I sighed and looked closely at Mila. Her features were drawn and the worry was evident behind her brave smile. She squeezed my hand. “I guess I need to work on my protection charms, huh?”
Just like that, my hesitation fell away. I switched into investigator mode.
“Mila, who do you think vandalized your shop?”
She shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. Catrina, perched on a love seat adjacent to the sofa, reached for a small sheaf of papers on the coffee table. “It was whoever left these notes,” she said, waving the papers in front of her before handing them to me.
There were half a dozen sheets of standard 8 x 10 printer paper, creased in the middle as if they had been folded in half. At first glance, they all seemed to say the same thing: “Close the shop, witch.” The words were handwritten, apparently with a Sharpie, in large, neat letters in the center of each sheet of paper.
“Where did you find these?” I asked. “And when?”
“Various places,” said Mila. “Once every few days for the past couple weeks or so. A few times, I found the notes on the floor of the shop, just inside the front door. A couple times there was one under the windshield wipers of my car. Today there was one in my mailbox.” She glanced at the front door and shuddered. Max patted Mila’s arm, then reached forward to pour hot tea from a carafe on the coffee table. I accepted a cup and inhaled the earthy scent of chamomile.
Looking at the papers again, I noticed there was something written in smaller letters beneath some of the messages. Squinting in the candlelight, I held a sheet up in front of me. “Is this a Bible reference?” I asked.
“You bet,” said Catrina. “Turn over the page. I looked it up on the Internet.”
I flipped the top sheet over and saw some writing in pencil. “You wrote this?” I said, looking at Catrina.
“Yeah, read it. It’s totally creepy.”
I frowned, as much from the notes as from the fact that Catrina had tampered with the evidence. But as I read her slanted handwriting, I had to agree with her about the creep factor:
Micah 5:11-12—I will tear down your walls and demolish your defenses. I will destroy your witchcraft and you will no longer cast spells.
I turned over a second sheet and read:
Deuteronomy 18:10, 12—Let no one be found among you who sacrifices their son or daughter in the fire, who practices divination or sorcery, interprets omens, engages in witchcraft . . . For all that do these things are an abomination unto the Lord: and because of these abominations the Lord thy God doth drive them out from before thee.
A couple other notes had different citations. I read one out loud. “‘MM, Pt. I, Q. XVII.’ What does that mean?”
“Catrina figured it out,” said Mila.
Catrina bounced in her seat. “Yeah,” she said. “It refers to the Malleus Maleficarum.”
“‘The Malleus’ what?”
“Maleficarum. Haven’t you heard of it? It was the definitive witch-hunter handbook in medieval Europe. It basically propagated the notion that witchcraft is evil. It sparked the hysteria that led to the loss of a lot of innocent blood. Especially that of women.”
“Oh, yeah. I do recall reading about that before.” I turned the paper over and read Catrina’s writing again:
The Malleus Maleficarum, Part I, Question XVII. So heinous are the crimes of witches that they even exceed the sins and the fall of the bad Angels; and if this is true as to their guilt, how should it not also be true of their punishments in hell?
I found myself shivering as I looked at Mila with renewed sympathy. The chosen quotations sounded like threats and certainly lent credence to Catrina’s theory that the vandalism was a hate crime.
Catrina read my thoughts. “You see? We’ve got a witch-hater on the loose. A cowardly, mean, bigoted witch-hater. This is just like burning a cross on an African American’s front yard, or painting a swastika on a Jewish person’s home!”
“Well . . . ” I couldn’t quite match Catrina’s fervor, but I was becoming increasingly alarmed about the situation. I turned to Mila. “Did you show these notes to the police?”
“No.” Mila looked down at her hands. “Frankly, I didn’t expect it to go this far. I thought I could handle it on my own.”
I looked at the notes again and wondered what I would have done in Mila’s position. Unlike me, Mila was open about her Wiccan faith. But she was still a businesswoman. I could understand how she wouldn’t want to drum up any negative publicity.
