Murder by Magic

by Rosemary Edghill

  I hated both men. The Council demanded I spare them my wrath. If it hadn’t been Arty and Tony, someone else would have taken the job. I had to play it their way if possible, use my inborn abilities aided by the amulet I wore, and bring my nemesis to justice.

  Or die. Those were my choices.

  Anger, hatred, grief, and a wary fear fueled my psychic energy, escalating its potency.

  Whatever it took, I had to recover the amulet and eliminate the threat. Simple in thought. Much harder when it came to killing a member of the family. Morgan, a cousin who resented the fact that her twin died at birth, keeping her from possibly inheriting the position of power she coveted. Something I learned after breaking the news of Isadora’s murder to my grandmother.

  I had one chance to make this simple. My reason for sitting on the cold concrete floor for the last hour. I had to come face-to-face with her after she donned Isadora’s necklace, but before she took mine. I suspected I knew, but had to verify how she learned of our positions on earth.

  No one had attended the ritual when Isadora and I took our oaths before the remaining twin, our grandmother, who presided over the initiation. Only the three of us had been there that awesome winter night when Beth became Isadora, who aided the gods in keeping harmony between nature and mankind, and I became Lilith, entrusted with the task of keeping lust and magic in balance.

  On the hilltop in the center of a circle of ancient stones, we pledged our lives and talent to keeping harmony in the universe. As we shared a chalice of warm mulled wine to seal our fate, the first snowflakes of the season swirled in the moonlight. A beautiful night filled with love and devotion.

  Other than members of the Council, no one was supposed to know of our existence as liaisons to the gods. Until now, no one knew of the lineage of Witches who produced the twins destined for service. Someone let the ancient secret slip. Chaos loomed in the near future.

  I blinked my eyes again and gazed up at Tony, planting the seed of thought that he should save me for later.

  He pulled his thick lips into a disgusting smile and winked. “I’ll be back.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief when he hurried off to answer the summons, then tried to find a more comfortable position. I needed to stay bound until I knew Tony wouldn’t be back. He was a scumbag, but I really didn’t need his death on my record.

  “What the hell you think you’re doing?” Arty bellowed. “She’s due any minute. Now, get your ass in place. I’ll up your share to half if we get the money and keep the necklace.”

  The verbal warning came at the same time I felt her presence and the unmistakable hostility surrounding her.

  After a few moments of silence, a door opened and closed several rows of barrels away. Leather-soled high-heeled shoes snapped against the concrete.

  Morgan had arrived.

  My heart doing double time, I used the adrenaline to warm the tape around my wrists, stretching it until it snapped. Silently cursing, I peeled away all the tape, rolled it into a sticky ball, and eased from the corner. In a matter of seconds, I crouched low behind a pickle barrel near the office.

  “Mr. Blum?” Her resonant alto voice held a note of amusement.

  “Yeah. What can I do for you?” Arty asked, cautious but excited.

  “I’m Mrs. Johnson. I believe you have something for me?”

  “The necklace is locked in the safe and the woman is secured. Show me the money and we’ll deal.”

  “Show me the merchandise or you’ll die,” Morgan demanded. Her Scottish burr did nothing to soften the malice in her tone.

  Arty gasped and yelled, “Tony!”

  I eased my head around the barrel and peered at my cousin Morgan.

  She stood with her back to me, tall and erect, her red hair piled on top of her head adding several inches to her height of five feet nine inches. A formidable woman dressed in a black pantsuit and high-heeled shoes, a briefcase in one gloved hand and a gun in the other.

  Tony stepped from an aisle between the rows of barrels a few feet from me, a gun in his hand. My gun, I realized after a moment. I ducked back and listened, debating whether to let them shoot it out, or intervene. I preferred the first choice, knew I had to do it the hard way. It was time for Morgan to recycle her soul, but Fate had other plans for Arty Blum and his sidekick.

  “Put the gun on the floor nice and easy,” Tony snarled.

