Family Secrets

by Shawn McGuire

  Like the others had, Flavia chanted or prayed, or whatever the proper term was, while holding her list before her. When done chanting, she placed her list in the fire. The paper must have been very thin because it floated in the air on a heat wave, hovered, and then burst into flames. As the burning bits raised into the air, Flavia looked at me with narrowed eyes, and suddenly the pieces flew straight at me.

  I ducked and covered my head with my arms. When the heat died down, I pulled off Morgan’s cloak to be sure none of the burning pieces had stuck. Once I was sure both it and I were okay, I turned to Flavia and locked eyes with her. She looked furious, held my gaze for a few seconds, then raised her narrow chin and turned away.

  What the hell was that? If I hadn’t known better, I’d swear she just tried to set me on fire. But that wasn’t possible. Flavia couldn’t control the wind. It had simply been a wave of heat off the fire that sent the paper at me.

  I didn’t know a thing about this woman. Only that Yasmine was her niece, she seemed perpetually crabby, and she clearly had an issue with me. After the look she just gave me, one of pleasure that I almost caught fire, the feeling was mutual. And, she just soared to the top of my Check Her Out list.

  A few minutes later, the group dispersed, and Morgan returned to my side.

  “Do you understand better now?” she asked.

  “Some things.” Tired from the long ritual, I didn’t bother to disguise my yawn. Plus, I was a little cranky about having burning paper blown at me. “Those symbols on Flavia’s robe, what are they?”

  “They’re sigils.”

  “What’s a sigil?”

  “They’re symbols, like you said, but a true sigil is more than that. They have power attached to them and symbolize a phrase of intent. They’re made by combining the letters from a declarative statement, like the ones you wrote on your list, into an image. For example, you combine the letters in the statement ‘I am queen of the world’ into a symbol like you saw on Flavia’s robe. That symbol, or sigil, now has meaning for you. You will immediately remember your goal of being queen of the world when you see that image.”

  “Like a self-fulfilling prophesy. A mindset thing.”

  “You could look at it that way. Why the interest in sigils?”

  I pulled out my phone and showed her the pictures I’d taken.

  “These are on the walls in your home?” She seemed concerned. “May I come to see them?”

  “Sure. Tomorrow night after work? You can take a look at the altar, too, if you’d like.”

  She hesitated. “That’s the other thing I wanted to talk to you about. Your grandmother wasn’t just a practicing Wiccan, she was our high priestess until the day she died.”

  Gran was the high priestess? That was like being queen of the Whispering Pines Wicca world. She had a whole life going on I knew nothing about.

  “You’re worried about something.” I narrowed my eyes at her. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t want to draw any conclusions until I see the walls.”

  “But?”

  “But these symbols,” she pointed at my phone, “they’re troubling. I’m concerned some may have negative intent.”

  Chapter 27

  Even though I was drop-dead exhausted by the time I got home, I sat cross-legged at the end of the pier with my list. I turned on the flashlight app on my phone and read what I had written. Morgan instructed me to offer it to the elements by burying it, burning it, letting the wind take it, or tearing it into tiny pieces and dropping them into the lake.

  It was a good list, all things I sincerely wanted to happen. It made more sense to put it someplace I could see it and be reminded of what I was working toward. So, I taped it to the wall by my bed where I’d see it first thing and last each day.

  I slept like the dead that night and woke the next morning starving. Maybe it was all the nighttime fresh air or all that energy surrounding the new moon ritual, or the fact that I had patrolled the village on foot for four hours. Or maybe I was just hungry. Whatever the reason, a scone wasn’t going to do it. Maybe Gran had something more substantial in her pantry or freezer. I pulled a pair of sweats on over my sleep shorts and shuffled across the backyard with Meeka running circles around me. I opened the French doors and was engulfed by the most amazing smell. Normally, unexpected aromas would concern me, but this was bacon.

