by Ann M. Noser
“Well, it’s going to rain soon. I better hurry. Call ya later!” Phoebe skips away, her black hair glistening under the hallway lights.
“Then I’ll be sure not to answer my phone,” I mutter so low she can’t hear, hoisting my heavy backpack and heading for my next class in the Science Hall. I gaze overhead at a blue sky laced with marshmallow clouds. “And I don’t think it’s going to rain.”
After my three-hour Organic Chemistry lab, I race home through a downpour. I glance down as I cross over the bridge. Heavy drops pelt the racing river.
A pale face stares up from the depths, then another and another.
A flurry of jumbled voices call out my name, begging for help.
I narrow my eyes, tired of the river mocking me. Slapping the railing in disgust, I turn away from the rushing waters to discover candles lining the bridge, their flames blurred by the rainstorm. The rain soaks my hair and clothing. A voice penetrates the wind.
I turn toward it.
Phoebe chants in the center of the bridge, her arms raised, the rain soaking the green letters of her black T-shirt.
I shake my head to dispel the vision, and the bridge reverts to normal.
I’m just seeing things. Again.
And it’s all that Smiling Pagan’s fault.
he first person to check out Abby’s apartment is Carl the Cyclist. He practically knocks me over with the 500-speed bike he insists on riding through the front door of the building. As he introduces himself, I’m blinded by his zebra print Lycra shorts. So disgusting.
I avert my gaze. “Hi. I’m Emma. You can park your planet-saver over by the mail slots. Or leave it outside with all the other bikes.”
He exhales sharply. “Hold on a minute. This bike probably costs more than your car. Are you sure it’s safe out here in the hallway?”
I roll my eyes, already hot and cross from spending the last two hours cleaning Abby’s apartment. “You can lock it if you want, but I have a Lexus in the parking lot. No one’s ever touched it.”
“I drive a hybrid.” His nostrils flare. “Everyone should.”
Thirsty from cleaning, I take a long swig of diet root beer to avoid spurting out a hostile retort.
Carl points at the can. “Did you know that every sip you take of that soda acidifies your blood, decreases lung capacity, and kills your metabolism?”
“But it tastes so good.” Leveling my gaze at him, I guzzle the rest of the can.
Carl scowls. “You’re killing yourself right now.”
I clench my jaw and move toward the apartment. Trust me, buddy, I’ve done much more dangerous things than this.
“Whew.” Carl fans himself. “I just got off work and really worked up a sweat getting here on time.”
I swing open the door. “Here’s the place. See what you think.”
Carl pauses in the doorway. “I hope you don’t use any of those cancer-causing anti-perspirants.” He grasps my arm with a moist hand. “Natural deodorant rocks are much safer and work just as well.”
I take a deep breath, trying not to tell him to stop touching me. That’s when I get a big whiff. Apparently, his deodorant rock isn’t as effective as he thinks.
The next contestant in the Great Apartment Search is Tremulous Alice. She nibbles her nails nonstop.
Great. Nail bits. Now I have to vacuum again.
“Are there mice?” She grimaces.
“No.”
“How about bed bugs? Fleas? Did smokers live here? Are there gangs in the parking lot? Does anyone walk big dogs past the front door?”
“I don’t think so.” My blood pressure is rising. I just know it.
She frowns, hands on hips. “You’re not sure?”
I pause, pretending to think. “Not about the dogs.”
She doesn’t call back.
Two more weeks pass without word from Walker. I leave several unanswered messages, worried something bad happened to him. I don’t want to call the station, because I don’t want to draw attention to myself. Where is he? I feel like I’m at the start of a race where the starting gun never goes off. That is, except for the running part. I don’t do that. Jake did. Oh, Jake.
April warms as it comes to an end. Abby panics that no one will sublet her apartment for the summer and she’ll be stuck paying the full rent. My birthday passes quietly. My parents stop by for a quick visit with presents. For once, I’m not terrified they’ll find something strange in my apartment.
