“That sounds about right.”
The speaker was not from Internal Affairs. In fact, I don’t think you could get more external than the young woman with green and blue hair. Green lipstick and eye shadow matched the hair, her face painted deathly white. Flanking her were two younger women, both with straight black hair, and with the addition of long braids, could each pass for Wednesday Addams.
Josephine Gustafson and Chuck Shen entered the room with Chief Christopher Walker. I stood when the chief of police entered, but he waved me down. Like the rest of the department, he was a young man, much younger than the position usually warranted.
“You probably figured out that this isn’t an IA interview,” the chief said. “This is Paisley Cartwright, former Boston PD and antiques expert,” he indicated the green-haired Goth. “FBI Agent Drusilla Herald,” the older of the Wednesday Addamses, “And Echo Hutchinson from the Department of Homeland Security.”
“Just an intern, really,” the youngest of the women said. “I took a couple semesters off to work at the Pentagon.”
“We work as advisors to the Paranormal Terror Assessment Task Force,” the Goth said.
Drusilla Herald nodded. “Your suspicious death investigation was flagged early on. We’ve been studying it.”
“You do have a potential terror threat here,” Echo said gravely. As gravely as an early twenty-something could muster.
Agent Herald produced a monocle from her leather suit coat. She squinted her left eye around it, studying me. Her sudden look of surprise made the circle drop from her face. “You’re under a spell, aren’t you?”
“Okay, I’ll leave you to it.” The chief looked uncomfortable. “Um. Thank you all for your time.”
Gustafson and Shen watched him leave before taking seats at the conference table. “Chief Walker doesn’t like to talk about purple binder cases,” Josephine said.
“Purple binder?” Echo asked.
“How we file our unusual cases,” Shen said.
The girl nodded in appreciation. “Good color choice.”
In the meanwhile, Agent Herald stuck the monocle in her left eye again. She looked at Shen. Then at Sgt. Gustafson. “Whoa, you’re a—”
Josephine held up a hand. “My personal business is not an issue here.”
“It’s cool,” the Goth said. “We work a lot of paranormal hot spots. Places where there’s a lot of paranormal crime. But we’re not after people with supernatural abilities. They have rights like everyone else. It’s no crime to be different.”
“Sorry.” Agent Herald put away her lens. “Didn’t mean to get up in your business. However, there is a black operation working here, under the guise of US Fish and Wildlife. They are very interested in your business, if your business is supernatural. And the Bureau is interested in their activities.”
“The stakeouts,” Shen said.
Herald nodded. “We’ve ascertained from the information provided by the department that Fish and Wildlife are importing individuals with abilities beyond the normal. Some are US citizens, some are not. Inhuman trafficking, we’re calling it.”
“We’re fairly certain that this operation imports people for one of two purposes,” Echo said. “For study, or as recruiters.”
I looked at the collected oddballs. How did they know all this stuff? I was only figuring it out myself. “Why do I feel like I’ve stumbled into an episode of the X-Files?”
“Oh, no. We don’t operate anything like on TV,” Herald said. “For the past couple decades, the acceptance of the supernatural has risen greatly in this country. We were falling behind the rest of the world in paranormal understanding. So there was a big switch made. Instead of sending skeptics out to debunk these incidents, agencies now actively recruit people like Echo and myself. Like you. We partner with experts like Paisley.”
“It’s interdepartmental,” Echo said. “State Department, Homeland Security, FBI, Ag Department, EPA, there are a lot of people on the task force. Your particular case seemed to match up with our skill set. We’re here to help.”
Paisley nodded. “You’ve got a goddess running amok, killing people with an enchanted object. That’s right down our alley.”
“Seriously?” I looked at them again, one at a time.
“Try to keep an open mind, Garcia,” Sgt. Gustafson said. “We’re investigating way out in left field.”
Someone else accused me of being closed-minded. The woman who lived in my dresser mirror. The woman who got me to talk to my cat. So, okay, whatever. “How can you help us?”
