Bedroom Eyes (28 page)

Penelope wasn’t sure why a gas burner made much of a difference, but as she had prior to last night’s spell, she went along with Mrs. Merlin’s point of view. The woman was, after all, a guest in Penelope’s home, and though she might have wreaked havoc on her ordered life, she’d also brought a refreshing sense of adventure along with it.

The white candle from last night’s spell occupied the center of the altar. Penelope eyed the cherry-red candle, the one Mrs. Merlin had described as representing the essence of love and desire.

Without meaning to, she reached out and stroked the smooth side of the pillar-style candle. “What happens if we light both candles at the same time?” she asked, trying to sound as if she were merely gathering information in a disinterested fashion.

“Candle magick is a matter of personal sensitivity. If your instincts prompt you to add a second candle, it’s the right thing to do.” Mrs. Merlin recited the words as if reading from an instruction book, but Penelope noticed the flattened magician eyed the cherry-red candle with a half-smile on her face as she answered the question.

Before she could change her mind, Penelope lifted the cherry-red candle and with one swift gesture placed it in the center of the altar, wedged against the side of the white candle. Then she lit the two wicks using the still-flaming incense stick.

“Place me in front of the flame,” Mrs. Merlin commanded in an excited voice. “But be careful, not too close.”

Quelling her anxiety, Penelope scooted the bookmark shape of Mrs. Merlin in front of the white candle. Her anxiety came from both conscious and unconscious sources. The good student in her couldn’t help but remember that only yesterday Mrs. Merlin had emphasized repeatedly the importance of the place of peace, the importance of one visiting this place prior to embarking on any practice of candle magick.

Yet tonight Mrs. Merlin had hurried her onward.

Penelope swallowed, unable to contain her nervousness. Staring at Mrs. Merlin, she said, “But what do I do? How do I help with a spell I don’t understand, let alone believe in? Last night you did everything and I just watched.” As she spoke, she jostled the cherry-red candle and a blob of wax splashed on the back of her hand.

“Ouch!” Penelope raised her hand to her mouth, about to cool the bum with her breath. Then she paused, staring down at the shape the wax formed on her hand.

“You’re dreaming,” she said aloud, her voice held to a low whisper.

“No, you’re not,” she answered herself. “You’re perfectly sane and aware of your surroundings.

“But then why,” she asked herself, “am I seeing the shape of a cat in this blob of wax?”

Mrs. Merlin chimed in with, “Sure looks like a cat to me.”

Penelope shrugged. “It’s only my overactive imagination that makes me see a cat.” Besides, she had cats on her mind because of the misunderstanding Tony had about Mrs. Merlin being a cat. That was the only reason she was interpreting the blotch on her hand as the shape of a cat, back arched, mouth wide and spitting.

“If you’re finished with your attempt to rationalize the language of magick, can we get on with this spell? It’s getting hot next to these candles.”

Trying not to stare at the shape of the cat, Penelope nodded. She ought to scrape the wax off, but it didn’t feel as if it had burned her skin. It was curiously cool.

Mrs. Merlin had begun muttering under her breath. Her voice rose and she said, “Now, concentrate on the flame. Picture me whole. Picture me round and tall and scarfing down some of that pasta you cooked the other night. Picture me eating anything but oatmeal.”

“I thought you liked oatmeal.” Penelope murmured the words, intent on the hypnotic effect of the flame combined with the fantasy images that filled her mind.

Tony dominated her mind, replacing her make-believe world, rendering it obsolete. No longer could she remember her years of fantasizing over Raoul, the once-perfect romantic hero of her mind. Now only Tony would do for her.

In her senses, he held her in his arms, claiming her, making her his woman. She pictured him possessing her in the most intimate way, and as she saw them joined together, she stroked the base of the cherry-red candle, heedless of the heat seeping through the wax.

She must have moaned, because Mrs. Merlin said in that caustic voice of hers, “I didn’t know magick excited you so much.”

Penelope blushed. “I’m just trying to get involved in the process.” Involved with Tony was what she wanted, involved to the point where he wouldn’t whisk her out of his arms and out of his house the next time they lay together. Her eyes following the two flickering yellow-white-blue flames, she hoped there would be a next time.

