by Wendy Wang
"That is a very good question," he said. He took a scoop of potato salad and shoved it into his mouth. He turned his head to the side again and didn't take his eyes off of her. She wished for just one second she could see inside his head. He seemed to be regarding her with care, as if he didn't want to scare her with the answer. Finally he smiled.
"We were not born in the sense that you understand. So there is no mother and father. But we do answer to someone."
"Who?" Charlie asked.
"He has many names. Most cultures regard him as the angel of death or just simply death. He is as old as time,” Tom said.
"You report to an angel?" Charlie asked.
“Not in the way that you think of an angel. In fact, we’ve wandered into very gray territory. This is how religions get started,” he said. “Isn’t it enough to know that we’re all part of something larger than ourselves?”
Charlie sighed and speared the halved cherry tomato on her plate. Jen had grown them in her kitchen garden and they were sweet little bites of heaven when Charlie had an appetite. All this talk of death and angels, though, made her hunger disappear. “Yes, I suppose it is.”
“Come on, let’s finish our lunch and go for a walk on the beach.” He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky and run into your cursed spirit.”
Charlie’s lips curved into a smile. “Maybe we will.”
Chapter 11
After a quick call to DOL headquarters, Ben found what he was looking for — a solid lead.
"In 500 feet turn right," the chipper voice of his GPS said.
"Yes ma'am," he said softly.
He noticed the sign before he even saw the half circle driveway. It read: Psychic Readings in large decorative letters. Next to it, hanging from the same wrought iron pole, was a placard with a laundry list of other services available. Tarot, séances, numerology, astrology and past life readings. Ben chuckled and turned into the driveway, parking behind a black Mercedes SUV. At least her clientele looked like they could pay.
He surveyed the small house that, from the looks of it, had been rezoned as commercial. The neat little brick ranch was wedged between a chiropractor in a nondescript white clapboard and an insurance agency in a beige saltbox.
A red neon Open sign flashed in the psychic’s window. Ben got out, walked up the three steps to the front porch and let himself in. A bell tinkled above his head as he entered the former living room now transformed into a waiting room. The cool, patchouli-scented air circulated around him and he closed the door. A well-dressed older woman with a silver bob and an expensive manicure sat in one of the antique chairs flipping casually through a magazine. Had Lauren gotten this wrong? This looked like a standard psychic set up.
The older woman looked up at him, her eyes going over his body from head to toe. She smiled.
"I don't think I've seen you here before," she said in a deep sultry voice.
"No, I stopped by more out of curiosity." He had an impulse to cover his chest with his hands. He didn't like the hungry look in her eyes.
"Okay, Elinor," a voice came from behind a beaded curtain. A moment later a woman in her early thirties emerged. A bright colorful red scarf held her long raven curls away from her face. She wore a ruffled blue blouse over a red tank top tucked into a pair of dark yellow, skinny jeans with red flats finishing off her outfit. Ben had to think hard to figure out exactly who she reminded him of. Her pale white skin and rosy cheeks gave it away. He chuckled to himself. Snow White.
She flashed her large blue eyes at him and gave him a smile. "I'll be right with you."
Elinor rose from her chair placing the magazine back in its rack on the floor. He watched the transaction between them as Snow White handed the older woman a paper bag.
"Well, that's new. Is it a poison apple?" he asked, amusing himself.
Snow White threw him a confused look. The older woman took the paper bag and shifted her gaze to him.
"No, my dear. It's much better than that," she purred. "You're welcome to come with me to find out."
Ben smiled and held his ground. "That's a tempting offer. But unfortunately I've got business here."
Elinor picked up her purse from the floor and slung the leather strap over her shoulder. "Well if you change your mind, I own the bead shop downtown."
He halfway expected her to try to take a bite out of him but she just flipped her hair and left, the bell tinkling overhead.
"So how can I help you?" Snow White asked.
Ben pulled his credentials from his pocket. "I'm Ben Sutton with the DOL. I'm hoping you can answer a few questions for me."
She took the wallet from his hand and studied the picture and credentials. She handed the badge back to him. "My business is on the up and up."
"We’ll have to see about that," he said. "Is there someplace we can talk privately?"
"Sure," she said. “Come on back to my reading room."
He followed her through the veil of beads down a narrow hallway. At the end he could see sunny yellow wallpaper with flowers, a white tile floor and white cabinetry. "So do you just work here or do you also live here?"
"Are you also from the zoning commission?" she asked.
"No," he said. "Just curious. It looks like a nice set up."
“Well, technically this is my business," she said. They passed a bedroom with shelves lining the walls stocked with jars of ingredients. In the center was what looked like a kitchen island. A large mortar and pestle rested on the butcher block top next to a large leather-bound book.
“You have a spells and potions room," he said.
"Yes, I do. It's an additional service I offer select clients." She stopped and stared him in the eye. "There's nothing illegal about it.”
“Maybe there is, maybe there isn’t. I may just have to call in a squad to go through it.”
“Are you kidding me?” she bristled. “Like I said, everything I do here is on the up and up.”
