ATwistedMagick (7 page)

When she stepped out of the bathroom, she saw that Gabe was already under the covers and had turned off all the lights except one on the nightstand. Shylah walked to the closest side of the bed, slipped off her pants and quickly got under the covers.

“Ready?” Gabe reached for the light switch.

“Yup.” And the room fell into darkness, as dark as a hotel room got anyway. There was always some sliver of light from the brightly lit outside that would reflect on the wall of the room and there was the red dot on the fire alarm. Shylah squeezed her eyes shut. She heard a muffled TV from a nearby room. Who the hell was watching TV at this time of the morning? And she heard Gabe breathing. The rhythm didn’t sound quite steady enough for sleep. She’d wait. Maybe she’d fall asleep first, but she doubted it. She needed to talk to Alain more than ever now. Maybe he could tell her a spell to undo what had been done, but she knew better than to use magick for personal gain. He’d taught her that in the beginning, before things had changed in the coven. So even if she could convince him to give her a spell, the universe may not want it to work.

* * * * *

Gabe had walked her to the vintage clothing shop then said a quick goodbye before hustling to his car. He needed to get away from her. She had seemed so fragile last night, defenseless as she’d hugged the toilet. And in bed, he’d listened to her sleep for a long time before he lost consciousness himself. She’d seemed better when they woke up. He’d ordered the “everything” breakfast and it arrived while she was in the bathroom. She’d scarfed down all the scrambled eggs and most of the orange juice before showing any sign of slowing down and sharing with him. She spoke only to tell him her intention of buying a shirt. And here he was, walking across the cobblestones much faster than necessary, so that he could get to the privacy of his car.

He popped an audio book into the player and tried to concentrate as he drove. Ten minutes later, he had no idea what the book was about, so he gave up and turned on the radio. His hotel in Smith Creek had put out a small continental breakfast spread, so he picked up a cup of coffee on the way to his room, a room much downgraded from the Omni. He tossed his keys and cell phone on the laminate table, set down his coffee and opened up his contact book. He was trying to trace Shylah’s past. She’d moved around a lot before coming to Virginia. That in itself was suspicious. What was she running from? And if she was running, why hadn’t she changed her name?

He’d found her birth certificate through a database. She’d come into this world in Atlanta, Georgia. Her parents died when she was ten—he’d found their death certificates and obits—in Kentucky. Car crash. From there, he couldn’t trace where Shylah had lived out her teens. He suspected the mother’s surviving sister mentioned in the obit. He tracked down her current address in Georgia through DMV records, but he still found no paper trail for Shylah. Until age seventeen, when she’d been arrested in Alabama, but those records were sealed.

Gabe picked up his cell phone and dialed his contact in Birmingham. “Hey, bud. I need a favor.”

“Hey, what’s new? Isn’t it your turn to do a favor for me?” Levi Adkins had a gruff, cigarette-induced voice. He was a PI with contacts in the DA’s office as well as other law enforcement. Oddly enough, Gabe had never met him, but then he’d never met most of his contacts.

“I need you to see if you can get any info on the sealed juvie record of Shylah Lewis.”

“Sealed generally means sealed, you know. It’s illegal to get into those records.”

“When has that ever stopped you?”

The man chuckled. “True. Look, I’ll check into it, but there are some things that my contacts just won’t do for anyone and looking into a sealed record may be one of them.”

“Well, call me back if you find out anything. Maybe you can at least get a handle on where she was living, what school, who she was living with. Anything like that.”

“Not wanting much, are you?”

“I guess I owe you a couple times over. Feel free to ask me for a favor anytime.”

“Oh you can count on it.”

After clicking off his call with Levi, Gabe opened his laptop and dove into the trail of Shylah’s past residences. He got back about three years and discovered she’d been in New Orleans. He did a quick search on the town and the year, as he’d done for each residence prior, and that’s when something popped. It was an archived article on the
Times-Picayune
website about a murder that took place in St. Vincent de Paul Cemetery in the Ninth Ward. It mentioned the names of several covens that were being questioned, but more damning was the unsolved murder itself. Pentagrams drawn on the hands and forehead in blood. It was an adult female, Wanda Nance. The article had the name of the lead investigator, so he’d get in touch with him to ask a few more questions.

He discovered that his coffee was cold and undrinkable after one offhanded sip as he listened to the information recording so he could get the number he needed. Why had everything gone to these recorded phone trees? It was such a pain in the ass. Finally he was writing down the number then dialing. “May I speak to Detective Sampson, please?” He heard a mumble then was put on hold.

