by Ally Shields
“Didn’t Harold say you might be referring clients?” Sarah asked, ending the awkward pause.
Embarrassed she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion, Ari gave a weak smile. “Oh, yeah. I might do that.”
* * *
The Otherworld Forensics & Research Laboratory (OFR), known as ‘the kitchen,’ was housed behind an ordinary door at the rear of the Magic Hall. A small black sign marked the Lab Entrance to a scientific playground. In order to accommodate the expanding world of investigative processing, the lab had been recently remodeled with new equipment and more efficient workspace. It still retained its magical essence. Ari paused in the doorway and made a quick sweep of the room.
Multiple aisles, similar to a library, stretched from end to end. Instead of wooden bookshelves and tables, granite and stainless steel counters equipped with sinks and forensic paraphernalia—test tubes, beakers, microscopes and complex analysis machines—lined each row. If that had been the extent of the lab, OFR might have been any forensic facility in the country. But the OFR utilized many unique items. Electric caldrons, jars of non-human specimens, brightly colored bottles of rare chemicals, and the canisters marked with strange symbols. Those were the magical binding agents. The entire west wall of the room held a series of cubbyholes divided into sections containing herbs, tested and untested potions, and magical powders. The east wall housed the actual library, filled with thousands of books on science and magic.
This was Heaven to Ari’s witch blood. It sang in her veins, and her fingers twitched with the urge to jump into the nearest project. This was the reason history depicted witches as stirring cauldrons. Mixing magical ingredients and conjuring spells was at the core of witchcraft, an inherited talent shared by every member of the race of sorcerers, whether they were from the witch or wizard bloodline. Some were just better at it than others.
More than two dozen human and magical beings moved among the various collections, each absorbed in some experiment. Steam bubbled from a nearby shiny, silver cauldron and an aroma like spring flowers drifted in the air. Across the room, two young dwarves wielding large butcher knives chopped a black, lumpy substance and tossed the pieces into a three-foot blender. Pots hissed, tubing bubbled in the noisy and colorful landscape.
Ari’s attention was immediately drawn to the activity on her right. An old man with a long beard was standing in front of a steaming, bubbling pot. He shifted his weight from one foot to another and muttered under his breath. Every few seconds he punctuated his chant by dropping a pinch of powder into the fermenting broth. Ari briefly wondered if he could conjure something to stop the dreams, but she knew it wasn’t that simple.
She turned away and searched the room for Gillian, spotting her slim figure wrapped in yellow and purple. Gillian wasn’t blind to basic fashion, but she could argue forever about the negative effects of white lab coats on creativity. She looked up as Ari approached.
“Couldn’t wait for me to call, huh? Since you’re here, take a look at this.” She pointed to a jar on the counter in front of her and stood aside.
Ari looked at the squishy mass inside. “It’s a bunch of tiny eyeballs. So what?”
“Eye of newt,” Gillian said.
“What do you want with lizard eyeballs?”
“Technically, salamander. Ari, I’m surprised at you. As a witch, you should be familiar with Macbeth. ‘Eye of newt, toe of frog.’”
Stunned, Ari stared at her. “You’re trying to make a potion? Gillian, that’s an old wives’ tale. That stuff,” she point at the jar in distaste, “isn’t good for anything.”
Gillian’s merry laugh broke out. “Gotcha! You and I may know that, but the fake sorcerer we raided didn’t. This was one of his staple items. You should’ve seen his crystal ball. It was plastic.”
Ari rolled her eyes. Couldn’t the frauds at least do the research? And buy the right equipment? At least another charlatan was out of business. Since most of the human public couldn’t tell the difference, the frauds and wannabes did a lot of damage and ruined the reputations of genuine conjurers.
“Very funny, Gilli, but I hope some of this mess is from my crime scene.” Ari nodded to the collection of papers and test tubes covering the elf’s work space. “Learn anything?”
“Nothing earth shattering. Blood, anger, fear. The energy source analysis was a mixture, as expected.” She handed Ari a printed report. “Everything from vampire to lycanthrope to demon.”