“That’s what they all say,” he chided.
"You know, I really don’t appreciate these sorts of surprise inspections. I should at least get a little notice."
"Well where would the fun in that be?" Ben quipped.
She stared at him in astonishment.
"Listen, I'm not really here to bust your chops over potions. I need help," Ben said.
She eyed him warily. "What kind of help?"
"I need to find a witch."
"Well, you found one," she answered tartly and started walking again. She directed him into a room on the right. The walls had been painted a dark purple and there were little silver stars and moons along the tops of the walls, bordering the ceiling. A rosewood table sat in the center of the room with two chairs facing each other pushed underneath. A deck of tarot cards rested on one side. Her side.
"Have a seat," she said sitting in the chair facing the door.
Ben pulled out the other chair and took a seat. He leaned forward with his elbows on the table. "You must do very well to afford the rent here."
"I have a lovely clientele. They take care of me and I take care of them," she said.
"Yeah, I bet. Wouldn’t want to do anything to upset that clientele would we?"
She narrowed her eyes. "No, we wouldn't. Now what can I help you with?"
"I got a report stating there had been a witch in the area that has summoned a demon. This evidently happened a week or so ago. A child went missing – a baby. And an older couple that was killed."
"Right, I heard about that on the news," she said. "And you think that was a witch?"
"No. I think it was a demon. Whether he's working with her or possessing her, that remains to be seen.”
"I don’t understand how I can help you," she said.
"Why don’t you tell me about the witches in this area? I don't have a registered coven here."
"Well I'm not surprised about that," she said. "Most of us here are in the broom closet. I get away with stuff because I�
��m a psychic. And that's a legal business. I might be scorned but nobody's threatening to burn my business down. Being a witch out in the open here, though, could be dangerous."
"How?"
"This is a small southern town with a church on every corner." She shrugged. "There are a few of us here, mostly hedge witches. We don't really gather together except on Mabon and Samhain. We’re friends but nothing official. No coven leader."
"I'm gonna need the names of the hedge witches in the area."
She sat back. "Okay. I'm happy to help but …"
"But?"
"I think you should get a reading."
"No thanks." He scowled. "No offense but I'm not one to put a whole lot of stock in the cards."
"It’s just one card," she countered.
"Why?" he said.
"It'll tell me if you're going to hurt my friends or not. That's all."
Ben met her unwavering eyes. "Fine."
"Cut the cards." She pushed the deck toward him. He did as she asked. Then she shuffled them together again and fanned them out in a semicircle across the table. "Pick your card.”
Ben reached for the first card in the center.
"Don't do it like that," she scolded and batted his hand away. "If you're gonna play, at least play right. You know how it works."
He blew out a heavy breath and closed his eyes. His right hand hovered above the table. An energy radiated faintly between him and the cards. His forefinger twitched and began to drag his hand from one end of the semicircle to the other and back before stopping. He opened his eyes and touched the forefinger to the edge of one of the cards between the middle and right end of the semi-circle.
He hated this sort of thing. Hated the pull of that card. Nobody was supposed to know the future. “That’s why the world is round and why you can’t see beyond the horizon,” his mentor Will Tucker had told him once when he was just a boy, following Tucker around from job to job. “Knowing the future won’t serve you anything but heartache, kid.” Words Ben usually lived by. He looked into the young witch’s eyes. She seemed to be studying his face.
“If you’re scared …” she began. A slight grin played on her lips.
“Ah screw you,” he muttered and drew the card out and flipped it over. “Happy now?”
“Very.” She pulled the card closer to her. “This is very interesting,” she said studying the beautifully drawn card.
“Interesting how?” he asked, keeping his tone flat.
“This is the world card. It’s that space between the ending of something and the beginning of something else. If you’d drawn it upright, it could have meant fulfillment or achievement. But you drew it upside down. You’re struggling. A door in your life is still open and it’s causing you strife. You need closure but you don’t want it. If you pick another card, it will tell me more about your situation.”
“No, thanks,” Ben grimaced. “Just give me the names. And I'll be on my way."
“Fine.” She gathered the cards back into a tidy deck and put his on top. “Let me get my address book."
Ben looked over his shoulder once she was out of sight, swiped the card he’d drawn and put it in his pocket.
Chapter 12
Ben scratched through another name on his list and tucked the piece of paper into his front pocket. Megan's name had not been on the psychic's list, but that didn't mean she wasn’t a witch. He had good instincts about these things and the brimstone only proved something demonic had happened at that house. Hopefully, one of the witches on the list would know her.
He punched in the next address on the GPS app on his phone and began to listen to the pleasant computer voice that doled out the directions to the next witch he needed interview — Arista Carrington. The confident female speaker led him out of the little sleepy town of Acadia to rolling hills. After almost twenty minutes, she directed him to turn right onto a long, unpaved driveway. When he emerged from beneath the tunnel of oaks, a large white plantation house with Doric columns and a wide brick front porch loomed before him. It looked almost like something out of a movie.
