Mainly by Moonlight

by Josh Lanyon

  The dining room was packed and noisy. Dinner shows were usually booked a month in advance, but Andi had pulled some strings—possibly celestial—and we had a reservation for six. Er, for six of us at seven, I mean. Jinx, Bree, and V. were already seated when Andi and I arrived, and we got a round of applause from our table.

  “Witch. Way. Is. Up,” V. called and made the moon sign.

  “Oh boy,” I said. Andi smirked.

  When we were kids, we used to do this kind of thing all the time. Dress up like a very special episode of American Horror Story: Coven and go to local clubs to flirt with disaster and anyone else who would dance.

  And yes, it was fun to be the real thing in a stable full of ringers. Fun to have our uniform, our in-jokes, and our code words and phrases, to know that even if the other reindeer didn’t want to play, we were the ones with the real power.

  But then we all grew up and got jobs. Having to get up by seven in the morning with a hangover changes you. Anyway, playing with fire had lost its appeal for me long before I’d met John.

  V. and I did the one-armed, slap-each-other’s-back hug. He shouted, “It’s not too late to flee the country. I know a man with a plane!” I wasn’t sure if that was in reference to my marriage, my imminent arrest, or both. Bree greeted me with a kiss and yelled into my ear, “Why is she here?”

  She meant Jinx, the non-witch. The outsider in Bree’s, and probably the rest’s, opinion.

  “She’s part of the wedding party.”

  “So were all John’s groomsmen, but I notice you didn’t invite any of them.”

  I teased, “Do you wish I had?”

  She tossed her head. “Hardly. Andi might, though.” Before I could respond, she added, “And on that subject, she is jealous as hell of her.”

  “Who of whom?”

  “Your new kid sister is jealous as hell of Andi. Yikes.”

  My new kid sister. I hadn’t been thinking of it that way, but yes. Jinx was family now. Well, assuming John and I married tomorrow. If we didn’t…I was going to miss Jinx.

  On the bright side, no more Nola. And I’d be able to dispense with Bridget O’Leary’s services as well.

  “She’s looking at me.” Bree ducked away, picking her glass up in a swoop and sipping. She pointed at the blue liquid and said, “Yours are better, Cos.”

  “Merci bien.”

  I sat down, glanced around the table.

  “No Rex?”

  Andi shook her head.

  “That’s unusual. They’re pretty punctual.”

  “How would you know? You’re always the last to arrive anywhere.”

  “Possibly true.”

  “One hundred thousand percent true.”

  “Any word on Seamus’s murder?” V. called down the table. Our waitress nearly dropped the drinks tray, but recovered.

  “Not that anyone’s shared with me.”

  “It’s Ciara. I’m telling you. She did it. And she’s trying to deflect suspicion by accusing you.”

  Bree scowled and gave him a quick smack on the arm. “Hey!” V. protested. “What? I think he knows he’s being investigated!”

  Yep, and I also knew that Ciara had shared her suspicions with the police, but—

  The penny dropped.

  That was why Kolchak and Iff had acted so oddly that morning. Ciara must have told them that I had come to her house looking for the grimoire, and they had expected me to trot that out in defense, as if my ongoing search for my supposed motive was proof that I hadn’t killed Seamus. Instead, I had kept quiet about my visit to Ciara.

  Which I knew proved nothing either way. There was no proof the murderer had successfully made off with the book. I knew for a fact, they hadn’t. Kolchak and Iff’s reasoning was based on a faulty premise, but they didn’t know that. All they knew was they needed to supply a better motive for a case that was generating such a huge amount of media attention.

  “Ciara was crazy about Seamus,” Bree objected.

  “Exactly!” V. said. “She was mad with jealousy.”

  “Okay, let’s not talk about that stuff tonight,” Andi interrupted. “Let’s do the gifts before they serve dinner.”

  “Gifts! There weren’t supposed to be gifts,” I protested.

