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

by R. L. King

  “I did, yes. It was a proper bargain, sealed and oath-sworn.”

  I glared at her. “You came to her and demanded she hand over her baby to you.”

  “Yes.”

  “You realize how crazy that sounds, right? That she’d just—give her child to some strange old woman she didn’t even know?”

  She put both hands flat on the table and regarded me calmly. “It’s not crazy at all, dear. She agreed to the bargain. I kept my end of it. It was only proper that she keep hers.” She shook her head, clucking. “I’m so very sorry that she chose not to. These kinds of things don’t make me happy, and it’s unfortunate things had to go the way they did. I promise you, I truly regret it. But she brought it on herself.”

  “Wait.” I leaned forward across the table, looming over her tiny figure. “You’re telling me that when she refused to hand Emma over to you, you…what? Killed her husband?”

  “I did, yes. I’d hoped the warning would convince her to keep her word.”

  “You killed her husband so she’d take you seriously and give you her child?”

  “Yes.” She seemed angry now, not in a malevolent way, but more like a grumpy old grandmother who wasn’t getting through to a thick-witted child. “All she had to do was honor her end of the bargain, and everything would have been fine.”

  “Everything would have been fine.” Once again, I had to stop to process her words, because what I was hearing didn’t sound like it was coming from a sane human being. “Did you kill my sister? Did you—somehow cause the accident that killed her?”

  “I did, yes.”

  No. This was nuts. Absolutely off the rails. “You’re crazy. You’ve got to be. How the hell could you kill a woman in a car crash three hundred miles away?”

  “Magic, dear. Same as I used to kill the man who assaulted her, and same as I used to kill her husband. I don’t see why you aren’t getting this.”

  “Magic.”

  “Yes.”

  “So you really are a witch.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  I gripped the table, shaking now. “Prove it. Show me some magic.”

  She smiled, her wrinkly face shifting in amusement. “No, dear. It doesn’t work like that.”

  “I’ll pay you.” I opened my bag and pulled out a small sheaf of twenty-dollar bills. “How much do you want?”

  She shook her head. “No, I can’t do that. The payment for magical workings is much more…personal than the mere money I take for my little readings. As your sister, to her misfortune, failed to take with proper seriousness.”

  I had to take several deep breaths before I got myself under control. This isn’t real, I told myself. She’s not a real witch. There is no real magic. And you got her to admit she killed Susan and Chuck. You have it on tape. “Okay,” I said, pulling myself to stand straight again. “I get it. You’re nothing but an old loon. That’s what I thought, but I had to see it for myself. I’m just going to ask you one more question, and then I’m going to leave.”

  “What’s that?” She seemed unruffled by my words.

  “Do you know where Emma is? My sister’s baby girl?”

  “Of course I do.”

  I tensed. “You do? Where is she?”

  “Somewhere you’ll never find her, I assure you. But I promise—I will treat her well, and she will want for nothing. She has a great destiny, that little girl.”

  “You…are…insane.” I spat the words out between breaths, glaring at her, my jaw so tight it hurt. “I don’t know who you are, or what your role in this whole thing is, but I am leaving here now and I’m going to call the cops. They’ll be all over you so fast it’ll make your freaky little head spin. And don’t try to stop me, or I’ll forget you’re a little old lady and I’ll kick your ass right here in your shop.”

  She still remained calm, sitting there behind her table as if we were having a pleasant conversation. “I won’t try to stop you, dear. But I will give you a warning: I wouldn’t do that. Your most prudent option would be to leave here and forget you ever saw me. None of this concerns you now, but if you make it concern you, then things won’t go well for you.”

  “Is that a threat, you old bitch?”

  “Merely a warning. Make of it as you will.” She glanced at the old-fashioned clock on the wall. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a client coming for a reading in fifteen minutes, and I must prepare.”

  I stood rooted in my spot, clenching my fists, taking short, fast breaths. I wanted to pick up the crazy old bat and toss her across the room, but I didn’t do that. Don’t be an idiot. She’s getting under your skin, just like you told yourself not to let her. She’s trying to freak you out. Just go.

