by Cate Lawley
Sylvie stared at the shed. I thought for a second that she might cry, but she turned back to us dry-eyed.
Lilac looked uncomfortable, like she didn’t know where to put her hands. “I’m sorry. About losing what your grandmother left you.” Then she shot Tamara a disappointed look.
“Thank you. Although I think I still have what my grandmother most wanted to leave me.” Sylvie looked back at the rock. “It was in one of the drawers. I thought it was pretty and that it would be a nice complement to Clive, so I put it in the garden.”
“Clive?” I asked.
She pointed to a garden gnome with a shovel. She’d placed the rock near the shovel.
“Oh! That’s cute.” Lilac grinned. “And I’m not one for gnomes usually, but he’s a good one.”
The two women shared a moment of admiration for Clive, which broke the emotional tension somewhat.
“I suppose I should retrieve it.” But Sylvie remained firmly planted a few feet away. “I’m reluctant to touch it. It sounds silly, even to me, since I didn’t have any problems moving it from the shed to the garden.”
“That’s not strange at all. Magic is part perception and part belief.” Tamara pointed at me. “This one knows. His job was dependent upon convincing the dead to believe they’d passed. Without an acceptance of death, the soul lingers.”
I nodded. True.
“So now that I know it does something, it can actually do that thing. No, that doesn’t make any sense.” Sylvie clasped her hands together. “Never mind. I just need to retrieve it, and then we can stash it somewhere safe, right?”
The question was rhetorical—she was already leaning down to pick it up. I looked away after getting an eyeful of her heart-shaped derriere. I hadn’t noticed the capris and figure-hugging T-shirt earlier, but they were impossible to miss now.
By the time I’d distracted myself from a variety of less-than-gentlemanly thoughts, Sylvie was standing, but without the rock.
She said to Tamara, “And you’re sure you don’t know what it does?”
“I’d have told you, I promise,” Tamara replied. “I can’t detect any magic at all. If I could, I’d have found it before when I searched the property.”
Except the burglars would have likely made it to the rock first, if that were the case. They at least knew to look for a stone. Rock, stone, basically the same thing.
Sylvie assumed a skeptical expression. One could hardly blame her for losing faith in Tamara. Blowing up someone’s house, even if it was technically an unattached outbuilding, tended to have that effect.
“Witches can’t lie.” I volunteered the information, in hopes it would set Sylvie’s mind at ease.
Tamara tilted her head. “Don’t lie. We can, but the consequences are unpalatable.”
She wasn’t helping, but I couldn’t do much else. So I nodded as if “unpalatable” signified a significant deterrent. “There you go.”
Lilac let out an exasperated sound and snatched the rock from the ground. “There, all done. It’s totally fine, right?”
As she held the rock, a change came over her. She closed her eyes and her expression was transformed. She looked like a little girl lifting her face to the sunshine after nothing but days of rain. Then a single tear slipped down her face.
When she opened her eyes, she let out a breath and swiped at the dampness on her cheek. “Your grandmother loved you so much.” Then she blinked and looked confused. “I have absolutely no idea what just happened. I swear, nothing like that has happened to me before.”
Sylvie took the rock. “Well, you’re right—my grandmother and I were very close. As a child, I adored her. She was such a kind woman. She worked as a nurse most of her life, and she was incredibly popular with her patients.” Sylvie smiled, but looked miles away. “She used to say, ‘Be kind to the living, because you never know what grudges will last beyond death.’” Sylvie smiled, but it was tinged with sadness, and her dimple stayed out of sight. “Of all people, she would have known.”
“This is your grandmother who could talk to ghosts,” I said. Sylvie looked at me in surprise, so I added, “You mentioned her before, when we first discussed Bobby.”
Her face cleared. “That’s right.” She hefted the rock in one hand then transferred it to the other. “So is that what this is? A message from my grandmother?”
“Hm. I don’t think so,” Tamara said. “At least, that’s not all it is, because there’s little value to a third party in such a message.” She wasn’t looking at Sylvie when she answered, instead shooting speculative looks at Lilac. “What was it you said about your business? That your psychic readings were more therapy with a dash of intuition than fortune-telling? Maybe you’ve been focusing on the wrong skill set.”
