The District

by Carol Ericson

  “I thought that Darius character said they were in the city, and Vivi must’ve known where you were staying since she told Darius.”

  “It could’ve been the same time I was in Portland.”

  “Why didn’t she just call you? She does have your number, right? Or she could’ve gotten it from your mom.”

  She held up her hands. “As far as I know she has it. But logic and Vivi don’t belong in the same sentence.”

  “That must’ve been just about the same time she left Santa Cruz.”

  “On her way from there to here to somewhere else, but where?”

  “My brother hasn’t called me back either, so no progress on that front.” Eric picked up his phone. “Wait a minute.”

  “Is it Judd?”

  “An email from the dermatology clinic.” He tapped his phone and whistled. “I think we just found our connection.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Let me see. Is it the same symbol?” She stretched out her hand, but he ignored it and walked his chair next to hers.

  He held out his phone with one hand, cupping it with the other. “See for yourself. Looks like Victor Juarez was a member of the same coven as Nora and Liz.”

  “And my sister.”

  “Whom we can’t find.”

  Christina took a long pull of ice water to soothe her dry throat. “There’s still Libby. Do you want to pay her another visit today?”

  “I think that’s a good idea.” He held up another piece of bread. “Just as soon as I devour my chowder and the bowl it came in.”

  When they finished their lunch, they took another bus up to The Haight.

  “I’m glad I’m not driving today. It’s more crowded than it was last night.”

  “Tourists. The name Haight-Ashbury district still carries the old mystique for some, doesn’t it? Even though hipsters have replaced the flower children.”

  “It wasn’t all peace and love back then either. Don’t forget Charlie Manson hung out here and hooked up with some of his disciples on these very streets.”

  “You would know that. Why were you reading about serial killers instead of playing with Barbie dolls?”

  “Can’t tell you that, Eric. I tried to explain it to you before, but I can’t even explain it to myself.”

  “Except that you have some kind of connection with them—the killers.”

  “To their evil side. I wish I didn’t, but there it is. Maybe it led me to this work, and it’s my way of doing good. My way of taking something dark and exposing it to the light.”

  “I’m glad it brought you...here.”

  She raised her eyes to his face, but he’d turned away and was pointing ahead.

  “Alley’s right there. Let’s see if Libby’s open for business.”

  They turned down the alley lined with shops, which looked a little tawdry without the colored lights glowing in the dark. Libby’s bookshop was situated near the Lower Haight where the Victorians were a little shabbier and the street people a little grittier. The door to Kindred Spirits was closed, but the open sign faced the street so they pushed through to the shop. The bells overhead jingled and a cloud of incense wafted out the door.

  Libby looked up from her conversation with a customer and waved.

  “This is the book to get you started. If you have any kind of gift at all, you’ll find out soon enough when you start working with the cards.”

  “Thank you. I’ve always wanted to learn how to read tarot cards.”

  As Libby turned to ring up the sale, she winked at Christina.

  After Libby ushered her patron out the door, she glided back behind the counter. “You’re back. You must have more evidence to back up my claim.”

  “Maybe.” Eric picked up an orb and held the blue glass to his face. “What’s this?”

  “It wards off evil spirits, Agent Brody.” She twisted her gray braid around her hand and studied the end. “Are you in need of something like that?”

  “I’m not, but members of a particular coven might be.”

  Christina clicked her fingernails on the glass counter. “What’s going on, Libby? Why would one coven want to get rid of another?”

  “I’m somewhat of a coven historian. I have traced the familial lines of the great families and have worked on the family trees, but your theory is as good as mine. I have no idea why this purge is going on.”

  “Has it happened before between covens?” Eric placed the glass ball back in the basket.

  “Not in modern times. Not that I’m aware of.”

  Christina asked, “What were the reasons in the past for these types of...purges?”

  Libby held up her thin hand, the blue veins crisscrossing beneath her flesh, and ticked off her fingers with each word. “Power, money, love, revenge. All the usual reasons. I’m sure you’ve seen it all in your line of work, and it’s no different in the world of the occult.”

  Eric brushed her ear with a whisper. “Told you so.”

  “You haven’t heard anything else about the murders? Did Nora ever talk to you about any of it or any of her fears?” Christina couldn’t help but make comparisons between Nora and Vivi, but Vivi had known enough to go into hiding.

  “I just know there was trouble brewing, but I don’t know the details. I have certain...sensitivities, but I’m not a witch.”

  “What about Nigel?” Eric made a turn around the shop and stopped in front of a cork bulletin board.

  Libby chuckled. “Nigel’s an old hippie who lives on the fringes of the occult world—definitely not a witch.”

  “What’s this?” Eric reached up and yanked a piece of paper from the bulletin board. He slapped it down on the counter in front of Libby.

  She smoothed the paper with her wrinkled hands. “It looks like a gathering of witches, doesn’t it? Right in the Lower Haight at the old union hall. Some say that’s sacred ground for witches and brujos, a place of great power.”

  Christina grabbed the notice by the corner and tugged it across the counter. “What coven is this?”

