2 Lady Luck Runs Out

by Shannon Esposito

  Suddenly, Lucky leaped silently to the floor. I gasped. "Mallory!"

  Mallory blinked, still groggy. "What?"

  "Look!" I pointed to Lucky as she padded across the floor for the first time since we had found her.

  Mallory rubbed her eyes and pushed herself up slowly on one elbow. "What is she doing?"

  "Don't know," I whispered. As we watched, Lucky dropped the hair tie and tilted her chin up, still focused on something above her. She let out a happy chirp and began purring like a motorboat, then flopped down onto her side and stretched out, pink paws and claws reaching and stretching to both corners of the room. The purring grew louder. What did she see? Or who?

  Mallory and I looked at each other.

  "Do you smell jasmine?" I whispered.

  "Yeah." Mallory nodded. "Definitely jasmine."

  The moment was too big to put into words so we just shared a smile.

  * * *

  Two days later I was hugging my sister as her suitcase and guitar were being loaded into the back of a cab.

  "I'm sorry it turned out Sammy knew about the diamond smuggling, Mal."

  "Yeah," she sighed, "me too. Live and learn, I guess." She shook her head. "I still can't believe Bernard Grayson had that poor woman killed over being a gifted psychic. Maybe you're right about hiding who we are from people."

  I took her hand. "No, don't you change now. You saved our lives because you refused to be ashamed of your gift. Father would have been proud of you. Or is proud of you." It was all so confusing. I smiled and wiped a tear from her flushed cheek. "Are you sure you don't want to stay longer?" I held onto her hand.

  She squeezed my hand and sighed. She still looked tired. Her normally bright eyes were dull and sunken. "I need to go home." Then in a dramatic voice, she added, "My work here is done."

  "And what fine work it was." I shook my head, still in disbelief of how everything turned out. "Bernard Grayson will be going away for a long time."

  "After he recovers from being caught in the explosion." She frowned. "Oh, I almost forgot. I talked to Grandma Winters this morning and told her about our... adventure." She glanced around and then leaned closer to me. "She told me to tell you to stay away from Zach Faraday. Said it sounds like he's part jinn and they are dangerous."

  I stared at her. "Jinn? As in Genie?"

  "Yep."

  "Well, that explains a lot." I hadn't heard from Zach since that night. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. If I was honest, a little disappointed.

  She lifted the cat carrier. "All right. Say goodbye to Lady Luck."

  I leaned over and stuck my finger into the carrier, scratching under Lucky's silky chin. "Good work, Lucky. You helped us catch your mom's killer. You enjoy your new home now and take care of Mallory." Lucky's big green eyes stared at me. She mewed. I laughed. "I'll miss you, too."

  Mallory and I hugged tightly one more time. Before she slid into the backseat, she turned to me. "Grandma Winters also said to tell you to practice. That way your little sister won't have to fly here and save your butt again." She grinned and then disappeared into the cab.

  I crossed my arms as I watched the taxi drive her away. She was right. With our magick came accountability. I had no right to deny the gift our father had given us. It was dangerous. And selfish.

  "Hey."

  I whirled around. Will stood behind me, his hands shoved into his jean's pockets. His dark hair was mussed and he looked like he hadn't slept in days. He looked younger and more vulnerable than I had ever seen him.

  My heart leapt into my throat. "Hey, what are you doing here?"

  "I wanted to take you to lunch." He flashed that little half smile that melted my heart. "And talk. Unofficially."

  I gave the taxi one more glance as it turned the corner and disappeared out of sight. "All right." We walked down to Parkshore Grill. I wanted to slip my hand in his but he kept them in his pockets. Besides, I had no right to be thinking that way. I had no idea where we stood.

  "So your sister went home?"

  "Yeah. She took Lucky back to Savannah. Funny how things work out. I'll actually miss them both. That big old townhouse is going to seem awfully empty now."

  I took a seat at an available table, expecting Will to slide in across from me. Instead, he knelt on the sidewalk in front of me.

  "Will?" I eyed him questioningly.