Lilac’s pretty blue eyes widened, and she shrugged. “I’ve always considered myself more of a medium than a psychic, but a girl has to keep the new age shop lights on.”
“We’ll chat.” Tamara looked at the stone again. “Later.”
Lilac nodded. “Where to stash it, that’s the question we need to be focusing on. I don’t suppose you have a safety deposit box, Sylvie?”
“Actually—”
A chirping noise sounded from the vicinity of my pocket, and then a split second later, I felt a vibration. Once I was certain my heart hadn’t stopped, that I’d merely received a text message, I retrieved my phone with the intent of shutting the thing off. “Apologies.”
Before I hit the power button, I realized that the only people with my number were present. I swiped the message open.
I have the cat. The cat for the stone, instructions to follow.
Lilac peered over my shoulder and read the message aloud. “The cat? Oh, heavens above and hell below, the baddies have Clarence.”
22
Wednesday midday
“We can’t give them the stone. For all anyone knows, it’s some kind of magical nuclear weapon.” I regretted my words instantly. Thankfully, my reflexes were fast enough to catch the stone before it hit my stained concrete floor.
We’d convened at my house, because it seemed only sensible to verify that Clarence was gone. After a thorough search of the premises, we confirmed that he wasn’t trying to steal porn online or wallowing in my bed in an attempt to make it smell better and cover it with bobcat fur—his two favorite pastimes. He wasn’t anywhere in the house or yard.
Sylvie looked at her hands in horror. “Oh . . . oh . . . rats! I am so sorry, Geoff.” She pointed at the table when I asked what I should do with the hopefully not nuclear rock.
Which left Lilac, Sylvie, and I staring at the rock on my kitchen table, waiting for the one person who might have a clue to return.
Tamara had gone home to retrieve some supplies. When we’d asked if it might not be wiser to move to her house—where all of her supplies and equipment were located—she’d declined. Until she could do a cleansing, she didn’t want visitors, especially in an emotionally charged situation. After the big “I was the bomber” reveal in her kitchen, she said there were some bad vibes in her home. My words, not hers. She’d made it sound much more technical and complicated.
Rather than twiddle our thumbs, I figured we could make some kind of headway, so I asked the first question that came to mind. “How did the kidnappers know about the stone?”
Sylvie shrugged. “Maybe they knew my grandmother . . . knew about the will . . . Uh, maybe, I don’t know, someone close to my grandmother told them. For all I know, a ghost told them.”
“Oh, I see. This is a good question.” Lilac tapped the table impatiently. “It wasn’t in the will, not directly. And you didn’t even know about it, Sylvie.”
“Okay, a ghost, then?” Sylvie didn’t look convinced.
My gut said not, but it couldn’t be ruled out. “Maybe, but I’m thinking it has to be your family. Perhaps a—”
Sylvie’s humorless laugh interrupted me before I could ask about her relatives. “Certainly not my mother or father. T
hey both thought Grandmother was more than a little looney. My poor grandmother.” She reached toward the rock, but stopped shy of touching it. “It’s just a bundle of trouble. Nuclear magic or not, I’d be glad to give it to them to save your friend.”
“Bad idea,” Tamara said from the living room.
All three of us jumped.
Tamara placed a bag on the kitchen table next to the rock. “Apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you. The front door was unlocked.” She gave me a censorious look. “Sylvie, without knowing what it does, I think it unwise to relinquish it.”
“Right, but it’s not yours, is it?” Sylvie said—and we were back to the decision Tamara had already made, namely blowing up Sylvie’s shed. “And it’s also not your friend who’s being threatened.”
A diversion seemed in order, so I grasped at the weak lead we’d come up with in the witch’s absence. “So, Tamara, we were discussing the possibility that the kidnappers were members of Sylvie’s family.”
“Mr. Crispy said something about the child being the false owner of the stone,” Lilac said. “That points to a family connection, too.” She bit her lip and nodded, her eyes wide. “I was paying attention, you know, in between blessing the water and freaking out.”