  “I don’t think so,” Morgan crooned, her voice heavily laced with disdain. “But I will make a wee concession since you boys don’t really know with whom you’re dealing. Keep the gun, Tony. And I’ll keep mine. When I’m satisfied the necklace is genuine, we’ll put down our weapons and you’ll be rich.” She aimed the gun between his eyes. “Cross me and you’ll die.”

  I said a silent thank-you to the Goddess for the small reprieve. Again I eased around the barrel, my gaze riveted on the scene.

  Arty’s oversize face glowed an unhealthy shade of red. Sweat poured from his meaty forehead and dripped off heavy jowls onto the collar of his dingy western shirt. He nodded to Tony, then turned on the worn heels of his cowboy boots and strode into the office. The plate-glass window in the wall allowed me to watch him as he moved to the corner of the office. He dropped from view—I assumed to retrieve the amulet.

  Morgan motioned her gun toward the interior of the office. Her voice dripping with sweetness, she smiled at Tony. “After you.”

  Since Arty seemed ready to do business on her terms, Tony didn’t have much choice. He scowled at her, but entered the office, my .38 Special aimed at her head.

  If I couldn’t stop her, neither man would emerge from the pickle warehouse alive. Morgan wouldn’t leave witnesses behind.

  Dumb as dirt! Too caught up in their image of themselves to realize they’d been had. I doubted they’d even get the chance to learn that the briefcase she set on the floor beside the desk was empty.

  When Arty reappeared behind the glass, I slipped around the barrels and approached the office. Back pressed to the wall beside the door, I waited and listened.

  I could feel Morgan’s purr of satisfaction and knew she looked upon the amulet.

  A gut-wrenching spasm of grief passed over me.

  Morgan touched the teardrop.

  It was show time.

  I stepped into the doorway.

  She held the silver chain in one hand, a nine-millimeter Glock in the other.

  “Don’t do it, Morgan,” I warned.

  She gasped and spun around, her gun aimed at me. “You’re an imbecile, Arty Blum,” she snarled through clenched teeth.

  “Tony, you stupid shit! Why the hell did you let her loose!” Arty exploded.

  Face pale and eyes wide with shock, Tony shook his head. “I didn’t, boss. I swear I didn’t.”

  “Surprise.” I tossed the ball of tape on Arty’s desk and smiled, enjoying their panic.

  Morgan recovered first, her red lips curling into a sneer. “I don’t suppose it matters how you got loose. You’re still here and we have the guns.”

  I returned her sneer with gloating pleasure. Surely a mark against me with the Council. I hurt too much to care.

  “It does matter, Morgan. You made a fatal mistake when you had Isadora murdered.”

  With a disgusted shake of her head, Morgan looked down at me. “You can’t lie your way out of this one, darling. I know you’re Isadora. I also know you don’t have the power to stop me.”

  I glanced at Arty, then pinned Tony with a heated glare and sent a current of energy zinging to his privates. When Tony dropped the gun and clutched his crotch in agony, I smiled at Arty. The moans of anguish coming from his trusted goon turned his face as ashen as my victim’s.

  Morgan looked at me, her features twisted with hatred, and tightened her finger around the trigger.

  Revenge is so sweet when approved by the gods.

  I shrugged. “Murdering either of us was bad enough, but you had to go and murder the wrong twin. Don’t put on the necklace, Morgan.
Our duplicity isn’t the only thing you didn’t learn in your hasty research.”

  “Bitch,” she screamed at me, and pulled the trigger.

  Nothing happened.

  Morgan looked from the gun back at me. Her mouth opened and closed. I could see the rage building behind her eyes.

  I shrugged again, taunting her. “I told you. You see, Beth took on the role of Isadora. Not me. I’m Lilith. You had Isadora murdered while she slept. Your time is up, Morgan. Give me the amulet.” I held out my hand. “Don’t make me take it.”

  She wavered in indecision for only a moment. “I don’t believe you,” she rasped, quickly slipping the chain over her head.

  The earth shifted slightly on its axis, causing a ripple of energy to spark the air. The faint scent of ozone burned my nose. My heart pounded in jubilation. Reverse psychology had worked. Morgan was completely at my mercy.