  He took my hand and lifted his eyes to meet mine."Darwin Winters, I promise to keep an open mind and try my best to put aside my doubts and prejudices." He pulled the amethyst ring from his pocket and held it next to my ring finger. "Can you forgive me for being such a jerk?"

  I laughed. Tears stung my eyes. "Oh, Will, I never thought that."

  He slipped the ring on my finger and pressed his warm mouth to my hand. "I mean it, Darwin. This is my solemn commitment to you."

  A family walking by clapped and smiled at us. I stared at the ring, speechless then pulled him up and wrapped my arms around his neck, burying my face in his shoulder. Heavens it felt good to be in his arms again.

  He pulled away and lifted my chin so we were eye to eye. "And I need you to promise that you'll stop putting yourself in dangerous situations."

  I blinked innocently at him. "Why Detective Blake, whatever are you talking about?"

  He gave me a hard look. "I mean it, Darwin. You're shortening my life span."

  I laughed. "Well, I wouldn't want that on my conscience." I held my hand over my heart, the hand now sporting a promise ring from this beautiful creature kneeling before me. I felt like the luckiest gal in the world. "I promise that I will try my best not to put myself in dangerous situations."

  His eyes narrowed. "Why don't I believe you?"

  I opened my mouth in mock surprise. "Doubting me already?"

  He stood and kissed my mouth softly. I melted into him. Better this way. I didn't have to explain to him that I don't put myself in these situations. The animals get me involved. And how could I say no to them?

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Shannon Esposito is a Florida author who believes in the power of an open mind. Exploring the unknown through writing fiction is her idea of magic. Her novels are sometimes steeped in science and sometimes wrapped in the paranormal but, as in real life, the heart of all stories is the mystery.

  murderinpardise.com

  *Author's note: I love hearing from readers. Feel free to email me at shannon@murderinparadise.com. And if you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving a review on Amazon. Thank you!

  Look for these other misterio press titles:

  Karma's A Bitch (A Pet Psychic Mystery) by Shannon Esposito

  Multiple Motives (A Kate Huntington Mystery) by Kassandra Lamb

  Maui Widow Waltz (Islands of Aloha Mystery) by JoAnn Bassett

  The Metaphysical Detective (Riga Hayworth) by Kirsten Weiss

  Free Excerpt: The Alchemical Detective, by Kirsten Weiss

  The egg quivered, then rolled, seemingly of its own accord, to the edge of the counter.

  Riga stared at it, her violet-colored eyes narrowed in concentration. Magic, she reminded herself, was a matter of will and she had that in spades. However, it was also a matter of focus and in this area, she was lacking.

  The egg trembled, then slowly rose into the air; one inch, two inches, five.

  “Yes,” Brigitte said encouragingly, her voice a French-accented Lauren Bacall. Her stone claws tensed, gouging tracks in the linoleum countertop.

  The egg exploded, splattering the gargoyle with shell and yolk.

  Brigitte shrieked, the sound of rocks scraping against each together. “Faugh! Water! Bring ze water!”

  Riga hurried to the sink and turned on the tap, frustration wrinkling her brow. She grabbed a dishtowel and soaked it in warm water. Her hands trembled and Riga swore under her breath. Two months ago, this would have been easy.

  At first she’d thought her magic was gone. Now Riga knew it had gone haywire and her rehab attempts weren’t working. If anything
, her magic had become more unpredictable, more dangerous. She only dared practice with Brigitte because the centuries-old gargoyle was made of stone. But even Brigitte wasn’t indestructible.

  Someone beat upon the front door and Riga whipped around, startled. She should have sensed whoever was coming up the steps. Another small failure. More pounding; the cheap wooden door vibrated beneath the blows.

  “Police! Open the door!”

  Gargoyle and woman looked at each other. Woman acted first. Riga tossed the towel in the sink. “Don’t move,” she said to Brigitte.

  “But ze egg. It dries like cement,” Brigitte wailed.

  “Later.” Riga hurried to the door and flung it open. A chilly blast of pine-scented air swept inside, tossing Riga’s auburn hair and stinging her skin.

