by Susan Breen
“Racine thinks you were trying to kill her.”
“I didn’t put Charlotte in Racine’s bed. She got out on her own, and she must have had something she wanted to communicate to my sister. She is a very insistent little girl,” she said, holding the spider up to her lips.
“She would never have bitten her if Racine hadn’t made so much noise. I suppose Racine is not used to finding anything in her bed. Anyway,” Domino said, putting the spider right over her heart, so that it clung to her like a brooch, “there’s nothing dangerous in her venom. Her bite is no more serious than a bee sting.” She closed her eyes briefly as the spider moved across her breast. Only then did Maggie notice Domino had a scar on her arm. It was a white zigzag against her tanned skin.
“Unfortunately, Racine didn’t know that. She was terrified.”
Domino arched her back slightly, the better to position the tarantula on her breast. It was true what Madame Simone had said about how hard Domino worked, Maggie realized. Every gesture carried intention. Everything she did was to be observed. Everything for show. She wondered if Domino ever just kicked back and read a book.
“You look different,” Domino said, finally tugging the spider off her chest and putting it back in the cage. “You’ve gotten old.”
“We’ve both gotten older,” Maggie snapped.
“Not me,” Domino said, looking into the mirror across from her. “No one would think I’m 55.”
“When are you leaving?” Maggie asked.
Domino laughed. “You’ve lost your sense of tact, Maggie Dove.”
“I don’t like playing games, Domino. You’ve asked your mother and Racine for money and they’ve said no. What more do you want? What do you think will happen?”
Domino leaned back and stretched her right leg, stretching, stretching as far as it would go. “Just because somebody says no once doesn’t mean they’ll say no forever.”
“You think Racine’s going to change her mind?”
Domino tipped her tongue against the bottom of her teeth. She looked like a snake, Maggie thought. Then she shook out her right leg and began stretching out her left.
“Have you ever been to a coven meeting, Maggie Dove?”
“No.”
“You might enjoy it more than you think, once you’ve gotten over your archaic Christian principles. It’s all very life-affirming. I assure you that Christians have done more harm to witches than we have to you.”
“Domino, I do not want to have a religious debate right now. I’m fond of my archaic Christian principles. What I would like to know is when you are going to leave?”
Domino ignored her. She stretched and stretched her left leg and then she sighed, let go, and assumed a straight-backed sitting position. She breathed in deeply, then picked up the candle that shone in front of her and held it lifted up to her right hand. All Maggie could think of was Thomas Cranmer, who’d put his own hand in the fire when he was burned as atonement for his betrayal of the faith. She wondered how far Domino would go. Would she burn off her hand just in order to shock Maggie? She waited, but didn’t have it in her to see it all through.
“Wait,” Maggie said. “Stop doing that.”
Domino met her eyes and grinned. She knew, Maggie realized, that she would stop her. But Domino didn’t move her hand away. She kept the flame at her palm.
“In the years of the burning,” she whispered, “no one was safe. They went after children. They burned them right alongside their mothers, because they knew the magic could be inherited and they wanted to wipe us all out. Your kind forced us to go underground, but we survived. We developed ways of getting poison to one another to end our suffering. Some of the torturers became angry because, they said, you could put a witch on a rack and she wouldn’t even cry out. Our magic is very strong.”
“You’ve made your point,” Maggie said. She couldn’t bear to watch the flame, but didn’t dare to turn away either. She would not have been able to bear it herself. Something powerful moved within Domino, she believed. Something that would challenge her. Looking into Domino’s eyes, she saw what her ancestors had seen, and she feared it.
Suddenly the door flung open and the maid came scampering down the steps. “My lady,” she called out, and then stopped when she saw Maggie. Finally Domino set down the flame.
“Oh, pardon me,” the maid said. Domino looked at her with those hypnotic eyes.
“Never apologize, Passion. I’ve told you that.”
“I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You’ve met Passion, Maggie Dove?” Domino said.
Maggie looked more closely at the maid. She was young, but not as young as Maggie first thought. Twenty-five perhaps.
“She takes care of us, doesn’t she? Passion, Maggie Dove is a Sunday School teacher. And now a detective,” she added, sounding bemused. “She’s investigating me.” She turned back to Maggie. “Oh, you’ll appreciate this. My son wants to go to Sunday School. He’ll be at church this Sunday.”
“He’ll be welcome there,” Maggie said.
“I’m sure.”
Domino directed her gaze back at Passion. “Maggie Dove thinks I’ve been threatening my sister. She doesn’t understand that I want nothing but happiness and joy for my sister. Isn’t that right?”
Passion giggled. “Yes, my lady.”
“Come here,” Domino said, putting her hand on the young woman’s head and tugging her to her, reaching up to kiss Passion on the lips. Passion kissed her back until suddenly Domino bit down hard and broke skin. Passion pulled back, and for just a moment something dangerous flashed over her face, and then she giggled and stepped back. “Punishment,” Domino said. “For interrupting. Now go tell my husband I’ll be ready for him soon.”
“Yes, my lady,” Passion said, and ran up the stairs.
Domino watched her go. “So hard to find good help.”
