Deadly Sin (Cassandra Farbanks) (6 page)

I still use dial up. After blowing up three wireless routers within the space of a month, I gave up trying to get a decent connection. Magic plus wireless technology equaled
kablooie
.

I blankly stared at my screen for a long moment. How should I begin a search for a symbol? I wished there was a search engine you could draw things into and search for a page with something that matched. I thought about the apple from the table. Putting apple into a search engine would bring up either fruit or iPods. I associated the apple at the scene with Eve, so I typed that in. The top entry I got was eveonline, a MMORG – Massively Multiplayer Online Roleplaying Game. Geek Fodder, not what I wanted. The next two were Wikipedia articles about rapper Eve Jeffers and the biblical eve, the one I was looking for. I clicked the link.

I never liked the story of Adam and Eve, personally. All the blame lay on the woman for the fall from the Garden of Eden. If god had been really smart, he wouldn’t have put such a tree in the garden to start with. If I’d wanted them ignorant and compliant I’d have put it elsewhere. He created temptation in the first place and then scorned them for not resisting it. Temptation is very subjective. It is easy to resist something as long as you don’t have to walk past it every day. Like the man in his grand house who monitored his intake very carefully. Day to day he could control himself because he didn’t allow extravagances in the house, but put a feast before him.

I scanned the page for useful words to spark something off. Temptation is used a lot, and always in a negative connotation. No one is tempted into to doing something good. Then I saw the word sin.

I flashed back to my religious education when I was a teenager and being told by a nun what sin is. Religious education is mandatory in British schools. The nun hadn’t liked me one bit and she kept me behind to go into more detail. I thought there were seven really bad ones I was told to watch out for. I typed in seven sins. The screen chirped at me.
Did you mean the seven deadly sins?
If they were truly deadly that could be a start. I clicked the link to a page.

The seven deadly sins, also called the cardinal vices or cardinal sins, are a classification of objectionable vices that have been used since early Christian times to educate and instruct fallen humanity’s tendency to sin. The versions of these sins are wrath, greed, sloth, pride, lust, envy and gluttony.

Gluttony? Gluttony had to do with food, I was sure of it. I clicked the link embedded in the text. Gluttony, derived from the Latin
gluttire,
meaning to gulp down or swallow, over indulgence and over consumption of food and drink to the point of extravagance or waste. It showed a wood carving of a man in front of a large banquet table guzzling, growing fat while keeping a small child from trying to get some of the food. It also said that Gluttony was linked to the pig and the color orange.

There wasn’t any specific symbol that went along with it though, even if the one I had seen glowed orange. I turned to the bedside table and rummaged in the drawer for a pen and piece of paper. I rested the pad on my knee and drew the symbol out from memory. It looked like a wonky J with two lines across it and a stick man wearing parachute pants while holding a hockey stick across his body. If it was a magical symbol, I’d never seen it before, but there was some familiarity to it that told me I should know it. At least some part of my brain said I should know it. I picked up the phone thinking of who I could ask. I began calling Virginia but stopped mid dial while I thought about that. After a while, the automated phone voice said the number I dialed had not been recognized, so I hung up. My natural instinct was always to call Virginia. She was my mentor. She taught me control of my magic, magical lore, and took me through some of her case files from when she’d been an enforcer. It’s always a blow when your mentor, your yoda, lets you down. Virginia had let me down in the worst way. She thought she was protecting me by keeping me ignorant of myself, but events had set off a chain reaction. Instead of helping me keep my head above water, she watched me drown. She let me be afraid. I hadn’t seen her a lot since I discovered how much she really kept from me. I saw her once when I borrowed some books and again when I returned them. Neither time had our conversations ended well. I wanted full disclosure and an apology. She still wanted me to drop the subject and pretend like nothing was wrong. Calling her was not an idea that would end well. After staring into space for a minute, I shut down the computer and went out. Since I wore my locket, I’d be on the alternate side with Grimoires and could gather information there. Truth didn’t mind seeing me – a misnomer as she was born blind – because I always brought her the most interesting puzzles.

I pulled on some skinny fit black jeans under the t-shirt and donned my favorite pair of low-heeled boots. I rummaged in my wardrobe, pulling out my winter coat as it was getting progressively cooler and wrapped up in it. Stuffing my drawing into my pocket, I took the elevator down, giving it a customary kick at the fourth floor. Once in the foyer, I checked my office door to make sure Trinket locked it before she went to her day job, and then to the mailbox. There was only a heavy, plain, long, brown envelope inside. There was no address on it so I figured someone hand delivered it to my mailbox. I snuck my nail under the seal, ripping it open and tipping the contents into my hand. A small square of paper fluttered to the ground. I looked at what was in my hand, a small brass key like those found in an antique wardrobe or vanity table to lock the drawers. I didn’t own anything that it would fit. I bent down and picked up the piece of paper trapped with the toe of my boot from blowing away. The small, neat italic writing was painfully familiar to me. My stalker was back.

A couple of months ago I received some anonymous gifts. Each had a little card that together made up one of the worst roses are red poems I’d ever seen. He warned he, was coming for me and I wouldn’t escape. I was especially creeped out with the last gift of chocolates laced with a paralyzing agent. I didn’t eat any. After that, when I didn’t get anything more, I assumed he’d given up because his plan hadn’t worked. I took everything to Hamilton who helped me file a police report. I knew from the little piece of paper that it was the same person, but the message was completely benign. It simply read
Here. You will need this.

