by Bailey Cates
The detective wasn’t so squeamish. “Human sacrifice?”
I nodded.
He looked thoughtful. “Honestly, no. And I can’t justify putting a guard on her. She’s in the ICU still, though that might change. But let me see what I find out about coma cases in area hospitals.”
My brows pinched together, and I bit my lip.
“In the meantime, I’ll alert hospital security to be on the lookout for anything strange.”
“Okay,” I said. At least he was doing the best he could.
Quinn joined my aunt and uncle in the kitchen, and I got up and went to the box that had caught my attention. Mungo followed, his tiny toenails making wee clicking sounds on the wood floor. Sinking to my knees in front of the bookcase, I carefully nudged the top off the box. Sure enough, the sour aura became stronger. Not only that, but Mother Eulora’s bracelet grew significantly warmer. Could Ben and Quinn have overlooked the gris gris?
With thumb and forefinger, I moved a few things around. A picture of two boys—Franklin and his brother, I guessed. A couple of bow ties, which was odd, yet I could totally see Franklin Taite wearing one. Three mystery novels were stacked in the corner. I wondered if he’d had a chance to finish them. There was a ceramic figure of a hedgehog that made me think of Mother Eulora. Perhaps he’d been planning to give it to her. There was no talisman or anything that looked like it could conceal the talisman. But I had found the source of the strange energy.
It was a poppet. Only not a poppet like the spellbook club had used before, but a doll like the ones I’d seen in Marie LaFevre’s shop. A voodoo doll, seven inches long and sloppily sewn like those, only this one was made of black velvet and had red-stitched X’s for eyes. Another vermillion X represented the mouth, and a fourth one marked the middle of the poppet’s chest. That X was bigger than the rest. I glanced away, and it seemed to throb like a heart beating in my peripheral vision, but when I looked back, it was plain embroidery floss on plush fabric. Still, I felt my hands shaking.
Then I saw that the doll had no stuffing. It was a completely empty husk.
I couldn’t make myself touch it, but I’d tell Quinn about it over dinner. Because, oddly enough, this was the only thing in Franklin’s effects that really indicated voodoo had been involved with either of the cases Quinn had showed me.
Other than the planned sacrifice by snakebite, of course. That smacked of voodoo through and through.
* * *
Quinn ate and ran, taking all of Franklin’s possessions. I’d insisted on going through them myself, just to make sure they hadn’t missed the gris gris in one of his pockets or tucked into a sock. Thankfully, neither my uncle nor the detective took offense. Still, I didn’t find anything. Quinn promised to give the voodoo doll to the crime lab for testing.
“Will you let us know what you find on his computer?” I asked.
He looked at the ceiling for a moment, ignoring Ben’s grin. “Depends on what we find, Katie. It’s looking more and more like Frank’s death was a homicide—”
“Which you wouldn’t have known without my interference and meddling,” I pointed out, using words I’d heard him use before when referring to the help I’d given him.
“Yeah, well. I’ll let you know what I can.”
I gave him a look.
“Good Lord, girl. I brought Frank’s stuff over here before even taking it to the department. Give me a break.”
“You’re right.” I hung my head.
“Well,” he mumbled. “That’s better.”
Lucy took my arm. “Come on, honey. Let’s get you back to bed.”
My cell tone went off as Quinn went out to his car. I heard the sound of the Tahoe’s engine fade as I read Declan’s text.
Just checking in to make sure you’re okay. Have called twice and Lucy must be starting to think I’m crazy. I am, of course. Crazy about you. Call me when you get this any hour.
“Aw,” I said.
Lucy grinned. “Declan?”
“Yup.”
“Katie!” Margie stood in the still-open doorway. Alarm thrummed through her voice. “Miss Lucy, Ben, what on earth is going on? Why were the cops over here? And what happened to your poor arm, Katie?”
Baby Bart rested in the crook of her elbow, his arms around her neck and his head leaning against her shoulder. He blinked sleepy blue eyes at me.