Her eyes narrowed then as she looked at Maggie. A little blood still clung to her lip. “This has always been my favorite space. My sacred space. I spent most of my youth down here. Closer to the spirits.”
“It seems somewhat dank to me,” Maggie said. She felt like her skin was crawling with invisible vermin. She wanted to get out of there.
“You feel them, don’t you? They’re always strong this time of year, as we get near Samhain, and the veil between the seen and the unseen is at its thinnest. I feel them strongly—their lives were ripped from them. They wanted to live, and now they want to talk to the living. They speak to me. Some of my kind like to go outside, under the trees, but I like to do my worshipping here, among the dead. The dead are so powerful. I don’t need to tell you that though, do I, Maggie Dove? Juliet’s here, you know. I could show you how to talk to her.”
“What is it that you want, Domino?”
“Death is not the end. We are reborn again and again, and if we’re good enough, we get reborn with those we love. Juliet is probably here even now. In the mouse that scurries beneath my feet, or perhaps even in Charlotte. Is that possible?” she whispered, lifting the tarantula’s cage.
She was a bully, Maggie thought. Always had been, except that now she was a bully who claimed to have supernatural powers. She could deal with Domino if she thought of her like that. Would a true witch, an all-powerful witch, truly need to taunt her that way? Such behavior was more the sign of the weak. Oddly, it made her feel better. She smiled at Domino and had the pleasure of seeing her falter just a bit, she hoped.
“What is it you want, Domino?”
“I want money,” she said. “And I will have it.”
“Not if it means hurting Racine,” Maggie said.
Domino picked up the statue of the horned man. It had an ugly face, a leering face. “I have no plans to hurt Racine. Nothing I do will work if it isn’t in alignment with her highest good.”
“What do you mean nothing you do will work? What do you propose to do?”
“Don’t you worry about that, Maggie Dove.”
But Maggie had had enough. She hated being manipulated. She hated when people played games. Part of why she was so religious, she supposed, was because she approved of honesty. This is who I am, this is who we are, this is what we believe.
She stood up. “Domino, your sister is a good woman. She’s devoted her life to taking care of your mother. If you want to come back here and rejoin the family, I’ll be happy to help you, but if you’re just going to terrorize your sister and mother, then you’ll have to go.”
Domino looked at her. “Are you suggesting your gods are stronger than mine?”
“What I am suggesting is that if a tarantula or anything else shows up in Racine’s bed, I will call the police. Listen,” Maggie said. “You have one sister. Family’s important. You’re more likely to get what you want through kindness.”
Domino smiled. “Throw myself on the mercy of my mother and proclaim myself a sinner.”
“Yes, something like that.”
Domino started to laugh. Her laugh swirled around Maggie like a tornado. Her laugh was an ugly thing, and Maggie had to get out of there.
Her laughter followed Maggie up the steps. She almost ran up the last few, pushed her way out the door without even saying goodbye to Racine and raced across the lawn, until she saw the copper beech, which almost seemed to be waiting for her. Maggie settled herself down under its welcoming branches. Immediately the air felt cleaner. She always felt redeemed by a tree. Once outside she could feel the darkness of that house wash off her.
She wondered if she should go talk to her minister about it. They had a new one, a woman from Ghana. Maggie didn’t know her well though, and she’d rather not come across as a nut, showing up at her office and blathering about witches. Perhaps she should talk to Walter Campbell. She’d told Racine she wouldn’t bring in the police, but she needed to talk this over with somebody. Agnes was still a wild card and Helen had not been at work in a while, so Walter seemed like the best option. She hoped it would not be too much of a violation of her promise to Racine.
Still, she felt a flutter of something strange in her heart at the prospect of talking to Walter Campbell. She’d not really spoken to him since that horrible night in April in the park, when he’d hugged her and whispered to her and she’d felt a closeness she hadn’t expected. She was just getting ready to go when she noticed a man, one tree over. He was staring at Stern Manor. He looked at it with hatred, she thought.
He had an unusual face. It looked like someone had grabbed his chin and wrenched it. She didn’t want to draw his attention, so she stayed under the tree, watching him. He spoke to himself, muttering. Then he turned to look right at her, and left.
Chapter 7
The Darby Police Station was a small building tucked next to the library. Maggie’d always approved of the location; she liked to think that some child had looked at the jail and then looked at the library and chosen a better path. Hopefully it didn’t work the other way as well.
Now she walked into the police station, which was divided from the public by a tall barrier. Maggie could barely see over it, and she always felt a bit like she was in a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream when she entered, though hopefully not playing the part of the ass.
“Hello, hello,” Maggie called out.
In the past it would have been Peter Nelson who answered her. Maggie’s favorite Sunday School student, her late daughter’s fiancé, a man who had a knack for getting into trouble. Unfortunately he’d been forced to leave the police force and had moved to California, where he seemed to be thriving with a new wife, and a baby on the way. She missed him, but felt so relieved he’d found a safe haven.
“Hello,” she tried again, and this time a young black woman stepped up to the barrier.
“Yes?” she asked.
