A Cast-Off Coven

by Juliet Blackwell

  I continued to chant, fighting this new temptation.

  Luc’s eyes went dark; he did not blink, and he began speaking in tongues. His beauty transformed, sliding into seductiveness. “Liiiilllly . . .”

  I turned my back on him, focusing on Sitri’s sigil. I repeated the lines of the exorcism, pointed with my athame, channeled my helping spirit, subsumed myself to the power.

  Max appeared in the doorway. He caught his brother just as Luc fell to the floor.

  Without thinking, I grabbed Max’s hand, cut a small X, and dropped his blood into the circle to mingle with mine.

  There was an explosion of light and energy.

  And Sitri was cast out.

  But not gone. The demon was out of the school, but not silenced forever. I imagined it would find me one of these days, when it had regained strength and was bored.

  But for now it was over.

  I slumped to the ground, still in the circle, and tried to catch my breath. I was covered in glass shrapnel, fly bites, and wasp stings, and I smelled of sulfur and fear. I imagined I looked like three miles of bad road. Not a pretty picture.

  “Lily! Are you all right?” Max demanded, his brother limp in his arms.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “My sister stopped by to check on Luc, and he took her car. How did you know he would come here?”

  “Take him out of here, now.”

  “Only if you come with us.”

  “I’ll be right there,” I rasped. My throat felt tight and my body so weary I could barely speak. “The danger’s passed for now. Please, take him outside. I’ll meet you there.”

  Max wrapped Luc’s arm around his neck and half carried, half dragged him out.

  I breathed a shaky sigh of relief. The closet was nothing now but a tiny, musty room full of ashes, mirror shards, dead insects, and a drop or two of magical blood. But though Sitri was bound, he was not dead. We were still vulnerable until this room was sealed up, once and for all.

  I left the closet, walking unsteadily down the hall and through the door that led to the bell tower stairs. Before descending two steps, I felt so dizzy that I slumped down to sit on the stone, closed my eyes, and put my head on my knees. Behind me, I heard footsteps on the stairs, then soft moaning.

  I didn’t have to turn around to guess that this was John Daniels, resident bell tower ghost.

  “John,” I croaked without bothering to open my eyes, “I swear on all that is holy, if you start moaning and screaming, I will throttle you. So to speak. Or the ghostly equivalent. I am so not in the mood.”

  The only sound that came to me was as soft as a gentle spring breeze through the leaves of a tree. I had the strangest sensation. It was cold, but . . . comforting.

  It felt as if I were being hugged.

  After a few moments, the feeling went away. I sensed another, human presence. I looked behind me to see Todd Jacobs holding the antique ceremonial knife I had seen in Ginny’s room.

  I had been hoping to hold him off, to speak to him with Inspector Romero at my side. Todd had talked to Andromeda in the stairwell the night of Jerry Becker’s death, even though he told Marlene he was out with the boys. He had convinced Landau to blackmail the Big Cheese. And he must have discovered what everyone else at the school seemed to know, that Becker had been seeing Marlene.

  “I did think it was romantic, you know,” Todd said quietly. “I really did.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “That night, I had planned to throw myself down the stairs for love, just like the legend of John Daniels. We both know he didn’t really kill himself, but still . . . it seemed, somehow, fitting for me to join him here. Let Marley think about that for the rest of her life.” Todd’s eyes filled with tears. “I wrote her a suicide note; even used her own collage materials. But then Jerry showed up, right in front of me, at the top of the stairs. He laughed at me. Told me I was too young to satisfy a real woman. He dared me to kill him; said I didn’t have the guts. And I—I lost it.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I don’t know what came over me—it was like a blind rage. I shoved him as hard as I could. Who knew it would be that simple to rid the world of scum?”

  “Todd, listen to me. I don’t think you were entirely in control of yourself. I suspect an evil spirit caused you to do something you wouldn’t normally have done. The inspector on this case, Carlos Romero, understands what’s been going on here at the school. We can talk to him together. There’s got to be some way—”

  Todd laughed. The sound was seductive.

