The Thief Who Stole Midnight (12 page)

I dug my tarot deck out of my purse and pulled three cards for the coming year. 

Death.

Three of Swords.

The Tower.

Transformation. Sorrow. Change through destruction.
Happy birthday to me.

Damn it. I shouldn't have looked. You'd think I'd know better by now. Damn tarot cards always suckered me into peeking into my future and I just about always regretted it. Because the hell of it was...

They were usually right.

After a quick stop at Trader Joe's, I was finally home. I propped the grocery bag on my hip, wrestled open the wrought iron gate and placed my hand on my mailbox. Mara Stephens, Apt 1-C.

I stood for a second, hoping my unemployment check was in there and tried to read the vibes. This was a game I always played with myself -- a small psychic exercise to keep my 'sight' sharp. But I didn't feel any sense of urgency or hope. Just a whopping dose of dread.

Great. So my guess was no check, but at least one major bill I'd have to pay. I unlocked the box and quickly sorted through the mail. Sure enough -- a sale flyer from the Crooked Pantry, a birthday card from a temp agency and a pink notice from the Dept. of Water and Power.

Good thing I had plenty of candles to fall back on. And a swimming pool. If I got desperate, I could shower over the drain in the courtyard, with the garden hose. People washed their dogs there all the time. And my shampoo was considerably less toxic than flea dip.

Tucked into the back of the mailbox was a reminder about the rent. At least that was one thing I didn't need to worry about. Lenny knew I was good for it. How much longer I'd be able to pay the rent though... That thought made me queasy.

Suddenly, a wave of panic hit my stomach and clenched it hard. Forget crawling, gooseflesh positively raced across my arms. I struggled to breathe. Whatever was wrong, it all seemed to be coming from the direction of my apartment.

I dropped my mail into the grocery bag and peeked around the corner of the mail stand. Behind the screen door, my front door was wide open.

Shit!
I ducked back behind the mailboxes and fumbled through my purse for my cell phone.

I flipped open the phone and hit 9-1-1.

Busy.

I hung up and tried again.

Still busy.

Bloody hell. No wonder the crime rate was so high in Los Angeles. I didn't know what the non-emergency number was, so I decided to call my home phone and warn the intruder to clear out.

If I was lucky, it would just be a break-in. A simple case of anonymous robbery. I'd warn them that I was on my way home and they'd hit the road with their haul.

But as I punched in the first three digits, the phone beeped, the battery icon blinked and the screen went black.

Damn it. I shoved the phone back into my purse and took another look at my apartment. The living room lights had been turned on against the gathering dusk. But why would robbers turn on the lights? Didn't that negate the whole idea of stealth?

I crept closer. That's when I saw Mrs. Lasio, the new building manager, planted like a bull in my living room.

Great. Just freaking great. Why did it have to be her? Why couldn't it have been some whacked-out crack-head carting off my TV?

Mrs. Lasio was a heavyset, older Latina woman who always wore an ostentatious gold cross, which could double as a weapon. It was heavy enough to do serious damage if you whacked a mugger with it and no security person would ever dare confiscate it. And she was trouble from the minute she walked into the building courtyard. She made no secret of her feelings about me. After she met me, she added a blue and black eyeball-shaped amulet to her crucifix, as protection against the evil eye. But, other than that, she'd always left me alone. Until now.

I slammed open the screen door.

"What are you doing in my apartment?!" I yelled, dropping the grocery bag on the carpeted floor.

Then I winced when I remembered the eggs. Ye Gods, this was turning out to be a shitty birthday.

Mrs. Lasio was so mad spit flew out with every sentence. "Look at this devil shit. I warn Lenny about you," she said, making the sign of the cross. "
Iesu Maria. Brujaria.
Devil magic."

I looked around my living room. Third-hand furniture, wall-to-wall bookshelves and various dragon and gargoyle statues that I quite liked. Okay, so I was having a second childhood in my twenties and grooving on my bits of gothic statuary. Sue me.

But Mrs. Lasio was very pointedly looking at the alcove in the wall. It's where the built-in wet bar used to be, before I took a sledgehammer to the counter. Now it had been remade into an altar.

There was a chalice and athame (cup and knife, together they represented the union of male and female), a small cauldron, incense and candles laid out on top of it and a pentagram plaque on the wall (representing fire, earth, water, air and spirit).

Next to the sink, where most people kept their barware, I had a tribal skull, (made of resin), sandwiched between a statue of Hekate and a statue of Baphomet, with various tarot decks spread out in front of them.

Nothing too out of the ordinary for a young witch, but how was I going to explain it to someone as superstitious as my building manager?

"What are you talking about? It's not evil, it's Wicca. You know, Mrs. Lasio, like on TV?
Charmed? Buffy? Witches of Eastwick?
Good magic, white dresses, Goddess moons, blessings of the earth? Do you watch TV?"

She picked up my statue of Baphomet and waved it at me. "Is Satan."

"It's Baphomet." But with its wings, horns, half-human/half-goat appearance, I had to grant that maybe, just maybe, it gave a bad impression.
Damn it.
I was so screwed.

I took a deep breath and tried to explain. "Baphomet sits at the threshold between order and chaos, life and death, male and female. He's representative of the duality of the manifest universe and the cosmic unknown." He just looks kind of scary. Although I didn't say that last part out loud.

Mrs. Lasio snorted, unswayed by my speechifying. "You think I am stupid? I see this in Church. You make worship to
el Diablo
," she said and threw the statue across the room.

I almost had a heart attack, but Baphomet just bounced harmlessly on the couch cushions before settling to a stop.

"What is wrong with you? You break into my home and now you're throwing my things around? Screw this. I'm calling the cops. They can deal with you."

Mrs. Lasio scuttled to stand between me and the phone. "I smell something funny. Maybe your apartment on fire. Maybe you have drugs. I have to check before I call
policia
."

My jaw dropped open. I couldn't believe how far this woman would stoop to spy on me. "How many weeks did it take you to think that one up, Mrs. Lasio? Or did you have help?"

"I don't like you,
bruja
. You are hazard to building." Her eyes narrowed as she played her trump card. "I am Manager. And you... Evicted."

And that was how it all began. If I had known then, what I know now, I would have packed up every objectionable item the minute Mrs. Lasio moved in and I realized how narrow-minded and bigoted my new building manager was. After all, if witchcraft is in your blood, you don't need the accoutrements. They just make it easier to focus. But if you have to, you can craft stark naked, waving a toilet brush. At least, that's what my mom always said. To be honest, most of the witchy stuff was hers. I just liked them. While witchcraft was in my blood and I could cast some kick-ass spells if I had to, reading tarot cards was usually the extent of my witchy practices. Unlike my best friend Gus, who reveled in his witchiness. The only thing stopping him from tattooing a scarlet W on his forehead, is that it would clash with his wardrobe. But more on him, later.

"Evicted?!" I sat down on the couch before my knees gave out. "You can't do this. I've lived here for ten years," I whispered. Even after my dad died, I moved into a smaller apartment, but I still stayed in the building. Most people my age were saving to buy their first house but I loved my apartment.

We had rented it, sight unseen, from Chicago. The minute I saw the ad, I just knew it was the one. I could feel it in the way the blood rushed to my head and my skin tingled. And sure enough, when we pulled up in the moving van, I had immediately fallen in love with its 1970's-style architecture, triangular arches and quaint little pool with seahorse imprints. It was my bit of retro-paradise in the middle of hot, smoggy Los Angeles. How was I supposed to just give it up?

The image of the Tower card kept flashing in my mind.
Chaos and destruction
.

"My soul is going to heaven. Is not going to hell. You take your devil garbage and get out." Mrs. Lasio crossed herself again. "I have priest come bless this building."

"There's no way Lenny will let you do this to me." Lenny was our neighbor when we moved in, but then he won a chunk of money on
Who Wants To Be A Millionaire
and bought the building. Other than my dad, I'd known him longer than anyone.

"He saved,
bruja
. I take Lenny to church with me and Jesus find him. He not under your spell no more."

That must be why I was suddenly in her sights. I inwardly cursed the fact that I was on a month-to-month lease instead of a yearly contract. But Lenny was as commitment-phobic in his business contracts as he was in his relationships.

"Great. Good. Fabulous. Maybe Jesus will defend the two of you in court when I sue your ass. Ever hear of religious persecution, Mrs. Lasio? The ACLU will hang you from a flagpole." 

Mrs. Lasio crossed her arms, the fingers of her left hand tapping her flabby upper arm. "You are like little dog with big words. Yap, yap, yap." She glared at me. "You no pay rent, you get out. You evicted."

"That's ridiculous! Lenny knows I always pay my rent. He's never gotten it later than the fifteenth."

"Too bad for you, rent is due on first. My nephew is lawyer." She slapped an eviction notice on the coffee table in front of me. "You get out by end of month. No funny business, or I keep security deposit. I am watching you,
bruja
."

And with that, she left, slamming the door behind her. I thought about throwing a curse at her, but it wasn't worth the coin. Few things were. Dumb karma. Dumb threefold law. Dumb me for not paying the rent sooner.

Like I said, I should have known better. Mrs. Lasio was more religious than most priests I'd met, taking fanatical to a whole new level. Every Easter, she hosted a
Passion of the Christ
movie night and then paraded around the block with her friends. The men held mock crosses on their back, while the women wailed at the top of their lungs and flicked holy water at anyone who had the misfortune of being on the sidewalk. I should have realized that she'd never tolerate a witch living in her building. I should have known she'd jump at the first chance to get rid of me. But I just hadn't been paying attention.

I paced around the apartment, fuming. Two weeks? How was I going to find a new place to live in two weeks?! I studied the eviction notice again. It certainly looked official. Could Mrs. Lasio have done this on her own? Without Lenny knowing about it?

I read down the page. Nope. There was Lenny's signature, in his neat, careful penmanship. It was official. The weasel had kicked me out. I tore the notice into thirds and tossed the pieces on the coffee table. So much for him considering me to be family.

I picked Baphomet up off the couch, before I accidentally sat on him, and looked him over. He wasn't that bad. Almost attractive. In a demonic sort of way.

"What's wrong with people nowadays?" I asked him. "The Knights Templar worshipped you for ages. They were Christians. Well, okay, so maybe they were heretical, but still..."

The phone rang. I tried my best to ignore it as I carefully positioned Baphomet back on the altar.

"Not that I'm not a social person," I told Baphomet, "but how much humanity should anyone have to suffer in any given day?"

After a few rings, the answering machine kicked in and a sexy male voice came on the line. "I know you're there, bitch. Pick up the phone."

I rolled my eyes. Only Gus could make "bitch" sound like a pet name.

I picked up the receiver. "I hate when you do that."

He laughed. Gus was my best friend and chosen family. He was like the brother I never had. We were each other's standing date and occasional wingman. He was also one of the few self-proclaimed witches I'd met with real ability. His 'sight' was annoyingly spot-on and he could be pushy as hell. Other than our shared sense of humor and our shared love of men, we were total opposites.

I was your typical, pale, Scottish-American with a fondness for jeans and tee-shirts. Gus, on the other hand, was an eccentric Greek-American Celtophile. With a flair for the unfashionable. Seriously. His wardrobe was like Pirates of the Caribbean meets The Craft. Long, flowing shirts, blousy pants and gnarly Celtic man-jewelry. And yet, somehow, he was able to pull it off without looking like a stowaway from a Disney flick.

 "So? Don't keep me in suspense. What happened?" Gus asked. "I could hear you screaming all the way in West Hollywood." 

"Hold up, let me get the headset on." As soon as my hands were free, I walked into the kitchen and started putting groceries away. Yay, most of the eggs were still intact.

"Out with it. Tell Gus what's wrong."

I sighed, dropping two gooey broken eggs into the garbage. "My unemployment's about to run out, I can't find work and I've just been evicted. Oh, and I'm spending another birthday -- that everyone forgot, hello -- alone. Other than that, I'm fine."

"So you've had a full day."

"Fuck off." Bastard. I could hear him trying not to laugh. "I'm so glad my misfortune amuses you."

"I didn't forget your birthday, I'm planning a surprise."