Mystic Jive: Hand of Fate - Book Four (8 page)

“When I didn’t back down, John reacted badly. It was crazy, but he acted as if I
belonged
to him. Like I was his property and that my leaving was some kind of personal betrayal. I thought he was acting like a spoilt child, but I had no idea that this was just the beginning.

 “On the day we moved, Jonathan and his sister brought the rest of the coven over to our apartment in Penfield and made a big scene. Like a protest, with a bullhorn and everything. He told us he’d already cursed Lou and this was our last chance. Somehow, he’d convinced everyone in the coven to support him on this—even my grandmother!

“Nate was furious and I was embarrassed and angry—and more than a little freaked out. Nate called in the sheriff—this was before Jim Reynolds was elected. Sheriff Bland refused to come, saying that Jonathan and his supporters had a right to free speech. They weren’t breaking any laws.

“Then my ninety-three year-old grandmother, who had never been sick a day in her life, died in her sleep three weeks after we moved. There was nothing inherently suspicious about her death, but it seemed too coincidental. I couldn’t get it out of my head. Then her body was ‘accidently’ cremated, against her explicit wishes, so that she did not receive the traditional Senequois blessings and ceremony of the dead. You must understand that for a Senequois, the ceremony of the dead, in addition to being a fundamental part of our culture, protects the soul of the departed until it reaches the afterlife. I told Nate I was scared.

“Two weeks after my grandmother’s death, Nate was dead.” She blinked away tears. “Baby Ray was born a month after he died. Everything went quiet then. Lou took care of me and the boys. We waited for them to do something. Lydia had the nerve to tell me about her prediction of Nate’s impending death had been correct. She and John expected me to come crawling back, but Lou was my rock. Every time we started to relax, another bloody warning showed up on the porch.”

 “A few years ago, I saw John and Liddy at Wegmans. They acted as if nothing had happened. Just seeing them made me sick to my stomach. They told me they were planning to open a shop in Shore Haven. We’d be neighbors, just like old times. The way they looked at me--.” Honey shivered.

“I was terrified. I couldn’t stand the idea of living in the same town with the people responsible for killing Nate and my grandmother. Lou assured me that they were just playing head games. He swore he’d keep me and the boys safe. He checked around and found out the bank had foreclosed on their house. The shop in Shore Haven is a lease. They’re in financial trouble. They haven’t been in any position to start anything.”

She blew her nose. “Then last year, Liddy started putting on those stupid puppet shows. I feel like a monster forbidding Arby to watch them, but I don’t want Liddy to get her claws into my kids.”

“After all this time? I don’t get it. What’s the point?”

“John is a sociopath. His sister Liddy is even worse. They’d use anyone and do anything to get what they want, Mattie. Intimidation and black magic are their tools of choice. Be glad you don’t know them. Stay away from them.

* * *

The next day, I was sitting astride the Vic, idling at the stoplight light in front of Killer Dave’s, when a movement across the street caught my eye. It was Liddy Fewkes, leaving the flower shop. Her car was parked out front, and she got in.

An impatient driver in the car behind me honked, informing me the light had changed to green. On impulse, I whipped into the empty lot behind Dave’s. I peeked around the corner of the restaurant in time to see Liddy drive off.

I debated going in. In spite of what Honey had said about them, I couldn’t help but think that maybe her memories from ten years earlier were a little overblown. And I was curious. After what she’d told me, I thought maybe I hadn’t imagined Liddy’s doll speaking to me at career day. What if there were more dolls in the shop? I’d love to see if Lou’s coin reacted to them. With Liddy gone, John would be there by himself, and he wouldn’t know me from Adam.

I thought about summoning Blix but decided against it. If John Fewkes was as powerful a sorcerer as Lou and Honey seemed to think, he might be able to sense my djemon’s presence. Besides, it was broad daylight. As far as anyone knew, I was just another customer.

Five minutes. What would it hurt?

A bell over the door tinkled as I stepped inside. The shop was cluttered and crowded with antiques; the pungent scent of tea and dried herbs was strong, but not unpleasant.