  “Hey,” Tripp greeted from behind the kitchen island. He filled a mug with coffee and handed it to me. “Want some breakfast? I had enough money to buy eggs and bacon. Hope it’s okay that I dug through the cupboards. I wanted pancakes, too.”

  It was so nice having a cook on staff.

  “That’s a big yes to breakfast.” I settled onto one of the barstools across from him and added a good shot of milk to the mug. “And if it means I get pancakes, you can dig through the cupboards all you want.”

  “How did it go last night?”

  As he took the bacon off the frying pan and started ladling out the pancake batter, I told him about the ritual. I understood my grandmother’s religion a little better now and could honestly say I had no problem with it. I didn’t have a problem with anyone’s religion, as long as they weren’t hurting others in the name of it. For me, the world was too messed up to believe that there was a god or goddess or some dude with four arms and an elephant head out there watching over us. If there was, they needed to quit with this learn-your-lesson-the-hard-way thing and just take charge.

  “Morgan is coming over tonight to look at that graffiti.” I held out my mug when he offered a refill. “She thinks it might symbolize something negative.”

  “Don’t touch the walls,” Tripp said. “Got it.”

  While he finished the pancakes and moved on to eggs, I wandered into the front of the house to see the progress he’d made. The clean-up was done there—he was right, it looked significantly better already—but before he could start on the repair work, I needed to call for someone to come pick up the furniture that needed fixing, re-finishing, and recovering. I’d have to ask around for a good furniture place.

  “Don’t worry, Gran and Gramps,” I whispered. “We’ll fix everything.”

  “Breakfast is ready,” Tripp called from the kitchen.

  “On my way.”

  Walking down the hallway toward the kitchen, I noticed a graffiti mark on the wall I was sure hadn’t been there before.

  “Tripp? Has this been here all along?”

  He joined me in the hall and locked his hands behind his head as he studied the symbol. “Not sure. There are so many.”

  I flipped through the pictures on my phone. I’d been very thorough, snapping a shot of every image, individually and entire walls. Tripp stood so close, looking over my shoulder as I scrolled, that I could smell the bacon aroma wafting off him. When I got to the hallway shots he put one hand on my shoulder and pointed at the screen with the other.

  “Look, that’s this wall,” he said. “The symbol must have been behind that picture.”

  “Do you remember any other marks hidden behind things?”

  He pondered that and shook his head. “I don’t remember any, but there could have been.”

  “What’s so important about this tag that they hid—” I froze midsentence. I knew this symbol. “Someone drew that exact mark over Yasmine’s heart.”

  “She had a tattoo of that?”

  “No, drew it on her. Like with a marker.”

  Both graffiti tags and sigils stood for something. According to Morgan, a sigil was basically a positive visual affirmation for the creator. A graffiti tag could be pure vandalism, it could mark gang territory, or be a warning of possible violent activity in the area. What did these symbols on my walls mean? Something positive or a warning? Not sure anyone would break into my home to affirmatively vandalize it.

  I snapped a picture of this new mark and by the time I got back to the kitchen, I was angry.

  “What are you so deep in thought about?” Tripp asked, taking t
he stool next to me.

  “Is moving to the village really such an offense that they’d resort to trying to run me out? I’ve done nothing wrong, so that’s the only reason I can come up with for someone trashing the place.”

  “First, you’re talking to the wrong person about moving to town.”

  “Sorry.”

  He shrugged off the apology. “Have you considered that maybe you did do something?”

  I looked up from cutting my pancakes with the edge of my fork. “What do you mean?”

  “I warned you about getting involved with small town politics. You’ve wormed your way deep into this Yasmine thing.”

  I stuffed my mouth with a too-big bite of pancakes so I couldn’t respond right away. He was right, of course. He, Morgan, and Sheriff Brighton all told me to mind my own business.

  “Yasmine was murdered, poisoned and left to die a painful death. No one was investigating it, not really. I couldn’t just let that slide.”

