Murder by Magic (18 page)
She gasped and spun around, her gun aimed at me. “You’re an imbecile, Arty Blum,” she snarled through clenched teeth.
“Tony, you stupid shit! Why the hell did you let her loose!” Arty exploded.
Face pale and eyes wide with shock, Tony shook his head. “I didn’t, boss. I swear I didn’t.”
“Surprise.” I tossed the ball of tape on Arty’s desk and smiled, enjoying their panic.
Morgan recovered first, her red lips curling into a sneer. “I don’t suppose it matters how you got loose. You’re still here and we have the guns.”
I returned her sneer with gloating pleasure. Surely a mark against me with the Council. I hurt too much to care.
“It does matter, Morgan. You made a fatal mistake when you had Isadora murdered.”
With a disgusted shake of her head, Morgan looked down at me. “You can’t lie your way out of this one, darling. I
know
you’re Isadora. I also know you don’t have the power to stop me.”
I glanced at Arty, then pinned Tony with a heated glare and sent a current of energy zinging to his privates. When Tony dropped the gun and clutched his crotch in agony, I smiled at Arty. The moans of anguish coming from his trusted goon turned his face as ashen as my victim’s.
Morgan looked at me, her features twisted with hatred, and tightened her finger around the trigger.
Revenge is so sweet when approved by the gods.
I shrugged. “Murdering either of us was bad enough, but you had to go and murder the wrong twin. Don’t put on the necklace, Morgan. Our duplicity isn’t the only thing you didn’t learn in your hasty research.”
“Bitch,” she screamed at me, and pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened.
Morgan looked from the gun back at me. Her mouth opened and closed. I could see the rage building behind her eyes.
I shrugged again, taunting her. “I told you. You see, Beth took on the role of Isadora. Not me.
I’m
Lilith. You had Isadora murdered while she slept. Your time is up, Morgan. Give me the amulet.” I held out my hand. “Don’t make me take it.”
She wavered in indecision for only a moment. “I don’t believe you,” she rasped, quickly slipping the chain over her head.
The earth shifted slightly on its axis, causing a ripple of energy to spark the air. The faint scent of ozone burned my nose. My heart pounded in jubilation. Reverse psychology had worked. Morgan was completely at my mercy.
Arty and Tony were unaware of the tilt toward mayhem. They watched us with a mixture of fear and curiosity.
But Morgan’s eyes widened with anticipation when she sensed the change. Taking it as a good sign, she aimed the gun between my eyes and pulled the trigger again.
Another useless click in the quiet room.
The desire to kill her then almost overruled my better judgment. Evil pulsed around her, adding to the stench in the small office. But before I could rid the earth of her corruption, I needed answers.
“No!” Morgan tossed the gun to Arty and closed one hand around the amulet.
Although caught off guard, Arty managed to catch the gun before it hit the desktop, and fumbled it toward me. The Fates rarely explained the destiny of their subjects, leaving me to wonder what they had in store for the short, squat, bald man.
I met Morgan’s steel-gray eyes. Time for show-and-tell. What she didn’t tell me, she’d show me in mental images. A minor talent of mine.
Confident that his boss had it under control, Tony retrieved my gun, crabbed his way behind the desk, and eased into Arty’s chair.
I let him.
Arty stood stock-still, watching us, the Glock trembling in his hands. That was good, too. Neither gun would work until somebody removed the jammed cartridges. I didn’t need distractions.
Morgan stroked the teardrop as if waiting for a burst of power.
I almost felt sorry for her.
Almost.
My twin’s life had been sacrificed for this woman’s greed. I would be thousands of miles away when my grandmother took her last breath. There was no time to deal with my grief until true balance was resumed. Not one person deciding the destiny of the world, but a balance of two. Two different views working for the continuance of the future.
Morgan could rule the world alone, as I was prepared to do until I could pass the responsibility to the waiting twins. But her misdeeds would eventually cause her demise.
In other words, what goes around comes around.
“I’ve notified the Council and told them what I’ve learned. You signed the guest register at Summerland when Grandmother was sick last month, but not since. She doesn’t remember your visit or anything else that transpired during those days. A couple of the nurses told me you visited often during her illness, that Grandmother hallucinated frequently during the worst hours of pain. She relived that monumental night several times, according to what I’ve been told. You were there for at least one of the retellings.”
