by Ani Gonzalez
Gavin raised a brow. "Poison, you mean."
Sean nodded. "But I'd love to be proved wrong."
Gavin considered that. The police would naturally look for ulterior motives, but he was partial to the accidental death explanation.
Death by stupid, was, in his experience, fairly common.
The police, however, were free to disagree. "But you don't think that's going to happen."
"No," Sean replied. "If I wanted someone sick, I might use a fire." He paused. "But, if I want someone dead, I wouldn't leave it up to chance."
CHAPTER SEVEN
ALICIA LEFAY, famed witchcraft practitioner...dearly beloved...sorely missed...remembrance ritual...respects...
Fiona scrolled down the Internet impatiently, looking for information about the famous witch's death, but she found nothing. Mourning and sadness but no concrete news.
A flash of heat hit her chest as her frustration mounted, making the computer screen flicker ominously. She took a deep breath and struggled for control. The last thing she wanted was to overheat her computer. After all, she couldn't afford a replacement.
She stabbed at her computer keyboard, closing the computer windows, and straightened. She still had a couple of minutes before it was time to open her store.
She walked around, making sure everything was in its place. She paused when she got to a shelf laden with purple and lavender candles. This was her mourning—or rebirth, depending on your perspective—section, with products ranging from rosemary votives for remembrance to white, apple-scented Sorceress' Best candles that immanentized the Isle of Avalon during rituals.
Should she move these items to the front? It felt a bit ghoulish, but on the other hand, someone might be looking for exactly this kind of comfort.
She settled for scribbling the words "materials for new moon rituals available in the back" on the specials chalkboard. The wording would convey the necessary information to practitioners looking for supplies, but would not creep out other customers.
With that happy compromise, she headed out to visit the store next door. According to Patricia, the police thought that her products may have had something to do with Alicia's death. That was terrible news for her business. She needed to get a handle on the situation. Rumor was there had been a huge meeting at the firehouse this morning. If her business had been discussed, she wanted to know about it.
That meant asking Luanne.
The Banshee Creek Botánica was much bigger than her own establishment. Instead of an awning, it had a large picture window with the store's logo and a list of services, including spells, rituals, and cleansings, and a small sign that clarified that "exorcisms were extra." Kat Ramos was a savvy businesswoman. She knew where the money was in Banshee Creek.
Upon entering the botánica, a visitor found a somewhat cluttered space with bohemian decor. There were Persian-style rugs on the floor, curtains in patterned and embroidered fabrics, stained glass lamps, and shelves full of mystical books and ingredients. The walls were covered in posters explaining the phases of the moon and the zodiac constellations, and various types of statuary were scattered around. A large wolf, Fenris from the Norse myths, stood in a corner next to a beatific Chinese woman, the merciful goddess Quan-Yin. Two stern archangels, Michael and Uriel, flanked a jovial Ganesh. An intimidating statue of Kali, the Hindu goddess of destruction, guarded the door to the inventory room, warning customers to stay away.
Fiona peered around a tall bookcase, looking for Luanne. However, the fortune-telling nook—two wing-backed chairs upholstered in tattered red brocade around a small table—was empty, and the sheriff's girlfriend was nowhere to be found.
It figured. Luanne probably knew she'd be pumped for information on the investigation if she showed up. The canny fortune-teller had probably called in sick.
Fiona saw Kat chatting with a customer in the santería section and walked over to say hi.
"She wants something special," the red-haired girl was saying. "It's her first time leading the ritual and she wants to make sure it's memorable."
"I wouldn't recommend that particular santería ceremony," Kat replied tactfully. "Oyá is a warrior goddess as well as a goddess of death. She is not exactly a comforting kind of deity." She reached for a statue of an androgynous merman chained to the sea floor. "Olokun, however, is one of the aspects of Yemanyá, the mother goddess. He represents the unfathomable depths of the ocean and is associated with death and rebirth. He might be a better choice."
The girl beamed. "Gwen will love that. She loves to bring obscure deities into rituals. She likes to show off her knowledge."
