Pentacle Pawn Boxed Set

by Amanda Hartford

  I roared at him. I was still squatting next to Daisy and I came up fast, my knees like pistons. He was slightly off balance as he tried to rise. I caught him full in the chest with my shoulder and we both flew back against the rail.

  Adam was a head taller than me and a whole bunch stronger, but I had adrenaline working for me as we grappled for the comb. He held it high above his head in his right hand, knowing I could never reach it. But that meant he had only his left hand to hold me off, and I was not giving up.

  I waited for him to invoke magic, but he never did. He had power, but not practice. It probably never occurred to him before I stomped on his instep as hard as I could. He reflexively hunched forward, and when he did, I butted him as hard as I could in the chest.

  I had intended to take the wind out of him, but I didn't realize how far off balance he was. When I barged into him center mass, his arms whipped back. I saw the tortoiseshell comb fly out of his hand and sail through the air, spinning as it plopped into the water.

  Adam's eyes were frantic. Even as he fell backward, he was wrenching his body around so he could see where the comb had gone. His feet flew out from under him and he toppled backward.

  I tried to grab him. At the time, I wasn't sure why. The drop was less than 20 feet. The water was shallow even though the tide was in, and it was only a short swim to the shore. I had no idea if he could swim – frankly, the thought never crossed my mind – but I have to admit now that the reason I grabbed for him was not altruism. I didn't want him to get away, but I missed. All I could do was watch helplessly as he hit the water.

  Daisy had managed to rise to her knees. She pointed at Adam struggling to make his way back to the beach. She pointed and strangled a cry.

  I didn't spot it first, but then I saw a large shadow just below the surface of the water. It was gaining on him.

  At first glance, I thought it was an alligator. Pontchartrain is infested with them, and sometimes they lurk around the docks and fishing piers. But this didn't look quite right. Gators propel themselves with their tails, and they swim with a side-to-side motion. The creature that was following Adam was swimming in a straight line, and it had none of the spikes and ridges that marked a gator. This animal had a smooth, curved back and flippers.

  Like a sea turtle.

  I helped Daisy to her feet. She rested against the aluminum rail, trying to catch her breath as we watched the drama play out. There was nothing we could do, no help we could offer. Adam had brought this upon himself.

  The turtle overtook Adam with only a few strokes. Its broad shell eased up over his back as he frantically tried to swim away. We watched it begin to submerge, taking him down with it.

  People were running on the pier now, shouting and pointing. A muscular man in shorts and flip-flops pointed and yelled, then waded out from the beach and started swimming with strong strokes toward where Adam had gone under. It took the man only minutes to swim the short distance from shore, but when he reached the water beneath our feet, both the turtle and Adam were gone.

  ♦

  It was two days before divers found Adam's body, tangled in the pylons beneath the pier. The police believed that Adam was killed by a gator, that he was grabbed and dragged down in the way that gators drown their prey. The witnesses on the pier saw what they wanted to believe, and they corroborated the story. The newspapers had a field day, dredging up old tales about monster gators in Lake Pontchartrain. A few days later, Adam’s body was returned to the family for burial.

  ♦

  There was no circle for Adam, no elaborate funeral. Adam had always kept to himself, so he had few friends. I learned later from Aaron that some of his drinking buddies had gathered at their favorite bar in the Quarter for a makeshift wake. The family was not invited.

  Adam, after all, was a murderer, and we couldn't stomach the idea of him resting in the family crypt beside Marie-Eglise. My mother decided to have his body cremated and his ashes scattered.

  A week later, Aaron and I rented a pontoon boat for the afternoon. At the last minute, Daisy decided to join us. She didn't explain, but she'd been drawn inside herself ever since Adam died. No way was it her fault, I told her, and she said she believed me. But, still.

  Pontchartrain isn't really a lake; it's a vast tidal estuary where salt water mingles with fresh, part of the system of low-lying wetlands where the Mississippi River meets the sea. It is a place of transition, and it seemed fitting to say goodbye to Adam there.