  “Don’t provide it a host,” I said very quietly. I had just cast Sitri out. Could Todd somehow be calling him back? He had been mucking around with things in the closet, trying to use the French letter and his own suicide note. Was he still linked to the demon?

  “You want to hear something ironic? Throughout this whole ordeal, Marley has turned to me, relied on me. Murder has done wonderful things for our relationship.”

  I heard the scrabble of hooves running up the stairs, and my miniature potbellied pig appeared . . . and then transformed into his natural goblin shape.

  “What the hell?” Todd said, recoiling from Oscar. He glanced over at me. “Get that thing out of here. He creeps me out!”

  I began to stroke my medicine bag and chant.

  “Stop that, Lily,” Todd said.

  I ignored him.

  “Stop it!” Todd continued, raising his voice. “Look, obviously I don’t want to do this, but now that I’ve decided to live, you’ll have to die.”

  Todd lunged at me, but Oscar intervened, ramming Todd in the shin with his big goblin head.

  “Ow! I’m gonna gut you, you worthless pile of bacon,” Todd said, and raised his arm to stab Oscar with the knife. Without thinking, I flung out my hand and hit Todd so he was left off balance.

  A horrified look came over his handsome young face, and for a brief, heartbreaking second, time stopped as Todd teetered on the edge of the landing.

  Then he fell backward down the steps, tumbling, his body hitting the stone steps, one after another, with sickening thuds that echoed in the stairwell.

  I sat down, stunned and shocked. Oscar crouched beside me.

  “Thank you, mistress. You saved my life,” he growled.

  “Or you saved mine,” I said, my voice shaking as much as my hands. Had Todd survived the fall? I had acted in self-defense, but . . . could the influence of the demon still be strong? I shook my head, wrenching my thoughts back to Oscar. I hugged him to my side. “I thought I told you to stay outside where you’d be safe. How come no one ever does what I tell them?”

  “Lily! Are you all right?” I heard Max yell, and his footsteps sounded on stone as he raced up the stairs toward us.

  I heard Bronwyn call out to me as well, and Wendy, and lots of other voices growing louder as they approached and attended to Todd.

  My friends. My backup.

  “I’m okay,” I shouted, then turned to my familiar. “Least I’m fixin’ to be. Oscar, have you ever heard the expression, ‘Nothing goes over the devil’s back that doesn’t come under his belly’?”

  “What’s it mean?” Oscar asked right before transforming himself into a pig.

  “What goes around, comes around.”

  Chapter 24

  Kevin Marino was growing on me. I like a man who can swing a hammer.

  The day after the exorcism, I was back at the school, sprinkling the inside of the closet with a powerful brew, hanging protective herbal sachets, and sweeping up the mirror shards, which I would bury in my garden. Kevin and I, with Oscar’s dubious porcine assistance, removed the closet’s door frame and filled the opening with cement block and mortar, permanently sealing the closet and its demonic inhabitant. I mixed a batch of plaster using brew instead of water, and applied the fortified plaster to the cement block. While the plaster was still wet, I drew symbols of protection and binding on the wall. The plan was to reposi
tion the heavy cabinet in front of the new plaster wall. With luck, no one would ever know the closet existed.

  Sitri was not gone for good, but at least this portal was sealed. No one connected to him—Ginny, Luc, Walker, or Todd—would be able to call him now without fully intending to do so.

  To my great relief, Todd had survived his fall. He had a concussion and several broken bones, but the doctors believed he would recover. Formal charges against him were pending, but I was just as happy to leave those decisions to the SFPD and the district attorney’s office.

  “That should do ’er. I’ll run and fetch a mop to clean up the rest of this mess,” Kevin said, gesturing at the plaster dust on the tiled floor, which somebody’s hooves had tracked up and down the length of the hallway. “C’mon, little guy,” he said to Oscar. “Race ya.”

  “Thanks, Kevin.”

  I was admiring our handiwork when I sensed a presence behind me.

