A Cast-Off Coven (3 page)

“Let me guess: an underappreciated genius who thinks a lot more of himself and his art than the rest of the world does?”

“Bingo. I’m surprised to see him with Jerry Becker. Landau’s moody, to be kind. Probably manic-depressive, like a lot of artists. The Beckers move in high circles, with the beautiful people. Lots of parties, plenty of wardrobe changes. Seems an odd pairing.”

As the men took their coffee drinks to a table by the window, another fellow strode into the café. A slight hush seemed to fall over the crowd.

Tall, dark, and handsome, he had a dashing air that made me think of an old-fashioned movie star. He reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t put my finger on who. Probably Errol Flynn.

“Hey, Prof!” Ginny beamed from behind the sales counter. She glanced up at the clock hanging over the tea caddy. It was shaped like an artist’s palette, with splotches of color in lieu of numbers, and paintbrushes in place of hands. “You made it right under the wire. We close at midnight. The usual?”

The man nodded, leaned one elbow on the brushed-zinc counter, and watched while Ginny busted some smooth barista moves. She preened, arched her back, played with her hair, and chatted—flirting big-time. The man smiled, and I heard his deep voice murmuring something; I couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was alluring.

“And
that
is the newest sensation on campus,” Maya said.

“He’s very attractive.”

“Smokin’ hot,” Maya agreed. There was a dreamy note in her voice, which was unusual for a woman who insisted romance was nothing more than a late- night fabrication of lonely women and hormonal men. “He joined the faculty this fall. In contrast to our friend Walker, this guy has done very well, represented by prestigious galleries in New York and L.A., as well as here in Union Square. Name’s Luc, with a ‘c.’ ”

“L-u-c? Is he French?”

“I don’t think so. No accent, and according to rumor, he’s got family around here. But he has an undeniable Continental flair; used to live in Europe.”

Jerry Becker noticed the new arrival as well, and stood. Luc brought his espresso over to the table, one hand up in supplication. Luc’s tone was the same as it had been with Ginny—deep, resonant, seductive.

Becker’s was not. His voice grew louder and shriller until the words were bouncing off the café walls.

The buzzing of the students, the strumming of the guitar, even the clatter of the dishes came to a sudden halt. We all held our collective breath.

Luc chuckled. I strained to hear him.

“I admire your passion, Jerry. But there’s no need to go to the mats over this thing. Why don’t we meet tomorrow and talk—in private?”

“This can’t wait till tomorrow.” Becker glanced down at a gaudy, expensive-looking gold watch that shackled his tanned wrist. “I’ll meet you in your office in fifteen minutes.”

Luc inclined his head, still smiling. “If you insist. See you then.”

He nodded good-bye to Walker Landau before turning away.

As Luc passed my table, his dark eyes met mine, and our gazes locked. His vibrations were vivid, almost dazzling, but ultimately guarded. After a brief moment his lips formed a crooked, subtle smile, and he nodded his head, just barely.

“Evening,” he said quietly.

“Hi,” I said, cringing at the breathless tone of my voice.

He walked by, leaving a subtle, sweet citrus scent in his wake. I turned to watch him go.

“Nice view, huh?” Maya asked.

“What? Oh, yeah.” I felt myself blush. As soon as the door closed behind him, the buzzing of the crowd came back twice as loud as before. “What do you suppose all that was about?”

Maya shrugged. “I don’t know what’s going on around here lately—everybody’s at each other’s throats. But this thing with Becker and Luc . . . ?” She shook her head. “All I know is that Becker wanted Luc to set Andromeda up with a show at Luc’s gallery off Union Square—a prestigious place—but Luc told him in no uncertain terms that he wouldn’t do it.”

“That hardly seems reason to issue a death threat.”

“Becker’s used to getting what he wants,” Maya said, and stood so quickly her chair almost toppled over. “Let’s go. I want to get this ghost thing over with. Kevin’s waiting upstairs.”

Maya caught Ginny’s eye and gestured toward the door with her head. Ginny tossed her apron in a laundry basket and punched out, leaving the dishwashers to close up.

“Shall we?” Ginny said, and led the way into the main building.

 

There wasn’t a soul in sight.

“Where is everybody?” I asked. “I know it’s late, but the café was jammed.”

