Murder by Magic (17 page)

“Flight reservations have been made for you,” Vesta continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “I will meet you at the gate and take you to the farm. Everything will be ready when you arrive. After your private ritual, we’ll celebrate success and your induction into the Council.”

I jotted down flight numbers and time schedules as they were recited to me, then let my mind linger for a moment on the upcoming transfer of power. On a hill in the remote English countryside, I would perform a ritual to pass the talismans to the next set of identical twins fated to serve the gods. And assume my role on the Council.

I knew what that meant. When I passed the amulets on, my grandmother would die. I would take her place on the board of remaining twins.

“You
must
succeed,” my grandmother said when I lowered the receiver to the cradle. Tears coursing through the wrinkles in her pale cheeks, she lifted a gnarled hand, palm out.

“I will.” I pressed my hand to hers to seal the pledge, then hugged her frail body and gave her one last kiss. Grief and anger battled with duty and responsibility as I left the room and hurried from the elite nursing home.

Light rain fell from the murky sky. Malice and greed slithered through the mist. The chill of danger snaked down my spine.

Turning up the collar of my denim jacket, I jogged to my car, sinking one Reebok in a puddle in my haste. As I slipped the key into the lock, the side door on the van parked beside me slid open.

The face of my murdered twin flashed before me, and her voice called out a warning.

I whirled around, reaching for the gun in the holster at the small of my back. A fist slammed into my temple. The blow would have knocked me to my knees, but a huge muscular arm closed around my waist and yanked me into the van. A needle stabbed through my jeans and into my thigh, followed by the sting of fluid flowing into my leg.

A man who looked remarkably like Popeye’s nemesis, Bluto, quickly bound my wrists and ankles with duct tape, slapped a strip across my mouth, then climbed into the driver’s seat.

I teetered on the edge of consciousness during a long and bumpy ride, the ethereal voice of my twin giving me strength for my coming ordeal. The amulet between my breasts emitted a pulsating warmth that healed my wounds. But it couldn’t melt the ice from my soul.

The van eased to a stop and Bluto honked the horn. Moments later the sound of a large metal door rolling on tracks drowned out the noise of the idling engine. Bluto pulled the van forward, then turned off the ignition. The door rolled again and the light dimmed. The goon got out, opened the side door, and leered down at me.

A short fat man stepped up beside him, his bald head gleaming under the overhead lights. “Put her over there in the corner,” he said with a wave of his hand. “And no rough stuff.”

“Sure, Arty.” With a smack of his lips, the thug leaned down, threw me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and carried me to a back corner. He moved his big hairy hands over my body as he lowered me to the floor, then stood at my feet, his mouth pulled into a feral grin. “Now, ain’t you something? Worth a million bucks and I get a quarter of it.”

I held my wrath in check, biding my time. He was a lesser villain in this play for power. Not worth the expenditure of energy this early in the game.

“Tony! In the office!” Arty yelled, his voice echoing off the walls.

Tony? “Bluto” better suited him.

I closed my eyes, felt him hesitate, then sighed with relief when he turned and walked away. The fact that I was still alive reinforced my convictions. This wasn’t a simple case of rape, murder, and theft. It was much bigger than any mortal crime.

After several minutes, I opened my eyes and brought my surroundings into focus. Not an easy task when tripping on a drug powerful enough to put most people under. Wooden barrels reeking of dill and brine tainted every breath I took. No hope of rescue, even less for escape if I were an ordinary individual.

Ordinary I’m not. And I took personal offense at the manhandling used to subdue and dump me in the pickle warehouse. I’m a good P.I. Natural talent aided by the supernatural makes a dynamic combo. But sometimes it’s best to assume a Columbo personality. I would have been a willing abductee if he’d given me a chance to cooperate. Oh well—I now didn’t have to waste precious hours finding the site and possibly missing the transfer.

All part of plan A.

The injection had come as a total surprise.

Plan B drifted in and out of my mind, concrete one moment and elusive the next.

I sat quietly, listening to the voice of my sister gently coaxing me to stay calm and gather momentum, waiting for the drug to wear off. Not much else I could do under the circumstances. Although I have special talents, I am human. But I wasn’t as comatose as I pretended.