“Okay,” I said. “So, who do you think is doing this? Has anyone ever said something to you in person? Or have you heard of anyone speaking out against the shop?”
Mila shook her head. “Not lately. When I first started the business years ago, there was a letter to the editor opposing the shop on moral grounds. At the time, there was nothing in the city ordinances to prevent the shop from opening. Moonstone Treasures is primarily a retail shop, with the tarot and palm readings offered as ‘entertainment.’ Later, the zoning code was changed to restrict fortune-telling even further, but that didn’t affect me.”
Max perked up, slapping her knee. “Oh! There was also that church group that made a big deal about Halloween a couple years ago. They spoke out against the shop, too, didn’t they? I remember there was a church-lady type trying to get people to sign a petition.”
Catrina crossed her arms. “I only moved here last year, but I do remember a guy like that last Samhain. He was like a reverend, or a brother, or something. He handed out flyers in front of the shop, spewing nonsense, calling Halloween ‘the devil’s holiday.’ I can’t believe I forgot about that!”
“Nothing ever came of it,” said Mila.
“There’s been nothing more recently?” I pressed. “Maybe just before or around the time the notes began?”
Mila shook her head again, while Max propped her chin in her hand and scrunched her face in thought. Catrina stood up and paced around the living room. Mila’s cat, a velvety gray Chartreux, sauntered into the room, investigated my feet, then jumped into Mila’s lap.
“This is Drishti,” Mila told me. “You’re not allergic, are you?”
“No,” I said. “She’s a beauty.”
We fell silent again, and I stared at the dancing flame of a pillar candle in the center of the coffee table and considered the threatening notes. It sure seemed as if someone was bent on hurting Mila, at least emotionally. And perhaps financially.
“No one else has come out and directly asked you to close up and leave?” I asked.
“Not unless you count Yvette Prime,” said Mila.
“Yvette Prime, the real estate agent?”
“Mm-hmm. She stops by now and then, maybe every other month or so, asking if I’m interested in selling. She says she has a client who wants to buy the shop. I once asked her who the client is, but she wouldn’t say.”
“When was the last time she came by?”
“Oh, several weeks ago, I think. Before the notes started.”
Max stifled a yawn and tugged thoughtfully on a frizzy lock of copper hair. “Yvette Prime doesn’t seem the type to leave creepy anonymous notes.”
“What about that cruise director lady?” Catrina piped up.
“Tourism director,” Mila corrected.
“You mean Tish Holiday?” said Max.
“Yeah,” said Catrina, on her feet again. “She banned Mila from the Groundhog Festival. I’d call that an enemy action.”
“She didn’t ban me—”
“She refused to let Moonstone have a table at the courthouse luncheon!”
“Well, I missed the deadline. At least, that’s what she told me. . . . ”
Max stood up and stretched. “Steve’s going to be wondering what happened to me. He’s great with Janie, but she’s teething again.”
“Oh, go on home!” said Mila, moving Drishti off her lap so she could stand next to Max. “I’m just fine. Thank you so much for staying late, but get on home now.”
Ca
trina gathered the teacups and took the tray to the kitchen, while Max said her good-byes and left. Standing in the front hall, Mila told me I could leave, too.
“But, first,” she said, “I have something for you.”
She turned to a small bookcase and retrieved something from a ceramic bowl.
“It’s amethyst,” she said, handing me a beautiful deep purple crystal.
“It’s lovely,” I said, holding the crystal up to the light. “But why?”
“I know how busy you’ve been at work,” Mila said. “Amethyst is good for relieving stress, as well as for clearing the mind.”
“This is so thoughtful,” I said, carefully slipping the crystal into an inner pocket of my purse.
Mila squeezed my hand. “It was sweet of you to come over so late and help with this . . . craziness.” She smiled, but the smile dropped away as worry crept into her eyes again. “It’s just the weirdest thing. And, unfortunately, I’m afraid it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been consulting the tarot. No matter which way you look at it, it’s clear there’s more darkness yet to come. Darkness, chaos, and loss.”
