Pentacle Pawn Boxed Set

by Amanda Hartford

  Jacob waved over his shoulder as he stepped into the alley, the insulated shopping bag dangling from the fingers of his other hand. I didn’t know it then, but it was the last I would see of him. I wish I could say the same about that teapot.

  ♦

  Stella was back in less than an hour. The door recognizes her as a staff member, just as it did Jerry, and she can come and go as she pleases. This time, she didn’t look very pleased.

  “Hey, Stella!” Lissa said.

  “Hey, Lissa,” Stella said without much enthusiasm. She set Jacob’s shopping bag on the counter. “Mr. Carroll left this in my car when he got out. He said he just be gone a few minutes, but I sat there for nearly half an hour. When I finally went in and asked for him at the desk, the hotel said he had checked out this afternoon.”

  “He’s gone?” Lissa asked.

  I got up from my desk and walked over to them.

  “Who’s gone?”

  “Jacob Carroll,” Stella said. She pulled out her phone and checked her rideshare app. “He didn’t rate me, and there’s no tip. He’s out of here.”

  I glanced inside the shopping bag. The black teapot was still nested in its brown paper wrapping.

  “I didn’t know what to do with it,” Stella said, “so I brought it back. I’m supposed to turn lost objects in, but I don’t think he’s coming back for it.” She raised her eyes to me. “I was afraid it might be dangerous.”

  Fair enough; this wasn’t her problem, but she might have picked up information I could use to sort it out.

  “Did you get anything from him when he was in the car?” I asked.

  Along with being a talented astronomer and rideshare queen, Stella could read people’s thoughts as easily as if she was watching a TV sitcom.

  In our former lives as professor and student, I’d recognized that Stella had some unusual talents that reach beyond her academic career. It was uncanny how she knew what people were thinking.

  Over time, she’d opened up a little. She’d been able to read people’s thoughts since she was a child. It was involuntary, and sometimes she out found things she’d rather not know. She tried to avoid strangers; the flotsam and jetsam of their lives were unsettling.

  There are some limitations: she can’t talk to ghosts, and she doesn’t tell fortunes. She gets her insights in real time, subjects know. On the other hand, it’s tough for anybody to lie to her, since she knows what they’re genuinely thinking even as they are spinning her their tall tale.

  “It was kind of weird, actually. On the way over here, with him in the back, he was very closed off. For a little while, I thought he was asleep, but I think now that he might have been trying to block me.”

  I wasn’t surprised. I’d felt it, too; there was something about all this that Jacob didn’t want me to know. That’s why I’d declined to take in the teapot, but I was stuck with it now, at least until we could locate him.

  I thanked Stella and offered to buy her supper for her trouble. She and Lissa popped out to grab barbecue down the street on my credit card while I sorted out the teapot.

  I placed a small protection ward around my desk and sat the teapot in the middle. It looked harmless enough, and another quick manual examination confirmed that it was clean. But I didn’t trust it.

  I keep a penlight and a small dentist’s mirror in my desk drawer for just such occasions. I pointed the light inside the jar and maneuvered the mirror so that I could inspect the interior walls. My hunch was right: there were a few lines of writing incised into the clay in the same stylized lettering I’d seen on the bottom of the pot.

  The teapot was a custom piece, so I had to assume that Jacob’s grandmother had ordered whatever message had been inscribed inside. I also had to take into consideration the teapot itself. This was no flowery little tea set trifle; the severely modern form of the black teapot indicated that it was meant for serious business. Whatever was going on here, this piece was not built for the small personal spells for which Jacob’s grandmother was known.

  I realized that I had another problem. Because I had not been able to do paperwork with Jacob, I’d never given him that dollar bill to transfer the ownership of the teapot to Pentacle Pawn. I had in my possession a live grenade, and Jacob had the pin.