  A heron stood watch as we cleared the jetty and headed away from the shore. A bull shark trailed us for a few minutes but lost interest as we left the shallows.

  It seemed as if we chose the place at random, but really, when we came to the spot we all just knew. The evening was peaceful as the sun began to touch the horizon. The tide was going out. Adam's ashes would be placed in the water there, and the tide would take him into the open waters of the Gulf of Mexico. I found it comforting to think that he might finally meet up with his father there.

  Aaron turned off the engine and let the boat drift. He reached into a storage locker in the bulkhead and pulled out a plain square cardboard box. Inside was a plastic bag filled with gravelly gray powder.

  None of us was quite sure what to say, so we held to our own thoughts. Aaron had lost his only brother. I was sure Daisy was still twisted with regret, not just for Adam's death but for his lost childhood. My grief was more complicated. I understood Adam's pain, his jealousy and greed, but I wasn't ready to forgive him. I wasn't sure I ever would be. He had taken Marie-Eglise. I forced back a sob. He had taken John. I was there to witness.

  Aaron stood at the rail and squared his shoulders. When he was ready, he bent down to the waterline, and as the boat drifted in the current, he poured his brother's remains into the lake. The water clouded and then cleared as the ashes dispersed.

  As Aaron released Adam's ashes, Daisy leaned over the side and floated a small bundle of rosemary in the water. She was crying softly. Rosemary is for remembrance, not that any of us would ever forget Adam.

  We sat together in silence, listening to the waves lap up against the side of the boat. A seagull whirled overhead and then, seeing that we weren't fishing after all, left us.

  I took the empty box from Aaron's hands. I collapsed it and put it in my purse. I put my hand out, and he gave me the plastic bag. I put it in my purse, as well, to dispose of later. Such awkward things, I thought: the disposable containers in which a loved one had been transported. It felt as if we had thrown Adam away. I wondered if Aaron and Daisy felt the same.

  Something bumped up against the pontoon on Daisy's side. I heard her gasp. She reached over the side and fished up something that was floating on the water. It was Marie-Eglise's comb. The sea turtle had come home.

  Chapter Twelve

  I felt Hazel watching me. "Do you have something you need to say to me, young lady?" she finally asked.

  So I told her. I told her how John had found his dream job in Arizona, but now that he was gone I wanted the Arizona dream for myself. I couldn't see a way forward in New Orleans.

  She was shocked but not surprised. Mostly, she was angry. That's Hazel's go-to emotion. It's not about right or wrong; if she wants something, she'll simply beat you down until she gets it. I was determined it wasn't going to happen this time.

  Years of experience had taught me that arguing with her was useless. The best approach was just to let her get it out of her system. I sipped my tea and tried not to make eye contact while she unloaded on me. I have to hand it to her – she's good. She laid down a thick layer of family responsibility and glazed it with an elegant topping of guilt. A half-hour later she finally ran out of steam.

  "Well," she sighed, flipping her hand, "I suppose you'll just do whatever you want, no matter what I say."

  We'd finally fought it down to a draw. I clenched my jaw to keep from saying the first thing that popped into my mind. I took a deep breath and started in on my closing. "I'm sorry you're so up
set. I never wanted to hurt anybody's feelings, but I think that it's time for me to be out on my own."

  Hazel was all talked out. "If that's what you want," she said, clearly meaning no such thing.

  I gave her my best smile. "I knew you'd understand," I said, which was a bald-faced lie.

  She even let me give her a stiff-armed hug as I fled the room.

  ♦

  I processed Philippe's paperwork and, while he chatted with Daisy, I opened the safe and pulled out the lead box that contained his consignment. Frank had hopped up into his lap and was allowing himself to be petted. He even managed to purr.

  The cat's-eye ring rested quietly in the red satin lining as if nothing had ever happened.

  I swear, it winked at me. If Philippe saw, he was gracious enough not to say anything.

  ♦

  Hazel still believes that I should remain in New Orleans and resume my training in the shop. Structure, she says – structure will help me "get over it." But I don't want to get over John. I want him here, with me, in my heart forever.

