The Blue Amber Spell

by Amanda Hartford

I was out of breath when I got to the alley shop. As soon as I was in the door, Frank caught the look on my face. “Tell me,” he said. So I did.

  By the time I had finished, Frank had made up his mind. “We need to see what this Simon character is up to. You’re safe here whenever you’re at work, right?” I nodded—no way Simon was getting past the door spell. “So if he’s tailing you, I’ll tail him right back. We’ll figure it out.”

  Before I could respond, Frank had slipped outside.

  ◆◆◆

  Frank was back just after midnight.

  “I lost him,” Frank said, “so I figured I’d stake out the alley from across the street at the tapas place.” The café across the street from the main pawn shop was a particular favorite of Frank’s: the waitresses slipped him appetizers. “I wasn’t there ten minutes before a young guy walked halfway up the alley, looked your door over and came back out again. He didn’t even stop, just went on his way.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Dark hair, tall—I thought there was a resemblance between him and your friend Hannah.” Hannah had been a frequent visitor at the Royal Street house, and she’d always taken a minute to stroke Frank’s fur and pet him between the ears until he purred.

  “Could it have been Michael?”

  Frank thought about it. “I haven’t seen him since he was a little boy. But, maybe.”

  “Where did he go from here?”

  Frank shifted his weight and settled his tail across his feet. “No idea. I was watching the alley, not him—at least at that point. I sat there for another hour and a half. But then he came back.”

  “And this time you followed him.”

  “This time, he had my attention. He did that same suspicious move: walk down the alley, check out your door, walk back out to the street.”

  Weird. There is no open/closed sign on my door, no windows into the alley. Someone standing out there would have no indication whether the shop was open or who might be inside. Unless you are a client, you’d never know that there’s a shop there, at all.

  “I decided to follow him this time. He wandered around Old Town, looking in the windows of all the restaurants. One time he went inside, but he came right back out again.”

  I got it. “He was looking for Simon.”

  Frank nodded. “He found him. While I was trailing Michael around town, Simon came back and grabbed a table at the tapas bar. Michael started yelling at him right there in the restaurant. He just wouldn’t shut up. Simon looked embarrassed, but he wouldn’t rise to the bait.”

  That’s Simon for you, I thought: cool under pressure. From what Hannah had told me, the retribution would come later. “So what was the fight about?”

  He made a face. “Something about some girl named Amber and how she belonged to the younger one, how Simon wasn’t going to take her.”

  “Amber isn’t a girl. It’s a gemstone, a family heirloom I’ve got down in the vault. I’m holding it for Hannah.”

  “I don’t get it,” Frank said.

  Neither did I, but I was determined to find out.

  Chapter Eight

  I was afraid that I had been neglecting Daisy, so I took her for a late lunch the next day at her favorite vegetarian bistro.

  “How’s John doing?” My husband had always been one of Daisy’s favorites.

  “He’s doing pretty well, actually. He’s turned into a sort of human remote control.” I told her about the earbuds and the late-night ESPN binges. “I’m sure he’d love to see you.”

  “I’m not sure I’d be able to see him,” Daisy said with a wry little smile, “at least not yet. He’ll let you know when he’s ready for company. Meanwhile, let that boy know I love him like the moon and stars.”

  We spent a few minutes munching autumn roles and catching up, falling back into our comfortable, familiar rhythm.

  She was telling me about how her garden back home was doing this year—she has this amazing garden in her tiny backyard where she grows all of the herbs she needs for her spells and incantations—when we became aware that someone had stopped by our table. I looked up to see Simon smiling down at us.

  “Maggie! I’m so happy to run into you!” he purred.

  “Simon!” Well, this was going to be awkward. I decided I may as well dive in head first. “I was just thinking about you. I met Hannah yesterday.”

  To his credit, he didn’t miss a beat. “Lovely girl, my sister.”

  “Yes, she is. She had a lot to say about you, too. We’ll have to catch up one of these days.” I’m sure he heard the ice in my voice.

