Hidden Mortality

by Maggie Mundy

  Nanna pursed her lips and shook her head. Cara ignored the silent criticism. The rhyme was the best she could come up with on such short notice.

  A picture formed in the mirror of Nanna sitting at the book launch. In front of her was the man with the rose. Then the picture changed to the torso of a woman. The body had been sliced open with the mark of a cross and a meandering line cut through on top.

  As in Cara’s dreams, there was a dagger with an ornate handle plunged into the heart of the woman. Then the picture faded. All Cara could see was the ceiling and the tasseled lampshade above their heads reflected in it.

  Nanna came across and hugged her. “Oh Cara, you poor thing. Is that what you’ve been dreaming? It’s awful. Maybe, the man with the rose had something to do with it. I couldn’t sense anything, but then again you did say you felt strange today.”

  It was only now, when she sat safely in her grandmother’s embrace, that Cara realized how much her body was trembling. “Maybe, the dreams will stop. I have your necklace. Anyway, I can’t go and accuse some poor innocent man of murder. It probably happened because I hadn’t had any breakfast and felt a bit faint.”

  Nanna placed her hands palm down on the table and asked the Goddess to take the power back into the earth. She turned the light on again and blew out the candles. When she sat back down she looked like the cat that had gotten the cream.

  “This confirms you’ve the power and you can control it. Then again I’ve always known that and so have you. There’s one other thing I wanted to talk to you about. I’ve a box at my solicitors with some keepsakes in it. I think you should know more about our family’s past. I was going to leave you the chest anyway if anything happened to me, but I think you should have it now. I’ll phone my solicitor tomorrow and get him to send it to you.” Nanna reached across the table. She took Cara’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

  “Nothing’s going to happen to you,” Cara said. “If you’re going to insist on me being magical, then I’ve decided you’ll live forever.” A shudder went up Cara’s spine at the concept of a world without her grandmother in it.

  Back in Bristol Daniel showed up at the flat with the menus for their upcoming meals. The weekend passed in a blur of jobs. Her feet would never feel the same again. The soles ached as if they were bruised. If she had any sense she should have wished for magic shoes to stop her feet from aching.

  Tomorrow she would phone and confirm the bookings for next weekend. Plus the local paper, The Bristol Evening Post wanted to do a piece on the business because of the connection to her grandmother. Cara didn’t have a clue what she would say. For now she just wanted hot chocolate and bed, but her daft cat Merlin, still hadn’t come inside.

  Cara stomped her feet on the pavement to get some circulation back into her frozen toes as she called out, “Merlin. Come on, you’ve had long enough.” The sound of raucous meowing filled the air, followed by hissing and spitting. Then a bedraggled black and white cat limped across the road. “Sometimes you should learn to run away, Merlin.”

  Before she could say anymore he collapsed at her feet. Tears formed in her eyes and a lump rose in her throat as she wrapped him in her cardigan and carried him upstairs. His body, a heavy weight in her arms.

  She gently placed him on the floor in the flat but he didn’t make a sound. There was a long cut down his front leg and another one above his eye. Another deep gash on his abdomen covered the fur in blood. He was still breathing, soft shallow puffs of air.

  Cara grabbed her mobile from the breakfast bar and started to search for the emergency vet’s number. It rang when Merlin let out another howl of pain. Cara pressed ‘end call’ before the receptionist could answer. If there was a time to test her power, it was now. Closing her eyes, she made a circle in her mind, and asked the Goddess to protect her.

  “Merlin is laying hurt at my feet. Help me fix him up and make it tout suite.” She didn’t need Nanna here to tell her how awful that spell was.

  Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. She laid them gently on Merlin. Tears fell down her face. Did anything happen? Merlin stopped howling. He started to purr and lick his wounds. All she could see was a tiny scar when he cleaned away the blood on his leg.

