Devil's Bargain: An Alastair Stone Urban Fantasy Novel (Alastair Stone Chronicles)

by R. L. King

  I swallowed, trying to get myself under control, my heart already pounding. Maybe she got stuck in traffic, or had to detour around an accident or something. Even as I thought it, though, a growing feeling of dread threatened to overwhelm me. Had she already taken off with Emma, using the pretense of meeting me at her place to get rid of me long enough to do it? “She’s supposed to meet me here. Do you mind if I wait for a while?”

  “Of course not, dear. If you’d like to come over for a cup of tea or something, we can sit out on the porch and watch for her.”

  “No, thank you, that’s okay. I’ll just sit in my car.”

  “Suit yourself. I’m right here if you need anything.”

  I watched her head back inside, then got back in my car and gripped the steering wheel hard. I already knew, no matter how long I waited, that I wasn’t going to see Susan’s Honda pulling into the driveway.

  I waited for half an hour, and I was right. No sign of her. When I finally gave up and drove off, I caught myself looking around for crazy old witches lurking in the bushes or peering out from behind the windows across the street, but I didn’t see any.

  I wasn’t proud of myself for calling the police, but I did it anyway, a couple hours later when I still hadn’t heard anything from Susan and she didn’t answer any of my calls. I told them she’d just lost her husband in a terrible accident and might be mentally unstable, that she’d missed a planned meeting with me, and she and her baby daughter hadn’t been home since the funeral. I didn’t tell them about the crazy old witch. They promised to keep an eye out for her, but warned me that two hours was hardly enough time to file a missing-persons report.

  That had been six hours ago. It was after nine p.m. now. I’d been calling every half-hour, but still nobody had answered. I stared at the phone next to the chair, willing it to ring, willing it to be Susan on the other end. I’d already decided if she called I would help her, even if it meant feeding her delusions. If I could get her calmed down and someplace she felt safe, maybe I could get through to her enough to convince her to get some professional help. Please, Suze, just call me. Let me help you. Let me—

  When the phone did ring then, it startled me so much I literally jumped in my chair. Heart pounding, I snatched it up. “Suze?”

  “May I speak to Tamara Huntley, please?” It was a man’s voice, deep and calm.

  My heart pounded. Why would a man be calling this late? “Y-yes, this is Tamara Huntley. Who is this, please?”

  “My name is Sergeant Morales, from the San Mateo Police Department.”

  My breath caught in my throat. “Is this about Susan? Did you find her? Is she safe?”

  There was a brief pause. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Ms. Huntley, but I’m afraid there’s been an accident.”

  My whole body went suddenly numb, like somebody had tossed me in a quick-freeze chamber. “Oh, my God. Where? What happened? Is she hurt?”

  “I’m sorry.” Sergeant Morales’s voice was heavy with regret. “There was a single-car collision down near San Luis Obispo. Her vehicle went off the road and…I’m afraid she didn’t survive.”

  “No…” I moaned, gripping the phone so tightly I thought I might break it. “No, no, no…” And then my thoughts chilled even more. “What about Emma? Oh, my God, what about Emma?”

  “Who is Emma, Ms. Huntley?”

  How could he not know who Emma was? “Her baby! Her daughter! She’d have been with her in the car!” I was practically yelling now, not even caring that I’d probably wake up both Melanie and Max.

  “Ms. Huntley…” Morales said. He sounded careful, like he was afraid of setting me off again. “There was only one person in the car, tentatively identified as Susan Danforth. There was no indication of a baby.”

  “What?” This was crazy. Unreal. “She was there! What, did she drop her off somewhere before she took off? I watched Susan strap her into her car seat this afternoon!” A terrible thought occurred to me. “You said she went off the road. Could Emma have—been tossed out? Could she still be there somewhere?”

  “They found no sign of a car seat, Ms. Huntley. I’ve seen the photos: the rear window and doors were all intact and closed. If there had been a baby in the car, they would have found her, I promise you.” His voice changed again, softened. “Is it possible she might have left the child with someone else? Can you help us identify any friends she might have dropped her with before she left?”

