The Trouble with Magic

by Madelyn Alt

  "If you had any decency at all, you wouldn't be standing in front of me," he hissed. "You're not wanted here."

  Felicity shook her head in mock amazement. "Decency? Yet another word I never expected to hear coming from your lips, Jeremy. How you surprise me."

  Someone cleared their throat nearby, the sound intruding upon the tension of the moment.

  "Something I can do, Daddy?"

  Jacquilyn had approached from behind, appearing quite suddenly and quite ready to come to her father's aid.

  "Actually," Jeremy said, his ice chip eyes clashing with Felicity's calm stare, "your aunt was just leaving."

  Felicity stood her ground, just as I knew she would. "Not," she persisted, "until I say farewell to Isabella."

  Jacquilyn cut in and smoothly took her aunt's arm, effectively edging me out of the picture. "Let me come with you, Auntie."

  Felicity allowed herself to be drawn toward the casket, leaving me to trail along behind. Until that moment, we'd remained along the fringes of the viewing room; I'd been able to forget that we'd come for more than people watching. Now the moment I'd dreaded had arrived, and I found myself doing something I hadn't done in nearly twenty years… Approaching an occupied casket.

  Chapter Eight

  The mahogany casket loomed before me, a remembered image that haunted me even as it drew me irrevocably nearer. So big, so polished, so black.

  Breathe, Maggie. Just breathe, I told myself as I locked my gaze to the shifting shoulder blades of the two women walking just ahead of me. There's nothing to worry about. Nothing to fear. Death is just a part of life. People do this all the time.

  Nothing to fear.

  Step by step, moment by agonizing moment, I moved forward through the crowd that had gathered to pay their respects. There was something strange and otherworldly about my procession across the room. It was as if time had begun to shift and buckle, as if it were something physical and tangible that one could perceive beyond the abstract concept like a beam of light that could be bent or changed.

  Oh, Maggie, honey, that does it. That flat out does it. You are going nuts. You're really losing it.

  But even more unsettling than the sensation of time breaking free of its usually precise framework was the return of the anxiety I thought I had conquered. Six feet from the casket I slammed up against it—an invisible, impenetrable mass that called my name in a thousand whispered voices. I stopped in my tracks, frozen by the depths of an unreasonable panic even as Felicity and Jacqui paused by the closed casket, unaware of my distress. I'd been such a fool—there was no escaping this wall of fear and dread.

  My breath came harder, faster, impossible to control. I opened my mouth to call out to Felicity, but no sound came.

  I was lost. Alone in the middle of a crowded room.

  Stars twinkled before my eyes. Perspiration stung sharply beneath my arms.

  Terror… Complete, overwhelming terror.

  I swayed on my feet and closed my eyes. I felt as though I were falling in slow motion, tumbling head over heels, wildly plummeting to an uncertain end. A shriek rose in my throat to echo the one I heard reverberating in my head. Raw and primal, it snagged there in my vocal chords, aching for release. Somehow I managed to hold it in, but the effort left me trembling and weak. The stars in my field of vision winked out, replaced in negative by pinpricks of darkness that expanded like the blooming of a terrible black rose.

  Without warning I felt strong fingers wrap around my elbow.

  "Easy does it. Here, let's just get you out of here. You look as white as a sheet."

  An arm snaked behind me, supporting me at my waist. I surrendered without resistance, allowing myself to be led back through the multitude of bodies, and out into the bracing night air. It tasted wonderful. I sucked in great gulps of it, filling my lungs to bursting and blowing away the cobwebs that clouded the inside of my pounding skull.

  The hands remained at my waist and elbow until I felt capable of standing on my own.

  With an apologetic, if shaky, laugh, I ducked away at last. "Sorry about that. I don't know what came over me in there."

  Just thinking about what I'd just experienced threatened to dislodge my tenuous grip on reality, so I turned to face my rescuer.

