by Eileen Wilks
“I know,” Lily said gently. “Did Steve not sense the possible intrusion? I’m told he cared about you, both before and after the baby was born.”
For a moment, her face glowed. “Steve loved me.”
“I guess you would know.”
She grinned suddenly. “It’s fun, trying to guess what you’re feeling. I don’t mean he was in love with me. He wasn’t. I mean that he loved me. And no, Steve didn’t have a big sense of privacy. A lot of lupi don’t, which is why I like being around them. But Steve really cared about me. He liked me. He liked being with me, both for sex and just for company, and it didn’t bother him if I was with other men sometimes. It truly didn’t.”
“I understand,” Lily said carefully, “that sex is different for empaths.”
Mariah giggled like the teenager she’d been only a year ago. “We’re the easiest of easy lays. I’ve heard that isn’t true for all empaths—some of them don’t like to be touched at all, but maybe they’ve got a stronger Gift than I do or something. For me, well, if someone wants me and he isn’t an asshole, and I can make him feel wonderful, and I know it would feel wonderful to me, too…because it does,” she added frankly. “It feels fantastic, because I experience his feelings, too. So I get caught up in the moment real easy. But Steve didn’t mind. Mostly if men don’t mind it’s because they don’t care about you, but Steve did care.” Sadness swept over her face. “He loved me.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” And ready to admit that Rule was right. This fragile, oddly gallant young woman hadn’t killed the man she loved. She truly wasn’t capable of it. “You said earlier there was something you wanted to ask me.”
“Oh. Oh, yes.” She looked down, toying with the bead in her eyebrow. “Nothing I know because of my Gift is evidence, right?”
“No, it wouldn’t be admissible. Nothing I learn from my Gift is admissible, either, though I’m allowed to consider it in the process of an investigation. Just as I could consider something you tell me, even if it couldn’t be used in court.”
Mariah nodded without looking up. “I guess I’m not sure enough to tell you about this…this thing that’s bothering me. I could be wrong.”
“People tell me things they’re wrong about all the time. It’s my job to sort that out.”
“But it would affect someone else.” She kept rubbing that little bead. “I need to think about it some more.”
Lily tried another tack. “I’ve heard that empaths know when someone is lying.”
“Hey, you’re a good guesser.” Mariah flashed her a smile and tucked one leg up on the couch. “I bet people lie to you all the time, too. You get where you sort of expect it. People do lie a lot.” She shook her head. “That was confusing to me when I was little, especially when they didn’t know they were lying. My father doesn’t always know. He makes himself think something is true when it isn’t, so when I was small I couldn’t tell when he was lying.”
“Can you tell now?”
“Well…not always. People say things they want to be true, or they say things they’re afraid are true, but they don’t know, so I pick up that fear or that wanting. When someone isn’t sure if what they’re saying is true, I can’t tell, either. I just know they aren’t sure. That’s why I told everyone little Stevie is Steve’s baby.”
Lily blinked. “What?”
“That’s what you’re wondering, isn’t it? Why did I lie? Or else, why did Steve lie? Because one of us has to be wrong, yet we stayed together. Or as much together as anyone is with a lupus,” she added practically. “Except for you and Rule.”
“You’re saying that Steve wasn’t sure?”
She nodded. “He said he was. He said he’d know if Stevie was his, but he wanted to be wrong. He wanted that badly, and that’s what I ‘heard’ when he told me Stevie wasn’t his—he wanted to be wrong. He wanted me to prove him wrong. And he could have been, couldn’t he? I used the fertility charm with him, not with anyone else.”
“Why did you use a fertility charm?”
“Because Steve wanted a baby so much, of course.” She glanced down at the sleeping bundle on the floor, her face soft and shining. “Not that I don’t want little Stevie for his own sweet self, because I do. But I guess I wouldn’t have thought of having a baby right now if Steve hadn’t wanted one so much.”
“So you went to your friend Adele—”
“No! Oh, sorry.” She flushed prettily. “I interrupted you. But I didn’t go to Adele. She came to me and offered to make the charm. That way the baby would be a gift from both of us, you see. Because she loved Steve, too.”
