I passed the paper back with a curt shake of my head. “No. Sorry.”
I leaned back in the chair. “I realize you were hoping to connect the symbol in some way to voodoo. Sorry I couldn’t help.”
Cole pulled a crumpled paper from the pile and passed it to me. “Do you know what this is?”
I smoothed the paper on my knee and nodded. “It’s a page from the Witch’s calendar. Where’d you find this?”
“We found it stuffed in the second victim’s jacket. See the date circled.”
As Cole reached for the paper, his fingers brushed mine. A jolt of electricity shot through me, so strong I lost my grip and let the paper flutter to the floor. We both bent over for it at the same time, so close our noses almost bumped.
“Sorry,” I murmured.
His lips curved upward in a devilish grin, but he said nothing, merely retrieved the papers and set them back on the edge of the desk. “August 1st is circled,” he continued.
“I saw,” I answered. “The date is significant, indeed, to witches. Lammas is one of the eight great Sabbats—nights of ritual celebration.” I felt my palms start to grow slick with sweat. “It’s also sometimes referred to as Lughnasadh. A day of procession, in honor of the dead sun god Lugh.”
Ago angajan asogwe. Lughnasadh.
“Correct,” Cole nodded. “Modern witches believe certain psychic impulses, some current or tide of incredible energy, manifests itself on those dates." He held out another sheet. “We found this clipped to the back. We’re not entirely certain just what it is.”
I took the list, frowned. It consisted of a series of numbers, separated by dots and dashes. I passed it back to him. “A code, perhaps. I’ve never been very good at breaking them.”
“We’ve given a copy to our boys in Crypto. I’m sure they’ll be able to make something out of it.”
I expelled the breath I’d been holding. “If you think this killer is trying to mix black magic with voodoo spells, I have to tell you, it’s not an easy thing to do.” I slid my gaze over to the Commander, expecting some smart remark to come flying out of those lips. But she merely shook her head.
“Professors Graft, Erdos and Morrow have all done extensive study and research on just that. Someone thinks they’re onto something. Now, grant you, I’m not at all certain any of them are involved, but even I have been wrong on occasion.”
“The Commander and I don’t see eye to eye on this,” Cole added.
Gee, could have fooled me. Aloud I said, “So what’s my role in this—mercilessly hound the professors, maybe get them to ‘fess up?”
Cole allowed himself a small smile. “We’ll settle for your keeping your eyes and ears open. See if you notice anything out of the ordinary. Since you’re versed in both practices, you might be able to pick up on something. And, hey, if you want to use sex appeal on any of them, feel free.”
“I doubt any of them are my type, sorry,” I muttered.
“One wonders just what your type is, Morgan,” Cole said, soft so only I could hear. As I whipped my head up, he looked at Stone. “We don’t have much time. Acting on the assumption the date is crucial, it leaves us less than two weeks.”
“Cole’s right.” Stone jabbed her fist at me. “We definitely don’t want any more witches murdered, and if it’s all part of a greater, more sinister plot, we need to stop that too. If those professors aren’t involved, we need to find out who is. Time is of the essence. As I said, we need someone who’s dedicated, not afraid of risks—not a grandstander. So, I’ll ask—are you sure you can handle this?”
My jaw jutted forward. “I’d like to think I’ve learned from my mistakes, Commander.”
“One would hope. We can’t afford to be cavalier. I’ll be honest with you, Hawkes.” She whipped off her glasses, set them on top of the file. “I’m not certain you’re right for this assignment. It’s St. John, here, who championed for you, he and your Captain. Also know if you do anything to endanger this mission, you’ll not work in law enforcement in any capacity—including paranormal ghostbusting—in Central City again. Clear?”
I licked at my lips, hoping my surprise at her remarks wasn’t evident on my face. “I’m up to the challenge, Commander. In case you’re not aware, my cousin was attacked at the time of the most recent murder. It makes catching whoever’s responsible personal to me.”
“Not too personal, I hope,” Stone said. “Emotion clouds judgment, Hawkes.”
