by Bailey Cates
“Which is?” I asked.
He rubbed the tips of his fingers and thumb together in response to my question. “Money, honey. Lots of it. That’s one thing about being a member of the society—wealth is almost guaranteed.”
The spellbook club exchanged glances, and I could see I wasn’t the only one who found him distasteful. Except for Lawrence Eastmore, Andersen didn’t seem terribly fond of his fellow druids. If they really didn’t care for him, either, as he’d stated earlier, I could understand why.
The guy exuded a combination of childish self-satisfaction and a sense of entitlement that was quite off-putting. Bianca pursed her lips, and I wondered if she was thinking of her gains from playing the stock market.
He glanced at his watch. “I’m afraid I have to go, ladies.”
“Oh, no you don’t.” Mimsey jumped to her feet. “You think you can come dump this problem on us and then just waltz out of here?”
He rose as well. “Madam, I assure you I am willing to do whatever it takes, both to bring justice to my friend’s killer and to prevent the evil influence of Zesh in this world. Unfortunately, my hands are tied by my association with the very person—or people—who may be responsible for his death. They already suspect that I suspect them, which is why I came to you. Anything you need that is within my ability to deliver, I will. Just let me know.” He handed me a business card. All it had on it was his name and a phone number.
Mimsey scowled at him.
“In the meantime, I will seek access to Larry’s collection before his son gets here. Eastmore Junior is coming in from Barcelona tonight, then driving down from Atlanta in the morning. What I need is inside a climate-controlled vault, but I know the combination and I have a key to Larry’s house.”
A vault. Of course. Well, if it was full of books on dark magic, I could see why a witch-hunter like Taite might jump to conclusions about Lawrence Eastmore.
“I doubt the police would approve,” I said.
“Then it’s just as well that I don’t plan to ask their permission,” Andersen said. “Stop looking at me like that, Ms. French. In the next few days, I’ll be looking for a suitable counterspell to prevent the summoning in case you’re—we’re—unsuccessful in finding the killer in time.”
“Hang on,” I said. “What about you? We don’t know anything at all about you. Why should we even believe you?”
“What would you like to know?”
“Well, for one thing, what was your ‘professional association’ with Jaida here? She’s an ethical attorney, so she’s not about to tell us anything about you.”
He looked at his watch again. “Ms. French, you hereby have my permission to tell your coven anything they want to know.”
“Anything?” she asked with a skeptical look.
“Yes. I’m serious about finding Larry’s killer, and revealing my foibles is the least of my worries.”
“Andersen,” she said in a slow voice, “there’s something else you should be aware of.”
“And what, my dear, might that be?”
“The police know who Katie found Saturday morning. They know it was Dr. Eastmore.”
“That’s hardly surprising.”
Jaida considered him, then took a deep breath. “One of the detectives is new to Savannah. He’s here with a mission, however.” She looked over at me, and I nodded. Her attention returned to our visitor, whose eyes had widened at her words. “He’s a hunter, Andersen. And from the brief encounter Katie had with him earlier today, we don’t know whether he’s discerning or not.”
Discerning?
“We were talking about that when you arrived,” Lucy said to me. “Some witch-hunters understand the difference between black magic and white magic. Others, not so much. Some consider all magic evil.”
Andersen asked in a thoughtful tone, “What’s his name?”
“Franklin Taite.” I didn’t feel great about sharing the information with this druid, but if Taite was really dangerous then it was the right thing to do.
Unless the Dragohs were more dangerous. I hated that we were in the dark about so many things. We needed more information about them all.
“Thank you for the warning.” Andersen nodded. “Yes, indeed.” With deliberate steps he walked to the door leading down from the terrace.
“You’re not driving, are you?” Jaida asked.
He turned. “Of course not. Once was enough, thank you.” Looking around at each of us, he said, “Thank you, Katie. All of you. Even though you haven’t done anything yet, and Ms. Carmichael here may still convince y’all not to help me. But you’ve listened, at least.” He held up a finger. “You do know, of course, that if you use magic when looking into Larry’s murder, the other Dragohs will sense it. And believe me, they will react badly.”