  “A woman of the world like you must realize...”

  I wasn’t having it. “Your sister brought me a legitimate transaction. If you have documentation that proves the item is stolen, I’ll be happy to help you file a police report, and we’ll let a judge sort it out.”

  Simon already had his hands raised in front of him. “No, no! There’s no need for that. This is a family matter. I’ll just need to talk with Hannah. I’m sure she’ll listen to reason.”

  I had my doubts about that, but there was no point in discussing it anymore.

  I realized that Daisy was staring up into his face, frozen in mid-chew. Her expression was unreadable.

  Something passed between Simon and Daisy. Nothing changed on his face, but his aura went a little colder. “Sorry, can’t. I’m on the run this afternoon, but it was lovely running into you. We’ll catch up soon.”

  “Interesting fellow. How do you know him?” Daisy asked as he slipped out the front door.

  I explained how Penelope had referred him to the shop but that I hadn’t been able to do a deal for him. I admitted that I’d been to dinner with him a few times, making it all sound casual and innocent.

  Daisy saw right through me.”You will want to be watching that one, I think,” she said. “That girl’s in for a noisy evening.” She thought a moment. “I always liked Hannah. Do you want me to drop by her place and make sure things don’t get out of hand?”

  I should have let her do it. Before sunrise, there would be another death in that family.

  ◆◆◆

  Lissa answered the shop phone around eleven, but Hannah wouldn’t stop crying. Lissa finally handed the receiver to me. As soon as I understood what was going on, I called Frank to get over to Hannah’s place fast. I summoned Jerry, and while I waited for my ride, I called Bronwyn in to finish my shift with Lissa, promising her the next day off in return.

  Jerry rushed me to Hannah’s apartment. Mark made it there before me, and Hannah was sobbing against his shoulder. “I keep telling you: I don’t know what happened. He was just there...” she pointed to the expensive Persian rug in front of the fireplace, “...when I got home.”

  Mark wasn’t buying it. “You have no idea what happened to your brother?”

  Hannah shot him a look. “Oh, I know what happened. Simon killed him. I just don’t know how.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think the police are going to buy that. They know something’s wrong here. Could Simon somehow have used magic to hurt Michael?”

  Hannah looks skeptical. “Doesn’t he wish, but Simon never had any powers.”

  “How about powerful friends?”

  Hannah’s eyebrows went up. “Possible. You saw how he is with women.” I felt myself blush as she went on. “It wouldn’t be the first time he persuaded some lady to help him out with one of his...”

  “Schemes?” Mark asked helpfully.

  “He calls them his little plans,” Hannah said. “He’s been doing it since he was a kid.”

  “Has anybody gotten hurt before?” I asked.

  Hannah’s look was far away. “I need to tell you about the night my mother died. Do you remember the big storm last month, the one that knocked down all those trees? The wind shook the big plate glass windows in their frames, so hard that I was afraid they’d crack. I found her wireless headphones, dialed up some white noise and tried to go to sleep.
/>   “I must’ve drifted off, because the next thing I knew it was midnight. I couldn’t hear the wind now, but still the house felt wrong. There was something hollow about the sound, you know? Something wasn’t quite right. It was too still.” She shuddered before she continued. “I’ve known this house my whole life. It was just my mom and me. I know every sound this house makes at night. The air conditioner kicks on, and there’s a hum, and then, when the blower starts, there’s a whoosh of air. My mother slept in the next room, and I could hear her roll over every time. It was even worse when there was a storm—every gust had her tossing around in bed.”

  Mark looked at me. He was wondering where this was going. I directed my eyes back to Hannah, letting her talk.

  “That’s what was wrong,” Hannah was saying. “My mother was a light sleeper, and the noise outside would’ve at least awakened her enough that she’d have rolled over. I would’ve heard her.” I could see the tears starting to come. “There were footsteps out in the hall, but they were coming from the wrong direction. They were coming from my brother Jason’s room.” She gestured down the hall. “My mother hadn’t set foot in Jason’s room since the night he was killed, and there was no other reason for anybody to be at that end of the hall.” She looked up at me, grief contorting her face.