“Demon?” Ari frowned.
“It was faint. Lots of halfling demons live peacefully in the city.”
“Yeah, I know. Rarely seen them, but I worked with one last year for a while. Interesting guy. Nothing like the full bloods. So, anything else?” Ari folded the source report and put it in her pocket. She’d give Ryan a copy. Not that he’d care.
“Give me a break,” Gillian protested. “We’re still filtering. It’s hard to filter out all the human scent. May take two or three more days. Your human cops were thorough—contaminated the entire scene.”
Ari grinned at Gillian’s complaint. Such tunnel vision. If it interfered with the sensory work, it had to be bad. “Is that the long way of saying you don’t have anything else for me?”
“Mostly. There is one puzzle. I processed everything in the parking lot. Handfuls of gravel from the sides. Even swabbed the leaves on the bushes, as you suggested. And I didn’t find what should have been there.” She paused and looked at Ari. “No odor or energy trace of a gun being discharged in the area.”
Ari’s mouth dropped open. “Are you saying a gun wasn’t used?”
“Well, I can’t go that far. But I can’t prove it was either. My finding is inconclusive. The time lag worked against us. After twelve hours it’s hard to pick up gun trace energy even with OFR equipment and skills.”
The “skills” she referred to involved a complicated process of enhancing potions, machine analysis, and magical beings specially selected and trained for their sense of smell and sensitivity to all types of energy, including magical. They could detect things not found by other methods. It usually brought good results, if swabs and collections were timely.
Inconclusive. Ari compressed her lips. Damn. Ryan’s bureaucratic snafu had bit them again.
Chapter Five
The drive to the rolling hill country where Rosalina lived took an hour. Not a long trip, but long enough to move from thinking about the lab report to worrying about the evening ahead. Plenty of time for her stomach to turn flip-flops. When pieces of the dreams began to play an endless loop in Ari’s head—his face, his voice, she began to talk aloud, sharing her fears with Mini, her intrepid car. Anything to stop the pictures. At least it passed the time.
Ari had purchased the green Mini Cooper for a song almost five years ago. The former owner was a drug dealer, killed in a shootout while driving the little coupe. Ari had worked hard to repair the damage; the shattered windows and bloodstains. During the restoration, the two had bonded. Mini had become a sounding board and her best listener. Today was no exception. Best of all, Mini had no backtalk to Ari’s nervous rants.
She arrived in town before dinnertime. Too early. Ari drove to the park, sank onto a bench and stared across the lake, watching the occasional duck until dusk fell.
* * *
Depending on the choice of fantasy, the word seer usually conjured the image of a dark-haired, gypsy-like woman with a crystal ball, or maybe a mysterious figure in a long robe holding a staff and living in a cave. By that criteria, Rosalina didn’t look much like a diviner. She had short red curls, bright blue eyes and lived in a modern walk-out ranch with her husband and three children. To the best of Ari’s knowledge, she had no crystal ball, walking staff, or cave. She did, however, do her best work under the light of the full moon and in an isolated clearing in the woods. From prior visits with her relatives, Ari knew the way.
Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, Rosalina sat cross-legged, Indian-style in the middle of a ring of flickering candles. A white
lace shawl lay draped across her shoulders and arms. “Welcome, Arianna Talaitha Calin. Please join me in the circle,” she invited.
Ari paused long enough to sprinkle herself with cleansing water from a large white bowl, then entered the circle. She knelt across from Rosalina as the candlelight shimmered over the seer’s composed features. Ari gave the other woman a weak smile and recited the traditional words of the ceremony. “I have come to seek your wise counsel.”
“Yes, spirit daughter,” was the response. “I will hear your petition. What knowledge do you seek?”
“An interpretation of the legend of Ramora.”
“Have you had the dreams?”
Ari hesitated. “I’ve had dreams, but I don’t know if they’re tied to the legend.” She was reluctant to discuss this with anyone. It made it seem more real. Yet this was why she had come. She swallowed hard and went on. “Five times the same man has appeared in my dreams. In the last, he called my name.”
