The Viking Horn Spell

by Amanda Hartford

  I was trying to work through it. “So, what happened? How did he die?”

  “Heart attack. It was a fluke that we even found him. A troop of Boy Scouts stumbled across the body out on the backside of the White Tanks.”

  I knew that mountain range: it rises straight up from the Valley floor at the far west edge of Phoenix. The deep canyons are accessible mostly on foot. That 30,000-acre desert park the perfect place to dump a body.

  “No external marks except whatever damage the coyotes did, no indication of foul play. His heart stopped, pure and simple.”

  This all was beginning to sound horribly familiar. “No history of heart trouble, right?” Jim knew where I was going.

  Jim took a tentative sip at his steaming coffee. “Nope. Fit as a fiddle.”

  “Just like that poor woman last year,” I said.

  I filled Jim in on my conversation with Enoch Dobbins.

  “It doesn’t surprise me,” Jim said. “So, it’s a toss-up who got to him first. Maybe the guys he owed money to finally caught up with him. Or, maybe, Penelope decided he was a liability after he failed to fulfill her contract on you in that alley. Either way, Jacob Carroll was a dead man.”

  Jim stirred his coffee. “I’m afraid there’s more. I pulled the coroner’s report on your friend Bop. He confirmed that she drowned.”

  “That can’t be right,” I argued. “Bop was a strong swimmer, and she was an experienced runner. I jcan’t see how she ended up in the water, let alone drown.”

  Jim shuffled his papers. “We found a witness, a woman who runs with her boyfriend out there on the canal. She didn’t know your friend, except to nod to, but she agrees with you. She thought maybe Bop had a seizure of some kind.”

  “But she didn’t have...” I started to argue again.

  Jim waved it away. “What if somebody hit your friend with a spell as she went into the water, something that could incapacitate her?”

  I felt sick. Perfectly healthy people who crossed my path had a nasty way of dropping dead when Penelope was around, but I had no idea why.

  ♦

  It was time to go for a run.

  John had made me swear that I wouldn’t run on the canal bank after the attack on Bop, and I’d stuck by my promise, but I woke up the next afternoon angry that I was being held prisoner in my own home. Besides, that business with my vault had made it very clear that Penelope could lash out at me wherever and whenever she wanted. I may as well get some exercise.

  John was snoozing on the couch when I laced up my running shoes and eased out the door. I felt guilty not telling him where I was going, but I didn’t want to be talked out of it, either. Anyway, all he could do would be to sit in the condo and worry, I told myself. The terms of his, er, ghostdom apparently confined him to my condo and balcony. It wasn’t as if he could go out and run with me, I rationalized.

  It wasn’t until I’d jogged downstairs, exited the building on the canal side and started stretching out next to the path that I realized how very alone I was. Maybe this was a mistake, but I wasn’t about to turn back now.

  The sun was still high in the sky and the weather was gorgeous as I started out. There were only a few people out on the path. The redhead and her musclebound boyfriend jogged past me. I remembered what Jim had said; that the woman didn’t believe Bop simply drowned. I gave her a friendly smile, and she waved over her shoulder as she jogged past.

  Up on the balcony, John was watching. I’d been very quiet as I closed the door behind me, but the slight click of the lock still awakened him. He knew where I was going, what I was going to do. All he could do was watch.

  He stood at the balcony rail and scanned the canal road for me. He told me later that he spotted me as soon as I stepped onto the path. He said he wished he had binoculars, but then, he wouldn’t have been able to lift them to his eyes, anyway. He wanted to scream in frustration.

  John watched helplessly as I moved away from him, but for the first block or so, he thought I was going to be okay. If John had still been alive, he would’ve been holding his breath.

  He had a grandstand seat when Penelope made her move. John said she came out of nowhere, closing the gap between us.

  Down on the path, I heard somebody a few paces behind me. Runners are very aware of their personal space, and we’re careful not to get too close. It’s dangerous — that’s how tangles and falls happen.

