“I don’t think Kennedy is looking to go corporate with this,” Ani says.
“That wasn’t business advice.” He changes lanes. “It could be if she wanted it. But I don’t presume that what works for me works for everyone.”
He glances in the mirror to meet Ani’s gaze, and she gives a grudging nod.
He continues, “What I was doing was answering Kennedy’s question with an example. That is how the gray market operates. For the last few years, I’ve been networking within it, mostly by offering my services as a luck worker.”
“Working for them? Are you the same guy I spoke to this morning, who assured me, quite frostily, that he does not work for others?”
“I—”
“What was the wording? I don’t hire myself out like a common laborer.”
“I . . . may have overstated the matter. Yes, I much prefer to work for myself, but here I must enter on the ground floor. This necklace auction is the first time I’ve acted on my own behalf. In other words, I’m a new player. That means I know some others, but I’m not embedded enough to know them well. I’d need help narrowing the field if you want to find out who has Hope. I’m not sure that’s what you want, though—to find her rather than meet her captor’s demands.”
Before I can answer, Ani says, “We’re meeting his demands. By having you back out of the auction.”
Connolly lets out the softest sigh. “Again, it isn’t that easy. I’m also not convinced Hope is the best one to uncurse the necklace. I don’t think it’s a lover’s lament.”
“Then what is it?” Ani asks.
I take over and explain as Connolly drives.
Unstable is the prettiest town in Massachusetts. Okay, I may be biased, but as we turn onto the main street—Bishop—my heart swells, and every muscle relaxes with the unmistakable relief of being home.
It’s a postcard-perfect New England town, and everyone works very hard to keep it that way. We’re too far from the ocean for fishing and too far from the forests for logging. The earth isn’t great for crops, either. Our number-one industry is tourism.
Unstable staked its claim to fame at the beginning of the Victorian spiritualism craze. One of the first mediums to take her show on the road came from here. The town capitalized on that by welcoming other traveling psychics and mediums, who started adding Unstable as a pre-Boston tour event.
Soon mediums weren’t just stopping by for a show; they were stopping here for good. When they tired of life on the road, they chose Unstable as their new home.
The old records show lots of blah-blah about ley lines, but the truth is, Unstable is just a very pretty place to live. It may be miles from the Atlantic Ocean, but it has several picturesque creeks, all feeding into a small lake. It lacks those huge swaths of quintessential New England forest, but the early settlers left plenty of trees standing, and every yard boasts majestic oaks or maples or elms. The earth isn’t ideal for crops, but the rolling hills are perfect for livestock, and we’re surrounded by grassy expanses dotted with cows and sheep.
It helped, too, that Unstable itself was so welcoming to those who “saw beyond the veil.” No one wants to live anyplace they aren’t wanted. In Unstable, that red carpet has been out for nearly two hundred years. It’s still kept fresh and steam-cleaned. The only difference is that, as welcoming as Unstable is today, there isn’t really room for new psychics and mediums looking to ply their trade. These are family businesses, like ours, priding themselves on having offered their services for generations.
The same goes for the nonparanormal trade that grew up to support the town. We have more B&Bs per capita than anyplace else in the state. Also more ice cream shops, candy stores and bakeries. There’s some flux as tastes change—artisanal everything is huge now—but mostly current shops just adjust their focus to meet new demand.
Every one of those businesses—paranormal and otherwise—is in a building at least a hundred years old. Some have always been shops. Others are converted houses. A few—like ours—are residential homes that were built with a business entrance.
As we head down Bishop Street to the library, I sneak a glance at Connolly. I want him to be charmed by Unstable, and I’m afraid of seeing the opposite—that disdainful curl of his lip as I hear him talking about the tea caddy again.
Piece of kitschy trash . . .
Instead, he looks straight ahead, as if he doesn’t notice anything worthy of either interest or scorn, and somehow that’s more disappointing.
