“Your Jerry took me to a lovely little nursery.” I’d had a chat with Jerry, and with his permission, I’d tinkered with the Uber driver’s app profile again so he’d always get the call if Daisy needed a ride.
Daisy poured me some tea. A leaf of fresh orange mint floated against the ice cubes. Daisy waited.
I didn’t know how to say it, so I just blurted it out. “John’s back.”
Daisy didn’t seem surprised. “I’m so happy for you,” she said. “When?”
“He was there when I woke up this morning.” Daisy grinned. “Did Frank freak out?”
I laughed. “Frank is not amused.”
“I’ll bet. Frank isn’t much of a people person, anyway, and he has a thing about ghosts.”
“Yeah, what’s that about?” I asked.
“Simple. Frank loves to eavesdrop, but ghosts can’t hear him and he can’t hear them.”
Got it. I’d thought that maybe Frank was jealous of John, but this was a power play. “It must just be killing him only to hear one side of the conversation.”
“I imagine so,” Daisy said, “but he’ll settle down. He always just ignored the ghosts in the Royal Street house.”
“We’ll see,” I said, but I had my doubts. The family home in New Orleans had plenty of space for everybody, but in my condo, Frank would have no place to hide.
Daisy changed the subject. “So how did your reunion go?”
I didn’t have the words to tell her how full my heart was now that John was back. She saw the tears in my eyes and understood.
“It will take some time for both of you to adjust, mon trésor.”
My treasure — that’s what Daisy had called me since I was a toddler. I was so thankful that she was with me now.
“I can’t touch him. My hand goes right through.”
Daisy smiled. “That will come, in time. He’s still learning. You both are.”
“I guess I don’t really understand the rules of all this. He can sleep in the bed, under the covers, so he must have some physical presence, right?”
Daisy took a slow breath. “Manifestation is part illusion and part physics. The laws of nature apply, of course, but you’re going to need to turn off your scientific mind for now. Don’t trust what your eyes are telling you. Just understand: your John has come back to you. He’s really there, in all the ways that count.”
I sipped my tea and thought about it. “He’s really there,” I repeated. “In all the ways that count,” Daisy said back to me.
♦
Simon dropped by the shop that evening without an invitation. Lissa found him lingering on the sidewalk outside when she came in from her break just after midnight. She settled him on the wrought iron bench under the alley streetlight and popped inside to let me know he was there.
“I tried the door, but it was locked,” Simon said. He sounded a little peeved. “I was pretty sure that you were open, but nobody came when I knocked.”
“We wouldn’t have heard,” I explained, sitting on the bench next to him. “The door doesn’t admit any sound, and if it doesn’t know you...”
“Ah, I see. There’s some sort of spell.”
I nodded. “Better than a burglar alarm. Would you like to come in?”
He shook his head. “Actually, I just came to bring you a small gift. I still feel bad about not being able to complete our transaction the other night.”
“I think we’re even,” I said. “I enjoyed our dinner.”
“I hope you’ll enjoy this, as well.” He fished a small envelope from his pocket and handed it to me.
The envelope appeared to be parchment and very old. Inside, I found a single sheet of vellum, beautifully prepared and scribed. The language was not Latin, but something very similar. I recognized a word or two.
“How beautiful! Some sort of spell, I think?”
He smiled. “It’s a page cut from an old book of charms. No idea where the book itself got to, but this one page showed up in a rare book flea market in Paris. The vendor said he thought it might be 17th century or even a bit earlier. I thought you might enjoy it.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I told him so and thanked him again. But it nagged at me: I needed to let this guy know I wasn’t interested. “Simon, I...”
He held his hand up to stop me. “No thanks necessary.” He sighed a little to show that he understood. “These objects should be in the hands of people who can appreciate them. It’s enough to know that you do.” He stood to go. “I’ll see you soon.”
♦
Simon had only been gone a few minutes when Hannah dropped by. She said it was to take some photos of the blue amber for insurance purposes, but I suspected that she just wanted to check up to be sure I still had it. I wasn’t offended.
I sent Lissa downstairs to pull Hannah’s blue amber out of the vault. Hannah let out a sigh of relief when she opened the cedar box and saw the stone undisturbed in its velvet-lined case.
She picked up the amber and ran her thumb across the surface. She was very quiet.
“That is beautiful,” I said, trying to coax her into talking a bit. “You know, I’ve had a lot of amber go through the shop, but I’ve never had anybody bring me a piece of blue amber before. It’s funny, really — nothing for all these years, and then it’s been mentioned to me twice in one week.”
The color drained from Hannah’s face. “Who? Who else mentioned blue amber to you this week?” she said with quiet intensity.
“It was a new customer, actually. He was a referral from Lissa’s mother. He just mentioned in passing that he collects gemstones and that he’d appreciate if I tipped him off if I found any for sale.”
Hannah’s eyes narrowed. “Distinguished looking, almost British upper crust, like he just walked out of an Agatha Christie novel?”
“Close enough.”
She sat back in her chair and exhaled. “Simon.”
“Yes,” I said. “You know him?”