“Wasn’t our doing,” Ben said with a smile. “She gets into trouble without any of our help.”
The JJs appeared on either side of her, clad in pajamas and both wearing bunny slippers. Jonathan’s were brown, and Julia’s a dingy pink.
I smacked my forehead. “We were supposed to have a girl’s night tonight. Oh, Margie, I’m so sorry. I completely forgot!”
“Never mind that. Are you in trouble?”
I laughed. It felt good, and I realized it had been a while. “Not the kind you mean.”
She pressed her lips together.
“Really,” I assured her. “I was in a fire, and Declan and his crew showed up. I got a pretty deep cut in my shoulder, but they patched it up nicely at the emergency room. Oh, and that policeman who was here had some questions about the fire. You’ve met Detective Quinn before, haven’t you?”
She nodded, still thin-lipped. “He seems to be here pretty often.”
“He’s a family friend,” Lucy said, and I watched the suspicious look drop from my neighbor’s face. What—did she think I was having an affair with Peter Quinn? A bit old for me, Declan or no Declan. Astroy and Rowanna Bronhilde, the author of the spellbook I’d suggested for the coven’s review during our last meeting, suddenly came to mind.
I shook my head to clear it. “Margie, I don’t think I can hang out tonight after all. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, bless your little heart, Katie Lightfoot. I wouldn’t dream of dragging you over to listen to me natter on and drink pink wine after you’ve been wounded in a fire. Good heavens, girl. You better take yourself some aspirin and get right on back to bed.”
Lucy looked amused. “I’ll make sure she does just that.”
Margie gave a definitive nod and turned to go. She whirled back. “Hang on. I heard about a fire this afternoon. You’re weren’t at Mother Eulora’s, were you?”
I felt my mouth go slack. Struggling to recover, I managed, “You know Eulora?”
She flipped a hand. “Oh, heavens, yes. Honey, I’m a born-and-bred Savannahian. I bet I’ve run across everyone in this town at one time or another. Especially folks that have been here as long as she has. Beside, my mother-in-law consults with Mother Eulora pretty regularly ever since Redding’s daddy passed on.”
“Will wonders never cease?” I heard Lucy mutter under her breath.
Margie shook her head. “I must say, I’m surprised as anything that you go in for that woo-woo stuff. I always thought you were one of the most practical people I know.”
Behind me, Ben muffled a laugh.
I grinned. “What about you? You believe in spirits and haints and spells and the like?”
She flushed but looked defiant. “Maybe a bit. Hard telling what might be around—just because we can’t see it doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Besides, we live in the most haunted city in the entire United States, you know.”
“I believe it,” I said. “And, yes, I was, uh, consulting with Mother Eulora when the fire broke out.” All my humor drained away. “It was horrible. Her whole house it gone, Margie, and Eulora’s in the hospital. Her family is there, but she could use the prayers of anyone who knows her.”
Margie’s expression softened. “I’ll tell my mother-in-law. I’m sure she knows some of Mother’s other clients. We’ll spread the word and get some good vibes going her way.”
“Thank you. You’re a gem.”
“Nah. Saint Margie, remember? Come on, kids. Let’s get you to bed. A
nd, Katie?”
“Mmm?”
“I know Declan’s on shift, so if there’s anything you need—anything at all—you just let me know. Okay? I’ll be around, and I can run right over.”
“Thank you,” I said with feeling. “You’re the best neighbor ever.”
She looked pleased but waved it away. “Pshaw. Anyone else would do the same. You take care.”
“I will.”
Ben shut the door behind the Coopersmiths. “I think we might have to be going, too. Unless you want us to stay the night? You still have that futon in the loft, don’t you?”
“No need, Ben. I appreciate it, though. I’m going to have another glass of Lucy’s amazing healing tea, check in with Declan, and settle in for some more shut-eye.”
My aunt and uncle exchanged a long look before he dipped his chin in agreement. “Okay.”
“The rest of the tea is on the counter,” Lucy said, reaching for where her purse hung from the back of one of the wingbacks. “And there are plenty of leftovers for both of you. Mungo’s pasta doesn’t have garlic, and is in the blue container in the fridge.”