  Two sheriffs stood before her in wide brimmed hats and heavy dark brown parkas. Riga might have taken them for rangers had it not been for their belts, strapped with weapons, slung low on their hips. The older one had his fist raised for another round of door pummeling. He lowered it with what looked like regret. He was bulky, bearlike, with steel blue eyes, and she imagined he enjoyed making the door shiver beneath his fist. The tag under his badge read: Sheriff John King. The badge itself: El Dorado County.

  “I heard a woman scream,” King said.

  “I banged my shin on the coffee table,” Riga said.

  “Are you alone?” He peered over Riga’s shoulder. It wasn’t hard – Riga was five foot six, and he stood well over six feet tall, imposing in every direction.

  “Yes. Can I help you?” Riga didn’t budge, unwilling to let them in. It wasn’t that Riga didn’t like cops; she was friends with plenty of them, when they were out of uniform.

  “It was quite a scream,” he said.

  She quirked her lips. “Now you’re just embarrassing me.”

  The Sheriff looked at her. She returned his gaze. The silence stretched between them.

  The Deputy coughed. “Are you Ms. Hayworth?” he asked. Riga figured him for his early thirties, which meant she had a decade on him. He was well built, and between the startling pale blue of his eyes and the chiseled planes of his face, would have looked at home on a magazine cover. But Riga’s gaze was drawn to the Sheriff. The Deputy had youth, the Sheriff had presence.

  “I’m Riga Hayworth.”

  “My name is Night, Deputy Night. May we come in? Please?” He smiled ruefully, exposing dimples and gleaming white teeth. “It’s kind of cold out here.”

  Riga hesitated. But she wasn’t wearing a coat and was freezing in the doorway. She could feel the heat from the cabin oozing past her, out the door. “Okay.” Reluctantly, she stepped back, and allowed them past her.

  Hands resting on the butts of their guns, they prowled the room as if they owned the place. They could have it, for all Riga cared. It was one of the lower-end tourist cabins, crammed with a mis-matched jumble of seventies era furniture. A giant picture window looked out upon a forest scene: pines, and patches of snow wetting the ground. The afternoon sun slanted low in the sky, sending beams of light glittering through damp tree branches.

  Brigitte, still covered in egg, had shifted to face the cabin’s small living room. The deputy stared at the gargoyle, walked to Brigitte, and ran his hands across her stony feathers as if in a caress. Brigitte would love that, Riga thought.

  “Cool harpy,” he said. “Where’d you find it?”

  “Garage sale.”

  Night tucked his hat under one arm, and ruffled his blond hair with his free hand. “Do you know it’s got egg on it?”

  “Forget the statue,” the Sheriff barked. Turning, he stumbled over a cheap American-Indian themed rug. “Miss Hayworth, may we sit down?”

  She indicated the lumpy sofa, a cruel gesture given the state of its springs, but she didn’t want them to linger.

  They sat. She remained standing.

  The Sheriff removed his hat and put it on a nearby coffee table, covering decades of coffee rings. “Riga Hayworth. Is that your real name?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “If you mean, did my parents choose it? Yes.”

  “Funny sort of name,” King said. “Like that old movie star. Were your parents fans?”

  She shook her head, no. Not after she’d grown to look more and more like the screen siren; that had disturbed her parents, made them wonder if they’d really picked the name or if the name had picked their daughter. Riga’s resemblance to Rita Hayworth was uncanny; auburn hair, arched eyebrows, and olive skin.

  “How well did you know Sarah Glass?” King asked.

  Riga looked at him blankly.

  Sheriff King shifted with impatience. “Otherwise known as Lady Moonstone.”

  “The palm reader?” Riga asked, surprised. “Not at all. I think she’s a member of the Tea and Tarot group. She didn’t show at last week’s meeting, which was my first, so I never had a chance to meet her.” Riga had forced herself to attend for the first and probably last time. She wasn’t a joiner.

  Now, Riga knew, she was supposed to ask why the police wanted to know about Sarah Glass. But the cops weren’t here to satisfy a casual curiosity. Something bad had happened and Riga wanted to put off learning what it was for as long as possible. Though her magic had gone awry, she sensed the tug of something dark and inexorable moving towards her, and didn’t like the feeling.