  I moved a foot closer to the canal, making room for the runner behind me to pass. The footsteps came closer, directly behind me, so I moved over again. I was running less than a yard from the edge of the water now.

  This must have been how it happened for Bop. This is how she ended up in the water. I waited for the impact.

  Penelope hit me with a solid body blow just under my shoulder blade. The force was enough to carry me into the water, just like Bop. When Penelope made her move, I was prepared. I had no intention of dying in that canal like my friend.

  At the moment of impact, I muttered abracadabra. Not very original, I know, but I was sure that I could remember it under stress to trigger the protective ward I had created around my body after that first attack in the alley. Penelope was not going to kill me today. She was not going to stop my heart.

  I started splashing and screaming as soon as I hit the water. A crowd gathered, and passersby organized a human chain to help me climb up the steep canal bank.

  I heard sirens in the distance.

  ♦

  The EMTs offered to take me to the emergency room to get checked out, but I declined. I was fine, and I still had unfinished business.

  John was still on the balcony — equal parts furious and relieved — when I got home. I wanted to run to him and get lost in his arms, but we both knew that wasn’t going to work. I slumped, exhausted, onto the chaise lounge.

  John came over and sat down beside me. He was grinning.

  “You look like a drowned rat,” he snickered. He blew in my direction, and my damp hair ruffled a bit in the breeze. I smiled, and he turned serious. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  We sat together for a moment, each in their own thoughts.

  “Were you out here the whole time?” I asked him.

  He confessed that he had watched me from on high — or, more accurately, from the balcony — as I baited Penelope. “That was pretty stupid,” he said. It wasn’t open to debate.

  “It worked. You saw her.”

  “She could’ve killed you.”

  I tried to smile. “But she didn’t.” I turned to him. “John, I need her to know that I’m not afraid of her. Whatever she’s up to, she’s not going to win this... whatever this is. The cops got there so fast, I was sure they’d get her.”

  I looked at him suspiciously. “How did the cops get there so fast?”

  John’s eyes twinkled. “I called them.”

  “Did not. You can’t use the phone.”

  “But I can use the computer. The county has a new app that lets you text 911. I downloaded it to your desktop last week. As soon as I saw Penelope come up behind you, I called for the cavalry.”

  I wanted to hug him. “My hero!” I gushed, and he rolled his eyes.

  I was suddenly exhausted; the burden of carrying this whole thing around by myself was too much. It was time to come clean with John.

  He listened patiently as I told him about my conversations with Jim and with Enoch Dobbins. He let me talk uninterrupted for more than an hour. I told him about getting trapped in the vault and how Penelope had trashed the shop. He understood how angry I was, how violated and helpless I felt.

  I felt his frustration, too. He wanted to hold me and comfort me while I buried my head in his shoulder and sobbed it all out, the way I used to do back in New Orleans when he was alive. But he wasn’t alive, and he couldn’t touch me in any meaningful way. It left a sadness between us as I cried into the couch pillow.

  Eventually, I got control enough to raise my head. “I just don’t understand,” I snuffled. “
Why is she doing all this? What’s it all about?”

  John sat up a little straighter on his end of the couch. “Do you still do that thing with a dollar bill that they did in New Orleans?” he asked.

  I assumed he was referring to my practice of giving a dollar bill to the owner of any magical object that was pawned to “buy” it, and thus put its magic under my control.

  I nodded. “Why?”

  “So does that agreement bind the object to Pentacle Pawn, or personally to you?”

  “To the shop. What are you getting at?”

  John looked grim. “I know why Penelope is trying to kill you.”

  “What?”

  John settled back into the couch. “Bear with me a minute. What happens to the shop if you suddenly die?”

  “John!” It was an ugly thought.

  He persisted. “What happens?”

  “I haven’t thought about it.”

  “Think about it. You have no heirs.” He saw me wince, but he kept on. “Do you even have a will?”

  “Enoch and I talked about it when I did the incorporation papers for the shop. I’ve just never gotten around to doing it.” I knew I sounded defensive, but John looked almost pleased.