Maggie smiled at her. “My name is Maggie Dove,” she said. “You must be the new police officer.”
“Mercy Williams,” she said. “I was just transferred here from the Bronx.”
She looked like a very neat person, especially if you compared her to Peter Nelson, who was a mess. Her hair was almost completely shaved off and she wore no jewelry. Maggie suspected she would have a beautiful smile, if she smiled.
“Well, I’m a Darby old-timer. Welcome to our village.”
“Maggie Dove,” Mercy said. “You drive that red Audi TT.”
“That’s right,” Maggie replied, surprised.
“I noticed you parked illegally by the fire department last Saturday.”
“Oh, I know,” Maggie said, blushing. Over Mercy’s head hung a poster of the ten most wanted criminals in the United States. “That was wrong of me, but I needed to run into the deli to pick up a platter for church, and I couldn’t find a spot. I couldn’t risk being late, you see.”
“Twenty minutes,” she said. “I wrote you a ticket, but Superintendent Campbell told me to rip it up. He said you’re someone special here.”
“Yes,” Maggie said, feeling worse and worse. “Funny you should mention him. I’m here to talk to him right now. Could you buzz me in?”
“He knows you’re coming?”
“Yes,” Maggie said, because she was feeling irritated with this girl, because she didn’t want to explain herself anymore, because she was upset that Peter was gone and everything was changing and everyone always seemed to be mad at her. She would have just turned around and left, but she did want to hear Walter’s opinion. She didn’t always like him, but she trusted and respected him. She was also curious to see whether she still felt the connection with him that she had. She had no plans for throwing herself on his desk, as she had with her late husband, so many decades ago, but she did feel a pleasant sense of anticipation. Maybe all of Domino’s voodoo was getting to her.
“All right,” Mercy said. “Go ahead.”
Walter’s office was down a dank corridor, past a jail cell, past an interrogation room, at the end of the hall. She felt something was off right before she walked into the room. Did she hear giggling? That was not a sound she expected to hear in any way associated with Walter Campbell. She felt as though she was walking in slow motion as she entered the room and there he was with his arms around a woman. They sprang apart. That was an expression she’d read in romance novels, but had never actually seen until this warm Monday afternoon: They sprang apart.
“Maggie Dove!” Walter cried out.
Maggie blushed. She wouldn’t have felt so awkward except that he was so awkward.
“I’m sorry,” he said. A tanned, trim woman stared back at her, puzzled. “This is my wife,” he said. “This is Heather.”
She was so young, Maggie thought. But of course she was. His children were young. His oldest daughter was ten years old. This woman looked to be around 45, which made her twenty years younger than Walter and almost the same distance from Maggie. She looked very fit. She looked like a woman who ran and lifted weights and cycled and swam.
“You’re the lady Walter helped last spring,” she said.
“Yes, I am that lady.”
“Was there something you wanted to talk to me about?” Walter asked. He looked like he was boiling, she thought. She’d never seen him off balance before. He looked like he was trying to telegraph something to her with his eyes, but she was damned if she knew what it was. It was so much easier when people said things instead of clutching you and whispering them, as he had in the park last April.
“Can I help you?” Walter said.
“If you could give me a few minutes of your time.”
“Of course, of course. Heather, I’ll meet you at home.”
“Pork chops?” she asked.
“Please.”
Maggie sank down into a chair. She crossed one hand over the other, rubbing at the wedding band she’d never taken off, and never would.
“Heather’s moving to Darby,” Walter said. “She wants to give things another try. Feels we owe it to the children.”
“I’m happy for you, Walter.”
�
��I guess it’s the right thing to do,” he said. “I have to put my children first. I have to seize this opportunity.”
“Of course you do,” she said. And she believed it. So why did she feel so glum as she launched into her description of what happened at Stern Manor? The whole thing seemed so flimsy in the light of day, or in the light of Walter. The tarantula on Racine’s bed, Domino’s strange manner. Even the hand-burning thing just sounded strange.
“The only solid fact is that Domino does have a genuine reason for wanting Racine dead. She wants that money.”
Walter nodded. “And she’s threatened her?”
Maggie shook her head. “She hasn’t come out and said she’s going to kill her. Domino doesn’t do things like that. She hints and prowls and insinuates.”
Walter scratched his head. She noticed a picture of his wife and children on his desk and she wondered if it had always been there. On the wall he had a Russian icon that she believed was real. A museum piece. He had a lot of money. That’s how he came to have this job. He’d been a hedge-fund trader, had made a fortune, but walked away from it all to get a better life. In the process he’d pushed Peter out of his job, which had caused some bad feeling, but she believed he was committed. He was a man who couldn’t bear to do a poor job.
“If she actually threatened Racine, then we could bring her in for questioning. We could charge her with harassment. But it sounds like she hasn’t done anything that explicit.”
“No, and in any case, Racine doesn’t want to bring in the police. She’s concerned about her family’s reputation. I just came to you because I wanted your opinion.”
“Thank you,” he said.
He looked at her so soulfully then that she had to look away. She couldn’t help but remember that night, how he’d pressed her to him and whispered, My dear.
She stood. “I’ve wasted your time.”
