Dime Store Magic

by Kelley Armstrong

  Cortez dropped a file folder onto the table. Flynn read the first sheet, frown lines deepening with each word. I managed to strain my eyes far enough left to see Cortez. He pretended to study the poster behind my head, but his eyes were on me, as they had to be during a binding spell.

  So spell-boy knew some witch magic. Surprising, but not shocking. I knew better spells, several of which I deeply yearned to cast his way at that moment, but being unable to speak curtailed that impulse. A bit disconcerting, too, that he could cast a binding spell, something even I hadn't fully perfected. Wait. Brain flash. If I couldn't cast a perfect binding spell, could Cortez? Hmmm.

  "Okay, so you're her lawyer," Flynn said, pushing Cortez's papers aside. "You can sit down and take notes."

  "Before I have a few minutes in private to consult with my client? Really, Detective. I didn't pass the bar exam yesterday. Now, if you'll please find us a private room--"

  "This one's fine."

  Cortez gave a humorless half-smile. "I'm sure it is, complete with one-way glass and video camera. Once more, Detective, I'm requesting a private room and a few minutes alone ..."

  Cortez was still talking, but I didn't hear him. All my mental power went into one final push. Pop! My leg jerked. Cortez kept talking, unaware that I'd broken his spell.

  I stayed still, saying nothing, waiting. A minute later, Flynn stalked from the room to find us a private chamber.

  "Forging my signature on legal documents, sorcerer?" I murmured under my breath.

  To my disappointment, he didn't jump. Didn't even flinch. I thought I saw a flicker of consternation in his eyes when he realized I'd broken his spell, but it may have been the lighting. Before Cortez could answer, Flynn came back and escorted us to another room. I waited until she closed the door behind her, then took a seat.

  "Very convenient," I said. "How you just happen to be around every time I need a lawyer."

  "If you are implying that I am somehow aligned with Gabriel Sandford or the Nast Cabal, let me assure you that I would not debase my reputation with such an association."

  I laughed.

  "You're too young to be so cynical," he said, returning to his papers.

  "Speaking of young, if you are working for Sandford, tell him I'm pretty insulted that he couldn't even bother sending a full-fledged sorcerer. What are you? Twenty-seven? Twenty-eight?"

  He sifted through his papers. " Twenty-five."

  "What? You really did only pass the bar exam yesterday. Now I am insulted."

  He didn't look up from his file or even change expression. Hell, he didn't have an expression to change. "If I was working for the Nasts, then, logically, they would send someone older and presumably more competent, would they not?"

  "Maybe, but there are advantages to sending a guy closer to my age, right?"

  "Such as?"

  I opened my mouth to answer, then took another look at Cortez--the cheap suit, the wire-frame glasses, the perpetually funereal expression--and I knew no one was playing the seduction card in this game.

  "Well, you know," I said. "I might be able to relate better, be more sympathetic ..."

  "The disadvantages of my youth would far outweigh the advantages of our age similarity. As for how I conveniently show up whenever you need a lawyer, let me assure you, that doesn't require insider information or psychic powers. Murders and Satanic altars are hardly everyday occurrences in East Falls. An enterprising lawyer simply has to cultivate an equally enterprising local contact, and persuade him to make contact with any new rumors regarding your situation."

  "You bribed someone in town to inform on me?"

  "Sadly, it's easier--and cheaper--than you might think." Cortez pushed aside his papers and met my gaze. "This could be a career-making case for me, Paige. Normally, the competition for such a case would be stiff, but, given that you are a witch, I doubt any other sorcerers will be vying for it."

  "But you're willing to make an exception. How ... big of you."

  Cortez adjusted his glasses, taking more than a few seconds, as if using the pause to decide how best to proceed. "It's ambition. Not altruism. I won't pretend otherwise. I need your case, and you need a lawyer."

  "Then I'll find one myself."

  "If you choose to replace me later, that's fine. But, for now, I'm the only person here. Your Coven is obviously uninterested in helping or they'd have found a lawyer for you. At the very least, they'd be here to offer moral support. But they aren't, are they?"

