Pentacle Pawn Boxed Set

by Amanda Hartford

  “You’re going away again.”

  “For now,” Alex said, his voice far away. “She's somewhere safe, at least for now. She can't hurt anybody else. But we both know she'll find a way out, and then she'll come looking. She’ll always find me; she always has. She believes that she just needs better incantations or bigger magic to bind me.”

  Her mother would always be pitted against her father. It broke Lissa’s heart. “It has to end,” she said.

  Alex nodded.

  “Be well, Daddy,” she said.

  “Be well, daughter,” Alex said he stepped into the shadows and disappeared.

  ♦

  I mailed Swensen a check for the full value of the auroch drinking horn, paid out of Pentacle Pawn’s inventory account. Now that I owned it outright, I could find Ajax a home.

  Daisy met me for breakfast, and we did the paperwork. She wrote the shop a check for the amount I’d paid Swensen for the horn; she left with a battered trombone case under her arm and a single crumpled dollar bill in her needlepoint bag.

  ♦

  That same morning, Daisy invited Barry to lunch at her condo. He was puzzled at the invitation, but he went. When he showed up, he found the trombone case sitting in the middle of her patio table.

  “Is that Ajax?” he asked, awestruck.

  Daisy nodded, trying to keep a straight face.

  “What’s he doing here?” Barry asked. Then, embarrassed by his forwardness, he backtracked. “Sorry, ma’am. I mean...”

  “I bought the horn from Maggie,” Daisy said.

  Barry’s eyes fell.

  “Take a seat, boy,” Daisy said. “We need to talk.”

  They sat at the wrought iron patio table surrounded by herbs and roses, and Daisy poured Barry a glass of lemonade. The young cowboy looked as if he was about to explode.

  “I understand that you are the only person on this planet who can properly control my auroch. Is that true?”

  Barry didn’t lift his eyes, but he nodded.

  “You understand that it takes a powerful witch to own that auroch, don’t you?” Barry was nodding along.

  “I bought the drinking horn to keep it safe from people like Swensen,” Daisy was saying, “but I don’t exactly have room for him here.” She gestured around the tiny patio. “Are you interested in taking care of him for me?”

  Barry’s eyes went wide. He was speechless.

  “So, what do you say?” Daisy nudged.

  Barry was bobbing his head. He tugged his hat brim down to hide his moist eyes.

  “I’ll assume that means yes,” Daisy said, “so here’s how this is going to work. It’s a handshake deal. I’m leasing Ajax to you, for as long as you want him.”

  Barry looked sad. “Ma’am, I’d love to have him, but I just can’t afford…” Daisy plowed on, ignoring Barry’s comment. “I expect you to send me a dollar a month. Never miss a month, or our deal is void.”

  “I don’t understand,” Barry said, shaking his head.

  “Boy, you’re like a tumbleweed. I’m going to anchor you to me. From now on, we are family. If you need me, I’ll be there for you. If I need you, you’d better come running. Agreed?”

  Barry was dumbfounded, but he nodded.

  Daisy was trying to look stern. “I’m sorry — I didn’t hear you.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I agree.”

  They shook hands, at first formally — but then Barry caught the spirit of it, and he pumped her arm so hard she thought it might separate from the socket. They were both grinning.

  Daisy poured each of them a little more lemonade, and they settled back into their chairs. “So, do you have a dollar in your pocket?” she asked.

  Barry retrieved an ancient leather wallet from his back pocket and fished out a dollar bill. He handed it to Daisy.

  She tucked it into her pinafore, then snapped open the trombone case. A crumpled dollar bill lay on the velvet lining next to the drinking horn.

  She handed the bill to Barry. “Don’t lose this,” she said firmly. “Think of it as the registration papers for Ajax, just like you have for your truck.”

  “I’ll guard it with my life,” Barry said solemnly.

  Daisy was afraid that might turn out to be true, but she let it pass. “So, what will you do now?” she asked gently.