  Mark and I were both transfixed by the story, but she didn’t go on.

  “And you found her,” Mark said.

  Hannah nodded. “The paramedics said she had a heart attack. There was nothing wrong with her heart. She was killed, sure as I’m standing here.”

  “Can you prove that?” Mark asked.

  Hannah shook her head. “But I know what I know. It was Simon. He killed her. And now he’s taken Michael, too.”

  “But why?” I asked. “What’s he after? It can’t be about the amber—that’s locked away in my vault.”

  Hannah hesitated before she spoke. “This is about my mother’s spellbook. Simon believes that, if he can just get his hands on it, he can use the amber to channel her powers. I can’t let that happen.”

  She looked up at Mark and me, her eyes pleading. “Please—don’t let that happen.”

  ◆◆◆

  Mark and I left Hannah before the police arrived, but they called the main shop the next morning. Bronwyn phoned me at home, knowing that I wouldn’t want officers showing up unannounced at the condo—I’m a very private person, and they didn’t need to be seeing some of the magical objects I keep on my bookcases. It would feel like somebody rummaging in my underwear drawer.

  An hour later, fortified with a hazelnut latte and truffle crêpes, I strolled along the sidewalk past Pentacle Pawn to meet the cops. The street-front showroom was crowded with shoppers wearing upscale resort wear, trying on our vintage watches and jewelry. A couple in the corner were arguing about a small Rodin sculpture: he loved it; her, not so much. I hoped he’d win—that thing had been on the books for far too long, as far as I was concerned.

  Jim Hamilton had taken one look at the crime scene and come straight to me. Bronwyn knows he’s my cousin, but she doesn’t know that he has any of the family talents. She offered us the use of her office, but I suggested that we go someplace more private.

  It felt weird to approach the alley shop in the middle of the afternoon. The cobblestones gleamed in the bright sun. I stopped at the corner to put on my Ray-Bans, an excellent excuse to make sure that the alley was empty before I walked back to the private entrance.

  The alley shop has no windows, so inside it looked precisely as it does when it is open for business in the evening. The lamps were lit, casting a soft glow at my desk. Jim hesitated as the door swung open for us. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Frank scoot into the break room.

  “That’s right—you’ve never been here,” I said. “What do you think?”

  Jim followed me inside. He looked around and whistled softly. I grinned, and he nodded.

  “So, Jim, how can I help you?” I asked, settling behind my desk.

  He dropped heavily into the Eames chair. I winced—it’s just molded plywood and light aluminum framing, but it’s a prototype and worth a small fortune. He consulted his notes.

  “Hannah Carter is a client of yours?”

  I knew he already knew the answer—the pawn declaration was right there in his hand. “The blue amber.”

  “And it’s still on the premises?”

  “Of course.”

  “You’re sure?”

  That sounded like a trick question. “What’s going on, Jim?” I already knew, of course, but I was going to make him say it.

  “Is Ms. Carter’s brother also on that account?” That’s what Jim does: he answers questions with questions. It’s infuriating.

  “No, neither one. Have you spoken with Hannah about this?”

  He nodded but didn’t respond.

  I tried again. “How about you just tell me what this is all about?”

  He sighed and consulted his notes. “At 2:43 this morning, we received a 911 call from Hannah Carter’s cell phone. Emergency personnel found her brother Michael dead in her living room.” He looked up at me with an expression that said he was pretty sure I already knew that, but he didn’t ask. “There was no sign of struggle, but there was also no obvious cause of death. He was a young man, and we’d like to know what happened. Ms. Carter appeared to be afraid, and she refused to tell us what had happened.”

  Simon is what happened, I thought. Simon killed Michael.

