Always Look Twice

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  She leaned back against his body, wishing she wasn’t getting so attached. Forever wasn’t in the cards, even if she’d already given him her spare toothbrush. “You won’t forget?”

  “Are you kidding? It’s all I’m going to think about.”

  She closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of his skin. “Me, too.”

  After the water turned cold, they climbed out of the tub and dried off. Standing side by side, they got dressed in her room, using the mirrored closet doors.

  “Are you going to the station today?” she asked, watching him tuck in his shirt.

  “Yes, but I can’t wear this. I have to go back to the motel and change.”

  She studied his reflection. “Why? Because you slept in your jeans? Or because you still have my underwear in your pocket?”

  “You mean these?” He pulled out her panties, waving them like a naughty treasure.

  She laughed and tried to grab them.

  He laughed, too, fighting for the lace thong, winning the war, shoving them back into his pocket. “Finders keepers, losers weepers.”

  “Oh, yeah?” She tackled him, knocking him onto the bed. Then an unwelcome premonition exploded in her brain.

  Stunned, she pulled back. “You’re going to figure out who the killer is.”

  He sat up, nearly lost his breath. “When?”

  “I don’t know. But that’s what’s going to get you in trouble.” Horrible trouble. Painful trouble.

  “You mean that’s what’s going to get me killed? Why can’t you let that go? Just forget about it?”

  Forget about it? Suddenly she wanted to pound some sense into him, slam her fists into his chest. “I’m going to talk to Glenn.”

  “What for?”

  “To find out what he knows. To try to get him to teach me how to use my mother’s magic.”

  “So you can fight forces you can’t even see?” West shook his head. “What if Glenn is the Slasher? What if he’s the witch we’re after?”

  “It’s a chance I have to take.”

  “Not without me. Not this time.”

  “Fine. I’ll arrange a meeting for both of us.”

  “When?” he asked.

  “This evening sometime, after Glenn gets home from work.” She lifted her chin, felt her pulse go haywire. “Maybe you should resign from this investigation. Go back to Virginia.”

  “Like hell.” He opened his briefcase, inserting the handcuffs she’d used on him. “There’s no damn way I’m going to back off, especially now.”

  “Even if it kills you?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Even if it kills me.”

  Silence consumed Glenn’s house. Olivia arrived early and, as usual, Glenn’s housekeeper had prepared some snacks, placing them on the coffee table. Fresh salsa, tortilla chips, a vegetable platter with dill-seasoned dip. Even the beverage, a pitcher of iced tea, looked enticing.

  Glenn filled his glass, but Olivia sensed that he would rather be drinking whiskey.

  He was nervous, she thought. Trapped in his own home.

  “So,” he said.

  “So,” she repeated.

  “Are we waiting for the police?”

  She shook her head. “The FBI.”

  His skin paled a little, and she realized why West enjoyed flashing his badge. Just the name of the agency wielded power.

  “How long are they going to be?” Glenn asked.

  She glanced at her watch. “Special Agent West will be here soon.”

  He wrung his hands together. “I wish Allie had joined us.”

  Olivia had purposely omitted her sister from this meeting. She hadn’t even told Allie about it. With a casual air, she reached for a celery stick and snapped it in two. Glenn all but flinched.

  The doorbell rang, intensifying the moment even more.

  When the housekeeper ushered West into the living room, Olivia and Glenn both rose from their chairs.

  Olivia glanced at her lover. He wore a pinstriped suit, a white shirt and a pale gray tie that mirrored the color of his eyes.

  He presented his badge and ID to Glenn, making the other man more uncomfortable than he already was.

  And then West did something unexpected. He turned to Olivia and brushed her mouth with his. A gentle kiss. A possessive kiss. A form of affection that knocked Glenn for a loop.

  He gave up on the iced tea and poured himself a stiff drink from the bar. “You’re sleeping with the FBI?”

  Olivia smoothed her micromini dress. “Not the whole FBI, just Agent West. But I guess Allie didn’t tell you.”