  My brain was numb, my thoughts careening around so fast I couldn’t hold on to them. Susan was dead? Down by San Luis Obispo? That was over three hours from here. Where had she been going? Where was Emma?

  “Ms. Huntley?”

  “I’m—I’m sorry, Sergeant. I’m just…this is terrible news. I’m having a little trouble processing it right now.”

  “I understand.” His tone was gentle. “I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you, and so late, too. But I see here that you reported her missing earlier today, so I thought you’d want to know as soon as possible. We’ll send someone over tomorrow to talk with you.”

  “Yes…yes, please do that. Thank you, Sergeant.” How strange—thanking the man for telling me my sister was dead and my baby niece was missing.

  As the phone fell from my nerveless hand and dropped to the floor, I heard Melanie’s voice again. “Mom?”

  This time, she had Max with her. He looked bleary in his Cars PJs, clutching Mr. Stuffins, his ever-present teddy bear. Both of them looked at me with wide, scared eyes.

  I beckoned them to me, suddenly not wanting to let them out of my sight. I knew I’d have to do something soon, even if it was just talk to the police again, but right now, all I wanted to do was hug my kids and do my best not to cry.

  4

  The next two days passed in a kind of haze, and the worst part of it all—worse even than losing my sister in a senseless car crash so soon after her husband had died the same way—was that the police still hadn’t found Emma.

  I couldn’t help them much with a list of Susan’s friends, since Chuck’s funeral was the first time we’d interacted, beyond sending Christmas cards and birthday wishes, in almost two years. I pointed them at Mrs. Bond, telling them she and Susan seemed to be close, and asked them to keep me up to date on what was going on. I called Mark in New York and updated him on the news, but told him there was no point in his returning home. He was a good father and loved the kids, but ever since the divorce we’d both moved on with our lives otherwise.

  They even had a story about the accident on the TV news, asking anyone who might know Emma’s whereabouts to call in. I watched it in helpless horror, tears springing to my eyes as they displayed an image of the laughing, chubby-cheeked baby followed by one of Susan.

  I wasn’t proud of it, but as I continued to worry about where Emma could be, still picturing her tiny, broken body dead somewhere on the hillside outside San Luis Obispo where the police had failed to notice her, my thoughts turned more than once to the crazy old witch who had scared Susan so much. Maybe she wasn’t a witch at all—after all, real witches only existed in spooky movies—but some kind of mentally ill woman who’d fixated on Susan back when she’d visited her shop. It seemed pretty unlikely that she’d keep tabs on her for seven years and turn up asking for her baby shortly after she was born, but I supposed I shouldn’t underestimate the power of a good obsession. I wished I could track her down and talk to her, but there were a lot of weird little shops in the Haight, and even though I knew she had to still be in the area since she’d talked to Susan such a short time ago, the odds she’d still be in the same place after all this time were low.

  So I did what I could: I kept myself under control when the kids were home so they wouldn’t worry too much, kept in touch with the police about the investigation, and tried to get my life back to something approximating normal. As normal as it could get under the circumstances, anyway.

  When the mail came on the second day, I grabbed it from the box like usual an
d sorted through it as I walked back toward the house. Bill, bill, advertisement, note from Mel’s school…

  A chill of shock shot through me as I pulled up the last envelope and recognized Susan’s handwriting.

  I stopped right there on the porch and ripped it open, letting the rest of the mail flutter to the ground. It was postmarked two days ago—the same day she’d disappeared—from San Jose. Had she stopped to write to me before heading down south?

  I had to read it twice, squinting to make out the scrawled, jerky writing. She’d obviously written it fast. I could almost picture her hunched over the paper, little Emma burbling away in the back seat.

