Cold Cases and Haunted Places

by Trixie Silvertale

  “This.” Edwina brought out her cellphone and showed them the picture she’d snapped of the scarab. “I need to know what it’s for.”

  “Too bad you don’t have the actual item,” Emory said, peering at the image. “I would have been able to tell you if it was magical.”

  “Oh, it’s magical, all right,” Edwina said grimly. “I sensed that much, but I need to know more, and I don’t want to bias you by telling you too much.”

  Veri lifted a brow. “She means she doesn’t want us making stuff up.”

  “We would never!” Lene was outraged.

  “Of course not.” For some reason Edwina found herself placating the younger witch.

  Lene was the only one, other than Mia, who was actually the age she looked: thirty-something. Both Veri and Emory were over one hundred, though you couldn’t tell by looking at them. Edwina probably did look her age. She certainly felt it. “I know the three of you will be as honest as you can with me, but I don’t want to color your findings.”

  “Fair enough,” Emory said. “Let’s get down to business. Text me the photo.”

  Edwina did, then while she waited on the couch, Emory placed her phone with the scarab picture next to a small cauldron in the center of a circle which had been painted on the floorboards. The four witches of the coven stood around the circle and cast the four corners.

  Finally Emory launched into the spell. “God and Goddess, hear my plea, see this image and tell to me what is its purpose and history. As I will, so mote it be.” She tossed a handful of herbs into a cauldron. They immediately caught fire, sending a column of smoke billowing to the ceiling. As it drifted toward the floor, sigils swirled in the smoke until it disappeared. Edwina couldn’t read them, but Emory could.

  “Oh, boy,” Emory said.

  “What is it?” Edwina demanded.

  “I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

  4

  “The scarab probably started life as an ordinary trinket. Maybe in a new age shop or some tourist trap,” Emory explained.

  “It’s more than that now,” Edwina said dryly.

  Emory nodded. “Whoever bespelled it painted it first. Black for eternity, red for eternal life.”

  “Eternal life?”

  “Don’t knock it,” Veri said. “Many would kill for a few extra years, never mind eternity.”

  “I’m not knocking it,” Edwina said stiffly. “It makes sense, based on where it was found. I want to make sure I understand what’s behind this. Or better yet, who.”

  Emory shook her head. “It’s impossible to tell. Maybe if I had the actual object—”

  “No can do. It’s evidence. Chief Dekes isn’t going to let me take it. Anything else you can tell me?”

  “Whatever it was initially intended for, I can’t be certain. I can only say that it was used in a ritual, likely to transfer energy from one person to another,” Emory said.

  Lene spoke up. “Ka.”

  Edwina turned to her. “What do you mean?”

  “Ancient Egyptians believed the human soul was made up of many parts. Ka was a person’s vital force, and after death it could live on in a statue or whatnot. I’m betting this ritual thing was to transfer ka from one person to another to prolong life. Siphon off a few years, you know?”

  Edwina did know. Poor Lydia Day had had all of her ka siphoned away, which meant what? Sixty or seventy years more for the killer? Did it work like that? “How does it work?”

  The other four witches exchanged glances before shrugging.

  “Not in our wheelhouse,” Veri said. “You’d need someone who specializes in ancient Egyptian magic and lore.”

  “So this person, whoever used this scarab, is into ancient Egyptian mythology?” She couldn’t think of a single magic practitioner in Deepwood who fit the bill. Most of them ran toward European-style magic.

  “Not necessarily,” Emory said. “These days you can find all sorts of things on the internet, including ancient magical rituals. Most people don’t think they’re real, of course, but a witch who was desperate—”

  “Or crazy,” Mia supplied.

  This wasn’t helping. “What do you suggest?”

  “Scrying,” Veri said.

  Emory nodded. “That would be a good start. If Chief Dekes will let you, try scrying with the scarab. Maybe you’ll get a hint which way to go.”