  “Am I supposed to believe you trapped a demon in there?” Max asked.

  “I don’t guess you’re ‘supposed to’ believe anything,” I said. “And it’s not trapped so much as exorcised, but that’s just splitting hairs. How’s Luc?”

  “Seems okay. My brother tends to land on his feet. Still, he’s a little confused.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “So am I.”

  I steeled myself against the impulse to throw myself into Max’s arms and promise to be a good little non-practicing witch. “I can’t keep explaining myself, Max.”

  “I know,” he said with a nod. “I’ve got an assignment in Washington—I’ll be back east for a couple of weeks. May I call you?”

  “Of course.”

  He hugged me, kissed my head, and then cleared his throat.

  “We still have a date, right?” he said, a note of forced jocularity in his voice. “Whose wedding is it, again?”

  “Susan’s niece.”

  “Right. I’ll be there. And I’ll wear a tux.”

  “Max, I can’t—”

  “I know. Give me a little time here, Lily.” His light gray eyes were sad, his feelings guarded. “I’ve got to chew on this awhile. Get my head straight.”

  I nodded. We hugged one last time, and he left. Oscar trotted back down the hall toward me.

  “Scared him off, huh?” Oscar asked.

  “Seems like.”

  “It’s like a—whaddayacallit?—an occupational hazard, isn’t it?”

  I nodded and swallowed hard.

  Good thing witches can’t cry.

  The night mares were gone. I surprised myself by sleeping about twelve hours a night for the next couple of days and for the first time had to open the store late.

  But by Friday, things were returning to normal. Bronwyn and Maya arrived at the store early, bringing baked goods and hot drinks from Coffee to the People, and we sat around the counter, chatting and enjoying a lazy morning. Even Conrad came inside to sit with us, something he almost never did.

  “Good morning, everyone,” chimed Aidan as he swept through the door, Luc Carmichael by his side. “Look who I found lurking in the bushes.”

  “I wouldn’t say lurking, exactly,” Luc said with a crooked smile. “I just wasn’t sure . . . after what happened, how I acted . . . I came to apologize.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Luc,” I said, crossing over toward him so we could talk a little more privately. “We all know that.”

  “Max was furious with me.”

  “How is Matt?” Aidan butted in. I ignored him.

  “Don’t worry about it, Luc,” I said. “It’s all taken care of, anyway. It’s done. All I want to think about now is which dress I’m going to wear to the Art Deco Preservation Ball.”

  “You’re going to the ball?” Luc asked. “Need an escort?”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I hear it’s all the rage to go stag.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “Besides, I think your brother might take it amiss.”

  “I thought you two were . . . taking a break?”

  “I’d like to wait and see. He’s only gone for a couple of weeks.”

  “I’ll take you,” Aidan interrupted again. “I was planning on going, myself.”

  “Dude, I’ll take you,” echoed Conrad from his seat at the counter.

  “Thanks, guys.” I had to smile. This for the witch who was quite literally banned from any and all high school dances. “But, really, I sort of like the idea of going solo.”

  Just then we all looked around as the bell on the front door tinkled again, this time announcing the arrival of Inspector Carlos Romero.

  “Blessed goddess!” Bronwyn exclaimed, throwing up her hands. “Don’t tell us you’re here to ask Lily out as well? I’m beginning to feel like a dueña.”

  “No,” Carlos said, looking puzzled. “I’m afraid I’m in need of her expertise.”

  “I thought things were back to normal at the school,” I said, my fingers crossed.

  “Oh, they are. Unfortunately, there’s another crime scene I might need your help with. Seems you’re now the department’s unofficial expert in the occult.”

  “Does that come with dental insurance?”

  “I said ‘unofficial.’ ”

  “What’s up?”

  “Have you ever heard of the Serpentarian Society?”

  “I know Serpentarius is the thirteenth sign of the zodiac, but I’ve never heard of a society in his honor.”

  “I thought there were only twelve zodiac signs,” Bronwyn said.

  “Me, too,” said Carlos. “But then I looked it up—and there used to be thirteen signs.”

