ATwistedMagick (5 page)

Shylah grimaced. “I think we’ll use the cards, which will give you something tangible to look at.” She slipped the deck out of the silk bag again and handed the oversized cards to him. “Shuffle them slowly while concentrating on your question. But you can’t expect me to give you a reading admitting to my supposed guilt. That would be counterproductive on my part, don’t you think?”

“I didn’t say it was your guilt or innocence I was thinking about.”

“No?” She lit an incense cone in a tiny brass censer. “Pull the curtain closed a bit, okay?”

“Not all the way?”

“I like potential customers to know I’m in here, even if I’m giving a reading.” She took the cards from him, grazing his fingers and wondering at the tingle she felt. It was a schoolgirl tingle, the kind you get when you’re working with the boy you have a crush on. She hadn’t felt that tingle since high school.

The table was covered with a black shawl with Chinese calligraphy on it. She spread the cards out in the classic Celtic Cross formation, and the first thing she noticed was the death card in the future position. The death card usually meant extreme change, not literal death, but as Shylah peered at the cards and took in their vibrations, she realized that this card might mean literal death. Her face froze. Who? Was Gabe going to die? She looked up into his strong face, masculine jaw and cheekbones, kissable mouth, mahogany eyes. Once she got past her immediate attraction—again—she thought she saw an unnatural shadow across his face. She let her eyes un-focus so she could see it better.

It was a skull.

“What’s the matter? This card with the grim reaper isn’t good, is it?”

“Someone’s going to die.”

Gabe narrowed his eyes. “Well, that’s certainly ominous.”

Shylah examined the cards in the spread. “The cards are not clear on who dies, but since your energies are on the cards, it’s likely you.”

“Does it say who kills me? Someone with poisonous tea perhaps?” He grinned, obviously not taking her seriously.

She scowled and looked down at the cards again. “Something is covered and then revealed.” She ran her finger over each thick card. “The devil opposes you.”

“Does it say what devil?”

“That card can mean controversy, violence or disaster as well as a literal person.”

She was very concerned about this reading. When she was alone again, she thought she might do her own reading to see if she intersected with Gabe somehow. She also wanted to consult her tarot books for nuances of meaning that perhaps she had forgotten.

“Well, I’m not going to die, so you can straighten out your brow. No need to worry about me.” He tilted his head and examined her. He frowned. “Is this some sort of veiled threat? That I need to stay away from you or else?”

She shook her head and pointed to the Priestess card. “It seems to say that our purposes are entwined. It’s not telling you to get lost.” Now she smiled. She was probably overreacting.

She’d left her mentor in New Orleans, the high priest of the Black Waters coven, Alain Hoth. Just thinking his name sent shivers down her back. He’d told her to stand tall as a Wiccan and not move away at the first sign of controversy, but it took Shylah a while to develop a backbone and murder was a bit more than a “sign of controversy”. Besides, she’d had to get away from him since their relationship had exploded in a ball of flames. It had been months since she’d talked to him, but she thought she’d give him a call tonight. Despite their dramatic relationship and the bad energy she often sensed from him, she still considered him her mentor in magick, but from a distance—much better that way.

“So there’s nothing good in the cards?” Gabe pointed at the Lovers card.

“Yes, this does indicate a passionate relationship.” She preferred to downplay it; best he not get any ideas.

He glanced at the small framed sign that showed her hours. “It looks like you’re off now. Why don’t I buy you dinner?” Apparently he was getting ideas.

“Well, I wanted to go by the drug store…”

“After. Pack up. You can show me around a bit.”

He had such a forceful personality, whether he was using persuasion or insistence; Shylah started packing up without thinking that she didn’t need to do what he was telling her. Well, a free meal was always nice. “I’m vegetarian.”

“Is it going to gross you out if I get a big, juicy steak?”

“Do you eat it rare?”

“No. I actually want my meat cooked a bit.”

“Then I’ll be fine.” She put the money she’d made that day in her purse. Her cards and other accoutrements went into a cardboard box hidden by the table. The store in which her stall was located stayed open until nine, but Shylah found herself too drained if she did readings the entire day. She strapped her purse diagonally so that it fell at her hip. Then she hefted her shoulder bag up. Yeah, it made her look like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Normally she couldn’t care less, but today she felt a bit self-conscious.

“Let me take that.”

“I’m fine.”

“Maybe so, but I’d feel like a heel walking down the mall with you bent over like that.”

“Oh if you insist.” She gratefully handed him the bag. He slung it over the back of his shoulder as if it was a jacket. Shylah led him back through the store, waving at Becky, the store owner, as she walked by. She waved back, but she was engrossed with two customers looking at the jewelry case.