  He'd almost done it, almost gained my confidence, but then, with those last comments, he undid all his efforts. I stood, strode to the door, and tried the handle. Locked from the outside, of course. An unlock spell was out of the question. I was in enough trouble already. As I lifted my fist to pound on the door, Cortez caught my hand from behind. Didn't grab it. Just caught and held it.

  "Let me work on your release," he said. "Accept my services, free of charge, in this one matter and, afterward, if you aren't satisfied with my performance, you may discharge me."

  "Wow. A free trial run. How can I refuse? Easy. No deal, Counselor. I don't want your help."

  I wrenched my hand from his and lifted my fist to bang for the detective. Cortez put his hand against the door, fingers spread, blocking my fist's path.

  "I'm offering to get you out of here, Paige." The formality fell from his voice and I thought, just for a second, that I detected a note of anxiety. "Why would I do that if I was working for the Nast Cabal? They want you in here, where you can't protect Savannah."

  "I'll get out. They'll set bail and I can make it."

  "I'm not talking about setting bail. I'm talking about getting you out. Permanently. No charges."

  "I'm not--"

  "What if they don't set bail? How long are you willing to stay in jail? To leave Savannah in the care of others?" He met my eyes. "Without you to protect her."

  The arrow hit its mark. My Achilles heel. For one brief moment, my resolve wavered. I glanced at Cortez then. He stood there, waiting for me to agree. And, though there was no smugness in his face, I knew he assumed I would agree.

  I whammed my fist against the door, catching Cortez off guard. On the second bang, Flynn yanked it open.

  "This man is not my lawyer," I said.

  I turned my back on Cortez and walked into the hall.

  After Cortez left, they put me back in the private meeting room. Another hour passed. Flynn didn't return to question me. No one did. They just left me there. Left me to sit and stew, then to pace, then to bang on the door trying to get someone's attention.

  Savannah was out there, unprotected, with strangers who had no idea of the danger she faced. Yet again I was constrained by human laws. By law, they could hold me here for any "reasonable length of time" before charging me. What was reasonable? Depended on the person supplying the definition. Right then, for all I cared, they could go ahead and charge me with murder, so long as I could post bail and take Savannah home.

  Nearly two hours passed before the door opened.

  "Your new lawyer," said an officer I hadn't met.

  For one fleeting moment, one desperate moment of naive hope, I thought the Elders had found someone to represent me. Instead, in walked ... Lucas Cortez. Again.

  CHAPTER 13

  A TWELVE-STEP PLAN

  "Goddamn it!" I said. "I told you people this man is not my--"

  Before I could finish, I found myself, once again, caught in a binding spell. The officer, having paid no attention, closed the door and left me alone with Cortez. When the door shut, he undid the spell. I grabbed for the door handle, but Cortez caught my hand. I spun to face him.

  "You scheming son of a bitch! I don't believe this. I told them--I told that detective--no one's listening to me! Well, they're going to listen now. I didn't sign anything and if you have papers with my signature, I'll prove it's a forgery. Whatever the penalty is for misrepresenting a client--"

  "They aren't going to charge you."

  I sto
pped. "What?"

  "They don't have enough evidence to charge you now and I doubt they will ever find the evidence they need. The injuries to Mr. Cary make it impossible to argue that you pushed him out the window. Furthermore, I have proven that there is no evidence to indicate you came in physical contact with Mr. Cary at the time of his death. His office was cleaned Saturday night. The only fingerprints found within belong to Mr. Cary and his cleaner, as do the only footprints on the vacuumed carpet near his desk. The scene shows no sign of a struggle. Nor does his body. It would appear that Mr. Cary's chair was lifted from the floor without human intervention and propelled with great force out the window."

  "How are they explaining that?"

  "They aren't. While they may believe you did it, they cannot prove it."

  "How do--" I stopped. "They think I used witchcraft?"

  "That is the general consensus, though wisely left unmentioned on all official papers. Since such an accusation would never pass a Grand Jury, you are free."

  Cortez checked his watch. "We should leave. I believe Savannah is growing quite restless. We have to complete some paperwork before you can be released. I must insist that you refrain from speaking to any law enforcement officers we encounter during our departure. As your lawyer, I will handle all external communications herein."