10
LILY spent a little longer trying to pry out the “thing that was bothering” Mariah, but she was a stubborn, slippery little waif. Had to be, no doubt, to survive her father. Lily did get names and contact info on several of the others in Adele’s little group, and straight answers to some basic questions. Mariah had been home alone, except for her baby, the night Steve was killed. Her neighbor had been home, though. Maybe he could alibi her.
No, she didn’t know any spells. Adele had offered to teach her some, but Mariah wasn’t interested in that sort of thing. Did Adele know that Mariah had a Gift, then? Maybe. Mariah hadn’t told her, but Adele might have guessed. They used to be really close.
Used to be, Lily thought grimly as she pulled up in front of a narrow store wedged between a Mexican restaurant and a hardware store. Had their closeness ended when Steve grew especially close to Mariah? Mariah had clammed up when Lily asked that…which pretty much answered the question.
Mariah’s neighbor hadn’t been able to alibi her. He didn’t say he’d been too high to know if he was home himself, much less his neighbor’s status, but Lily would bet on it.
She got out of her car, shut the door, then stood there watching the patrol car roll slowly by. It was the same asshole. And that might not be fair, calling him an asshole, because it wasn’t his fault his chief gave shitty orders, but she wasn’t feeling especially fair.
Practikal Magik was located at the edge of Del Cielo’s tiny downtown, and all the on-street parking was metered. Lily fed the meter a couple quarters on the theory that a touch of paranoia was helpful and she did not want the asshole ticketing her. Then she went to look in the window.
The display included an array of quartz crystals—clear, pink, and amethyst—several books, a scattering of polished stones, and a large silver-colored cauldron set on a low stool. She couldn’t see inside the store—a gauzy curtain veiled the window behind the display.
She went to the door. Locked. No note, but it was nearly noon. Adele had probably gone for lunch somewhere. Lily had two numbers for her—one for the store, one for her mobile phone. No answer on either, so she started knocking on doors.
Adele wasn’t eating at Casa Gomez next door, nor had anyone there seen her, but Lily learned that Adele usually parked her three-year-old Honda in back. A quick check showed that the vehicle was gone. According to the owner and chief cook at the little restaurant—Maria Esperenza Valenzuela Gomez—that wasn’t unusual; Adele often took long lunches, shutting her store for a couple hours or more.
No, she didn’t know where Adele liked to eat. Adele was one of those people who seem simpática, comprendes? A good listener, yes, with a nice smile, and always offering help or advice. But she says nothing of herself. And her help, it is always the help she wishes to give. Not always the help that is needed.
Yes, Adele was odd in her ways, but Mrs. Gomez didn’t hold that against her. Did she not herself have a great-aunt who was a curandera? And not a Catholic at all, she added, crossing herself. But Tía Jimena was a good woman, and God understood her heart. But Tía did not talk to strangers about her craft, no, not ever. She lived in the same village in Mexico where she had always lived, and she would not speak with someone from outside, and so she had told Adele when Adele asked.
After that, Mrs. Gomez said with a shrug, Adele had not offered help and advice so much.
Wolfbane? Mrs. Gomez knew nothing about that. Tattoos? Oh, yes, Adele used to work at a tattoo parlor in the city. She knew this because her sister’s son had gotten a tattoo there, a dragon of all things, and Felicia had been so upset, but she—Mrs. Gomez—had told her it was nothing, to forget it. It wasn’t a gang mark, was it? Boys need to do foolish things, so thank the good Lord it was nothing more than a silly tattoo.
After the interview, Lily ate a couple of Mrs. Gomez’s enchiladas, extra hot, at a tiny table while she jotted down notes. They were pretty good, though the “extra hot” should have come with an incineration warning. Then she checked her messages.
Rule had texted her at eleven. He was going to check out the crime scene. Lily looked up, chewing her lip. She wanted him to call, dammit, not text her a couple piddling lines. And that was just stupid. He usually texted instead of calling, especially about the little stuff, especially when she was on a case. He knew she kept her text alert on silent, so sending a text message didn’t interrupt her.