  “It’s all covens, Christina. The individual covens are too small and spread apart to have exclusive meetings. This is a geographic coven for northern California.”

  “The meeting is tonight.” Eric tapped the paper. “And we’re going.”

  Libby stepped back. “You can’t. They’re not going to allow just anyone to waltz into their meeting.”

  “But I’m not just anyone.” Christina spread her arms wide. “You said it yourself. People don’t choose covens—they’re born into them. I belong at that meeting and I’m going.”

  “We’re going.” Eric swept the notice from the counter, folded it and shoved it into his front pocket.

  Libby’s mouth hung open, her faded blue eyes wide. “You can’t just barge in there asking questions like the FBI.”

  “We’re not going to barge into the meeting.” Christina clapped her hands, her heart racing. “I know the symbol of my coven, and I’m going to wear it proudly.”

  “Now I know you’re crazy.” Libby gripped the edge of the counter and leaned forward. “You’ll be putting yourself in danger.”

  “I’ll be putting myself in a position to get some information. Besides, I’ll have my weapon on me.”

  “A gathering of witches and Wiccan is not going to let you walk in there with a gun.”

  “Then I’ll have something better than my weapon.” She jerked her thumb toward Eric. “I’ll have him.”

  “I don’t know, Christina. I’m with Libby on this one. You’re going to be putting yourself in the direct line of fire. Let me handle this.”

  “They’re not going to let you into the meeting by yourself, Eric. Besides, what do you think I’m on this job for? We’re a team.”

/>   “I know that.” He rubbed his hand across his mouth. “How are you going to get a necklace like the one Liz had? SFPD is not going to allow you to take that out of the evidence lockup.”

  “Who needs a necklace? I’m going to get a tattoo.”

  “That’s a little extreme, even for you.”

  Libby shook her head. “I don’t like this.”

  Christina rolled her eyes. “A temporary tattoo. With that baby, I’ll have carte blanche into any witches’ meeting in the Western Hemisphere.”

  “Tattoo parlor?”

  And just like that, Eric was on board. She knew she could count on him. He definitely had that protective streak—all the Brody brothers had it—but he liked his women strong, as long as he could be there to back them up. Weak women reminded him of his drug-addled mother.

  “I give up.” Libby hugged herself. “Turn right out of the alley, walk a few blocks and you’ll be in the middle of a whole street teeming with them. I’ve heard Ink Masters does good work.”

  “Ink Masters, it is.” Eric rapped on the counter with his knuckles. “Thanks, Libby.”

  As they walked out the door, she called after them. “Be careful.”

  But the tinkling of the bells and the drumming of Christina’s heart drowned out her words of warning.

  Eric took her hand and laced his fingers through hers. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

  “It’s not a real tattoo, silly.”

  He squeezed her hand. “You know damn well that’s not what I meant.”

  “It’s just a witches’ meeting. What could possibly go wrong? It’s not like they’re going to be practicing any human sacrifice.”

  “And you know this, how?”

  Laughing, she dug her nails into his skin. “I think this is going to give us some good leads.”

  “I think you’re a little too excited about being with your own kind.”

  She snorted and tugged on his arm. “Look. We just entered the tattoo mecca.”

  They strolled past a few shops until they reached the end of the block, where Ink Masters reigned supreme in the bottom floor of a pink Victorian.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to do this with me, for real? You know, his and hers.” She tapped his denim-clad backside and it felt as good as ever.

  He turned a dark green gaze on her, hot enough to melt her little gold earrings. “Only if I can pick the precise spot on your body.”

  Prickles of heat needled several precise spots on her body. “Umm, just kidding.”

  He opened the door for her and as she brushed past him, his whispered words followed her into the tattoo parlor. “I wasn’t.”

  She turned sharply, but he was studying the tattoo designs on the walls with an impassive face. Had she imagined those words?

  A young woman, a sleeve of colorful art creeping down one arm, stepped from behind the counter. “Can I help you?”

  Christina swallowed, looking at the woman’s impressive ink and hoped her request wouldn’t get her laughed out of the shop.

  She cleared her throat. “I’d like to get a temporary tattoo. Do you even do those here?”

  “Absolutely. Saves you from getting it removed later when,” she whispered, her eyes flicked to Eric as her pierced nostrils flared, “you dump the dude.”

  “Oh, it’s not for, uh, a dude. There’s a symbol I’d like you to re-create for me.”

  Eric pulled the dog-eared piece of paper from his pocket and shook it out. “Can you duplicate this?”

  The woman shrugged a pair of skinny shoulders. “Piece of cake. Just tell us where you want it.”

  “And the color?” Suarez’s tattoo had been black and red.

  “We use a henna tattoo, so it’ll be a reddish-brown color.” She wrinkled her nose. “We don’t use the black henna. That stuff’s vile.”

  “I’ll take your word for it, and I want the design on the inside of my wrist.” Christina rotated her arm to reveal her inner forearm.