Rosalina smiled. “You wish to know if this is the soul mate prophesied by the legend?”
“Yes. I mean, I’m hoping he isn’t.”
The seer’s face registered surprise. “Yours is not the usual request. Most women of your family come to me hoping for confirmation.” When Ari didn’t respond, Rosalina set a large candle between them and handed Ari a ten-inch silver lighter. “Light the sacred flame, Arianna, and we shall ask the Goddess for guidance.”
As Ari obeyed the instructions, Rosalina spread a small blue scarf on the ground and took a bag of similar cloth in her hands. She began a soft chant in an ancient witch tongue. Ari recognized the words she’d been taught by her mother and Great-Gran. An appeal to the Goddess to show them the truth, whatever that truth might be.
The chant ended, and they sat in silence, focusing on the candlelight. The flames provided the sole flickering movement, and the only sounds were those of a forest at night. Leaves stirred; an owl hooted. The air smelled of incense and melting wax.
Rosalina untied the string on the bag and held it out to Ari. “We will cast three.”
Ari reached in and, without looking, selected three rune stones, one at a time, and placed them on the scarf in the order drawn. Rosalina studied them to divine their meaning. Ari recognized the three stones: Ansuz, Ehwaz, and Wunjo. She had not been gifted with the skill to divine their combined meaning. She waited for Rosalina to tell her.
When the seer raised her head, her gaze was far away. “With Ansuz the Goddess has acknowledged your interest in exploring your family heritage and found it to be a worthy quest. Ehwaz sets forth the alternatives in your question, the possibility of creating greater links between two people or parting them forever. And Wunjo, the ultimate outcome rune in this casting, means your heart will know the way.”
Rosalina stopped, and Ari waited for her to continue. She didn’t.
“Is that it? Nothing else? Surely there’s more you can tell me.”
“I could recite the legend, if that would help.”
“Yes, please.” Ari could hardly contain her disappointment. What kind of answer was that? If she knew the way or the answer already, she wouldn’t be here. But maybe there was more, in the legend itself. Even small details might make a difference.
Rosalina regarded her with a serious face. “The Calin family Book of Shadows records this tale. Hasn’t it returned to your hands?”
“No. It’s been missing since my mother died.”
Rosalina frowned, then nodded twice. “Very well. I’ll tell you what I know. I’m sure you heard the story before as a small child, but often we don’t truly listen until the moment is right.” The seer focused on the candlelight again, as if drawing from some hidden store of knowledge. “Many generations ago a very young and beautiful girl named Ramora had three suitors. The first man was tall and handsome and very romantic. The second was a wealthy older man who would cherish her and provide for all her material needs. The third man loved children and would be an excellent father. When all three asked for her hand in marriage, Ramora could not make up her mind. She wanted everything the three could provide. Many months passed. One night, she had a dream in which she foresaw future events.
“In the dream, her indecision continued for years. The other village maidens were duly married, and her three suitors fell into despair. They lost all hope of winning her hand and regretted they had not chosen another. The romantic man went to war and was killed in battle. The rich man journeyed into foreign lands, was robbed and beaten to death. The good father was so despondent without a family of his own that he died of a broken heart. Ramora saw herself grow old and die alone.
“When she woke from the dream, Ramora was desperate to make a decision before the dream came true. She begged the Goddess for help.” Rosalina paused and gave Ari a sharp look. “This is the part that directly affects you, spirit daughter. For Ramora was your ancestor.”
Ari knew that, but it sounded like the knell of doom. Her throat tightened, and she couldn’t speak. She knew what was coming.
“The Goddess agreed to help, but because of Ramora’s failure to make a decision, one condition was imposed. Ramora would never make the choice of a mate again; she would have only one mate in her life, a man tied to her for eternity. Her daughters and their daughters through the generations would be bound by the same condition. Ramora agreed. The Goddess told her the right mate would appear to her in a dream. As the story goes, the dream occurred that very night, and Ramora lived a long and happy life with her chosen husband.”
Ari let out a breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding. “Which one did she choose?”