Life has become monotonous. It would be stupid to admit that I’m bored. I should simply be grateful things are quiet, but life is so dull now. I feel myself fading into a shadow of what I could be.
One otherwise silent day, my phone rings.
“Hi. It’s Phoebe. Remember me?”
“Yes.” I mean no. Anyone but her. Carl didn’t smell that bad and Alice would never leave the apartment if I growled like a rabid dog when I got my mail.
“Hey, listen… is that sublet still available?” Phoebe asks.
I tense, clenching the phone. Is that chanting I hear in the background? Or am I being paranoid?
The next day, Phoebe appears at the front door. This time, her bright green T-shirt proclaims: Salem Witch Trials—I was framed!
“Hey, I remember you!” She grins. “You’re Emma—that girl with the humongous backpack.”
She’s right. My backpack practically weighs as much as I do. But why does she have to be so super-observant and have such a good memory? She’s trouble. Gotta get rid of her.
“Here’s the apartment.” I open the door and flick on the lights. “We just finished bug-bombing it yesterday. It stunk pretty bad in here at first.” I inhale dramatically. “Oh, good. The smell is gone now. That’s a relief.”
Phoebe sweeps into the room and spins around in a circle. “I’ll put the couch right here and the bookshelf over there. Oh, this will be perfect for my monthly Wiccan meetings. Hey, Emma, you should come sometime. We’re always looking for new members.”
She obviously missed the news bulletin about the bug bombs. I’ll have to try harder. “Do you have any pepper spray? There are some tough-looking guys who walk big dogs past here at night.”
“That’s awesome—I love dogs!” Phoebe skips into the kitchen. “This place is so clean—much cleaner than all the others I looked at, but they had guys living there, and guys are pigs.”
Dang it. I did too good of a job. Too bad I’m such a go-getter about every stupid thing on the planet. Right now, I hate myself. Or, at the very least, am highly annoyed.
She pops into the bed and bath, then returns to the kitchen. “I’ll take it. When can I move in? Is next week okay? I’m really getting tired of my roommate. She’s way too uptight.”
Crap! No, wait—it’ll be okay. At least Abby has a renter now. It’s only for the summer, Abby needs the money, and it’s not like Phoebe is going to force me to wear one of her stupid shirts.
Probably not, anyway.
I slide open the silverware drawer, forcing a smile. “Here’s the contract. Fill it out and mail it to this address. Once you’re approved, I’ll give you the keys.”
“Where do you live? Wait. Let me Guess.” She raises a finger to point overhead. “Directly upstairs from this apartment?”
Her accuracy is uncanny. I consider lying, but figure she’d find out. “Yes, upstairs in apartment six.”
“I thought so.” My newest neighbor grins, grabs the contract, and waltzes out the door, her black hair gleaming in the sun.
I’m going to have to stay away from that girl. She’ll see right through me, and I can’t have that.
My plans to stay away from Phoebe dissolve at the sight of a long trail of shabby cardboard boxes leading from the front door of the apartment building all the way to her rusty Volkswagen van. I grab an armful of packages and knock on her half-open door. A hint of incense tickles my nose.
“Come in,” she calls. “Oh, Emma, it’s so nice of you to help. Sorry about all my stuff out there.
I’m super slow about moving. It takes me forever to decide where to put everything. What do you think? I thought I’d start with the wall hangings.”
She points at a Celtic pentacle tapestry. The image both repels and intrigues me. Fighting the urge to be drawn into her world, I back away and bump into a rickety bookshelf. Colored candles and witchcraft books tumble to the floor.
“Oh no! I’m so sorry.” Scrambling around on my hands and knees to gather the fallen volumes, I pause, catching my breath as I recognize a few familiar titles. My own witchcraft books remain hidden in an unmarked box under the bed. The only two people left in town who know about my “gift” are Claire and Officer Walker, and that’s how I’d like to keep it. Except Walker’s still not in town. Where is he?
