“That would be great.” I wasn’t sure what time Mila would get back from her weekend getaway, but I planned to try reaching her as well.
We exited the park and followed the route I took to work every morning. A roadside marker told us we had passed mile number two. While my body continued on autopilot, my mind raced ahead.
Who knew about the secret exit from the speakeasy? Danielle and Marco had lived in the mansion for only a few months, so it was conceivable they might not know. Although they could have stumbled upon it, or read about it someplace.
As the Thomisons’ real estate agent, Yvette would have seen the property records. Plus, she was spending a lot of time at the mansion. Tish had spent time there, too, especially in the speakeasy. And Tish was a city official, so she would have had ready access to information about the town’s history, as well as any maps of the town’s underground infrastructure.
On the other hand, whoever was using the tunnels could have found an access point from somewhere other than the mansion. That person could have emerged in the speakeasy and then gone out through the front door of the mansion—leaving it unlocked behind him or her.
As my feet pounded the pavement, I continued to mull over the possibilities. When Farrah and I crossed the alley that ran behind Moonstone Treasures, I automatically looked to the right. I caught a glimpse of a pale girl wearing an army jacket and combat boots.
“What’s Catrina doing back there?” I said.
Making a split-second decision, I veered into the alley and jogged to the back door of the shop.
“Keli!” called Farrah, chasing after me. “What are you doing?”
When I reached the back door, Catrina was gone. The knob didn’t turn when I tried it, so I knocked. No answer.
I turned to Farrah, jogging in place next to me. “I saw Catrina, the clerk who works here. I thought maybe she could let us in to search for a tunnel.”
Farrah looked over her shoulder. “I hope this little detour doesn’t disqualify us.”
“You know, this isn’t going to be our best time anyway,” I pointed out.
“Right,” said Farrah. “I’ll check the front.” She darted around the corner. I pounded on the door again, waited a few seconds, then ran around to the front of the building to join Farrah.
“There’s no one in there,” she said. “Can we go back to the race now?”
“Yeah.” I nodded, and we sprinted back to the racecourse, falling in with a group of runners we had passed several minutes ago. Farrah continued at a brisk clip, as if to recapture the lost minutes. I managed to keep up, though I wasn’t quite sure how. It must have been the adrenaline.
When we rounded the courthouse, we came upon a row of antique cars, decorated trucks, and vibrant floats, lining up in preparation for the parade. I spotted Pammy and Crenshaw standing next to the law firm’s float and waved.
“Go, Keli!” Pammy yelled, clapping. “Woo-hoo!”
Crenshaw folded his arms and raised one eyebrow as he watched me run by.
“He so wants you,” Farrah said.
I was trying to think of a suitable retort when something caught my attention up ahead. A large banner fastened to a flatbed truck bore the words “First Church of the New Believers.” As we drew near, I heard raised voices. On the sidewalk behind the truck was the most unlikely pair I could imagine: Reverend Natty and Catrina. They appeared to be arguing.
“How did she get here so fast?” asked Farrah. “Are you sure it was her you saw in the alley?”
“Positive. Maybe she biked over or drove. Or maybe she took a shortcut.”
“Like through a tunnel?” Farrah asked.
I dropped to a slow trot in hopes of catching a snippet of their conversation. All I heard was Catrina say, “You wanna bet!”
After we passed them, I looked back over my shoulder. That’s when I saw the sign on the back of the truck: REPENT! THE END IS NEAR!
Oh boy.
Farrah saw it, too. “Seriously?” she said, as we turned the corner and headed back to Fieldstone Park. “People still say that?”
“Apparently so,” I said. “Even fanatics are free to say whatever they want.”
As long as they don’t harm anyone.
We fell silent as we jogged into the park and began the second half of the race. The rain had let up and the sun peeked through the clouds. I was reminded that this was supposed to be a festive day. Imbolc—Candlemas—was meant to celebrate the waning winter. I didn’t exactly feel spring in the crisp wind, but I did feel that change was in the air. Something was definitely brewing.