  “Ma’am, I’ve been a rodeo bum all my life. I’ve never had a proper home, but last year I bought a little place, just a few hundred acres up on the Canadian border. It’s God’s country, ma’am. Right now there’s not much on the land, just a raggedy old cabin. But there’s buffalo up on the high plateau behind us, and the antelope come right down to the house. I’m gonna start building up my breeding stock this year. It’s a wild place up there, and I figure Ajax will be right at home.”

  It was the first time Daisy had ever heard Barry string more than two sentences together, and his passion touched her. “You be sure to send me some pictures, won’t you?”

  “I surely will, ma’am. I surely will.” Barry leaned over and softly kissed Daisy’s hand. “Thank you for all you’ve done for me, ma’am.”

  “Young man, this is purely a business transaction,” Daisy said, but her eyes were moist. “I believe you’re an excellent investment.”

  ♦

  Daisy dropped by Pentacle Pawn on the first day of May, saying she needed to do a little shopping.

  She picked up a pretty little pine box, tramp art from the 1920s. The edges were carved in an intricate diamond pattern, probably whittled with a pocket knife in the hobo camps beside the railroad tracks while they sat around a scrap-wood bonfire. The anonymous artist had carved the image of a massive bull into the lid.

  “What does it do?” Daisy asked.

  “It has a light protective spell,” I told her. “It’s not very strong. I don’t expect that the carver owned much of value to put in it. Most of these got traded for food or liquor pretty quick.”

  “I got a letter from Barry today,” Daisy said. “He should be sending one every month. I wanted something nice to keep them in.” Daisy ran her fingers across the carved bull. “This is perfect.”

  She reached into her needlepoint bag for the envelope. Inside was a brand-new dollar bill and a photograph taken with an old-school film camera. She handed the picture to me as she opened the tramp art box and dropped in the dollar bill, the first of many to come.

  The background of the shot was filled with majestic snow-covered peaks, but it was springtime where Barry stood in a high mountain meadow, up to his knees in grass and wildflowers. Behind Barry, hanging his enormous head over the diminutive cowboy’s right shoulder, was Ajax. Barry’s right hand was reaching back, scratching the great auroch’s chin under his hand-tooled halter.

  “You’re right,” I said, hugging my aunt. “It’s perfect.”

  – The End –

  Pentacle Pawn: Book 4

  The Dragon Puzzle Spell

  Amanda Hartford

  Nineteen Cents Press

  Prologue

  It was shaping up to be the hottest day of the summer – and in Scottsdale, that was really saying something. With no humidity in the air, the water from the spray misters mounted on the eaves of many buildings evaporated before it reached the pedestrians below. Fistfights broke out over covered parking spaces. Everybody was dashing from house to car, car to work, work to car, questing for that bubble of air conditioning.

  Everybody, that is, except the tourists in the resorts at the foot of the mountains. They had come to Arizona for the sun, and they were determined to get what they’d paid for. They slathered on SPF 200 sunscreen from their favorite perfumers ($250 a jar), their faces grim behind designer sunglasses.

  Antiquities dealer Pedro Ruiz Gallardo, Pete to his American clients, sheltered behind the linen drapes of his cabana at one of the priciest hotels tucked up beside Camelback Mountain. The cabana was more like a sideless hotel room, one of a dozen permanent structures spaced around the enormous pool in which nobody ever
actually swam.

  Pete was Spanish, and leaving his beloved Malaga was always painful. The Costa del Sol, with its lovely beach, its ancient cultural and artistic history – well, Picasso was born there, which said it all.

  Pete was simmering, and not just from the heat. Oh, he hated Scottsdale in the summertime, all right. To tell the truth, he hated Arizona pretty much any time of the year, but he had to follow his clients: the big-money collectors who patronized the exclusive shops and galleries in Old Town. He had no storefront; his transactions took place in the bars, restaurants, and homes of the rich and famous. His business was all about making the connections, go where they go. Thus, the cabana in July.

  But what really had Pete steamed was the presence of the smug middle-aged woman flaunting her tiny bikini on a chaise lounge on the opposite side of the pool. He couldn’t quite figure out how she had bested him once again, but the little Egyptian ossuary apparently had slipped through his fingers. The piece was late Middle Kingdom, the bones of a noblewoman or maybe a priestess, and nicely preserved. It was a valuable find, and it was his to be exploited until that woman intercepted it in transit.