Mrs. Merlin rippled slightly, then the movement grew stronger. “Involvement,” she said, her voice rising and falling as her flattened body swayed, “requires setting aside your fears, opening your heart to whatever may come of the process. Magick is a lot like love in that respect.”

“My heart is open,” Penelope whispered, thinking of the expression on Tony’s face after she’d confirmed the truth of her dire lack of sexual experience. He’d been shocked, true, but she’d seen a dawning of something close to admiration, too. Thinking back on that, Penelope realized he had stopped out of respect and concern for her.

And those feelings gave her hope—hope that Tony hadn’t thought of her as a one-night stand.

The flame of the cherry-red candle leaped higher then danced itself in a circling arc around the wick.

Mrs. Merlin smiled and called out, “To the moon and the stars and the goddess above . . .”

The words were quite musical. Enjoying the flow of the moment, Penelope swayed along with the dancing candle flame.

“Chant,” Mrs. Merlin commanded. “Last night I said the spell to myself, but tonight you must repeat it after me. I’m afraid I may not have enough substance to summon the necessary powers.”

Penelope repeated the phrase, not quite as musically, but the effect pleased her. She’d long forgotten to feel self-conscious or ridiculous. Somehow Mrs. Merlin’s ritual felt exactly like what she should be doing on this amazing night.

“We offer these flames. . ..”

Penelope closed her eyes halfway and, without knowing why, reached out and placed her fingertips on the squared-off form of her unusual new friend before repeating, “We offer these flames. . ..”

“We ask that the stars form the path, the moon light the way, and the goddess grant this wish. . . .” Mrs. Merlin’s eyes had closed. The flattened body quivered and swayed, then sagged beneath Penelope’s hand, giving her the oddest sensation that she’d just experienced Mrs. Merlin’s essence departing the bookmark-shaped self.

Yet the voice of Mrs. Merlin came again, as she murmured, “Hear this wish to make me whole again.”

The flames leaped, then sputtered, then dissolved into twin spirals of dark gray smoke.

Mrs. Merlin’s eyes flew open. “Merciful mergatroids!”

“What’s happened?”

“Nothing. And nothing’s going to tonight.” Mrs. Merlin’s mouth quivered. “And I am so hungry.”

“Can’t we try it again?” Penelope did feel badly for Mrs. Merlin. “Maybe the air conditioner came on and blew out the candles.”

“I’m afraid that’s only wishful thinking,” Mrs. Merlin said. “I may make a mistake here or there with candle magick, but I understand when the stars are telling me I blew it.”

“Oh,” Penelope said, feeling guilty. If she’d gotten home earlier, perhaps the spell would have worked.

“And there’s no need to blame yourself,” Mrs. Merlin said, as if she’d read Penelope’s mind. “Everything happens for a reason.” She sighed. “Let’s just go to sleep and try this again tomorrow night. At eleven-eleven, sharp.”

Penelope settled the flattened Mrs. Merlin onto a cushion, and after one last look at the cherry-red candle, she turned out the lights and tiptoed to her bedroom.

Empty lots in Tony’s Riverbend neighborhood ran to weeds accented by empty beer bottles, discarded hubcabs and tires, and the occasional used condom.

The comer lot on Tony’s block, however, sported no weeds and no trash. Where it backed up against the Southern Pacific rail crossing, a thickly grown hedge of oleander separated it from the passing trains. The kids in the neighborhood took turns trimming the grass around the edges of the lot.

It was the center of the lot that held their real interest, where Tony had created a basketball court. A cousin in the construction business kept the court smoothly paved and the lighting operational. Another cousin had planted the oleanders and seeded the grass.

He had to hand it to his family: They might have all moved to the suburbs but, when he went to them for help in improving their old neighborhood, they pulled through.

It was Tony, though, who four years ago had replaced the hoop net stolen only one week after he and the kids had opened up the court. The neighborhood banded together, found the wise guy who’d nabbed it, and the kids administered a well-deserved thrashing.

No one had stolen a net since.

The court closed at eleven, when curfew sent the youths of the neighborhood home. It was way past that time when Tony rose from his bed in frustration, grabbed a basketball, and went out to shoot a few hoops by the light of the street lamp.

Most of the neighborhood stayed home behind locked doors this time of night, barricaded against crime. Tony hated the crime that ravaged his city, too, but unlike so many others, he’d sworn to do something about the problem. As a police officer, and as a neighbor, he tried to make a difference.