Hatred blazed in Morgan’s eyes. “She was quite explicit with the details, so don’t try to bluff me. Beth possessed the power to defeat me. You don’t.”
“There’s much you didn’t learn from her ramblings. Beth and I exchanged roles at our initiation. Beth was better suited as Isadora, and I have the heart of Lilith. Since we were identical except for the birthmarks covered by our robes, Grandmother never knew. The Council learned of our duplicity today. Under the circumstances, they needed to know the truth.”
The long silver chain felt hot to my touch as I drew it from beneath my blouse. “I’m sorry you let greed destroy your heart, sorry you’ve forced me into this position. The Council has ordered your execution. I have no qualms about obeying their order.” I grasped the teardrop and took a deep breath. “Good-bye, Morgan.”
Morgan’s eyes widened, then rolled back in her head as she crumpled to a heap on the concrete floor.
The balance made another slight shift. The hardest part of my task was almost over.
Tony raised my gun and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. With a low growl, he hurled the piece at me. It hovered in front of me for a split second, then clattered on the floor at my feet.
I picked up the gun, pointed it at the ceiling, and squeezed off a round. The noise echoed through the warehouse.
Tony looked from me to Arty. “The fall must have fixed it.”
“Yeah, sure.” Arty looked at the gun in his trembling hand, then at me. He didn’t quite understand that he’d witnessed a death executed on a psychic level, but he had enough sense to be scared out of his wits. He dropped the Glock onto the desktop, clasped his hands behind his head, and waited for me to call the shots.
I would. When I got my bearings. I needed a moment to revel in relief. I had a few hours before my scheduled departure for Heathrow. Until then, I would play the part of a key witness in the death of Alicia Harding—“Morgan,” to the pagan world.
Tony had enough sense to lace his fingers behind his neck.
“I’d rather not kill either of you, so just stay put while I call the police.”
Neither moved a muscle as I shoved the Glock into the holster at the small of my back. Dumb as dirt but not stupid. The .38 trained in their direction, I laid the receiver on the desk, activated the speaker, dialed 911, then plucked one of Blum’s business cards from a plastic holder on the desktop.
After making my report, I called a familiar number, lowered the .38 to Tony’s crotch when he took a side step, and pulled my mouth into a half-smile. “Don’t even think about it, scumbag, or you’ll be the only eunuch on death row. If you don’t have a heart attack before your trial.”
The homicide detective investigating my sister’s murder answered his cell phone on the second ring. “Yeah, who is this?”
“Geez, you’re rude. What happened to ‘hello’?”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. When he answered, genuine concern replaced his belligerent tone. “Where the hell are you? I’ve been trying to track you down for the last two hours.”
“Sorry, I’ve been tied up. I’ve got the two men responsible for my sister’s murder in custody.” Again I read off the address of the pickle warehouse. “And send an ambulance. We’ve got a possible heart attack victim.”
“How the hell . . . ? Never mind. I’m on my way. Just don’t pull any Houdini escapes until I get there.”
“Sorry, you already missed it, but I will hang around. Just hurry up. I wouldn’t put it past either of them to try something stupid. I’d hate to have to shoot them.” I crossed mental fingers, hoping this case would intrigue him less than the last one.
Detective Heath would love to know my secrets. Or at least he thought he would. I had my doubts about his ability to understand.
“Did you call 911?” he asked.
“Of course. As a matter of fact, I hear a siren. Get your ass in gear, Heath. I’m on a tight schedule.” I hung up and pointed the .38 at Arty. “I want the necklace . . . now.”
Arty glanced at Morgan’s inert body, his mouth working in silent protest, then back at the .38. “Yeah, sure. Sure. No problem.” He sidled over to Morgan. “Tony, hold her up so’s I can get it over her head.”
“Just slide the chain around until you find the clasp, Arty. Unfasten it, take it off, refasten it, lay it on the corner of the desk, and step back.” I aimed the .38 at his head. “Now.”
The siren sounded like it was right outside. Which meant I needed to wrap up loose ends.