  He glared across at her, and she wiggled her fingers at him in the tiniest of waves.

  Well, there was nothing to be done for it. She had won this round. The cabana boy passed by with a fresh flute of champagne, and Pete burrowed deeper into the lush cushions of the white daybed.

  Across the pool, Penelope Silver smiled as she watched her quarry nod off. Get comfortable, Señor, she thought. It’s going to be a long, hot afternoon.

  ♦

  The cabana boys had been beautifully trained to cater to the wishes of their guests. A little more champagne? Certainly. Another pillow for the daybed? Of course. Perhaps a little companionship? I’ll be happy to arrange it – would you prefer male or female today?

  It was harder to teach them to anticipate when no service was required. The best of them could tell if a guest wanted to be left alone to snooze, play, or just drink in solitude. Often, the best tips came from guests who had simply been left alone.

  Much of the permanent staff fled the heat in May for their off-season jobs in cooler climes. The three attendants on duty this afternoon were second-stringers, college kids who had signed on for summer jobs. They quickly learned that the service stand at the end of the bar was the coolest place to hang out.

  As the thermometer passed 108, Jason, Ryan, and Asher were regretting their summer career choices.

  “I’m gonna learn to tend bar,” Ryan announced. “At least I’ll be out of the sun.”

  “Are the tips better?” Asher asked, dabbing another layer of supermarket sunscreen on his nose.

  Ryan shrugged. “Dunno, but it’s more like a skilled job, and I’ll always have it to fall back on later. I can’t see being a pool boy when I’m 40.”

  “My dad wants me to learn to be a mechanic,” Jason said. It required no comment. Jason, Ryan, and Asher were going to be masters of the universe, and working in a greasy garage didn’t fit in with their plans. They had signed on as cabana boys in hopes of meeting some wealthy investor or mentor, but so far, all they had done is serve drinks and put suntan lotion on the backs of old ladies.

  Jason nodded to the cabana at the far end. “I guess I should go see if he needs something.”

  “Looks like he’s asleep,” Asher said.

  “Yeah,” Jason said, “he’s been out all afternoon.”

  Ryan craned his neck to get a better view. “He’s back in the shade, right? If he gets a sunburn, we’ll...”

  Jason shook his head. “He’s fine. He’s out cold.”

  Jason was wrong. Pedro Ruiz Gallardo was dead.

  Chapter One

  The wedding was magical.

  Lissa and Orion married at sunset, on the flagstone patio of a mansion high on Camelback Mountain. Below us, the lights of Phoenix and Scottsdale where Lissa had lived her whole life twinkled in the sunset. It reminded Orion of his childhood home on Santorini, but instead of blue water, the desert city below them stretched to the horizon.

  “Happy?” My best friend Mark Corcoran came up behind me and locked his arm in mine just before the ceremony started.

  I nodded. “Missing John,” I said, “but this is lovely. Thank you, Mark, for making all this happen for them.”

  I’m Maggie Flournoy. I own Pentacle Pawn, a pawnshop for magical objects. John is my husband, murdered two years ago but now with me again in my Scottsdale condo. I suppose you could say he was haunting it, but really, I don’t think of him as a ghost. He’s just John, and I still love him dearly.

  Our friends were gathering at the edge of the patio now. Lissa was gorgeous in her white Mexican wedding dress, all ruffles and lace flounces, the white cotton fabric bright against her deep tan. The baboon tooth she wore around her neck might have seemed an odd choice for a wedding, but it had special significance. I gave it to Lissa when I first taught her how to use her magic, and it pleases me that she always wears it.

  The woman holding Orion’s hand as she placed a gold band on his finger was a very different Lissa than the one who had clerked for me at Pentacle Pawn. She had come into her own. She knew what she wanted – and what she wanted was the man standing beside her.

  Orion was wearing a conservative black tux, but he still looked like he had just stepped out of the pages of GQ. His trademark smile was missing today, replaced by an intense gaze at his bride as Lissa said the traditional words.

  My wedding gift to them was fairy lights, but not the ordinary kind you buy on a string at the dollar store. These were magical holograms of tiny glowing creatures who fluttered around the couple on gossamer wings as Lissa and Orion said their vows.