“Where to?” Gabe asked when they were standing on the cobblestone mall that typified downtown Charlottesville. Shylah tried to resist the urge to shiver in the brisk air.

“Um, there’s this place by the cinema that has really interesting appetizers and a delish
relleno
. They’re supposed to have a to-die-for strip steak too.” It was a place she couldn’t afford to eat at lately. She’d discovered it when she’d first moved to Virginia and explored Charlottesville. Even then, on a teacher’s salary, it was a definite splurge. But since Gabe surely had ulterior motives, making him pay through the nose was the right thing to do.

“Sounds good.”

It was a very short walk down the mall to the restaurant. Shylah glanced at what was playing at the movie theater. They seemed to have some sort of Oscar Winners retrospective going on. When they turned to enter the restaurant, Gabe held the door open for her and ushered her in with his hand on the small of her back. She felt that tingle again, quickly quashed as she reminded herself of his profession. The restaurant had a sleek, modern look, and yet the colors were warm and inviting. In the summer, they’d have their patio open. Patios were a mainstay on the mall during the summer and people watching was the chosen activity. Suddenly Shylah felt a deep longing for summer, where everything was deep green and alive.

They sat and ordered, trying the cheese tray first.

What should I say?
She didn’t want to trip herself up in some way, like talking to the Horton and Gustava lawyers when she’d given her deposition. Since she was innocent, that shouldn’t have been a problem, but they’d had a way of twisting her words.

So out of hand, everything had gotten so out of hand. She shouldn’t have to live with this cloud hanging over her head because of her religion.

Enough of the pity party. She focused on the different flavors of the cheeses and the fruity, oakiness of the wine Gabe had chosen, but her stomach still twisted with nerves. She finished her glass of wine, hoping that would calm her down. Gabe filled it again.

She took another bite of cheese, a blue of some sort. “Delicious.” Food should be a safe topic.

“I prefer the less smelly ones.” He grinned. “So have you been to the theater next door?”

“No. I keep meaning to.” Film was another safe topic.

Gabe wasn’t into safe topics. “You moved from Georgia not too long ago?”

“How did you find out about that?”

“DMV records.”

Shylah hated how easy it was to grab information these days. “Yes. It was a tiny town on the edge of the Chattahoochee National Forest.”

“You left after you were fired?”

“If you know all the information, why are you asking? Yes, I taught at the school there until they discovered my religion. I lived through one too many smashed tomato and egg raids.”

“Maybe you should choose an urban area. I’m sure you’d have no problem fitting in here in Charlottesville.”

“I like small towns. I feel comfortable walking from my home to a quaint downtown, passing houses filled with families and history, finding little antiques shops and stores owned by one family and passed down through the generations. The closer you get to an urban area, even the suburbs, the more Walmarts and McDonald’s you run into.”

He nodded. “I can see that.”

Their meals arrived so she placed her cloth napkin on her lap, sipped her water, then dug in. Every so often, she glanced up at Gabe, who seemed to thoroughly enjoy his steak. The candles and ambient lighting brought out the natural highlights in his thick hair and the gold flecks in his eyes. A light sprinkling of whiskers coated his chin, making him look dangerous. Though she knew he was Hispanic, she wasn’t sure of his nationality. “Where are you from?”

“Downtown Los Angeles. We don’t have grass, but we do have individually owned shops in my neighborhood.”

“Any witches?”

“We have a
curandero
, a healer who specializes in
botanicas
, like your herbs, I guess. She has a tiny shop next to the tortilla maker.”

“A Spanish-speaking neighborhood?”

“Mexican, yes. Why?” He looked on the verge of being insulted.

“You don’t have much of an accent.”

“I was born in LA, but I concentrated on dropping my accent. I felt it was better for business.”

“Is your community tight-knit?”

“Pretty much, though more so when I was growing up.”

Shylah finished her last bite of pilaf and resisted the urge to lick the plate. Uh, not good manners, especially when out with a man. She finally felt relaxed, with a light buzz and a full stomach.

Gabe poured her some more wine. “Tell me… If you left Georgia soon after you were fired, why haven’t you done the same here?”

“I grew a backbone.” She smiled wryly. “And being accused of murder is quite different than being told I’m not welcome somewhere because I’m different.”

“A principle involved.”

“Exactly.” She nodded a bit more vigorously than was called for and realized she’d had too much wine.

“You could have sued the school.”

“Then my private beliefs would have been splashed all over the newspaper.”

The waiter came up to the table, and Gabe asked Shylah, “Crème brûlée?”

“No, I’m fine, thank you.”

He looked at the waiter again. “Two glasses of amontillado please.”

“Wait…” But the waiter had zipped away. “I shouldn’t have any more to drink.”