Twenty minutes later we were back for our second pass along the parade lineup. Pammy and Crenshaw were gone. I imagined they had probably joined the throngs heading to the park to see “Eddie,” the Edindale groundhog. However, Reverend Natty was still next to the church truck. Now he was speaking to a young police officer.
“Hey, that’s Dave!” said Farrah.
I squinted. Sure enough, the officer nodding and listening attentively to Reverend Natty was our friend Dave. I saw him look to where the reverend was pointing, at the tires of the truck. They were all flat.
“Ooh,” said Farrah. “Do you think that Catrina chick is responsible for that?”
“If she is, then she’s even more of a radical than I thought.”
“I’ll call Dave later and find out what he can tell me.”
We continued trudging down the street, pushing through our last half mile. I didn’t know about Farrah, but my lungs burned and my legs had turned to spaghetti. It was sheer willpower that kept me going.
When we rounded a curve in the park and the large FINISH sign appeared in our line of sight, Farrah turned to me.
“Thelma and Louise?” Farrah offered her hand, so we could cross the finish line at the same time.
“No way,” I huffed. “You go.”
“Okay,” she said. “If you insist.”
She burst forward like a powerful spring, cruising through the finish line in a blur. I, on the other hand, stumbled over the line several seconds behind her. Someone handed me a cup of water, which I splashed on my face. Then I walked in circles, holding my arms above my head, until Farrah found me and pulled me to a nearby picnic table.
“You did it, girlfriend! I knew you could!”
“Ugh,” I replied, unable to form any actual words.
Farrah laughed. Her face was flushed and her T-shirt was damp, but she looked remarkably perky. “What can I get you?” she asked. “Water? Fruit? A towel?”
I shook my head and stretched my legs. Now I knew what would happen when I failed to train properly. I was going to feel this for a while.
A voice over a loudspeaker announced that Eddie would be coming out of his burrow soon.
“Do you want to see the shadow ceremony, or whatever it is?” Farrah asked.
“I’m spent,” I said. “You can go if you want.”
“No. I’ll take you home,” Farrah said. We removed the numbers pinned to our shirts and walked toward the parking lot. “Can you believe how much trouble the town’s going to over a silly groundhog superstition? They’re going to kick off the parade next. Then, there’s a luncheon at the courthouse and a street fair, and tonight there’s a concert at the university featuring some famous country music band.”
“It does seem like a lot for one day,” I agreed.
“Not that I mind any excuse for a good party,” Farrah added.
We walked past a side street where a marching band was rehearsing and stamping their feet to keep warm. A gust of wind ruffled the plumes on their hats and blew dried leaves and litter in a small swirl on the sidewalk. Looking down, I saw a long-stemmed white rose among the debris.
“I could use this,” I murmured, picking up the flower.
If Farrah heard me, she didn’t say anything. She was distracted by the shiny black car that zipped into the parking lot in front of us and pulled haphazardly in front of a handicapped parking sign. The door
swung open and out stepped Tish Holiday wearing a long leopard-print coat and dark sunglasses. She slammed her car door shut and hurtled toward Fieldstone’s gazebo.
“I guess she recovered,” said Farrah.
“Guess so,” I said, noting Tish’s bright red lipstick and pop star hair.
I couldn’t help wondering how close she had become with Marco. Or how much she knew about the speakeasy. I was just glad she was still in one piece.
Chapter 24
I slipped into the hot, silky bathwater and sighed. With a deep inhale, I breathed in the soothing aroma of sweetgrass and lavender, as the oiled water washed over my aching body. White candles and gentle guitar music completed the stage for my ritual purification bath—which today did double duty as a postworkout recovery soak.
When Farrah dropped me off at my town house after the 10K, we agreed that we would check in with each other later. She planned to make some phone calls and arrange for us to snoop around in Gigi’s Bar and Grill tomorrow morning before the restaurant opened. She also said she would stop off at the library and see what she could learn about Orion Cadwelle—especially his bootlegging days.