We watched him pivot and make his way downstairs.
“I can’t tell if he’s drunk or sad,” I said when he was gone.
“Both, I suspect,” Jaida said. “I defended him on a drunk-driving case, but he was doing well since that. His friend’s death seems to have knocked him off the wagon.”
“Great,” I said. “What kind of help will he really be?”
They all looked at me.
“Well, we’re going to do what we can, aren’t we? I don’t like it, but it seems that finding Lawrence Eastmore’s killer is up to us.”
Mimsey’s gaze lasered to me, and after a moment she managed a smile. “No doubt that’s why Katie was the one who discovered him in the first place.”
I held my palms up. “Sorry.”
Chapter 15
“Are you familiar with Brandon Sikes’ work?” Cookie asked. Ice cubes clinked against the side of her glass as she poured from the pitcher of lemonade Lucy had carried up to the roof garden. So much for a Southern Sunday afternoon of book club and wine.
We’d tabled the spellbook discussion until the next meeting so we could figure out just how to go about investigating Lawrence Eastmore’s death. Getting close to the druidic movers and shakers might prove difficult, especially given our deadline. Three days until Samhain.
Deadline, indeed. The very notion of Zesh sent a reptilian quiver through me.
“It’s marvelous,” Cookie said. “Sikes creates these huge pieces, usually on a background of thin plywood rather than canvas, with paint, fiber, papier-mâché, metal, even clay. Large, but intricate. The longer you look at them, the more they say to you.” She was positively enraptured.
“Sounds interesting,” Lucy said.
“He’s single, too,” Cookie said.
Uh-oh. “What are you thinking?” I asked.
“I think I should go to Xana Do! Gallery, where his new show is opening.”
“When?” I asked.
She sat back, feline contentment on her face. “Tonight. I know I can find out more about him. I met him a few times when I worked at SCAD. He’s quite friendly.”
Cookie went through boyfriends like she went through jobs, and as luck would have it, she currently happened to be between beaus. The last thing we needed now was for one of the spellbook club to hook up with a druid who was a possible murderer.
Though reluctant, I agreed. “But do not let him know that you know he’s a member of the Dragoh Society.”
She looked offended. “Of course not. I know to be careful. In fact, why don’t you go with me, Katie? So you can keep an eye on me and make sure I don’t mess up.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I said. “Though I wouldn’t mind seeing his work.” And him. I sometimes got intuitive hits off of people, so it couldn’t hurt to try.
“Of course you have to go,” Mimsey said to me, then looked around at the others. “Katie is the common denominator. She discovered the body, found out about the Dragohs, drew the magical attack, and was the reason Andersen Lane found his way here to us this afternoon.”
She didn’t use the word catalyst, but I, for one, was wondering about it.
“Whatever you do, don’t
try to use magic on him,” Bianca warned Cookie. “Like Andersen said, he’d know. I bet all these guys are quite powerful sorcerers. I can certainly see how Victor Powers could be.”
“You know him?” Mimsey sounded surprised.
“I’ve met him.”
“At one of those fancy parties you go to?” If that sounded like I was jealous, I wasn’t. I wouldn’t have minded wearing some of her beautiful gowns, though.
“Indeed. In fact, there’s—” She bit her lip.
“There’s…what?” I prompted gently.
She let out a breath. “A fund-raising breakfast for him at the Westin Hotel. Tomorrow morning.” A kind of defeat weighed her features. “I could get tickets, Katie. For you and me.”
“I have to work,” I said.
“Cookie and I can cover for you,” Lucy said. “Mimsey’s right. You should go.”
“What if they know what Katie looks like?” Jaida said. “Won’t the druids get suspicious?”
“Why would they know?” I asked. “You think Heinrich showed them pictures of big, bad Katie Lightfoot so they’d know what to watch out for? Because I guarantee he doesn’t think enough of me, or any woman, to feel threatened.”
