Black Arts, Tarts & Gypsy Carts

by Erin Johnson

I felt a rush of smugness. Good old-fashioned detective work, that’s how.

  She threw her hands in the air. “Fine. Fine! I don’t see how it matters now, anyway.” She waved a hand over the space on the quilt next to her and a large leather book appeared. “That is Madame Zerna’s diary. Look all you want.”

  I stepped forward and lifted the heavy book. I cradled it in one arm, being careful not to turn it spine up— I could feel the diary nearly bursting with loose pages and objects stuck in among them that would fall out if I did.

  “Can I hold on to this until tomorrow?” I wanted time to look it over.

  She shrugged. “Sure.” She shook her head and stared at the floor. “I already know what’s in there. I added every single page and trinket myself, but I can’t do a thing with it.”

  I cocked my head. “What do you mean?”

  She swallowed. “I’ve been basically interning for Madame Zerna for years—close to ten now.”

  “Interning? She’s not paying you?”

  She lifted a bony shoulder. “A little. Not enough to live on. She promised she make up the rest of the compensation by teaching me necromancy. That was my dream, to be able to speak with and conjure the dead like she could. But no matter how much I pleaded, she never taught me. Sure, she’d show me little things here and there when I’d threaten to quit, but nothing comprehensive. Not a real training. For instance”—she threw an arm out—“she’d tell me about the concept of breath stealing, how the last dying breath of any person contains a concentrated amount of their life force, their soul in it. If you perform the ritual correctly, you can “steal” this breath and maintain a connection to that person’s soul, allowing you to conjure or communicate with them.”

  She dropped her arm. “But did she actually show me how to do that? Of course not. She’d claim she was too tired or too busy.” She shook her head. “So while she was sleeping at night, or during the late morning, or for most of the afternoon—”

  Wow, sounded like Zerna got a lot of z’s in.

  “—I started stealing the diary, borrowing it really. I studied her visions, her chicken-scratch notes and barely intelligible instructions, and tried to figure it out myself.” Her throat bobbed.

  “I even started taking her athame, a big no-no among necromancers. Because the power can be so abused, any witches performing necromancy need to be licensed by the kingdom as a practitioner or apprentice with a designated mentor. But Madame Zerna never registered me. None of it helped anyway.” A strong gust of wind howled outside and rocked the caravan.

  “Athame?” Rhonda had mentioned that in the prison, too.

  “It’s a ritual black-handled knife used for spells,” Edward cut in. “Very personal.”

  “That’s why you lied about the diary?” I looked at the book in the crook of my arm. “You were studying it? And afraid I’d turn you in for being unlicensed?”

  “Are you going to?”

  I cocked my head. She didn’t seem bent on harm. “Depends on what you planned to do with those powers.”

  Frennie swallowed and nodded. “In general, I wanted to help people get closure. But since her death I hoped—” She cleared her throat. “I planned to visit the graveyard. I hoped Madame Zerna’s spirit would appear for me. The dead don’t remember their deaths. Madame Zerna thought it was a gift, a sort of blissful ignorance to help ease the transition and help souls focus on the good of life, versus the pain. But I hoped, if I could get my necromancy skills up to par, that I could perform a spell that would allow Madame Zerna to remember who’d killed her and I could help her get justice.” She shrugged. “Plus I wanted to rub it in her face a little that I’d learned all this in spite of her.”

  “Naturally.” I rolled my eyes. “I thought you believed the police caught her killer?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Rhonda the Seer? Please. I don’t know how she ended up holding that saw, but no. They may have had their differences, but Rhonda has too short an attention span to plot something like this. No, this reeks of Scullivan and Riga.”

  Hmm. So she suspected them, too. “Do you have any idea what their motive would be? I know about the rift between Riga and her mother, but why kill her now if she knew she would die soon? Do you have Zerna’s will? Maybe she changed it to leave everything to Riga as a gesture of reconciliation?”