  He was tall and well dressed, polished in a way I didn't usually associate with the men in Stony Mill. His tan was as golden and unnatural as a tanning bed membership will allow. Obviously another of Stony Mill's growing elite force. Perhaps because of the prep-school flip of his hair, I was reminded of a certain British film star whose boyish good looks and self-deprecating charm had masked a dark side few had imagined of him. I didn't recognize him, but I smiled my thanks anyway, all the while thinking how much he looked like a younger version of Jeremy Harding. Smooth. Unruffled. Confident. The kind of person who made me feel anything but.

  "All better now?" He sent me a benevolent smile.

  "Yes, thanks," I said, wondering where I'd put my composure. "I think so."

  "I'm glad. We almost lost you in there."

  He looked at me in a way that made me feel like a bug under the burning glare of a microscope. It didn't feel at all flattering.

  I smoothed my palm over my hair, wondering if I looked anything at all like I felt. The prospect wasn't pretty. I felt like I had been run over by a Mack truck.

  "I haven't introduced myself, have I," he said suddenly, extending his hand to me. "Ryan Davidson. I knew Isabella through hospital circles. Wonderful woman. Too bad, all this."

  Certainly that was an understatement from Isabella's point of view, but from the standpoint of the living, what more could one say?

  "Maggie O'Neill," I supplied. "So you knew Isabella, then. Of course you must have, being here." Well, I was there and I didn't know her at all, but logic didn't always make sense, now, did it? Not in my world. "Did you know her well?"

  He shrugged and put his hands in the pockets of his wool flannel trousers, rucking up the front of his Harvard blue blazer. "We were business colleagues, Ms. O'Neill, nothing more."

  His answer was quick and perhaps a trifle too firm, but I put that down to the situation. "I see. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

  "Nothing to worry about. I didn't mean to be short with you. It's just that Isabella's death was such a waste. A damn shame."

  I murmured in agreement.

  "And how did you know Isabella? I thought I knew everyone here."

  Whoops. So much for playing mum. "I, well, I accompanied a friend of mine. Isabella's sister, in fact."

  "Aha. So you're Felicity's friend." He reached into an inner breast pocket to pull out a cigarette. From his slacks he brought out an old-style, fliptop lighter, the kind my grandpa was fond of carrying. "I had wondered."

  The bug-under-a-microscope feeling intensified. I did my best not to squirm.

  He cupped his hand around the end of his cigarette and leaned into his lighter. When a puff or two had the tip glowing hot, he waved it at me, a strange glint in his eye. "I probably shouldn't say this, but to hell with it. I didn't think Isabella and Felicity were on speaking terms. At least, that's the impression I got on the rare occasion Isabella spoke of her."

  It was an odd, gossipy thing to say, and I wasn't about to satisfy his curiosity. "You seem to have known Isabella a bit better than you think."

  He took a long drag on his cigarette, then laughed on the exhale. "I guess I knew her well enough. Isabella was a strong voice on the board. Fearless. Everyone admired that of her."

  "The board?"

  "Hospital board of directors. I've acted as legal counsel for the board for the past four years. Bella had… plans. Some of them required more of a legal presence than others." He shrugged. "We worked well together."

  If his choice to divulge these things to me seemed out of place, it was the sort of thing I had gotten used to long ago. One of the peculiarities of my life thus far was an inexplicable tendency to be sought out as confidante by any number of people. I was a g
ood listener, some had told me. Others didn't seem to realize what they'd shared at all. Whatever the cause, the personal revelations and secrets they shared seemed to leave them with a sense of release, but left me feeling troubled and ill at ease.

  This time it was different, though. Ryan Davidson knew exactly what he was doing, and I had a feeling it had nothing to do with reminiscing about his board buddy Isabella.

  Of course that didn't mean I couldn't do a bit of careful digging myself. Someone had killed Isabella. You never knew which of her acquaintances might hold the key to identifying the killer.

  I pretended to be impressed, "Legal counsel for the board. That sounds terribly important."

  "One never knows where the next lawsuit will come from," came his enthusiastic response, spoken with an unchanging smile. "My job is to advise the directors in every imaginable legal aspect. Frightening stuff, at times. Not for the faint of heart."