Kat smiled. Obscure pagan deities were, after all, her specialty.
"Are you taking this to the hospital?" she asked her customer.
Hospital? Was the redhead one of the festival participants? Fiona leaned forward to hear more.
"Yes. She's still in bed, but expects to be released later today and is already planning the mourning ritual, which will happen in two days." The girl grabbed her phone. "Let me ask her about this Olokun thing."
Kat smiled. "I can bring out the materials and set them on the counter. We can make a nice display, so you can send her a picture and see if she likes them."
The girl beamed. "That would be fantastic. Thanks!"
As her customer focused on her phone call, Kat sneaked out behind the bookshelf and waved to Fiona. Fiona walked over to the herbalism section.
"That's Sandy," Kat whispered. "A member of Alicia's coven."
"Really? How are they taking it?"
"As well as can be expected." Kat pulled out bags of herbs and stones, as she talked. "They're prepping a mourning ritual for the day after tomorrow."
"I heard," Fiona replied. "That's a good idea. It brings comfort and peace. But isn't it a bit early for that?"
"Yes." Kat reached for a plastic bag filled with glossy black stones. "But they want to do it before they return to Salem. They want to send Alicia off to the summerlands in the grove."
"The place where she died?" Fiona asked, amazed.
"They think the ritual would be more effective that way." Kat shook her head. "I understand that, but I wish they'd go somewhere else for supplies."
"Alicia bought stuff from you too?" Fiona asked.
"Tons." Kat's mouth tightened. "I stand behind all my products and I'm sure they are all pure and safe, but I still didn't get any sleep last night trying to figure out if they could have misused my supplies."
"You too, uh?" Fiona commiserated. "They bought my chamomile and sage fire starters."
"Don't worry. Those are perfectly safe." Kat grimaced. "They bought several herb pouches from me, the Belenos Brilliance Bags I had on special. Luckily nothing in there is toxic." She looked up. "I thanked the goddess several times last night for the fact that I got rid of Yolanda's poisonous herbs collection."
Yolanda was the botánica's former owner. Unlike Kat, who was an eclectic witch, Yolanda was a true santera.
"She had dangerous items in the store?"
Kat nodded unhappily. "A lot of practitioners use stuff like nightshade and wolfs bane, in small amounts, for ritual purposes. They're very careful with such substances, though. I heard even Alicia LeFay..."
Kat looked around, making sure she wasn't overheard.
"Even Alicia," Kat continued, "used them in her spells. Nightshade for new moon rituals, wolfs bane for the full moon. Her theory was that a small amount of poison would make the ritual much more powerful."
"Would she have used something for Beltane?"
"She might have," Kat admitted. "I've heard people argue that Angel's Trumpet, Autumn Saffron, and even peach seeds are appropriate for sun rituals, but I don't use any of those. I'm just a grasshopper witch, you know, barely more than an apprentice."
Fiona filed this information away. If Alicia and her coven had access to poisons, that was a more likely culprit than her innocent fire starters.
"I hope they do an autopsy," Kat sighe
d, "and find out exactly what happened. I feel like I'm under suspicion and I didn't do anything wrong." She jiggled a bag containing black cowrie shells. "I'm playing it safe, in any case. Alicia's coven is getting statues, stones, black rum, and maybe a bag of Banshee Creek Bakery's famous Boo-Berry Muffins. No herbs."
Fiona nodded. She felt the same way.
Sandy came back, frowning and speaking into her phone.
"Yes, Richard," she said. "I understand. We were just trying to—"
She bit her lip and listened. The person calling her was screaming so loudly, she had to hold the phone several inches from her ear.
"Yes, of course," she said. "I see that."
More screaming.
"She thinks she has the right," Sandy said, firmly. "She's the ritual leader now."
Even more screaming.
"Then you talk to her," Sandy exclaimed, finally losing her temper. "I'm just a peon doing what I'm told."
She looked up to find Kat and Fiona staring at her.
"Sorry about that," Sandy said sheepishly. "Coven politics." She perked up when she saw the items Kat had gathered. "Is that obsidian?"
