Always Look Twice

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  Allie shot both men the bird. She didn’t appreciate them making jokes at her expense. But Olivia knew that Kyle, and maybe Derek, too, were only trying to protect her, to keep her away from Zinna.

  Allie wasn’t ready to enter a witch realm. She was just learning the strength of her power.

  Olivia took a deep breath and thought about her own situation, her own power. She wasn’t even sure if she was ready. But she didn’t have a choice.

  “What else should I bring with me?” she asked, directing the conversation back to the business at hand.

  “Anything that transcends your medicine,” Derek said. “That makes you feel strong.”

  “What about conventional medicine? Like aspirin or penicillin? Would that help West?”

  Derek shook his head. “Not with a witch sickness. You’ll have to fight magic with magic, with remedies a shaman would use.”

  “I have a tape in my car you can take with you,” Kyle told her. “Southwest singing and drumming. You can use it for the healing ceremony.” He shifted his attention to her sister. “Write that down, Addle-brain. And a mini tape recorder, too.”

  “Her name is Allie,” Riggs said, pushing away from the kitchen table and reprimanding Kyle in one attention-grabbing swoop. “She shouldn’t have to take that crap from you.”

  He gave the lady cop a lethal stare. Then he glanced at Allie, who sided with Riggs, making him hate the female detective even more.

  But instead of telling her off, he crossed his arms and brooded like a six-foot-four baby.

  Olivia sighed, wondering if she and West had behaved that foolishly when they’d fought their attraction. “What if I can’t save him?” she said suddenly, putting an uncomfortable hush over the room.

  Muncy finally joined the somber group, offering Olivia the comfort she needed. He stood next to her chair, putting his hand on her shoulder. Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Instead she squeezed Muncy’s hand, recalling how she’d cried in his arms on the night her father had died.

  “Can you put a binding spell on Glenn?” he asked Derek.

  “Why? Because you think he’s the killer? Yes, I can bind him, but it won’t matter. He was a lousy witch, nothing more than Yvonne’s lackey. He’s not the Slasher.”

  “Then who is?” Muncy challenged, still wary of the other man.

  Derek shrugged. “You’re the detective, not me.” He turned to look at Olivia. “You better get ready. We can all help you gather the things you need.”

  “What’s a witch realm like?” she asked. “What can I expect?”

  “Honestly, I have no idea. Dead witches create their own dimensions. And I’ve never been in one.”

  She came to her feet and took a deep breath, preparing for her journey. A supernatural abyss, she thought. A bottomless pit.

  A world of the unknown.

  Hours later the same group of people gathered in Olivia’s bedroom. Allie and Riggs sat on the edge of the bed, and Kyle and Muncy stood back, looking out of place next to each other.

  Olivia waited, her backpack filled with supplies, several guns attached to her belt, a knife sheath and bone-handled blade tucked into her boot. On her shirt she wore eagle feathers that had belonged to her father.

  Derek ran his hands over the surface of the mirror. “I’ve never done this before. I’ve never opened a portal.”

  Olivia glanced around, hoping the ritual was safe, hoping it wouldn’t put anyone in danger. “Then how do you know it will work?”

  “Zinna wants you to enter her realm. She won’t stop this from happening.”

  “Will we get to see her?” Kyle wanted to know. “Will her reflection appear in the mirror?”

  “No.” Derek drew an enormous circle on the glass, using a red marker. “She won’t risk coming that close, not if the portal is going to open.” He dabbed some ointment he’d prepared in the center of the circle, smearing it into an ancient symbol. Candles burned in every corner, lending an eerie glow.

  When Derek rubbed the ointment onto Olivia’s arms, she flinched. Her skin turned red, her pores tingling. “What is that?”

  “Poison,” he responded much too casually. “But only if it’s taken orally.”

  He continued his ritual, placing a handful of crystals on a makeshift altar.

  Allie heaved a nervous breath. “How is Olivia supposed to come back through the portal? Will it stay open?”

  “No. But the ointment I put on her is connected to this world, and if she places her hands in the center of the circle, it should open from the other side.”

