The Devil's Eye

by J. R. Rain

  “That’s either a load of crap or incredibly freakish bad luck,” I say.

  Rick nods. “I’m leading toward a load of crap.”

  “Me too. Think he got into an argument? And someone grabs the knife and lets him have it?”

  “Luminol found a little blood in the kitchen, some drips.” Rick shrugs. “Maybe it happened. And nobody says, ‘lets him have it’ anymore, Maddy.”

  “I’m pretty sure I heard it on TV the other day,” I say.

  “And I’m pretty sure you were watching Dick Tracy.” He gestures at my phone. “Is that who I think it was?”

  I nod, sighing. “The sister.”

  “Great.” He looks down, cracks his neck a little. “Time for that ride.”

  “Part of the job,” I say.

  “My least-favorite part.”

  “Join the club. C’mon.”

  ***

  A few minutes shy of four in the afternoon, we park by a small house in a not-wonderful part of Tacoma. The front yard is full of sparse grass, a kiddie pool, and a handful of colorful rubber balls. We get out and walk over a myriad of chalk drawings of flowers covering a stretch of sidewalk between the curb and the front door.

  Julie opens it before we hit the bell, wearing a man’s T-shirt draped over her shoulders. A lingering aroma of hot dogs hanging in the air washes over me. Her eyes are red as though she’d been crying. She looks unhealthily thin, and it’s obvious she isn’t wearing a bra. The inane rambling of a kids’ cartoon show goes on in the back of the room.

  I show my badge. “Mrs. Murphy, I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances. May we come in?”

  She backs up without a word, lets us in, and stands there looking shell-shocked for a few seconds before following us to the couch without closing the door. Rick steps over to shut it. I walk after her into a small living room, where a scattering of Barbies and toys litter the floor. A tiny blonde girl wearing pink socks and a white dress busies herself with some of the dolls. When we walk in, she looks up at us, looks away, then whips her head back up and gawks at me.

  “Princess Merida!” she squeals.

  Oh, not now.

  Rick glances at me. Okay, I guess I get kid detail this time. I sigh. Time to break out the accent. “Och! Ye bonnie wee lass, come with me a tick?”

  I’m much better doing an Irish than Scottish accent, but I try anyway. Pretending to be the Disney princess, I scoop up the child and carry her out of earshot toward the kitchen. At least I have seen that movie, so I can more or less muddle through the motions of being the character. As if my hair picks up on the need to distract the child, it comes unglued and frizzes everywhere.

  A moment or two after I’m in the kitchen with the girl, Julie bursts into tears in the living room behind me.

  Heather glances in that direction. “Why is Mommy crying?”

  “Someone got hurt,” I say.

  Little blue eyes grow huge. “Daddy?”

  I shake my head, making my hair dance about. “Nae, lass. Yer pa is fine, but he’s gettin’ some ’elp right now. That’s why he’s nae home.”

  “Oh.” She relaxes.

  For a few more minutes, I keep Heather distracted by pretending to be a medieval Scottish noble. I even do my best mangling of the lullaby from the movie, despite being utterly inept at pronouncing Scots Gaelic. Fortunately, the child doesn’t notice, and grins at me the whole time.

  Once Julie’s sobbing has faded to silence, I creep down the hallway and peek into the living room. Rick’s sitting on the couch next to her with his most comforting expression. Julie sniffles into a tissue and looks up at me. Heather wriggles, so I set her down. She runs over and climbs into her mother’s lap, clinging.

  “Mrs. Murphy,” I say, “D’ye know anyone Walt might’ve ’sociated wit’?”

  Rick gives me a weird look, and I realize I’m still doing a heavy accent. Oopsie.

  Julie lets her arm flop into her lap and stares into space for a moment. “I haven’t seen Walt in a few weeks.” She nods to her daughter. “We’ve only been in Tacoma for a month. This place used to belong to Brett’s dad, but my husband’s older brothers put him in an assisted-living type home and they’re letting us stay here. I wanted to be closer to Walt.” She sniffles into tears again, clinging to her daughter. “My brother doesn’t do well on his own―didn’t do well. He needs―needed―support. Ah, crap.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” I say.