  “No, she didn’t.”

  “No reason she should,” West said. “What Olivia and I do is our business.”

  She picked up on his cue. “Just like what Glenn did with my mom was his business?”

  West unbuttoned his jacket, sat in an overstuffed chair. “No, not like that. Cheating with your best friend’s wife isn’t the same as two single people hooking up.”

  Glenn remained beside the bar. “I already explained how that happened.”

  “Right.” The special agent studied the food on the table, eyeing the colorful array of vegetables, the radish rosettes, the vine-ripened cherry tomatoes. “Witchcraft.”

  Glenn topped his glass. “A love spell.”

  “Love?” The word made West smile. A cool, malicious smile. “Lust isn’t love.”

  “It isn’t?” Olivia ate the broken celery sticks. “And here I thought it was.”

  West shook his head. “Nope. There’s a difference.”

  “My mistake.” She glanced at Glenn. He looked miserable. Mortified. Was he reliving the day his wife had walked in on him and Yvonne? The day his marriage had shattered?

  West sat back in his chair, waiting for Glenn to crack.

  He did, only a moment later. “What exactly is this meeting about? What is it you want from me?”

  “Funny you should ask.” This time, Olivia went after a chip. “I want you to teach me everything you know about my mother’s magic.”

  The older man turned toward a diamond-paned window, where a view of the Hollywood Hills lit up the night. “I don’t know much. Hardly anything.”

  “Really?” Olivia ate another chip, taking advantage of the thick, rich salsa. “Beth Moon told us you were part of the coven Derek and my mom started.”

  Glenn sucked in an audible breath, but he didn’t respond. He kept gazing out the window, wishing, it seemed, that the city would swallow him whole. Olivia almost felt sorry for him.

  Almost.

  “Were you involved in their coven?” West asked.

  A cleared throat, a quiet answer. “Yes.”

  “For how long?”

  “Several months. During my affair with Yvonne.”

  “Then tell us what you know. Help us with this investigation.”

  “Yes, of course.” Glenn glanced at Olivia as if he meant to apologize for dabbling in the black arts.

  She tried to gauge his emotions, but she couldn’t feel his energy. She didn’t know if he was as remorseful as he looked or if he was role-playing. Glenn had done some extra work in his youth. He’d always been drawn to the entertainment industry.

  Just like West’s profile of the killer.

  “All of the women in Yvonne’s family were witches,” Glenn said. “It was in her blood.” He paused to finish his drink, to calm his voice with alcohol. “For the Apache, there are two classes of witch power. The most dangerous is voodoo or sorcery, spells that can make people sick. The second is related to sex and is referred to as love magic. It’s only bad when applied in full strength, when normal physical attractions escalate into lust.”

  “And that’s what my mother did to you?” Olivia asked.

  “Yes.” Glenn turned to West. “Now you know what I meant by a love spell.”

  The special agent rubbed a hand across his jaw. “What kind of witch were you? What did you practice?”

  “I did whatever Yvonne told me to do. I helped her ste
al personal belongings from her victims, items she used in her voodoo magic, but I never learned how to utilize them. I don’t have any power of my own.”

  Once again, Olivia tried to read him, but she couldn’t gauge his sincerity. For all she knew, he was a full-blown sorcerer. “There’s nothing you can teach me?”

  “Nothing that isn’t already inside you. You were born with your mother’s power. It’s up to you how you use it.”

  Everyone fell silent for a moment, the impact of Glenn’s statement ricocheting between them, bouncing off the walls.

  Olivia was strong enough to be a Chiricahua witch, strong enough to use her ability in malevolent ways.

  “Was Yvonne a shape-shifter?” West asked.

  Glenn contemplated the question, taking a second to answer. “She claimed that her ancestors could take the form of animals. That they could fly through the night as an owl or become a wolf or a deer or whatever they wanted. But I don’t know if she could do it.”

  “What about Derek Moon?”