  “This isn’t over,” I told her, whirling toward the curtain.

  “If you were wise, it would be,” she said, and sounded almost rueful.

  I pushed through the curtain, stalked out of the shop, and slammed the door behind me, rattling the glass and turning the pleasant bell’s tinkle into a clanging cacophony. I didn’t stop until I’d turned the corner and gotten halfway up the street. Then I yanked my recorder out of my pocket, hit the Rewind button, then stabbed Play. Whoever she was, whatever her game was, she’d be sorry when the police heard this.

  Nothing came out of the recorder’s tiny speaker but a kind of muddy shrieking sound, like a radio suffering from electrical interference. Every few seconds I could hear snatches of what sounded like human speech, but not only was it unintelligible, but it didn’t even sound like either me or the crazy old woman.

  Frantically, I ran it back the rest of the way, my heart pounding, but I already knew there was no point. The recording was useless.

  I threw the little recorder down with a roar, startling a couple walking past. They eyed me like I was the crazy one and hurried by, leaving a wide space between us as they passed.

  I rubbed at my face with both hands, trying to calm down. Okay, so I wouldn’t have the recording—but it probably would have been illegal anyway. That didn’t mean I couldn’t call the cops and tell them what she’d said. It was completely absurd that she’d done magic, of course, but I was convinced now that she knew something about Susan’s and Chuck’s deaths, and Emma’s disappearance.

  I glanced back over my shoulder three times on my way to the car, but never saw anything behind me.

  6

  As soon as I got home, I called the police. I spoke with the same brisk, kind female officer who’d been working with me on Emma’s disappearance. I realized how unhinged I must have sounded, pouring out the whole story of my visit to Madame Minna, what she’d said, and how she’d claimed she had Emma, but I didn’t make any effort to sugarcoat it. I even told her what the old bat had said about magic.

  The officer, Lieutenant O’Riley, listened to me in silence, and remained silent after I finished speaking.

  “So?” I demanded. “Are you going to go arrest her? I’m telling you, she’s got Emma, or at least she knows where she is.”

  O’Riley spoke carefully. “Ms. Huntley…”

  “Look,” I said, an edge of desperation creeping into my voice. “I know it sounds crazy. I know it is crazy. I know there aren’t really witches. But I talked to her, and she admitted she had Emma. I tried to record our conversation, but something went wrong with the tape. But she said it, right there in her shop! Why would I lie to you about that?” I gave her the address. “Please—just go there. Talk to her. Maybe she’ll admit it to you too. She didn’t seem like she was trying to hide anything. Maybe she—I don’t know—snatched Emma out of the car before Susan left the area.”

  Even as I said that, I knew it couldn’t be possible, just as I was sure Lieutenant O’Riley knew it too. What new mother, especially one pathologically terrified of losing her child, would drive for nearly three hours without noticing the baby was missing from the back seat of her car?

  “Ms. Huntley,” O’Riley said again, and I could hear that calm, professional tone in her voice tha
t she probably used to talk down suicidal hostage-takers. “I know this is a terrible time for you. I understand that. We all do. But—”

  “Please,” I insisted. “I’m begging you—at least go talk to her. Look around her shop. Maybe you’ll see something I didn’t. Even if you can’t arrest her yet, I want to file a complaint against her. Will you at least do that?”

  Another long pause. “All right, Ms. Huntley. We’ll send someone to talk to her. But I’ve got to tell you, I don’t think it’s going to come to anything. You understand that, right?”

  “Just talk to her,” I said. “That’s all I ask. And…be careful. I know there aren’t real witches, but I do think there’s something dangerous about that woman.”

  I hung up the phone and slumped back in my chair, suddenly exhausted. I’d broken my little recorder when I’d flung it down on the street in San Francisco, but the tape was still intact, so in desperation I tried it in another player.

  The same shrieky, otherworldly sounds came out of it, every bit as garbled and unsettling as before.