  Edwina sure hoped so, because right now she was stumbling around in the dark.

  Although it was fully dark when she left Emory’s house, Edwina rejected Veri’s offer of a ride home. She needed to think, and that was best done while doing something mundane, like walking. Besides, it was one of those nights that called to her, made her feet itchy.

  Her Doc Martens thumped along the sidewalk, and the occasional snippet of TV or conversation floated from open windows. Otherwise it was quiet, just how she liked it.

  She went over a jumble of facts, trying to fuse fragments together that didn’t want to fit. Something was missing. That last piece of the puzzle to slot things in place. And then there it was.

  She blinked, sure it must be a mirage, because what she was seeing had not been there before. Well, the building had, but not the shop. She stepped closer.

  The small Victorian farmhouse was on a corner lot, surrounded by a white picket fence which matched its monochromatic paint job. It had once been an antique shop, like many along the street, but the sign in the corner of the lawn had changed. Instead of a simple rectangle with fancy letters spelling out Farmhouse Antiques, it was shaped in a vertical cartouche with the Eye of Horus painted at the top and an ouroboros at the bottom. In between, in Papyrus font, were the words Heka Antiques & Artifacts.

  Narrow steps led up to a wood-plank porch. The front door, once flanked with planters of petunias, was now guarded by a pair of stone sphinxes. The light above the door was on, and a sign in the window announced the place was open. That was odd in and of itself. Most of the shops on Main Street closed around six, and it was nearly ten.

  Something pulled her toward the place. Curiosity, maybe. Or maybe something deeper, more magical. Either way, she climbed the steps to the porch and pushed inside. She was immediately surrounded by the heady scent of cinnamon incense and the wild throbbing of drums and lutes.

  A young woman with thick, black hair spilling down her back, brown feet bare except for a silver toe ring, danced in the center of the room, undulating her arms and shimmying her hips. Classic belly dance moves, except she was dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. She spun and stopped dead, facing Edwina. Her eyes widened and with a flick of her wrist, the music shut off.

  “Oh, hi, sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.” The words, lightly accented, came in a rush. Her face was heart-shaped, and thick lines of black rimmed her eyes and winged half off her face, like Elizabeth Taylor in the Cleopatra movie. Her skin was the color of terra cotta clay, her irises dark amber with flecks of gold.

  “Just thought I’d check the place out. Hadn’t realized the antique shop was gone.” She could have sworn it had been in business only a few days before.

  The young woman’s smile was almost feline. “I just opened.”

  “So I see.” Edwina glanced around. Elegant glass shelves at odds with the external farmhouse vibe glinted beneath spotlights, showing off delicate vases, alabaster statuettes, and black velvet busts displaying extravagant necklaces of gold and lapis lazuli. “Is this stuff real?”

  “Define ‘real.’”

  Edwina eyeballed a particularly intricate pair of earrings. “Real gold and jewels?” The price tag was enough to send her into shock.

  “Yes, of course.”

  She moved to a statuette of a god holding a staff with two intertwined serpents. “Real ancient artifacts?”

  “That would be illegal. That is a modern representation of the god Heka, carved of alabaster and done in an ancient style.”

  “Who is Heka when he’s at home?”

  The young woman’s
smile widened, revealing a dimple. “The embodiment of magic.”

  “Interesting that you named your shop after him.”

  “Isn’t it? My name is Merit. How may I help you?” She pressed her palms together and inclined her head in namaste.

  “Edwina Gale. I’m looking for something unusual.”

  “How unusual?”

  “I’m looking for a scarab.”

  “Those are not at all unusual. I have many of them. Some in jewelry, some as conversation pieces, some antiques. Did you have anything specific in mind?”

  Edwina took out her phone and pulled up the photo. “This is the scarab I’m looking for.” She held it out for the other woman to see.

  Merit yanked the phone from Edwina’s hands. Her knuckles turned white. “Where did you find that?”

