ATwistedMagick (18 page)

Sometime in the middle of deep REM sleep, Shylah’s dreams turned to the future. She felt the weight of something in her arms. A baby boy. In front of her was a marble pedestal with water in the carved bowl. A baptismal font. Across from her stood a man in a white robe and satin stole. He had a kind face and was projecting his voice to people in the pews behind them. Gabe stood next to her and when she looked at his face, he was looking down at the baby with a broad, proud smile. The priest directed them to hold the baby, who was wearing a white christening gown, over the font. He made the sign of the cross and sprinkled the child with water. “Ruben Niguel, I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit…”

Shylah the dreamer felt a squeeze of horror. Had she converted to Catholicism for Gabe?

But then the scene changed as if answering her question. She and Gabe stood on a beach at twilight, surrounded by a circle of people the dreamer Shylah didn’t recognize, but they were gazing at the couple in the center with love. There was a bonfire beyond the circle, which was probably used to light the tiki torches that marked the Watchtowers. An elderly Hispanic woman stood before them in a white robe with the thin crown of a high priestess atop her head, the crescent moon centered above her craggy face. A silver pentacle hung on her chest and sparkled in what was left of the light. The sandy ground was covered with blue flowers.

The priestess lifted her bone athame high and called for the Lord and Lady to greet the new child and bless him. She asked for the name of the child.

“Ruben Quinn Niguel,” Shylah answered, and now the dreamer knew that the baby was named after their fathers, Gabe’s and hers.

An altar had been created on a piece of gray driftwood. From it, the priestess lifted the censer. Scents of rose and cinnamon drifted on the sea breeze. She turned to the east, calling to the Watchtower of Air to greet the new babe. She replaced the censer, picked up the candle, which had a glass bulb to protect the flame from the wind, and turned to the south, calling to the Watchtower of Fire. She did the same with the other two directions using their appropriate elements, each time calling for greetings and blessings for the new babe.

As Shylah lifted from REM sleep and drifted into a more conscious state, she knew two things—there was a new life inside her, a life so fragile that she hadn’t sensed it at first, and that she had to tell Gabe.

* * * * *

Gabe was in a plane heading home, but the clouds were weird, like oil paints on canvas, and the cabin was empty except for him. His cell phone sat on the little pull-out tray in front of him. He must have had it on speaker, because he could hear his mother’s voice loud and clear telling him what she planned to cook him when he got home. She was so happy he’d caught Lalia’s killer. She said the whole family was coming over to congratulate him.

He should feel proud, relieved and happy too. Instead, he kept checking his pockets, the seats around him and his carry-on bag for something missing, but he didn’t know what exactly.

Then he heard his Aunt Eldora’s voice. “You forgot love,
sobrino
.”

“Excuse me?”

“I wanted to meet her.”

“Who?”

“The mother.”

“I’ll see Mama when I get home, very soon.”

“Love is the mother of all creation. Love creates a family when least expected.”

Gabe was only half listening because a feeling of panic was growing inside him. He’d forgotten something very important. Outside his window he spied wings carrying his heart back the way he’d come. It had the same painted quality as the clouds.
I must be dreaming.
But the feeling of panic only grew.

“You must tell her,
sobrino
. Tell her how you feel. It is your truth.”

Suddenly the plane angled sharply. He tried to see the ground, to see what was going on. He spotted the Richmond airport, the place he’d just left. The plane was circling back around and as it did, Gabe’s panic subsided. He felt almost happy. He still wasn’t sure what he’d forgotten, but he knew he was going back for it.

Then the plane tipped steeply and dived.

Gabe woke with a start, crunching his hands in the blankets to hold on to something, anything, to keep from crashing. Then he felt a hand on his arm and another on his chest and he heard his name whispered by a familiar voice, a calming voice telling him it was just a dream.

And he finally knew what he’d forgotten.

* * * * *

Gabe lay awake, cuddling Shylah in his arms, fighting the urgent need to tell her that he loved her. She’d gone back to sleep after waking him from his dream and her even breathing should’ve lulled him back to dreamland too, but it wasn’t working. His rational mind was warring with his emotional one, trying to explain that the logistics of a long-term relationship with Shylah were insurmountable. But his feelings were clear finally, and his emotional mind was suggesting the wild idea of asking Shylah to move out to California with him. She’d lived in several states in her life, why not one on the west coast? He pictured her in a bikini at the beach, playing in the waves—she’d be so joyful with the ocean breezes brushing her hair and the water swirling about her legs. He knew she’d be like that away from all the suspicion this small town had buried her under.