  “I figured. So, if you suddenly die, what happens?”

  “It would probably be closed for a few days. Lissa knows how to contact the family in New Orleans, but they wouldn’t be able to get here right away. And then there’d be the funeral to plan... John, this is creepy.”

  His face was stoic. “Trust me just a few more minutes — I’m going somewhere with this, I promise. While your family makes the arrangements, what happens to your clients? What if somebody needs something out of the vault right away?”

  “Lissa has keys. The door would let her in, just like always, and she could use the Eames chair to get whatever they needed.”

  Finally, John looked satisfied. “Lissa would be in charge. Lissa would be Pentacle Pawn, at least until your family was able to take over.”

  “But how does that explain...” And then I saw it.

  If Penelope needed powerful magical objects, the best place in the world to look for them was in my vault. The Pentacle Pawn shops in Paris and New Orleans are operated by extended family, and aunts and uncles and cousins are always on the premises. I run the Scottsdale shop alone, aided only by Lissa.

  Lissa would hold the keys to the candy store — and her mother Penelope knew exactly how to get her hands on them. Lissa’s whole childhood had been preparation for this moment. She had been conditioned to please Penelope, no matter what the cost. Her break from her mother had been painful and fragile, and Penelope’s return had opened all the old wounds.

  Even with Orion at her side, it would be difficult for Lissa to resist Penelope’s demand for access to the vault if I was dead. The extent of the looting would be breathtaking.

  Penelope would be armed for Armageddon if that’s what she chose to do. There was no telling the damage she could inflict.

  There was one question unanswered. “John, why did Jacob kill Bop? She didn’t have anything to do with Pentacle Pawn.”

  John sighed. “Describe Bop to me.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “Just humor me.”

  I didn’t understand why he was asking, but I did as he asked. “About my height and build, strawberry-blonde hair...” — I fingered the tips of my own haircut — “... about like mine.”

  John was nodding, his eyes sad.

  “He wasn’t after Bop. He was after me.”

  ♦

  There was no question that it had been Penelope who attacked me on the canal path, and I had to warn Lissa. Over John’s protests, I summoned Stella to take me to Orion’s townhouse.

  Orion put his arm protectively around Lissa as she heard me out. Her fingers were clutched tightly around the small amulet at her throat.

  I’d purchased the baboon tooth suspended from the silver chain from an elderly client who couldn’t control its magic. Lissa and I had been working, a little every night, to develop her craft. For the first month, she worked with me in the vault, trying to gain control over the tooth and prevent the nasty-tempered baboon from materializing whenever he felt like it.

  It was hard work —there’s nothing like a full-grown baboon screaming bloody murder and throwing his own excrement at you to keep your mind on your task— and at the end of each shift, we were both exhausted.

  Sometimes it went well; others, not so much, but I was proud of how Lissa persisted. As her accuracy increased, so did her confidence. She gained enough control over the amulet to bring the tooth, and the ring box in which it lived, up to the showroom to work on it. A few weeks ago, she put the chain around her neck and wore the amulet for the whole day. Now, she was never without it. She had made the baboon her protector.

  “Are you okay?” I asked gently.

  Lissa nodded, choking back tears. “She’s really back,” she whispered. “She’s coming for us.”

  Orion put his arm protectively around Lissa. “We’ll be ready for her,” he said, his jaw set.

  Chapter Eleven

  THE CIRCLE

  The battle lines were drawn. Penelope was coming for us again, and we had to be ready.

  My friends and I have a long tradition of gathering in fellowship before we engage in combat. There is no Stonehenge in Scottsdale — well, it wouldn’t surprise me if there is a full-scale replica on the back lawn of one of the mansions up on the hill, but I certainly don’t have access to it — so we gather in the mountain preserve. We have privacy and open sky. That’s all that matters.

  The Scottsdale McDowell Sonoran Preserve is a public park in a resort city. The posted signs say that the preserve opens at sunrise and closes at sunset, but if you behave yourself, nobody will hassle you if you’re up there after dark. The local cops understand the tourism is the town’s bread-and-butter, and unless somebody gets hurt, they’re more likely to call a cab than a paddy wagon for people who party too hard.