“This is Sampson, can I help you?”

“This is Gabriel Niguel. I’m a private investigator looking into the murder of two children in central Virginia.”

“Yes?”

“The person of interest is Shylah Lewis. She lived in…”

The detective was saying “Aha” before he’d finished his sentence. “Yes, I know Shylah.”

“Can you tell me about her involvement, if any, in the murder of Wanda Nance?”

“She was considered a suspect at one point.”

“But something cleared her?”

“Lack of evidence. We were looking at a trio of her coven members. I’ve come across self-proclaimed witches before, but they’re usually New Age flakes who get together for beer and cakes. But Shylah’s coven practiced darker stuff, pulling from other religions such as Voodoo and Santeria. When we raided Shylah’s apartment we found a pentagram drawn on the floor with chalk and similar incense as the traces we found at the scene.”

“But what enabled you to get that warrant in the first place?”

“Shylah worked with Wanda at a restaurant, and Wanda had gone to one of the coven meetings. She’d told all the employees at the restaurant about the weird ritual they’d done. This resulted in Shylah being fired. She still hadn’t found a job by the time of the murder.”

“Anything else?”

“An altar tool found at the crime scene, a silver chalice, matched the set used by the coven and was missing. But there was also Wanda’s boyfriend, other strange members of Shylah’s coven, as well as two other covens with matching tools, a Satanist group who liked to sacrifice animals and our abundance of Voodoo practitioners. Shylah’s connection was too circumstantial for the DA, so he decided not to press charges. Soon after, Shylah left with no forwarding address. You’re telling me she’s in Virginia?”

“Yeah, small town named Smith Creek. Why? Is there an arrest warrant for her now?”

“No, but this is the first time I’ve had a handle on her location. I’d like to keep track of her in case we catch a break. There’s been another murder involving Shylah?”

“Well, her involvement is unclear, but it’s an occult murder in her town. Two teens this time. Detective Hain never contacted you?”

“No.”

Gabe wondered why. She must’ve done a background on Shylah, but maybe she’d just checked for a criminal background and didn’t look further.

“Their hands had pentagrams painted in blood. They also found Shylah’s DNA in the form of a strand of hair on the girl. The prosecutor hasn’t brought charges because Shylah was a teacher at the girl’s school and the hair would’ve been easy to explain away as contact at the school.”

“If none of the other Nance murder suspects are in Virginia, then that’s quite a coincidence. What about a matching altar tool?”

“They found a chalice at the scene, but I don’t know that they tried to match it up with anything in Shylah’s home. They dusted it for prints, of course, but it was clean.”

“You might want to see if you can get a picture of the chalice they found. I can send a snap of ours to your cell. Then try to search her house for matches.”

Gabe nodded, though the detective couldn’t see him do so. “That’s a good place to go from here. Thanks.”

“Keep me informed, okay? It might help us re-open the case here.”

After hanging up, Gabe waited for the picture to arrive on his cell phone. As soon as he saw it he recognized the similarities to the picture of the chalice he’d seen in Detective Hain’s case notes. He needed to talk to the detective again, find out if she’d researched Shylah’s background at all and take a look at the actual chalice for himself.

* * * * *

Shylah’s hand shook as she lifted the phone receiver. She’d never get over that feeling of desire mixed with fear that her mentor caused in her, no matter how many states stood between them. When he’d stood in the center of circle, his naked body decorated in tattoos, his short black hair damp with sweat, his arms outstretched, holding a staff in one hand and an athame in the other, he’d seemed so powerful and sexy. Shylah had longed to replace Claire as high priestess so she could feel his lips on her body as he pressed the five-fold kiss. And when she had become his lover as well as his student, she’d reveled in the sinewy contours of his muscles during sex and the danger and challenge of his magick teachings.

He’d been the coven’s rock during the murder investigation, keeping them steady in the face of probing and prejudice. But he’d also been the one, as high priest, to steer them into darker, more dangerous magic. Instead of an athame dipped into the chalice to symbolize the Great Rite, he’d acted it out with Claire in front of them all. After the ritual was over and cakes and wine were spread and shared, no one could say no to the other coven members if they wanted to touch or have sex. She supposed those times would be called orgies, though she never thought of them that way, since each coven member was an individual, a friend.