  My mother is certain that Pentacle Pawn will not survive without me. I am equally certain that things here will be just fine, with or without my help.

  Pentacle Pawn will go on. Aaron has made it very clear that they all will be just fine without me, thank you very much. Aaron has learned his lessons well. Truth be told, Daisy and Hazel are spending much less time in the shop since Marie-Eglise passed. I believe they feel her loss most acutely there, and they are content to leave the day-to-day operations to the next generation. They spend their days sipping good bourbon in the parlor now, and gossiping on the gallery with their admirers. It's an old Southern custom to make courtesy calls in the morning, and I think Daisy and Hazel enjoy reminiscing with their many friends. Each day draws them further into the past.

  I spent my entire childhood wanting to be far away from this place, but now that the moment has come, it's hard to put my feet on the path. I fought to distance myself from my family, but the whole time I knew they were always the safety net under me. If I break with them now, who will I be?

  I've decided to dip my toe in the shallow end. I waited last night until Daisy had gone up to bed, and then sought Hazel out in the parlor to tell her. She had just poured her last bourbon of the day and was sipping it as I walked into the room. I was hoping that having her whole days' allotment of whiskey on board might make her a little more mellow.

  "I think I need to get out of New Orleans for a while," I said without preamble.

  She didn't look up.

  "I need to clear my head."

  Still no reaction.

  "Hazel?" I wasn't going to let her blow this off.

  She raised her head slowly. "When will you leave?"

  I was stunned. No argument? No guilt?

  Okay, fine. Sometimes you have to take 'yes' for an answer.

  "I have a plane in the morning."

  She closed her eyes, then opened them again. "Someplace nice, I hope."

  She'd said so much with so little. Nice meant safe, traditional, conservative. Nice, most of all, meant close to family.

  "Arizona."

  To her credit, she managed not to argue.

  "I need to get some perspective," I said, keeping my voice level. "All this – it's too much."

  "I understand that you miss John, dear," she said, "but in time..."

  "It's not just John. I married him before I knew who I was. I grew up being Hazel's daughter, Daisy's niece, the next generation. There was school, and there was training in the craft. And then I married John, and I was John's wife." I looked her in the eye. "Who am I, Hazel?"

  She met my gaze without wavering. She was slowly shaking her head. "You have always been yourself. You were all those things, but you were yourself every step of the way."

  I remembered the screaming arguments, my tantrums, my stubbornness. My teen years had been a nightmare for everybody concerned. Now I saw that what my mother called willfulness, I saw as fighting for my life. I needed to do that again, and I couldn't do it here.

  It was time for a truce.

  "It's only for six weeks," I said. "It's just a vacation."

  Her sigh was very quiet. She understood what I was offering, and she embraced the fiction. "Perhaps it might be good for you to get away for a little while. You'll call on Sundays, of course?"

  "Of course."

  And that was that. I had my benediction. The rest would be up to me.

  ♦

  Aaron hates to drive, but he drove me to the airport in his Jeep. I was touched. Or, maybe, he just wanted to be sure I got on that plane.

  I'd said goodbye to Daisy and my mother at breakfast. Hazel had managed a perfunctory hug. At least she had the good grace not to start another argument as I was literally on my way out of town. Daisy dabbed at her eyes and stuffed a bag of her herb-laced baked goods in my carry-on. I hoped they wouldn't set off the drug-sniffing dogs at the airport.

  I promised to call soon and forbade them both to see me out to the sidewalk. I knew for sure I'd cry.

  Aaron loaded everything into the Jeep for me. We weren't sure what to say to each other. He, Adam, and I had grown up together in the Royal Street house. Now, he would be carrying on there alone to create the next generation of Pentacle Pawn. It felt like I was abandoning him. On the other hand, it felt like he was coming into an inheritance that he, more than Adam or me, richly deserved.

  We rode in silence all the way to the airport. "I am so sorry about John," he finally said as he pulled up in front of the departure gate.