A man stepped out from behind a striped curtain behind the counter, and I got my first look at John Fewkes. Tall, balding, with a walrus moustache and a ruddy complexion. He wore a black pinstriped suit, with a black shirt and silver tie—expensive-looking and veddy proper. This was the high priest of the Penfield witch cult? He looked more like a banker than a sorcerer.

 “What can I help you with today, Madame?”

His voice filled the small shop—rich and deep. Both of them were actors, I remembered. That, I believed. Although, come to think of it, Liddy did not have an accent. One of them must be faking it.

“Just browsing,” I glanced around the cramped shop. “Ah, where are the herbs?”

He smirked. “Weeds and seeds in the back,” he declared. “My sister just stepped out. If you require assistance, you’d best wait until she returns.”

Something about him struck me as familiar, but I could not figure it out.

I wound my way through narrow, twisting aisles of mirrored armoires, ornately carved benches; dressers piled high with crockery and decorative glassware. A collection of life-sized antique carousel animals led the way to the tea room. Inside, two small tables and a loveseat flanked an authentic-looking saloon bar, sans the bar stools. Brass lamps with stained glass shades gave the room a warm and cheerful glow. Ruffled chintz curtains matched the tablecloths and cushions on the window seat. Instead of a mirror, the back wall was filled with glass-fronted cabinets containing assorted herbs, dried flowers, ribbons, and large glass canisters of loose tea.

And dolls.

A floor to ceiling cabinet, nearly six feet wide, was devoted to antique wooden dolls and marionettes. I approached the cabinet, looking for the doll I remembered, but I didn’t see it. The cabinet was locked. I held Lou’s coin against the glass, and my palm as well, but whether the glass kept me from sensing trapped spirits within the dolls, or whether these dolls were nothing special, I couldn’t tell.

I scanned the cluttered room, searching for the slightest indication that this was some sort of witch lair. The tearoom was charming, in a cliché sort of way. Nothing remotely satanic or cultish here. Maybe they kept that stuff hidden. I don’t know what I expected, but I felt sort of disappointed by the place.

There was a stairwell leading up to the second floor. Tempting, but probably locked, and I didn’t have enough nerve to try the stairs. They probably creaked.

I made my way back to the front of the shop. Fewkes had a copy of the London Times spread across the counter before him. He didn’t look the least bit dangerous.

Something drew me closer. Like a riddle that needed to be answered, I just had to know more. I approached the counter, Lou’s coin hidden in my hand. “This place is charming,” I nodded at the paper he was reading. “Anything interesting?”

He looked at me over the top of his half-glasses. “Art thou base, common, and popular?” Something flickered in John’s Fewkes’s eyes, sending a chill right through me. That look told me he’d seen something in me, and was trying to puzzle me out as well.

I frowned, uncertain whether I’d been insulted.
Probably.
“Excuse me?”

 He closed the newspaper and folded it. “Shakespeare. Henry the Fifth. A carriage clock on the shelf behind him began to chime softly. “It is closing time, Madame, and I have an appointment. As much as I should like to continue this sparkling conversation, I cannot.” Sarcasm dripped from every word. He stepped out from behind the counter and waved me toward the door.

I suddenly remembered why he sounded so familiar. It wasn’t the accent—it was the attitude. My gut told me that John Fewkes must be, had to be, Zeypax’s master. Rhys and Henri had told me repeatedly that djemons took on the same characteristics as their masters. The djemon I’d banished from that old farmhouse had the same arrogant manner.

“Okay, thanks,” I mumbled and slipped out of the shop. I heard him chuckle as I shut the door behind me.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d just made a huge mistake.

* * *

Blix was waiting for me when I got home. He bounced up and down on the dining room table, squeaking like a windup toy. I dumped my helmet and jacket on the floor and hurried over to see what the commotion was all about. I thought he wanted to show me something on his Read and Spell tablet. Ever since I’d given it to him, he’d been glued to it and happily preoccupied for days at a time.

Instead, he clutched my cell phone in his delicate black claws.

Oh jeeze. He probably thought it was just another version of his Speak and Read tool. I should have told him not to touch it. Now, it was too late. Say goodbye to my contact list.

“Hand it over, Blix.”

He held it up to me, his yellow eyes dilated. His blue tongue flicked in and out uncertainly.