She remembered the frenzied eroticism as she lay back on a thousand pillows and each female coven member, including Claire the high priestess, touched and tasted her all at once, her mouth, each breast, her hips, her forehead. She remembered the men watching, but it was Alain’s eyes that seared her. She’d held his gaze as tongues flicked at her nipples, her clit, willing him to experience her ecstasy. Fingers teased at her ass and pushed into her vagina, fingers turning into a fist. Claire’s soft, long hair cascaded over Shylah’s hips as she’d sucked her clit. The others tasted and bit her nipples, and as they busied their mouths with their asses in the air, a couple of the men took that as invitation, pushing into them from behind. Their hums of pleasure vibrated along Shylah’s nerve endings. Alain never broke eye contact as her body arched and shook with orgasm.

And now, after all this time, she would pull up that memory when she touched herself, would get flushed, wet and sensitized. Somehow, that time, without Alain even touching her as he did many times later, turned her on the most.

But it wasn’t that old memory keeping her perpetually turned on today; it was Gabe’s face above her as he lost himself inside her. His cock filling her, pounding her. His mouth, his touches and later, his tenderness when he could’ve just left her alone in the bathroom.

She hadn’t called Alain since she’d moved to Virginia, since she’d felt his palpable disappointment the last time they’d talked, when she’d told him she was moving again because the local folk didn’t like her Wiccan ways. He’d asked her if she was a witch or a poser and told her to grow a backbone. She still winced at the memory.

She dialed the phone, trying to focus on what she wanted to ask him. Keep it simple, this was about tarot cards, nothing else.

But things were never simple with Alain.

Instead of “hello” Shylah got a greeting of, “Where the hell have you been? Every time I scry, I see your face with a dark cloud behind it.” Alain’s low voice sent shivers to her toes, making her think of his muscled chest visible through an open black robe as he’d called to the Horned God.

“Maybe the dark cloud is because I haven’t decided whether I want you to know where I am.” Shylah cleared her throat so that her voice wouldn’t sound so squeaky.

“Why would you not want me to know where you are?”

She smiled. “Why would you need to know where I am?” She hadn’t told him the last times she’d moved either, but he always divined her general location. She plopped down on the couch. “Look, I called because I have a question about the tarot. I had a strange reading that perhaps I’m interpreting all wrong.”

“No small talk? No telling me how you are? I haven’t heard from you in months.”

“I would’ve just been whining about the mean town people. Same old song and dance.”

He sighed. “Have you moved again?”

“No. I’m trying to stick it out this time. I’m innocent of what I’ve been accused, and I’m not running away with my tail between my legs.” She said it with force, so that Alain would not question her, though she still doubted her decision every day.

“Bravo! About time you figured that out. What are you accused of?”

She didn’t know why, but she didn’t want to tell him about the murder, and she didn’t want him to know where she was. The gods seemed to agree with her, since he could only see a dark cloud in his divination. She forced a chuckle. “The school didn’t get accreditation, so the teachers are under review and the students may have to retest.”

“And this is your fault how?”

“Apparently the mere fact that I’m a practicing witch is enough to blame me for the problem.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re holding out. You’re a good teacher.”

Except she was a fired teacher, but she didn’t mention this. Although she was chomping at the bit to discuss Gabe’s tarot reading, she listened as Alain filled her in on coven news. They’d had thirteen members until Shylah left, and it had taken Alain a long time to find someone to fill her slot. The newbie’s name was Star—how clichéd—Rivers, but Alain had barely mentioned her since the first time. She wondered if they’d had to replace her after all. “How is Star working out?”

He sighed. “Star decided to work with another coven. Apparently we weren’t fluffy bunny enough for her.”

“Poser, I guess,” Shylah said, though she wasn’t sure she disagreed with Star now that she’d had time and space to reflect.

“So where are you?”

“Maryland.” She hoped he didn’t recognize the area code. “A small town.”

“So, other than the school issue, do you like it there? Because New Orleans surely misses you.” He said it like N’awlins, with that accent that used to curl her toes.

“Pretty much. I have a great little house with a stamp-sized yard for my herb garden.”

“Met anyone?”

Ah, she sensed that was the question Alain was very interested in. She didn’t know why though. He’d never actually loved her, not romantically anyway. “Nope. Small town—that’s one of the downsides.” She kept mum about Gabe as well. No need to advertise that little mistake, though Alain might’ve been able to offer her a pregnancy divining spell. She realized she still cared what he thought, even after all this time and all her fears about him.

“Have you at least found a new coven to practice with? How close are you to Baltimore? I’m sure you’d find one there.”

“Actually, I’m fine as a solitary. It gives me a different focus.” She took a deep breath. “So…about the reading?”

“All right, tell me about the cards.”

She pulled out her notes and detailed Gabe’s spread of the Celtic Cross, including her interpretation of physical death. She didn’t say how much she knew Gabe, or that she thought the Lovers card referred to her.