“Unfortunately. He’s my brother.” A couple dozen questions zapped through my mind before I finally settled on: “I didn’t know that you had a brother.” No, it’s not original, but it was the place to start.
She nodded. “Three. Simon and Michael. They’re older than I am. I was the baby of the family.”
“You said three.”
Hannah sighed. “Jason was the oldest. He was run down in a crosswalk — the guy didn’t even stop. The police never found him.”
“I think Penelope mentioned something about that, that it really affected your mother.”
“My mother has kept the door to Jason’s room closed since that night. When Jason died, it was pretty much the end of the family. Simon and Michael had been off at boarding school forever, so it was just her and me.”
I fingered the amber. “I assume this has something to do with your inheritance.”
“It does. I have it, and Simon wants it.”
“I don’t quite understand. Isn’t it customary for the oldest child to inherit the family’s magical objects?”
She gave me a grim smile. “It is, unless the oldest child has no talent for it.”
“So your older brother can’t work the magic.”
She snorted politely. “My older brothers can barely open a door knob. Neither of them inherited any abilities whatsoever.”
“Well, that must’ve been awkward, growing up in a magical family.”
She shook her head. “You have no idea. My mother pretty much resigned herself to the idea that none of us would inherit — and then I hit puberty.” She smiled a pretty little smile.
I’d heard of this happening before. Hormones do strange things to teenagers, not the least of which is to amp up any latent magical abilities. It must’ve come as quite a shock to everybody concerned.
“I’d had a horrendous fight with my mother at supper the evening before,” she was saying. “I wanted to go out, but she said no. I woke up the next morning in my bed, but the bed was up on the roof.”
/>
I laughed. “Well, you wanted out...” I said.
“Exactly.” She laughed with me. “The next day my grandmother started my formal training. My brothers were furious. They’d been the pampered sons, and suddenly I was getting all the attention. They’re still jealous.”
“But if your brothers have no talents themselves, what do they want with the amber?” I asked.
“They believe it will protect them from witchcraft.”
I just barely kept myself from rolling my eyes. “That one’s been around since Nero ruled Rome. You’d think somebody would notice all the witches walking around just dripping with amber jewelry.” I held up my own right hand, where my middle finger was graced with a glowing amber nugget John had bought me on vacation in Hong Kong.
Hannah was nodding. “My grandmother had a whole jewelry box full, but it was mostly Baltic, small pieces, not worth a whole lot. But Simon knows the blue amber is valuable. He’s accused me of stealing his birthright.”
“He’s quite the charmer,” I said ironically, remembering how taken I was with him when he visited the shop.
Hannah shot me a look that told me she understood. “Women have always pretty much given him whatever he wanted.”
I shook my head. I realized I was clenching my jaw so hard that my back teeth ached. “Not this time.”
♦
Because Pentacle Pawn specializes in pieces that have been made from animal or plant materials, it’s not unusual that our clients bring us objects connected to endangered species. I’ve had to come to terms with my privileged American sensibility about such things.
This is complicated stuff.
Ceremonial objects were often created by indigenous peoples who revered the creatures in their environment, respecting their power and venerating them in life and in death. Do I have the right to say that they were wrong? And there is the question of cultural appropriation: does a modern American witch have the right to tap the power they imbued in that object?
And how should I feel about objects made during colonial periods as souvenirs: say, a jeweled tiger claw necklace to grace a Victorian lady’s neck, or an umbrella stand made from an elephant’s foot. Such things repulse me, and my first impulse is to give such objects a respectful burial. But does that then mean that the animal died in vain?
And then there’s the law. It’s illegal under most circumstances to transport items made from endangered species unless you have a permit. This usually means that you have to prove that your object was made before a certain date and that it hasn’t been altered since then. For example, you can’t take my grandmother’s tortoiseshell comb and make it into, say, guitar picks. Marie-Eglise kept a photo on her bureau of her own grandmother wearing the comb. If any of us ever decided to take that piece across state lines or out of the country, that photo would be part of the proof for the permit.
We’re not likely to get audited by Fish and Wildlife services since, well, technically, Pentacle Pawn doesn’t actually exist in the ordinary world. But witches are, by nature, tree huggers, and we insist that our clients play by the rules. We can’t reclaim the animals who were slaughtered to make these items, but we can make sure that no more creatures die to sustain the trade.
Chapter Five
Jim Hamilton was at the coffee shop in ten minutes. I brought him up to speed and made him pay for my latte.
“So, is she afraid of her brother?” he asked, getting out his notebook.
“I think she’s more ticked off than she is scared. I got the impression this has been going on between them for a long time.”
“Maybe. But this isn’t kid stuff. If your theory is right, then we have a possible murder. Is this Simon capable of killing his mother?” he was taking careful notes.
I shrugged. “I never knew Simon — he wasn’t around when Hannah and I were growing up together. I got the impression from Hannah that a main point of friction was that Simon is the oldest child, but Hannah got all the talent. Even if he had the amber, he wouldn’t be able to do anything with it.”
Jim thought for a moment. “And what about this other brother — Michael?”