He parked at the base of the steps and got out. From the top of the porch, he looked back toward the driveway and could almost picture a carriage emerging from the corridor of oaks. When he rang the front bell it echoed through the grandiose house - ding dong ding. Ding dong ding. He waited a minute, listening for any sense of movement. He raised his hand to press the bell again but the door opened wide.
A regal, older woman with shoulder length silvery hair stood in the doorway. Her cold sapphire stare fixed him to the spot. She sniffed the air and narrowed her eyes. "To what do I owe this honor, Defender of Light?"
"How do you know I'm a Defender of Light?" he asked.
"I know a cop when I smell one," she said. “Whatever it is you think I've done, I know my rights. You have to prove it before you act."
"That kind of talk only makes me suspicious. You know that, right?" He could play this game too.
"Well, you people tend to act first and ask questions later. Nobody needs their magic bound up today. I have a potion brewing."
"I'm not here to bind anybody's magic today," he said. “I do have a few questions, though.”
"All right.” She folded her long thin arms across her chest.
"Are you Arista Carrington?"
"I am. And who are you?"
"My name is Ben Sutton. Do you mind if I come in for a few minutes?" He glanced behind her trying to see beyond the generous foyer.
Her thin lips flattened into a straight line, but she opened the door wider and gestured for him to enter. He stepped into the cool of the house. The scent of orange hung in the air, making his nose tingle.
The black and white marble tiles in the foyer gleamed. A remnant of days gone by, just like the staircase with the lustrous walnut banister. It curved up to a gallery overlooking the foyer.
"Come with me," she said, leading him into a living room decorated in all white. "Won't you have a seat?" She lowered herself into an overstuffed upholstered chair next to a coordinating overstuffed sofa. Ben sank into the sofa and scanned the room. The air smelled sweet and clean, with only a hint of orange. Not a speck of dust floated in the air.
“We received a report that a local witch may have summoned a demon. I've already talked to several witches in the area and none of them seem to know this witch.”
“I’m not surprised. We all keep mostly to ourselves,” she said.
"I figured that much out. I do have a lead on a Megan Forrester. From the looks of her house, she may be my culprit," he said.
Arista was all angles and lines, with just a hint of curve at the breast and hips. Nothing about her sharp pointed face suggested warmth or empathy. “So?”
"None of the other witches I’ve spoken to in this freaking town seems to know who she is. You people don’t even seem to get together for high holidays." Irritation crept into his tone.
“There are no laws saying we have to,” she replied.
“Maybe there should be,” Ben said studying her body language. “There’s less chance of someone going rogue when there’s a coven. And more sense of community.”
She shrugged one bony shoulder and rolled her eyes. "Community has never been my thing.”
"Maybe I’ve got it wrong then," Ben said. He sat forward with his elbows on his knees and folded his hands together. "Maybe it isn't Megan at all. Maybe it's you."
Arista's sat up straight. Her jaw set with determination. "And tell me how you came to that brilliant deduction." She practically spat the words.
"Fairly easily. Maybe Megan doesn't really exist. Maybe she's made up. A scapegoat for all the other witches like you who want to do dirty deeds and not have to be accountable for them. What kind of potion are you making, Arista?"
"That's none of your business," she said.
"I would beg to differ with you. If it's anybody's business it's mine and the DOLs." He got to his feet and stared down at her. "Where is i
t?"
Southern women were notorious for their ability to conjure a look that could kill. And southern witches were no exception. The animosity in Arista’s stare made the hairs on Ben's arms shrivel as if they'd been touched by heat. "Do I have to turn this house upside down?"
"You don't have the right to do that. Not without the correct paperwork."
"What makes you think I can't get the correct paperwork by the time I'm finished tossing this place?" he said. They stared at one another, neither willing to yield. Ben didn't have the patience for this sort of thing. And it was almost as if Arista sensed that about him.
Her chest rose and fell too quickly though. The pale skin at her hairline became dewy. If he could just hold out long enough. Surely she would break.
"What's it gonna be Arista? You show me what you're making and I don't tear this place down." A bead of sweat traveled down her hairline, disappearing near her ear.
"Okay let the tearing begin." He took one step away breaking her gaze. A familiar thrumming pulsated in his palms as he shifted his magic toward them. Two glowing yellow- orange orbs formed, hovering above his cupped hands.
"Okay," she said. "Just put your guns down. There won't be any need to burn anything down."
Ben closed his hands and the yellow orbs disappeared, the energy reabsorbed into his body. "I'll ask one more time then, what are you making?"
"If you must know I am making a potion to kill the demon."
"And why would you do that?"
Arista sighed and rolled her eyes in defeat. "Because Megan Forrester is my niece."
"So you've known this whole time," Ben said not bothering to hide the disgust in his voice.
"Yes I have known. The problem with Megan is that she's not actually a very powerful witch. I let her apprentice under me a few years back and well it was disastrous actually."
"Do you think she meant to summon the demon then?" Ben asked.
"I don't know." Arista dabbed at the sweat along her hairline, pushing it into her hair. "I would like to think that she did it by accident. She sometimes would screw up spells pretty badly."
