as we walked across the yard. He kissed my temple. “Who’s Sam?”
“Samantha. Steve has a new girlfriend.”
A grin split Declan’s face as he turned to me in the doorway. “That is awesome!”
“I knew you’d be happy for him,” I said wryly.
“Who cares about him? I’m happy he’ll stop bugging you.”
“He doesn’t bug me,” I protested.
Declan ignored me. “But wait. Why was he calling you just now, then?”
“To offer his help in finding the talisman. And to see if I like Sam. I met her today at the bakery.”
“Oh, brother. He needs your approval? At least you gave it.”
I rolled my eyes.
Declan frowned. “But I heard you.”
I dumped my tote on the couch and headed for the kitchen. Declan had burgers formed and waiting for my little hibachi, and the makings for a garden salad took up most of the tiny table. I grabbed a carrot and a vegetable peeler as he filled the doorway to the living room.
“I heard you,” he said again.
I shrugged and started peeling. “There’s something off about her. I mean, she’s cute. Awfully girly, likes pink apparently. She’s nice enough. But—” I paused, thinking. Then I turned and looked at him. “I think she might be a gold digger, you know? After the Dawes fortune.”
He laughed.
“Seriously. She was reading this book—”
Declan came up and put his arms around me from behind, pressing me up against the sink. “Katie, I wouldn’t cue up the wedding march quite yet.”
“Ha. Yeah, you’re right. They haven’t been involved for very long.”
“Are you sure you’re not just jealous of her?” he asked.
I turned to face him. “You know I love you.”
“Yep. Sure do. But Steve Dawes has been waiting and hoping for you all this time. That has to be nice for a girl’s ego.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
He put his hands on my shoulders.
“Well, I can tell you one thing—you don’t need to worry about the Dawes fortune. That family is not stupid, and no matter how smitten Steve might be with his new cutie, Heinrich would never allow a gold digger to get her hands on any of his money.”
Of course he was right. I put Steve and Miss Samantha out of my head while we made supper together. To my relief, the heat wave seemed to be abating as we ate out on the patio. Mungo sprawled under the table after emptying his plate. Hand in hand, we were watching the sky turn and the clouds color, the remains of our burgers and salad scattered on the table in front of us, when Declan said, “You know, Dawes isn’t the only one willing to help you find the talisman.” There was an edge of bitterness to the words.
My eyes cut to him. “What do you mean?”
He continued to gaze skyward. “I’ve come to a decision. If you want me to, of course. And I don’t know if it will work.” Now he just sounded earnest.
“Declan, what are you talking about?”
“It’s possible Franklin Taite can help you find this mysterious talisman his niece told you about, right?”
I stared at him.
“Well, maybe I can help you find Franklin Taite.”
Chapter 11
I’d asked Declan once before to try contacting Franklin directly, as I’d hoped he could channel the dead detective like he’d channeled his uncle Connell. The request had angered him then, and I’d let the matter drop. So I knew his offer to attempt to reach Franklin now wasn’t made lightly. It made me love him all the more.
“So, um, how do I do this?” Declan asked. I sat on the purple fainting couch while he paced in front of me, a bundle of nerves. Now he paused and blinked down at me expectantly.
Like I know how to contact the dead. Well, there is Nonna. But she always contacts me, not the other way around. My gardenia-wearing grandmother had made her presence known to me a few times, which was always comforting. But, heck on a biscuit, why did the dead have to be so darn cryptic all the time? Did dying make you a tease, or just a terrible communicator?
“What was it like last time Connell came to you?” I asked. “No, wait. Not the last time. The first time. During the séance.”
One side of his mouth quirked up in an expression of chagrin. “I don’t remember, really. It just happened. One second I’m sitting there, wondering whether the medium was some kind of fake, looking for hidden wires and floating tabletops, and the next I’m somewhere on the sidelines in my own mind, watching a stranger make my body move and talking with my mouth.” He licked his lips. “It felt like I was going crazy.”
“Oh, Deck. Are you sure you want to try this?”
He squared his shoulders. “If it’ll help you. It’s the least I can do.”
“You do a lot,” I said quietly.
He waved that off and started pacing again. “You know what I mean. It’s the only thing I can do that’s like magic. If I can pull it off, that is.”
I stood and grabbed his hand to make him stop moving long enough for me to give him a sincere kiss. “I just had a thought. Let me check something.”
Quickly, I climbed to the loft and went to the bookshelf above the secretary’s desk that housed my altar. There it was: Herbal Practices Throughout the Ages. The book I’d found in the Honeybee library.
“What are you doing up there?” Declan asked.
“Looking for some help on how to get started.” Flipping on a wall sconce, I leafed through the pages until I found the section on using herbs to increase psychic awareness. This wasn’t a spellbook, so I didn’t expect any actual incantations, but, lo and behold, there was a list of suggestions for sending a message to the dead.
And if you could send one, I was pretty sure you could receive one.
I clambered back down to where Declan waited, his toe tapping on the bottom step. He grabbed me as I descended and swung me to the floor beside him. I held up the book.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a start. Now gather up those three tapers left over from dinner the other night and bring them outside. We’ll set up in the gazebo. I already work out there, and the energy will have a higher vibration for what we’re trying to do. I’ll meet you out there. Mungo, you’re with me.”