  “I understand your reasons. Not sure they matter to the locals, though.” He placed his sunny side up eggs on top of his pancake stack and let the yolk drizzle over the sides. “Wasn’t the damage done before you got here?”

  It was. What did that mean? No one knew I was coming, so the damage couldn’t have been directed at me. Either it was random or directed at my family in general.

  “If your theory is right,” Tripp said, “that all of this is connected, who can you tie to these symbols?”

  “Easy. Flavia. Everyone at the ritual last night wore robes. Hers had symbols all over it that looked a lot like the ones on the walls.”

  “Is there a chance that the two aren’t connected?”

  Unless I hadn’t noticed and these symbols were a common thing in Whispering Pines, I wouldn’t place a bet on it.

  After breakfast, Meeka and I headed into the village well before the start of our scheduled shift and went straight to Morgan’s shop. I needed to know something, anything about the images on my walls and couldn’t wait for her to come over tonight. We entered to find someone new standing behind the counter table. Looked like Morgan had help for the tourist season. Good. Couldn’t imagine her handling the crazy-busy shop all on her own.

  Five foot nine, very thin, skin so pale it’s almost white, coarse red hair to her waist.

  “Merry meet,” she said in an airy voice. “Welcome to Shoppe Mystique. I’m Willow, is there something I can help you find?”

  “Merry . . . hi. I’m actually here to see Morgan.” I glanced around and spotted her across the shop, helping customers.

  The smile never left the woman’s face as she took in my uniform. “I hope there isn’t a problem.”

  “No problem, this is a personal matter.”

  “I remember you. You were at the Meditation Circle last night.”

  “Jayne O’Shea. My partner against crime here is Meeka. Thanks for letting me observe.”

  By the way her eyes narrowed and her smile tightened, she didn’t like that I’d been at the gathering. “I hope it helped you with your research.”

  “No research. Again, it was a personal matter. I’ll just wait for Morgan. Thanks.”

  I busied myself by looking at the amulets. One in particular caught my attention. It was a small glass vial on a silver chain, filled with tiny pieces of crystals and stones, and stoppered with a silver filigree cap at both ends. A small round apple-green stone dangled from the bottom.

  “Blessed be.”

  I looked to find Morgan next to me. “I thought you were helping customers.”

  “I believe your uniform scared them off.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Not at all. If a sheriff’s deputy causes customers to run, they were likely up to no good. What’s troubling you this morning?”

  “What makes you think–?”

  “Jayne, tension is surrounding you like a fog.”

  I brought up the picture of the newly-discovered wall tag. “Do you know what this means?”

  Her brow furrowed as she inspected the picture. “I’m familiar with it. This is on your wall?”

  “Someone also drew it on Yasmine’s chest. What does it mean?”

  She crossed her arms. “It’s a symbol from the Theban alphabet. Some call it the Witch’s Alphabet because witches used to use it to disguise text. Most of us now are proud to announce our beliefs, so few can even identify it let alone write the language.”

  “It’s a letter of the alphabet? Which one?”

  “Actually, this is the symbol for a full stop or period.”

  “As in at the end of a sentence?”

  She nodded, pondering.

  “But it was by itself on the wall,” I said. “What could that mean?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “If I had to guess, it’s meant as a warning. Or a negative sigil.”

  “Period,” I mumbled, understanding. “Full stop. Did I mention this image was drawn over Yasmine’s heart?”

  “Not at all telling.” She pulled her lips into a thin line. “I’m becoming concerned.”

  “You’re not the only one.”

  “I’ll make a witch bottle for your house.”

  “A what?”

  “A protection charm. Stop by to pick it up before you go home. I’ll give you instructions on what to do.”

  “I don’t need a charm,” I objected. Although the only time I hadn’t been in contact with the spell bag since she gave it to me was when I showered. I might not be a believer, but I saw no harm in taking help when offered.

  “You do need protection. Never mind, I’ll bring it over tonight. I want to see the other images on your walls.”