  Dear Tam,

  I’m sorry I ran off on you, but I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t wait around and hope to make you see. I need to leave now. I’m afraid she’s already after me. But I need to tell you this before I go. If anything happens to me, if I disappear or something worse, PLEASE don’t let her have Emma. I know we haven’t been the closest, but if anything happens to me, you’re her only hope.

  I don’t know if she’s still where I found her, but her shop was on Shrader St. in San Francisco, not far from Haight. I think it was called Madam Mina’s, or something like that.

  PLEASE, Tam. I’m begging you, don’t let her take Emma!

  I love you,

  Susan

  I crumpled the note in my hand, staring down at it with a kind of numbness. This was insane. Not only had Susan expected something to happen to her, but her last communication before she died had been to write me a frantic letter about her baby.

  She had to have been messed up in the head…right?

  But Emma was missing, and nobody—not the police, not Susan’s friends, not her family—had any idea where she was. That didn’t happen, right? If she’d been somehow tossed out of the car during the accident, they’d have found her. If Susan had left her with someone else, that person would have come forward. And if someone had kidnapped her, somebody would have seen something.

  Right?

  I smoothed out the note and read it again. Madam Mina’s, or something like that. And I didn’t have a definite location, but she’d narrowed it down a lot closer than before.

  I glanced at my watch. It was a little after noon—the kids wouldn’t be home for three hours. I could get to San Francisco and back with plenty of time to spare.

  This is crazy. You’re buying into Susan’s delusion. There’s nobody there, and even if there is, it’s probably just some poor old lady Suze fixated on.

  But what if she wasn’t? What if I was Emma’s only hope?

  Before I could talk myself out of this insane plan, I grabbed my keys and headed for the door.

  5

  She was in the phone book.

  I couldn’t believe it—in fact, I almost didn’t look, because that would be the kind of thing you found in a bad movie. Crazy old baby-snatching witches didn’t advertise in the Yellow Pages. But after I left the car in a nearby garage and started walking toward the area Susan had mentioned in her letter, I stopped on a hunch and paged through the tattered old directory hanging from what had to be one of the last pay phones in all of San Francisco.

  Madame Minna’s Parlor

  ~ Tarot, Palmistry ~

  Fortune Telling for All Occasions

  The small ad, surrounded by curlicues, “witchy” symbols and featuring a crystal ball with an eye inside, didn’t say anything about achieving your fondest desire. It didn’t look much different from all the other quack-fortune-teller ads surrounding it. There were a lot of them; I guess San Francisco was kind of a hotbed for that sort of thing, with all the hippie tourists and new-age types coming through.

  I tore out the page and headed up the street, peering at faded numbers on the collection of small, shabby shops. Once again, I didn’t expect to find it. The phone book was old, and most of the listings had probably expired ages ago.

  I remembered what Susan had said about almost missing the place, and having to walk past it twice before she finally spotted it, so I kept a careful watch when the numbers started getting close. It was a good thing I did, too, since Madame Minna’s Parlor didn’t have a number. The only thing identifying it was its name in faded gold paint on an oval window set into a weathered door. There wasn’t even a picture window; the whole shop took up barely twice the width of the door.

  I paused in front of it, taking the place in and wondering again if this was a good idea. Nobody knew I was here. Don’t be ridiculous, I told myself. She’s an old fraud fortune-teller, not a real witch. There are no real witches. Just don’t let her get under your skin. I pressed the button on the small recorder in my pocket, then shoved open the door.

  As soon as I walked into the shop, a bell on the door tinkling behind me, I felt something change. For one thing, the place seemed bigger than indicated from the street. It had paneled walls covered in prints and paintings of strange-looking children and animals, each one in a fussy frame. A dusty but elaborate crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting eerie, dancing patterns onto an old-fashioned rug with a faded floral pattern. The whole place smelled like incense, dust, and the ghostly remains of heavy perfume. The only furnishings were two brocaded chairs on either side of a tiny round table. At the back, a heavy curtain separated the rest of the shop from the front.

  I stopped just inside, looking around for any sign of a person or a way to summon one. Finally, I called, “Hello?”