“It’s an heirloom of sorts,” I said, “and who knows about family heirlooms but family? It has to be someone in your family, Sylvie.”
Sylvie looked confused, tired, and frustrated. She didn’t argue with me, but she didn’t agree, either.
“That seems reasonable,” Tamara said. “While you sort through your suspect list for a family connection, I’m going to scry for a location. My success with pendulums and location scrying has been wildly variable, but if it works, well, then it’s well worth the bit of time it takes.” She pulled out a well-worn map of Austin and spread it on the table. “Before you start, I do need—”
My phone chirped, the sound dropping ominously into the warmth of my kitchen. When I didn’t move fast enough, Sylvie dug the phone out of my back pocket and swiped open the message.
She let out a sigh of relief. “They don’t know that we’ve found it. They’re giving us three hours to find the stone and deliver it. They’ll send the address immediately before the drop time.”
She handed the phone back to me. After scanning the message for any hint of a clue, I moved to pocket it again.
“Wait, what’s the number?” Tamara asked.
I looked but couldn’t see what she meant. “There’s no number.”
Lilac grabbed the phone. “There’s always a number, even if it’s one of those weird short numbers.” But after swiping open both messages, she frowned. “There’s no number. There’s nothing. It’s just blank.”
“Magic,” Tamara replied. “We can’t use the text to track them. But I’ll still try the old-fashioned way. I do need something of sentimental value to Clarence.”
Annoyance flared like indigestion in my gut. “He’s a cat. He doesn’t have sentimental trinkets.”
Also, I hadn’t a clue what he valued, and that made me angrier than it should.
“What does he enjoy doing the most?” Sylvie asked.
“Watching dirty movies, stealing my credit cards, and eating.” I shook my head, frustrated that there must be something, and I didn’t know what it was.
“Hang on.” Lilac jumped up and ran out of the kitchen. She returned carrying a soft, fuzzy blanket I’d picked up for Clarence on a whim. It would appear at odd places throughout the house, like the window where he watched the birds or in front of the TV.
“Perfect. Thank you, Lilac.”
“I noticed it earlier when we searched the house. There’s a lot of cat hair on it, so . . .” Lilac handed the blanket to Tamara. “I had that thing happen again, like with the rock. Anyway, I think it’s one of the few things you’ve given him without being asked . . .”
It was. The only thing.
Tamara wound a small piece of the blanket around a tiny charm that hung from a thin chain. I had the ridiculous thought that Clarence would be upset someone had snipped a piece from his binkie, and I laughed.
Sylvie rubbed my back. “He’s going to be fine. And if we can’t find him, we’ll just give them the stone.” She flashed Tamara a stern look, daring her to voice an objection.
The objection came, just not from Tamara.
No, no, no, no trade. Bad people.
“Bobby? What do you mean bad people?” I asked, trying and failing to find some visual evidence of him.
Trade stone, dead cat. Dead, dead, dead cat.
My left eye throbbed, keeping time as he continued to chant, Dead cat, dead cat, dead cat.
23
“Bobby. Stop it. I understand.” I pressed my thumb to the corner of my eye.
Dead cat, dead cat, dead—
“Bobby!”
Lilac winced at my tone, but pointed to a spot near the stove. “I think he’s there.”
“You can see him? Hear him?” I asked. Bobby wasn’t a powerful ghost, and so it was difficult for him to make himself seen or heard. But some psychic ability was required to pick up the signals the ghost was sending out. I had a touch of that skill, hence my ghostly stalkers. But I hadn’t been sure till now that Lilac did. The more powerful the ghosts—and the ghost’s signal—the less powerful the medium need be.
And then there was Clarence, who just blew them all away. No medium skills required.
Lilac shook her head. “I don’t ever see or hear them. I just get a feeling that they’re present.” She looked completely comfortable with her “feeling” about Bobby, unlike her psychometric experiences today.
“Suspect list? Family connection?” Tamara prodded. “I can’t concentrate with the racket.” Tamara turned her attention back to the charm that dangled over the map. The tip of the charm moved, vibrating.