  I retrieved the paper bag and taped the teapot back into it as best I could. Jacob’s mother had been right: this thing was dangerous. I spread the twine out on my desk, placed the package in the center of it and worked the string up over the package’s shoulders until the herb ball rested back in its place on top. To whatever wards Jacob’s mother had placed on the package, I added one of my own before I took the teapot downstairs and stored it in a lead-lined bin in my vault for safekeeping.

  Finding Jacob Carroll just became a priority.

  ♦

  It had been another weird night, and I couldn’t wait to get home to John. My last appointment left around four so I let Lissa go home early. Twenty minutes later, I tucked my Ferragamo pumps back into my desk drawer, slid into my Vans, and I was out the door myself.

  Sunrise was still a couple of hours away, and the alley was dark. We’ve never put security lighting out there because we don’t want to draw attention to our door. Most of our clients use flashlights or a bit of magic illumination so they don’t trip on the cobblestones. But, after being in business here for several years, I could navigate the alley just fine in the pre-dawn light.

  The temperature had been well over 100 the day before, and the walls and pavement still held their heat. I threw my coat over my arm and turned right, toward the parking lot where my Beemer waited for me. I had only taken a couple of steps when I sensed someone behind me.

  Two figures in jeans and hoodies slouched against the wall at the sidewalk end of the alley. They were silhouetted in the streetlights in front of Bronwyn’s shop. It looked like the goth kids were back to make another try at the alley door.

  “Hey!” I shouted. They looked up at me, but their faces were still in shadow. “Didn’t get enough the first time?”

  The taller figure raised his arm and pointed at me. A shot whizzed past my ear.

  “Door! Alarm!” I yelled as I dove back inside. The door slammed behind me.

  “Well, that was fun,” Frank said. I hadn’t noticed him slink up next to my elbow. He winced. “Can’t you do something about that noise?”

  The alarm on my alley door does not sound like a car alarm. It wails like the gates of hell itself have opened. Even at that hour, someone in the bars or hotels in the neighborhood would call the cops.

  Just as all calls to Uber for the alley shop are magically routed to Stella, all calls to the police department regarding that address go to my cousin Jim, a Scottsdale detective. He works nights, and the door admitted him seven minutes later.

  I was still shaking, cross-legged on the floor, when Jim got there. Frank had crawled up into my lap. He had informed me that it was for my own protection, and he permitted me to stroke his fur because I might be in shock. He pretended that he didn’t like it.

  “I thought it was just the goth kids again,” I said to Jim through chattering teeth.

  “What goth kids?”

  I filled him in. “I never mentioned it because they didn’t get in, and the door took care of it. That’s why I was so surprised to see them out there. Usually, all it takes is one encounter with the door to make the point.”

  “And you think this was them, again?”

  I shook my head. “They were just teenagers looking to get a little trouble. I can’t imagine them carrying a gun.” I shivered again. “These guys weren’t burglars. They were waiting for me.”

  Jim sighed. “I’m guessing it would be pointless to ask you whether you’ve made any enemies lately?” He was aware of the nature of my clientele, and coming from a witchy family himself, he knew how volatile our lifestyle could be.

  I thought about it. “Sorry, nobody stands out.”

  He shook his head in frustration. “O
kay, let’s look at the video.”

  There’s a security camera above the alley door, but it’s usually not turned on — my clientele would not appreciate having their comings and goings recorded. But once the alarm is tripped, the camera captures the 180-degree view of whatever is going on in the alley for the next 30 minutes.

  The video confirmed what I remembered: two forms leaning against the wall at the mouth of the alley. They were a few feet back from the sidewalk, and the camera had caught them only as shadows. The light silhouetted the taller one as he stepped into a shooting stance and raised his arm. The muzzle flash flared a few frames to white as he fired at me.

  I glanced over at Jim while he watched the footage. His jaw was locked. “It doesn’t look like you ever had a chance to see their faces,” he said. He was right; the video showed only shadows and blurs. He scowled. “There’s not much to work with here.”

  “So, are they coming back?” I asked.