  No sense arguing with a determined witch.

  “The shop is open until seven now that the season has officially started. I’ll leave at six. Willow can handle the final hour alone.” She took one of my hands in hers. “I can’t help but notice you seem drawn to this amulet.”

  “Drawn? I guess.” I’d forgotten I was holding it. I reached to put it back, but Morgan stopped me.

  “I’m not surprised this one calls to you. It contains chips of amethyst, black tourmaline, quartz, and amber. This one hanging at the bottom is peridot. A truly powerful protective blend.”

  She opened the clasp, attached the chain around my neck, and dropped the vial beneath my shirt. With her hand pressed over the amulet, she closed her eyes and moved her mouth in a silent chant.

  “Don’t take this off,” she ordered. “Not for any reason. I’ll see you tonight.”

  Her concern for my safety was freaking me out a little. Time to do something about this apparent threat to me and/or my family.

  “Do you happen to know where Flavia lives?”

  Her shoulders sagged. “Don’t go looking for trouble, Jayne.”

  I suspected that Flavia was involved with the vandalism. Morgan’s response all but confirmed it. “Me? She tried to start me on fire last night.”

  It was a joke. I expected Morgan to argue, to say that was ridiculous, but she didn’t. She also refused to tell me where Flavia lived, but Morgan wasn’t the only one in town with knowledge of the locals.

  “Sure, I know,” Violet told me a few minutes later as she prepared my mocha. “The acreage between the road and the creek is where most of the Wiccans live. Follow the path all the way to the last left before the creek. Flavia’s cottage is the third one in on the creek side. You can’t miss it. It’s three stories tall and creepy as hell.” She slapped her hand over her mouth, looked around at the customers, and then lowered her voice to add, “Sorry, but it is.”

  I tipped her generously for the free coffee and information. After Meeka finished her biscuit, we went to find Flavia. It was time for a chat.

  Chapter 28

  When I’d followed this path last night, all I could see were the lights from inside a handful of homes. In the daylight, this section of Whispering Pines looked like any neighborhood in any town. Cottages were scattered about in no set patt
ern, seemingly wherever the builder thought best. Narrow brick-paved streets allowed only one-way traffic. The yards were dotted with children’s toys and lawn ornaments—gnomes and fairies and lots of glass orbs. Perfectly normal. And then I came to Flavia’s cottage.

  ‘Creepy’ didn’t begin to describe it. Like the other structures original to the village, it was stained black-brown. It was indeed three stories tall, as Violet reported, and the perimeter led me to guess there were probably no more than two rooms per floor. Tall, thin, dark, imposing. Just like Flavia except she was tall, pale, and imposing.

  “Miss O’Shea?” Flavia appeared at the front door. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  Neither the snip in her tone nor the sour look on her face said she was interested in helping me. I came here to figure out if she had anything to do with Yasmine’s death or the vandalism at my house, but asking her flat out wouldn’t work. I’d need to employ a subtle method for interrogating this woman.

  “We haven’t officially met.” I went into confident cop mode and extended a hand to her. “Jayne O’Shea. You probably know that Sheriff Brighton hired me to help during the tourist season.”

  She took my hand, with only her fingertips, and gave it two tiny shakes.

  “You’re Yasmine Long’s aunt, correct?” My heart was pounding suddenly. Why did this woman make me nervous?

  Flavia’s gaze skittered across the other homes—checking for nosey neighbors?—then she opened the door wider and stepped aside. “You clearly have questions. Come inside and we’ll talk.”

  Flavia sucked in a breath, like a hiss, when Meeka followed me.

  “She won’t harm anything.” I needed my K-9 by my side. Not only was she trained to sniff out drugs and cadavers, she had a sense about people and places that I’d come to trust without reservation. Besides, should the need arise, Meeka could protect me far better than Morgan’s vial of stones. “She’s not only a trained police dog, she’s my partner.”