  “So the circle you drew is the door?” Olivia asked.

  “Yes, but I don’t know if you’ll be able to see it once you’ve crossed over. You might have to use your psychic ability to find it. And on top of that, the potency of the ointment will fade.”

  “How long do I have?”

  “Three or four hours at best. You’ll have to make this a timely mission.”

  “Or I’ll get stuck in Zinna’s dimension?”

  “Unless she lets you out. It’s her realm. She controls it.”

  “We’re going to wait for you,” Muncy said, frowning at the mirror. “All of us. We won’t leave this house until you and West are back. Safe and sound.”

  Olivia smiled at the detective, putting on a brave front, but her stomach was doing somersaults.

  Derek addressed everyone. “Say your goodbyes now. Before I finish the spell. Once the portal opens, there won’t be time.”

  Kyle stepped forward first, taking Olivia in his arms, brushing his mouth across hers. She held him for a moment, enjoying the power of his body, drawing from his physical strength.

  Riggs shooed Kyle away, using her tough-girl charm, whispering words of encouragement in Olivia’s ear.

  Muncy simply kissed her forehead, and Allie…

  Olivia gazed at her sister. “Don’t you dare cry.”

  “I’m not. I won’t.” Allie placed the wolf charm around her neck. “To keep the coyotes away,” she said, her eyes watering.

  The sisters embraced, holding each other close. After they separated, Derek completed his magic, behaving like the good witch he still longed to be.

  Olivia could feel the energy in the room, the magnetic force electrifying the air. She glanced at the crystals and saw them reflect the light.

  When the circle on the mirror began to spin, Derek gave her a silent nod. She stepped forward, watching the glass ripple. The ointment on her arms seeped into her pores, making her heart race.

  Without looking back, she stepped through the portal.

  And experienced the sensation of flight.

  Darkness sped past her eyes, then little pinwheels of light, twirling in an endless sky. Finally her feet touched the ground, and she realized she was encased in a bubble, like Glinda in the Land of Oz.

  Was this Zinna’s idea of a joke? Or a side effect from Derek’s good-witch spell?

  Cautious, Olivia stepped through the circle, but there wasn’t a munchkin in sight.

  Directly in front of her was a Gothic-style mansion. The towering building had been constructed in the middle of a densely wooded area, with wild brush and gnarled trees creating a moss-draped fortress.

  She approached the porch, a brick structure surrounded by fanciful woodwork. Lavish patterns trimmed the front door, delicately swirled, like frosting on a wedding cake.

  A strange setting for an ancient Apache witch, she thought. But Zinna was always full of surprises.

  Olivia tried to focus on West, on his energy, but she couldn’t feel anything. She had no idea if he was here.

  She glanced back and noticed the bubble remained where it was. Was it waiting for her?

  When she entered the house, nothing stirred. Not one sound, not one sign of life. The interior was pure white: the carpet, the walls, the furniture.

  Beautiful. Chilling.

  Like freshly fallen snow.

  She wandered through the hallways, noti
ced the arched ceilings and embellished chandeliers, the etched opal glass twinkling with flame-tipped lights. As she stepped into the parlor, her feet sank into the carpet, leaving an impression of the soles of her boots.

  “My home is lovely, isn’t it?”

  Olivia spun around. Zinna stood before her in a flowing skirt and a cotton blouse adorned with shell necklaces. Her raptor-colored eyes burned bright, but her body had a waterish quality, tangible yet transparent.

  A spirit. A corpse.

  Wary, Olivia touched the wolf claw Allie had given her. She had been prepared to face her great-grandmother, to ward off her magic, but she hadn’t expected to socialize with her, to engage in small talk. “I don’t think being in a witch dimension is lovely.”

  Zinna tilted her head, her bluish black hair enhanced with a beaded bow, a Chiricahua ornament from days gone by. “I was hoping you’d choose to stay a while, to get to know me.”

  “After what you’ve done?”