  Frennie shook her head. Wind rocked the caravan. “A copy of her will’s in there somewhere, towards the end.” She lifted her chin toward the diary in my arms. “But she had nothing to leave. Madame Zerna lived the good life and spent everything—more than everything. Riga won’t inherit much.”

  I ran a finger over the flowering vine embossed on the cover. “You sure you don’t need this for the spell?”

  She let out a heavy sigh and fiddled with the thin ends of her long hair. “I’m terrible at necromancy and haven’t even gotten close with that spell. So take it. I’m hopeless anyway.”

  I frowned. “Are you still going to the graveyard for the ceremony?”

  She scoffed. “What’s the point?”

  I moved over and sat next to Frennie on the bed. “I spoke with Riga earlier—she didn’t seem too broken up about her mother’s death.” Understatement of the year. “I doubt she’ll go. You, on the other hand, cared about her. You may have been frustrated, but all close relationships have their issues. You still loved her and I’m sure she loved you. I bet she’d love to see you one last time.”

  Frennie darted a quick glance at me, her big eyes rimmed in tears. She nodded, then looked down again.

  I stood. “Maybe I’ll see you there.”

  Edward and I saw ourselves out. Out on the porch, my bangs flew out of my eyes and I squinted to see in the blue twilight. Tent fabric snapped, wind chimes banged together, and the trees swayed.

  I raised a hand to my forehead. “This is wild.”

  Edward grinned. “This is nothing. The Sansea winds don’t typically hit Bijou Mer till later in the summer, but this feels like them. It’ll get even rougher.” He gestured across the waving grass of the field toward the dark thicket. “Let’s head to my caravan to look over that diary?”

  I glanced at the book under my arm. “What time is it?”

  He pulled a gold pocket watch from his vest. “Five thirty.”

  I sniffed. I had a date with Iggy in the cemetery at midnight, and the magic crowd would be flowing in any minute—I didn’t want to leave Iggy and Maple understaffed in the booth. Then again, Rhonda only had until tomorrow morning until the airship took off with her to that scary-sounding prison. Wait—

  “What happens with the airships when the winds get like this?” I turned to Edward.

  He shrugged his broad, muscled shoulders. “They can still take off in this, I’d guess. But much stronger and they won’t fly in it.” He pointed to the sky. “See, some of the littler ones are already lifting off.”

  I peered into the darkening sky and made out some lighter-colored balloons. My stomach tightened with anxiety. “My friend’s supposed to fly out tomorrow. Will they take off tonight to avoid the winds?”

  He pressed his lips together. “They might.”

  My chest grew tight. I cast a glance toward the brightly lit, colorful carnival. Maple and Iggy would have to hang on without me for a little bit longer. Searching the diary had just become top priority—who knew how long Rhonda had before she was shipped off to a high-security prison for the worst of the worst? She didn’t belong there, and the diary was my only lead.

  “To your caravan.” I swept an arm out. “And let’s hurry.”

  21

  The Diary

  The door to Edward’s caravan flew open and battered against the side of it. I looked to the sky. The balloons I’d seen a few minutes ago had already floated out of sight in the deep blue night sky. Gray clouds raced across the sky, dampening the stars. Behind the caravan, trees tossed and dipped in the quickening wind.

  “Come on!” Edward called.

  I dashed up the st
eps and into the warm room. Edward tugged the door closed behind us, the darkness and quiet inside enveloping me. Flames sprung to life around the space—candles glowing on the stove next to the kettle, along the narrow shelf above the bed, and in a few wall scones along the sides.

  I rubbed my arms, warming from the chill that had dropped the temperature outside. The caravan rocked gently, the wind battering against the windows and rustling the leaves of the trees in the thicket behind.

  He handed me a lantern, a little flame flickering inside. I thought of Iggy. I had several hours left before the graveyard ceremony for Nan. Totally enough time to solve a murder and save my friend from heading to a high-security prison. Anxiety tightened my chest.

  “All right. Let’s take a look at that diary.”

  Edward perched on the sofa next to me.

  “Wait… don’t you have a show to perform?” I pressed my hands to my cheeks. “You do! Oh my gosh, I’m holding you up. I’m so sorry.”