  Arty and Tony were unaware of the tilt toward mayhem. They watched us with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

  But Morgan’s eyes widened with anticipation when she sensed the change. Taking it as a good sign, she aimed the gun between my eyes and pulled the trigger again.

  Another useless click in the quiet room.

  The desire to kill her then almost overruled my better judgment. Evil pulsed around her, adding to the stench in the small office. But before I could rid the earth of her corruption, I needed answers.

  “No!” Morgan tossed the gun to Arty and closed one hand around the amulet.

  Although caught off guard, Arty managed to catch the gun before it hit the desktop, and fumbled it toward me. The Fates rarely explained the destiny of their subjects, leaving me to wonder what they had in store for the short, squat, bald man.

  I met Morgan’s steel-gray eyes. Time for show-and-tell. What she didn’t tell me, she’d show me in mental images. A minor talent of mine.

  Confident that his boss had it under control, Tony retrieved my gun, crabbed his way behind the desk, and eased into Arty’s chair.

  I let him.

  Arty stood stock-still, watching us, the Glock trembling in his hands. That was good, too. Neither gun would work until somebody removed the jammed cartridges. I didn’t need distractions.

  Morgan stroked the teardrop as if waiting for a burst of power.

  I almost felt sorry for her.

  Almost.

  My twin’s life had been sacrificed for this woman’s greed. I would be thousands of miles away when my grandmother took her last breath. There was no time to deal with my grief until true balance was resumed. Not one person deciding the destiny of the world, but a balance of two. Two different views working for the continuance of the future.

  Morgan could rule the world alone, as I was prepared to do until I could pass the responsibility to the waiting twins. But her misdeeds would eventually cause her demise.

  In other words, what goes around comes around.

  “I’ve notified the Council and told them what I’ve learned. You signed the guest register at Summerland when Grandmother was sick last month, but not since. She doesn’t remember your visit or anything else that transpired during those days. A couple of the nurses told me you visited often during her illness, that Grandmother hallucinated frequently during the worst hours of pain. She relived that monumental night several times, according to what I’ve been told. You were there for at least one of the retellings.”

  Hatred blazed in Morgan’s eyes. “She was quite explicit with the details, so don’t try to bluff me. Beth possessed the power to defeat me. You don’t.”

  “There’s much you didn’t learn from her ramblings. Beth and I exchanged roles at our initiation. Beth was better suited as Isadora, and I have the heart of Lilith. Since we were identical except for the birthmarks covered by our robes, Grandmother never knew. The Council learned of our duplicity today. Under the circumstances, they needed to know the truth.”

  The long silver chain felt hot to my touch as I drew it from beneath my blouse. “I’m sorry you let greed destroy your heart, sorry you’ve forced me into this position. The Council has ordered your execution. I have no qualms about obeying their order.” I grasped the teardrop and took a deep breath. “Good-bye, Morgan.”

  Morgan’s eyes widened, then rolled back in her head as she crumpled to a heap on the concrete floor.

  The balance made another slight shift. The hardest part of my task was almost over.

  Tony raised my gun and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. With a low growl, he hurled the piece at me. It hovered in front of me for a split second, then clattered on the floor at my feet.

  I picked up the gun, pointed it at the ceiling, and squeezed off a round. The noise echoed through the warehouse.

  Tony looked from me to Arty. “The fall must have fixed it.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Arty looked at the gun in his trembling hand, then at me. He didn’t quite understand that he’d witnessed a death executed on a psychic level, but he had enough sense to be scared out of his wits. He dropped the Glock onto the desktop, clasped his hands behind his head, and waited for me to call the shots.

  I would. When I got my bearings. I needed a moment to revel in relief. I had a few hours before my scheduled departure for Heathrow. Until then, I would play the part of a key witness in the death of Alicia Harding—“Morgan,” to the pagan world.

  Tony had enough sense to lace his fingers behind his neck.

  “I’d rather not kill either of you, so just stay put while I call the police.”

  Neither moved a muscle as I shoved the Glock into the holster at the small of my back. Dumb as dirt but not stupid. The .38 trained in their direction, I laid the receiver on the desk, activated the speaker, dialed 911, then plucked one of Blum’s business cards from a plastic holder on the desktop.