As soon as Arty stepped away from the desk, I snatched the amulet, slipped the chain over my head, and tucked both talismans under my blouse.
The essence of every previous Isadora warmed my soul. The earth righted itself on its axis, balance restored.
The twin amulets secure between my breasts, I began crafting a
watered-down version of what had transpired and planting the story in the minds of the two men staring at me. By the time uniformed officers crossed the warehouse to the office, Arty and Tony no longer remembered the necklaces or my confrontation with Morgan. A necessary revision of the facts.
Otherwise, Isadora’s amulet would spend months in a plastic bag as evidence required for trial, and Morgan’s parents would be devastated by her evil plot. Not to mention the strain that having to single-handedly preserve cosmic harmony would cause on my nerves.
Morgan’s body would be flown to Scotland for burial after an autopsy confirmed she died of cardiac arrest while helping me capture Beth’s killers.
Only the Council and the gods would know the truth.
I have heard, at still midnight,
upon the hilltop remote and forlorn,
The note that echoed through the dark,
the haunting sound of the heathen horn.
Roberta Gellis
Roberta Gellis has been a very successful writer of fiction for several decades, having published about thirty-five novels since 1964. Gellis has been the recipient of many awards, including the Golden Porgy from
West Coast Review of Books,
the Golden Pen from
Affaire de Coeur,
the Romantic Times Lifetime Achievement Award for Historical Fantasy, the Romantic Times Reviewers Choice Award for Best Novel in the Medieval Period (several times), and the RWA’s Lifetime Achievement Award. Currently, Gellis is writing historical mystery—
Bone of Contention,
the third book in the Magdalene la Batarde series, will be published by Forge Books in September 2002—and coauthoring with Mercedes Lackey a series of fantasies set in Elizabethan England. Her home on the Web is
http://www. robertagellis.com.
W
ell, of course, Brenda is a witch.” Brenda winced and her eyes flicked once to Dame Hillyard. The plump woman looked less at ease than usual, seated in one of the straight chairs in a study room rather than behind her imposing desk. Her voice was flat and without expression, but the turned-down lips of her small, pursed mouth betrayed her distaste for the words she had uttered.
The tall man seated beside Dame Hillyard looked with interest at Brenda, also noting the civil guard who had brought her into the room. She knew she was not a very prepossessing sight. Her eyes and nose must be red with crying, and her dress was limp and creased—not surprising because she had slept in it for three days. She clutched the beautiful knitted shawl Amy had given her tighter around her shoulders as she realized this man must be the person who was going to investigate Amy’s death.
She glanced up at him quickly and down again. Yes, this must be the person. The murder of which she was accused had been reported by telex, because they had no telepath in the village, and it had taken him two days by train and carriage to get to Smallbourne.
“There’s nothing wrong with being a witch,” the tall man remarked, his brow creasing in a frown.
Brenda’s heart leaped with hope, but she suppressed that hope at once. What he had said was a required response. Brenda knew there were laws prohibiting discrimination against witches, no matter how repulsive they looked.
“Oh, well.” Dame Hillyard’s voice drew her attention, and she looked up to see the woman shrug. “I suppose there isn’t. I’ve been told that they’re very useful in predicting the weather and in things like cursing locusts so they don’t ruin the crops.” She snorted lightly. “But I notice they don’t ever kill
all
the locusts.” A slight shrug and a snicker. “That would put them out of a job, wouldn’t it?”
“It might also unbalance the ecology,” the man said.
Dame Hillyard snorted again. “Well, it wouldn’t matter in this case, since Brenda Willcoming can’t curse away a flea, much less kill a locust. She’s a witch according to the testing procedures, but she can’t do a thing”—she sniffed—“except see things no one else can see.”
“Can she?” the man asked, sounding interested.
“Yes, I can,” Brenda put in. Her voice was a little hoarse but firm.
Now the man looked directly at her; his eyes were a bright brown, lively and curious. “I am Detective Inspector Maxime Farber,” he said, but was then interrupted.
“So you say, Brenda,” Dame Hillyard snapped, “but no one else ever saw . . .” Suddenly, her eyes widened. “Maybe you
can
see what no one else can. Maybe you saw where Amy Lightfeather hid her money.
That’s
why you killed her! For her money.”