  “What’s Tea and Tarot?” King asked.

  “The local metaphysical professionals meet twice a month to talk shop at the Fortune Teller’s Café.”

  “Who was there last week?” the Sheriff said.

  “The owner of the café, Tara, was there. She reads cards. Lily, a tea leaf and palm reader was too. And so was an astrologer, Audrey. She also has an energetics practice.”

  “Energetics?” Night asked.

  “Reiki, that sort of thing,” Riga said.

  The Sheriff drummed his fingers on the nearby table. “I hear you’re a P.I. of some sort, did some consulting for the Oakland police.”

  Riga crossed her arms, thinking. The Oakland connection was an odd one for them to pick up since she’d lived in San Francisco. The SF cops would have been a more obvious reference. “I’m a metaphysical detective and I have a California investigator’s license. I’m not licensed in Nevada. How did you hear of it?”

  “Cops talk,” the Sheriff said. “They said you knew how to keep your mouth shut.”

  It wasn’t exactly a rave review, but she couldn’t blame the Oakland PD. It had been an unusual case, even by her standards. She was surprised they talked about her at all. “Are you looking to hire a consultant?” Riga placed a subtle emphasis on the word “hire.” She’d come here for an extended vacation, but turning it into a work trip held a certain tax deductible appeal.

  In response, the Sheriff unzipped his parka and pulled out a manila file folder. From it he withdrew an eight by ten photo. He extended it towards her.

  Okay, she thought: he wanted to see what a metaphysical consultant could do. She took the photo, and returned to her spot against the counter beside the gargoyle. Riga held the picture before her so Brigitte could view it: a black and white glossy of a metal disk with a symbol impressed upon it – two concentric circles with oddly shaped letters and symbols drawn between the two and a square grid in the center overlaid with jagged lines. The expression on her face flickered, then stilled.

  “You know it?” the Sheriff said, leaning forward in his seat.

  She grimaced in distaste. “It’s a sigillum used to summon and control a demon when you don’t know the demon’s name,” she said. “The style is similar to the Sigillum Dei Aemeth created by John Dee but there are key differences which make this unique. There was a man in Paris who used a system like this, invented it in fact, named Francois Lefebvre. The Parisian police will have a file on him. He died five years ago in a fire. Lefebvre didn’t take students, wasn’t the type to share, but he had servants. They may have learned his technique.”

  “How did you l
earn it?” the Deputy asked. He was taking notes and turning a pencil between his fingers. His hands were calloused, roughened by work, and she imagined the young man swinging an axe, splitting firewood.

  “I never said I learned it,” she said.

  “But you know enough to identify it,” Night persisted.

  “Lefebvre tried to summon a demon in my presence,” she said dryly. “It’s not something one forgets.”

  The Sheriff’s bushy eyebrows rose. “Did he succeed?”

  “Of course not,” she said. Lefebvre had succeeded in raising the demon, but not in controlling it. Riga had seen to that. The demon had seen to Lefebvre. Riga had managed to evade the Parisian cops, keep her involvement secret, and she wasn’t about to upset the status quo.

  “You haven’t asked me what this is about,” King said.

  “What’s this about, Sheriff?”

  “Sarah Glass was murdered. We found this beside her, and now you tell me you’re one of the few people in the world who knows what this is and how to use it.”

  Damn it. She should have known nothing good could come from telling them about Lefebvre. But she’d maintained a reasonable relationship with the authorities by not withholding evidence, even when the police neither liked nor believed her.

  “I understand you’ve got some fighting skills?” the Sheriff asked. “Have studied martial arts?”

  “I’m no black belt. What does hapkido have to do with this sigil?”

  The Sheriff leaned forward, his stare unrelenting. “So what happened here? Did a demon kill her?” His voice was mocking.

  “I have no idea how she died or by whose hand,” Riga said. “If I had more information—”

  He stood and replaced his hat. “Can’t give you that. Thanks for your help, Miss Hayworth. Don’t leave town.”

  Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN