Books of a Feather (12 page)

“Um, Mom?”

“Salt purifies,” she intoned. “It repels the negative forces. Leave it where it lies for twenty-four hours. Then gather it up and keep it in a tight-lidded jar in plain sight for as long as you live in this space.”

“Will do,” I muttered, thinking the vacuum cleaner would gather it up well enough.

Suddenly, she began to shout.

“Sacred Salt! Guard this house!

Keep it safe from thief and louse!

Protect all those who dwell inside!

Evil has no place to hide!”

She opened a little enamel box, pulled something out, and slipped whatever it was onto the fingers of both hands. She began to move her fingers together and a loud, rhythmic, clicking sound erupted.

Castanets? Oh my God. Where were the flamenco dancers? Or the mariachis? And as long we were going with that theme, where was my margarita?

“Repeat it with me!” she cried, causing me to jolt.

“Sacred Salt! Guard this house!

Keep it safe from thief and louse!

Protect all those who dwell inside!

Evil has no place to hide!”

She was dashing around the room now, repeating the chant as she moved more and more quickly and chanted even faster. We were all reciting it now and the castanets were clicking like extremely large, noisy crickets. “Listen!”

We stopped chanting and I could hear our breath heaving in and out from the exertion.

Suddenly, Mom cried, “Watch the light! Shatter the air! Cleanse it! Burn it! As you dare!”

She made her way back to the Wiccan Altar and was silent for a minute. Lifting her arms into the air, she began to sway and undulate to some music only she could hear. Then she started with another chant.

“Thank you, Goddess. You're the best!

Hold us tightly to your breast;

Light our way and keep us safe;

I am but a helpless waif,

Buffeted on a storm at sea;

But with your grace I am set free.”

Once again, she couldn't stand still but began to dance with abandon, shaking her hips and smacking those castanets.

“Faster, faster!

Race against the devil!

Fly, my little wild ponies!

Let your spirit run free!

This is my will, so mote it be!”

She stopped shaking her hips and began to spin around in place, moving like a whirling dervish with her arms spread out and her eyes closed. Her head moved back and forth and I thought for a minute that she might pass out. But then she opened her eyes, grinned, and came to a complete stop. She wobbled a little and I didn't think it was part of the ceremony. No, I was pretty sure she was completely spent.

We all were, frankly. It took a full minute for me to bring myself back to calm reality.

“Wow,” Dad said.

Derek nodded, looking a little dazed. “Indeed.”

“I feel cleansed,” I said, smiling at Mom. Though I still wanted that margarita.

She smiled back. “Me, too.”

“Thank you, Mom.”

“Oh, sweetie.” Her eyes filled. “I want you both to be happy.”

Dad stood and lifted Mom up in his arms. “You deserve a break, baby.” He set her down in the red chair and she was asleep within seconds.

“She takes all those vibrations and energy into herself,” he explained. “It wears her out. She'll be asleep for a while.”

“A well-deserved rest,” Derek said. “It was a fine ceremony.”

I linked my arm through his. “A real doozy.”

•   •   •

We let the candles flicker out of their own accord. Mom had once told me that you were never supposed to blow out a candle after using it for a spell or a protection ceremony. It was okay to pinch it or use a candle snuffer, but blowing caused all the good fire and air energy to be scattered and dispersed. And that was a waste, Mom said, especially after she had worked so hard to concentrate and focus all that energy to work on your behalf.

An hour later Derek took off for work. Mom and Dad left for home around noon, as they'd planned. So it was me and Charlie alone for the rest of the afternoon.

With the kitten curled up under the table, I got to work and for several hours was able to block out the events of the past few days. Eventually, though, the fact that we'd dealt with two attempted break-ins and two murders, plus the complication brought on by Billy being taken advantage of by some con man, plus my parents being there, well, it was too much to overcome. Giving up for the day, I tidied my workshop and put the books back inside the safe.

Now that the dust was beginning to settle, I could admit I was
overwhelmed by what had happened. Someone had actually been killed inside our house. Poor Goose—or whatever his name was—hadn't had a chance against the professional intruder and thief who broke in.

And maybe it was completely ridiculous, but frankly, I was worried about Charlie. Had she been seen by this person? The killer? What if she had been hurt? The thought had me shivering. I bent down to pick up the kitten—who was no longer a kitten, I suppose, because she was getting bigger every day. She was almost eight months old now, not a kitten at all, but not quite a full-grown cat. The four pale orange spots on her back were more defined and slightly darker now, and she had the sweetest light tufts of marmalade fur on her cheeks. Otherwise, she was completely white and completely adorable.

“Hello, my sweetie pie.” I held her against my neck and listened to her purr. “I won't ever let anything bad happen to you.”

“Meow,” she said, and licked my chin.

“Aw.” I buried my face in her soft white fur and breathed in her soft kitten scent. I was so happy to have a pet who loved me as much as I loved her. I'd been a pet sitter for my neighbors' cats and I knew the pain of living with a cat who held you in complete contempt. Don't get me wrong. I loved Splinters and Pookie a lot, but they couldn't care less about me, even when I was the one feeding them. They were true snobs when it came to humans.

My hope was that Charlie had been hiding under the desk in my workroom when the intruder broke in. But what if she'd been out in the living room? What if she'd seen what the woman had done to Goose? What if my kitten was traumatized? How would I know?

A good friend of mine had once taken her cat to a pet psychic after a neighbor had tried to steal the poor animal. My friend
insisted that the therapy had been successful and the cat had been able to heal from the shock of that incident. Charlie licked my chin again and I wondered if she was trying to calm me down. Was it possible that she could tell that my imagination had just gone into hyperspace? Was she trying to soothe my pain?

Or was I as big a wacko as I sounded?

“Get a grip,” I muttered, and set Charlie back down on the floor. Looking her in the eye, I said, “Let's keep this little conversation between ourselves, okay?”

She stared up at me and purred, as if to say,
Sure, kiddo. Yeah. Whatever you say.

•   •   •

That afternoon I received a phone call from an attorney who asked me to serve as an expert witness in a divorce case she was handling. She introduced herself as Trina Jones and told me she had seen me on
This Old Attic
, the television show where experts evaluated antiques of all sorts. The show traveled around the country and hired local experts in different fields. I had been lucky enough to work as their book expert for the two weeks they had spent in San Francisco last fall.

Trina wanted me to evaluate a first edition copy of
To Kill a Mockingbird
and promised to send the book to my house by messenger first thing tomorrow morning. Apparently, the couple was fighting over who would get custody of the book. My court appearance was scheduled for early the next week, possibly Tuesday, depending on how the trial was proceeding, so I put it on my calendar and spent a few minutes figuring out what to wear. I mean, the women on every television courtroom drama I'd ever seen had been dressed to the hilt in designer suits and high heels.

“Alex!” I said. She would be the perfect fashion consultant if I wanted to present a high-powered image to the court. I pictured myself in one of her stunning pencil skirts and formfitting jackets and started to laugh. Why would I do that to myself?

“Yeah. Never mind,” I muttered. I admired Alex's style and she had even lent me an outfit or two for special occasions, but I would be so uncomfortable wearing what she wore every day. And let's face it, nobody in the world was going to care what I wore to appraise
To Kill a Mockingbird
. So that settled it. I would wear my black pants and maybe my burgundy sweater and be relaxed and happy. Or as relaxed as one could feel while being cross-examined by a hostile attorney.

Despite the possibility of a hostile attorney confrontation, I was thrilled to be hired as an expert witness. This was something new. I marveled at what a lucky choice I'd made when I first decided to work with books all those years ago. I'd been able to use my skills in so many different areas, and here was another one. And it was altogether different.

•   •   •

“You should be getting a visitor sometime this morning,” Derek said the following morning as he poured me another cup of coffee.

“I know. The attorney's messenger is bringing me the book to appraise for the divorce trial.”