  She peered at his head as she wiped it with a damp tissue, but the cut had closed. His abdomen was healed too. Maybe it was the other cat’s blood she had seen. That couldn’t be possible though. She had seen the open wounds. Maybe someone was out to get Merlin. No, that was silly. Mr. Dewet’s cat across the road was huge. Merlin had fought him before and it would probably happen again.

  Cara knelt on the floor, placing her hands palm down. She offered thanks to the Goddess and Nanna. Then, Cara sent the energy back. Closing her eyes she dissolved the circle. She’d done it. She had performed magic all on her own.

  It was probably her imagination, but her whole body tingled as if flooded with energy. Getting a wet, warm towel she finished cleaning Merlin. He meowed in protest at the attention. She picked him up and took him to the bedroom and laid him down on the bed next to her. The softness of his fur comforted her. She stroked him and drifted off to sleep.

  The blood was warm. It flowed away from the young woman’s throat and over her fingers. Cara sat astride the woman. The annoying fool fought too much. Death needed to be savored with each cut or there would be ragged edges on the wounds.

  Voices carried down the alleyway. Cara thumped the woman’s face again with her fists. There wouldn’t be enough time to finish the ritual. She wouldn’t be caught over this trifle. As she stood up to run, she glanced back at the woman on the ground to see the face change to that of Nanna’s.

  Her own screams woke Cara. She sat bolt upright in bed. The sweat chilled on her skin as she reached out and turned on the bedside lamp. She expected her palms to be covered in blood when she held them up, but they were clean. Merlin moved onto her lap and pressed up against her chest. Her breathing calmed. She reached over and picked up her grandmother’s book of spells and the stag necklace.

  Whatever these dreams meant, Nanna wouldn’t have protection anymore. She would send the necklace back. It had been silly to mess with magic. The dreams had come back so vividly it made her wonder if she could really imagine something like that. She’d never hurt anyone like that, so why did murder haunt her?

  Chapter 2

  Cara’s stomach ached as if a rat had been gnawing at it all night. When she returned from the interview she would ring her grandmother and check on her. She looked at her watch. It was almost ten and the interview was at eleven.

  She smoothed down her favorite blue pencil skirt and picked a cat hair off her cream jumper. The reporter would probably think she was going to turn up in green. Just because her cooking was from the Emerald Isle, it didn’t mean she had to be clothed in green, even if it was her favorite color.

  She also hoped they wouldn’t make any comments about her differently colored eyes. This story needed to be professional. It wasn’t about whether she was a witch, especially as she was sitting on the fence right now about the whole idea. Her mobile rang. It was Daniel.

  “Where are you? You said you’d be here by ten and more importantly, what are you wearing?”

  Cara laughed, hearing Daniel’s voice. “I’m sorry. I’ll be there in five.”

  Cara drove as fast as she could to Daniel’s place and hoped she hadn’t gotten a speeding fine along the way. He stood waiting on the pavement outside of his apartment. He wore a black suit, white shirt, green tie, and tapped his immaculately polished patent-leather shoe. His short blond hair was perfect as always, but he was holding a cake box. She dreaded to think what was inside. Today was not the day for surprises.

  “Love the outfit, Cara. Not exactly Irish though, is it? You have that lovely green vintage dress.” He shook his head in mock disapproval of her.

  “I decide
d it would look tacky if we dressed up in green with shamrocks everywhere. I just hope the publicity doesn’t mean we have to lose our edge.”

  “With your cooking and my panache, we’re not about to lose anything. I’ve always wanted to wear one though.”

  “Wear one what?” Cara stared at another set of traffic lights that had gone red as she approached. She was tempted to try and wriggle her nose like Samantha on Bewitched and make them change. Samantha would probably have been driving a fancy convertible rather than a Morris Minor van with a big emblem on the side saying Celtic Dinners.

  “A kilt. The Irish wore them as well as the Scots, though ancient Celtic warriors used to go into battle naked. I was so born in the wrong time. Jeff said he would love to see me in a kilt.” Daniel smiled wickedly.