"Yes," Kat said doubtfully. "Do you still want it?"
Sandy nodded firmly. "Let's put it together, so I can take a picture to send to Gwen. I understand Richard's concerns, but he's been prostrate with grief. If Gwen wants to take the lead, more power to her."
"Very well," Kat said, gathering the materials.
Fiona helped her out. Under Kat's direction, they quickly created a beautiful artistic display. Indigo cloth covered the botánica's glass counter. The dark-haired merman statue stood in the middle, surrounded by obsidian stones and black cowrie shells. Kat brought a dark blue goblet to be filled with dark rum, and blue beaded necklaces for the coven participants.
"You can buy flowers at the supermarket—blue hydrangeas would be best—and get some blueberry muffins from the Banshee Creek Bakery to finish the altar."
"Supermarket?" Sandy asked, clearly dismayed.
A smile tugged at Kat's mouth. "The hospital florist should have blue orchids on display. You can call them instead."
"That sounds better," Sandy said, smiling.
"And I can give you a recipe for the cakes," Kat added. "It's a bit complicated, but you can get the materials at a health food store."
"Gwen would love that," Sandy replied, taking pictures of the display. "She's all about authenticity." She snapped a few more photos, then put down the phone. "It might be a while before I hear back from her, can you keep this up?"
"Absolutely," Kat said.
"Thank you," Sandy replied, putting her phone away. "I have to go make sure we have permission to use the grove for the ritual. I'll come back after that."
"Good luck," Kat said.
They watched Sandy exit the store and walk hurriedly to the Historical Preservation Committee building across the street.
Kat rolled her eyes and walked to her ritual display. "Supermarket hydrangeas and store-bought muffins are perfectly appropriate offerings to Olokun. The Orishas are not fancy."
"Apparently, Gwen likes fancy," Fiona said.
"If I had a nickel for every Wiccan hipster that walked through that door," Kat complained, coming back with two glass-encased candles with symbols etched in the glass, "I could redo the inventory room. People confuse effort with efficacy."
She put a candle on each side of the merman statue, grabbed a match from a cup on the counter that read "No Hexing Before Coffee," and lit one candle.
"For Alicia LeFay, a woman of knowledge and wit, who has met an untimely end. May the Lord of the Depths gather her to his bosom and grant her peace and rest."
She touched the match to the second candle. "And may Olokun, god of knowledge and wisdom, grant our law enforcement personnel both of those attributes, that they may solve the mystery of her death and hence proclaim our innocence."
The flames flickered, then the door opened and a gust of wind swept through the store. Kat turned around.
"I'll be with you shortly—"
But there was no one there.
Another gust. The flames danced for a few seconds then went out.
Kat stared at the velones, her mouth drawn tightly. "Well, that's not good."
"What does it mean?" Fiona asked.
Kat shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I asked for the wrong thing. Maybe he didn't like my shrine. Maybe he heard Sandy and he really wants orchids and homemade cake. Maybe he's just in a bad mood."
"Sometimes wind is just wind," Fiona noted hopefully.
Kat chuckled. "That's true."
Fiona shook her head. "I have to go open up my store. Let me know when Luanne shows up, okay?"
"Will do, but I think she cancelled her clients today. She's not feeling well."
It was Fiona's turn to eye-roll. "She knew I was planning to interrogate her."
"You weren't the only one," Kat replied with a laugh.
Fiona reached her store, turned around the "Closed" sign and turned on all the lights.
There. Officially open for business.
She checked her phone and found she had an urgent voicemail. It was from Gavin. The fire chief wanted a meeting.
Fiona sighed and glanced at the fire starters piled up in white straw baskets in her camping section. She had a feeling she knew what Gavin wanted to discuss. Chief MacKay claimed that the meeting was casual and he just wanted to understand how things worked.
A likely story.
She rung up the fire station. If Gavin wanted to grill her on the safety of her merchandise, he was going to have to do it on her turf.
CHAPTER EIGHT
GAVIN REGARDED the square building with shabby, cedar-shake siding and a sign featuring a one-eyed owl with molting feathers, with undisguised wariness. He was both confused and intrigued.
