by Madelyn Alt
“My dear,” Liss said, “I would be happy to help you. Perhaps this weekend. But I’m afraid all of my evenings until then are booked solid.”
Libby turned immediately in my direction. “Maggie, then. You can help me, can’t you, Maggie? Please say yes. This is . . . important to me.”
I raised my brows in question at Liss. She nodded.
“All right. I can try,” I told her. “I’ll come out before I head to Mel’s for the evening. But you do realize I’m not the expert in these things. At all. I’ll do what I can, but if anything goes wrong, we’ll have to get someone else in to help us.”
“I understand. Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Libby said, grabbing both of my hands in hers and giving them a squeeze. “You have no idea what this means to me. What time do you think you can come by tonight?”
Feeling a little overwhelmed by the swiftly changing events of the day and boggling at my own role in the bigger scheme of things, I made arrangements to meet her at the feed mill after I left work. When Libby had left the store, I looked at my witchy boss with wide eyes.
“How do I get myself into these things?” I asked her.
“Well, in this case, I think it’s safe to say your sister got you into it,” Liss said with a laugh.
“That’s right. It’s Mel’s fault.”
“Why don’t we see if we can find you some company?” Liss suggested.
Marcus was simply the best choice outside of Liss for the more complicated magick-related activities like banishings and protective measures. Evie and Tara were away at camp, so that wasn’t even an option. The rest of the N.I.G.H.T.S. were involved more in the investigative aspects of the group’s activities, but while they all had what Liss liked to call abilities, straight-up magick was not their primary focus.
Liss made the call. As it turned out, Marcus was tied up, but would be able to meet me at the feed mill later. That was going to have to be good enough. Liss took the time in the afternoon to write down the instructions for me, including detailed diagrams of any symbols to be used as wards and how to employ them. My time with Liss over the last months had been well spent—I was comfortable enough with her instructions in hand to feel that I could adequately pull off what needed to be done. Amazing what a little time can accomplish. I knew that belief and personal energies were the largest part of the equation, and without an actual entity involved to distract me from my focus, I should be able to do this.
And that was how I came to be driving up to the feed mill for the second time in a few days. Funny, sometimes, how life works.
Liss had offered to keep Minnie for me, but I couldn’t help remembering her words about how a cat can serve as a protective presence. I would keep her in her carrier for safety’s sake, of course, but I kind of liked the idea of her being there with me as I set out to do what Libby wanted done. I looked over at her where she was sitting so calmly within the carrier. She blinked her eyes at me and let out a peaceful mew. I patted the top of the carrier. “This won’t take long, swee’pea, and then we’ll go visit with the girls and you can play with them, okay?”
Another mew followed, just to let me know she understood. At least, that’s what I interpreted it to mean. Hey, it works. Just go with it.
The sun was heading on its downward slope on the horizon as I pulled up to the feed mill. It was later than I thought, I realized, noting the long shadows stretching from the feet of the various silos across the complex. I checked the time on the old digital clock still tenaciously Velcroed to the dash. Six fifty-one. How did it get to be so late? It seemed to me that when last I’d looked at the clock, it was three thirty, or thereabouts. I hadn’t even eaten dinner, and yet there I was, expected in two places this evening. Someday I would have a life of my own. Maybe then I’d get a chance to breathe.
I pulled Christine through the concrete complex, where there was some activity, but not much. The sign at the road had stated closing time was seven o’clock, which would explain the scattering of trucks whose drivers were shutting their doors and tightening down ties in preparation for the next leg of their trip. I was a little surprised to see the feed mill open, actually, but I guess for farming, the mail, and show business, life goes on.
I skirted a pair of feed mill employees, recognizable by their chaff-dusted jeans and T-shirts and dusty Wellies suitable for cleaning out silos and barns, who were heading toward the employee parking at the town end of the complex, and came to a halt in front of the feed mill office building. There were three other vehicles parked there; I parked between Libby’s little sporty number and a pickup that was slightly dusty, inside and out, but appeared to be fairly up-to-date with bells and whistles. The third vehicle I recognized as belonging to the youngest brother, Noah, a big F350 that loomed head and shoulders above the others.
