The District

by Carol Ericson

  Eric finally released the older man’s bony hand. “Like I said, we saw the meeting notice at Libby’s and decided to check out the meeting. I hope that’s okay. We haven’t had any problems anywhere else.”

  The man with the bat teeth nodded. “No problem, hombre.”

  As they walked across the floor to a table laden with refreshments, Eric murmured, “For a minute there I thought you were going to blow our cover.”

  Nigel put his finger to his lips and studied the plates of cookies before choosing an oatmeal raisin. “I may have screamed ‘down with the pigs’ in my younger days, Brody, but sometimes authority is a force for good.”

  “Only sometimes?” Christina picked up a chunky brown cookie and sniffed it. “Are you sure nothing here is laced with anything?”

  Nigel stretched his thin lips into a grin. “Didn’t you notice the fruit punch? There are no mind-altering drugs, including alcohol, allowed at the meetings. That cookie you’re holding may have some kind of grass cooked into it, but not the kind you’re thinking.”

  She broke the cookie in half and large crumbs dropped to the table. “This definitely is not my thing. I’m going to grab one of those brownies with the cream cheese frosting on top. Do you want the healthy vegan cookie, Eric?”

  “No, thanks. You touched it, broke it apart and sniffed it. You’d better not put it back on the plate.”

  “Ha, that’s something that Ken...” She dropped the cookie on the floor and bent over to sweep it up with a napkin. “That’s something a kid would do.”

  Eric pointed to the black smudges that stained a huge area of the scuffed floor. “This building ever catch on fire?”

  Nigel stirred sugar into his coffee. “This union hall was built on hallowed ground. At the height of the flower power movement here in the Haight-Ashbury district, witches would come to this building to cast spells and work powerful magic with incantations and ceremonies.”

  Christina shivered. Maybe that’s why she’d felt the air being sucked out of her lungs when she’d walked through those doors.

  The woman who had been guarding the entrance tapped on the microphone at the front of the room. “We’re going to get started in a few minutes. If you haven’t partaken of the refreshments, please do so. They’re all home-baked by our Bay Area members.”

  Christina crumpled the napkin with the broken cookie in it and whispered to Eric, “Doesn’t mean they’re good.”

  The woman’s announcement caused a surge for the refreshments, and Eric took Christina’s arm and led her to a folding chair in the back row. They took the seats on the end of the row, and Nigel sat in front of them.

  “Do you know what to expect?”

  Christina shook her head, her wild hair cascading around her face. “I have no idea. I doubt if my father or Vivi ever attended anything like this.”

  “Do you think they’ll talk about the murders?”

  “I can’t imagine they know much. If they had an idea members of a particular coven were being targeted, don’t you think they would’ve gone to the police?”

  He swiveled his head around. “This bunch? I’m guessing they have an innate distrust of authority, and wouldn’t be too anxious to hold themselves up to ridicule.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” She tapped his thigh. “Let’s listen.”

  After forty-five minutes of mind-numbing bylaws and politics, Christina jabbed Eric in the side with her elbow and rolled her eyes. “This is boring. When does the spell casting start?”

  “I think this may be all they do. Uh-oh.” He jerked his head forward and to the right. “Isn’t that Darius Cole, Vivi’s friend? If he sees us, he might rat us out.”

  She slumped in her chair and peered between some heads and shoulders. “I can’t tell if it’s him or not. I’ll make sure to stay out of his way as I grab another one of those brownies. I have to keep awake somehow.”

  At that moment the Witch of the West made an announcement. “We’ll take a fifteen-minute break. Bathrooms are available and there are plenty of refreshments and hot coffee.”

  Christina jumped from her hard seat and squeezed past Eric’s knees. “You see, she does read minds.”

  She shuffled up to the table and ducked between two men to grab her brownie.

  “Those are yummy, aren’t they?”

  She turned with her mouth full to face the speaker. Chewing, she pointed to her mouth and made noises. She swallowed and licked the sweet frosting from her lips. “Sorry. Yes, those are the best. Did you make them?”

  “Goodness, no. I bring the coffee.” The young woman’s gaze had strayed to Christina’s tattoo. She tilted up her chin. “You belong to that coven from down south, the one with its roots in Latin America.”

  “You know what they say.” Christina traced the henna tattoo with her fingertip. “You don’t pick the coven, the coven picks you.”

  “For some it works that way, but a lot of people are just posers.” She sliced her arm through the air, taking in half the hall.

  “Are you?” Christina offered her hand. “I’m Christina, by the way.”

  The woman took her hand in a limp grip. “I’m Uma, and I wouldn’t say I’m a poser, but I’m not the real deal. Are you the real deal?”

  “Yes.” Christina raised her chin. “It’s in my blood.”

  Uma looked to the left and then her right before taking a few steps closer to Christina and invading her personal space with her musky scent. “That might not be a good thing to brag about right now.”

  Christina’s heart thumped so hard, she feared it would cause the chains around her neck to jingle. “Because of those murders?”