I had some phone calls to make, too. First, I went to the kitchen and blended up a smoothie with coconut water, cucumbers, orange slices, and chia seeds. As I sipped my drink, I dialed Mila’s number. There was no answer, so I tried Max next.
“Max Eisenberry,” she answered, in her professorial voice.
“Hi, Max. It’s Keli.”
“Oh, hello, Keli. How’s it going?”
“Good,” I said. “Do you know when Mila is due back?”
Max hesitated. “Um . . . she’ll be back this afternoon. I’ll be seeing her later. Do you have a message you’d like me to relay?”
“You can ask her to call me,” I said. “Say, Max, how well do you know Catrina?”
“Fairly well, though it’s been less than a year since we first met. I do know Mila trusts her.”
“Hmm. Catrina used to date a girl named Andi. Do you know if they’re still together?”
“They’re not. Andi used to be in Circle, but she stopped coming when they broke up. It’s too bad. She was a sweet girl.”
“Yeah. Do you happen to have Andi’s number?”
Max found the phone number for me. As soon as I hung up, I tried reaching Andi but there was no answer. I left her a message, then kept my phone within arm’s reach as I soaked in the tub.
I leaned my head back on a folded terry cloth towel and closed my eyes. As the fragrant water cleansed my body, I visualized the release of all of my anxiety, stress, and confusion. All negativity would be washed down the drain.
After a few minutes, I realized I should get out of the tub before the water became too cool. I pulled the plug, stood up, and toweled off. I was in the midst of applying a thick herbal body cream when the phone rang. I wiped off my hands and grabbed the phone.
“Hey there, supergirl. How was the race?” Wes said.
I smiled at the sound of his voice. “It was long, but I finished it. How was your morning?”
“Interesting. Danielle canceled our photo shoot in the speakeasy. She said the place was a wreck after the private party, making her rethink the whole idea. Marco was nowhere to be seen. I never saw Tish come up either.”
I told Wes about seeing Tish downtown. “Maybe Marco was cleaning up the speakeasy.”
“I don’t know. There was a weird vibe during breakfast. Sheana kept trying to ask Danielle about her recipes, but Danielle was distracted. All the guests seemed uncomfortable. Yvette left abruptly without saying a word to anyone.”
“That’s odd,” I said.
“Yeah.” He paused. “So, do you want to get together later? Maybe have some dinner?”
“I’d like that,” I said. “Before I do anything, though, I need a nap. How about if I call you later?”
“Sounds good.”
After saying good-bye to Wes, I went to my bedroom and drew the curtains against the late morning sun. I put on my pentagram necklace and donned my white hooded robe. Then I cleared off my altar, moved it to the center of the room, and draped it with a white cloth. Using an assortment of white and green candles, I decorated the table. In the center, I placed a bud vase containing the white rose the wind had delivered to me. Finally, I cleared a workspace, on which I placed a ceramic pot, a container of soil, a bottle of melted snow, and an amaryllis bulb.
In my usual fashion, I cast a circle around the altar. Then I lit the candles while chanting a spell I had composed on a previous Candlemas:
“One flame to purify
One to transform,
One flame to beautify
One to keep warm.
One flame for innocence
One for desire,
One flame for benevolence
One to inspire.”
Finally, I lit the two largest candles, saying:
“A flame for the god, born anew
A flame for Brigid, goddess true.”
By the light of the candles, I proceeded to plant the flower bulb. As I did so, I contemplated the significance of Candlemas, a cross-quarter sabbat marking the midway point between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. At this point on the wheel of the year, the mythical god, who was reborn at Yuletide, was now beginning to mature as the sun grew stronger in the sky. At the same time, the mother goddess had recovered from birthing the god and could now return to her maiden form. Thus, the earth could begin a new cycle of growth and fertility.