  There were gifts, though. Thankfully, nothing serious. A vintage magician’s top hat from Andi. Bullet cuff links from V., who said, “Just keeping it real, bro.” A T-shirt with the slogan Now accepting applications for Partner in Crime… from Bree. And from Jinx, a small box set of Witch’s Apothecary Sex Oil, which raised eyebrows from the rest of my crew.

  By then dinner was being served, the show had begun, and I spent the next hour worrying about John.

  After dinner we moved to the dance club downstairs and ordered yet another round of drinks.

  “Any word from Rex?” I asked Andi.

  I was starting to get uneasy. Maybe—probably—Rex’s odd behavior had absolutely nothing to do with me, but looking back at the wedding rehearsal, they had seemed to take a pretty dim view of the situation. Or at least, of some situation. There had been so much going on—had the rehearsal been only yesterday?—that my recollection was cloudy at best.

  “Nope.”

  “It’s unusual they wouldn’t even call.”

  “I couldn’t tell you. They’re your friend.”

  I got my phone out, gave Rex another call. Once again, I was directed straight to voice mail. “Hey, I’m getting a little worried. No pressure, but when you’ve got a chance, could you let me know you’re okay?”

  It was possible that a wedding was just too much socializing for Rex. It was also possible that something might be really wrong. Rex was quick to offer help, but not the kind of person to ask for it.

  Andi was asked to dance, and Jinx moved into her empty chair next to me. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling. She looked pretty, but there was a certain quality to her smile that made me uneasy.

  “Having a good time?” I asked.

  She nodded, but I think she barely registered the question. “Can I tell you something? But you have to promise not to tell John.”

  “Okay.” I added doubtfully, “I think.”

  Jinx leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “I really am a witch.”

  Uh-oh.

  I gave her the side-eye. “Is that so?”

  She nodded, her mouth curving again into a small, secretive smile.

  “That’s interesting.”

  “I’ve always known. But you know Mother. And John. If I’d said anything, Mother would have been demanding Father Holohan begin the exorcism. And John’s a born fascist.”

  I scowled. “Hey.”

  She shrugged her slim shoulders. “You’re in love with him, so you can’t see it. The most open-minded thing he ever did was fall in love with you.”

  I didn’t know how to take that, so I sipped my drink.

  “I used to study and practice on my own, but it’s hard trying to do it that way. Now I have a teacher.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  Jinx giggled at the idea, but I was being serious. I was hoping she’d name one of the Bay Area’s respected Wiccan Priestesses or High Priestesses, but she said, “Valenti Garibaldi.”

  The name meant nothing to me. “Is Valenti a he?” Call me cynical, but I had to wonder about this unknown entity’s motive in helping Jinx achieve her full inner witch. Or maybe the “Valenti” was an attempt to pay homage to Doreen Valiente, known to mortals and Wiccans as the Mother of Modern Witchcraft?

  “She.” Jinx leaned in again to whisper, “She’s a Witch Queen.”

  I choked on my cocktail. “Is she now.”

  Jinx’s gold-brown eyes were bright with pride. “She’s invited me to join one of her covens.” She glanced dismissively around the crowded room. And yes, there were a few wispy, aspiring-magician types, a few aging Goth girls and boys, but mostly it just looked like people drinking, dancing, and having a lot of fun.

  Jinx said, “T
his is all…posers and wannabes.”

  “I don’t know. I think a lot of people are here for the magic show and to hook up.”

  She threw another of those scornful looks at the room.

  “Isn’t the first rule of Witch Club, you don’t talk about Witch Club?”

  “I don’t talk about it. Ever.” She reached out to trace the silver beads of my bracelet. “I’m telling you because I know you have an interest in it. I’ve seen all your books on the occult. And you wear witch symbols on your jewelry—although maybe you don’t know what those really mean?”

  I contemplated her, undecided on how best to approach this. Was it even my place to approach it? It wasn’t about whether I married John or not. The Goddess summons us as she chooses. She speaks to us in the voice we are best able to hear. She draws us down the path we are most likely to follow.