Gee, Commander. Tell me something I don’t know. “Yes, ma’am.”
She looked at me a long moment, pushed back from her desk and stood up. “All right then. We understand each other. St. John will take you downstairs, get you checked in, give you your official debriefing.”
I rose. “Thank you, Commander Stone.” As I turned to follow Cole out, I paused. “You won’t be sorry.”
She didn’t meet my gaze. “See I’m not, Hawkes. Oh, and one more thing you should know.”
I paused, hand on the doorknob. “Yes.”
“The note around the doll’s neck. It had the number five printed on it.”
I frowned. “Five? But only three other bodies were found? That must mean…”
“There’s one more body out there, somewhere,” Stone waved her hand in a gesture of dismissal. “Go, you two, and find this killer before more witches start turning up dead.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “No pressure.”
***
“I’m home,” I shouted as I came in my front door and kicked off my boots.
Xia padded into the living room, feet bare, a tray of freshly baked muffins balanced in one hand. “About time.” She set the platter down on the coffee table, slipped onto the sofa. “Bad day?”
I rubbed at my temples. A bitch of a headache had started to form, just behind my left eye. Stress. “One might say so, yes.”
.
She continued to stare at me. “You only get headaches when you’re stressed,” she said at last. “And the only time I’ve ever seen you tense was when you worked Homicide.”
I riffled the paper, threw it into my lap. “Well, I’m not on Homicide any more, as you well know, so something else must be responsible for my discomfort.”
“Yes,” she nodded. “I’m just trying to figure out what.”
I looked at Xia. “It could have been you, you know,” I said softly.
My cousin shook her golden waterfall of hair. “What?”
“It could have been you—like Darla.” I pressed my fingers against my temple. “It could have been you.”
“Oh, dear one.” Xia went to me, and her arms encircled me in a giant bear hug. “I love the fact you care so much, but—you needn’t worry.”
I managed to raise my head enough to look into her eyes. “Why not?”
“Because, silly,” she laughed. “I’ve white-lighted myself. To ward off danger. Nothing will happen to me now.”
I blew out a breath. There was one more reason why I didn’t wholly subscribe to White Wiccan beliefs. “Xia, a killer’s on the loose. Maybe more than one. I don’t think white-lighting will help.”
Her laugh trilled out again, and the sound grated on my last nerve. “Of course it will. I put the white aura around me. Everyone knows it’s impenetrable.”
My eyes narrowed. “Didn’t do Darla much good now, did it?”
Xia waved her hand dismissively. “I read the tarot today. The Knight of Cups came up, surrounded by the Empress and Justice.”
“Which means…”
“The Empress will prevail, but she’ll have to be aided by her knight in shining armor. Also--” She paused as the phone in the kitchen began to ring. “I’ll get it,” she said, and hurried out. I moved back to the sofa, selected a muffin, leaned back against the cushion. I wasn’t one to actually believe in the tarot. It seemed too abstract for my tastes. Still…
When Xia and I had been little, our Aunt Grace had done tarot readings for us. I still remembered fingering the card of the power
ful looking woman and being somewhat awed.
My aunt’s voice, crystal-clear. The Empress is your card, Morgan. It will always represent you.
And Cole, I thought, lips quirking upward, might easily be a handsome knight.
I’m not certain you’re right for this assignment. It’s St. John, here, who championed for you.
Why, I wondered. Did he want to see me fall flat on my face, so he could flaunt his male superiority? Or could he be secretly attracted to me?
Too bad we were like chocolate and vinegar. A bad mix.
I took a bite of the muffin. Cranberry, piping hot and good. I wiped my mouth with the edge of my sleeve. In the other room I could hear Xia, still talking on the phone. Knowing my cousin had never been one to end a call quickly, I sank deeper into the cushion, lost in my thoughts. The strange voice of yesterday floated back into my consciousness, demanding, insistent.
Ago angajan asogwe. Lughnasadh.
Ago was a voodoo ritual exclamation, which usually meant attention. Angajan referred to a transaction between a person and an lwa, black magic in exchange for some sort of service to the god. Asogwe was the highest rank of Voodoo priesthood. Lughnasadh, of course, referred to the Witch’s Lammas. The phrase was an interesting mix of voodoo and witchery. But what did it mean?
My thoughts turned to Cole’s mention of the secret society. Was it possible someone had made a deal with Marinette, or maybe another lwa? The souls of witches in exchange for…
For what?
You have to help us.
I should probably have confided the strange occurrence to Cole and the Commander, yet something had held me back, prevented me from baring my soul. What?
“They probably would think I’m nuts…or overreacting,” I muttered. Perhaps I seemed over-cautious, still…
I jumped as Xia touched my shoulder. Her eyes were wide, overbright. She looked like someone on crack. “Do you remember Mrs. Alban?” she asked. “I used to read tarot for her and her daughter.”
I drew my brows together. “Yeah, yeah, I do. Her daughter’s name was Florrie, right? She always impressed me as a little…odd.” I sat up straighter as a sudden thought hit me. “Doesn’t she go to the University?”
Xia nodded. “Yes. That’s the reason Mrs. Alban called. Florrie has a part time job there—helps out some of the professors. Mrs. Alban didn’t like her getting so involved. She thought they were a bad influence on her.” She gave a small shudder. “She and Florrie had a huge argument over it, and she hasn’t heard from her for days. She wanted to know if I could get a quick fix on her.”
I felt chilled. “And did you?”
Xia lowered her voice. “I didn’t want to say, but when I tried to focus on Florrie I got a flash of flame, and a sensation of choking.” She shook her head. “It was weird.”
I felt an odd stirring in the pit of my stomach. “Did she happen to mention what professors Florrie worked for?”
Xia reached for a muffin, bit into it. “Yeah. One was Eugene Morrow and the other guy had a funny name—Augustus? No, Atticus. That’s it. Atticus Graft.”
Chapter 9
When I walked into the All-Night Diner the next morning, I found Cole already seated in a booth, a half-eaten bowl of oatmeal in front of him. He gave me a cursory glance as I glided onto the bench across from him, and pointed to his watch.
“You’re late,” he said.
“Sorry. I got held up a bit down at PSI, and this annoying detail called traffic contributed heavily to the delay.”
He picked up his coffee cup, took a sip. “Perhaps you should have left a little earlier,” he said.
“Blow it out your end, Cole. Don’t mess with me.” I frowned. I hadn’t gotten much sleep. It had been fitful at best, dotted with dreams of ghosts holding out their arms to me in supplication, capped with finding a dead body with a sign reading “4” around its neck. “I didn’t sleep very well.”
He picked up his white napkin, twirled it around his finger. “Truce.” He regarded me silently for a moment, and remarked in a gentler tone, “Nervous about your assignment?”
I shook my head. The waitress appeared at my elbow, set a menu in front of me. She held a steaming pot aloft.
“Coffee?”
“Please.”
She filled my cup and walked off. I took a sip of the hot liquid, glanced over the cup’s rim at Cole. “You look fresh as the proverbial daisy,” I muttered. “You probably slept like the dead—oops, sorry. You are dead, right?”
He set his cup down, started to attack what remained of the oatmeal. “Only half, my dear.”
“Ah, right. Inheritors have one human parent. How could I forget?”
He chuckled. “It’s something we have in common, you and I.”
I looked at him. “Common? Pardon me, but my father wasn’t a vampire—although Lord knows it might have been preferable to what the gene pool stuck me with.”
“I meant the other parent. My mother was a Wiccan—like yours.”
I drained my cup, set it down. “Good for you. Where would you like me to pin the medal?”
His black gaze raked over me and he clucked his tongue. “You know, for one so bitter, you didn’t turn out so bad,” he said.
I flashed him a frozen smile. “Appearances can be deceiving, Cole.”
The waitress returned, pen and pad held aloft. She smiled at me. “Ready to order?”
“I’ll just have some orange juice and another cup of coffee.” As she moved off, Cole shook his head.
“Too nervous to eat, eh?”