  She nods, sniffles, wipes her eyes. I wait patiently. Even her daughter seems patient, staring intently at her mother with big round eyes.

  Finally, Julie says, “Walt… he usually doesn’t―didn’t―socialize very much, but he said he was making an exception for a couple of guys. I think he meant he was gonna do something illegal, but I prayed he wasn’t. I mean, I prayed hard. He’s not good with tough situations, you know. I never should’ve told him Brett got laid off. He did something, didn’t he? Robbed some place again.”

  Rick keeps his expression neutral. “We haven’t been able to confirm that one way or the other, but it is possible. I’m sorry.”

  “Do you know anything about these two men he had contact with?” I ask.

  “No. Sorry. He didn’t say much about them, but I don’t think he knew them that long.”

  “Who should we contact about releasing his remains?” asks Rick.

  She sniffles. “Our parents are dead. I’m the only family he had left.”

  I write out the information for the coroner’s office on the back of one of my business cards and hand it to her. “Walt’s body is currently with the Thurston County Coroner’s office. You can call them at this number. Ask for a Dr. Ferrante.”

  Julie bows her head. “I’m sorry. For whatever he did…”

  “It’s not your fault.” I crouch, take her hand, and offer a reassuring squeeze. “Walter made his own choices. There is nothing to feel guilty over.” Easy for me to say, I know. But I hope she hears the truth in my words.

  She nods. “Thanks for trying to make me feel better.”

  We spend a few minutes more comforting her before taking our leave. On a whim, I pull into a supermarket not too far from her house and grab a bunch of stuff that’ll keep a while. Canned goods, cereal, frozen waffles, and a whole frozen chicken. Rick catches on and adds more stuff. We split the bill, and go out the door with $160 in food.

  Julie looks surprised to see us back so fast, but when she notices the yellow plastic bags, she starts crying all over again. We help her put away the groceries, express our condolences again, and politely leave.

  Back outside, I take some air and look toward the sun, squinting, soaking in its light and energy, clearing my head and heart. True, Walter wasn’t a perfect angel, but he was no killer. He didn’t deserve to die. Meeting Julie makes him more of a human being and less of a ‘case,’ and I find some small degree of comfort in what little help we could provide her.

  It seems Rick does as well. He pats me on the shoulder, then heads for the car. We both remain quiet for the whole ride back.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The Owl

  On a hunch, I decide to borrow the ceramic owl overnight. I let Captain Janet Greer know I’m bringing it home to do some additional research on my own time, and since the statuette has little intrinsic value, she doesn’t bat an eyelash at the request. Forensics processed it already and confirmed Walter’s fingerprints.

  After a wonderful dinner (Caius cooked an amazing salmon with capers with a side of mushroom brown rice), I brew myself a cup of mugwort tea since I’m planning to work a divination. Mugwort is amazing for clarity of sight during such rituals, and it’s also a wonderful wash for crystal balls and mirrors.

  “So, what’s up?” asks Caius, sliding up behind me while I stir. “Case giving you a rough time?”

  He knows what mugwort’s for. “A little. Trying to sort out a bunch of confusing information.”

  Caius slides his hand up my leg, under my oversize
d T-shirt. Upon discovering my lack of underpants, he starts kissing the side of my neck and telling me how much he adores my soft skin.

  We move to the living room sofa and chat/cuddle while I sip tea. He’s in a great mood since a German band, Zweihänder, wants to sign their new album with his label. Their debut didn’t see much US distribution, and they’re hoping he can make that happen with their next album. I share what I can about the case, and explain my hope to get something from the statue.

  “There’s got to be a strong emotional link in that owl. He sent it to his sister out of love. I’m pretty sure he―or they―stole a bunch of jewelry, and his cohorts turned on him for some reason.”

  “Cohorts.” Caius shakes his head and nibbles at my ear. “You say the most romantic things.”

  I laugh, scrunching up from the sensation of his lips exploring the side of my neck. It’s so sexy, but it tickles! We kiss and paw at each other for a little while until I feel the tea kicking in with a trace of lightheadedness.