I heard heavy footsteps approaching. Tony coming to check on me. The thought of his oily black hair and bad teeth made my stomach lurch. The moron sauntered through the maze to ogle my body again. I knew he didn’t expect me to make a run for freedom, not bound with duct tape.

I wouldn’t. Not this time.

He stopped at my feet, his thick black eyebrows drawn together and his nostrils flared in anticipation. “Ooh, she’s got her eyes open. Feeling a little feisty? Maybe I’ll get me a piece of you right now while I’ve got the chance. Arty don’t care. I doubt his client will, either, since I’m supposed to kill you and stuff you in a barrel with enough concrete to sink you to the bottom of the bay.” He straddled my legs and rubbed his crotch. “I bet you’re even better than your sister was.”

I gazed up at him, blinking as if I couldn’t quite bring him into focus. Not far from wrong. Rage distorted my vision.

Hoping for a little more time to gather my strength, I closed my eyes and let my head loll to one side, praying he wouldn’t force the issue. Willing him to leave me alone and let me do my job. I had to face the enemy and restore the balance. I had a lot to lose if I failed. Had lost too much already.

Mankind stood to lose even more.

“Tony!”

Arty was obviously the boss of this operation. Which meant he had the amulet. A small teardrop made from strands of intricately woven silver. Worn by Isadora, my twin, on a long silver chain. Identical to the one I wore, with one exception: the stones inside the teardrop. We received the ancient talismans at age twenty after our Great-Aunt Mauve died in a car accident.

Isadora had died only hours ago, and already I sensed a change in the atmosphere. Storms brewing within every nuance of nature. Natural disasters building to shake the earth. Unnatural changes in store for the flora and fauna of the future.

An impending doom that had nothing to do with the pervert standing over me. But I would not be raped. I peered at Tony through my lashes, waiting.

Tony unbuckled his belt, staring down at me, salivating. He unzipped his fly.

I would kill him if necessary to achieve my goal, and accept the consequences. If I had to pay threefold for taking his life, so be it. Nothing the Council could say about Fate would erase the fact that he murdered my sister. My grandmother would be taken from me at midnight. With the amulets in the wrong hands, freedom would become an archaic word in Webster’s dictionary.

Fortunately, my captors knew nothing about the power of the amulet. They knew it was important enough to steal. Important enough for Arty to hire Tony to commit murder. The promised proceeds were great enough to feather their retirement nests against the worst
scenarios.

I doubted they knew or cared what would happen to our everyday world if Arty turned the amulet over to the woman who orchestrated the plot. The Witch who sought to rule the world.

I hated both men. The Council demanded I spare them my wrath. If it hadn’t been Arty and Tony, someone else would have taken the job. I had to play it their way if possible, use my inborn abilities aided by the amulet I wore, and bring my nemesis to justice.

Or die. Those were my choices.

Anger, hatred, grief, and a wary fear fueled my psychic energy, escalating its potency.

Whatever it took, I had to recover the amulet and eliminate the threat. Simple in thought. Much harder when it came to killing a member of the family. Morgan, a cousin who resented the fact that her twin died at birth, keeping her from possibly inheriting the position of power she coveted. Something I learned after breaking the news of Isadora’s murder to my grandmother.

I had one chance to make this simple. My reason for sitting on the cold concrete floor for the last hour. I had to come face-to-face with her after she donned Isadora’s necklace, but before she took mine. I suspected I knew, but had to verify how she learned of our positions on earth.

No one had attended the ritual when Isadora and I took our oaths before the remaining twin, our grandmother, who presided over the initiation. Only the three of us had been there that awesome winter night when Beth became Isadora, who aided the gods in keeping harmony between nature and mankind, and I became Lilith, entrusted with the task of keeping lust and magic in balance.

On the hilltop in the center of a circle of ancient stones, we pledged our lives and talent to keeping harmony in the universe. As we shared a chalice of warm mulled wine to seal our fate, the first snowflakes of the season swirled in the moonlight. A beautiful night filled with love and devotion.

Other than members of the Council, no one was supposed to know of our existence as liaisons to the gods. Until now, no one knew of the lineage of Witches who produced the twins destined for service. Someone let the ancient secret slip. Chaos loomed in the near future.

