by Jill Nojack
“But if she was involved with something that could hurt her, wouldn’t you want to know?”
Daria’s head kinked to the side, then straightened in a quick movement as her shoulders rose up and then dropped again. “You know I would. She’s a pain in the butt, but I love that kid.” Daria chewed a lip as her eyes turned up in thought, then she looked at Natalie and said, “Okay, you can do it. But you better make sure she can’t tell you were up there. ‘Cause I’ll rat you out in a minute. No way am I taking the blame if she finds things all out of place.”
Natalie set her coffee aside and launched herself to a standing position before Daria finished.
“Thank you, dear. I’ll let you know what I find.”
She was up the stairs like a shot.
“That old lady moves faster than anyone her age should be able to,” Daria said, looking up the now-empty stairs admiringly.
“And makes more trouble, too,” Cassie added.
***
Janie moved slowly, weighed down by her loss, disinterested in the bustle of the sunny day on the sidewalk in Salem. She was glad to enter the cool gloom inside the shop. The place sure had “atmosphere.” Everything around her was made of natural materials, nothing plastic. She could have stepped back into the 1600s except for the hand-lettered signs saying things like, “Sale! Buy a mortar, get the pestle free!”
They usually sold them separately? Way to go ripping off the tourists. But since she was in this particular shop because the owner wasn’t known to be ethical, that wasn’t a surprise. Josie had told her once that there were things on sale in the back room that were only of use in dark magic. Fortunately, Josie didn’t come here for that as far as Janie knew. She had only driven to Salem to sell things she said she had found “just lying around” at thrift stores or garage sales that she thought might have a magical use. Janie had been inside the shop a few times when she accompanied her sister, but she browsed while her sister made deals.
There was no one at the counter, but she headed for it just the same. She’d seen the glint of a video camera’s watchful eye between the slightly swaying bodies of dried toads and bats that hung from strings in the corner. Someone was monitoring the shop, even if it seemed empty. And not by magical means. She picked up a brochure for the shop’s classes and services that was sitting on the counter.
There was another customer in the aisles, a woman who was dressed in a flowing black lace dress with long, full hair piled up on her head. The woman rounded a corner from behind a shelf, looked at her curiously, then continued on. She was in her sixties at least. Her hair couldn’t be that dark by nature anymore, but the blue-black from a bottle looked great, and despite the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and above her mouth, her skin was tight around her jawline. Some witches had youth routines they could make a fortune with if they bottled and sold them, but they’d never make it past the FDA.
A woman with a huge bill of a nose and long gray hair that flowed down her rounded shoulders into the blackness of her dress appeared from the back as Janie put the brochure down. Lilith smelled like pot. Or it could have been patchouli. Janie had never been good at telling the difference, although Josie would have known right away. Probably because she’d used a lot of both when they were in high school.
Whatever. She was here to sell stolen goods, not worry about whether the shop’s proprietor was burning one in the back room. And if she was, maybe she could talk her into a better deal. Her sister had always been easier to deal with when she was high, so why shouldn’t this woman be?
“How may I help you?” Lilith flashed a gracious smile.
“Ummm...I have something that was left to me by my sister—she recently died—that I think might be valuable. She said it had magical components? I don’t know what they are, but maybe you’d be interested in it. I’m trying to raise money for the funeral arrangements.”
Lilith’s face lost its pleasant, this-one-will-be-an-easy-sell look and hardened slightly. Janie knew the harder look was the more natural one.
“Your sister’s name?” she asked.
“Josie Caldwell.”
“Yes. I knew her. I should have seen the resemblance.” Janie relaxed as Lilith continued. “That’s right. You’ve been in with her before. Look, I get offered junk from dead relatives all the time, and I don’t end up buying much. Non-witches—and I can tell you don’t have the spark—often think the least interesting things grew on branches from the money tree.”
“I understand. I’m just hoping. It’s pretty, if nothing else.” She took the box she’d put the bottle in to protect it out of her purse, then she unwound the dish towel she’d used for padding, and placed the bottle on the counter. “Josie said she could feel the magic in it when she touched it. So, you could too, right?”
But the woman’s face drained of color and she stepped back a step. “I wouldn’t touch that, much less buy it!”
“But—”
“Get it off my counter. And if you’re smart, you’ll bury it somewhere where no one will ever find it.”
“Why? What is it?”
“I don’t know, but it will be nothing good, that’s guaranteed; it’s the rubies. They’re a dead giveaway. I want nothing that’s associated with the Averills.”
“No, I got this from my sister. We’re not related to anyone named Averill.”
“Then your sister was a fool, however she obtained it. Pick it up, get out of the shop, and don’t think about bringing anything else in from your sister’s hoard.”
“But—”
“I know you heard me. Get out!”
Janie’s shoulders, and her hope of being able to afford a decent wake, slumped. There were food and drink expenses, even if she just held it at her apartment. It added up. Plus, she’d be paying off the cremation for a long time, even without getting a fancy urn. And if Josie had money in her bank account that she could apply toward the funeral debt when it was released to her, it wouldn’t be much.