  I yanked the tape from the player and threw it across the room, where it slammed into the refrigerator and clattered to the floor. Hot, frustrated tears welled up in my eyes. I wanted to scream, or throw more things, or run around in circles. I felt like one of those freaked-out women in a horror movie, the ones whose perfect, middle-class lives got knocked ass over teakettle by some freakish supernatural happening. The only thing was, that kind of thing didn’t occur in real life. The more likely explanation for freakish supernatural happenings was that the person experiencing them was losing her marbles.

  Was I losing my marbles?

  Okay, I told myself. You’ve got to calm down now. You have to go pick up the kids soon, and you can’t let them see you like this. I owed it to Mel and Max not to let them see their mother acting like the men in white coats would be stopping by any time now. As upset as I was about Emma’s disappearance, I had two kids right here who depended on me, and I couldn’t let them down.

  I didn’t expect to hear back from the police that night. So when the phone rang while Mel, Max, and I were eating a quick dinner we’d picked up from the McDonald’s drive-thru on the way home from their after-school childcare program, I thought it was probably another one of Susan’s friends calling to check on whether Emma had been found.

  “Ms. Huntley? This is Lieutenant O’Riley.”

  I glanced at the kids, who were shoveling down fries and Chicken McNuggets as fast as they could (I didn’t blame them—this was the first time in months I’d let them have McDonald’s, and I think they might have been scared I’d wise up and snatch their junk-food feast away from them). “You kids eat,” I told them. “I need to take this in the other room.”

  They barely acknowledged me as I headed to the living room. “Hello, Lieutenant. What’s going on? You haven’t found Emma, have you?”

  “No—nothing like that. I’m sorry. But I wanted to give you an update. I went up to San Francisco to talk with Madame Minna after we spoke.”

  I tensed. “You did?” I didn’t want to admit it, but I half-expected she wouldn’t have bothered, or if she did bother, to report back that not only could she not find the old witch, but her shop hadn’t even been where I said it was. “You talked to her?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did she say? Did you find out anything?”

  “Ms. Huntley…” She hesitated, and even over the phone line I could tell she was trying to figure out the best way to say what she wanted to tell me. “We found her shop right where you said it was. Madame Minna was very cooperative, and answered all our questions without hesitation.”

  “Did she tell you she killed Chuck and Susan?” I demanded. “That she’s taken Emma? Did she say anything about the bargain Susan made with her?”

  “No. She—didn’t say anything about any of that. She mentioned that you’d come by today and said something to her about your sister and her missing child, and accused her of somehow kidnapping the baby, but she claimed not to have any idea what you were talking about.” I heard a deep breath. “She seemed…concerned about you, Ms. Huntley.”

  “No!” I growled, glaring at the phone. “No! That’s not right! She’s lying, Lieutenant! She admitted she’s got Emma, and that she killed Susan and Chuck. She told me, without any hesitation. Did you just believe her? Did you look around at all?”

  “We…looked around her shop, yes. Of course we didn’t have a warrant, but Madame Minna said she had nothing to hide. We found no indication of anything illegal, and certainly no sign that she was keeping a baby there.”

  I took several breaths to avoid yelling at her. This was insane. The old bitch was lying to them—she had to be. She was probably laughing at me after they left, sitting there in her shop like some kind of withered, dwarfish toad. I remembered my first impression of her, before we’d started talking: that she was somebody’s tiny, kindly grandmother. I remembered how compelling her eyes were, how much I wanted to believe her words, how hard it had been to hold onto a negative thought about her while in her presence. It had only been when she’d admitted to her crimes that I’d been able to resist. “So what are you going to do now? You can’t let this drop, Lieutenant. I’m telling you, she’s the key! You’ve got to go back there, and—”

  “Ms. Huntley.” O’Riley’s voice was gentle and careful. “I know this is a terrible time for you. I promise you, we’re doing everything we can to find Emma. You’ve got to let us do our jobs. Please—maybe it might be best if you took your kids and went away from here for a few days. Leave us your contact information, but let us do what we do best. I promise, you’ll be the first to know if we turn up anything.”