I direct him to the library, an adorable saltbox house near the east end of the business district. As we walk to the back entrance, Connolly says, “Jonathan went back to work today?”
After his best friend had been kidnapped?
He doesn’t say that, but I still hear it.
“This isn’t the city,” I say. “He can’t just call someone else in. There are three librarians. One is on leave. The other . . . can’t be left in charge.”
“A new hire?” he asks.
“Not exactly.”
Ani opens the door first, pushing it for us before she hurries in. The smell of library wafts out, that sweet, slightly musky odor of old books. When Connolly starts to stride after my sister, I lift a hand to stop him.
“Give them a moment.”
Ani makes a sharp left and heads for the community room, where Jonathan is waiting. I lead Connolly into the library proper. A white-haired woman hurries from behind the counter, her arms spread wide, the smell of Chanel No. 5 enveloping me in her hug.
“Miss Clara,” I say. “So good to see you.”
“And you, Kennedy.” She puts me at arm’s length for a good look. “You’re growing so fast. Have you finished those Nancy Drew books? I have a few more. Also,”—she lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper—“I snuck in an order for those comics you like.”
“Thank you, Miss Clara.” I squeeze her hand. “I’ll look at them later.”
She sees Connolly and straightens, her gaze sliding over him, dark eyes radiating disapproval. “And who is this young man following you around?”
“He isn’t following me,” I say. “He’s with me. We’re going to talk to Jonathan in the community room.”
“Ah.” Her face smooths as she winks. “A secret project, huh? What is it this time? Another Memorial Day prank?” She pats my arm. “Just be careful with the fireworks, dear.”
“Always. Jonathan and Ani make sure of it.”
She chuckles. “They do keep you in line.” Her gaze lifts to Connolly. “Are you going to introduce me, Kennedy?”
“Sorry. This is Aiden Connolly. Aiden, this is Miss Clara.”
She looks him over again, her gaze softer now. “Aiden Connolly. A good Irish name for a good-looking Irish boy. An bhfuil Gaeilge agat?”
When Connolly looks at her blankly, she chuckles. “The answer is no, then. You don’t speak Irish. You should. It’s important to remember where we come from. The language, the stories, the traditions. Kennedy speaks Greek.”
“I . . . didn’t know that.”
“I’ll put together a little package of books for you.”
I tense, ready for him to tell her not to bother, but he inclines his head with a murmur of genuine thanks. As we head toward the community room, he says, his voice low, “It’s good of Jonathan to let her keep pretending to work here. Make her feel useful.”
“He’s not pretending. She does work here. She is useful. The memory lapses are sporadic, and everyone knows to just go with her flow. She can still do her job fine. She just can’t be left to work alone.”
“My mistake,” he says. “I didn’t intend any insult.”
“I know. It’s just . . . different here. Sometimes for the worse, but mostly for the better. In my opinion, at least. Depends on what you want out of life.”
“Yet you moved to Boston.”
“I did. It seemed . . .” I shrug it off. “Not important right now. Jonathan and Ani are right through there.” I point at the door
. “Time to talk.”
Chapter Sixteen
Ellie is in the community room, confined to a makeshift bed, which will need to be washed later. As cool as library cat sounds, it’s unfair to patrons with allergies. The only alternative is a hairless feline, and I’ve told Jonathan I could deliver that with a decent electric razor, but apparently, that would be “wrong.”
Ellie and Connolly introduce themselves, which means glancing briefly at each other before settling into mutual ignoring. I get the same treatment from Ellie. Earlier, she acted as if she didn’t need my goodbye, but now I get the cold shoulder, mingled with a generous dose of side-eye.
“You could cuddle on my lap,” I say as I take a seat.
Her eyes narrow.
“Just a suggestion.”
Jonathan picks up the bed and moves it to a chair between mine and Ani’s.
“I don’t think she wants that,” I say.
“Oh, believe me, she does.” He pats Ellie’s head. “Better, right?”