Rosalina shrugged. “I don’t know. It would be recorded in your Book of Shadows. Her choice didn’t carry into common folklore. Possibly, because it’s not the point of the story.”
Ari thought over what she’d heard. “Does it have to happen that way? Couldn’t I have innocent dreams that mean nothing?”
“You know your family history as well as I do. Your mother, your grandmother, Great-Gran. All had the dream. And your family tree doesn’t show any second marriages. Ari, you said you’ve had the dream five times. And now he’s spoken to you. Perhaps the fates grow weary of waiting. How much clearer can this be?”
Ari took a shaky breath.
Rosalina leaned forward, searching Ari’s face. “What is wrong? Are you sure you don’t want this man?”
“No! I mean, yes, I’m sure. He isn’t the right one. He can’t be. Rosalina, he’s a vampire.” Ari sat back on her heels and watched comprehension flood Rosalina’s face.
“That is unusual,” the seer said, after a moment.
Unusual? The idea almost panicked Ari. Sure, she was attracted to Andreas. The image of his dark, lean figure flashed in her head. His dancing eyes, his strength during a time of grief, the talks, the kiss. All that had been ruined by one awful night. Their magics had shared some psychic link she didn’t understand, a link so strong it woke the sleeping vampire and allowed him to know her thoughts. That was freaky enough, but later she’d watched him kill someone. What if that mysterious link went both ways? Had bound them at the moment of his kill? Would she have experienced his blood lust, his satisfaction? Ari shuddered. She didn’t want to be bound to anyone against her will—but especially not to a vampire.
She took a deep breath. She needed to stop reacting and look at this logically. When she spoke this time her voice was steady. “What happens if I ignore the dreams?”
“If these are the dreams sent by the Goddess, then you will remain alone and unfulfilled.” Rosalina suddenly looked uncertain, her voice faltered. “It is your duty to carry on the Calin bloodline.”
“With a vampire? How would I do that?” Vampires were sterile. Such a mating would never result in little Calins running around.
The seer shook her head, but her voice regained its confidence. “If the Goddess approves, there is always a way. You path will become clear in time.”
Ari stared at her in disbelief. Not
in this case. She frowned. There must be a loophole, something that would change the outcome.
Rosalina took a packet no larger than a tea bag from her pocket and handed it to Ari.
“Do not fret, spirit daughter. If you truly don’t want this union, it won’t happen. Put these herbs under your pillow. It will keep the intruder out of your dreams for a while.” Her gaze deepened, her lips forming a faint smile. “Your fate rests in your own hands. The Goddess does not presume to choose for you. She only allows you to see what is in your heart.”
In my heart? Relief surged through Ari. There were alternatives. She’d avoid him, refuse to let her heart get involved. That should be easy enough. Problem solved. “Then I can handle this. I’ll just be careful. He’s not the right man for me.”
* * *
When Ari entered her apartment that night, she placed the packet of herbs under her pillow. No more pillow talk, Mr. Vampire. You’re gone. Out of my life.
Hoping for a dreamless night’s sleep, she was ready to crawl into bed when she remembered to check the small answering machine that sat on her kitchen counter. She’d notified dispatch of her unavailability and had put her cell phone on forward when she’d left for Rosalina’s. The light was blinking, the counter showed one message. When she pushed the button, the voice on the recording got her immediate attention.
“This is Thelma West. Can you call me as soon as possible? Even tonight? I want to clear things up. Eddie’s been protecting me.”
Ari stared at the machine. Was Eddie’s mother confessing? Ari looked at the clock over the fridge. The call had come in three hours ago, it was now 1:03. Too late. It would have to wait until morning.
Ari’s mind rewound and replayed their interview. Had Mrs. West’s emotional display been a cover? Had she resented Jules enough to commit murder? Still, this didn’t fit the facts. Thinking a matronly lady could kill a vampire was more incredible than pinning it on Eddie. The only thing that fit was Eddie taking the blame. Who wouldn’t lie for their mother? Whatever her story, Eddie’s all-together-looking family was a mess.