When the bulb was securely ensconced in the pot, surrounded by soil, and watered with the melted snow, I whispered my wish for the amaryllis and for myself: “That you may bloom to your full potential, bring joy to all who see you, and fulfill your true purpose in this life. Blessed be.”
I closed the circle, then allowed the candles to burn out while I sat on my bed writing in an indigo cloth-bound journal. I didn’t always take the time to document my spells and rituals in a “Book of Shadows,” but sometimes I felt called to do so. As I jotted down notes about my observance of Candlemas, I started to feel sleepy. With a big yawn, I set down my book and closed my eyes.
The sound of my phone woke me up. I didn’t know how long I had slept, but the light outside was much dimmer. I grabbed my phone from the bedside table and was surprised to see it was Max calling.
“Hi, Max. What’s up?”
“Keli, you’re not going to believe this.”
“What is it?”
“Mila has been arrested.”
* * *
With all the street closures for the Groundhog Festival, I had to park on a side street three blocks from the police station. Wearing the same running shoes from the 10K earlier today, I jogged up to the front door of the small brick building and went inside. I informed the officer at the front desk I was an attorney there to see Mila Douglas and showed her my identification. She wrote down my information in a log book and said it would be a few minutes.
“Is Detective Rhinehardt here?” I asked.
“No. He left a while ago. Would you like to leave a message?”
“No, that’s okay. I’ll catch him later.”
I turned around and headed to the waiting area in the lobby. It was empty except for Max. She stood up when she saw me.
“Thanks for coming,” she said. “I’m sure this isn’t how you planned to spend your Saturday evening.”
“It’s no problem,” I said, putting a hand on Max’s arm. “How are you doing? Have you heard anything about what’s going on with Mila?”
“I’m fine. Poor Mila is still in processing, or so I’m told. They seem to be taking their time about it.”
“Tell me exactly what happened,” I said, taking the seat next to Max. She sat back down and sighed.
“We were performing a binding ritual on the sidewalk in front of Moonstone. There were nine of us, all members of Magic Circle. Mila had created a poppet to represent her harasser, and—”
“A po
ppet?” I interrupted.
“Yes. A dummy, made from a large rag doll. She put a piece of duct tape over its mouth.”
I tried not to cringe. “Oh. That sounds really creepy.”
“Well, taken out of context, I suppose it does. Anyway, we gathered in a circle, each of us holding one end of a black cord. Mila pinned the other ends to the doll, which she propped on an old wooden chair from her shop. Then we danced around the poppet, winding the cords around it like a maypole.”
“To magically bind the perpetrator?” I said.
“That’s right. We chanted a binding spell as we went.”
I took a deep breath. “Why did you do this outside? Couldn’t the ritual have been done inside the shop? Or at someone’s home?”
“Well, Mila wanted to psychically seal all the openings to the shop. Our plan was to start with the front door and window, since that’s where the violations started. We were going to do the back door next.”
“I imagine you attracted a lot of attention.”
Max grimaced. “I wanted to wait until after dark and perform the ritual by the light of the waning moon. But Mila was anxious. She had received another threatening phone call, so she didn’t want to wait.”
I shook my head. Was stress or fear clouding Mila’s judgment?
“So,” I said, “someone called the police?”
“Not just anyone,” said Max. “That tourism director, Tish Holiday. You should have seen her.” Max chuckled. “I know it’s too soon to laugh about this, but she looked like a crazy woman. She came running up, yelling and waving her arms, carrying on about voodoo dolls and bad publicity. Apparently, that big shot country singer Rhett Shelby and his entourage saw us from their limo and said something to the mayor.”
“Yikes.”
“Yeah. The police officer told us to disperse, but Mila didn’t hear him.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Mila had entered a trancelike state to channel the Goddess Hecate,” Max explained. “She had closed her eyes to shut out all distractions. She wouldn’t have heard anything until the ritual was complete.”
Bell, Book & Candlemas Page 17