“Thanks, Lucy. I’ll see you in the morning,” I said.
My aunt spun around. “What? Oh, no, Katie. You most certainly will not. I’ve already called Iris, and she can come in early. We’ll handle the baking tomorrow. You stay home and rest.”
“I’m not sick,” I began to protest, but she cut me off.
“I won’t hear another word about it,” she said. “Come on, Ben.”
And that, apparently, was that.
Chapter 21
Jaida called, then Bianca, each of them checking on my welfare and giving me lots of love and sweet get-well-soons. I drank them up like ambrosia, happy for their good wishes and the company of their voices. While I spoke with them, I sipped the rest of Lucy’s tea. I swore I could feel it knitting my wound and returning my energy to something like normal.
After speaking with them, I called Declan. His relief was palpable when I told him I was feeling much better and to stop worrying. We hadn’t made it very far into the conversation when the crew was called out to a carbon-monoxide alarm, and he had to hang up. I promised I’d call again in the morning, as I was longing to talk to him more but grateful he didn’t have to respond to another fire on this shift. At least not yet. He had another day to go, but by now I knew the majority of the calls Five House—and all the others—responded to didn’t involve any kind of blaze at all.
Thank heavens, I thought, honestly feeling shakier about the fire that afternoon than I had since escaping it. A hefty dose of adrenaline and the necessity to stay in the moment had shoved the enormity of almost dying to the back of my mind. Now, rested and alone except for my familiar, it came roaring back with an intensity that frightened me nearly as much as the fire itself had.
So, when I heard the knock on the front door, I jumped off the couch. Margie must have come back to check on me, and I hadn’t taken another dose of pain meds yet, so maybe some pink wine was in order after all.
However, when I checked through the peephole, it wasn’t Margie standing on my tiny porch, the amber light from over the door turning the fuchsia streaks in her hair to dark orange. It was Cookie, her cheeks streaked with mascara.
I threw open the door. “Oh, honey! What’s the matter?” I ushered her into my dimly lit living room. She appeared almost frail in oversized cutoff jeans, a shapeless T-shirt draping off one shoulder, and plastic thongs.
She threw her arms around me, almost knocking me over. I winced as she brushed the dressing on my shoulder, but returned her hug. I’d never seen her so upset. She let out a couple of sobs, then took a deep breath and seemed to gather herself. Pushing away from me, she held me at arm’s length and regarded me with a searching, if somewhat soggy, gaze. “I’m so sorry, Katie. I failed you.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” I shut the door, pulled her to the couch, and made her sit down.
“I wasn’t at the hospital when you had to go to the emergency room after that horrible fire.”
“Oh!” I laughed. “Please don’t worry about that. I asked Mimsey to call Jaida and Bianca off, too. I just spoke with them on the phone a few minutes ago.”
She sniffled. “Mimsey called me back, too, after you left the hospital. But you must know I would have come if I’d known you were there in the first place. Really, I would have. Oscar answered my cell phone but didn’t give me Mimsey’s message. It wasn’t until the second time she called that I knew what had happened to you and Mother Eulora.”
I held up my hand. “Wait a minute. He answered your cell and then didn’t give you the message?”
She nodded, looking miserable.
“Cookie, your husband has some serious boundary issues. That’s not right.”
“I know!” She gulped. “We’ve been fighting about it. About a lot of things, actually, but mostly about how crazy he gets about me helping you find the gris gris.”
“What’s his problem?” I said. “Is it me?”
She shook her head, lower lip quivering. “It’s the voodoo. He says he’s protecting me, that he knows how it upsets me.”
“It does upset you. I know that. I’m sorry I had to drag you into all this.”
Her sharp chin lifted, and her lip stilled. “Oh, Katie. I love Oscar like I’ve never loved anyone. And I know he loves me. It hurts his male pride that I don’t believe I need his protection. And I’m here of my own free will, not because anyone—including you—made me.”