I blinked my eyes again and gazed up at Tony, planting the seed of thought that he should save me for later.

He pulled his thick lips into a disgusting smile and winked. “I’ll be back.”

I breathed a sigh of relief when he hurried off to answer the summons, then tried to find a more comfortable position. I needed to stay bound until I knew Tony wouldn’t be back. He was a scumbag, but I really didn’t need his death on my record.

“What the hell you think you’re doing?” Arty bellowed. “She’s due any minute. Now, get your ass in place. I’ll up your share to half if we get the money
and
keep the necklace.”

The verbal warning came at the same time I felt her presence and the unmistakable hostility surrounding her.

After a few moments of silence, a door opened and closed several rows of barrels away. Leather-soled high-heeled shoes snapped against the concrete.

Morgan had arrived.

My heart doing double time, I used the adrenaline to warm the tape around my wrists, stretching it until it snapped. Silently cursing, I peeled away all the tape, rolled it into a sticky ball, and eased from the corner. In a matter of seconds, I crouched low behind a pickle barrel near the office.

“Mr. Blum?” Her resonant alto voice held a note of amusement.

“Yeah. What can I do for you?” Arty asked, cautious but excited.

“I’m Mrs. Johnson. I believe you have something for me?”

“The necklace is locked in the safe and the woman is secured. Show me the money and we’ll deal.”

“Show me the merchandise or you’ll die,” Morgan demanded. Her Scottish burr did nothing to soften the malice in her tone.

Arty gasped and yelled, “Tony!”

I eased my head around the barrel and peered at my cousin Morgan.

She stood with her back to me, tall and erect, her red hair piled on top of her head adding several inches to her height of five feet nine inches. A formidable woman dressed in a black pantsuit and high-heeled shoes, a briefcase in one gloved hand and a gun in the other.

Tony stepped from an aisle between the rows of barrels a few feet from me, a gun in his hand. My gun, I realized after a moment. I ducked back and listened, debating whether to let them shoot it out, or intervene. I preferred the first choice, knew I had to do it the hard way. It was time for Morgan to recycle her soul, but Fate had other plans for Arty Blum and his sidekick.

“Put the gun on the floor nice and easy,” Tony snarled.

“I don’t think so,” Morgan crooned, her voice heavily laced with disdain. “But I will make a wee concession since you boys don’t really know with whom you’re dealing. Keep the gun, Tony. And I’ll keep mine. When I’m satisfied the necklace is genuine, we’ll put down our weapons and you’ll be rich.” She aimed the gun between his eyes. “Cross me and you’ll die.”

I said a silent thank-you to the Goddess for the small reprieve. Again I eased around the barrel, my gaze riveted on the scene.

Arty’s oversize face glowed an unhealthy shade of red. Sweat poured from his meaty forehead and dripped off heavy jowls onto the collar of his dingy western shirt. He nodded to Tony, then turned on the worn heels of his cowboy boots and strode into the office. The plate-glass window in the wall allowed me to watch him as he moved to the corner of the office. He dropped from view—I assumed to retrieve the amulet.

Morgan motioned her gun toward the interior of the office. Her voice dripping with sweetness, she smiled at Tony. “After you.”

Since Arty seemed ready to do business on her terms, Tony didn’t have much choice. He scowled at her, but entered the office, my .38 Special aimed at her head.

If I couldn’t stop her, neither man would emerge from the pickle warehouse alive. Morgan wouldn’t leave witnesses behind.

Dumb as dirt! Too caught up in their image of themselves to realize they’d been had. I doubted they’d even get the chance to learn that the briefcase she set on the floor beside the desk was empty.

When Arty reappeared behind the glass, I slipped around the barrels and approached the office. Back pressed to the wall beside the door, I waited and listened.

I could feel Morgan’s purr of satisfaction and knew she looked upon the amulet.

A gut-wrenching spasm of grief passed over me.

Morgan touched the teardrop.

It was show time.

I stepped into the doorway.

She held the silver chain in one hand, a nine-millimeter Glock in the other.

“Don’t do it, Morgan,” I warned.