  "As my lawyer ... ?"

  "I believe I have proven my intentions are--"

  "Above reproach?" I turned and met his gaze, keeping my voice soft, reasonable, letting no trace of anger escape. "But they aren't, are they?"

  "I am not working for--"

  "No, you probably aren't. I accept your story, that you're here to offer your services to further your career ... at my expense."

  "I'm not--"

  "Do I blame you for it? No. I run a business. I know what someone our age needs to do to get ahead. I need to undercut the competition. You need to take cases the competition won't touch. If you want to bill me for today, go ahead. I'll pay. You earned it. But I can't--won't--work with you."

  I opened the door and walked out.

  Finishing the paperwork proved an ordeal; the grim-faced desk clerk filled out forms so slowly you'd think his wrist was broken. Worse yet, Flynn and the other detectives stood off to the side, watching me with glares that said I wasn't fooling them, I was simply another criminal who'd gotten away with murder.

  Cortez, as one might expect, didn't accept defeat so easily. He stuck around to help me with the paperwork, and I let him. Why? Because six hours in captivity was enough for me. If the police knew that my freedom had been arranged by a man misrepresenting himself as my lawyer, could they toss me back inside? Accuse me of fraud? Probably not, but I didn't know the legalities involved and, now that I was free, I wasn't about to start posing any hypothetical questions that might land me in a jail cell. I didn't say that Cortez was my lawyer and I didn't say he wasn't. I ignored him and let the police draw their own conclusions.

  When I went to collect Savannah, Cortez took his leave. He said nothing more than a murmured good-bye. To be honest, I felt a bit sorry for him. Sorcerer or not, he had helped me, and it hadn't done him a damn bit of good. I hoped he took me up on my offer of payment. At least then his efforts would have some reward.

  I found Savannah in the waiting room. The public waiting room, amidst a half-dozen strangers, none of them the "armed state troopers" Detective Flynn had mentioned. Anyone could have walked into that room, including Leah. On the heels of my flare of anger came another silent thanks to Lucas Cortez for getting me out. If he didn't bill me, I promised myself I'd track him down and pay him anyway.

  The waiting room looked like waiting rooms everywhere, with cheap furniture, yellowing posters, and stacks of year-old magazines. Savannah had laid claim to a row of three chairs and was lying across them, sound asleep.

  I knelt beside her and gently shook her shoulder. She mumbled something and knocked my hand away.

  "Savannah, hon? Time to go home."

  Her eyes opened. She blinked and struggled to focus.

  "Home?" She pushed up onto her elbow and smiled. "They let you out?"

  I nodded. "I'm free to go. They aren't going to charge me."

  At my words, an elderly woman turned to stare at me, then mumbled something to the man beside her. I was struck by the overwhelming urge to explain, to turn to these strangers and tell them I hadn't done anything wrong, that my being here was a mistake. I bit it back and tugged Savannah to her feet.

  "Have you been out here the whole time?" I asked.

  She nodded sleepily.

  "I'm so sorry, hon."

  "Not your fault," she said, stifling a yawn. "It was okay. There were cops around. Leah wouldn't try something here. So, what happened in there? Did they fingerprint you and everything? Are you going to have a record?"

  "God, I hope not. Come on. Let's get out of here and I'll explain what I can."

  There was a small crowd at the front door. Well, "small" in comparison to, say, the crowd at Fenway Park on opening day. I saw some media types, some placard-waving types, some rubbernecker-ghoul types, and decided I'd seen enough. They were probably there covering a "real" event, something completely unrelated to me, but I opted for the back door anyway, so I wouldn't disturb their vigil.

  The police had towed my car to the station, which removed the problem of finding transportation, but also meant they'd searched it. Though I keep a very tidy car, they'd managed to move everything that wasn't nailed down, and there were traces of powder everywhere. Fingerprint powder, I suspected, though I had no idea why they'd be dusting my car for prints. Given the low homicide rate in this area, they probably used each one as an opportunity to practice every technique they'd learned in police college.