  Pressing three fingertips against her lips, Uma nodded, her light-colored eyes wide.

  “Who is it? Who’s going after my coven?”

  Uma dropped her hand and raised her voice. “I’m going to beat you to that last brownie.”

  Christina jerked her head up to find that several groups of people had clustered around the table, chatting in low voices. Had she and Uma been overhead? Did it matter?

  If this was a real meeting of the Bay Area covens, they should be talking openly about the threat—unless the threat was here, under this roof.

  All of a sudden, the sweetness of the cream cheese frosting soured in her mouth and she reached for a foam cup and filled it with black coffee. She’d need it to stay awake. Who knew witches could be so boring?

  She slurped a few sips of the hot beverage as the clutches of people began to break up. Some had heard enough and headed for the exits, while others ambled back to their seats.

  Uma ducked in front of her and tossed a napkin into the trash. “If you’re drinking coffee, you’d better hit the bathroom before Elaine starts up again. She frowns upon people walking out on her.”

  “Just as long as she doesn’t turn me into a frog.” Christina smiled and raised her cup.

  Uma didn’t appreciate her attempt at humor and frowned. “The bathrooms are out back, across the quad.”

  “Thanks.”

  Christina glanced back at Eric and Nigel still talking. At least she had something to report to Eric. Uma knew about the murders and had tied them to the coven—and was afraid to talk about it openly. Maybe Uma would join her in the restroom and give her the rest of the scoop away from finely tuned ears.

  Grasping her cup with two hands, Christina wandered toward the back doors of the room. The wind tossed her hair when she stepped outside. She grabbed her skirt with one hand to keep it from billowing around her. Tilting her head back, she caught a glimpse of clouds scudding across the dark sky.

  She crossed the empty quad, veering to the left.

  The building across the quad ended in a blue door with no label and a weak light spilling over it. Christina tried the handle, but it wouldn’
t budge.

  Maybe Uma just wanted her outside to meet with her in private.

  “Uma?” The wind snatched her voice and carried it away.

  She peeked around the corner of the building and saw another door. Crossing her arms and dipping her head against the wind that whipped around the corner, she headed for this second door.

  She grasped the handle and it turned, so she yanked open the door. The breeze skittered behind her, blowing dry leaves.

  Dry leaves in the middle of the summer? She half turned and a dark shape barreled toward her out of the shadows.

  Chapter Twelve

  An arm slammed her face-first into the metal door. Her tongue smashed against the chipped paint. The coffee sloshed over the rim of the cup and scalded her hand.

  Strong fingers gripped the back of her neck and squeezed so hard she couldn’t drag in a breath.

  She’d caught a glimpse of a black mask before the attack, a black mask with eyes cut out. Glittering eyes.

  Her hand still stung from the coffee as it dangled at her side. The smell of formaldehyde burned her nostrils, and a surge of adrenaline coursed through her veins.

  “Christina?”

  Eric’s voice echoed from across the quad. The pungent odor of the formaldehyde grew stronger. Eric might not reach her in time.

  With a burst of sheer will, she jerked up her arm and tossed the coffee into her attacker’s face.

  He grunted and stumbled back.

  She slipped from his clutches and clung to the side of the building, scrambling for the corner. She screamed Eric’s name but it came out a whimper.

  She flung herself into the quad, falling to her knees.

  “Christina!”

  Eric dropped beside her and she bunched his shirt in her fists and rasped, “Go get him...around the corner.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Get him.”

  He pulled her against the wall of the building and propped her up. Then he took off around the corner.

  The door to the bathroom banged open, and Eric shouted something unintelligible.

  Had he found him? Christina held her breath.

  Then she heard footsteps and the rattling of a chain-link fence. “I think he went over the fence.”

  She braced her hand against the rough, uneven wall and pushed herself up. She edged around the corner.

  Eric stood at the end of the cement walkway, clinging to a chain-link fence and shaking it.

  “I-is he gone?”

  “Looks like it.” He strode back to her and engulfed her in his arms. “What the hell happened out here? I thought you went for a brownie?”

  “I had to use the restroom, and someone attacked me from behind. Pinched my neck and was about to douse me with formaldehyde. He was distracted by your voice and I threw coffee in his face.”

  His arms tightened around her. “Christina, that’s not a restroom.”

  “What are you talking about? Uma told me they were out here.”

  “Who’s Uma?”

  “A woman I met by the brownies—tall, blond curly hair. She told me the ladies’ room was across the quad.”

  “There’s a unisex bathroom right by the hall entrance. That’s some utility room.”

  “Oh, my God.” She put a shaky hand to her forehead. “Uma, she lured me out here because she knew someone was waiting for me.”

  “I’m sick of this secrecy.” He cinched an arm around her waist and started crossing the quad.

  She dug her heels into the cement. “Hold on. What are you doing?”

  “It just became open mic night at this boring meeting, and I’m taking the floor.”

  “Eric, I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

  “Sure it is. Are we going to cower outside and pretend you weren’t just attacked?”