  “Then you know what it is?”

  “Yes. Where did you find it? Where is she? Where is Lydia?”

  “She’s dead.”

  Merit went ashen and sank to the floor. Edwina managed to grab her phone before it fell. Last thing she needed was a cracked screen.

  “What is this? Why is it painted in those colors?”

  Merit’s voice was barely above a whisper and the scent of cinnamon seemed to grow stronger. “I gave it to her.”

  Edwina stiffened. She was admitting it? “I was told it was meant to transfer ka from one person to another.”

  Merit nodded. “From me to her. For protection. I was trying to save her.”

  “I don’t think it worked.”

  Merit’s breath caught in a sob.

  “Sorry,” Edwina said. “I’m not much good at the whole sympathy thing.”

  Merit grimaced. “I’d rather have revenge than sympathy.”

  “Who was Lydia to you?”

  “My granddaughter.”

  5

  Edwina snorted. “Granddaughter? You barely look twenty.”

  Merit’s laugh lacked any amusement as she heaved herself to her feet. “Add a couple zeros, and you’re closer. Technically Lydia was my many times great-granddaughter, but she was flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood.”

  Edwina looked her over. “You’ve aged well.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Immortal?”

  “Close enough.”

  “Witch?”

  “More or less.”

  Edwina mulled that over. She supposed it didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, but there was a dead girl in the morgue, and Merit had been trying to protect her. “You have tea or something? Seems like you could use it.”

  “I’d rather have wine.” Merit walked over and flipped the sign to Closed. “Come. We must talk.”

  Edwina followed her through the showroom and down the hall to a door marked with an Employees Only sign. Inside was the farmhouse’s kitchen, which obviously also served as an employee lounge. Merit grabbed a wine bottle from the counter and two glasses from the cupboard.

  “I made this myself,” she said, handing Edwina a glass and sitting at the table with one. “Modern wines don’t taste the same, and I often long for the flavors of my past.”

  Edwina took a tentative sip and tried not to grimace. The red wine—probably a cheap blend to begin with—had been doctored with honey and spices. It reminded her a bit of German glühwein, only sweeter and served at room temperature rather than hot, which might have helped.

  Merit either didn’t notice or didn’t comment. “My last city of residence was Seattle,” she said. “I ran a small shop there, selling magical trinkets and ingredients to those who followed the Egyptian pantheon. Not the most popular these days, but I did well enough. One day a young woman came into my shop, and I recognized her immediately as one of my bloodline.”

  “Lydia,” Edwina said, taking another sip of wine.

  Merit inclined her head. “She did not know me, of course. They never do. But I recognize one of my own, like I recognize anyone of magic blood.” She gave Edwina a pointed look.

  “You know I’m a witch then.”

  “I also know you have skills beyond magic. Investigative skills, which is why I want you to help me.”

  “Help you with what?”

  Merit leaned forward. “The one who killed Lydia. I want him stopped.”

  “You know who it is? Who killed her?”

  Merit sank back in her chair and took a long swallow of wine. “Not so much who as what.”

  “Perhaps you’d better explain.”

  “When Lydia came to my shop, she believed she was being followed, that perhaps she was in danger. With a little bit of magic, I was easily able to see the cords with which she’d been tied. Someone was after her ka.”

  “Her soul.”

  “Part of it, yes. The part that makes a person alive in our realm.”

  Edwina took another sip. She was getting used to the sweet taste. “Go on.”

  “I knew it was serious, and staying in a city like Seattle would result in her death. Too easy for someone to attack her among all those people. She needed immediate protection, so I made the scarab for her, bespelled it, and made her promise to always wear it next to her heart.”

  “She did,” Edwina confirmed. “That’s where the medical examiner found it.”

  “But it did no good. Neither did the second spell.”

  “Let me guess. You bespelled her to move to Deepwood.”

  “I did not affect her free will, but I did plant the idea in her head, and I may have used a little magic to get her a job offer.”