“But the pumpkins—,” Lucy said.
“Andersen said the spell was designed for general protection, not specifically directed at me.” I stood. “Okay, we have a plan, or at least the beginnings of one. Cookie, do you need a ride home?” She didn’t like to drive and usually relied on public transportation.
“If you don’t mind.”
“And I’ll pick you up tonight at eight.”
* * *
Back home, I let Mungo out to roam the backyard and settled into one of the mismatched chairs in the gazebo. Margie’s car was gone, and all was quiet on the Coopersmith front. The stream gurgled over stones by the back fence, the sound blending with the low drone of bees moving drowsily through the garden beds. Iridescent dragonfly wings flashed in the late-afternoon sunlight, and the breeze had turned cool with the promise of rain. I filled my lungs with the electric air.
Things were out of control on so many fronts. My life of early mornings, baking all day, learning magic and gardening had suddenly turned into a dead body, questionable druids, the attack of the killer pumpkins, a witch-hunter, and the looming threat of an evil spirit.
With mixed feelings, I dialed my cell and hoped Daddy would answer the phone in Fillmore, Ohio.
No such luck. Mama picked up on the third ring.
“Katie! How are you, sweetie?” I could hear the strain behind her forced cheerfulness. When Lucy had informed me I was a hereditary witch, a rift had formed between my parents and me. Well, mostly me and my mother, who had been the driving force behind their lying to me most of my life about who—and what—I was.
Over the past few months Daddy and I had talked it out. He’d apologized, and I accepted, since I did understand their motivations, at least in part. How could they have known that their attempt to protect me from myself would boomerang and mess up my life? I firmly believed that things happen for a reason, and maybe the way I found out about my magical heritage was exactly the right way and at the right time.
At least that’s what I told myself in the middle of the night.
Mama, however, was not on board with the ideas of serendipity and forgiveness. The relationship between her and her little sister, never that great, had soured even more since Lucy’s revelation that I was a witch. Mama was furious, determined not to forgive Lucy and none too happy with me for pursuing magic, either.
“Any news?” she asked now.
“I learned how to plant a prosperity spell.” I wasn’t proud of myself for baiting her, but I couldn’t seem to help it.
There was a long silence. Then she said, “I ran into Andrew the other day. He was house hunting.”
Touché.
“In Fillmore?” I forced myself to ask.
“He said he’s tired of Akron. He has a new job here, at the school. Vice principal.” She sure seemed to have a lot to say about him, given that she’d made no secret of her dislike of Andrew when we’d been engaged.
“Fancy doin’s,” I said. “In a town with only five hundred and sixty-three people in it.” About to be 564, it sounded like.
“His girlfriend was with him.”
Okay, make that 565. Maybe. Andrew wasn’t great at the commitment game.
I sighed. “Of course she was, Mama. Is Daddy around?”
Another pause, pregnant with regret and frustration and a few other things I couldn’t readily identify.
“Hang on. I’ll get him.”
Mungo bounded up the two steps leading into the gazebo, turned around three times on the purple star, and lay down smack-dab in the middle with a little snort. I didn’t know for sure how much he knew from the afternoon doings at Lucy and Ben’s, but I figured it was a lot. Maybe I should consider sleeping in the middle of a pentagram, too.
I heard a rustle on the other end of the phone, and then, “I don’t know what you just said to your mother, but she’s got a very unhappy look on her face.” Daddy’s voice was low.
“It went both ways, believe me.”
He exhaled. “Well, anyway. How are things in Savannah?”
“Strange,” I said.
“How so?”
“Well, I found a dead man under a rhododendron bush yesterday morning, and it turns out he was a member of a secret druidic society. Since then another member of the society warned me off with thinly veiled threats. I’ve been assaulted by flying pumpkins, and the newest detective on the police force is apparently on the prowl for magicians of all sorts.”
“Assaulted? Are you all right?” At least he sounded matter-of-fact, despite my reference to airborne squash. Mama would have gone into instant hysterics.