“No—I’m just not hungry.” I leaned forward. “I don’t suppose the body with the number four on it turned up last night.”
He shook his head. “Not that I’m aware.” He lifted a hand to my face, his fingers barely skimming the slight dent in my chin. “I can tell something’s bothering you.”
I pulled back. “Aw, you care. You like me, Cole. You really like me.”
The smile he shot me looked wry, as if he weren’t amused by my wisecrack. “Liking you has nothing to do with it. If something’s bothering you so much, it could affect your performance on the case.”
“Of course,” I picked up a spoon from the table, twisted it in my fingers. “How silly of me.”
“So,” he prodded as I fell silent. “Are you going to tell me what’s eating at you?”
I opened my mouth, closed it, shook my head. “Why—are you blocked? Can’t read my thoughts?”
He leaned forward so his face rested practically on top of mine. “Wisecracks are a part of your unique charm, I know, but right now—“
“Okay, okay. It might be nothing, it might be something. I don’t know. I only know I don’t have a good feeling about it.”
“Let me be the judge.”
“All right.” I told him about the phonecall from Mrs. Alban. He sat back and listened in silence as I recounted what I’d learned about Florrie. When I finished, he drummed his fingers against the table for a few mintues before turning to me.
“Do you think your dream could be right—she could be victim number four?”
“I might think so, except for one thing--she’s not a pureblood witch. All the other girls were.”
“We aren’t sure being a pureblood isn’t one of our killer’s requirements,” Cole rejoined. “Although there is another possibility. If this Florrie were as versed in Wicca ways as you claim, the killer—or killers, as the case may be--might have mistaken her for one with the blood.”
“She did like to try out spells,” I said thoughtfully. “I also found it interesting she worked for two of the men who you feel might be prime suspects.”
“Interesting coincidence.”
I shook my head. “I don’t believe in coincidence. I think I might just have to pay Mrs. Alban a little visit.”
“Not a bad idea.” Cole stretched his long legs off to one side. “Let’s hope we can find something useful out at the University. Now, are you straight on your cover, or do y
ou need me to explain it again?”
“I think I’ve got it,” I said dryly. “I’m a part-time student, enrolled in the Entrée program. I have a vast interest in the occult and a particular fascination with the voodoo aspect.”
He nodded. “Very good. Now if you sound as convincing to your teachers and fellow students, we’re in business. What’s your first class?”
I pulled a sheet of paper from my purse. “Graft. He’s giving a lecture on voodoo arts. I’ve got Erdos later on for spellcasting. Morrow’s tomorrow.”
“Good. Graft’s a fine speaker. You might actually enjoy it. Morrow’s fascinating as well—humorous.”
I eyed him. “You’ve taken some of their courses?”
“I’ve gone to lectures they’ve given,” he said shortly. “It was long before their names came up in connection with this case, in case you’re wondering. Graft and Morrow have worked there a number of years. Erdos only came on board the last year and a half. Don’t know much about him--yet.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “How has Gilley explained your absence from work?”
I rubbed at my chin. “He told everyone I’m taking a series of special courses in the paranormal here. To beef up my ghostbusting abilities.”
“They bought it?”
I shrugged. “They seemed to. Of course, Leo Petrie, that busybody, somehow saw my course outline. He wanted to know how come I signed up for courses in voodoo—especially in light of what happened.”
Cole’s eyes narrowed into black slits. “What did you tell him?”
I smiled thinly. “Before or after I punched him silly?”
He grinned. “Before.”
“I said I’d decided it was about time I stopped letting my past inhibit me, the only way I’d ever be able to move forward was to face my own ghosts instead of exorcising others, and I thought this would be a step in the right direction.”
His lips parted in a smile. “Excellent answer. Thought it up all on your own, did you?”
I made a face. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure he bought it, probably because deep down I don’t.”
He leaned forward. “You should, Morgan. We all make mistakes. We have to learn from them and forge ahead—or did you hand our Commander a load of bull yesterday?”
No Rest for the Wicca Page 9