  Mark officiated. The venue had been his gift to the couple; Mark had rented it for them for the month, and Lissa and Orion were borrowing Mark’s yacht for their honeymoon.

  Mark is filthy rich, the result of parlaying a passion for obscure books in ancient libraries, a vice he supports by writing steamy romance novels that pay for that yacht and his house on the beach in Malibu. He’s generous with his time and money, and his friends are his family.

  Lissa and Orion had wanted a small wedding, so the group gathered around them included only our friends Stella, astronomer and Queen of Rideshare; Barry Alexander, a rodeo cowboy and livestock whisperer; and Clayton Coyote, a shaman, artist and thief who had flown in from Istanbul for the occasion. Lissa’s father Alex escorted my aunt Daisy. Mark and I felt almost like proud parents.

  So far, there had been no sign of Lissa’s mother, Penelope, thank goodness. We had all been fretting about it, ever since Penelope had escaped two weeks before from Alex’s care in custody. The events leading up to her incarceration still gave me nightmares.

  Lissa’s mother was a powerful witch, and she had nearly killed me the last time. Penelope had been determined to get control of a spellbook belonging to one of my clients, and by the time it was all over, Penelope had materialized a live tiger in my basement and murdered at least two people. In the end, she disappeared, leaving a trail of chaos and misery behind her. The spellbook in question was still safe in my vault at Pentacle Pawn, so I’d always suspected we hadn’t seen the last of her. Now she was on the loose again.

  Mark and I had each put protective wards in place to keep her away from the wedding, but we were still keeping a wary eye open as the ceremony proceeded.

  “I now pronounce you man and wife,” Mark intoned – and broke into a huge grin.

  Orion kissed Lissa tenderly, but with a passion as if they were alone. The moment was almost too intimate, and I focused on the huge pearl stick pin, the one that Orion always said came from Atlantis, in the center of his black silk bow tie.

  Beside me, Barry tossed his Stetson into the air and yelled “Yippee!” Everybody tossed handfuls of enchanted confetti in the air. The tiny bits of paper burst into dazzling comets that swarmed around the patio like bees.

  The catering staff came
through the patio doors with silver trays loaded down with individual plates under gleaming silver domes as we gathered around a long trestle table. Mark promised Lissa and Orion that they could serve their guests any menu they wanted for their wedding dinner. They decided that wedding food was boring, and everyone should have their favorite. For Barry and Clayton, it was barbecue from the joint around the corner from my shop. Daisy had jambalaya, flown in from her favorite place in New Orleans. Lissa, Stella and I had sushi made from fish that were swimming in the Pacific that morning, prepared for us by a chef brought in from Tokyo. Mark and Alex enjoyed Kobe beef prepared for them by the grill master of the best steakhouse in Scottsdale. Orion munched happily on a green salad.

  The wedding cake was as intimate as the wedding: a small round layer cake, flavored with oranges for Orion. The frosting was white, dotted with white chocolate butterflies for Lissa. On its top sat a single pink rose from Daisy’s herb garden in New Orleans.

  Mark poured the champagne and offered a toast. “To love, to life!” He said, lifting his crystal flute high. We raised our glasses.

  “Are you ready for my gift?” Penelope said.

  All heads whipped around to the edge of the patio. She stood on the edge of the precipice, hands on her hips. “Hello, darling,” she said to Alex. “Lovely wedding.”

  Orion rose from his chair, Mark put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him.

  “What are you doing here, Mother?” Lissa asked. Her voice was calm, but the look in her eye was steel.

  “Why, I wouldn’t miss it!” Penelope said. “You all mean the world to me.” She produced a small gift-wrapped box from midair and placed it on the flagstones at her feet. “See you soon.”

  She turned, facing the edge of the cliff, and stepped off into nothing.

  Mark, Barry, and Alex ran to the edge, prepared to do battle, but turned back to the rest of us, perplexed. “Gone,” Mark said.

  Lissa’s face was buried in her new husband’s chest as he held her tight. I’d never seen that look before in Orion’s eyes.