What she really wanted was an apology. He was wrong, dammit. He shouldn’t have used her password. He’d crossed a line, and he needed to know that.
But that had to wait until they were together. It couldn’t be discussed over the phone, and damn sure couldn’t be covered by a text. She checked her watch. Twelve twenty. Huh. Her inner Rule-compass, matched with the map she’d studied of the area, suggested he was still there. Either he hadn’t gotten to the scene right away after texting her, or he’d found enough of interest to keep him sniffing around awhile.
Well, if he learned something significant—like, say, if he found Adele’s scent all over—he’d call. Pissed or not, he’d call if it mattered.
There was a text from her sister—Beth had another boyfriend, and this one was hot—and one from Arjenie Fox: call me.
She did. And then she called Croft and told him she was now officially investigating murder by magical means.
The lacy choker tattooed around Steve Hilliard’s neck was a spell, all right. One that stopped his heart. That’s why there wasn’t much blood—his heart stopped pumping before his throat got cut.
“The slashed throat was intended to throw off the locals, keep us from being called in,” Lily told Croft. “It could have worked. The chief here is a member of Humans First. He wouldn’t look too hard, and if the body hadn’t been found so quickly, there might not have been enough of him left for us to even know about the tattoo. I bet she was counting on that.”
“She?” Croft said. “You’ve got a suspect already?”
“I do, but right now it’s all motive and speculation.” Hunch, she might have said, or instinct. Whatever she called it, she knew she was on the right track, but she didn’t have proof. “She does fit the M.O. She’s a spell-caster, an eclectic, so she could have learned that spell someplace.”
“You’ll need more than ‘could have.’”
“I’ll call you when I have it.”
As soon as she disconnected, she called Rule—and was shuffled off immediately to voice mail. Damn. Probably the mountains were interfering with reception.
She left him a brief message, checked her notes, refused the refill on her Diet Coke Mrs. Gomez wanted to give her, and set off to plug the meter—the patrol car was still cruising by every so often. Then she headed for the gas station on the corner. She wanted badly to get into Practikal Magik and look for Adele’s tattoo equipment, but she didn’t have enough for a search warrant, not yet. So she’d go see the closest member of Adele’s little group, one of the few males.
The pumps at the station were self-service, but there was a garage out back. That’s where she found Mannie Bouchard, scowling up at a Suburban raised high by the hydraulic lift.
Early twenties, six feet even, weight maybe one-fifty, black and brown. His skin was dark enough to suggest that Mannie might be short for Manuel in spite of the French surname. Slim verging on skinny, but his arms were ropy with muscle. Ragged hair, grease-stained jeans, sleeves ripped out of his T-shirt. A tattoo on his right bicep, but she couldn’t see what it was from here. “Mannie Bouchard?”
His head swung toward her, the scowl undisturbed—until someone flipped a switch and his thin face lit in a grin. “Hey! You’re Lily Yu, aren’t you?” He started toward her, pulling a rag from his back pocket to wipe his hands. “I’m Mannie, yeah.” His voice dropped as he reached her. “And I’m ospi to Nokolai.” He held out a hand.
Her eyebrows lifted. Ospi meant out-clan friend; used as he had, as introduction, it probably meant he was related to someone who was clan.
She shook his hand. No furry magic, but a small bump of a Finding Gift. “Your mom’s Nokolai?”
“Yeah. Dora Bouchard. You know her?”
It took a second, but once Lily placed the name, she smiled. “Nice lady. There’s no nonsense to her.” Dora was the daughter of one of the Nokolai councilors, so was considered clan. Her children weren’t. “Would you be the wild child she blames for her gray hair?”
“Sorry to say, but yeah. Though I’m getting my act together finally.” He grimaced. “I should tell you I’m on probation.”
“Oh?”
“Drove drunk, smashed up my car and someone’s parked truck. Just lucky I didn’t kill myself or anyone else. I’ve paid off the fine and damages. Got another month on probation.” He repeated that quick, blinding grin. “Got another car, too, a sweet little ’65 Mustang. Needed a new engine, so it’s not original, but man, is she sweet. No way I’ll take a chance on busting her up.”