  “You hoped the town would protect her?”

  “I thought perhaps whoever was after her would lose her among all the lines of magic. It didn’t work. And now he has twisted my amulet against her.”

  That much was obvious. “But you don’t know who did this?”

  “No,” Merit admitted. “Only what he is.”

  “You’re sure it’s a he?”

  “Positive. Only men of his kind drain women of their power in order to feed their greed. They long for power they do not have, and so they take from others they deem less worthy, which means women.”

  Edwina had known plenty of those in her lifetime. Even without the power to drain a woman’s ka, they still managed to act like a bunch of leeches. “You said men of his kind. What kind is that?”

  “A priest of Am-Heh, devourer of millions. Eater of Eternity.”

  “He sounds just peachy. You think that’s what he did before he, uh, poisoned her with arsenic?”

  “Before or after, whatever it takes to weaken her.” Merit grimaced. “He would not be affected by the poison. He can only be stopped by Atum, the first god.”

  All these gods were giving her a headache. “I take it these priests are as much fun as their god.”

  Merit snarled. “Understatement. They worship Am-Heh through murder.”

  “That’s one I never saw on Investigation Discovery.”

  “I don’t suppose so.” Merit’s smile was wry.

  “But you’ve no idea who this guy is? Is there some nest of Am-Heh worshippers running around Deepwood?” She’d never heard of such a thing, but it was possible.

  “I’m not aware of any,” Merit admitted. “Likely there is only one, but he is well hidden.”

  “Do you have a spell or something to help us find him?” Edwina asked.

  “If I did, I would have done it when I first discovered Lydia was in danger.”

  “Fair enough.” Edwina drained her glass and rose.

  “Where are you going?” Merit asked.

  “To catch a killer.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “Come on then. What we need is a trap.” She didn’t bother turning around. Either Merit was following her, or she was talking to herself. She didn’t much care either way, although having a sort-of immortal Egyptian witch on her side could be useful. Merit probably had some interesting spells.

  “What sort of trap?” Merit asked, locking her shop door and hurrying to catch up.

/>   “You said this guy is a worshipper of Am-Heh, and the only way to stop Am-Heh is with another god.”

  “Yes, Atum.”

  “Tell me more about this Atum character.”

  “As I said, he is the first god. He created himself out of the void, then created the other gods.”

  “Including Am-Heh?”

  “More or less. He created the first two gods, from which all other gods came.”

  Interesting information, but not helpful. “What else?”

  “Although referred to as ‘he,’ Atum is both male and female, and sometimes he takes the form of a serpent.”

  Now that was useful. “I think I have an idea. We’re going to set a trap.”

  “How will we do that?”

  “I know some people,” Edwina said, heading for the government building. She was sending texts as she walked along the side of the building to a halogen light glowing above a metal door.

  Merit stumbled to a halt when she saw the sign above the door. “Why the morgue?”

  “With a little help from some friends, I think we can create a spell that will draw the killer to Lydia’s body. Something that will make him think he forgot something. A clue that will catch him.”

  “So he’ll come here to retrieve it.”

  Edwina nodded. “When he does, we’ll be ready for him.”

  “How?”

  “You’ll see.”

  6

  The door creaked open slowly, a shaft of fluorescent light from the streetlamp cutting across the floor before disappearing as the door shut softly. Edwina inhaled slowly. This was it, the moment of truth.

  Footsteps padded toward where she lay in wait. Closer, closer....

  “Now.”

  Five black candles flared to life, one at each point of the pentagram laid with natron, a mineral salt from Egypt. Inside the pentagram was a circle, also of natron, and in that circle was Deputy Nolan. He stared at Edwina, blinking, his moon face flushed.

  “Wh-what’s going on?” he finally managed. “Miz Gale? Are you some kind of Satan worshipper?”

  “You don’t fool me, child. I know exactly what you are.”