  "And Isabella's heart?"

  "Like I said. Fearless." Another drag while the. cigarette tip smoldered. "She was absolutely unstoppable when it came to her pet projects. Never took no for an answer."

  Isabella was a mover and a shaker? I'd had the impression she was just your average bored society wife. "What kind of pet projects?"

  "Recently? Recently she was advocating the cause of the unwed mother. Quite vociferously, too. She wanted the hospital to create a special clinic for women. Family planning, pregnancy testing" He paused for a moment, then added, "Abortions."

  I blinked at this. An abortion clinic, here in Stony Mill? Was she crazy? "Wow, That was some pet project."

  "I see you understand the gravity of the situation."

  That I did. Anywhere else north of the Mason-Dixon Line, that kind of clinic might not have been out of line. Anywhere else it might have been seen as progressive. But here, where the Bible Belt mentality was the order of the day, Isabella was lucky she hadn't been run out of town on a witch-hunt.

  "She did have some of her regular opponents in an uproar over the idea," he continued, carelessly flicking his half-smoked and still glowing butt at the base of the tree that was providing us with shelter. "The Reverend Baxter Martin, for one. I think I can say without reserve that the old boy hated Bella's guts. In a purely Christian way, of course."

  I smiled.

  "He was always popping up at odd times with petitions against this or that. Tried to stir up trouble with his supporters. I think he even went a little crazy for a while. I know Isabella took out a restraining order against him a year or two ago, but then he stepped off the face of the earth for a time, and when he came back, I for one never heard another word about him. I always figured perhaps his family sent him away somewhere, to get his head together." He took a moment to grind the smoking remnants of his cigarette under the heel of his shoe. "Anyway, Isabella had no sooner presented her ideas to the board two weeks ago than the whole thing was leaked to outsiders."

  "Who would have done something like that?"

  His lips twisted sardonically. "Who indeed?"

  I was still pondering this a moment later when he cleared his throat to signal the end of our little discussion.

  "Well," he said. "I'm glad you're feeling better. The crowd appears to be thinning out now, so I expect I'll go back in and rub some elbows. Maybe it is a little crass to use a viewing for a bit of down-home networking, but when you're shooting for a seat in Congress, you can't let yourself get squeamish about seizing the opportunities afforded to you. As my benefactor and primary supporter, I know Isabella would have understood."

  I held out my hand to him. "Thank you for coming to my assistance when I needed it most."

  "You can thank me by giving me your vote. Here's my card. Just to be sure you don't forget my name when the time comes." His toothy grin conjured images of the big, bad wolf. No doubt he meant to be charming, but then, so did the furry guy with the teeth and appetite. That kind of super-slick maneuvering never failed to send my antennae up. Somehow I doubted I would be moved to vote for Mr. Davidson when the next primaries came around. "Will you be going back in as well?"

  "I think I'll stay out here awhile longer, thanks."

  "Suit yourself."

  There was no way I was going back in there. Instead, I watched him from the sidewalk, huddling beneath the widespread bowers of the massive old oak as he took the stairs two springy steps at a time. As he opened the door, I saw a flash of movement just inside. Someone stepped quickly out of sight and out of the way.

  Had that someone been watching us?

  I shivered, chilled as much by the thought as by the night air seeping through the weave of my thin sweater. My jacket would have been welcome, but it had been left behind, and like I said, there was no way in hell I was going back in there. Instead I tried to shake off the unease creeping up on me, rubbing my hands up and down my arms to chase away the goosebumps that had gathered there like scales of protective armor.

  I must have been mistaken. There was no reason for anyone to be watching us. No reason at all.

  Over my head, a freshening wind caught in the thick boughs of the tree, whipping them into a sudden frenzy of motion. It smelled of autumn, of wood smoke, of dried and dying things. I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of it, susurrant and hushed as it whispered through the remaining leaves, powerful and fierce as it whined past the bell tower of the church across the street. So wild. I lifted my face, expecting to see a gathering brace of storm clouds. Instead, through the maze of branches, I saw only a moonless expanse of velvety black sky punctuated by a million twinkling stars.

