by R. J. Ladon
“Can you come over tomorrow night?” Bonnie’s voice went higher as if expecting a negative answer.
“I’ll have to ask. But I don’t see why not.”
“Uh, okay.” Bonnie sounded sad as if Megan already said no. “I gotta go,” she said, and the call ended.
Megan sighed. She would find a way to work with Bonnie on the English assignment. Megan reassembled the SIG Sauer P250 and slid it back into its pocket. She rifled through the other items to make sure they were there. Megan had three passports, with her picture and three names. The photos would need replacing soon. For money, there were six different forms of currency and numerous credit cards. The cards and the passports were for emergencies. They could only be used once, and they were expensive to replace.
Inside a pouch were a few precious-metal coins and gems, small items that could be swallowed and retrieved later. Lastly, a bowie knife with a hollow handle. Inside were waterproof matches, paracord, and a thin draw saw with two pull loops that could double as a garrote.
When she was little, she thought everyone behaved the way her father did, with fear and paranoia driving every move. But, as Megan aged and saw more of the world, she realized that her father was one of a kind. Was he right? Was there a price on his and, by proxy, her head? Did the Russian mafia really want them dead? Or was he overreacting? Did she lie to her friends because she was protecting them and herself? Or was her father delusional?
Megan wasn’t sure, but she was afraid to find out. What if her father was right? What if Megan broke their seclusion, and Artem was killed as a result? She shuddered at the thought of losing her father. Even though he could be cold and distant, Megan still loved him. He and Nikolai were all she had. Her mother died when Megan was two. She didn’t remember her, except for the smell of floral perfume and the sound of her lilting voice. Her father implied the Russian mafia had something to do with her death.
She rolled up the bug-out bag and set it in her bookbag, trading it with her school laptop and a library science book. Megan opened the computer, pulled up the school website, and began her math homework. She paused when she heard the garage door open, and Artem’s car drove into the garage.
He entered through the kitchen. “Dobryy vecher moy sladkly,” Artem said, greeting his daughter in Russian. He patted her head like any doting father. His eyes flickered to the gun cleaning kit. “Please put that away when you are done. If anyone saw that…” He sighed, like a parent who told their disobedient child the same thing hundreds of times.
Even though no one came to their house to see the kit, Megan obeyed. “Of course, Father.” She collected the equipment and took it into the pantry, where she pushed a small screw and listened for the click. The back wall moved slightly. She pulled the door open and walked down a set of spiral stairs.
This section of the basement had guns on the walls and shelving filled with ammunition. The walls and ceiling were lined with two-inch steel plates to protect from incoming projectiles, including EMP’s. The room was a faraday cage; no listening equipment could penetrate the steel barrier. It was a safe room for ten people, not that anyone was ever home to use it.
On the wall near the stairs was a security panel to control critical lifesaving systems. At a push of a button, all the windows would release a steel curtain for complete protection from outside assault. Another regulated the sprinkler system in case of fire. Still another released sleeping gas to fill the first-floor rooms. Megan considered the overabundant protections, suspecting they would never be used. She set the cleaning kit on a file cabinet and returned to the kitchen and breakfast nook to finish her homework.
Artem hummed and danced as he moved around the kitchen, looking for ingredients and tools. The sizzle of meat and the knife cutting through lettuce and tomato told her they were having hamburgers. Her stomach grumbled in response.
Megan smiled. Her father might be strict, but he was a clown while cooking. Artem flicked the salt and pepper shakers off his biceps and caught them. Once and awhile, he’d look to see if she watched. Artem was in his late forties, but his blonde wavy hair didn’t show a lick of grey, giving him a younger appearance.
“Dorogoy, will you come to the museum before mid-November? I have picked a few wonderful items for Halloween and Day of the Dead. I’d very much like you to see them.” Artem finished cooking the patties and assembled two burgers, then carried the plates to Megan.
Megan pushed her homework aside and attacked the hamburger ravenously. Artem brought two glasses of milk and set them by the plates.