  "I'm sorry about Adam." I realized it was true.

  Aaron nodded. "All those years that Adam was in pain and nobody knew – I wish I could go back and do it over."

  "Same here. I had no idea."

  Aaron was pensive. "But I should have known. I mean, he was my brother, right?"

  "You had no way to know. He shut us both out." I hugged him. "Adam made his own decisions. There was nothing either of us could have done, even if we had known."

  "I'm trying to believe that."

  "Believe it. Marie-Eglise wanted you to be the one to carry the family forward. She saw the man you have become. Hazel and Daisy will help you if you let them. And I'm not going to the far side of the moon – I'm just going to Scottsdale. Pick up the phone once in a while."

  Aaron pulled away from the curb, leaving me on the sidewalk, ticket in hand. Daisy's locket rested at my throat inside my shirt, and John's onyx ring was on my finger. Frank was in a cat carrier at my feet. I could hear him muttering to himself down there. "I told you," I heard him grumble, "cats don't fly. I should have been more specific. Cats don't fly economy class."

  I was finally ready for whatever may come. Laissez les bons temps rouler, indeed – let the good times roll.

  – The End –

  Pentacle Pawn: Book 2

  The Blue Amber Spell

  Amanda Hartford

  Nineteen Cents Press

  Prologue

  The intruder sat on the edge of the dead boy’s bed. The child had been gone these ten years, but his room was still untouched. His mother kept it as a shrine.

  The intruder, wearing a dark hoodie and jeans, entered the house at 11 p.m. while the monsoon was still scouring Scottsdale. The sand wall, a thousand feet high, had come screaming in off the open desert just before sunset, snapping trees and tearing roofs off of houses and smashing mobile homes. This little townhouse was shielded from the brunt of the wind by the clubhouse directly behind it, but the thunderstorm that came behind the sand was driving the rain horizontally into the plate glass window from all directions. The whole house vibrated like a drum head.

  The intruder listened as the storm battered the townhouse. Then it was gone as suddenly as it had come. The silence jangled with kinetic energy.

  The numbers on the digital clock on the bed stand flipped over to midnight.

  It was time.

  The intruder stepped out into the h
allway, carefully closing the door to the dead boy’s bedroom. The gum soles of the intruder’s Vans made small squishing sounds on the hardwood floor.

  The hallway was short, with just this door and one other on the right and one on the left, and then the master bedroom at the far end. The other door to the right was a shared bathroom.

  The woman and her now-grown daughter kept it tidy. The intruder could smell talcum powder, and the light, flowery perfume that the older woman always bought at Neiman Marcus over in Fashion Square.

  The door on the left was half open. The intruder leaned in and could see that the young blonde woman was asleep, curled up under a nice old quilt. Hannah Carter had one arm thrown over her head as if she was protecting herself from the storm. The intruder could see earbuds in Hannah’s ears, the wires disappearing under the blankets.

  The door at the end of the hall was wide open. The intruder could hear the soft snoring of the dead boy’s mother in the master bedroom. Deborah Carter was Hannah’s mother, too, although since the boy’s death this house had been filled with the memory of him to the exclusion of anyone else who lived here. His death had stopped the clock. And, now, there would be another.

  The intruder softly walked to the edge of the queen-size bed. Deborah had kicked off her blankets in restless sleep. Her eyelids fluttered. The intruder watched, waiting for her to awake, but Deborah’s breathing deepened.

  As the intruder quietly watched Deborah fall back into sleep, the air conditioner came on. The intruder froze in place. It took twenty heartbeats before it seemed safe to move again.

  The intruder’s hands spread wide in benediction. The gesture formed a dome of energy, engulfing Deborah in silence and creating desperate pressure on the woman’s chest. Deborah’s eyes popped open. She focused on the face hovering above her. A scream formed in her throat, but no sound escaped.

  Deborah struggled to bring her hands to her heart, but the dome had her pinned to the covers. Her struggling became less and less, and finally, she was still. The intruder’s hands came together, and the dome was gone.