  He pushed through the door back into the hall, and marched to the front of the room, his motorcycle boots clomping on the floor.

  “What are you doing? It’s not time for question-and-answer yet.”

  “Sure it is, Elaine.” He grabbed the microphone from its stand on the podium and crossed in front of the room.

  “My partner here was just attacked outside in the quad. A woman named Uma sent her out there looking for the restroom.”

  Murmurs rose around the room and furtive glances were exchanged.

  “Yeah, I said partner. She and I are with the FBI’s serial killer unit and we’re investigating the murders of Liz Fielding and Nora Sterling, and two other murders of a man and a woman out of state.”

  It seemed as if everyone let out their breath at once or let loose some giant hissing snake.

  “We know the murders are connected to a particular cult, Los Brujos de Invierno and we want some answers.”

  The chanting started in the back of the room, and goose bumps spread across Christina’s flesh as more and more people took up the chant.

  “Simbala, sarai, simabala, sarai.”

  It swirled around the room and Christina had to grab the back of a chair to stay upright as the sibilant sounds washed over her.

  Eric was gripping the microphone with two hands, a scowl creasing his face. His eyes sought hers, but she shrugged weakly.

  When the chanting had subsided to a whisper, Elaine stepped toward Eric and asked for the microphone.

  “We’re sorry your partner was attacked, Agent Brody, but that’s what happens when you play with fire.”

  “What are you talking about? What was that chanting?”

  “The coven you speak of has turned to the shadows. The members of that coven have always flirted with the dark side. You of all people should understand that.”

  “What? How would I know that? I don’t know anything about this coven except that some of its members have a bull’s-eye on their backs.”

  “And we’re sorry for that, too. We knew Nora. She didn’t practice the dark arts, but it’s guilt by association.”

  Eric pressed the heels of his hands against his temples, probably to keep his head from exploding. “Are you trying to tell me that some other coven or some witches are eliminating members of this coven because they’re evil? Sort of an internal housecleaning?”

  Elaine spoke into the microphone. “This meeting is over. Please clean up after yourselves, and someone put the trash out.”

  Eric crossed his arms and rested one booted foot on a chair. “Are you going to answer me?”

  “Why? You’ve figured it out.”

  “But who is it? I don’t care what the motivation is, it’s still murder and you said yourself, Nora didn’t deserve to die.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “We don’t know who it is.”

  “And if you did, you wouldn’t tell us anyway.”

  Her other shoulder joined its mate, and then she crouched down to unplug the mic.

  “Wait a minute. How did you know my name?”

  She twisted her head to the side and met his eyes with hers. “I’m a San Francisco native. I know the Brody story.”

  A finger poked his gut, sending a quiver of unease up his spine. What was it with these witches and his family? What did the suspicions about his father have to do with a coven of witches?

  “You can’t condone what’s happening now to innocent people.”

  “We don’t condone it, but we’re powerless to stop it.”

  Christina asked, “What was that chanting for?”

  “To ward off evil at the mention of that coven.”

  “You’re confused. I think the person who’s doing the killing is the real evil.”

  “If you knew what that coven was capable of, you wouldn’t be sporting that tattoo. If you know what’s good for you, get it removed.”

 
The lights flickered once and the hall cleared out.

  Before she locked the door, Elaine turned to them. “Are you going to call the police?”

  Eric leaned against the wall where Christina stood hugging herself. He should be the one doing that. “Do you want to report your attack to the police, Christina?”

  “No. They’re not going to find anything, and I don’t want them smirking behind my back.”

  “It wouldn’t do any good anyway.” Elaine hitched a huge bag over her shoulder and ambled down the sidewalk.

  He trailed his fingers down the angry red marks on Christina’s throat. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Do you think he was going to kill me?”

  “With a little formaldehyde? I doubt it.”

  “A warning, then? He couldn’t have thought he could drag my limp body over that fence.”

  Eric smacked his hand against the closed door of the union hall. “This little charade raised more questions than it answered, didn’t it?”

  “We know the motive now.”

  “Is that really the motive? Who knows?”

  They walked down one block to a busier part of the district, and Eric pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’m going to call a taxi.”

  She rubbed his arm. “I’m okay. Are you? All these people seem to know you.”

  He ordered a taxi and shoved the phone back into his pocket. “I don’t understand why all these old witches seem to know Brody business. What was it about my father’s case that attracted their interest? You should know. You’re an expert on my father’s case.”

  Biting her lip, she kicked the curb with the pointed toe of her shoe. “You said it yourself. One of your kidnappers was wearing the same necklace that Liz Fielding had on at the time of her death—the symbol of the coven—the dark coven, apparently.”

  A taxi barreled down the street and did a U-turn, pulling to a stop in front of them. They collapsed in the backseat and Eric called out the name of their hotel in Union Square.

  “Where was Nigel after the break?”

  “He left.”

  Christina sucked in a breath. “Before or after my...encounter in the quad?”