  “The account Ms. Carter gave us was pretty scrambled, but we think she and her brother were arguing over the pawn slip. So let me ask you again: is the blue amber still on the premises?”

  I assured him that it was, and he didn’t press the point. But after he left, I couldn’t ignore the gnawing feeling in my stomach that something just wasn’t right.

  ◆◆◆

  I sat in the Eames chair and changed my shoes. I wouldn’t need my Jimmy Choos down in the vault. I grabbed the tablet and mumbled this week’s vault incantation, Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate: abandon all hope, ye who enter here. Okay, so Dante is a little obvious, but it’s been a busy week. Anyway, it worked, and I was sitting downstairs in the vault.

  The tiger was gone, but the memory—and the reek of his urine—lingered.

  I wanted another look at the blue amber. Or, maybe, I just wanted to assure myself that it was where it was supposed to be.

  I mumbled the short incantation to release the magical lock, keyed the padlock and pulled out the bin containing the amber. It was empty. My heart sank.

  A full inventory of the vault was in order. I was confident in our record-keeping, but there was just absolutely no way that someone could have spirited that cedar box containing the blue amber out of my basement. It had to be here somewhere.

  I decided that I could bypass the open cages in the middle of the room and start with the bins. The cedar box could be in any of them. I started at the southwest corner, working my way along the top row around the room. It took me just under a half hour to check the contents of that top row, but by then I had developed a rhythm: slide the box out with my left hand, flip open the lid and check the contents with my right hand, drop the lid back in place and slide the bin back on the shelf. The whole process was made much easier by the dictation software on my tablet, and by the small spell I used to levitate it in front of me as I worked. There’s magic, and then there’s magic.

  By mid-afternoon, I’d worked my way around the wall and found no discrepancies in the inventory. But I haven’t found the blue amber, either.

  ◆◆◆

  My day-night cycle was out of whack and I was getting grumpy and hungry. I called my Daisy to see if she wanted to meet me for supper.

  Daisy met me down the street at the best vegetarian bistro in town. We ordered a soy chicken plate to split and munched on autumn rolls while I brought her up to date. We chewed the problem every which way, but neither of us could see evidence one way or the other to indicate whe
ther Lissa was working with Penelope.

  “She’s such a sweet girl,” Daisy said. “I hope you’re wrong.”

  “Me, too. But her necklace was controlling that tiger. I just hope there’s some reasonable explanation.” I changed the subject. “So what are you up to this afternoon?” I asked, a bit hopefully.

  “I’m not doing inventory with you.”

  I smiled. “I didn’t ask you to.”

  “Good, because I’m not doing it with you. That basement of yours gives me the creeps.”

  “I get that a lot.”

  “What I will do, though, is see what Lissa has been up to in her downtime. Where does she live?”

  “I think she still at Penelope’s.”

  Daisy produced a notebook—paper, not electronic. She’s old school, all the way. “So, still lives with mom. Interesting. Does she have a boyfriend?”

  I shook my head. “She’s never mentioned one.”

  Daisy looked up from her notes. “So, what does she do with her time?”

  “Now that I think about it, she’s never said much about it.”

  “Don’t you think that’s odd? I’m not sure I’ve ever met a teenager who wasn’t babbling about what they did or what they’re about to do. It’s all they talk about.”

  Daisy was right. Something was amiss here.

  “How is she at work?” Daisy asked.

  I thought about it. “She gets her work done. Sometimes her attention to detail leaves a little to be desired, but that’s not unusual with my new clerks. There’s a lot to learn.”

  Daisy was paying close attention. “Does she seem preoccupied?”

  “She’s a teenager. I remember what I was like at that age. It seemed like I had to know everything, all at once, I was just knocked over by the fire hose of stuff I had to deal with. It was probably the same for you, right?”

  “I was never that age.” I believed her. I couldn’t picture Daisy as anything other than what she was right now: competent and wise. “So how shall we proceed?” she asked.

  “I think you’re right: we need to know how she spends her time away from work,” I said. “Any ideas?”