  I nodded. “One for each month of the year.”

  “Of which there are . . .”

  “Thirteen.” Every face in the room—with the notable exception of Aidan’s—looked at me as though I were crazy, reminding me of how odd my knowledge base was. “One month for each moon. There were thirteen until the Gregorian calendar added a few extra days to each month except February.”

  “Why would they do that?” asked Maya.

  “To get rid of what they thought of as an unlucky number—thirteen.”

  “I figured you were the right one to talk to,” Carlos said with a satisfied nod. “I need you to come take a look.”

  “At?”

  “A posh apartment, set up with all the bad luck signs you can imagine. And at the moment they’re all surrounding a dead guy.”

  “Duuude,” whispered Conrad, shaking his head.

  “You want me to look at a murder scene?”

  Carlos nodded.

  Great. From demon butt-kicker to unofficial consultant to the SFPD—heady stuff for an outcast who had arrived in San Francisco a few scant months ago determined to fly under the radar. I looked around my fabulous store—at my friends, who had demonstrated repeatedly that I was no longer alone in this world; and at my familiar, who made me laugh every day. And I realized that Graciela was right: If I wanted to make a life for myself here in California—or anywhere, for that matter—it was high time I completed my training.

  I glanced at Aidan, lounging smug and self-satisfied near the rack of vintage leather jackets as he took in the scene. Don’t look now, I thought, but here I come.

  I just hoped Aidan Rhodes, male witch, was the right man for the job.

  Author’s Note

  The San Francisco School of Fine Arts does not actually exist, though the campus is loosely based on the graceful San Francisco Art Institute on Chestnut Street. The SF Art Institute is housed in a beautiful red- roofed, Spanish-style building . . . complete with a bell tower that is rumored to be haunted.

  Most of the spells used throughout the book are based on information gathered in personal interviews from practicing witches, but none should be repeated.

  Turn the page for a glimpse of Lily’s next adventure in the Witchcraft Mystery series.

  Available from Obsidian in June 2011

  It didn’t take a witch to figure
out something was very, very wrong on the thirteenth floor of the Doppler Building.

  It wasn’t called the thirteenth floor, of course. It was called the Penthouse, and Malachi Zazi lived there. Or used to live there. At the moment his body was splayed atop a long banquet table, a jagged shard from a shattered mirror protruding from his chest. Deep red blood spatters created a gruesome Rorschach pattern on the snowy white Belgian lace tablecloth.

  I took a deep breath and concentrated on not losing my lunch.

  Most days I deal in vintage clothing, not corpses. I may be a natural-born witch, but I’m no more comfortable around violent death than any other mortal merchant on Haight Street. I was here only because SFPD inspector Carlos Romero had taken the unusual step of asking for my help. I now understood why.

  “When was he found?” I asked.

  “This morning,” said Inspector Romero. “By his housekeeper.”

  “Time of death?”

  “Medical examiner hasn’t determined that, but the victim had guests for a midnight supper. The last ones apparently left around two thirty in the morning.”

  “The body hasn’t been moved? The legs were pointed toward the door like this?”

  The inspector nodded. “Everything’s just as it was found. Including the bird.”

  “What bird?”

  As if on cue, a small brown sparrow swooped past me and landed on the table near the corpse. Looking about brightly, it chirped and hopped before flying away. I jumped when a black cat sprang onto the tabletop, then gave chase. Feathers and fur disappeared into the bedroom.

  I clutched the medicine bag hanging on a braided string from my waist and whispered a quick protective chant.

  Romero raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think witches were scared of black cats.”

  “We aren’t. But a sparrow trapped in a house . . . is a sign of death.”

  “Did you happen to notice the dead guy on the table?”

  “Death is still lurking. It’s a bad sign.”

  “That’s nothing.” The inspector snorted. “We’ve got a ladder in front of the door that you have to walk under in order to enter the room, a broken mirror over the fireplace, an open umbrella in the corner, and a black cat. Even I recognize those as signs of bad luck.”