  “I’m sure he would and you’d take the whole “no underwear” thing literally. Anyway, before I go insane with worry, what’s in the box?” Cara pulled into the car park of The Bristol Evening Post Building. She searched to find a space that might have been reserved for visitors.

  “It’s something I worked on while you were away.”

  Cara grabbed her briefcase from the back seat. Daniel lifted the lid on the box to reveal a white iced cake decorated with a green Celtic Mandela. She loved the Celtic knot design. She was pretty sure this one showed a spiritual connection but knew some represented nastier things and she didn’t need that today.

  “It’s the cake you did for the Morris couple. They said they didn’t want it as the daughter ran off with the minister. I thought it would be a shame to let it go to waste. We could do weddings.” Daniel grinned at her as they got in the lift.

  Cara shook her head not so much surprised at what had happened with the Morris family, but at the idea of doing weddings. Daniel wanted his own wedding so much he had forgotten her attitude of avoiding them.

  After leaving the lift and speaking to two more receptionists, they finally worked out where they were meant to be.

  “I bet Gordon Ramsey would have been met downstairs,” Daniel whispered.

  Peter Connor, the editor of The Evening Post’s “Good Food Guide”, would be the one to work out if they were interesting enough to be in his pages. The thought made her stomach churn. Daniel’s cake box was shaking so much, she was sure there would only be crumbs left. Maybe, that was a good idea.

  “Why the hell are we here, Daniel?” Her stomach gurgled and her palms went sweaty.

  “Because we want to be incredibly rich and famous.” Daniel winked.

  “No I don’t. That’s you.” Cara’s head started to thump. “I’ll be known as the witch who can cook because of my Nanna and her spells. You know that’s not where we want to go, not that I don’t love my Nanna. Now I sound pathetic. I think I’m going to throw up.” Cara’s hand went to her mouth when an incredibly handsome man stopped in front of her.

  “Hi, I’m Peter Conner. We meet at last. It sounds like a cliché but I’ve really heard a lot about both of you.”

  Peter offered his hand to both of them. Cara took it in her trembling grasp. She felt heat rising on her neck. He turned and motioned for them to follow him to his office. Daniel couldn’t take his eyes off Peter’s butt as they shuffled into his office. Peter turned and beamed at them with his perfect teeth, blond hair, and blue eyes.

  He wasn’t wrong when he talked about clichés, Cara thought. There was something about him that reminded her of Tony. Why was it her ex-lover kept popping into her mind even when she didn’t want him there? It reminded her of everything she had lost. She had to hold it together. She couldn’t deal with the past rearing its ugly head right now.

  “I’m not going to ask you a load of questions about how you cook your culinary delights. My assistant Carol will be talking with you later regarding those details. I wanted to speak to you personally because I’m planning a dinner two weeks from Sunday. I’d like your company to cater it. I’ve some big names coming and we would do it as a feature.”

  “Yes, of course we can manage that.” She dreaded the idea of cameras being shoved in her face. Worse still would be those startling blue eyes of Peter Connor staring at her all evening. It would be stupid to turn him down when they wanted to make their business a success.

  “May I enquire what’s in the box?”

  Daniel beamed with pride as he lifted the lid. Thankfully the cake hadn’t collapsed into a thousand pieces. “Cara’s Irish whiskey fruitcakes are famous. I’ve been experimenting with some decorations with weddings in mind.”

  “Does the green design on top have any significance?”

  “It’s a Celtic Love Knot and conveys the intimate relationship of lovers.” Daniel smiled, eagerly. “The lines cross over each other and wrap around each other so that everything is connected. The knots are beautiful and have no beginning or end. It can also show how there must be equality in a relationship or one will devour the other.”

  Cara shook her head. Why did he always have to be so dramatic? Peace doves would have been so much easier to live with.

  “It’ll be perfect for the photo shoot.”