  “Sorry.” I smooch him again and pull back. “Tea’s hit. Let me get this done.”

  He nods. “All right. Might as well wrap up some emails. Holler if you want a boost of my energy.”

  “Will do,” I say, and marvel again at just how lucky I am to have a boyfriend who says, ‘if you want a boost of my energy.’

  Anyway, I don’t bother getting dressed again, since it’s only the backyard―my long T-shirt is plenty. The best part about being home from work is that I don’t need pants. If Greer would let me rock a gypsy skirt on duty, I’d so do it, but it’s against regs. After collecting the owl from the table by the front door, I slip outside, cradling the statuette.

  We have a little ritual space set aside to the left of our pool, surrounded by a tall wooden fence laced with ivy and honeysuckle that blocks it off from the rest of the yard and the outside. Though it’s hardly the elaborate, permanent circle at Abigail’s, Caius made a wormwood pentacle inlaid in concrete. A black tapestry hangs on the left above a small shelf containing bowls of herbs, candles, incense, and other supplies.

  The owl goes in the center of the pentacle, and I set up five black candles around the points. I place a bowl of dried coltsfoot beside it since the smoke also helps with visioning magic. Next, I mix some red clover and mandrake root in a second bowl. The clover helps with clairvoyance, and the mandrake root is another reagent that empowers visions.

  I clear my mind and concentrate on purging both my thoughts and my surroundings of all negative energies and influences. Athame in hand, I get up and walk three times around my circle clockwise, picturing a powerful stream of energy flying from the tip of the dagger into the circle around the pentacle. On my third orbit, I light the candles, and kneel at the base of the star facing the spirit point, which we have oriented to the north.

  Careful to avoid the candle flame, I bow my head and let my thick red curls go wild.

  “I invite the Goddess, and Cernunnos to my circle, may you lend me your power so that I may see. Lady Ceridwen, I seek your counsel and prophecy. I invite you to my circle. Brush away the cobwebs of doubt and misdirection. Clear my thoughts and perceptions so I may see truth.”

  While inviting each of the five elementals into the circle, I light the coltsfoot as well as the mandrake/clover mixture and fan them until they are both burning fragrantly.

  Basking in the smoke, I open my mind to Ceridwen and grasp the top of the owl with my right hand.

  “Lady of inspiration, I call to thee.

  “Lady of prophecy, grant me sight.

  “From eyes of stone, a brother’s life.

  “A vision of blood, a deadly knife.”

  I remain still for a minute, listening, waiting, hoping that the Goddess hears my plea. My thoughts focus on nothing, drifting wherever the influence of my magic takes them. Despite being in no way close to hungry, a sudden craving for pizza comes out of nowhere.

  “Thank you, Lady Ceridwen. Thank you to the Goddess and Cernunnos, and to the elements for your aid.”

  As soon as I end the ritual and close the circle, the urge to run out and eat an entire pizza fades, but not the memory of it. I smile to myself and clean up the ritual space, leaving it as I found it, then head back inside with the owl.

  Caius isn’t in the living room or den, so I imagine he’s gone up to bed. Sure enough, I find him reclining there with sheer white satin up to his waist, leaving little doubt in my mind he’s wearing nothing but the sheets.

  “There you are.” He looks up from his Kindle with a smile. “I trust it went well. You’re still glowing with energy.”

  “Yes. I was fortunate.” I peel off my shirt and slip naked under the covers, clinging to the warmth of his body.

  “Not as fortunate as I am.” He slides an arm around my back. “Marry me.”

  “Sure.” I lay there in silence, tracing circles with my finger around his chest while he strokes my hair. After a few minutes, I tilt my head up to make eye contact. “Are you ever going to ask that and be serious?”

  Caius grins from ear to ear and wraps his arms around me in an embrace that pulls us nose to nose. “You’re glowing with clairvoyant energy right now. What do you think?”