I couldn’t help smiling. “And I’m glad you are.”
“Good. Then let’s get started,” she said and reached into her hobo bag.
“Started?” I asked, confused.
She paused, her hand still in the leather bag. “Jaida told me about the other night. How you located the gris gris with the dowsing rod and then you two went to see Franklin’s landlady. But you didn’t find the gris gris. Yes?”
“Yes. I mean, no, we didn’t. And Detective Quinn left just a while ago after bringing over Franklin’s possessions. The landlady gave them to him.”
Cookie looked speculative. “And the gris gris wasn’t in them.” It wasn’t a question. She looked toward the shutters and nodded to herself. “Yes. Let’s get started. Katie, make sure the windows are tightly closed and the shutters latched. The lights are fine, down low like this. Mungo, you may help.”
“What do you have in mind?” I asked, jumping to my feet.
“I’m going to try to remove the hex that’s hiding the gris gris from you.”
. . . The object yer seekin’ is hidden between layers of magic.
I grinned and hurried to check the windows. “Let me put on some real clothes first.”
“No need,” she said, pulling out a velvet pouch. “Robes are appropriate attire in most traditions. Are you skyclad beneath?”
“Naked? Uh, no.”
“Oh, well.” She shrugged. “Come sit down. Wait— Do you have a black altar cloth? I didn’t think to bring one.”
“Will a silk scarf work?”
“Perfectly.”
I got the scarf from the wall peg by the back door and spread it on the old trunk. Cookie slid to the floor, kneeled in front of the coffee table, and began placing items on the flat surface: the velvet pouch, a length of shiny red thread, three cloves of garlic, a black candle and lighter, and, to my surprise, a small ball-peen hammer. She lit the candle, returned the lighter to her bag, and then drew out a box about three inches by five inches. It was formed of stained glass, jagged geometric shards in all the colors of the chakras arranged in no particular order, but startlingly beautiful in its primitive way. She placed it by the candle, stroking the side of it with affectionate fingertips.
“It’s lovely,” I said.
“It was my father’s,” she said. Giving a
small shake of her head, she reached for the velvet bag.
“What’s inside the pouch?” I asked. My voice was practically a whisper.
“Vervain, curry, dill, and ginger.” Her tone was practical.
“Sounds like you’re a bit of a grune hexe yourself,” I ventured.
A wisp of a smile crossed her face. “I double-checked with Poppa Jack for some of the details. But hex breaking is hex breaking, whatever the school of magic. It’s all about—”
“Intention,” we intoned together.
“Okay. What can I do?” I asked.
“We need the picture of the actual talisman!” she said.
I got up and went to the bookshelf where I’d put the photo after showing it to Quinn and Uncle Ben. Sitting down opposite Cookie, I handed it to her.
She studied it for several seconds before opening the delicate box and placing it inside. She carefully nestled the velvet bag of herbs on top and closed the box. Then she picked up the length of red thread and began tying knots in it at roughly two-inch intervals. “The box symbolizes one layer of magic, this cord another.” She finished with the knots, wrapped the thread around the stained-glass container, and tied it with another knot on top.
Then she sat back and regarded me. “Sit back and cover your face.”
“Don’t you want my help?”
“Trust me.”
“Well, okay.” I scooted back on the floor until I was sitting between the two wingback chairs. Cookie nodded her approval. “Your face. And, Mungo, go sit behind Katie.”
Baffled, I did as I was told. So did my familiar. Still, I peeked out through my laced fingers.
Cookie grabbed the small hammer tightly in her fist. Her lips moved without sound for a few seconds. She nodded once, took a deep breath, and raised the hammer.
“What was done is now undone!” she shouted and brought it down hard on the dancing colors of the glass box.
The sound of it shattering was obscenely loud, louder than a baseball going through a plate-glass window, and it reverberated like an ancient gong. I saw the shards fly away from the hammer blow as if in slow motion, the sharp colors floating like so many butterflies in the artificial gloaming of the fringed floor lamp.