Alain responded card by card, sometimes agreeing with Shylah’s interpretation and sometimes seeing something different.

“Wheel of Fortune at the beginning. You say unusual loss, but it could also be destiny or that the wheel is spinning and the atmosphere is very much in flux.”

“Hmm.” Shylah didn’t explain that she thought the unusual loss could refer to Gabe’s cousin, Lalia. “Go on.”

“Let’s see. Hermit. You see that as a specific person? I think I’d agree with that. Three of pentacles. I’d agree that he just got paid for something regarding work. Justice reversed. Is he dealing with prejudice or abuse?”

“I don’t know.” She knew that she was dealing with prejudice and abuse. Perhaps the reverse meant that Gabe was coming at this with his own bias, believing her guilty.

“Well, Lovers…did you ask him if he was getting married?”

“He didn’t mention it. The Moon means he fears deception, right? Lovers could also refer to trust.”

“Yes. He’s dealing with a lot of negative opinions from those around him.”

“Uh huh.”

“Emperor. Why did you narrow in on accomplishment?”

“A feeling. I don’t think he’s after money in this endeavor.”

“And death. Why do you feel this means physical death, rather than transformation?”

Shylah pictured Gabe’s face during the reading and shivered. “The last four cards just gave me a really strong negative vibe, and for a moment—this is crazy—I thought I saw the shadow of a skull over his face.”

“Wow.” He sounded admiring. “But it might not mean his physical death. It could also mean the loss of another or illness, and I think either of those meanings would jive with the skull.”

Shylah thought he was being overly optimistic. She’d never seen a death omen like that before, and she’d only managed to push it out of her mind because later events, dinner and sex, had happened so fast on its heels. “Thanks for giving me a well-rounded view of this. Sometimes the vibes I get overwhelm the literal interpretations.”

“Which is why you’re a good reader, but the vibrations combined with the cards’ meanings have to be considered together.”

She was transported back five years ago, when she’d first met Alain, when he’d started teaching her the Craft. He’d used the same tone of voice to encourage her through each lesson. At times, it had made her feel like a twelve-year-old, but usually it had comforted and steadied her and turned her on. This time she found it a bit patronizing. She was no longer the student. She wanted an equal to share ideas with, not someone who condescended to her. Maybe it had been a mistake to call.

Suddenly she wanted to get off the phone. To do what, she didn’t know, but it seemed necessary. Immediately. “Well, thank you. I better get going.”

“Wait, Shylah, tell me about…” His Louisiana drawl crawled up her skin as he drew out each syllable longer than necessary.

“No, I’m so sorry, Alain, since I called you, but I really have to go now. I have an appointment.” She quickly hung up as a feeling of ants marched from her palm up her arm. She yanked her hand away from the phone and the feeling lessened but didn’t go away until she jumped up from the chair and scooted into the kitchen. Only then did the creepy-crawly sensation cease.

Geez, where had that sudden paranoia come from? She bent over her window box and breathed in the mingled scents of cooking herbs. She plucked off a lavender flower and held it under her nose before rubbing it against the pulse points on her wrists. As she calmed down, that paranoid feeling lessened, until it seemed like part of a nightmare.

* * * * *

Hain had allowed Gabe to look at the actual chalice found at the kids’ crime scene and compared it to the photo of the one found at the NOLA scene. Identical, as far as he could tell. Now he just needed a chance to search Shylah’s house. Should he be straightforward and ask to see her magical tools, break in when she wasn’t home or divert her attention and try to search while she was there? Most damning would be if she had a matching bowl or other object but no chalice. He decided to take the straightforward approach; he wanted to see if it made her nervous when he asked.

Shylah opened the door at his knock, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe. She seemed more stunningly beautiful than before. She looked surprised and didn’t open the door all the way.

He tried to remember the purpose of his visit. “May I come in?”

“Um, yeah, I guess.” She backed out of the way and opened the door a little wider, so he could step across the threshold. “I didn’t expect to see you.” The unspoken “ever” hung in the air.

“I’ve got a job, and I’m not so easily diverted.” His voice sounded harsher than he meant it to.

Shylah placed her hands on her hips, blocking the way from the foyer to the living room. “I hope you’re not saying I was trying to divert you with sex, since you’re the one who clearly started it.”

He forced a friendlier expression to his face. “Yes, I did start it. I probably shouldn’t have.”

“Probably not.”

They stared at each other. Gabe knew he should ask her how she felt after their night together, if she thought she could be pregnant. Even if it never happened again, he should treat her as something more than a suspect.