The door to the shop slammed behind her, along with the slight hope that she could give her sister a decent send off.
***
Janie gasped when a touch on her shoulder landed from behind and interrupted her thoughts. Her mood leapt from gloomy to frightened as she turned with a start to see who’d come up behind her.
“I’m so sorry,” the woman with the blue-black hair who had been the shop’s only other customer said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. But I saw what happened in there.” She inclined her head toward the shop. “Lilith can be so insensitive. And please let me offer my condolences for your loss. I’d like to help you. My name is Raven Crain. You may have heard of me?”
“I’m sorry, I haven’t.” When the woman looked disappointed, she added, “I’m not from Salem.
“Oh, that would be why, then. No matter. I’d be interested in looking at that bottle, if you still want to sell? Although the street is not a suitable place to discuss it. My home is only a few blocks away. And if you don’t mind me saying, you look like you could use fortification.”
Janie hesitated, so the woman continued.
“If your little trinket there contains an unspent spell, I could make it worth your while. I’ve paid several hundred dollars for charms that would have nowhere near the possibilities of a spell created by Ruby Averill. Please, come for a glass of wine so that I can take a careful look at it.”
Several hundred dollars.
Janie decided to take a chance.
Besides, the woman walked so slowly and stiffly, she doubled down on her impression that Raven was older than she looked. What kind of threat could she really be?
12
The liqueur Raven gave her in a small, stemmed and delicately etched, pale pink glass was sweet but not too sweet. Janie enjoyed the warm, spicy tingle of it as it slid down her throat and warmed her. Despite the gothically creepy atmosphere in Raven’s house—the woman sure did go big with the Raven metaphor; there were stuffed birds, pictures, and statue
s of the things covering every surface—the drink did relax her. She hadn’t realized how tense she’d been until her shoulders and neck unwound. It was more than the grief, she knew. Despite their disagreements, Josie had anchored her after their mother’s death. She was terrified of being adrift now that her sister was gone.
“You look refreshed,” Raven said as she returned to the room with a selection of pastries on a tray, which, not surprisingly, was decorated with the woman’s favorite birds. “I hope you enjoy a pastry now and then? Although, with your slim figure, you must work hard to maintain it.”
Janie didn’t. It came easy to her. She and Josie had both been lucky like that. Josie would approve of the sweets; her hand darted out to the gooiest looking confection on the tray. “Thank you, I am kinda hungry.”
“Have as many as you like. Now, may I inspect that treasure of yours?”
Janie set her pastry down on the flowery china plate provided for her and dug in her bag. She brought the bottle out and handed it to the other woman. She yawned as she did, feeling sleepy now that her muscles weren’t tied up in complicated knots.
She took a bite of the pastry, then grabbed the fancy cloth napkin next to her plate to wipe away the goo she felt dripping down her chin. She was more tired than she realized if she couldn’t even get a pastry to her mouth without smashing it into her face.
Actually, she felt a little numb all of a sudden.
Raven beamed as she lifted the bottle from its wrapping and Janie struggled to follow the movement, but she felt like she was trying to move through jello when she did.
Something was wrong.
Raven’s eyes lifted to hers as the rubies on the bottle glowed in response to her touch. “This is definitely one of Ruby’s creations. And I’m interested in any of them I can find. I want the secrets she stored in them, you see. I want my rightful place of power in Salem now that she’s gone. But no one can know where it came from. They have to think it was in me all along for all those times that they ignored me.”
“Glargh arr guh,” Janie replied.
Something was wronger.
“I’m sorry dear. You’ll get fair compensation, more than fair. I’m a woman of my word, but I’m afraid you must never be allowed to speak of our exchange or this item again.”
Wrongest, Janie thought, before she descended into beckoning velvety darkness.
***
Janie stretched as she woke up, her eyes still shut tight, not wanting to open them. Just a few more minutes, she thought.
But why was the bed so hard? And what was that awful smell? It was like wet cigarette butts and rotting potatoes with a little lilac. As she grew more alert, her last memory—the memory of consciousness ebbing away while a woman with blue-black hair talked—slammed back into her brain.
Her eyes flew open. It was difficult to orient at first because the surrounding scene made no sense, but soon enough she realized she was curled up between two overflowing trash cans against the back of a building with the light of the setting sun illuminating the packed cinder on which she’d been sleeping.
Oh no, oh terrible. She stole it and dumped me in an alley. Now I’ve got nothing to make Josie’s remembrance nice. What an idiot I am. She found her handbag cradling her head and dug into it, looking for the bottle. Not there.
Her wallet—
Her hands closed on it—it was there. But she didn’t relax yet. Her cards could all be gone. But she knew where the woman lived, her name...she...
No. She didn’t. She’d get close to them and they’d slide away. All she could remember was blue-black hair and the image of a bird. Two birds. One dark. One pale.
Had the woman owned birds? Is that what she was remembering?
Her wallet felt thicker than usual, and when she pulled it out of its compartment in her bag, she could see why. It barely snapped around the green bills it now held.
She said she’d pay me. That’s right. She must have meant it, no matter what else she did to me.