  Jinx said, “I was thinking maybe you’d like to meet Valenti. I’d have to ask her first, of course, but you’re going to be my brother, and I think she would welcome you. If you have any interest?”

  “Yes, I’d be interested in meeting your teacher.”

  Jinx beamed, leaned back in her chair, and smiled at the dance floor. I was not feeling nearly so pleased.

  Sure as hell—in the purely mortal understanding of that concept—this was going to mean trouble for John. Which meant trouble for me.

  Or at least, I hoped it did. I checked my phone, but there was no message from John. I’d been hoping if I waited long enough, there would be some sign that he also felt unhappy with the way our conversation had gone. Some reassurance that I needn’t spend the next few hours worrying about whether he was going to show up at my door.

  Granted, he had told me he would see me in the morning. For John, that was probably all the reassurance that should be required.

  Jinx was asked to dance, and Andi took her place next to me.

  “What was that about? She thinks she’s a witch?”

  “You heard?”

  “Even if I hadn’t, it wasn’t hard to read her expression. Is she a witch?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, you would, right? You’ve spent enough time around her.”

  “It doesn’t always manifest in obvious ways. I would say no, but I tried to use a forgetting spell on John last night, and he was able to resist it.”

  Andi’s eyes widened. “Are you kidding me?”

  I shook my head. “I was assuming it had something to do with his Pictish bloodline—some genetic resistance to spell-casting of Gallic origin, but maybe there’s something in their dam’s line.”

  “Right. He and Jinx had different fathers.”

  “Yes.”

  She asked curiously, “Why, if Mrs. Galbraith remarried, did she keep her first husband’s last name?”

  “The second husband died while in bed with the next-door neighbor. His name has been expunged from the family Bible.”

  I was pretty sure I wasn’t kidding about that last.

  Andi considered all this. She said slowly, “You know who is a witch, and no question about it because he’s buzzing like a telephone power line—”

  “Yes.”

  “Does he know?”

  “Yes. I think I’m going to apprentice him.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You’re going to apprentice him?”

  “Yes.” I glanced at her. “Unless you want to.”

  “Me? Oh, heck no. I’m not ready to take on that responsibility. And I can’t believe you are, especially since you’re supposedly out of practice. Why are you?”

  “Good question.” Because the Goddess had sent him to me? Because if there really was such a society as SPMMR, we needed to look after our own? Because if John dumped me, I was going to need something to occupy my time and attention? Or maybe if he didn’t dump me, I’d still need something to occupy my time and attention?

  Andi said, “So what happened between you and John that you tried to use a forgetting spell?”

  I opened my mouth to tell her about my search for the grimoire and the now two attempts on my life, but a cute guy in camo pants—the fashionable kind—and a black silk shirt came up and asked me to dance.

  He took my hand as we walked to the dance floor.

  “I’m Chris. I’ve been watching you all night,” he called as we began to dance to “ME!” “I’ve never seen you here before.”

  I called back, “Cosmo. First time. It’s my stag party.”

  His face fell.

  We finished the dance, and Chris walked me back to the table and tried to buy me a drink. I thanked him, declined the drink, but when he asked me to dance a little while later, I accepted.

  * * * * *

  “You want company?” Andi asked when she dropped me off in front of the townhouse on Carson Street.

  “No, that’s okay. I could use an early night for a change.”

  She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “You’re not really going to bother to go to bed? It’s after one.”

  “Yes. I’m beat.”

  “I’ll see you at four, then.”

  “With bells on.”

  “They say that’s how the ancients did it.”

  I laughed. “Night.” I closed the Mustang’s door, patted the roof.

  The mustang’s red taillights were turning the corner as I went inside the building and climbed the stairs.

  I unlocked the door—yes, with a key; yes, I was learning—and let myself in. Moonlight transformed the empty room. Already it smelled a little stale, a little forgotten. For a moment I stood there, not thinking so much as…feeling. Whatever happened tomorrow, tonight a chapter closed. Even if John and I did not go through with the wedding, there was no going back to the way life had been before him.