The Mangy Owl? Fiona wanted to meet in the local biker bar? That seemed unlike her. He could picture Fiona at a tea shop or a candlelit restaurant. A bar was not her style.
Not that he minded. He was no stranger to the local dive. Fire & Rescue tended to meet up at Poltergeist Pizza, but sometimes pie and beer didn't cut it. Bad stuff happened, even in Banshee Creek, and sometimes you just needed a real drink.
Tonight, in particular, he could definitely use one.
He pushed the heavy wood door open and entered the dim, crowded space. The bar was owned by Caine Magnusson, who'd renamed it, refurbished it, and turned it into a thriving business.
The building had been a public tavern in the 1700s, and its main claim to fame was that Jack Jouett changed horses there during his wild ride through the state. Virginia's answer to Paul Revere refreshed himself in Banshee Creek before heading to Richmond to warn the patriots that the Redcoats were coming. His exhausted mount didn't survive the ride, and its ghost was rumored to haunt the tavern, eating the apples and oats that customers left for him and kicking misbehaving patrons in the rump.
Gavin often wondered if the PRoVE leader resented the fact that, in a town full of spooks, his own building could barely muster a bad-humored spectral bouncer with itchy hooves.
But that was apparently not the case tonight. Caine stood behind the bar, overseeing his domain with perfect cheer. The place was filled to capacity. The usual suspects—Abby and Mike, enjoying a night away from their babies, and Patricia having a girls' night out with assistant librarian Holly Hagen and real estate agent Elizabeth Hunt. Abby's date night was going awry as many Beltane attendees were asking her for autographs and selfies. Her country-folk band, The Space Cowboys, seemed to be popular with the Wiccan folk.
There were also a lot of somber out-of-towners. The Beltane celebrations had turned dark and the attendees were drowning their sorrows.
"Hey, Chief." Caine grinned behind his beard. "Fiona said you'd be dropping by. The usual?"
"Yes, thanks," Gavin replied, hiding a smile.
Fiona, it seemed, had gathered her posse. The candle maker was feeling besieged and
the Mangy Owl and its occupants were her moat and drawbridge.
Well, two could play that game.
"How's it going, Caine?" he asked as the biker poured Macallan whisky into a glass. "Any fallout from last night?"
"Lots of business," Caine said, handing over the glass. "That's the fallout. Everyone is bummed out."
Gavin considered that. Depressed or anguished people could be dangerous, to themselves and to others. "Anything we need to watch out for?"
"No," Caine said quickly. "Nothing like that. Just general malaise. They're all looking forward to the mourning ritual, but they're looking beyond that."
"Planning for the future?" Gavin asked, trying to determine what he was dealing with.
"Yes, a couple of groups want Kat to take a look at their stuff and the Maryland guys want to sell me their beer." He paused, glancing at a group that was busy swigging down impressive amounts of amber-colored ale. "I might take them up on that. I like to buy local and they have Edgar Allan Poe-themed brews that would be perfect for this place."
Gavin nodded, pleased. The dangerously depressed did not often go around selling beer.
Caine raised a brow. "So, you guys think it may be a Banshee Creek product that caused this?"
Ah, Fiona must have spilled the beans. He tried to gauge Caine's reaction. The PRoVE leader seemed concerned but not hostile.
"We're looking at all the possibilities," Gavin said, sipping his scotch.
Caine snorted. "We are all responsible business owners. Some of our activities may be unorthodox, but we would never engage in something dangerous or unsafe."
Gavin nodded, noting the use of the plural pronoun. As far as Caine was concerned, this didn't just involve the botánica and the candle store. He thought this affected all the businesses in town.
"It's better now," Caine continued, cleaning a beer stein with a striped towel. "People are more open-minded. When we started PRoVE, it was very different. People felt threatened. They thought we were, at best, bamboozling people, and at worst, spreading Satanism. We were accused of all kinds of things." He put the glass away and reached for another. "I don't want to go back to that."