Incense clogs my throat. I can’t breathe. I’ve got to get out of here. She can’t know about me. I can’t trust her; she’s way too obvious. I make a beeline for the door, close to hyperventilating. “Sorry to drop and run, but I’ve got a zillion things to do. Have fun unpacking. See ya.”
Phoebe raises a pierced eyebrow. “You bet. I know where you live now.”
I escape into the hallway to catch my breath and check my mail. A letter from Jake’s younger sister, Laura, waits in the mail slot. Desperate for a lifeline, I rip it open with shaking hands then pause, worried she’ll have bad news. What if her kidneys—Jake’s kidneys actually—have started to fail? What if she’s sick again? Her news that she’s been accepted here at UW-Eau Claire puts a smile on my face.
My smile fades as I read about her dog.
We’re taking Nani into the vet tomorrow. She won’t eat anything. I thought at first she was depressed about Jake, but when she started peeing all over the house, I knew something was wrong. I hope there’s something they can do for her. I don’t want to lose her, too.
I unlock my apartment door and nudge it open with my foot. The answering machine light blinks, but I finish Laura’s letter first.
Then I hit play.
“Emma, it’s Officer Walker. There’s been another murder, and I need your help.”
call Walker right away, heart in my throat. My words come out in a rush. “Hey, did you figure out who killed Steve?”
He groans. “No, I’m afraid not. Plus, now I’m way behind at work. Listen, Emma, I called because I need your help with a different murder case, okay? Be ready to perform a séance in ten-no, make that five minutes.”
“What?” My head spins with both excitement and dread. “I can’t get ready that fast. I haven’t researched the murder, I don’t have my supplies organized, and I’m not centered at all.”
He sighs. “Come on, Emma. This is important. And don’t worry about it-you’re a natural. Just grab your stuff and let’s go.”
I need a moment. “It’s not that easy-“
“I’m getting in the truck right now. No more excuses. You promised you’d help, remember?”
“Fine, then.” I hang up with a scowl. “I make the stupidest promises sometimes.”
I race around gathering candles, parchment, and my Book of Shadows. I hate being rushed. It makes me sweat in an uncomfortable, non-athletic way.
Seven minutes later, Walker honks in the parking lot, peering up at my apartment through his windshield.
“I’ve got everything, right? Yes.” I glance around the living room before dashing out the door.
Officer Walker gets out of his truck wearing jeans, a navy striped polo, and his ever-present cowboy boots. “Can we take your car?” He stretches from side to side in the parking lot. “I just drove back from Chicago, and your Lexus will blend into the victim’s neighborhood better.”
I shake a finger at him. “Promise you won’t question my driving skills or choice in music.”
He raises a dark eyebrow. “Try to remember that your car is not an off-road vehicle, okay?”
“You’re so funny, I almost laughed.” I open the massive Coach purse Mom gave me last Christmas. Three candles fall out as I dig for my car keys.
Walker bends down to pick them up.
“I didn’t know you were such a gentleman.” I shove them back into the purse, beep open the locks, and climb inside.
“And I didn’t know you wore such hip outfits.” He nods at my sporty attire. “Your mom must’ve picked that one out.”
“Yes, Mr. Smarty. I got it for my birthday. While you were gone in Chicago and didn’t keep me posted about anything, I might add.” I pull out of the parking spot. “I don’t usually like the clothes she chooses for me, but this fabric feels like butter. It’s so comfortable.”
“Then a happy belated birthday to you, and thanks for driving.” He points to the left. “Go down Clairemont, then head south on 53 past Oakwood Mall. They’ve put the house on the market, so there’s no time to waste.”
“Okay. Got it. But before you tell me any more about this murder, I want to hear all about Chicago.” I tap on the steering wheel as we speed away from campus.
He sighs and shakes his head. “The whole thing was a wash. Couldn’t find even a trace of the gang I suspected. It’s like they went underground, disappeared. The last six to eight months there’s been zero criminal activity attributed to them in the area. It’s like they knew I was coming. I swear-every time I think I’ve found a lead, it’s another dead end.”