  There are things that change you forever, things you can’t unknow. Love was one of those things.

  I followed the path of moonlight to the window, rested my hand against the cool glass, stared out at the perfect crescent moon.

  I jumped at the soft but distinct knock on the door.

  No. No. No.

  For a moment, my legs wouldn’t move. My heart was banging so hard, I felt ill.

  I stayed motionless; eyes closed. As if I could ignore that summons.

  The doorbell rang again. This time, a sharp, testy buzz.

  I made myself turn and cross the room.

  I opened the door.

  John stood in the square where my welcome mat had once lain.

  Chapter Nineteen

  All night I’d feared this moment. I’d tried to tell myself I was letting doubt cloud my vision, that what I was experiencing was insecurity and dark imaginings, but deep down I had known. Known from the moment Andi confessed to the love spell, that this was how it would end.

  Standing in the dark with a broken heart.

  John must have been in the midst of unpacking, because he wore jeans, tennis shoes, and his gray sweatshirt had a smear of dust on the shoulder. He looked predictably austere, predictably unapproachable. Yet at the same time, he looked like the dearest thing in the world to me.

  I said huskily, “I was expecting you. Come in.”

  His amber eyes blazed to life. He stepped forward and, to my astonishment, pulled me close. His arms folded around me hard, almost fiercely. “Jesus. No, Cos. That’s not why I’m here. Someone came by the house to see you.”

  I clutched him back, not least because relief almost made my knees give out.

  “Rex?” I’m not sure why Rex was the first person I thought of. I suppose because I’d been increasingly worried as the evening passed with no return phone call.

  “No, but it’s regarding Rex. I’m sorry, it’s not good news. They were in an accident. A hit-and-run. They’re in a coma.”

  “Oh no.” I really did have to lean against John that time. “How?”

  “It sounds like it happened on the job. They’re a private investigator, I gather. That can be a risky business.”

  “Rex is a PI
?”

  John’s forbidding brows rose. “You didn’t know?”

  “No. I had no idea. Rex never really discusses work. They’re a glassblower. I thought they earned a living at it.”

  “Apparently not. So you have no idea what they were working on?”

  I shook my head. “Are they going to be okay? Did this friend who brought the news—what was the friend’s name? Did they say?”

  “She. Leonie de Foix.”

  “I know Leonie. Is Rex going to be okay?”

  John held me tight. He shook his head. “It’s not looking promising.”

  “Oh Godde— Where are they?”

  “I’ve never heard of it. Our Lady of the Green Vale.”

  He meant Our Lady of the Green Veil. But he wouldn’t be familiar with that hospital either.

  I said, “I know where that is.”

  “Okay, but de Foix said that the family requests Rex’s friends stay away until sunrise. I don’t know what that’s about; I’m only relaying the message.”

  “All right. What time is it now?” I felt for my phone, swore when I saw it was dead again.

  “Around one thirty. You were late getting back,” John said. His smile was crooked. “You must have been having a good time. I waited out there for about an hour.”

  I hadn’t seen his car when Andi and I pulled up, which was a lesson in itself. I had been so busy mooning over the fact that John was probably lost to me, that I’d completely missed him sitting right in front of me.

  I said, “It was fun. It was a good night. I put off coming home because I wanted there to be a smaller window of time for you to break up with me.”

  John said slowly, “There’s something almost frightening about your ability to say what you’re really feeling,” and then he kissed me.

  A long, lovely press of warm mouths. The gentle bump of nose and chin, flutter of eyelashes, scratch of beards.

  When we drew back, he stroked the side of my face and said roughly, “I was coming to see you before de Foix came by the house, but only because I don’t want—can’t—spend even a night without you.”

  I was pretty sure I heard that wrong, but I reached for him anyway, pulling his face down to mine, kissing him with all my love, all my passion—and a fair bit of relief.

  “Are you sure, John? Please be sure.”