He heard the creak of the door and realized someone had entered their room. Had to be Alain, since he was the only other person in the house. Gabe reached for the gun he always kept under his pillow, then realized it wasn’t there. It was wherever he’d dropped his pants, the bathroom probably. Damn. Maybe he was just being paranoid, maybe the fool just wanted to talk to Shylah in the wee hours of the morning for some reason.

Gabe sat up, hoping not to wake Shylah. “What do you want?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

“She cast a spell on me, a compelling spell. I can feel it pulling at me.” Alain’s voice sounded desperate. Gabe could see him better as he moved toward his side of the bed closer to the window. The sun must be coming up. “It’s urging me to confess against my free will.”

“Well, you can confess to me. It’ll be our little secret.”

Alain snorted. “Yeah right.”

“Just a thought.”

Gabe noticed the other man lifting his arm, then he saw the gleam of metal and his fear ratcheted up. What could he use as a weapon, the bedside lamp? And how could he get Shylah out of the way? He heard her gasp, so she was awake. Alain moved closer to his side of the bed, his arm shaky, the blade high. Gabe shoved Shylah across the bed just as the man lunged. She screamed as Gabe latched onto Alain’s scrawny wrist to keep the blade from coming down, but he quickly tossed the blade into his other hand and brought it to Gabe’s throat. Gabe let go of his wrist and became very still, extremely aware of the butcher’s knife touching his skin. It would’ve been different if he was getting a straight razor shave, but Alain seemed to be trembling with rage and Gabe really wanted the man to calm down.

Shylah had stopped screaming and was standing on the far side of the bed, naked. He thought she had something in her hand, but most of the room was still in shadows and he didn’t want to turn his head to get a better look.

* * * * *

“Alain, what are you doing?” she asked, trying to keep her voice level. She’d briefly thought about conking her ex-lover over the head with a lamp during his struggle with Gabe, but the lamps were light ceramic and unlikely to have any effect. Instead, she’d slipped the receiver of the bedside phone, the landline, off the hook and dialed 9-1-1. She’d picked up her cell phone and was holding it at her side, but was afraid to turn it on in case the light caught Alain’s attention. She heard the 9-1-1 dispatcher speaking, so she kept talking hoping Alain couldn’t hear the far away voice too. “You have to put the knife down, Alain. Aren’t you mad at me, my spell? You should take me and leave Gabe alone. You have to kill me to break the spell.”

“But it’s too late. I have to tell you, but I’ll kill him if you even try to tell anyone else.”

“I’ll keep your secret, Alain. Don’t hurt Gabe.” She watched Gabe grimace in his awkward half-sitting position. He hadn’t been able to maneuver enough to get the upper hand on Alain, for which he seemed extremely pissed.

“I have to tell you. I don’t have a choice.” His voice had grown louder and taken on a whiny quality.

“Tell me what?” Shylah braced herself, knowing it was about the Wanda Nance murder but hating that a man she’d once thought she loved was about to confess to something so evil. She hadn’t heard the voice of the 9-1-1 operator again; she only hoped she was still listening, recording what was going on.

“I did it.” He firmed up his lips as if he was trying to keep the words in, pressing the knife harder into Gabe’s throat as he did so. A trickle of blood oozed through Gabe’s five o’clock shadow.

“Did what, Alain?” She was trying to keep calm, keep her voice calm, like this was an everyday thing. She was also wracking her mind to think of some way to get that knife away from her current lover’s throat. She glanced at Gabe’s determined face—he was probably thinking just as hard on the same problem—when she saw it, the skull, the same one she’d seen when reading the tarot for him. Her heart stopped. No, he couldn’t die. She had to tell him the truth as much as Alain had to tell her his.

Dawn’s light was filling the room more and more, so Shylah could see that Alain was sweating. It was dripping down his forehead and his arms glistened. He was wearing jeans but no shirt. His mouth made funny movements as he grunted a few times. “I killed Wanda Nance!” The words burst from his larynx as if of their own will.