* * *
When I returned home from Mila’s house, it was almost midnight. I knew I should go to bed, but my mind was too preoccupied to sleep. I stood at the sliding glass doors overlooking my backyard and stared up at the waxing gibbous moon. The swollen lunar curve, only a few days from being full, called to mind the final stages of pregnancy. The moon was like a mother about to give birth.
This made me think of the upcoming Pagan holiday, Candlemas. It was also known as “Imbolc,” meaning “in the belly” or “ewe’s milk.” It might still feel like the dead of winter, but change was on its way. That made this a good time to think about what I wanted to grow in my own life. An image of Wes flashed before my mind’s eye.
I knew exactly what I wanted.
Come to think of it, there was no need to wait for Candlemas. I walked over to a kitchen drawer and withdrew a package of white birthday candles and a book of matches. From a corner cabinet, I grabbed a bottle of grapeseed oil and a clay bowl. Then I sat down at my kitchen table, centered myself, and took a deep breath. I opened the bottle of oil, dabbed some on my finger, and rubbed it along the side of the candle—from the bottom up to the center and then from the top down to the center. In this way, I charged the candle with my own psychic energy.
I liked using birthday candles for quick, simple rituals. They were specially made for wishing. As I prepared to strike a match, I thought about my desire: to reconnect with Wes—to rekindle our romance.
A scratch at the window made me jump. The wind howled, and I realized it was only a tree branch scraping across the windowpane. I let out a breath and laughed. I would have to call someone to come out and trim the tree.
Turning my attention back to the small candle, I once again thought about my intention. Now, though, instead of seeing Wes, I visualized Mila’s worried face. Maybe it was the adrenaline surge from being startled, but I suddenly realized there was something more pressing right now than my love life.
Mila had said darkness was coming. If I could help counteract it, even a little bit, that’s what I wanted to do.
I lit the candle and held it up in front of me. As I stared at the fluttering flame, I visualized Mila wrapped in a protective cloak of white light. I held this wish as the candle burned down. When the fire neared my fingertips, I placed the candle in the clay bowl and let it burn itself out. I followed the last wisp of smoke until it disappeared in the air before me.
Blessed be.
Chapter 4
The next morning, I arrived at my office building extra early so I could get in a full day’s work and still leave in time to go for a run with Farrah. Of course, I wasn’t alone. Crenshaw stood in the downstairs lobby conversing with a nice-looking couple in their upper forties dressed in matching fur-trimmed parkas and expensive-looking leather boots. As I walked toward the elevators, I could tell Crenshaw was purposefully avoiding my eyes. However, the couple turned my way with bright smiles, leaving him no choice but to acknowledge my presence.
“Good morning,” the man said, his eyes twinkling. “You must be another lawyer to get here this early.”
“Good morning,” I said and returned his smile.
With a telltale twitch of the eye, Crenshaw nodded his head at me. “Keli,” he said. “This is Danielle and Marco Thomison. Mr. and Mrs. Thomison, this is my colleague, Ms. Keli Milanni.”
“How do you do,” the couple said in unison. They laughed. Danielle flashed pretty dimples and tilted her head. “We—”
“Were just heading out to get coffee,” Crenshaw interrupted. “I’ll see you later, Keli.”
With that, he steered the couple toward the exit, leaving me to shake my head once again at his strangeness. Crenshaw needed some serious work on his social skills.
Upstairs, the reception area was dark, but I could hear a few other attorneys quietly churning away at their caseloads behind closed doors. Like me, they wanted to impress the partners and clock in as many billable hours as humanly possible in a twenty-four-hour period.
After making myself some ginger tea, I sat down at my computer and stared out the window at the office buildings across the street. I couldn’t stop thinking about Mila’s problem.