  “We’re family, Olivia. Surely you can make peace with me.” She moved forward, her skirt sweeping the floor. “Did you know I was a prisoner of war? That I lived most of my life at Fort Sill? That’s where I died, almost a hundred years ago.” She paused, heaved a sigh. “It was a dreadful existence, much more difficult for me than the others. I was a witch, scorned by my own people, but still living under the government’s thumb. Of course, I’ve come a long way since then.”

  “How? By taking your own prisoners?”

  “You mean Agent West?” The owl lady removed a rose from a cut-glass vase, inhaling the fragrance of the white flower. “I offered him redemption.”

  No matter how hard she tried, Olivia still couldn’t feel his presence. She couldn’t get a reading on her lover. “For what? His loyalty? His soul?”

  “It’s a fair exchange, but he’s too stubborn to know better.” Still holding the rose, Zinna sat in a velvet settee. Behind her, two clover-shaped windows offered a view of the woods, of the thick brush and moss-festooned trees. “He reminds me of someone I used to know. A man I once loved.”

  Was this part of Zinna’s ploy? Part of her enchantment? Was she trying to make herself seem human? Vulnerable? A woman who’d lost her heart?

  “He wasn’t the man I had a child with,” the witch said. “He wasn’t your great-grandfather.”

  Olivia remained where she was, standing in the middle of the room, armed with supplies, with Apache medicine, with the weapons she still expected to use. “Then who was he?”

  “His name doesn’t matter.” Zinna placed the rose beside her, where it withered and died. “But I’ve never forgotten him.” A slow, deliberate smile tilted her lips. “And I’m certain he’s never forgotten me.” She brushed the dead flower petals onto the floor, scattering them like ashes. “Not after I cursed him.”

  “That’s not love.”

  Zinna rose from her seat. “Don’t mock me. I may look young, but I’ve survived for nearly a century.”

  “Here? In the fortress you created?” Olivia glanced out a window, where the wind had begun to howl. She knew there were creatures lurking in the forest, entities spawned from Zinna’s magic. She could feel them, whispering their demented praises to their mistress.

  Was that where she was keeping West? In a dark, dank shelter in the woods?

  “Yes,” Zinna said.

  Olivia shifted her gaze, felt a chill rack her bones. The owl lady had just read her mind. “I want to see him.”

  “Not yet. There’s someone else I want you to see first.”

  “A person? A human?”

  “Yes.” Zinna escorted her up a flight of stairs, a spiral path leading to the second story. Olivia held on to the banister, gripping the slick, polished wood. Was this a trick? Was there really someone here besides West?

  Her great-grandmother was being far too civil, far too ladylike for a witch who screeched like an owl.

  They walked down a hallway, where mirrors of every shape and size glinted on the walls.

  “This is it.” Zinna opened a door at the end of the hall. With a hard nudge, she sent Olivia sprawling into the elegantly furnished room, snapping the door closed behind her.

  She landed on her hands and knees, then glanced up and saw the crimson-stained bed.

  And the woman who lay upon it.

  She crawled to her feet, her breath lodged in her throat. This was the image she’d seen in her mind. The vision she’d had about her mother.

  Only she wasn’t dead.

  Yvonne opened her eyes and smiled, even though she was bathed in blood.

  Chapter 17

  Confused, Olivia took a step back. Her mother couldn’t be alive. Could she? “This can’t be happening. You’re not real. You’re one of Zinna’s tricks.”

  “No, darling. It’s me.”

  “But the Slasher killed you.”

  Yvonne, or whoever she was, sat up and smoothed her hair away from her face, smearing blood across her cheek. She wore a lacy bra and a pair of matching panties. On the right side of her abdomen was the mark of the killer, an arrowhead encased in a heart. Only, unlike the other victims, the symbol hadn’t been drawn onto her body with a black marker. It was a tattoo. The real thing.

  “I’m not dead.” Yvonne held out her red-stained palms. “This is stage blood. See?” She gestured to her exposed flesh. “I don’t have any wounds.”

  Dizzy, Olivia sank into a nearby chair.

  Her mother walked to an adjoining bathroom and came back with a stack of damp towels. Silent, she began wiping her skin, bathing herself. Although the terry cloth absorbed most of the thick red substance, a few watered-down streaks remained on her underwear. When she dropped the towels to the floor, they stained the virginal carpet.