“Hungry? Did Nikolai work you hard this afternoon?”
Megan nodded, her mouth full, savoring the juicy meat and sweet veggies.
“He told me your skills with a blade have become quite good.”
Megan grunted. Nikolai didn’t seem all that pleased from her point of view. She swallowed. “There was a Mr. Smith there who’s teaching wiring on Wednesday. Do you think I need this class? I’ve already had training with traps and bombs.”
“I will speak to Nikolai.” Artem tapped the edge of his plate. “Was Mr. Smith American or Russian?”
Megan shrugged. “I don’t know. He didn’t talk. He just stood there, but I think he’s ex-military.”
Artem finished eating in silence. When they finished, he picked up the plates and cups and put them in the dishwasher. He left the kitchen and went into the den.
He returned a few minutes later with a briefcase. “I wanted to show you some of the interesting objects I gathered for this year’s Halloween Exhibit.” Artem worked for the Field Museum in Chicago as a curator. His line of knowledge was Neolithic tools and art. For the past few years, he was responsible for the Halloween exhibit. He scoured the world for objects and folklore that surrounded traditional Halloween aspects. Witch’s items for casting spells, tarot cards, cauldrons, wands, spell books, crystal balls, and the like. Voodoo and zombies were also a big draw for the museum. For Day of the Dead, skulls, coffins, and Latino art were favorites. Sometimes he found extraordinary items, most of which were from other countries. These items had to be borrowed or purchased. Either way, it cost the museum cash or trade.
Artem popped open his briefcase and pulled out some pictures. Megan took the papers and fliers. Some collectors purposely advertised, making their items available for museums to rent. They created glossy flyers with beautiful images to entice museums, but many of the items were props from movies and were not real witchcraft or voodoo items.
Megan tapped a picture of a broom, wand, and cauldron. “I think these came from a movie.”
Artem frowned. “I was afraid of that.” He drew a red line through the picture. “I will remember for next year.”
“It’s already on display?”
He shrugged sheepishly. “It’s only for this month, and Halloween items are subject to opinion. You really ought to come and see the display. It is quite grand. You might even be proud of your old man.”
“I am proud of you.” Megan squeezed her father’s hand, smiling up at him. She looked through a few more photos before spotting an anomaly. “This is from an even older movie.” It was a shield made of what looked like dragon scales and a long lance.
The red line made its way across that picture too.
“This is neat. I’ve not seen anything like this before.” Megan pointed to a picture of many fist-sized stones with what appeared to be cuneiform or ogham writing on them. “What are they?”
“Those are protection stones. Witches used them when casting a strong spell. It would protect them from retaliation from a rival witch.”
“Really? That isn’t how witchcraft works.” Megan scowled at him.
“I know, but that is what the brochure says.” He tapped the paragraph under the photograph. “Does it matter?” Within the article was the headshot of a beautiful Chinese woman. Under the picture were the name Tai Lu and her contact information.
“Yes! You should be educating the public, not spreading lies.”
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“Because your opinion matters, I’ll figure out what these stones are and put a disclaimer next to their exhibit. I’m sure their real purpose is far less interesting.” Artem rubbed under his nose.
Megan laughed. “Where did they come from?”
“China. Tibet, to be exact.”
“I didn’t know Chinese had witches. I thought they were shaman.”
“You can’t think that way. The collector is from China. The stones could be from anywhere. I’d love to translate the inscription.” He sounded wistful. “When we rent items like this, we are unable to touch them. If they are damaged, I could lose my job.” He reached in the briefcase and pulled out velvet gloves. “I am not allowed to touch anything unless I’m wearing these.”
Megan touched the gloves; their white surface shifted color slightly when she moved the piling with and against the grain.
“Was there anything else in the photos that caught your eye?”
“You know me. I love a beautiful spellbook.” Megan pointed to a photo of The Green Witch’s Grimoire. The leather-bound book was aged and a little battered, but that was what drew her eye. “Imagine what this ancient book has seen.”