I straightened my clothes and flipped down the visor to the makeshift mirror I had Velcroed there years ago. A girl was up a creek without a visor mirror, I had always thought. Quickly I ran my hands over my hair, and touched up the color on my lips. There, that was as good as could be expected when the temps were in the nineties and so were the humidity levels. Powder for shine was out of the question, since it would have just slid off my face within minutes outside anyway.
Personal grooming taken care of, I grabbed Minnie’s carrier and took her with me as I made my way to the office door. I paused. Should I knock? Just walk in? In the end, I decided a combination of both would suffice. Slipping the carrier’s handle over my arm, I reached for the doorknob with one hand and knocked with the other.
“Hello?” I called. “Anyone there?”
No answer. Not a sound. Nothing.
I pushed the door inward a little farther and stuck my head in. “Anyone home? It’s me, Maggie. Libby? Hellooo?”
The lights were on. No one appeared to be home.
Hm.
I stood on the doorstep a moment, fidgeting and trying to decide what I should do. Should I go in and wait on the sofa? That didn’t seem to be quite kosher. I mean, sure, it was an office, but it was obviously not an office that was used to people wandering in off the street—expected or not.
There were still a few—very few—people loitering here and there around the various buildings. Maybe I’d wander around a little and see if I could find someone who knew where I would find Libby. With the carrier over my arm and feeling a little like a modern-day Dorothy with her Toto, I set off to locate my missing erstwhile friend. Seeing a man disappear into a big storage barn across the way, I headed in that direction first.
I heard raised voices before I arrived at the threshold. I held back and edged to one side, not wanting to interrupt anything personal in nature.
“I want him gone, Frank. I don’t want him here. I don’t want anyone here, lurking around after hours. I can’t believe you brought him back here, in spite of my wishes . . .”
“But Libby, he really doesn’t have anywhere else to go. Just a little while longer, that’s all I’m askin’.”
“What are we, the Salvation Army? Surely there are better places for people like him.”
“The home won’t take him until the state gets the paperwork resolved. His family’s gone.” There was a pause, and then, “Joel didn’t have a problem with it.”
I heard Libby’s sharp intake of breath. “Don’t you dare throw that card at me. I’m doing the best I can do, Frank. And that’s all I can do. Don’t you dare try to make me feel guiltier than I already do. Don’t you dare.”
“Libby, I’m sure he didn’t mean it that way . . .” Noah’s voice this time, trying to inject reason.
“Oh, didn’t he? I’m not so sure, Noah. Ever since . . . ever since Joel . . . died”—her voice broke—“he’s been acting funny. Like he’s the owner of this place, like he wants to run everything. The will hasn’t even been read yet, dammit. And all I want is for Joel to be here. I don’t have the heart to fight like this.”
“Libby, I’m not trying to pick a fi
ght with you,” Frank said. “But little girl, what harm does it do to let ol’ Eddie here sleep in the loft?”
“He’s just not going to, Frank. Take him home with you if you feel you must, but he can’t be here when the insurance adjustors come for the reassessment, and you know they’re bad sometimes about letting us know when they’ll be dropping in. God only knows what’s going to happen to our rates after they hear about Joel’s accident. Yet another thing that will have to be taken into account in our rates. Old Cullins’ll love that, won’t he? God, I’m going to have to invest in extra security at the house, too.”
“I don’t know, Libby,” Frank said, an uncertain note playing beneath his voice’s usual gruff overtones. “Bart Cullins . . . well, the Turners have known him for forever. Since I was a boy, at least. He may be a hard-nosed old sonuvabitch, and that’s the truth, but I just can’t picture him hauling his hairy ass up that ladder.”