  Jim considered the question. “If this was a normal business, and you were a normal person, I would say no. I’d tell you not to be out on the streets alone at night. But considering the circumstances, my best advice is to keep your eyes open. If you can, get one of your friends to escort you back and forth to work, and maybe keep watch while you come down that alley. At least do that much. Agreed?”

  I gave him what I hoped was a compliant smile. I could get Stella to Uber me back and forth, and I certainly could make an effort to be more aware of my surroundings. I’d turn on the camera and keep the app open in the corner of my desk computer so I could keep an eye out for Lissa and our clients as they came and went.

  The one thing I could not do was tell John. When I got home, I told him that I was having some trouble with the Beemer, and that Stella would be driving me for the rest of the week until I had time to take it into the shop.

  He was always pretty good with cars, and I could tell it was killing him — pardon the expression — to look down from the balcony and know he couldn’t just go out to the parking lot and fix it.

  “Just let it go,” I finally pleaded, and to my great relief, he did. With any luck, that would be the end of it — but I doubted it. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t over.

  Chapter Six

  The next night, Lissa ducked out for a few hours: Orion had planned a special dinner for them at one of the swanky restaurants in Old Town. I was happy for the time alone.

  Tonight, I was starting my search for Jacob Carroll.

  Jacob hadn’t required a referral to Pentacle Pawn because he and his late mother were longtime clients, but now I needed to know more.

  I called Enoch Dobbins, the lawyer who was handling Jerry’s lottery wins and did occasional legal work for my shop. Enoch had been around town a long time, way before the Indian casinos became everybody’s Saturday night, and he loved roulette and craps. I figured that Enoch quite literally knew where the bodies were buried.

  It was after 10 p.m., but when I called his home number, Enoch picked up on the first ring.

  “I was wondering when you’d call,” Enoch said in his cigar-graveled baritone. “I hear it’s been busy over there.”

  Magical communities are like small towns, and gossip travels fast. And, despite its status as an international resort, Scottsdale is a small town. Enoch Dobbins is a leader of both, and secrets are his stock in trade.

  “A bit busier than I’d like,” I admitted. “What can you tell me about Jacob Carroll?”

  I heard him chuckle. “Ah, Jacob. What’s he been up to now?”

  “I’m not really sure. I ended up with some property that belongs to him, and I need to return it as soon as possible. I was hoping that you might know how to contact him.”

  Enoch took a moment to consider. He was weighing our relative value to him, Jacob’s and mine. He must’ve decided that I was the better long-term prospect.

  “That boy sure is a handful,” Enoch said. “His poor mama...well, she did her best with him, I suppose, but since she passed, he’s been bound and determined to run through her money like it was water.”

  “Then you administer his trust?”

  “Can’t confirm or deny,” Enoch said. I heard him take a long draw on his cigar. “Ask another question.”

  I thought about it. “I’m trying to figure out why he would be in such a big hurry to pick up a valuable brooch that his mother had left with me, and the very next day he turns around and wants to leave one of his grandmother’s heirlooms. I thought he was cashing out.”

  Enoch snorted. “That, I can answer. He’s into some serious people for some serious money. That’s why he wanted to cash in his mother’s jewelry. That heirloom he wanted to leave with you — was it witchy, or just a collectible?”

  “I don’t do collectibles. Something is going on with that teapot; I’m just not quite sure yet what.” I told him about how Jacob had abandoned the teapot in Stella’s car.

  Enoch was thoughtful. “That doesn’t sound like he was hiding it from his creditors. More likely, he wanted to keep it away from somebody who knew what it could do.” He took another drag on the cigar. “I’ll be happy to make some calls.”

  ♦

  Bronwyn left a phone message as she left for the day that a Mrs. Phoebe Sandringham had stopped by at lunchtime to say hello. The name didn’t ring a bell, but Mrs. Sandringham said she was a friend of my mother Hazel’s and mentioned how lovely Daisy’s garden was at the New Orleans shop.