  Edward gave me a sideways grin, his mustache tugging up at one corner. “Don’t worry. What is f—” He paused and sucked on his lips, then started again. “What are friends for?” He nodded at the diary beside me. “Let’s take a look, shall we?”

  I gave him a sideways look. “I still feel bad for taking up your time, but thank you for your help.” I pulled the heavy diary into my lap. “I don’t even know what we’re looking for.” I sighed.

  “Why don’t we start at the end, with her most recent entries? That might hold some clues as to who she’s been seeing or having issues with.”

  I nodded. “Good thought.” I flipped the book open as Edward leaned over to read. I paged to the back, the edges of the paper uneven and torn. I flipped past postcards, glued-in notes scribbled on receipts, letters pasted in with their envelopes next to them, illustrations, pressed flowers and bird feathers. I turned to blank pages, then backed up to Zerna’s last entry.

  “Her will.”

  Edward and I read through it. After translating all the fancy legal speak, I came to the same conclusion Frennie had. “She’s leaving Riga nothing but this diary and her caravan and trinkets, which can’t be worth that much. And from what Frennie said, Riga might have to sell everything she can to settle her debts.”

  Edward shook his head. “Not a motive to kill, I don’t think. Though I know people who’ve done it for less.”

  I gave him a sharp look. “You do?”

  He swallowed, his eyes focused on the diary. “Just a figure of speech.”

  I turned from him, back to the writing, not entirely convinced that’s all it was. I flipped to an earlier entry and read a recipe for a cure for warts, a few notes about a dream of Zerna’s involving zebras, and a blue string fixed to the page. “Nothing here.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I frowned at Edward and pointed my hand at the page. “Am I missing something?”

  He turned to me, a twinkle in his eye. “Close your eyes.”

  The dark caravan rocked in the wind, the candle flames guttering. Wind chimes clanked outside, but between the wind and the isolation from the rest of the carnival, the space felt dampened and secluded. “Why?”

  He grinned. “Part of your training. Try it.”

  Feeling unsure, I pressed my lids shut and sat still, listening hard.

  “Now. I want you to feel around for the diary.”

  I reached my hands out and patted the page.

  “No.” He gently pushed my arms back. “Using your mind, feel for it. For the energy of it—see if you can find the shape of it in your mind.”

  I imagined the book—the last page I’d seen and everything on it. I could picture it… but nothing else happened. I sighed. “I’m sorry—I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Hmm. Maybe don’t use your mind then. I don’t want you to find a memory of what the book looks like—I want you to find its energy, as if you’re going to pull from it.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know how to do that. Every time I’ve pulled in the past, it was spontaneous.”

  “Start with how the book makes you feel. Are you breathing quickly or slowly?”

  I focused on my breath. “Quickly.”

  “Good. Now… imagine the book has a glow. Is it a big glow or a little glow?”

  I frowned. I couldn’t be totally sure, but…. “Big. I think?”

  “Okay. And what color is the glow?”

  Again, I didn’t even trust my own answer on this. I had no idea, I just had a gut feeling about it. “Green.”

  “Does the green glow match the diary’s size and shape?”

  I could almost feel the blackness around me, though through the darkness, I began to become aware of various glows around the caravan. With my eyes closed, I sensed a blue glow on the wall, small, and an orange glow near where the kettle must be. A large green glow surged from the corner.

  Startled, my eyes flew open and I stared. A full-length mirror stood where I’d sensed the green energy, a black blanket covered the reflection.

  Edward followed my gaze and grinned. “Good job. You’re started to sense energy and magic. That mirror’s enchanted.”

  I turned to him, my mouth slack. “I actually sensed something? I don’t just possess an overactive imagination?”

  He shook his head. “Try again. Focus on the book this time.”

  I nodded and closed my eyes. I started with my breath, then felt for colors and glows. It happened easier and faster this time. Beside me, Edward’s shape swirled with dense black power, and in my lap I could feel green pages of the book slipped in among the normal ones.