I blinked, peering closer. The charm she’d used to anchor the snip from Clarence’s blanket was a tiny unicorn. Its little horn was pointing toward the map.
Tamara looked up and caught my eye. “It makes me happy. Now shoo.”
Once we were in my office, basically a converted bedroom, I called out to Bobby.
Here, here, here. Baaaaaad people. No trading. Dead cat, dead cat, dead cat.
“Stop.” In a softer tone, I added, “Please. Sorry, Bobby, I get it now.” I sighed. There went any hope that he’d been confused earlier. “Bobby says that trading with the kidnappers is a bad idea. That they’re bad people.” I ran a hand through my hair. “He’s quite persistent in his belief that a trade would result in Clarence’s death.”
Sylvie paled and then dropped down into my desk chair with a solid thud. “Does he say why he thinks that?”
Killers. Kill Lilac.
“No, Bobby, they didn’t kill Lilac. She’s here.” I pointed to her, and she waved to a space near the window.
Kill Lilac. Bad people. Lilac nice.
When I recalled that Bobby didn’t have a great grasp of tense, I got his point. “I see. They would have killed her. They tried to kill her.”
Bobby didn’t argue, just repeated that they were bad people. And… Kill Bobby.
“Bobby, are telling me you remember who killed you? That these people, the ones who hurt Lilac and took Clarence, that they killed you?”
Kill Bobby. Kill Bobby. Kill Bobby. And then he wailed and his chant changed. Kill Sylvie. Kill Sylvie. Kill cat. And each time he repeated “kill,” he grew more agitated.
“Bobby—” Sylvie’s breath caught, and she had to start again. Her eyes shiny with emotion, she said, “Do you know where Clarence is? If these people might hurt him, we have to go and get him. Make sure he’s safe.”
Don’t know. And he wailed, a mournful, horrible sound.
“Um, he says he doesn’t know, and he’s pretty torn up about it,” I said. “He also thinks Sylvie and Clarence are in danger.” Then the obvious answer fell on me like an anvil. “Damn. Ginny. Ginny would know. Maybe not where he is, but if the ki
dnappers grabbed Clarence here in the neighborhood, I guarantee she’d know who did it.” I whacked the wall in frustration. It made my palm hurt, but it also made me feel better. “I’m an idiot.”
“Okay, for the sake of expediency, we’ll agree you’re a total numbskull.” Lilac moved to meet my eyes. “But tell us who Ginny is and how she can help.”
Figuring discretion was key, I said, “Another ghost who’s grounded in the area. She’s more cognitively intact than Bobby. Sorry, Bobby.”
Bobby started to moan and wail again. This must be what it sounded like when ghosts cried. It made my heart hurt and my stomach churn.
“It’s going to be fine, Bobby. We’re going to sort this out. We’ll get Clarence back and keep Sylvie safe.”
Kill Clarence. Kill Sylvie.
“What’s he saying?” Sylvie looked fragile and anxious, a disconcerting sight in a woman who’d seemed more like a bold, brightly colored piece of stoneware than translucent porcelain.
“He’s worried.” I turned my attention to the spot near the window, feeling foolish for addressing a blank wall. “No, Bobby, that won’t happen. I promise to do everything I can to keep Sylvie and Clarence safe.”
The anguished, ghostly sounds stopped. Since I doubted my assertions, however confidently uttered, had comforted him, I suspected he was gone. “Lilac?”
She shook her head. “Gone. So far as I can tell.”
“Tell me you’ve managed to retrieve something useful from the ghost.” Tamara stood in the doorway. She exuded that unsettled, out-of-harmony feeling that I’d occasionally felt from her otherwise very serene presence.
“No luck scrying Clarence’s location?” I asked.
She motioned for us to follow her back into the kitchen. “It’s possible he’s here in the neighborhood. I can’t see much here or in any of the other supernatural hot spots in Austin.” Approaching the table, she indicated several places on the map that were shaded a light gray. “There’s simply too much interference. That’s also why I have trip wires set up for certain things here—like the trespass alarm that was tripped at Sylvie’s.”