I took the phone and he scampered up my arm to sit in the crook of my elbow. I scrolled through my contact list, but Blix’s nimble fingers beat me to the punch.

All I could do was stare in amazement. He’d updated every single entry in my phone list, and somehow managed to find out their complete contact information, including address, phone and email, and categorized them as to Picston, friends, and family. In some cases, there were even satellite photos of the buildings where they lived. Even a new address and phone number for my brother Lance in South Carolina—and I hadn’t heard from him in months.

“Hey!” I’d never bothered to fill in anything more than just the barest phone number or email of any particular contact. Blix had found links for some of them—to websites and network connections.

“Good boy--.” I said, and then quickly corrected myself. Rhys had been coaching me in the correct way to speak to and behave toward a djemon. “You have done well, Blix.”

The little djemon positively beamed at my properly-worded praise. He leapt to the table and stamped his little feet as if to say, follow me!

“What?”

He scampered into the parlor, where Madame Coumlie’s personal computer sat, unused since Henri left because I’d forgotten to ask him for the password.

But that hadn’t stopped Blix. He seated himself on the desk in front of the keyboard and entered a password, then began to manipulate the mouse, selecting the file he was looking for. He opened a spreadsheet and then a text file. His fingers fairly flew over the keys, his nails making little clicking noises against the keys as he typed.

It was Madam Coumlie’s client list, something Henri and I had been meaning to get to, but hadn’t. There were hundreds of names and email addresses here. All in alphabetical order. “Excellent work, Blix.”

He opened yet another file, which had links to all of the various media accounts of Lou’s hit and run accident. And somehow, he’d managed to hack into the hospital’s database and upload the file of Lou’s medical records. There was even a file folder with newspaper reports on the death of Lou’s former partner, Nate Briscoe, a decade earlier.

“Holy crap.” I sank into the desk chair, intrigued. In the final file was a profile piece dated yesterday. An interview with Sheriff Reynolds. When asked about the hit-and-run accident in Penfield, Reynolds had declined to comment.
Investigation continuing.
Right.

 “Good heavens, Blix, well done!” I couldn’t believe he’d accomplished so much. My mind raced at the possibilities.

“Can you speak, Blix? Say something.”

His entire body slumped. He emitted a sound that was part gurgle, part whine, part chirp. He looked miserable.

My first instinct was to pick him up and rub his belly, but I caught myself. Instead I ignored his failed attempt and gave him something else I was certain he could do.

“Well, keep working on it. In the meantime, I want you to find out everything you can about the Penfield witches, er, cult. I want to see anything you can find. Especially any newspaper articles, clippings, or photos. I want to know who they are, and whether there have been any charges filed against them in the past.” I thought for a moment. “And while you’re at it, see what you can find out about witchcraft in general. And spell layering. And occultists. I want to know about them, too. And while you’re at it, see what else you can find on Nate Briscoe’s murder.”

Blix quivered with excitement and began to tap at the keyboard.

Gee, I’d never had an assistant before. This could work.

CHAPTER 10

MASTER FOO HAD me using a bamboo pole for my Qhua Bei practice—my first weapon. It wasn’t a blade, but at least I was making progress. I soon discovered that the pole, as light as it was, got heavier with every minute of practice. In Qhua Bei, the movements must be precise, and as I struggled to keep my arms and elbows up, my footwork deteriorated.

But when I practiced my Qhua Bei movements to Mr. Maestro’s dance mix, everything changed. The music seemed to awaken energy reserves I didn’t know I possessed. The urge to move to the music was irresistible—and the footwork Mr. Maestro had taught us translated well into the movements of Qhua Bei. Moreover, the music made my solitary practice not so deadly dull. Actually, I’d gotten the idea from Henri, who always practiced to the sound of his beloved Wiley Willy and the Rogues album.

I brought Mr. Maestro’s dance mix CD along when Rhys and I went to Master Foo’s practice on Saturday morning. As usual, the Master observed my practice without comment I gave myself over to the music and it moved though me, guiding my movements. I didn’t even have to think about it. The backbeat gave me confidence in my footwork and every movement of my body felt natural. It was a great workout, and I was breathing hard when I finished. But for once, my arms and legs weren’t trembling with fatigue.