“Amontillado is more like a dessert than alcohol. Have you had it before?” She shook her head no. “It’s in the sherry family, very rich and dark.”

* * * * *

Gabe knew Shylah was tipsy. He was so tempted to push it, get her rip-roaring drunk then interrogate her. He knew of other investigators who would slip their quarry a mickey, question them, then return them to their safe beds. Gabe thought it was too easy to cross the line, not to mention the lady could very well press charges. Alcohol, on the other hand, she could say no to at any time.

The sherry arrived and Shylah took a sip. He could tell she appreciated the woody, caramel taste. Some sherries were too sweet, so he preferred this. He discreetly asked the waiter for the check, tried not to scowl at the total and gave him his credit card.

Shylah was drunk enough that he thought he could slip in some questions and get an unguarded answer without really taking advantage of her, or so he told himself. “So were Lalia and Matthew in any of your classes?”

“No, and I’m sure you knew that.” Her astute gaze gave in to her tipsiness.

“How do you explain the hair on Lalia? Its DNA is a match for you.”

“Unfair.”

“What?”

“You know I’m tipsy, and you’re taking advantage of me.”

“But you’re too smart for that, right?”

She shook her head, again a bit longer than necessary, like her head couldn’t think of what to do next.

“Well, you must have explained that hair to the police somehow.”

“Actually I never could. I couldn’t remember coming into contact with either child that day or that week. Even if I’d brushed against their clothes in the hall, how would the hair have made it to the crime scene since they were naked by then?”

“It got there somehow, don’t you think?”

“I think it’s like the pentagrams. I’m a convenient scapegoat in a small-minded town.”

“So you’re saying you think someone knew you’re Wiccan and had enough prescience to steal a strand of your hair and draw the pentagrams?”

She shrugged, tipped a bit, then straightened her shoulders. “I told you and the police and the last few detectives, I don’t know how it got there. Maybe someone had been close to me then transferred it to the girl without realizing it. I can’t explain, and that is, of course, why the poor parents won’t let me alone.”

“Do you remember who came into contact with you the day before the murders?”

“Teachers, school administrators, the guidance counselor, the children.” She took another long sip of the sherry, drinking it too fast to really enjoy it, Gabe thought. He was making her nervous.

“Do any of them strike you as the murdering type? What about the parents?”

She swallowed the rest, tipping the glass high to catch the last drop. “If they’d struck me as murderous, I would have told the police. If it was a stranger, they wouldn’t have known about me, would they? If it was a local, how could someone not notice strange behavior or a strange absence? Something!” Heads turned, and Shylah burped daintily behind her cloth napkin. “I don’t think I saw any other parents that day, but you know how details escape you when the day is just normal and boring?”

He nodded. “So what do you do with magic anyway? Are you out for riches or power?”

Shylah rolled her eyes. “Do I look like I have riches or power?”

“What would be the purpose of a blood ritual…hypothetically?”

“It would probably be a summoning.”

“Summoning?”

“Like in bad horror movies. A little blood, the right words, and you’ve got your own demon at your beck and call. The thing is, demons are Christian-based.” She stared off in thought for a moment. “I suppose you could summon a god.”

Gabe doubted a murderer would mind mixing his demons with his gods.

He finished his wine. “Are you ready to go?” He stood up quickly and drew on his jacket. Shylah put both of her hands on the edge of the table to help her get up and almost tipped the table over as result. Noticing the wicked glares of the busboy and waiter, Gabe took Shylah’s arm and helped steady her. Then he slipped on her coat, white and long reminding him of Audrey Hepburn, followed by her purse strap over her shoulder, since he had no doubt she was going to forget it. He once again grabbed her backpack.

“I have to pay,” she said belatedly.

“I invited you, remember? So I got it.”

“Oh. Okay.”

It was like being plunged in water when they stepped outside. Much colder than seasonable for March in Virginia—he knew ’cause he’d looked it up online. He felt Shylah’s shiver, since he hadn’t let go of her arm. The mall was pretty much dead at this time of night. “Where are you parked?” he asked, but he felt sure it didn’t matter—she was in no shape to drive.

“Garage on Water Street. It’s not too far from the shop.”

They started walking that way as Gabe debated what to do. This was his fault, of course.

She tripped, so he put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him. “Shylah, I can drive you home, but then we’d have to return in the morning to get your car.” He assessed his own sobriety. Not quite 100 percent. “We could get a cab, but then both of our cars would be here. Or we could stay at a hotel.” He’d spotted the Omni earlier when he was looking for her shop. It was right around the corner, but Gabe found himself contemplating his money situation. A nice meal was one thing. Two hotel rooms quite another. “When do you work at the shop again?”