“Joel thought it was him,” Libby said stubbornly. “It had to be someone, didn’t it? And now, with the police asking so many more questions that none of us has answers to . . . it would be nice to be able to give them some real leads to go on. I mean, Frank,” she said, her voice softening with concern, “they even asked me whether I thought you might have had something to gain from Joel’s death. Well, of course I told them that was ridiculous, that the two of you had always been on good terms despite your father’s favoritism—”
“Stop it, Libby.” Noah’s voice cut through the tension and frostiness that were like a weighted blanket in the atmosphere. “This isn’t the time, nor is it the place.”
“Funny thing about that ladder,” Frank shot back, apparently not taking Noah’s hint. “I hadn’t seen Joel up on a ladder in a long time. Not since . . . well, not since what happened when you two were first married. Seems kinda strange that he would have chosen that night to go up on one. Especially that one. That silo’s the tallest in the complex. And then to not use the safety measures he insisted upon? It just doesn’t make sense. It seems to me the police should be investigating that.”
“Maybe he was in a hurry. Maybe he saw someone messing around up there and decided to catch him in the act,” Noah offered up, obviously deciding that a little unbiased mediation was just what they needed to get them back on even footing.
“Maybe it was ‘ol’ Eddie,’ ” was Libby’s tart suggestion. “He’s as good an answer as any. Besides, did Joel ever tell you, flat out, that he was afraid of heights?”
“Well . . . no.”
“Exactly. Because I’m sure we all know, there were a lot of menial things Joel wouldn’t lift a finger to do. He didn’t have to. He had underlings to do it for him.” Her inference did not go unnoticed by Frank, who was bristling.
Maybe Noah’s interference wasn’t quite strong enough.
Maggie O’Neill, suspected glutton for punishment, to the rescue.
I stepped forward and to the side, appearing in the pole barn’s open doorway with a wave and a bright smile. “There you are, Libby! I knew I would find you here somewhere.”
Libby started, her hand flying to her breastbone. “Oh! Maggie. I wasn’t expecting you quite yet. When you said you’d be late . . .”
I let my smile grow in brilliance. “You know what they say about how time flies . . .”
Libby exchanged a glance with Noah. “Evidently.”
“I brought the things we’ll need to do the energy clearing back at my car,” I told her. “I’m parked in front of the office.”
“Wait,” Frank cut in with a frown. “What’s this?”
A sudden sheepish expression crossed Libby’s face; it was a far cry from her confrontational stubbornness of moments before. “Never mind. Maggie’s just here to help me with something.”
“She said an energy clearing,” Frank said. “What is that exactly? Libby?” he prompted when she wasn’t responding.
Libby heaved an exasperated sigh. “All right, fine. She works at that shop uptown, the one that the witch owns, and she’s going to be clearing all the negative energies from this place. With all the threats and the animosity, and now Joel, well, I just think this place could use a turnaround in its luck, and I’m willing to do anything to change it. Even if it means using a witch’s tricks to do it.”
Frank’s face squinched up at the revelation. “A—wait—a what?” He looked at me as though I’d suddenly grown horns and cloven hooves. “A witch’s tricks? What the hell you about, Libby girl?”
“Aw, hell, Frank. Let her alone,” Noah said, scuffing the toe of his boot against the cement flooring. “If a little bit of voodoo mumbo jumbo makes her happy, what’s the difference, huh?”
“I just want to understand the reasoning behind it,” Frank persisted, his eyes never leaving Libby’s face. “I think we have a right to understand, don’t you? So, we’re just going to be making the bad luck turn to good with these . . . tricks, is that it?”
Libby cleared her throat. “Well, that. It does have the added bonus of preventing hauntings . . . now don’t look at me like that! With the way Joel died, I just thought it would be good preventive maintenance. Like sealing the concrete and keeping the fan motors oiled and checking the electrical from time to time.”
Frank’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. He opened his mouth to speak. A girl didn’t need to be a sensitive to know that it was not going to be pretty, and it was probably not even going to be polite.