“The former nuns’ cells here on the first floor were converted into offices for administrators,” Maya explained. “They’re strictly nine- to-fivers. Most of the students are night owls, as you noticed, and will be working in their studios most of the night. But only the sculpture studios are in the main building. The rest of the student ateliers are housed in the new wing.”

My ears were alert for untoward sounds, but the place was as quiet as the proverbial tomb. We reached the broad, tiled staircase that swept up to the second floor. On the landing waited a tall, open- faced young man wearing a security guard’s uniform and a badge that read KEVIN MARINO.

He stood ramrod straight, shoulders back and chin lifted; the rough, tough security guard prepared to protect the womenfolk. I wasn’t sure how he intended to do this, since as far as I could tell, the only threatening item in his possession was his rusty tin badge. I supposed tetanus could be a concern . . . eventually . . . if he stuck a miscreant with the badge’s pin, but that wouldn’t get him very far with a noncorporeal ghostly apparition.

“Hey,” Kevin greeted us with a lift of his chin. He focused on me. “You the ghostbuster?”

“I’m Lily Ivory. Nice to meet you.” We shook hands.

“Kevin.” He paused. “Where’s your, uh, ghost-huntin’ stuff?”

“She left it in Honduras,” Ginny said.

“Oh. Too bad. Well, all’s quiet so far. There was a heckuva lot goin’ on last night, though. Think it might be one o’ them poultry heists.”

“Poultry heist? Someone’s stealing chickens?” I asked.

Maya nudged me. “He means
poltergeists
.”

“Aah.” No wonder I couldn’t talk to the dead, I reflected. At times I could scarcely understand the living. “My mistake.”

We started meandering down the second- floor hallway, which was laid out in a way similar to the first—a series of wooden doors leading off a broad, straight hallway—except that these roomier spaces were used as classrooms. I was enjoying the midnight outing—although I’m no artist, I am something of a night owl—but I had to admit that our foursome was one sorry excuse for a ghost-hunting team. Two anxious students; one security guard whose chief virtue, in my mind, was that he was not carrying a loaded weapon; and one bona fide witch who could not communicate with the dead, much less with the undead, if her life depended on it.

“Where’d you want to start?” asked Kevin.

“Why don’t we start with the noisiest area,” I suggested.

“Hmm. Lots o’ those. Lots o’ those indeed.”

“Which one’s the worst?”

“Well, now, that’s hard to say. Darned hard to say.”

Why would he drag this out? Was he lonely, or afraid?

I forced myself to smile. “Pick one.”

“The bell tower?”

“You tell me.”

“Do you think . . .” Maya interrupted. “Do you think maybe we could start with the studios?”

I reminded myself that most humans—
normal
humans—aren’t as sanguine as I about the supernatural. All structures have some ghosts, the whispery remnants of the souls who have passed through. Most consist of little more than residual feelings and fleeting emotions, not the apparitions of lore. And most aren’t a problem. They tend to keep a low profile, noticed only by those who, like me, are . . . different. A ghost’s main impact on the human world is to lend its vibrations to a place, which might make that place warm and welcoming, or cold and off-putting.

As someone who has lived a mostly solitary life, I revel in these vibrations, which make me feel connected to the past, to those who have gone before. The same feeling drew me to old clothes, which also carry a fragment of the energy of those who have worn them, but most people go through life unaware of the overlay of the past, which is just as well. On the rare occasions when they make the connection, it can be profoundly disturbing.

“Has there been activity in the studios?” I asked.

“Not really.”

“Then let’s not waste our time. Straight to the bell tower, I say. Let’s get to the bottom of this. But listen, you really don’t have to come along if you don’t want to.” I looked in turn at three apprehensive faces. “Any of you. I can do my best to slay the critter, then meet you all back in the café.”

“I’m coming with you.” Maya wasn’t the kind to back down.

“Me, too,” said Ginny.

“Yeah, we got your back,” said Kevin.

I nodded. “Okay, great. Just remember, ghosts aren’t typically malevolent. Usually they’re merely a remnant of a past life, of someone who used to be just as human as the next person. Don’t be afraid. Now, let’s go see if we can stir up anything in the bell tower.”

I may not tote around electronic equipment, but I never leave my house unprepared. My ever-present medicine bag was tied to the braided belt at my waist, and in my backpack were newly consecrated talismans for my companions. I knelt and extracted three from my backpack.