  I opened my eyes again and grinned at Edward. “This book has hidden pages!”

  He nodded. “I’m impressed.”

  I exhaled, smiling. I’d done it.

  “Now that you know something’s hidden, try the reveal spell we’ve been working on.”

  I nodded, concentrating on the shape and feel of the energy of the hidden pages. I scrunched my eyes shut and pictured them. When I opened my eyes I squealed. I couldn’t help it.

  “I did it! Oh my gosh, I did it!” I clapped my hands and turned to Edward, then threw my arms around him, pinning his massive arms to his side. “Thank you. You’re a great teacher!” I released him and turned to the pages, eager to see what they concealed.

  A date scrawled across the top of the page indicated that the diary entry had been written a few days earlier. Messy cursive letters looped together, almost illegible, as if it’d been written in a hurry. I read aloud.

  “The spirit of the old woman visited me again this evening (earth below, she likes to talk!). She urged me to hurry and finish any last projects, for my time on this plane is short. Strange… as one who has dealt with the dead my whole life, I think I am in position to know what lies in the Otherworld better than most. And still… it saddens me to leave this plane. I hoped to have made peace with my daughter, but she and her rat of a husband rejected me again. Though I heard the words from her lips, I still cannot help the gut feeling that Scullivan is somehow the cause of the distance between us. I know that I neglected her growing up to focus on myself and my career. But still—that man is poison. Ugh, and those gloves. Gag. I do not believe that my Riga, the one I raised, could be so cold otherwise.”

  I paused to raise my brows at Edward, and he nodded at me to go on.

  “The old woman gave me a prophecy this time though. She told me that my death would bring about my daughter’s freedom. I can only assume she means freedom from Scullivan, and though I do not know in what way he has trapped her, I am certain he is to blame. Well, not certain, but I’ve got a strong feeling and they’re usually right. I am Madame Zerna after all.”

  Wow, a diva in her own diary.

  “So. I’ve come to a radical decision. Though I know my days are numbered, I shall hasten my own demise, to help my daughter.”

  I pressed a hand to my mouth. “Oh sea snakes.” I’d picked up the phrase from Maple and other locals.
r />   “My doctor warned me to be careful with the potion I take for my pain. Too much and she cautioned that I’d slip into a deep sleep that I might not awake from. So that is my plan. And to make certain that my death is not wasted, I shall drink the potion on Scullivan’s table and stage a violent death. Whatever he’s done to my beloved Riga, the police cannot help but investigate my death. Perhaps they’ll find the answers that I could not.”

  Well, she’d definitely overestimated Inspector Bon and his officers.

  “She killed herself.” I turned to Edward. “And we have proof!”

  He grinned at me and nodded. “You solved the case.”

  I smiled, giddy and anxious all at once. “With your help.”

  He waved it off.

  “What should I do now?” I’d been so absorbed in the diary entry that I hadn’t noticed the increasing wind outside. The wind chimes on Edward’s porch clanked together, and the caravan rocked.

  Edward shook his head. “If the airship hasn’t left yet, it will soon. Much rougher and they won’t be able to take off. They won’t want to delay the shipment of the prisoners by waiting till the winds die down. When they come, they usually last a week or two.”

  I clapped the book shut, my heart racing. “I have to go now.” I stood and raced for the door, then, hands shaking, turned back. “Where is the airship?” Probably useful to know.

  Edward stood also. “There’s an air pad next to the prison for convoys. You know your way?”

  I nodded. “Aren’t you coming? You helped crack the case.”

  He shook his head. “I’ve got a show to perform. Besides, you’ve got this. But I’d run if I were you.”

  I frowned slightly. He hadn’t seemed that concerned with performing earlier, but maybe he’d been trying to make me feel better about taking up his time. I nodded. “Thank you.” I dashed out of the caravan. The wind buffered me back, the field a turbulent sea of swaying tall grass. Gray clouds darkened the sky and the trees thrashed in the thicket. I took off across the field, barely making out Edward’s words as they chased me on.