  “I’m not sure about him, either. But Yvonne taught him everything she knew. She was impressed with his power, even though they hated each other later on.”

  West leaned forward. “What about taking the form of another human being? Did they ever talk about that?”

  “No. But Moon used to clone people with image dolls and make the clones do sexual things. That’s his specialty. Warped love magic.”

  Olivia and West exchanged a quick glance, but Glenn didn’t seem to notice.

  “Witches like Yvonne are considered monsters in the Apache society,” he said. “They bring pain and destruction.” He turned to look at Olivia, his gaze boring into hers. “Be careful trying to learn your mother’s magic. It might turn you into a monster, too.”

  After Olivia and West left Glenn’s house, West remarked that he was hungry. He hadn’t sampled the snacks Glenn’s housekeeper had prepared, and Olivia wasn’t sure why. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to partake in food supplied by a suspect.

  She, on the other hand, had enjoyed making Glenn jump every time she’d taken a noisy bite, even if she’d only consumed a few deliberate morsels.

  She supposed she was hungry, too.

  They agreed to meet at a hookah bar and café in Hollywood. The exotic atmosphere intrigued Olivia, and West was a Middle-Eastern-cuisine virgin. That fascinated her even more. She wanted to deflower the special agent.

  They ordered their meals, and their appetizer—hummus—arrived right away.

  He spread a dollop onto some pita bread, tasted it, made an undecided face, then went back for more.

  “Experimenting?” she asked.

  “Seems like the thing to do.” He smiled at her, making her feel like part of his experiment.

  She figured that was okay, since he was part of hers. She’d never handcuffed a man to the bed. Ian West had been her first.

  “Did you get a reading on Glenn?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts.

  “No.” She glanced up and noticed a charm, an evil eye symbol, dangling from a hook on the wall. “Do you believe in monsters?”

  “The kind Glenn spoke of? Of course I do. I analyze violent criminals. Monsters are my specialty.”

  “What about the other kind?”

  “Folklore creatures? I believed in them when I was a kid.”

  “Like what?” She scooted closer. They sat side by side, rather than across from each other, but the table had been set up that way.

  “Like the giants my Muscogee grandfather taught me about. Their eyes open vertically instead of horizontally, and they can daze you, trick you and make you crazy. A temporary insanity. The Little People, fairies, can do that, too.”

  She tried to picture West as a boy, listening to his grandfather’s tales. She imagined him as a serious child, with his angular features and hypnotic eyes. “What else?”

  “There’s a sharp-breasted snake, a serpent, that can cut through the roots of trees and make them fall over. Another creature is called a nokos oma, ‘like a bear.’ It’s about the size of an ordinary brown bear, but it has huge tusks and it keeps its head close to the earth.” He drank more of his beer. “A lohka is an animal that sometimes appears in the shape of a cat, sometimes in the shape of a chicken.”

  Olivia wondered if Samantha was a lohka. She’d never morphed into a chicken, but sometimes she acted like one.

  Ten minutes later the waitress brought their meals, and they dined in the dimly lit café, with Middle Eastern music, the sound of hand drums, flutes and tambourines, playing on overhead speakers.

  West seemed to enjoy the seasoned couscous and lamb stew, but she knew he enjoyed her company even more.

  Afterward, he agreed to share a pipe with her, so they remained at the table, passing the hookah hose back and forth and sucking on the metal tip. The tobacco had been mixed with the fruit molasses and honey, making the experience smooth and sweet.

  When he touched her cheek, she leaned in to kiss him.

  “You taste good,” he said. “Like the smoke.”

  “So do you.” She’d chosen strawberry-flavored tobacco, like the fruit they’d eaten for breakfast, like the scent of the incense that had burned beside the bathtub when she’d reclined in his arms.

  “Is this a love spell?” she asked.

  “You ought to know.” He brushed his lips against her ear. “You’re the one capable of being a witch.”

  “Then that would make you my victim.”

  “Your willing victim,” he corrected. “You’re not taking away my free will.”