Chapter 6
K evin opened the adjoining gate, which squeaked in the moist air. “Shhh.” Grandma held up her hand. “Do you hear that?” Frogs and toads sang approval to the humid evening. Perhaps it was their farewell to the last warmth of summer. She moved to one of her raised beds. “I can hear him.”
“Him? Who?” Kevin strained his eyes, looking into the shadows of twilight.
“Benny, of course.” She moved the leaves of a hosta plant. “There he is.” She squatted, wrestled with something, and then stood with a big fat toad in her palm. Grandma talked to it, nose to nose. “What’s wrong, Benny?”
“Burrup,” said the toad.
“Can’t it wait until morning? I’m with my grandson.”
“Burrup,” demanded the toad.
“Now?”
“Burrup,” repeated the toad.
“Okay, okay.” Grandma gently placed the toad at the base of the hosta plant and rearranged the leaves. She turned her attention to Kevin. “We can’t waste any time. You heard what he said.” Grandma rushed into the house.
Kevin rolled his eyes. He sighed and slowly followed grandma inside, wondering if her dementia took her over the cliffs of insanity. Cookbooks and recipe cards were scattered across the kitchen cabinets. In the living room, books and magazines were haphazardly tossed to the floor.
“Found them!” she cried, holding a deck of cards triumphantly in the air. She removed the rubber band and pulled her bobbed hair into a ponytail. Grandma walked toward the kitchen, shuffling the cards, bringing them to her lips, and mumbling.
She sat at the small two-person table, spoke to the cards, then with eyes closed, drew three, laying them in a row—first, the Tower. Second, Death. Third, the Ace of Cups. She placed the deck on the table and opened her eyes. “Death? That can’t be right.” Her hands trembled.
“Grandma,” Kevin implored. “Sorry…Ruby. You told me once that the Death card was good and didn’t mean real death.”
“Did I?” Grandma Ruby’s hands twisted in her lap. “I don’t remember.” She sighed. “I hate getting old.”
“Don’t you have a book?”
“Yes. But I don’t need it. I can remember. The position of the first card signifies the past.” She pointed to the tower card. “The second represents the present.” Her finger touched the death card and lingered. “and the third defines the future.”
“I’d feel better if we got your book and made sure.”
She bit her lip. “You’re right.” Grandma stood and went upstairs. At the top landing, she paused and looked to her bedroom on the left. Then turned towards Kevin’s room.
“Where are you going?”
“The attic.”
“I was just up there; it’s pretty full. Will you be able to find the book?”
“Sure, sure. I marked the boxes.” Grandma Ruby waved her hand to dismiss the question and walked through Kevin’s room into the attic. She went straight to two cardboard boxes marked with a blue star. “Here you take this one. I’ll take the other.”
“To where?”
“Your bedroom.” Grandma took her time walking down the creaking attic steps. “I need your help, so it’s best you learn about Wicca.”
They sat on his bed and rifled through the boxes. Grandma found the Tarot book and flipped through the colorful pages. “Here’s the page we need.” She set it between them on the bed and pointed to the diagram. “The three-card spread is for the past, the present, and the future. I thought I remembered that right.”
Kevin leaned forward. Under the three-card spread was another picture described as the Celtic Cross. It had a total of eleven cards in the layout. Each card represented part of the problem or solution to a specific question. He was fascinated. Could cards tell you your future?
Grandma Ruby picked up the book and skimmed through the pages to find the descriptions of the cards she drew. She marked each page with her fingers. “The tower stands for disruption and unexpected events. I pulled it first, so it describes the past. I think this is for the loss of my beloved Joseph and my dementia diagnosis; both events have disrupted many things.” She looked at the next page. “I pulled death second, which represents the present. It means change, not death like you said. Your moving into my house has changed my life. Change for you and the entire family too.” She sighed and looked at the last page. “And the last location is to predict the future, the Ace of Cups. That card signifies love. Not just any love but finding new love. I haven’t been in love since Grandpa Joe.” Grandma Ruby’s eyes misted, and a tear rolled down her cheek.