  Olivia took a deep breath. “Why did you douse yourself with blood?”

  “Because it makes me feel good.” She opened an antique armoire and chose a silky pantsuit. Amber. The color of the owl lady’s eyes. “It purges my pain.”

  “Your pain? You’re the one who left us. Who walked away.”

  “I know. But I came back.” She removed the soiled sheet and tossed it onto the floor, where it landed on top of the towels. Then she went after the pillowcases. “I ruined my marriage for Taylor Campbell. I went to Ireland with him, spent all that time as his mistress. And when I got older, that bastard didn’t want me anymore.” She sat on the edge of the barren mattress. “I should have known better. Taylor was half the man your father was. Joseph would have never done that to me. That’s why I returned to L.A. I wanted to reconcile with your dad, to start over.”

  After twelve years? After her rich lover got tired of her? “You didn’t know Dad was dead?”

  “No.” Yvonne smoothed her hair again. She wore it long and straight, much like Allie’s. And although she’d aged, she was still beautiful. “I had no idea that he’d committed suicide. Can you imagine how I felt when I discovered what he’d done? I wanted to die, too.”

  Olivia glanced at the red stain on the carpet, the towels, the sheet, the pillowcases—evidence of her mother’s morbid ritual.

  “I was staying in a motel near the beach, mourning my loss,” Yvonne told her. “And that’s when Zinna first appeared to me. There she was in the mirror, beckoning me to come to her. So I did. But I was still suicidal.”

  “So what are you saying? That Zinna saved your life?”

  “Yes.” Yvonne slipped on a pair of gold heels. “She even created this house to cheer me up. The one she had before wasn’t Gothic, but I’ve always been partial to European architecture.”

  Olivia didn’t respond. She simply waited for her mom to continue.

  “But I was still depressed,” Yvonne said. “I moped around this big, beautiful house, missing Joseph, feeling like a whore for all the times I’d cheated on him. I was even too upset to get in touch with you and Allie.”

  An excuse, she thought. A reason to ignore her daughters, to wallow in self-pity. “So what happened?”

&n
bsp; “Zinna told me to stop blaming myself, and I knew she was right. I had to find a way to alleviate my pain. To stop contemplating suicide.”

  “The fake blood?” Olivia asked, hoping, praying the story would end there. Even though, God help her, she feared her mother’s crime went beyond forging her own death.

  “No. I didn’t start doing that until later.” Still perched on the edge of the barren mattress, she adjusted the straps on her shoes. “Until I started punishing those women for their infidelity.”

  Feeling ill, Olivia rose from her chair and opened a window, needing air, needing an escape. Her stomach roiled, and she clutched her middle, doing her damnedest not to vomit.

  Her mother was the Slasher.

  She looked at the woman who’d given her life and felt her heart go numb.

  Yvonne reached for a diamond bracelet on the nightstand and slipped it on, admiring the way it looked on her wrist.

  Olivia fingered the crudely made charm around her neck, remembering what Allie had said. To keep the coyotes away. No wonder their mother had chosen Yvonne Coyote as her alias. She’d been a trickster from the beginning.

  And now Olivia understood how West had pieced together the puzzle. Yvonne doused herself with phony blood to relive the murders and mime her own death. She transposed herself with her victims, fantasizing, giving herself a sick thrill.

  Hadn’t the clues been there all along? “The first time I had a vision of you covered in blood, I’d been trying to get an image of the killer, trying to get a reading from a picture Allie had painted. But I’d misinterpreted what I saw. I’d assumed you were a victim. Not the Slasher reliving her crimes.”

  “Don’t let it upset you, darling. Those women deserved to die. I learned the error of my ways, but they were still behaving like whores, still hurting the men they’d married.” A pause, a reflective expression. “I even stopped the last one, Denise, before she could cheat. Before the damage was done.”

  Dear God. Olivia closed her eyes. West had claimed the Slasher was narcissist. And Yvonne had committed unspeakable acts to make herself feel better. She’d punished other women for her mistakes. Her guilt. Her supposed pain.