  Peter pressed a button on his desk. His assistant, Carol, was immediately there ushering them out. Half an hour of questions followed. Cara drew the impression that Peter’s assistant was looking down her nose at them as if they were gone off crème brûlée.

  “I read your family comes from Ireland. Your grandmother recently published a cookbook. The talent runs in the family then,” Carol said.

  “I’d love to think someday I could reach the heights of my Nanna’s cookery. She’s gifted when it comes to food.” Cara kept a straight face and guessed what was coming next.

  “The article in The Cork Examiner mentioned that you and your grandmother have unusual eye coloring which in years gone by indicated witchcraft. You’re not using incantations to mesmerize your clients are you?” Carol raised an eyebrow as she asked the question.

  Cara sighed before answering. “I did try once to get one of our clients to sign a blank check after eating my Irish stew. I didn’t do the incantation quite right and he refused to pay,” Cara teased. “I’ve given up on magic and resorted to hard work again.”

  Daniel chuckled beside her. Cara was glad when the interview finally ended.

  She pressed the button for the foyer as her mind wandered back to the photo shoot. The lift doors opened and she walked out before she realized they weren’t in the foyer but in a narrow corridor. Before she could turn around, she bumped into a middle-aged man in a crumpled suit.

  “What the hell,” the man yelled, as his folder fell to the floor. Papers and photographs scattered across the corridor.

  “I’m so sorry. I thought we were in the foyer,” Cara said, as she helped him pick up the fallen items.

  “Does this look like the bloody foyer? We are on the third floor, can’t you even press a button right?” With that, he snatched the photographs from her hand and headed off down the corridor.

  Daniel was still standing in the lift with his finger on the button. “What a grumpy old fart. Look he’s probably not getting any. You’re the closest he’s been to a female in years. If he’s gay, he’ll never get laid in that suit.”

  Cara tried to smile at her partner and hoped she didn’t look as dismal as she felt.

  The lift opened at ground level.

  “I need to go to the ladies. I won’t be long.” Once there, Cara sat in the cubicle and pulled the piece of paper from her pocket. It was from the reporter’s pile on the floor. Her hands shook as she read.

  “Two women have died in the last six months in an identical fashion. Their bodies have been mutilated and dumped. The police are afraid of copycat killers, but surely their silence may cause something worse.”

  The article went on to describe how the women had been mutilated. There was ev
en a picture of a woman’s body. Cara recognized the markings. They were identical to the ones in her dreams. She couldn’t keep the bile down any longer. She turned and vomited into the toilet bowl.

  Daniel stood in the foyer. He put his arm around her when she joined him. “You look awful. What’s wrong?”

  “I’m fine. I just let nerves get the better of me.”

  “You shouldn’t worry. I don’t think it went that badly, you know.”

  “Come on Daniel, I ogled Mr. Peter Perfect. Then I grinned my way through a photo shoot gormlessly.”

  “Come on, Cara.” He hugged her quickly. “You’re not gormless or you wouldn’t be my partner.”

  She managed a weak smile. “Look, I need to give this piece of paper to the receptionist over there. That grumpy guy dropped it and I picked it up by mistake.”

  Cara sat in her counselor Jessica’s consulting room wishing she was somewhere else. The session wasn’t going well. She had explained about the newspaper interview, but Cara knew her therapist’s look of concern regardless of how well it was disguised. Jessica wasn’t fooled that she was calm, cool and collected.

  “Have you spoken to your parents since last month?”

  “No.” Cara said too quickly and wanted to take the word back and make up an excuse.

  “What about the dreams?” Jessica asked, writing something in her file.

  “They’re less, maybe once a week.” Cara pulled her hair on her neck. She knew Jessica was there to help her but she really didn’t want to talk about it right now.

  “Is the dream still the same recurring one?”

  “Yes, but today I saw a photograph.” Cara struggled to breathe as she remembered.