  His energy reverberates within my chest, sending a rush of warmth down my limbs. He kisses me for a while before rolling us to the side so I’m on my back. He hovers over me, his long, black hair tickling my chest, his smile growing more wicked by the moment. I lean back and emit a moan when he kisses my jaw below my ear and works his lips in a series of kisses down over my neck to my breast.

  Oh, I think I’m going to be staying up far too late tonight.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The Devil’s Eye

  With the help of my alarm, I manage to wake up on time Friday morning. I grab a quick shower and get dressed in the usual flannel, jeans, and work boots, before heading down to the kitchen where Caius is busy finishing up cooking poached eggs and toast.

  I want to ask, ‘How did you get up so early?’ but when I look at him and smile, my coffee-deprived brain and my dry mouth have a disconnect. I think I might have said, “Toyota.”

  He blinks, shakes his head. “Say again?”

  “Uhh. I meant, how are you up so early?”

  Caius nods while setting my breakfast in front of me on one of those quirky square plates his mother got us. “I can see where that got mixed up.”

  I smirk. Over breakfast, Caius gets me laughing with his story about how perplexed that German metal band was when he informed them the US would never let them air a music video full of topless Valkyrie maidens strutting around with six-foot-long swords. They just couldn’t understand the problem.

  Ahh, what a lovely repressed country we are.

  After breakfast, we kiss for a bit at the front door and I head out to my truck, but before I can start it, Caius runs the ceramic owl out to me. Dammit. That wouldn’t have looked good to the captain if I forgot it.

  “Thanks, babe,” I say, kissing him again through the open window.

  “Stay safe.”

  I nod. “Toyota.”

  “Huh?” He again tilts his head at me.

  “Oh, that’s a message.” It’s in my subconscious for sure.

  “Ahh.” He nods. “Too much mugwort tea.”

  “No… I think I had the perfect amount.” I wink and back out of the driveway.

  Within minutes, I’m stuck behind a guy in a Corolla going fifteen under the speed limit. Grr. A pair of 4Runners shoots by us in the left lane. Three blocks later, I get caught at a red light and it looks like every other car going by on the cross street is a Toyota.

  I know the streets aren’t flooded with an epic amount of Japanese cars today. More that I’m noticing them more than anything else. Everywhere I turn, my gaze settles on a Toyota. I’m positive Ceridwen is sending me the message I asked for.

  A few blocks from the station, I stop to grab donuts and coffee to make good on my bet with Rick. To save hassle, I get one
of those giant boxes of coffee, like a two-pot vat instead of individual cups. They give me a paper bag full of paper cups, sugar and creamer packets, napkins and whatnot. The treats fill my passenger seat and I wind up driving to the station like a granny not to make a mess.

  Two dozen donuts, coffee, and trimmings in my arms, I make my way down the corridor to our squad room…

  And the damn trick door slams shut on my hair, trapping me. On my friggin’ hair! By some miracle, I don’t throw donuts everywhere when my head jerks back, halting my stride.

  Grr. I shift my weight side to side, trying to balance the load on one arm, but I can’t seem to find a point that will let me free one arm without everything tumbling to the ground. I sigh. Really, Hair? Really? I can just picture a faerie-like voice giggling at me. I’ve got about twelve inches of movement, not enough to do much but stand there feeling like an idiot.

  I’m sure my face is every bit as red as my blasted mane.

  It doesn’t take too long for Ed to notice me standing by the door. He gives me a quizzical look, unsure why I’m just waiting there. Andrew leans around his desk to stare at me as well. I huff, blowing a stray squiggle of red away from my right eye. Of course, it falls right back down where it was.

  “Wims?” asks Rick, standing out of his chair and peering around the corner by the water cooler. “What are you waiting for?”

  I lightly tug my head to the side until my hair stops me. “I’m a little stuck.”

  When the guys erupt in laughter, I close my eyes. Junior year of high school, a girl I didn’t quite see eye-to-eye with decided to sneak up behind and de-pants me in the middle of gym class. Bitch even yanked my panties down. That was only slightly more embarrassing than I feel right now. In fact, I think the guys would’ve teased me less over a wardrobe malfunction than the suffering I’m going to endure for this.