“Ah. That, too. But I'm also expecting Gabriel to come by and give us an estimate of what equipment it will take to upgrade our security.”

Derek owned his own international security company, but his expertise was in people and artwork, mainly. He dealt with heads
of state and members of royal families, as well as rare works of art on display all over the world. He had the heads of Interpol and the FBI and Scotland Yard on speed dial and he was familiar with every piece of equipment and spyware on the market. But he relied on others to procure all that state-of-the-art equipment and satellite technology and drones and fun stuff. That was where Gabriel came into the picture. He was the tech guy.

“Oh, wonderful,” I said. “It'll be so nice to see Gabriel. It's been a while.”

“I just saw him the other evening.” Derek said, clearly preoccupied as he broke eggs into a bowl to make scrambled eggs. There was something delightful about watching a gorgeous man whisking eggs for breakfast while wearing a thirty-thousand-dollar Brioni suit.

“Did he come to your office?” I wondered.

He grabbed the pepper grinder and twisted it a few times to spice up the eggs. “No, he was here.”

I frowned at him. “What?”

He glanced up, and if I hadn't been watching him closely, I would've missed the reaction. His eyes flickered and his mouth opened in surprise and he immediately turned his back on me. “Or maybe it was last week. I can't remember. Wait. You're right. I saw him at the office.”

“Oh my God, you're lying.” Flabbergasted, I choked on my laugh. “And you're so bad at it,” I added. “What is going on?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

I was still laughing. “Come on, Derek. When did you see Gabriel and why are you lying about it?”

He made a sound of disgust and smacked his forehead with the heel of his palm. “Because I'm an idiot. A jackass.”

I stared at him as though he were an alien being. “What's wrong with you?”

“Why did I open my mouth?” he muttered, shoving the carton of eggs back into the refrigerator.

“You're starting to scare me.”

“Fine,” he said, disgruntled. “I saw Gabriel out in the hall the other evening. He was heading for Alex's apartment. There. I said it. I told you, even though I promised myself I'd never breathe a word of it. But I couldn't help it, could I? Because I'm clearly a knucklehead, as my mother would say.”

“You're the furthest thing from a knucklehead there is,” I insisted. “But let's go back to the beginning. You saw Gabriel going into Alex's apartment? Why didn't you say something?”

“Because they don't want anyone to know they're seeing each other.” He shook his head and mumbled, “I can't seem to stop talking. It's obvious that you've been a bad influence on me, my love. I fear I've become a veritable chatterbox and I'm not sure how I feel about that.”

“Well, you can't stop now,” I said, laughing. “You have to tell me everything.”

He pointed his finger at me. “And this is why I wasn't going to say anything. Because you will get involved and you'll get your hopes up about them and when they split up, it'll break your tender heart.”

“Oh, please. Now you sound like my dad describing my mom.”

“That makes sense, doesn't it?” He took two pieces of sourdough bread from the bread box and dropped them into the toaster. “The two of you are very much alike.”

I frowned. “I'm not sure that's a compliment.”

“Believe me, darling, it is.” He pulled me close and wrapped
his arms around me. “Your mother is a lovely, thoughtful woman, and so are you.”

I gazed up at him. “Thank you. And to defend myself, the only reason I would feel bad if Gabriel and Alex split up is that one of them would be hurt. And since I love them both, it would be painful to watch.”

“Exactly my point.”

My mind was buzzing as I tried to put together a dozen different pieces of a puzzle. “So when we saw them together after Robin's wedding, they were . . . together?”

“They were fighting.”

“Tomato, to-mah-to.”

“Darling, it's none of our business.”

“You are so wrong.” I sighed. “I'm already a little sad because they're doomed to break up eventually.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because. Um, well.” I stared at my nails. “You know. Alex likes a type of guy that, well, Gabriel is
not
.”

“Ah, the alpha-male-versus-beta-male question.” He rubbed his forehead, probably feeling a headache coming on.