“Michael was a sweet little boy, but he was a lot younger than we were. Hannah usually came over to our house, not the other way around, so I didn’t see very much of him. You really ought to talk to Hannah, but I don’t think Michael had any skills, either.”
Jim tugged on his earlobe, a nervous thing I’ve seen him do when an idea isn’t quite working for him. “So, how does this all connect up? If we’re thinking that Deborah was killed by craft, it sounds like Simon can’t be our suspect. Michael, either.” He was right, but I still wasn’t ready to give up. “There’s still something going on,” I said. “Simon was pretty determined to get me to help him get his hands on that amber. This can’t just be that he wants a birthright that’s of no use to him. He must think he has some way to control it.”
“Maybe someone else is helping him?”
“Like who? With Deborah’s death, the only one we know for sure who can use the amber is Hannah, and she certainly isn’t going to help him.”
I watched Jim doodle on his notepad, drawing a looping circle, allowing the circumference to get bigger with each circuit. “We need to widen our search. I’ll set up a time to talk with Hannah.”
♦
When I got home from work, John was waiting. We’d lost two years, and we weren’t willing to give up another day. We lingered at the breakfast table until my eyelids started to droop. John looked like death warmed over, excuse the bad joke; learning to be a ghost turns out to be a pretty stressful project. I told him to head back to bed, and I’d join him in a minute.
I turned off the coffee pot and ducked into the bathroom for a nice, warm shower. By the time I got back to the bedroom, John had dropped back off to sleep.
I hadn’t seen Frank since John arrived, but I found him sitting on the edge of the bed, shooting daggers with his eyes at John’s slumbering form.
Frank glared at me, saying nothing.
“My husband dropped by,” I ventured.
Frank had considered it an insult to the Flournoy family reputation when I married John, a sportswriter with absolutely no talent for magic — at least not the sort my family practiced. For a witch of my distinguished lineage to marry an ordinary man was unacceptable to a snob like Frank, and he avoided John whenever we visited the house on Royal Street. Since John’s murder, Frank had never mentioned his name.
John must’ve been having a nightmare because his feet were moving as if he was running. I leaned over and whispered into his ear: “Everything’s fine, sweetheart. Roll over and go back to sleep.” John tossed onto his left side and fell back into slumber.
“Well, at least getting murdered seems to have fixed his snoring,” the cat muttered.
“Frank!” I pulled the blankets up over John’s shoulders and tucked him in. Frank refused to look contrite.
“But why do you need him here?” Frank complained.
“He’s my husband.”
“Was. Isn’t there some sort of escape clause? Death do us part, that sort of thing?”
I nodded at John, still curled up under my blankets. “He doesn’t look very parted, to me.”
If Frank could have scowled, he would have. The best he could manage was to give me his best evil cat squint. It made him look a little like Jack Nicholson in The Shining, and I laughed.
“There’s no need to be insulting,” Frank hissed. I sat down on the bed next to him. I considered ruffling his ears and petting him like a normal cat, but Frank was no ordinary cat. His words were sharp, but his claws were sharper. I thought better of it.
“I’m sorry, Frank,” I said, trying to keep my voice low so as not to wake John. “I guess we’ll both just have to make adjustments.”
Frank squinted in John’s direction. “That’s some adjustment.”
Now I got it — Frank was jealous. I had to nip this in the bud right now. “You do unde
rstand that John was in the picture long before you were?” I said, keeping my tone level.
Frank pulled himself up to his full height. “Relationships between humans are of a different quality than the ones they have with their cats.”
This was quite a statement, coming from him. Frank had never before admitted that he actually was my cat.
I folded my hands in my lap and tried to look resolute. “John’s staying,” I said. “Are you?”
Frank sighed. “And where, madam, would I go?” It came out somewhere between a hiss and a growl, but I took it as a concession.
John snuggled deeper into the covers. Frank cautiously walked over to him and sniffed. That long tiger-striped tail twitched, signaling his mistrust, and he looked back at me. I shrugged my shoulders. This was between the two of them.
Frank burrowed into the crook of John’s knees and curled into a tight ball. He curled his tail over his nose, so that’s all I could see were his bright yellow eyes, glowing in the dimly lit room. Frank made eye contact with me, looking for my reaction.
I wasn’t sure whether Frank’s behavior signaled a truce between him and John, or he was simply staking his territory on the bed. Either way, I was not taking sides in this catfight. I saw Frank lower his lids almost closed, and I heard him start his low growling purr as I tiptoed out of the room.
♦
I could feel the stress rising between my shoulder blades. Between Frank and John at home, and Simon and Hannah at work, I really needed to get back to doing my yoga.
Even Daisy was unintentionally adding to the chaos. “I had a text from Aaron today,” she mentioned in passing as we were having a quick sandwich together one night during my dinner break.
“You’re texting now?” Daisy was not into technology. As far as I knew, the TV in her apartment back in New Orleans still had vacuum tubes.
She gave me a little smile. “You have to keep up with the times.”
Finally, she continued. “Aaron says that he’s just trying to get this thing tied up,” she said, keeping her voice flat.
“What’s the hurry?”
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