  She was blowing me off. She thought I was crazy. I couldn’t believe things were spinning so badly out of control. “Listen, Lieutenant,” I snapped. “I’m telling you, that horrible old woman knows exactly where Emma is. And if you won’t do anything about it, then—”

  “Ms. Huntley.” This time her voice was sharper. “Please. I don’t mean to be unkind, especially when you’ve been through so much, but you’ve got to stay away from Madame Minna. She expressed concern about you—said you frightened her with your threats, and even asked about a restraining order. I’m sorry, but you need to back away from this. Do it for your children. They need you, and I don’t want to see you do something you’ll regret later. Can I count on you to let us handle it?”

  I rubbed my face, resisting the urge to throw the phone across the room as I’d done with the recorder. “Fine,” I said at last, grudgingly. “Fine. I’ll stay away from the old bat. But please don’t eliminate her as a suspect. I’m one hundred percent certain she knows more about this than she’s telling you.”

  “We’ll keep that in mind, Ms. Huntley, I promise. We never eliminate suspects until we’re certain. Now please, get some rest. I’ll call you next time we have an update on the case.”

  I hung up, carefully setting the phone on the table, and glanced up to see Mel and Max watching me. Mel was munching on her last McNugget, and Max, eyes wide with fear, had his thumb stuck in his mouth. He hadn’t sucked his thumb in years.

  Suddenly, shame washed over me. I was a horrible mother. As much as I wanted to get to the bottom of Susan’s death and Emma’s disappearance, my first loyalty had to be to my own kids. “You guys okay? Did you enjoy your McDonald’s?”

  “Mom…” Mel ventured. “Are you okay?”

  “Of course I’m okay. I’m just sad about Aunt Susan, and worried about Emma. But I’ll be okay, I promise.”

  She pondered that for a few moments, then said in a small voice, “Is an ol’ witch gonna come and take me and Max away too?”

  I froze. I hadn’t thought she’d been listening—but of course she was. Kids heard everything, whether you wanted them to or not. Especially the stuff you didn’t want them to hear. I spread my arms wide, feeling the tears coming again. “Come here, you little monkeys. Of course no old witches are co
ming. Witches aren’t real, and besides, nobody’s going to get past me.”

  They both came into my arms, and I hugged them tightly, clutching them to me. “Everything’s going to be fine. I promise.”

  “For Emma too?” Max asked, in an even smaller voice than Mel had.

  I stroked his tousled hair. “For Emma too.”

  I wished I could believe my own words.

  Somehow, I got them to bed on time. It wasn’t easy—there were more requests for tuck-ins, glasses of water, and particular configurations of stuffed animals than usual, but finally they both settled down and the house grew quiet. I dropped into my favorite chair and switched on the television, hoping I could find some stupid comedy to take my mind off the horror of my life for half an hour or so. Once again, I was tempted to have a good stiff drink, but once again I resisted. When this was all over, when Emma was found, I’d leave the kids with Mark and get good and drunk for just one night, but not until then.

  I even found myself wishing Mark was here now, which was unexpected. He’d called a couple times to get updates on the situation, but I was mostly glad he was safely in New York where he couldn’t get involved. Mark was one of those insufferable types who always had all the answers, even when he didn’t. That was one of the main reasons we’d split up—he’d insisted on trying to solve all my problems, even when I assured him I was perfectly capable of solving them myself, and got sullen and disagreeable when I didn’t let him. I couldn’t deny he was a good father, and I was glad he wanted to stay involved with the kids’ lives, but he hadn’t been a good husband. Not for me, at least.

  Now, though, a little of his problem-solving skill might be just what the doctor ordered. After all, it was usually easier to get to the bottom of a puzzle when you weren’t neck-deep in it yourself. He might see things I’d missed. I thought about calling him, but decided against it. He’d be back next week—if this whole thing hadn’t been settled by then, I’d talk to him about it.