  It was entirely possible that Mrs. Sandringham was exactly who she claimed to be, but by the time I got Bronwyn’s message, my mother would have been asleep for hours. Lissa had apparently picked up the message and spoken with my mother, because she had penciled Mrs. Sandringham in for the following night. I was overdue to give Hazel a call anyway, so I promised myself I’d check in with my mother in the morning.

  But, just before midnight, the door admitted a small, thin, elderly woman with caramel skin and purple hair. Sorry to barge in early, she apologized, but she was only in town for a few days. She was playing tourist, and nobody in “our set” visited Arizona without stopping by Pentacle Pawn. In the magical community, it would be like skipping the Grand Canyon, she said in an accent that revealed her youth in the Indian subcontinent.

  I was flattered, if a bit mystified. I was positive that we had never met, but there was something about her that was so familiar.

  I made Mrs. Sandringham some tea and showed her around the shop. As we spoke, I studied her. We chatted about my recent renovation — the cover story I’d put out to explain being closed for three weeks after Penelope had sacked the place in her quest for a blue amber amulet and its spellbook — and Mrs. Sandringham gushed over the museum-quality antiques that had replaced my smashed cabinets and counters. A little gesture here, a turn of a phrase there: it was killing me that I couldn’t place her.

  Lissa came in just as we were finishing our tea. I introduced her to Mrs. Sandringham and thanked her for setting up the appointment. Lissa started to say something, but Mrs. Sandringham set aside her teacup and rose from the settee.

  “I’ve had such a lovely visit — thank you both!” she gushed as she sashayed toward the door. “I’ll be sure to let your mother know what a lovely evening I had visiting with you.”

  And with that, she was out the door.

  “I wish I could remember when I met her,” I said to Lissa. “She seems so familiar, but I just can’t put my finger on it. What did my mother tell you about her?”

  Lissa blushed. “She wasn’t supposed to come until tomorrow, so I was going to give New Orleans a call in the morning. I didn’t want to take a chance on waking your mother.”

  Smart girl. My mother is a force of nature, and not one that you want to awaken with the phone ringing in the middle of the night.

  “No harm done. I’m sure it’s fine, but I’ll call Hazel in the morning, just to be sure.” Lisa wasn’t making eye contact, but she was drawing circles in the nonexistent dust on the countertop with her
index finger. She was working up the courage to tell me something. It wasn’t what I expected.

  “And?” I left the question hanging in the air.

  “And,” she said, “I’m moving in with Orion. He asked me tonight.” “Wow,” was all I could manage to say.

  “Oh, it’s not like that,” she said quickly, wiping the rest of the nonexistent dust away with the palm of her hand.

  It was exactly like that. Orion is one of the most beautiful men on the planet. Lissa is a vibrant, if a little naive, young woman. I was happy for them both.

  ♦

  Stella stopped by just after Lissa got back, and they gushed girl talk about Lissa’s big news. I envied them a little for the newness of it all, that first time in a real relationship when every emotion is in sharp relief. When I thought about it, my own personal life was new, too, but in a very different way. I loved John, but we were in uncharted territory.

  Stella eventually dropped by my desk where I was slogging through the month’s worth of paperwork. “I just wanted to make sure everything was okay,” she said.

  I looked up at her from the phone bill on my screen. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “It’s just that... that Mrs. Sandringham? She was a little, well, odd.”

  In what way?” Odd would be an accurate description for at least half of my clientele.

  “She was doing that same thing that Mr. Carroll did. It was like she was trying to block me from reading her thoughts.”

  Stella had my attention. “Is that usual?”

  Stella shook her head. “Most people don’t even know that I’m hearing them, and I try not to pry. But sometimes, it’s like people are trying to intentionally generate static. It gives me a headache, but it doesn’t happen very often. That’s why I thought I ought to say something. It’s a weird coincidence to have two of them so close together.”

  I’ve said it before: I don’t believe in coincidences. I made a mental note to call my mother about Phoebe Sandringham.

  ♦

  Lissa was down in the vault doing inventory when my cell rang.