“Well, that sucks.” Acid pools in my stomach. What if we never find out who killed Steve?
He exhales slowly. “Yes. It does.”
I square my shoulders. Time to think positive. “Don’t worry. You’ll figure it out. Hey, maybe after we’re done with this case, I could help you with Steve’s murder again.” Because that’s what I really care about.
He taps his fingers on his jeans. “That’s a good idea. I’ll get the steel rod out of evidence storage.”
Ugh, that awful bent rod. I hate that thing. “Good. Then it’s a date.”
He holds up a hand of protest. “Wait a minute—”
I smile at the grimace on his face. “Relax, Old Man, I’m just kidding. You’re at least twenty years older than me.”
“More like ten,” he grumbles. “And don’t let your rich mama hear you talking about dating a thirty-something, black cop from Eau Claire, Wisconsin.”
I have to laugh. “Trust me, she’d rather I be dating you than doing what we’re really up to.”
He glances over, eyes wary.
“Mom can’t ever know that I’m a witch. She’d have a heart attack.”
He chuckles. “Then maybe you should consider majoring in something besides spell-casting.”
“I can’t even think about her finding out.” Because I’d rather die than deal with her disappointment. “Let’s focus on your murder case instead.”
“Okay. Listen up. There have been several murders in the state this year, but the M.O. for two of them was the same. Both Eva Garcia and Jennifer Pearson were wealthy, middle-aged women strangled at night in their own master suite. Jewelry and electronic equipment were stolen from the premises, perhaps to use burglary as a cover for the murder, because all attempts to identify the attacker by tracing serial numbers and searching Internet sales have failed.”
I focus on driving, but my mind is racing. “What about fingerprints or other evidence?”
“I just love it when you watch cop shows,” Walker says dryly. “The murderer left no clues. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be asking for your help.”
“So you want me to do a revealing spell right in the house?”
“Yes. In Eva Garcia’s bathroom, to be exact. Like you did for Steve’s murder. So I can view the details of the crime.”
I shiver, remembering the van, the spray-painted Smiley Face, and the gang that bludgeoned Steve to death before discarding his body in the river. Like watching a horror film where I knew the victim personally, but couldn’t do anything to stop the worst from happening right in front of my eyes.
“I didn’t have time to write a new spell, so I brought the old one. What if it doesn’t
work?” I haven’t done any witchcraft in a long time. What if I do something wrong?
“Why wouldn’t it work? It did last time.”
My shoulders tense. “I’ve only done this once before, remember? It’s not like I’m a professional witch, or something.”
“Are there professional witches? Maybe I should hire one.” He chuckles at his own joke, like always. “Just give it a try, Emma. That’s all I ask. Since they’ve put the house on the market, this might be my last chance to view the crime scene.”
“I’m surprised you got clearance for this.”
He stares out the window, whistling. “Take the next left, okay?”
I pause at a stop sign. “You do have permission, right?”
He avoids my direct gaze. “I don’t need permission.”
“Why not?” I’m not taking my foot off the brake until he answers.
“Because I have the keys.” He twirls them on his finger.
“Whatever you say.” I ease off the brake. “You’re the cop. I can’t get in trouble if I’m with you, right?”
“That’s right.” He nods in time to the music on the radio.
“So, tell me more about the case. You said Eva was killed in the bathroom?”
“Actually, the victim’s body was discovered in her bed, but forensics suggests that she was killed in the bathroom. I don’t want to divulge any more details. I wouldn’t want to influence whatever images your voodoo can show us.”
My eyes narrow. “It’s not voodoo.” It’s better than that.
“Whatever you want to call it, I’m cool with it.” He points at a stone front McMansion. “Pull in here.”
I park in the driveway next to a red and white “for sale” sign in the yard. I step out of the car and feel a sudden chill in the air.
“Brrr.” Goosebumps cover my arms as my gaze catches on the long white curtains swaying in a closed window on the second floor.