But it was not treating her like a suspect that had gotten them in bed together in the first place. He should stick to the investigation.

“Well, in an effort at transparency, will you let me see your altar and tools?”

“To compare with the chalice?” Again she proved knowledgeable of the crime scene.

“Both chalices, including the one at the scene of Wanda Nance’s murder.”

She looked away, her expression growing guarded. “Ah.” Without waiting for more, she turned, leading him through the living room. They wended though the small kitchen, a tiny utility room with drying herbs suspended from the ceiling, down a few stairs to a cramped mudroom packed with potatoes, home-canned veggies and various mushrooms. Dried herbs were woven into grapevine wreathes, half finished. Others were in vases and jars. There were empty vials, containers with what seemed to be olive oil and herbs smashed in a granite mortar and pestle. There were sachet bags, some filled, some empty.

“What is this place?”

“I guess it’s technically a mudroom, but I use it as my work room.”

“It’s quite chilly.”

“It keeps herbs fresher if they’re a little bit below room temperature.”

But she didn’t linger in the mudroom either. She went up a couple of steps and opened a wood door painted with a woman holding the earth in her arms. Beyond was a jungle, which they stepped into, the dense humidity making it feel like it was about to rain.

“My solarium,” she said matter-of-factly. “It’s the reason I bought the house.”

“It’s pretty small for a Florida room.”

“Yeah, but they didn’t mean it for relaxation.”

“They?”

“The previous owners. They were flower buffs, particularly interested in exotic varieties. They actually took most of the flowers with them on their move, hence the mossy spaces you’ll see. Anyway, I gather they tacked on this little greenhouse based on their budget.”

“So this is where you hack up the bodies and use them as fertilizer?” He thought his tone humorous, but Shylah didn’t laugh. “Hey, I was trying to be funny.”

“And you might be if you weren’t also accusing me of murdering three people.”

“So you don’t deny your connection to the other murder?”

“Of course not. My coven was investigated. It’s a matter of record.”

“It seems awfully odd that, while most people never have murder touch them, you’ve had two.”

“It is odd. I’m starting to feel jinxed.” She pulled a palm frond toward her then let it go so that it sprung back into place. Almost to herself she said, “It’s as if the murderer is following me.”

“Isn’t it more likely that you’re the murderer?”

“It’s not more likely to me, since I know I didn’t do it.” She left him surrounded by overwhelming palms and vines to move farther into the solarium. There were raised beds for all the plants with a cement walkway in between. Once he moved the fronds out of the way to follow her, he spotted her destination. There was a circle of cement framed by the exotic plants. A warm-colored Indian rug covered almost the entire space, and in the middle was a huge chunk of log. He took a step closer and saw that the stool-size log was shellacked. On the top there was a gorgeous inlaid Ouija board.

“Wow, that had to have taken a lot of work.”

She sat next to it and ran her fingers over the surface, immediately making him think of her fingers on his body. He shook that off and sat on the floor opposite her.

“I inherited it.”

“Your parents were witches?”

“They were, but I inherited it from a distant relative in England, one I don’t even remember.” She closed her eyes, then opened them and stared at his face, but she wasn’t really looking at his face. “It was found in my cousin…uncle, I’m not sure what he was to me…but it was in his attic. They were holding an estate sale to pay for his burial.”

“So no other children?”

She shrugged. “Apparently not. I wish I knew more of the story behind this though.” She laid her palm flat on the wood. “It’s very old.”

“How can you tell that?”

She focused on his eyes. “Can’t you feel it? It’s seen violence, loneliness and joy, over and over, not only while it was standing, but as this table was passed down from generation to generation.”

Hmm. Okay
. She certainly seemed to believe what she said, so he wouldn’t quash her fantasy. “So this is your altar?”

“Yes.”

“And your tools?”

She leaned back to the wood border of the raised beds and popped open a cleverly camouflaged drawer. Then she pulled items out one by one. “This will prove nothing, you know, because I could have hidden or sold another set. Really it was quite irresponsible of the murderer to leave a chalice at both scenes.”

“You should look after your tools better.”

Her lips quirked. “I do look after my tools.” She knew he could only take her word for it. She kissed each item and laid them on the altar. The first piece was a bowl carved from a solid piece of wood. “This is for water.” Another wood bowl, lightly stained, newer. “This is to hold the salt.” The next three items were gunmetal gray and downright ugly. “This is my athame.” She set it down. “This is my chalice and this is my candle holder for when I use tapers.”