“Oh Alain, but why? Why did you do it?” She thought she heard sirens in the distance and prayed Alain didn’t notice. What if he panicked and killed Gabe? She had to get that knife away from him, but how?

“My pants,” Gabe said in a low voice, carefully so he didn’t move his neck against the blade. He eyed her meaningfully.

“Why, Alain, tell me why?” Shylah screamed, wanting to force it out of him, willing him not to notice as she stepped backward, once, twice.

“I needed to call forth Set to give me control. I needed control.” His eyes were staring past her, as if not seeing, looking into the past. “So many died, don’t you see? I could save them, bring them back, control the weather.”

Shylah took another step back, even with the bathroom door.

Gabe asked the question this time. “But what do you mean, control the weather? Who died?”

Shylah’s foot touched the pile of clothes and started sliding them under her. But if she reached down to search for what must be a gun, would Alain panic? She hadn’t known Gabe was carrying a gun last night, but then he probably had it on him most times. It had to be small caliber to keep it concealed so well.

“My family died. All of them.”

“Katrina,” Shylah whispered as the realization hit her. She risked reaching down for the gun.

“Stop!”

She froze. “I’m just reaching for my pants. I’m naked in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“What’s in your hand?”

She lifted her phone while lowering her other arm closer to the pants. “My phone.”

“Did you dial it? Is someone listening?”

“No, I couldn’t dial it. The light.”

“Throw it over.”

“Here.” She threw it as hard as she could from her awkward position and as Alain’s eyes followed it, she felt in the pants and scooped up the gun, sliding it up her leg to her hip. She kept it slightly behind her. She felt for what she thought might be the safety and flicked it, praying she wasn’t going to accidentally shoot herself or Gabe.

The sirens were louder, closer. Alain reached for the phone. Gabe used the momentary distraction to grab his knife hand and push his arm backward, twisting it. He cried out in pain, trying to smack Gabe with his free hand, but Gabe had gained his feet.

Shylah reacted, lunging across the bed, gun arm out. When the muzzle reached Alain’s captured arm, which was a slightly moving target no matter how tight Gabe held it, she screamed, “Drop the knife or I’ll shoot.” Could she shoot a human being though, even in self-defense? At least from this close range she wouldn’t have to worry about her aim…unless he jerked away. Then she might hit Gabe, but right now, she couldn’t think about that. She pressed the gun harder into his arm.

Alain stopped struggling with Gabe and stared into Shylah’s eyes. “You can’t kill me. I’m your mentor, the one who taught you magick. The two of us together…”

He didn’t get to finish that thought as Gabe pressed his thumb into his throat. “Drop the damn knife.”

Flashing light leaked through the curtains. The sirens had stopped and a loud pounding at the door commenced followed by a lot of shouting.

“We’re in the bedroom.” Shylah tried to yell, but her throat was really dry. She prayed the dispatcher was still listening.

The police started pounding up the stairs. Alain jerked his knife arm suddenly, trying to raise it. Gabe pressed harder into his throat until he gagged, but he kept fighting.

Shylah pulled the trigger.

Goddess, that’s loud
.

Blood sprayed everywhere. She knew the bullet had hit his arm, but she didn’t know if it had gone through to hit anything more vital. She hoped not. He dropped the knife with a spasm, giving Gabe the chance to push him facedown to the bed. Cops were shouting and those red laser lights were bouncing everywhere. Did they know who to aim at, who the bad guy was?

“Drop the gun!”

Shylah dropped it then was tackled, hands forced behind her back. Another cop dressed in black SWAT gear grabbed the gun as Alain tried to reach for it. There was a laser light on Gabe’s head. “No!”

“Let go of him. We’ve got it from here.”

Gabe released Alain and backed up, hands in the air. “There’s a knife on the floor.” Gabe pointed to his bloody neck. “He was trying to kill me.”

That didn’t seem to matter to the cops as they handcuffed both men.

“We’ll get it all straightened out downstairs.” Shylah turned at Detective Hain’s tired voice. She stood in the doorway in the same clothes she’d had on earlier. She probably hadn’t even been to bed yet. “They’re just following procedure.”