“First off, I have to ask if that necklace is related to the case,” Agent Herald said.
Paisley nodded to the fed. “It does have that extra sparkle.”
“Silver, right?” Echo said. “Silver can act as a suppressor.”
“The shape is what drew me,” Herald said. “It really popped in the monocle.”
The sergeant looked at me expectantly.
“It belongs to Nysa Galatas, our prime suspect.” I described how she threw it to the rooftop before proceeding to kick all of our asses. “We found an identical one on our victim, Jane Smith.”
Paisley made a face. “Jane Smith? Really?”
I chose to ignore her. “The shape is important—it’s an ox-goad. In mythology, the Maenads were defeated by a similar weapon. I think it’s also what killed our victim.”
“Oh, yeah, it makes sense,” Echo said. “Its symbolism, combined with the silver?”
“Right. Is it keeping your hex at bay, Inspector Garcia?” Herald asked.
“Yeah, I think so.” Ugly the cat certainly thought so, too.
“I have had some study of the Classics,” Paisley said. “Maenads were wild women, right? Total, tear-up-the-town crazies. If I had to guess, I’d say that pendant keeps them from running wild. I’ve seen similar pieces. My associate, Grace Longstreet, is an expert on cursed and magic objects. I learn a lot from her. She finds and secures stuff like that. Her family has done it for generations.”
Echo eyed the pendant. “It would be cool to have something like that. To shut down your abilities, be normal for a while.”
“It would be,” Agent Herald said. I noticed her looking at Shen. Shen was sitting in his chair, hands folded, staring at the fed. Compared to Sgt. Gustafson, she was pretty plain. Yet his attention was locked on her. She frowned. “Can we verify that the necklace is suppressing magic?”
“I think I can,” I said. “What’s more important is tracking down the murder weapon. It isn’t at Nysa Galatas’ apartment.
The three weirdos exchanged glances, and nods. “I’ll give my sisters a call,” Echo said.
“I know some people, too,” Agent Herald said. “In Florida. My cousin and his partner have tracked down some magic items.”
“I’ll talk to Grace. She should have some insight.” Paisley turned to me. “We’ll have something soon. You do your thing. Here, call us when you have something.”
She passed a card across the table. I read it: Paisley Cartwright, PTA Task Force.
“PTA?”
Paisley hooted. “I know, right?”
THE MEETING BROKE UP. I really didn’t know what to make of it. Was there really a government task force, the PTA (Paranormal Terror Assessment, I remembered), looking into weird cases like mine?
“I don’t know if we were introduced. Inspector Charles D. Shen. How long have you been with the FBI, Agent Herald?” Shen was dogging the fed, a dreamlike look on his features. “I’m always happy to work with the Bureau.”
Echo smirked at Shen.
“Down, boy,” Paisley said.
“Dru’s a charmer,” Echo whispered to me.
She said it like she was letting me in on something. I had no idea what Echo was talking about. I was more interested in what Herald had said about a cousin in Florida.
“Everett Klein,” Dru said. “He mentioned you a few times. Mary, the psychic detective from Jacksonville. I was out there undercover. The wealt
hier side of my family got mixed up in a RICO case. We brought down the whole Lithuanian Mob on the eastern seaboard.”
“Awesome.” Shen hung on her every word.
“Was that part of your PTA business?” I asked.
Agent Herald nodded. “More than any other organized crime outfit, the Lithuanians were tied up in paranormal business. Storefront psychics, magic poisons, spell casters for hire were big moneymakers for them.”
“Wow,” Shen said, still staring at Drusilla Herald.
“Loansharking?” I asked. “Bookmaking? Extortion?”
She nodded. “The usual racketeering businesses, too. In fact, even with their operations closed down, they still pull in money, somehow. I’m suspecting rather outré leg breakers and enforcers, but that doesn’t play well in federal court. That case will be going on for a long time.”