“Sounds like you’re doing it right this time. Can you talk to me for a few minutes?”
“Sure. You want to go in my office?” He waved toward the front of the station and, she assumed, the tiny glassed-in cubby where she’d seen a chair, a counter, and a cash register.
As they headed that way he asked, “Is this about Steve? Man, that’s some seriously bad shit.”
“It is.” She glanced at him. “I’m thinking that, being raised by clan, you’d be able to speak frankly of sexual matters.”
“Well…yeah, I guess. Since you’re clan, you’ll understand.”
“Tell me about your group. The one that included Steve, Adele, and Mariah.”
He did. They had some really bad coffee in the glassed-in cubicle with him on a stool behind the counter, her in the single chair, and she learned that the group was loosely organized around a belief in sexual plurality and an interest in magical exploration. Adele was the leader in both realms. According to Mannie, Adele hadn’t minded sharing Steve physically, but she got twisted up when Steve spent too much time with any of the other women.
Like when Steve took up with Mariah?
“Yeah. I mean, Adele really was cool with the sex part, she wasn’t fooling about that, but Steve wanted more than a variety of bodies. Mariah was special to him, and Adele could see that. Shit, we all could. Adele still said the right things, but there was a strain, you know?”
Lily was pretty sure she did know. “You said you’re more interested in the magical exploration bit. What kind of exploring did Adele do?”
The grin was just as white this time, but more sheepish. “I didn’t mean that I was, like, immune to the sex. At first I liked that part, too, but after a while…I thought it would be more like clan.”
“It wasn’t?”
“First time I turned someone down, I saw the difference! Man.” He shook his head. “Adele says some of the same stuff clan does, but she gets it wrong.”
“How do you mean?”
“You know how the fundamental thing is that everyone owns their own sexuality? Everyone, all the time, no exceptions once you’re adult. So if a guy is turned on by other guys, that’s okay, or if you want to take a vow of chastity, that’s cool, too. Hard to understand, maybe.” A quick grin. “But okay. You don’t get to think you know what’s best for someone else, because it’s their sexuality, right? And it’s just as okay to say no as it is to say yes.”
&n
bsp; “Adele doesn’t agree?”
“She says the thing is to be kind to each other—well, that’s what Mom says, too, but she doesn’t mean it the same way. Adele thinks the only kind, healthy answer is yes. If you turn someone down, there’s something wrong with you.” Another head shake. “I think it’s a control thing with her. I tried to tell Steve that once, that she’s using sex for control, but he didn’t see it. But she never pulls that control shit with them. With the lupi, I mean. Not anymore.”
“Not anymore?”
“I wasn’t part of the group when Rule came in and pulled the plug a few years back, but I heard about it. He didn’t try to tell the older lupi like Steve what to do, but he had a word with the young ones, and pfft! They were gone, just like that, and they didn’t come back. Shook Adele up, I think.” His smile was sly. “I know it pissed her off.”
“If you aren’t happy with Adele’s sexual philosophy or her efforts to control the group, why stay with it?”
He sighed. “You read me, right? I’ve got a little bit of a Gift, nothing special. But that’s what rocks me, studying magic. I like working on cars, too, but they’re second. If I could make a living with spells…but, shit, even if there was a job like that, I don’t have the power.”
“Adele’s willing to teach you.”
“Yeah. Not many are, not when I’ll never be a powerhouse, and I get that. The ones with big-ass Gifts need help getting them under control, and they can do more with what they’re taught than I could.”
“I’ve always thought desire has as much to do with where we end up as raw talent. Stubbornness counts, too. Did Adele teach you any, ah, runic spells? The kind with patterns, drawings?”
He lit up. “No, those are more my thing. She’s into charms and potions, but potions are really hard to get right—the results can be unpredictable, you know? And charms take power. Me, I get off on the drawn spells. Lots of spells have a drawn or written component, but putting one all in symbols, that’s rare. I’ve been working on how to convert other kinds of spells to runic.”