  No, but she wished she could. She wished she could use magic to send him back to Virginia. To keep him away from the killer.

  The witch who would send monsters to his door.

  Chapter 13

  Olivia followed West to his motel, parked beside him and got out of her car. He took her hand and, for a moment, they gazed up at the sky.

  “My father used to say that when there are only a few stars out at night, the others are sleeping.” She paused, thinking about her childhood, about the way her dad used to tuck her and Allie into bed, the envy she would sometimes see in her mother’s eyes. “He never really belonged to us, not completely.”

  “To who?” he asked. “You and your sister?”

  She nodded. “I miss him so much.”

  “Maybe I should have stayed at the other motel. Maybe he’s still there.”

  “His spirit shouldn’t be roaming the earth. That’s not how it should be.” She moved closer to West, inhaling his cologne, the familiarity of his scent. “We shouldn’t even be talking about this. I came here to make love with you.”

  “Then kiss me.” He tipped her face to his. “Under the sleeping stars.”

  She leaned into him, anxious to touch, to taste, to fill her senses with lust. But as their mouths came together, she shivered.

  Desperate, she put her arms around him, searching for warmth, but the chill continued, cutting bone deep, turning passion into pain, making colors twist and turn in her mind.

  She stepped back, nearly tripping on a pebble in the walkway. “Monsters.”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “There’s something creepy in your room.”

  A smile tugged at his lips, and she wanted to kick him. This wasn’t a game. Her premonitions weren’t supposed to amuse him.

  “Open the damned door and see,” she said.

  “Fine.” He did just that, using his key-card.

  She stood behind him, waiting for something dark and ugly to swallow him, to whisk him off to another dimension, to torture him for not believing her.

  He flipped on the light, waited a beat. But nothing appeared. Nothing but an exceptionally clean room.

  They both went inside, and he closed the door with a resounding click. “You want to talk monsters?” He loosened his tie, then removed his jacket. “There are some Muscogee creatures I forgot to tell you about.”

  “What are they?” she asked suspiciously,
her gaze darting from corner to corner, assessing the snakelike ties on the drapes, the mouth-shaped handles on the dresser. She knew inanimate objects could come to life.

  “I don’t know their official name, but they have penises so long, they can reach the tops of trees.”

  “Very funny.” She crossed her arms, refusing to get comfortable.

  “I swear it’s true. Enormous dicks.”

  “That’s not going to help you get laid.”

  He laughed and opened the closet, but nothing jumped out at him. No monsters. No porn-king creatures.

  “I’m not taking off my clothes.” She looked around again, imagining a fifty-foot penis sliding between her legs. “Not here. Not tonight.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “No, it isn’t.” She stood like a statue, wondering when the monsters would strike.

  He changed into a pair of sweats and a novelty T-shirt with FBI, Female Body Inspector, written across the front. West’s idea of a joke, no doubt.

  She watched him, then caught an image in the mirror.

  A human-size owl, its unblinking eyes boring into hers.

  “There!”

  He spun around and stared at the glass. “What? Where?”

  She stood next to him. “Right in front of you.”

  “I don’t see anything but you and me.”

  The creature angled its head, making a mockery of her. She considered shooting the mirror, shattering it with a round of hollow-point bullets, but she knew it wouldn’t do any good. To the Apache, an owl was the materialization of a ghost, of a bad spirit. A dead witch could enter the body of an owl, hurting people, making them sick.

  “You can’t stay here,” she told him.

  West remained where he was, facing a monster he couldn’t see. “Come on, Olivia. Give it a rest.”

  The owl moved from side to side, placing finger-size talons on West’s shoulder, holding on to his reflection, like the ghosts in the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland.

  Olivia shivered. “Move in with me.”

  “Are you serious?”

  She nodded, breathing deeply, inhaling, exhaling, trying to stay calm. The owl tore West’s shirt, piercing his skin. “Just until this case is over.”

  “So you can protect me?”