“Just in case,” I said, handing them out.

Maya and Ginny accepted them gladly, but Kevin looked doubtful until Maya took the medallion and hung it around his neck. By the way he looked at her, I suspected he was the sort of “pal” who wanted to be more. They might make a cute couple. She was serious and delicate in stature; he was tall and lanky, and easygoing. But I doubted he was smart enough for my wise-beyond-her-years assistant.

“Let’s go,” I said, leading the way down the corridor, which ended in a T not far ahead.

Suddenly I heard something—the muffled sound of a woman weeping.

“Ya’ll hear that?” I whispered.

“Yeah,” Ginny said, “but that’s not what we usually—”

I gestured for them to stay where they were and peered around the corner. A young woman leaned against the wall, crying. Pink feathers swayed as her shoulders shook.

“Andromeda?” I said, approaching her. “What’s wrong?”

She sniffed, wiped her arm over her wet face, threw her shoulders back, and looked up at me, as though she hadn’t been sobbing a moment ago.

“Nothing. Hey,” she said to the others with a slight lift of her chin.

“Hey,” said Kevin, mimicking her chin- rise.

“Hey,” repeated Ginny.

“Hey,” echoed Maya.

I gritted my teeth. I’ve been in California only a couple of months, so perhaps with time I’ll take to the local manner of exchanging “heys” instead of actual greetings. But really . . . would a simple “How are you?” or “Pleased to meet you” kill these people?

“Gotta bounce,” said Andromeda, rushing past us. “Later.”

We watched her retreat down the corridor and disappear around the corner.

“Drama queen,” Ginny muttered under her breath.

At my questioning look, she shrugged and clarified. “Daddy’s little girl has to get everything she wants, exactly when she wants it. I should be so lucky.”

“This way to the tower?” I asked, not wanting to engage in student rivalries.

Kevin nodded. “Straight ahead and to the right.”

I set off down the hall, the security guard behind me, Maya following him, and Ginny taking up the rear.

I was starting to wonder if we would find anything at all. From the students’ stories, I had expected to sense something the moment I set foot on campus, but so far the only odd behavior I’d seen came from flesh-and-blood humans. Maybe it was the spooks’ night off, or maybe the students had freaked themselves out with too little sleep, too much caffeine, and forlorn tales of lost loves—a potent brew, I knew from personal experience.

We turned the corner into a short hallway that ended in a small, windowless square room at the foot of a circular stone stairwell. Ginny screamed.

Jerry Becker—multimillionaire, womanizer, Big Cheese—was sprawled faceup on the hard stone tile. His eyes were open, unblinking, staring into nothing-ness. Blood seeped from his thick white hair and pooled under his head, looking black in the dim light from the hallway. I felt a shimmering energy emanating from the blood. Essence of life.

“Eeuuuwww! Ew, ew,
ew
!” Ginny started dancing around like someone who’d gotten caught up in a huge spiderweb, flailing her arms and shuddering in an attempt to shake off the sight of the dead man. “Yuck, yuck,
yuck
!”

“
Ginny
,” I said through clenched teeth, “you need to calm down.”

“Ew! Gross! Yuck!”

I looked at Maya imploringly. Her trusty cell phone in one hand, already ringing 911, she wrapped the other arm around Ginny’s slender shoulders and started murmuring to her, leading her over to a bench by the wall.

Kevin was silent, but his ashen face spoke volumes. He stood as if rooted in place, swaying slightly in his size-twelve work boots.

“Why don’t you sit down, too, Kevin,” I said, worried that at any moment he would topple over in a dead faint. “I’ll handle this.”

Despite my brave words, inside I felt like screaming or fainting right alongside them. I stroked my leather medicine bag for strength and concentrated on steady breathing. It might seem strange that finding a dead body could throw me so off balance, but dealing with creatures from other dimensions is not
at all
the same as dealing with sudden death. The former is a state of being, whereas the latter is a process—in this case, a violent one. I didn’t have much experience with it, and I didn’t want any. But I had to be sure Becker wasn’t still alive. He looked dead as a doornail, but if finding a dead body was bad, mistaking a live person for a dead one was much worse. Talk about your self-fulfilling prophecies.