Chapter 19
I was struck by a gut feeling, a strong hunch that nearly made me ill. There was a supernatural leg breaker who haunted my dreams, who had stolen all my money. Had Murph borrowed money from a Lithuanian Mob loan shark? Or maybe his gambling debt was owed to a Lithuanian book maker.
“I’d like to talk to you more about that,” I managed.
“We could totally do lunch and talk more about that,” Shen butted in.
“Some other time,” Agent Herald said. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
“Any other time,” Shen said. “Like dinner, maybe?”
Paisley insinuated herself between Shen and Drusilla. “We gotta go, Inspector. We’ll be in touch.”
Shen, Josephine and I watched them walk out. I turned to the sergeant. “You’ve worked with them before?”
She shook her head. “With the task force, yeah, but not those three spooky gals.”
“Spooky?” Shen piped up. “You think Drusilla is spooky? I thought she was hot. Maybe I should walk her out.”
“She’s the spookiest,” Sgt. Gustafson said.
Shen squinted at the sergeant; then looked at me. I confirmed her opinion with a nod. A charmer, Echo Hutchinson called Drusilla. My partner certainly seemed charmed.
“You guys are just jealous.” Shen walked toward the elevators.
“What about my Internal Affairs interview?”
Sgt. Gustafson shrugged. “I think the task force scared the pants off the chief. You’re probably off the hook.”
“Good. I gotta go talk to Errol Smith.”
Josephine put a strong hand on my shoulder. “Not again, Garcia.” She frowned at me.
“This is legitimate. More legit, anyway.”
The sergeant shook her head. “I really need a smoke.”
I drove Babykiller across town, traffic still light. My thoughts were on what Agent Herald said about Florida, and the Lithuanian Mob. When I parked near the Smith house on their cul-de-sac, the girls were playing outside. Ophelia and Electra, I remembered, although I didn’t know which was which.
They seemed absorbed in some sort of game of tag. The little one stopped in the middle of the game to do a twirling little dance. I closed my eyes at the pang in my heart. Some instinct made me pull out my cell phone and take a picture. How creepy of me.
I’m suspecting rather outré leg breakers and enforcers, Agent Herald had said. Memories raced into my head. Memories of Memorie.
MURPH’S GAMBLING ADDICTION didn’t form in a vacuum. His sister, Kathleen, was an addict, but of chemical substances. Neither of them talked of their home life, of growing up. I suspected it had been a painful time.
Given Murph’s slightly more stable life, we often took care of his niece, Kathleen’s daughter, Memorie. I thought it was the worst name ever. But Memorie was the best kid ever. She loved dancing and singing, her six-year-old’s made up songs always made me smile.
When Kathleen went down on charges of soliciting, possession and a few other felonies, Memorie came to live with us. I’m not a kid person. I never considered getting married and raising a family. Not until Memorie was in my life. Until then, I wouldn’t have thought I’d had a maternal bone in my body. But she became mine, became ours. School with notes in the lunchbox, bedtime stories, cartoons, shampoo horns at bath time, happy songs and dances, crying over her tangled hair, laughing when she put her shoes on the wrong feet, the whole shebang.
Damn it, I fell in love with her. I would do anything for her. Protect Memorie from the harsh world out there. Murph felt the same. Having her with us drew us closer together than at any other time. We were a family.
For a year and a half, at least, we were a family. Kathleen managed to make parole. Time off for good behavior—that and the overcrowded prisons in Florida—conspired to free her. Our compensation for raising Memorie? Kathleen jumped probation and disappeared with her daughter. I hadn’t heard from her in a year. I hadn’t seen her, until I saw her smiling, singing and dancing in the bubble placed on my nightstand by the Angle Man.
She is of his blood, her soul untainted and valuable.
“This is bullshit,” I shouted at the Angle Man. “How can a little girl sell her soul?”
Patrick Michael Murphy sold his soul, and reneged. Now, a soul of his bloodline is forfeit, unless the debt is paid in full.