“Hauntings. You mean Joel.”
“I just thought it would be a good idea—”
“You want to keep Joel’s spirit away from the place that he loved best in all the world,” Frank said, his voice getting flatter by the minute.
Having apparently come to the decision that her pushier tactics weren’t working, Libby tried a softer mode of persuasion. She stepped forward and placed her hand on Frank’s labor-hardened forearm. “Frank. You know I want Joel back here with us as much as anyone does. But I couldn’t stand it to know that his soul is wandering, lost and alone, rather than moving on to better places. He deserves better than that, I think.”
“She’s right, bro,” Noah said softly, clapping a hand to Frank’s shoulder. “I’m not convinced there is such a thing, but if his spirit is hanging around for whatever reason, he needs to be moving on to be with Mom and Pop and all the rest of the Turners in the sky. That’s what I think.”
I could see the thoughts churning behind Frank’s eyes, the need to argue the point mixed with strong emotion. After a few tense moments, he clamped his jaw, muttered, “I’m gonna go find Eddie,” and stalked off, his well-worn work boots giving off little puffs of dust and chaff with every stomp.
Libby turned toward me and smiled, but it was a sham, and we both knew it. She let her breath come out of her. Her shoulders drooped. “I didn’t handle that well,” she admitted.
“You’re tired,” Noah told her, putting his arm around her. “It’s to be expected, with everything else that’s gone on.”
She closed her eyes and leaned on him, just a little. “Thanks, Noah. I don’t know what I’d do without you right now.” Opening her eyes again, she lifted her chin at me as though daring me to react out of turn. “You might as well know, Maggie. I have a feeling the need for negativity filters is going to be running pretty high for the next few months. Frank is expecting to take over the business, but . . . well, I’ve already consulted with Noah, and I’ve asked him to do it. We both know that Frank has hands-on experience, but he doesn’t have the business sense that’s really needed to run a business of this size. With his math and accounting background, Noah is quite a bit more worldly in that way. There will be objections,” she said, lifting herself away from Noah’s shoulder and squaring her own; a warrior princess from long ago, dark hair flying behind her in the wind, face and body fierce with pride and the determination to institute her will. “But it’s for the best. Frank will come around.”
I frowned, looking over my shoulder to where Frank’s broadly muscled figure
was disappearing into the long hog barn across the way. “You really think he’ll object?”
She sighed. “You heard him just now. He’s very confrontational at the moment, very angry, very caught up in the particulars of Joel’s death . . . but he’s missing the main point. Joel is gone. He’s never coming back. I think that’s where we have to start right now. There will be plenty of time for grieving, but right now, we have to make things right with the business. I’m not going to let all of these people”—she swept her hand wide to indicate the employees who had already gone home—“down while the business crumbles around our ears. We have to make things right by them.”
“And make sure that his death is fully investigated,” I pointed out without thinking. At her sudden stare, I coughed self-consciously. “I, um, heard that they weren’t sure.”
“I really don’t want to talk about that,” Libby said, turning away.
Ooh. I grimaced. Way to go, Maggie. Offend and insult the widow of someone whose abrupt death might or might not prove to have been accidental.
To make amends, I attempted to change the subject. “Well, why don’t we get started on the clearing, then? We can get that over and done with, so that you can feel comfortable here and not worry anymore.”
She nodded.
She walked back to the car with me, and even held Minnie’s carrier while I wrestled the big bag of goodies from the backseat.
I looked at her. “Did you want to walk around with me as I do this?”
She lifted a dark brow. “Um, no thanks. I’ll just wait in the office in the AC while you do your thing.”
AC. Sigh. “All right. Why don’t you show me where you want me to start, where to focus?”
“In the area by Big Ben—the big silo—of course,” she said, indicating with a tip of her head. “And the slaughterhouse. And the big storage barn we were just in. And—oh, just everywhere, please.” She glanced at the bag I still held. “I hope you brought enough of whatever it is that you use.”