  After making my report, I called a familiar number, lowered the .38 to Tony’s crotch when he took a side step, and pulled my mouth into a half-smile. “Don’t even think about it, scumbag, or you’ll be the only eunuch on death row. If you don’t have a heart attack before your trial.”

  The homicide detective investigating my sister’s murder answered his cell phone on the second ring. “Yeah, who is this?”

  “Geez, you’re rude. What happened to ‘hello’?”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line. When he answered, genuine concern replaced his belligerent tone. “Where the hell are you? I’ve been trying to track you down for the last two hours.”

  “Sorry, I’ve been tied up. I’ve got the two men responsible for my sister’s murder in custody.” Again I read off the address of the pickle warehouse. “And send an ambulance. We’ve got a possible heart attack victim.”

  “How the hell . . . ? Never mind. I’m on my way. Just don’t pull any Houdini escapes until I get there.”

  “Sorry, you already missed it, but I will hang around. Just hurry up. I wouldn’t put it past either of them to try something stupid. I’d hate to have to shoot them.” I crossed mental fingers, hoping this case would intrigue him less than the last one.

  Detective Heath would love to know my secrets. Or at least he thought he would. I had my doubts about his ability to understand.

  “Did you call 911?” he asked.

  “Of course. As a matter of fact, I hear a siren. Get your ass in gear, Heath. I’m on a tight schedule.” I hung up and pointed the .38 at Arty. “I want the necklace . . . now.”

  Arty glanced at Morgan’s inert body, his mouth working in silent protest, then back at the .38. “Yeah, sure. Sure. No problem.” He sidled over to Morgan. “Tony, hold her up so’s I can get it over her head.”

  “Just slide the chain around until you find the clasp, Arty. Unfasten it, take it off, refasten it, lay it on the corner of the desk, and step back.” I aimed the .38 at his head. “Now.”

  The siren sounded like it was right outside. Which meant I needed to wrap up loose ends.

  As soon as Arty stepped away from the desk, I snatched the amulet, slipped t
he chain over my head, and tucked both talismans under my blouse.

  The essence of every previous Isadora warmed my soul. The earth righted itself on its axis, balance restored.

  The twin amulets secure between my breasts, I began crafting a watered-down version of what had transpired and planting the story in the minds of the two men staring at me. By the time uniformed officers crossed the warehouse to the office, Arty and Tony no longer remembered the necklaces or my confrontation with Morgan. A necessary revision of the facts.

  Otherwise, Isadora’s amulet would spend months in a plastic bag as evidence required for trial, and Morgan’s parents would be devastated by her evil plot. Not to mention the strain that having to single-handedly preserve cosmic harmony would cause on my nerves.

  Morgan’s body would be flown to Scotland for burial after an autopsy confirmed she died of cardiac arrest while helping me capture Beth’s killers.

  Only the Council and the gods would know the truth.

  I have heard, at still midnight,

  upon the hilltop remote and forlorn,

  The note that echoed through the dark,

  the haunting sound of the heathen horn.

  Witch Sight

  Roberta Gellis

  Roberta Gellis has been a very successful writer of fiction for several decades, having published about thirty-five novels since 1964. Gellis has been the recipient of many awards, including the Golden Porgy from West Coast Review of Books, the Golden Pen from Affaire de Coeur, the Romantic Times Lifetime Achievement Award for Historical Fantasy, the Romantic Times Reviewers Choice Award for Best Novel in the Medieval Period (several times), and the RWA’s Lifetime Achievement Award. Currently, Gellis is writing historical mystery—Bone of Contention, the third book in the Magdalene la Batarde series, will be published by Forge Books in September 2002—and coauthoring with Mercedes Lackey a series of fantasies set in Elizabethan England. Her home on the Web is http://www. robertagellis.com.

  Well, of course, Brenda is a witch.” Brenda winced and her eyes flicked once to Dame Hillyard. The plump woman looked less at ease than usual, seated in one of the straight chairs in a study room rather than behind her imposing desk. Her voice was flat and without expression, but the turned-down lips of her small, pursed mouth betrayed her distaste for the words she had uttered.