The cat settles in and glares at me.
“Constant side-eye,” I say. “Definitely better.”
He chuckles. “That’s her way of saying ‘I love you, please don’t ever leave me.’”
“Or ‘Are you still here? I thought I ditched you for the nice guy.’” I turn away from the cat’s accusing stare. “Moving right along. It’s story time in a very appropriate setting. Jonathan, don’t forget to do the voices and actions. I know you can.”
“You go first,” he says.
I don’t need to do much to bring Jonathan up to speed. He’d been texting with Ani as cellular service resumed in Unstable. All I have to do is fill in the gaps.
Then Jonathan updates us on his morning. With Miss Clara on the desk and cell service restored, he’s been able to pop in and out, investigating.
In Boston, unless we had proof of kidnapping, the police would be telling us to wait twenty-four hours before considering Hope a missing person. Here, they’d have opened a case right away. However, they’ll also not open a case if we ask to handle it ourselves.
The police chief is Mrs. Salazar’s niece, and if there’s a queen bee in our psychic community, Mrs. Salazar is it. Her family has been here as long as ours. Do they have any actual psychic abilities? They believe so, and we don’t argue. Even privately, we don’t discount the possibility. That would be rude.
Several of the Salazars work in the paranormal trade. Most, though, have shifted into commerce and government, and locals especially appreciate the latter. Where else can you tell the police chief that your sister has been kidnapped by someone who wants her curse-weaving powers, but you’re on top of it and don’t need their help?
Why tell the police at all then? Professional and personal courtesy. The chief would be less than thrilled if she discovered we’d been asking questions about an unreported crime. This way, she’s informed, and Jonathan can go about his investigation, which he has.
He’s compiled a list of clues. Strangers in Unstable last night. Unrecognized cars on Bishop Street after dark. Also, black butterflies seen in our front garden, corpse candles spotted over the marsh and one psychic who dreamed of Hope wandering a dark wood, lost and alone, wearing a blue jacket.
All of these go onto the list with equal solemnity. Sure, we’ll ignore everything after “unknown people and vehicles,” but again, it’d be rude to leave off the rest. Even the stranger sightings likely have nothing to do with Ani and Hope’s kidnapping. It might be midweek and not quite tourist season, but people still pass through Unstable, even late at night.
As for Ani and Hope’s car, it was found just outside town, abandoned on what the kidnappers likely presumed was an abandoned road but is actually the favorite local dog-walking route. For now, we’re leaving the car there in case we need evidence from it.
The other potential avenue of investigation is the woman who tried to hire my sisters. Connolly didn’t recognize the description Ani provided. We’re guessing she’s with the kidnappers. We’ll need to ask around and see who saw her that morning. It’s a guarantee someone did.
In the end, though, none of us are certain how much we’ll need any of this information, even the pieces that could lead us to Hope.
Are we going to search for her? While it seems obvious—my sister has been kidnapped—even Chief Salazar said that if we know what these people want, and we can give it to them, it might be wise to simply complete the transaction. No one wants to pay off kidnappers, but if the price is reasonable, that may be the victim’s safest bet.
Is the price reasonable?
Hell, yeah. Connolly just needs to drop out of the auction. Yes, we’re concerned that Hope might not be able to unweave this curse, but I can suggest to her captors that all three Bennett sisters take a shot and do their combined best.
“Have I been misled, then?” Connolly says when I suggest this. “I was under the impression that a failed unweaving is as dangerous as the curse itself, perhaps more so.”
“That depends,” Ani says. “Which is why we evaluate the curse first and weigh it against our skill level. Even Kennedy doesn’t take chances.”
“Even Kennedy,” I say. “Wow. Thanks.”
She glances over. “Shall we talk about why you don’t take chances? Once burned, twice shy?”
“Literally burned,” Jonathan murmurs. “I remember that.”
“Hard for you to forget when it was your car she set on fire.”