Based on the Bible references, the harassment certainly seemed to be motivated by someone’s misguided religious views, along with a warped sense of right and wrong. Dark threats and vandalism didn’t strike me as being very Christian-like. I may have left the church of my upbringing long ago, but I still knew Jesus was all about forgiveness and tolerance. Whoever was trying to scare Mila was definitely not representing a peaceful and loving God.
Turning to my computer, I clicked open a browser and typed “Edindale Gazette archives.” Mila had mentioned there was a letter to the editor opposing her shop when she first opened up. From earlier conversations, I recalled her saying she had purposely started her business venture around the Wiccan sabbat Ostara, which coincides with the spring equinox and represents growth, prosperity, and all things new.
It didn’t take me long to find all the old editions of the paper for the month of March from four years earlier. But I soon figured out that the archives didn’t include the opinion pages. Drat. I would have to go to the library or the newspaper office and look through each paper by hand.
Or else . . . I could seek assistance from someone who just happened to work for the newspaper.
Before I could change my mind, I grabbed my phone and dialed Wes’s number. He picked up after the second ring.
“Keli Milanni! What’s up?”
“Hey, Wes. I have a favor to ask. I need to locate a physical copy of a newspaper from a few years ago.”
I explained what I was looking for and crossed my fingers. “Is that something you can do?”
“Sure, I think so. When do you need it?”
“Well, the sooner the better. Any chance you can find it this morning and meet me for lunch or coffee later today?”
“Uh, hang on.”
Tapping my fingernails on my desk, I tried to ignore my rapidly beating heart as I waited for Wes’s response. After about a minute, he came back on.
“All right, sorry about that. I have an assignment I was supposed to do later this morning, but I just pushed it up. I can meet you at noon. How about that vegan bakery you like, the one with the café?”
“Perfect,” I said, grinning in spite of myself. “See you then.”
I hung up feeling a familiar rush of anticipation at the prospect of seeing Wes. It was just like him to suggest the vegan bakery. He wasn’t a vegetarian, yet he always remembered my dietary preferences. Even better, he didn’t make a big deal out of it.
The rest of the morning flew by as I fielded phone calls, drafted letters, and negotiated a settlement agreement. When I looked up and realized it was five m
inutes before 12:00, I grabbed my jacket, darted out of the office, and half ran the three blocks to the Good Karma Bakery. As I approached the entrance, the beep of a car horn caused me to look over my shoulder.
“Hey!” yelled the driver, a bright-eyed blonde with a wide, ready smile. She pulled over to the curb and waved me over. I grinned at my best friend and jogged over to her.
“What are you doing, Farrah? Stopping traffic?”
“Don’t I always?” she said, wrinkling her nose at me. “I’m heading to an expo at the Harrison Hotel. I saw you galloping down the sidewalk and had to stop you. You run funny in heels.”
“You would, too, lady! Especially if you were late for a lunch date with a certain ‘rock star,’” I said, using the nickname we used for Wes.
“Oh! Well, why didn’t you say so? Carry on, groupie. Just be sure to change your shoes before our run tonight.”
“Right,” I said, shaking my head. “See you tonight.”
I entered the café and immediately spotted Wes sitting at a table in the back—and looking particularly fine in a new flannel shirt over a crisp white T-shirt and dark blue jeans.
Flushed and a little breathless, I slipped into the seat across from him and smiled apologetically. “Sorry I’m late.”
The corners of his mouth quirked up in amusement. “If you know what you want, I’ll go order for us,” he said. “I know your time is tight.”
“Oh! Okay, sure. I’ll have the mushroom panini. They make their own cashew cheese here. It’s really good.”
While Wes was at the counter placing our orders, I stole a glance at my reflection in the compact from my purse. My mascara was slightly smudged and my hair was trying to escape from the French twist that had looked a lot more polished five hours ago, but there wasn’t much I could do about it now. I sighed and took a sip of water as I watched Wes carry our food to the table and take his seat.
“So, how have you been, Keli? Have you made partner yet?”
Bell, Book & Candlemas Page 3