There were mostly twenties on top of the stack, but then there was a hundred, and then another. And another. Her anxiety turned to excitement.
There was twelve hundred fifty-three dollars in her wallet. She was sure the three was what she’d had only a few hours ago. The rest was way more than she expected to get for an old perfume bottle. She didn’t care anymore that some crazy old witch had drugged her and dumped her; she had enough now for a nice wake, and she wouldn’t have to figure out what she could cut out of her budget to fund the down payment on the cremation.
She stood and looked around. The door of the brick building at her back had a colorful sign above it saying, “Lilith’s Dungeon. Access through street entrance only.”
She didn’t even have far to go to be on her way with her newfound wealth. Her car should still be right out front.
***
Twink moved easily through the window—she didn’t even have to open it. She just floated through. Weird. Really weird.
The light of the near full moon illuminated the unfamiliar room and she could see it was nearly a match to her own—vintage fabrics and furniture tastefully arranged, although the theme wasn’t red. In the dim light, it was hard to tell, but the color theme was maybe dark blue. She liked it, whatever it was. It was pretty, delicate, and old-fashioned, although she would never admit to anyone her own age that she liked that kind of thing. Even Mindy Li, who worked in a shop that made its money off that stuff, made fun of the people who bought it when the customers weren’t around.
A woman slept on a twin-size bed with a quilted coverlet, her blue-black hair reflecting the moonlight that sifted through the sheers on the windows.
And on the bedside table, an antique perfume bottle also reflected the moon in the many facets of the rhinestones that were inset into the cap. My perfume bottle, Twink thought. She skirted the foot of the bed and hurried to the other side, gliding more than walking. It was effortless.
She leaned in. No, she floated. She was above the old woman now, and it felt strange. Disembodied. She was transparent as a ghost. She moved her hands outward, and they were like smoke.
The corners of her mouth turned up in a grin before it opened wide and a stream of dark blue flowed from the sleeping woman’s mouth toward her own. She tried to move away, but she had no power over her own body.
And it felt...good. It felt so good when she took it in.
And it kept on feeling so good, so amazing...until the woman’s skin dried and cracked and turned to dust and Twink understood with horror that she was causing it, she was the one drawing the woman’s life away.
She tried to scream, but the stream of magic and the life essence that was interwoven with it—that’s what she was taking, she realized—was now black. It choked off her wind, her will, her humanity. She was helpless.
There was nothing she could do to stop it.
And it felt so very, very good.
***
Twink moved from sleep to consciousness within a heartbeat. She lifted to a sitting position without thinking, her heart racing. Her rapid breathing slowed as she realized she wasn’t in some stranger’s bedroom but her own.
She hugged herself as she worked for calm. Just a dream. But wow. It felt so real. She held her hands out in front of her, checking that they were still fleshy instead of ghostly.
They were.
She took an even bigger breath and the last of the tension abated. She hadn’t died in her sleep and become an evil life-sucking demon, then. That was a positive.
All the talk about the deaths and that nasty video of the body everyone got to see thanks to her aunt were bound to give people nightmares. That’s all it was.
Now that she was calmer, she realized her scalp hurt, like really hurt. She put her hand up to the sore spot. Really? Right there was the reason for the nightmare. She’d left the rhinestone comb in her hair instead of remembering to remove it at bedtime, and it had dug into her head while she slept. Which means she forgot
to take her makeup off, too, she bet. She swung her feet over the side of the bed and turned on the small lamp next to her bedside table.
She’d tagged it. Still wearing her makeup.
She dropped the comb into her jewelry box. She thought for a second that the single ruby in its plastic bag was glowing, but the distraction of the sound of wings at her window drew her eyes away. She looked out, and the boss crow—she could tell that’s the one it was by its size—was winging away in the light of the streetlights. When she turned back to the jewelry box, everything was normal. No glow. She put her hand over her mouth as she yawned and lay back down.
She was definitely going to ask Cassie to take down the window boxes outside her windows so that it couldn’t sit there creeping on her all the time when she was sleeping.
13
Denton waved William into the office with his right hand as he held the bulky handset of the ancient black office phone to his head firmly with the other. “No, Todd, I don’t like it. Two could be a coincidence. Three is a trend.”
Wiliam sat in one of the heavy gun-metal gray chairs across from the chief’s desk, waiting for him to end the call. He didn’t like the sound of it. If the chief was talking to someone about the deaths, then a third one was heading into either epidemic or serial killer territory. There was no other way to interpret it. Denton was right. Coincidence doesn’t happen in threes.
Denton’s eyes darted to Bill from where they’d been staring at the tidy stack of papers on his desk as he talked. “You want me to send my man Bailey?”
Bill tensed. If this guy, whoever he was, was outside of Giles—
“No? All right, then.”
William relaxed. He realized that he would have to deal with the problem of not being able to leave the city soon. He couldn’t fake another anxiety attack if Denton tried to send him out of town. He wished he could just tell him that his confession he was a genie was real, instead of having to find a more reasonable lie, but no-nonsense, magic-denying Karl Denton was not a good candidate for the truth.