“I’m fine.”
“God, Katie. How do you get yourself into these things?”
“It’s not like I tried to find a body.”
“Well, how about you steer clear of the situation now?”
“I planned on it. I did. But today things changed again.”
I heard a door close, and now my dad’s voice was a little louder. I guessed he’d gone into his den. “Tell me,” he said.
So I related Andersen Lane’s visit and his plea for the spellbook club to help him find Lawrence Eastmore’s murderer. Daddy listened without interrupting.
“If he’s telling us the truth, then it’s not just a matter of justice. We don’t have much time, either.”
Daddy finally spoke, his words careful and considered. “Do you have reason to think this Lane fellow is lying to you? Does your intuition tell you not to trust him?”
“Hmm. Not really. He’s an odd duck, that’s for sure, but he seemed sincere. It’s just that I’m naturally suspicious of a request of that magnitude from someone I’ve never met before, and it seems there might be more to the story than we know.”
“That’s logic talking, and it’s good logic,” he said. “But for now if your gut is telling you he’s telling the truth, I suppose you have to go with it. I really, really don’t like the idea of you going up against something like this Zesh, though. You make sure you keep the rest of the coven around you, and if you do find anything out let those crazy druids take care of it themselves.”
“Oh, Daddy—”
“You’re still a newbie, Katie, still wet behind the ears. You simply don’t know enough to be safe.”
“Okay, okay,” I said. “I will be careful, I promise. But there’s something I haven’t told you yet. About Nonna.”
The reference to my maternal grandmother was greeted with a long silence, and then Daddy said, “Nonna?”
“When the pumpkins fell? A voice told me to get out of the way. There wasn’t anyone around.” I paused and licked my lips. Would he think I was crazy? “I could swear it was her, Daddy. Remember that strong Boston accent of hers?”
I heard him suck air in through his teeth. “O
h, my. Well, that doesn’t entirely surprise me.”
The muscles in my shoulders relaxed. I hadn’t realized how steeled I’d been for his disbelief. “It didn’t surprise Lucy, either.”
“Your grandmother Sheffield was a powerful witch. Stubborn and protective of her loved ones, too. I wouldn’t put it past her to watch over you. In fact, the idea makes me feel slightly better about this whole situation.”
“How can I get her to talk to me again?” The thought of being able to communicate with my witchy grandmother was strangely exciting.
“I don’t think it works that way.”
“So,” I said, thinking out loud, “I’d have to be in danger again?”
“Katie! Don’t even think such a thing.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. I’m not going to do anything stupid. I was just wondering.”
“You promised to be careful. Just stick to that,” he said. “So you’re going to meet one of these druids tonight?”
I fingered the thin silver band Andersen Lane had given me. It only fit on my thumb. “Yes, and I need to go get ready so I don’t stand out too much in Savannah’s artsy-fartsy crowd.”
“What do you hope to learn?”
That gave me pause. What exactly was I hoping to gain from tonight’s outing? “I want to meet this Brandon Sikes,” I said. “See if I get any kind of intuitive hit. See if he seems desperate enough to kill a fellow druid in order to summon this Zesh character. Maybe even find out where he was the night of the murder.” I sighed. How the heck was I going to do that without arousing his suspicions?
“Katie?” Daddy had heard my sigh.
“Just thinking about what to wear tonight. I suppose I ought to do something with my hair, too.”
He laughed. “Once a tomboy, always a tomboy.”
“Right. A tomboy who cooks for a living. Somehow I don’t think that’s in the definition. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”
We hung up. For a long moment I watched a jet paint a snowy contrail against the blue sky, right above the treetops down the street. When talking to Daddy, I’d made pretty light of the prospect of someone summoning Zesh onto this plane, leaving out Andersen’s other dire warnings. No reason to worry my dad even more. I’d left specifics about Franklin Taite out of my tale as well. I didn’t need any I-told-you-sos from Mama, and who knew how much information Daddy would share with her?