The ball tucked under his arm, he let himself out of his house and walked to the comer lot. There he raced, dribbling the ball the length of the half-court, leaped, spun, and dunked the ball.

The movement released some of his pent-up energy. He knew he’d done the right thing for Penelope, stopping when he had earlier that evening. The only problem was, his body didn’t agree with his mind.

What an incredibly wonderful surprise she’d been—soft and curvy and responsive—a secret delight hidden under that “don’t touch me, don’t even look twice” exterior! He’d sensed that hidden passion since the first time he’d seen her, but what a joy to confirm his hunch.

Pacing back to the free throw mark, Tony snapped the ball against the court a whole lot harder than necessary. Bending at the knees, poised for the shot, he pictured her beneath him, her breasts full, nipples puckered and glistening from the strokes of his tongue.

He let go of the ball and it slammed the edge of the rim and shot off at a wild angle, rolling toward the street.

“Nuts.” He had to quit thinking of Penelope. Remembering only made him want her more. And he couldn’t have her.

“Not yet, anyway,” he said aloud, then jogged after the ball.

A dark-colored car with tinted windows turned the comer, moving at a snail’s pace.

Instantly on alert, Tony slowed his approach toward the curb. His instincts prompted him to reach for his gun.

Of course he didn’t have it.

They’d made him turn in his official weapon the day he’d been stripped of his uniform, his badge, his public honor.

He’d bought another one the very next day, from a helpful youth on a dark backstreet near the riverfront. Only twenty-five dollars and no waiting period. Not traceable, either.

But tonight, caught up in thoughts of Penelope, he’d left it in his house.

The car stopped opposite where he stood. The back window rolled smoothly downward.

Whistling softly, Tony bent to retrieve the basketball.

“Move nice and slow and you won’t get hurt,” said a voice from the backseat.

Tony rolled the ball onto his foot and with a quick movement, vaulted it into his hands. Spinning it, he said, “Nice of you to visit, Rolo Polo.”

“Shut up and get in.”

Okay, so the fat guy didn’t want to converse casually. Tony took note of that as the door opened. One of Rolo’s regulars stepped out. As he was hustled into the car, Tony’s main thought was thankfulness he hadn’t brought Penelope to his place.

He turned his head toward the man occupying the other side of the backseat. “You’re up late, Hinson.”

The lawyer smiled, a tight-lipped expression, and the skin close to his right eye twitched. “Never too late for a little business, is it, Tony, my boy?”

Evil, Tony reflected as he studied Hinson, wore many faces. During his years on the force, he’d seen the mask of the dumb joker who thought cruelty amusing. He’d witnessed evil sparked by impotent frustration and fueled by the rage of domestic disputes. He’d served as spectator to the aftermath of far more shootings than he cared to remember, most of them the result of drug deals gone sour.

Drugs, to a large extent, controlled by Hinson’s boss.

They rode only a short ways from the basket-ball court, bumping over the railroad tracks and shooting off the gravel and oyster-shell road that crossed over the levee. The whistle of a tug sounded its alert as it pushed a string of barges by on the river. Tony caught the glimmer of lights in the distance as he looked past Hinson, focusing himself to play this moment exactly as it had to be played.

Inside the car the only sounds were those of Rolo Polo chewing on his unlit cigar. The flunky who’d hustled Tony into the car stepped outside when they ground to a halt on the top of the levee access road.

The tick in Hinson’s cheek spasmed. Tony considered that a good sign. The more tension Hinson experienced, the more quickly he would crack.

“So,” Hinson said, breaking the silence, “you must be running a little short of cash after a few months off work.”

Tony shrugged. “I’m picking up a few jobs here and there.”

“Is that right?” Hinson smiled thinly and shifted his hand. The diamond ring on his pinky glinted. “I’ve been authorized to inform you that if you were to apply for reinstatement to the police department, you would more than likely receive a favorable reception.”

Tony knew better than to seem too eager. “Yeah, they’d take me back to do what? Walk the streets of some housing project? Shuffle papers behind a desk?”

Hinson picked a speck of lint from his trousers. “You’ll go back with full pardon, apologies, and champagne all around, from the chief down to the janitor. A promotion, too.”