  I had a seven-thirty Coven meeting in Belham, so Savannah and I grabbed a quick dinner, then headed straight there without returning home.

  It was seven twenty-seven when we arrived at the Belham community center. Yes, I said community center. We had a standing reservation for the third Sunday of each month, when our "book club" would meet in the center's main hall. We even had the local bakery cater the event. When women from town asked to join our club, we told them, with deep regret, that our ranks were full, but took their names for our waiting list.

  Our Coven had fourteen initiated witches and five neophytes. Neophytes were girls from ten to fifteen years of age. Witches attain their full powers when they first menstruate, so the neophytes were the girls newly coming into their powers. On their sixteenth birthday, assuming they've reached first menses, witches are initiated, meaning they receive voting rights and begin learning second-level spells. At twenty-one they graduate to the third level and, at twenty-five, to the fourth and final tier. Exceptions could be made. My mother had moved me to third level at nineteen and fourth at twenty-one. And I'd be really proud of that, if Savannah hadn't already surpassed me--and she hadn't even come into her full powers yet.

  As Savannah and I crossed the parking lot, a minivan pulled in. I stopped and waited as Abby's older sister, Grace, and her two daughters climbed out. Fourteen-year-old Brittany saw us, waved, and jogged over.

  "Hey, Savannah, Paige," she said. "Mom said you guys weren't--"

  "I thought you weren't coming," Grace said, frowning as she approached.

  "I nearly didn't make it, that's for sure," I said. "You wouldn't believe the day I've had."

  "I heard."

  "Oh? Word gets around, I guess."

  Grace turned to yell at seventeen-year-old Kylie, who was still inside the van, chatting on her cell phone.

  So the Coven already knew about Cary's death? I'd hoped they hadn't. If the news hadn't reached them yet, then that would explain why no one had come to my aid.

  Cortez's words about the Coven still stung. I understood why they hadn't rallied around me at the police station. They couldn't take the risk of associating themselves with me. But they could have discreetly found me a lawyer, couldn't they? Or, at the very leas
t, brought Margaret to check up on Savannah.

  Grace and I walked in silence to the doors, then she suddenly remembered something she'd left in the van. I offered to walk back with her, but she waved me off. When Brittany tried to follow Savannah inside, her mother called her back. I could still hear them whispering as I pushed open the community center doors.

  As I walked in, all chatter stopped dead and everyone turned. Victoria was at the front of the room talking to Margaret. Therese saw me and motioned to Victoria. Victoria looked up and, for a moment, seemed stunned. Then she snapped something to Margaret and strode toward me.

  "What are you doing here?" she hissed when she'd drawn close enough for no one else to overhear. "Did anyone follow you? Did anyone see you come in? I can't believe you--"

  "Paige!" called a voice from across the room.

  I looked up to see Abby bearing down on me, her arms spread as wide as her grin. She caught me up in a hug.

  "You made it," she said. "Thank God. What a horrible day you must have had. How are you feeling, hon?"

  I could have sunk into her embrace, I was so grateful.

  "They dropped the charges," Savannah said.

  "There weren't any charges," I corrected quickly. "The police didn't charge me."

  "That's wonderful," Abby said. "We're just so glad to see you're okay." She turned to the others. "Aren't we, everyone?"

  A few murmured noises of assent answered. Not exactly a deafening show of support but, right now, it was good enough.

  Abby hugged me again, and used the embrace to whisper in my ear. "Just go sit down, Paige. You belong here. Don't let them say otherwise."

  Victoria glared at me, then swept to her place at the front of the room. I followed and took my seat in my mother's chair. And the meeting began.

  After discussing Tina Moss's new pregnancy and eight-year-old Emma Alden's nasty case of chicken pox, Victoria finally deigned to acknowledge my problem. And she made it clear that this was indeed my problem. They'd argued against letting me take custody of Savannah from the start and this only confirmed their fears. Their biggest concern now was not that I'd lose Savannah, but that I'd expose the Coven. It all came back to fear. I was to handle this on my own. In handling it, I was not to involve any other Coven witch. I was forbidden to even ask Abby for help baby-sitting Savannah, because it created a public link between us.