Kevin stared. Unable or unwilling to see her as a person who desired physical love as much as he did. He always saw her as Grandma, a position in his childhood that transcended that need. A person who thrived on the hugs, kisses, and devotion of her grandchildren.
“I know that the Death card isn’t bad. But I might forget that tomorrow.” She sighed. “Kevin, I need you to help me when I forget and panic like I did tonight.”
“What about Mom? She would freak if she knew. You know how religious she is.”
“Nonsense. There is nothing evil here. Look at it, you’ll see. Besides, you don’t have to tell her. It could be our secret.” Grandma jumped to her feet, excitedly. “I think I’m going to make something for dessert.”
Kevin looked at the alarm clock. “It’s almost nine.”
“So? I’m hungry.” Ruby trotted downstairs, a spring in her step. From the banging and clanging of pots and pans, she was preparing to feed an army.
Kevin’s phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket. “Hello?”
“Can you get away?” Annie asked, her voice low and husky.
Kevin swallowed. “I don’t know. Grandma’s upset, and I’m worried about her.”
“Aww, aren’t you the sweet grandson?” Annie’s voice changed; she didn’t sound sincere. “So, what’s going on?”
“She’s making a dessert, and from the sound of it, she’s making it from scratch. While she’s doing that, I’m looking through some of her old magic things.” Kevin patted the boxes.
“Magic? Like abracadabra?”
“I’m not entirely sure.” Kevin opened one of the boxes and started to remove items. “I’ve got a lava lamp, a pipe, a mirror, feathers, dried roses, a bag filled with rocks, and another filled with herbs.”
“Rocks? Herbs?”
Kevin dumped the rocks out of the bag. “The rocks look like crystals, green, white, and there is a big purple one, like the one you wear. The herbs are in a bundle; I don’t know what they’re for.”
“Is it pot?” Annie prompted, sounding excited.
Kevin opened the bag and sniffed. “No, I don’t think so. The smell reminds me of New Age Gifts and More. You know the store downtown that sells books, crystals, and
incense?” He pulled out a wooden box. “I found a bunch of small candles in all kinds of colors.”
“What are they for?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t you have some books that will tell you?”
“Yea, that’s the other box.” He stood and hovered over the smaller box. “Well, tonight, we used the Tarot book.” He absently patted the book on the bed. “There’s Healing Herbs, Candle Magic, Mirror Magic, Wand Magic, Witches Grimoire, Book of Shadows, Gemstones, Spirit Animals, Gods and Goddesses, and Herbal Grimoire. The other books are plain, no titles.”
Annie chuckled. “Are any of them her diary?”
Kevin looked at the untitled books, remembering Ruby’s comment about love, feeling a bit queasy by the idea that Grandma and Grandpa would need a diary. “That’s a disturbing thought. I’m afraid to look.”
“I’d let you read my diary.”
“Would you?”
“Absolutely,” Annie said. “I guess you’ll have to come over to see.” Her voice cracked.
Kevin shifted the phone to his other ear. “I’ll call you after Grandma goes to bed. Then we can talk, and maybe I can come to see you.”
“Promise?”
“I promise, Annie.”
“Okay.” She hung up.
Kevin put his phone on the bed. He picked up the Book of Shadows and opened it to a random page. He skimmed the words and flipped pages. Rituals and spells filled the paper. Ruby dog-eared some pages and marked sections with a rainbow of highlighter colors, stickers, symbols, and arrows. Other areas had notes on the page edges. Her handwriting was tight and clean.
He put the Book of Shadows down and tried another book, Gemstones. High quality, glossy pictures of stones, gems, and crystals filled the thick, heavy pages. The book seemed to cover every rock found on the planet. About halfway through the book, in the center, near the spine, a section of pages had a square cut out. Within was a wooden box with the words “protection stone” written on it.
A beautiful picture of a lapis lazuli was cut nearly in half, and the words under the photo were damaged. It appeared that the box was inserted into the book after printing.