Declan looked after me with a bewildered expression but went into the kitchen to retrieve the half-burnt candles. I grabbed a pair of scissors and opened the French doors.
Cooling air molded around my limbs as I marched down to the herb garden. There, in the faint light from the kitchen window, I cut sprigs of lavender and parsley and braided the stems together loosely. I climbed the steps into the gazebo and set the bundle of herbs on the small circular table that sat in the middle of the purple-and-white five-pointed star painted on the floor. Mungo trundled after me as I returned to the rear of the yard, where a small stream cut kattywampus across the corner by the fence. I’d not known I was a witch when I bought the carriage house, but it turned out that having my own source of natural, moving water had been a boon for the spells I worked at home.
Tall plumes of red amaranth were silhouetted against the fence in the sparse light. I cut a single plume and brought it back to the gazebo with Mungo trotting by my left foot the whole way. His dark gaze glinted up at me, and I knew he was ready to help however he could.
Declan waited for me inside the small gazebo. A slight breeze blew through, bringing the temperature down a few more degrees before dropping away.
“Shall I light the candles?” His voice shook.
“You sure you want to do this?” I asked again.
He nodded. “Yes.” The word was terse. I had to stop second-guessing him. This was hard enough for him already.
“Okay. Go ahead and light the candles.” I placed the amaranth over the bundle of lavender and parsley. “Put them equidistant around these herbs.”
He peered at the small pile of plant matter. “Is that lavender and . . . parsley? Seriously?”
I tamped down a sigh. “All plants have magical energies. Among their other uses, these increase psychic awareness. The number three seems to be important, too.” Four elements, four directions, four archangels for spells, but three candles and three herbs to contact the dead. It made me think of the Rule of Three the spellbook club lived by.
I shook my head. Concentrate, Katie.
“Okay, we have three candles and three energetic herbs, and we should have three people in order to have a real séance.”
His shoulders slumped. “Well, so much for that.” But he seemed a little relieved.
“Mungo?” I asked.
The little dog jumped up to one of the mismatched chairs that sat around the table.
Yip!
I grinned at Declan.
“You’re kidding,” he said.
“Nope. He’s adorable and a real snuggle bunny, but at heart he’s a wolf. Believe me—he’s ready to help.” I patted my familiar on the head. “Besides, it’s not like we really have a choice.”
Mungo whined.
“Sorry,” I said.
“Oh, brother,” Declan said, but didn’t protest when I pulled away all but three chairs from the table. We both sat down.
“Okay, now hold hands.” I glanced down at Mungo, who was standing on the chair on his hind legs, front paws on the table. “Or, you know . . .”
Declan rolled his eyes. I took his hand firmly in mine and curled my fingers around Mungo’s tiny paw. He blinked up at me, almost seeming to nod. With obvious reluctance, my boyfriend mirrored my actions. However ridiculous he felt, at least his nervousness appeared to have abated.
“Now we have to chant.”
“Chant? God.”
“Remember at Ursula’s séance? How we chanted for the murder victim to come to us from beyond?”
“Hrm. Yeah. Okay.”
“How about something like, ‘We c
all upon the spirit of Franklin Taite to move among us. We beckon you with the light of this world, and ask you to grace us with your presence.’”
We practiced a few times, until Declan had memorized my off-the-cuff summons to Franklin Taite.
“I think we’re set,” I said, watching him carefully. “If you want to stop, we can at any point. Just break contact.”
His nervousness had returned, but he murmured, “Okay,” and closed his eyes.
I exchanged a look with Mungo before following suit. Quickly, I ran through the most burning questions I had for Franklin.
Has Dawn been cursed?
How can I help her?
Where is the gris gris, and what do I need to do with it?
I also wanted to know why Franklin had been killed and by whom, not to mention getting more information about being a lightwitch. But first things first. Dawn was still alive, and therefore my priority.
As Declan cleared his throat to start chanting, I decided I’d just have to play it by ear.
“We call upon the spirit of Franklin Taite to move among us,” I murmured, and Declan joined in, also keeping his voice low. “We beckon you with the light of this world, and ask you to grace us with your presence.”
As we repeated the call to Franklin’s spirit, I reached out mentally and immediately sensed the regal canine presence that was Mungo. Then there was the something that Declan projected, unlike the power current I usually associated with magic. It was subtle and mysterious, and I found it downright sexy in the split second it took to recognize it. Then I moved on, reaching out with my intuition and intention to welcome Franklin Taite’s spirit.
Something stirred in my consciousness. Was that Franklin? I felt my blood zinging through my veins, my heartbeat concentrating in my temples. Mungo stirred beside me, and I cracked an eye to take a look. His eyes were wide open and trained on Declan.
My boyfriend’s eyes were clamped shut in concentration as he muttered the chant, now under his breath. The cords in his neck stood out, and everything about his body language screamed determination in the face of fear: shoulders hunched forward, brow furrowed, teeth clenched.