I heard a song from the bubble, the voice tiny, but serious, the words made up and repetitive. Unable to help myself, I watched Memorie dance inside the bubble, a little twirl that made the hem of her dress lift slightly, her hair billow. Tiny sneakers, big eyes, a heart full of joy, despite what the world had already saddled her with.
“Take what you want.” I closed my eyes against the tears. “Just tell me she’s all right.”
Memorie Melody Murphy is unharmed, Angle Man thought at me. Although you are well aware how precarious her life is. It would be a simple task to push her over into darkness.
“No!” I managed to sit up in bed, point my finger at the near featureless face. “Take your payments, but leave her alone, you son of a bitch.”
Let that serve as our agreement. Angle Man didn’t appeared to feel threatened. You will know the time of the next payment by the stars.
With that, Angle Man contracted from the ceiling, down the walls, and vanished.
What followed was a flurry of change and activity that even now, I could barely follow. My house was sold to cover the loans, my belongings gone in an estate sale, a bus ride across the country. Through some luck, I’d found a job in Delta Vista, where my family lived. If I could just freeload for a while, and put all of my paychecks into savings, I could make the next payment...
“YOO-HOO, MARY.” A KNOCK fell on the passenger window. “Are you asleep in there?”
I shook myself from my thoughts and found Errol Smith smiling at me. I didn’t feel that crazy strong pull from him. Cranking the window down, I apologized. “Lot on my mind.”
“Yeah, me too.” His features blanked. I sensed he was debating with himself. “Do you want to come in?”
The girls ran around the side of the house. My eyes wanted to follow. Instead, I turned back to Errol. “No. I mean. I do. But I don’t?”
He nodded. “I think I get it.”
How much would it take to insinuate myself into this life? Step mommy, wife, an unhaunted house, a stable relationship? Probably not much. But I came with a lot of baggage. Errol, I’m sure, did as well. My obligations came first. “I just wanted to ask you one question. Do you recognize this?”
I pulled the ox-goad pendant from my blouse, dangling it over my index finger so he could see it. Errol looked puzzled.
“Jane had one like it. I only saw her wear it a few times. It seemed like she hated it, but it was a gift. She felt beholden, I guess.” He looked into my eyes. “Where did you get it?”
The necklace didn’t deaden my mind reading. Dread rolled off of him, and mingled with curiosity, braided into guilt. “From Nysa,” I said.
His relief flooded through me, as if I were the one holding my breath, and letting it out. I didn’t let on that we’d found a similar one at
the site of her death. That might be too much for him to hear.
“She was wearing it at court,” Errol said. “Funny, she seemed to wear it at the strangest times.”
“Like when?” I asked.
“When she went into labor with Ophelia and Elektra. When she met my parents. For job interviews.”
“Kind of a good luck charm?” I mused.
“Not exactly,” Errol said. “It’s hard to put a finger on it. More like it reminded her to be on her best behavior. I don’t know if that makes sense.”
If what the PTA had surmised about the pendant was on target, it sure did. “That does. Thanks.”
“Look, I don’t want to apologize for the other night. I mean, I just don’t. But I am sorry that our timing was so bad. I was done with Jane a long time ago. That doesn’t mean I still don’t have feelings. But our being together—I just don’t want that to screw up Jane getting justice.”
Did he have any idea how badly our tryst had derailed the case? I didn’t think so. While I wanted to blame the hex, the heart wants what the heart wants. “I’m still gonna solve it,” I said.
“Just because our timing was bad doesn’t mean it will always be,” Errol said.
I wasn’t sure that was true—at least, not for me.
Chapter 20
I went back to the house. Ugly was my friend again. Either that, or she was trying to trip me, knock me unconscious and eat me. You never knew with cats. In the bathroom, I checked my eyebrow. A little wonky.
“You look heartbroken.” The woman’s reflection replaced mine. Instead of scornful, she looked sympathetic this time.
“Just a slight fracture,” I said. To the mirror. To the mirror that didn’t hold my reflection. Sometimes, I felt I was living an X-Files episode, other times, The Twilight Zone.
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