  I set aside the work to restore Pentacle Pawn for the night, and Stella, Queen of Rideshare, picked up Lissa. We met at the restrooms in the parking lot at the foot of the trail. Sounds a little weird, I know, but the whole trailhead area had just been upgraded and a famous architect had designed the new building, so it was a pretty classy spot. We crossed the footbridge and took care of business before we headed up the mountain.

  Arizona park preserves are always a shock to snowbirds. There’s no grass. Think of the Sonoran Desert as a forest, with tall saguaro instead of trees. A light rain earlier in the day had brought the desert to life, Lissa and I could smell creosote and desert sage as we started up the trail.

  This would be Lissa’s first circle. Lissa had been with me a while as a clerk, but now, as she trained to develop her own skills, she had become a trusted companion. It was time.

  She carried a small woven bag over her shoulder. Inside were a few items I’d gathered from store inventory to get her started: an antique Mason canning jar, filled with olive oil with a wire bail securing the lid; an extra pair of socks and a light jacket; and a water bottle. The jar was part of the ritual. The clothes and water bottle? Nobody with any sense goes into the desert without them, even for a short walk. The desert is beautiful, but it can be deadly for the unwary or unprepared.

  I slung my pack over my shoulder as we walked side-by-side up the easy trail. We didn’t talk. Lissa was almost quivering with anticipation, and I was preoccupied with the task ahead of us. We hiked in companionable silence up to the saddleback between two low hills.

  The trail forks at the top, going east and west along the ridge. People think of the desert as a wasteland, but it’s actually a complex biological world that’s easily damaged. It’s illegal to leave the trail in the preserve, and the fines are enormous if you get caught cutting across country. I pulled Lissa aside as we reached the saddleback so that an older couple and their grandkids could pass us on their way down
the hill.

  Once we had the junction to ourselves, I worked a quick spell to protect the soil from our footprints. I threw in an extra line to ward off snakes, just in case. Hey, it never hurts to cover all your bases.

  Lissa’s eyes were wide as I took her arm and guided her behind a boulder. In front of us was a goat trail. We followed it over another low rise. We were just below the saddleback now, on the far side of the ridge that shielded us from the view of anyone up on the main path.

  We were in a small natural amphitheater about fifteen feet across. Ten trunk-sized boulders were scattered around the clearing in a rough circle, and four ancient saguaros marked the cardinal compass points. Anybody who stumbled across this place wouldn’t give it a second look, but it had been established more than a hundred years ago by a small group of wise women who understood the value of a permanent place to gather. My friends and I honored what they had handed down to us and cared for it well.

  It was February, and the desert was in bloom. It was a little early for wildflowers, but here they were: a vast orange and purple carpet of poppies and lupines covering the slope in the sheltered valley, meeting the blazing sunset at the horizon. It took my breath away.

  My friends and I are not a coven — we’re not even all witches. Each has his or her own skills and talents. We are a circle of friends, and any of us can call the circle together in time of need. As convener this time, I settled myself on the big rock at the north point of the circle. If we had been on the beach in Malibu, it would’ve been Mark at the north point. In New Orleans, it would have been Daisy.

  I gestured to Lissa to find a seat. The women arrived first — they always do. I’m not sure why that is, but it always makes me smile. Having the women I love most in the world join with me in the circle is one of my greatest joys.

  Stella had promised to pick Daisy up, and they came up the trail together. It took Daisy a while to stump up the trail with the claw-foot cane she’d bought on the Home Shopping Network. Stella stayed close by Daisy’s elbow, wary of a fall but taking care not to crowd the older woman’s dignity by hovering. They were our past and our future: Stella’s youth and enthusiasm, Daisy’s wisdom and experience. Stella fussed a little over Daisy as she helped her get settled on the boulder next to me. She never saw Daisy toss me an amused wink.