  The curtain parted, and an old woman shuffled out, clutching a wooden walking stick. I tried not to stare, but it wasn’t easy: she was barely four and a half feet tall, wide and round, with a cheerful, chubby face, prominent nose and chin, and black eyes that looked like oil drops behind her crinkled lids. She wore an old-fashioned gray shawl with tassels, a long, robe-like dress, and a scarf over her long, white hair. She looked like someone’s kindly Russian grandmother.

  “Oh, hello,” she said, her face splitting into a smile. She was missing a couple of teeth, but instead of making her look sinister, it only added to her cheerful expression. “May I help you, dear? Are you here for a reading?”

  “Uh—” I clutched my bag, suddenly at a loss for words. “Uh—no. No reading. I wanted to talk to you, actually. You’re Madame Minna?”

  “The one and only.” She chuckled and pulled the curtain aside. “Come in, come in. Would you like a cup of tea?”

  “No. Thank you. I won’t be here for long.”

  I hesitated, staring past her at the space she’d revealed. This certainly looked a lot more like a fortune-teller’s parlor. Another round table, still small but larger than the one in the waiting area, was covered in a purple cloth decorated with mystical symbols. Three padded chairs were arranged around it, all facing a large crystal ball on a stand in the center. Above it, a hanging lamp had a red shade with long, golden tassels hanging down. Two candles on either side of the crystal ball were currently unlit. More small paintings or prints, all of them in elaborate, oval frames, covered every inch of the wall, and many of their subjects seemed to be watching me.

  “Please, sit down. What can Madame Minna do for you today?”

  I swallowed, glancing back toward the door. The curtain was closed now, so I couldn’t see it. Remember Emma, I reminded myself. “I wanted to talk to you about my sister.”

  Madame Minna settled herself in the largest of the chairs at the table. “Your sister?”

  “Yes. Her name is Susan Danforth. She—was a client of yours, several years ago.”

  She chuckled. “Several years? I’m afraid you’ll have to help me a bit more, dear.” She tapped her head. “The memory isn’t what it used to be.”

  Something about her eyes made me want to look into them, and something about her demeanor made me want to like her. She seemed like such a friendly old woman. I had no idea why Susan had thought she was a witch. That was just preposterous. “She came to you seven years ago, after she saw a flyer. She wanted something done about a man who’d…sexually a
ssaulted her.”

  “Oh, my. That’s horrible.”

  “Do you remember her? The man died shortly after that—fell off a balcony after getting drunk at a party.”

  “Oh! Of course.” She perked up and slapped the table, her birdlike eyes widening. “Yes, of course. I remember her now. What about her?”

  “Well…” I drew a deep breath. Here goes… “She told me that you asked her to make…well…kind of a strange promise, in exchange for your help.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to offend you, or accuse you of anything, but…she said you made her promise to give you her first-born child.”

  “Yes, that’s right.” She said it matter-of-factly, as if she’d just admitted to asking for twenty dollars.

  I stared at her. “That’s—right?”

  “Of course. It’s a standard sort of contract for something that extreme. Magic doesn’t come cheaply—it always demands a price of those who call on it.”

  “Magic.”

  “Yes, dear. That’s what she asked for.”

  “So…you’re saying you—were responsible for the man’s death? The one who assaulted her?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. This was even more unhinged than I’d initially thought.

  “Of course.” She frowned and tilted her head like a confused bird. “Is something I’m saying not making sense to you?”

  “Nothing you’re saying is making sense to me.” I glanced toward the curtain again, wondering if I should just make a run for it and get the hell out of here before I got pulled into this delusion. But then I thought about Emma again, and Susan’s words: you’re her only hope. “Look—my sister’s dead. She died a couple of days ago in a car accident. Before that, her husband died in another car accident. And her baby daughter is missing. Before she died, she told me about this…bargain she made with an old woman, and how that woman came to her a couple of weeks ago to collect on it.”