  All around me the town had gone quiet. Not a single bird twittered. Not a single motor roared to life. Not a single dog barked. I was alone with the wind, the stars…

  And the shadows.

  One of them moved. I stared hard at it, willing it to stop, mentally demanding that it reveal itself as nothing more threatening than a bush or shrub or any other innocuous thing.

  "Maggie?"

  I nearly jumped out of my skin until I recognized the voice as Felicity's. With my hand pressed to my heart to keep it from tearing free of its moorings, I turned in the direction of her voice. "Jeez-Oh-Pete. you nearly killed me, Liss, coming up behind me like that. Why didn't you come out the front? I've been watching for you."

  "Jeremy was holding court in front of the door. I didn't feel I could face him again, so I slipped out a side exit." She held my coat out to me. I took it with a rush of relief. "I didn't realize you'd already stepped outside until I couldn't find you."

  "I didn't feel well all of a sudden," I said, responding to the unspoken question in her voice. The coat gave me instant protection from the relentless chill of the night breezes, but I couldn't stop shivering. The cold I felt went somehow deeper than that. "Someone saw that I was having trouble and helped me out for some air. Ryan Davidson was his name."

  Her laugh pealed out, and she hooked her arm through mine as we walked toward the parking lot. "That man doesn't miss a thing. I hope you didn't let him hoodwink you. He's a right proper sham artist. A wolf in sheep's clothing."

  I thought back to the gleam of his teeth in the twilight and to the shortage of character I had sensed—no, known—during our brief exchange. Call me judgmental, but I'd always been able to trust my first impressions, and I knew this impression was right on the money.

  "I'll never understand what Isabella saw in the man," Felicity continued as we neared her Lexus. She pressed a button on her remote. The dome light came on, followed by the mechanical click-crunch of the locks lifting. "After Jeremy, one would think she'd have realized the problems associated with trusting a man whose only assets are a pretty face and misplaced ambition."

  It took a moment for the meaning behind her comment to register. I stood there, my hand forgotten on the door latch. "Ryan Davidson and… Isabella?"

  "Without a doubt."

  Would wonders never cease? I don't know why I was so surprised, really. I didn't know Isabella, but if the last
few days had taught me anything, it was that appearances and truths rarely coincide. Maybe it was just that I'd expected her to be more like Felicity—they were sisters, no matter how estranged, and since I had come to see my boss as both honorable and an astute judge of human nature, it seemed natural to assume that Isabella might have inherited those same qualities by default. Family resemblances, and all that. And yet what had I learned about her so far? That she had a unfaithful husband and an Ice Maiden daughter. That she served on the board of the hospital, advocated for women's issues, and dabbled in politics, if Mr. Davidson could be believed. That she herself had cheated at least once with Felicity's late husband. And that before her death she had had a thing going with her hospital associate, one Mr. Ryan Davidson.

  We were silent for a moment as we got in the car and closed ourselves in, each preoccupied by her own thoughts.

  "Mr. Davidson told me he'd hardly known Isabella," I murmured, still working through the details.

  "Did he?"

  She sounded amused. I. on the other hand, was miffed.

  "Well, if that just isn't… Doesn't anyone believe in honesty anymore?" I grumbled. "Why would he lie?"

  It wasn't the lying, so much. There was just no point to it. It offended that fastidious side of me that believed that the world should make sense. Somehow.

  Always realistic, Felicity shrugged. "Who knows? Self-preservation is my bet. With Ryan, everything is about self-preservation. Darwin would have loved the man. He fully embraces the notion of survival of the fittest. Really, I'm not certain he even knows how to tell the truth. It isn't his nature."

  I squinted at her across the dark womb of the car. "You seem to know a lot about him."

  "He served on the town council with Gerald—my late husband—a few years back," Felicity said, her gaze never wavering from the road ahead. "Typical small-town affairs, but apparently Ryan let it be known he believed our little haven to he a mere stepping stone on the road to a much higher level of success. He may be young and he may be easy on the eves, but he's no innocent."