  “Let me have the pattern, and I’ll give it to J.C. He does most of our henna temp tats since he has a light touch.”

  After several minutes, J.C. emerged from the back, heavily inked, like all the tattoo artists in the place. He led her to a reclining chair and cleaned her skin and his hands. “This is an interesting design. What is it?”

  “It’s a Wiccan symbol.” She watched J.C.’s face closely for any kind of reaction, but he didn’t blink an eye.

  “Are you a Wiccan? I know a couple of Wiccan, but between you and me I think they’re BS-ing me.”

  “It’s all in fun, really.” She settled against the chair and closed her eyes while J.C. started working on her arm.

  Eric chatted with J.C. about the tattoo artist’s process and some of his weirder requests.

  In less time than she thought possible, J.C. was putting the finishing touches on her temporary tattoo. “Let me know if you want any changes.”

  She inspected her new ink. “Looks just like Victor’s, doesn’t it?”

  “Except the colors.” Eric lightly clasped her wrist and held her arm up to the light.

  “Lilith explained about the henna, right? Can’t do different colors.”

  “Oh, yeah. She told us. No problem.”

  “If you like it, you can come back for the real thing and you can have any color you like.” J.C. gathered his tools and went off to his next canvas of flesh.

  “I like it. What do you think?”

  “If it helps us get into the meeting tonight, I’m all for it.” Eric pulled out some cash to pay for the tattoo and ducked his head to place his lips close to her ear. “Somehow I don’t think the Bureau would appreciate reimbursing us for a tattoo.”

  “I don’t know why not. It’s a work-related expense.”

  “I’ll let you explain that to Rich.”

  As they strolled back onto the street, Christina held up her arm to admire her new ink. “I kind of like it.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t flash that around.” Eric took a step in front of her as if to shield her from unwelcome attention.

  She poked him in the back. “That’s the point, isn’t it?”

  “For tonight, but you don’t have to bring any weirdos out of the woodwork before the meeting.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” She pressed her arm against her side. “I’d like to get back to the hotel and give that case file another go. Now that we’ve definitely linked Juarez to the other two victims, I’m positive we’ll find something on the very first victim to tie her to all of this.”

  “Maybe Olivia kept a lower profile—no tattoos, no jewelry, no working in occult bookstores.”

  “Her killer identified her somehow. There must’ve been something she did or had that marked her as a member of this coven.” She fished some bills out of her pocket as the bus squealed to a stop at the curb. “I’ll get your bus fare.”

  They hopped on the bus, and a young man sporting an Afro with a silver streak jumped to his feet and waved her to his seat.

  She thanked him and settled in the seat, while Eric hung on to the handrail above her. When the bus bolted into traffic, Eric’s hips jerked dangerously close to her face.

  She let her gaze linger on the way his abs tensed beneath the soft cotton of his T-shirt and how the denim hugged his muscled thighs. Excitement bubbled through her blood at the thought of working with him tonight. The hint of danger only heightened the thrill. That’s how they’d fallen in love in the first place.

  When he’d broken off their engagement and left her, he believed she’d sought him out because he was Joseph Brody’s son and she’d been enthralled by the story of a homicide detective turned suspected serial killer. And he was right.

  But once she met Eric Brody in the flesh, his father�
�s story couldn’t compare to the powerful connection she’d felt for him right from the start. The connection they felt for each other.

  She felt it again. It never left. She had to try to make him understand her reasons for keeping the pregnancy from him, but her mother was right. Even if the truth turned him from her once again, he’d never turn from his daughter. He had a right to know his daughter.

  “This is us.” He tapped her on the head, and she grasped the bar to pull herself up.

  The bus lurched to a stop, and she swayed against him, her breasts brushing his chest.

  “Whoa.” He curled an arm around her waist to keep her there, and his heart pounded against her chest.

  Was the beat faster than normal? Harder than normal? Did he feel the connection again, too?

  They jumped onto the sidewalk seconds before the bus rumbled forward.

  Eric coughed as the exhaust rolled over them. “We seem to be having some major problems with vehicles in this city.”

  “Do you think the car last night could’ve been an accident?”

  “After someone left you that symbol on your windshield?” He brushed two fingers across her new tattoo. “Seems like a big coincidence.”

  “Could’ve happened to any pedestrian on a crowded street.”

  “But it happened to you.”

  “Then maybe I didn’t even need the tattoo.” She stabbed the button for the crosswalk signal. “Maybe I’m already a marked woman.”

  They sailed through the hotel lobby and stepped into the elevator with another couple and a flushed-faced businessman who kept glancing at the floor numbers. All three of them got off on the same floor, and when the doors shut, Eric crowded her into a corner of the car and placed his hands against the wall on either side of her head.

  “Promise me you’ll be careful tonight.”

  She painted a cross above her heart with the tip of her finger. “I promise.”

  She’d promise him anything right about now if he’d stay right where he was. No, maybe a little closer.

  He did a push-up off the wall and retreated to his side of the car. “Sorry. I just know how intense you are and how much you get caught up in your work. Worries the hell out of me.”