“He bought a cursed car,” I say to Connolly.
“It was cheap,” Jonathan says.
“Please tell me it was insured,” Connolly says.
“It was. In the end, I came out ahead. The car was worth more than I paid.”
“Because it was cursed,” I say. “A lesson to both of us. I don’t unweave spells above my skill level. You don’t buy things that seem suspiciously cheap.”
“No, I just don’t buy them before checking with you guys.” Jonathan looks at Connolly. “I’ll also say, in Kennedy’s defense, that it was my first car, so she was just a kid. Also, it was a really tough jinx. She’d have no problem with it now.”
“Thank you,” I say. “Back to the point, though, yes, we don’t attempt overly difficult curses for fear of backlash. Your point was that this is a difficult one. Possibly beyond all our skill levels. That’s why I’d suggest to Hope’s captor that Ani and I get a look at it first. If it’s too complex, we can warn him before he buys it.”
“That’s . . . not going to work,” Connolly says.
“Because the seller won’t let us see it? I’m sure we can find a way around that.”
“I’m sure we can, too. Then, if it is too complex, you’re just going to tell this man that none of the Bennetts can do it, so he should release Hope. Naturally, he’ll take your word for it and let her go.”
I peer at him. “Was that sarcasm? I think so, but it’s hard to tell with you.”
Before he can answer, I say, “Yes, you have a point. Let me turn that question over to you. What’s our escape hatch there? It’s the most famous curse in history. If it could be easily uncursed, a weaver would have done it by now.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Jonathan says. “It’s been with regular humans for generations.”
Connolly nods slowly. “I would agree. However, the necklace itself is thousands of years old. Surely, back when people believed in curses, weavers would have attempted it.”
“On a limited scale,” Jonathan says. “Without the internet—or even phone directories—it would have been hard to find real curse weavers. Which doesn’t mean some haven’t taken a shot at it. It’s not going to be a run-of-the-mill curse.”
I turn to Connolly. “What’s your suggestion for a backup plan?”
“Isn’t that obvious?” Ani says. “He’s pointing out that our plan isn’t foolproof and therefore we should let him buy the necklace and find another way to free Hope.”
Connolly turns a cool gaze on her. “I was not going
to say that. I raised a valid point that applies regardless of who gets the necklace. If Kennedy can’t uncurse it for me, that hardly solves my problem.”
“What is your problem?” I ask. “We’re going to need to understand why this necklace is so important to you.”
He doesn’t answer.
Ani shoves back her chair, marches to the door and throws it open. “We don’t need you, Aiden. All Kennedy has to do is admit you were listening in to the call, which means there’s no way in hell you’d back out of the auction.”
“I would ask you not to do that. In fact, I’d ask it very strongly.”
“Is that a threat?” Ani says.
“No, it is not.”
I cut in. “He means there’s more than one way to keep him from bidding.”
Jonathan swears under his breath and then nods.
Ani looks from him to me. “I don’t understand.”
“Whoever kidnapped Hope wants Aiden out of the picture,” I say. “The easy way is for me to thwart his efforts. The hard way . . .”
I slice across my throat. Connolly gives me a look.
“What?” I say.
“You have definitely read too many crime novels,” he says. “While we’re here, we’ll grab you some lighter reading material. Fantasy, perhaps. Or science fiction.”
“Hey, plenty of killers in those, too. Assassins everywhere. It’s awesome. Well, unless you’re on their hit list.”
Connolly shakes his head. “I am not on anyone’s hit list. I’m not powerful enough for that.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll get there.”
“Thank you.” He looks at Jonathan and Ani. “While I doubt my actual life is in danger, Hope’s captor isn’t going to shrug and say ‘Oh, well’ if Kennedy can’t trick me out of the auction. He will take stronger measures to remove me. As strong as necessary, short of actual murder, and even that . . .”
Cursed Luck, Book 1 Page 11