I looked at the little key again before putting it and the note back in the envelope and into my other pocket. I stepped out into the weak October sunlight, the chill in the air making my cheeks flush. I stopped in town at the Java Hut kiosk to get my first cup of coffee to keep the chill away. October is always a weird month for weather. You feel the approach of winter on days like today, and on others, summer still trying to make its presence felt. I like those days better. I’m a summer person and like to be warm. I walked along with the Java Hut cup, a brown paper thing with two golden palm leaves and Java Hut written across it in jazzy purple script, wondering if I would have to start wearing gloves soon. The only thing that stopped my fingers from going numb was the warmth of the paper cup.

Grimoires is located on a grey and yellow stone cobbled courtyard designed into an eye catching tribal sun, if you spend most of your time watching your shoes. The store is off an alley between two other businesses on one of the back streets. Two large, half hexagonal windows frame the door, each with thick, dark red velvet curtains and spotless iron-framed glass panes. The one on the right holds a display of pagan symbology, a skull with a fresh red rose enchanted to never fade, and a goblet and ceremonial blade carved with the phases of the moon. Although the frontage is painted dark to play to a tourist market, a reminder posted in the left hand window states that it’s a white magic establishment. As I rounded the corner into the courtyard, I saw the open sign across the door written to look like blood and Trinket standing at the till visible through the left-sided window. She happily rang up purchases for an elderly witch whose white hair coiled neatly in a chignon and wore official council robes. I walked in, listening to the bell’s tinkle above the door. The woman looked over her shoulder, her face wizened, but her eyes sharp. She looked at me with all due attention, while Trinket gave a little wave. Pretending to take an interest in some crystals displayed on a table near the door, I watched her out of the corner of my eye as she assessed me. Any council member would be interested in other people who patronized Truth’s store. I saw a spark of recognition from the old woman before turning quickly back to Trinket handing over her purchases.

“I put your receipt in the bag.”

“Thank you young lady, I must go now.” The witch snatched up her purchases and bustled out the door in a sudden hurry. I got that response from council members sometimes, like I carried some contagion they might catch if they stayed in a room too long with me. It also led to my poor opinion of the wizard council. I walked over to the counter.

“Hey boss,” said Trinket, putting the witch’s credit card slip into the till. I love the till at Truth’s shop. It is an old Victorian thing where the numbers come up on little cards behind a glass pane and the keys sit on elegant black stems like those of a typewriter. The modern chip and pin credit card machine looks really out of place next to it. “Checking up on me?”

“Not at all,” I said with a smile. “I came to see Truth.” Trinket’s smile lowered as she looked at me.

“Miss Mallory isn’t here today. She’s at an estate sale.” I put my coffee down on the counter amazed that Truth trusted Trinket enough to run the store for her. Trinket lifted my cup and slid a coaster under it. I sighed and rooted around in my pocket for the piece of paper. I pulled out the scrap I wrote the symbol on and smoothed it out flat on the counter. Trinket examined it carefully.

“When she gets back, I need her to look for me and tell me what this is?”

“Pig!”

I looked at Trinket with a furrowed brow, not sure whether or not I was being insulted. I put my fists on my hips while she stared at me blankly.

“Excuse me?”

Trinket turned the piece of paper so she looked at the symbol the right way up and nodded her head in acknowledgment.

“It’s drawn kind of badly but it’s the Chinese symbol for pig.” Trinket reached under the counter and brought out a magazine she reads while things are slow. She flipped it open and thumbed through the pages till she came to a section on the Chinese zodiac. She laid it flat, turned it to me and tapped it with her finger. “See.”

I stared at the printed image and my crude drawing. They were recognizably the same, but I was definitely no calligrapher. However, that meant that the dead man had the Chinese character for pig on his forehead – the animal associated with gluttony. I looked around the shop as if something would suddenly jump out at me. I fixed my eyes on Trinket again.

“I need a book on the seven deadly sins and any magic practices they are involved with.” Trinket looked at me blankly and held up her hands in a “forgive me” gesture.

“I think you over estimate what I do here. I don’t know the stock, only Miss Malory does. I just ring stuff up, and if it comes from that wall it’s got to be paid for by a credit card.” She indicated the shelves behind the counters and down to the back of the store, and the books containing actual magic in them.

“The minute she gets back you have her call me,” I said turning the paper over so I could write on the back. I searched my pockets for a pen when Trinket rolled one across the counter at me. She had problems picking up and gripping pens I remembered. I wrote on the back,
Seven deadly sins plus magic equals what? Call me. Cassandra.

“Make sure she gets that and knows that it’s very, very important.” Trinket nodded taking the piece of paper and tucking it safely under a pewter fairy next to the till.

“Don’t worry. I won’t forget. It’s grocery day,” she said brightly changing the subject, “was there anything you wanted for dinner?” I thought about it.

“No, no, nothing special. But we are almost out of ice cream.”

“There was half a tub left last week,” said Trinket accusingly. I grumbled a little but quickly rallied. Ice cream is my vice. Everybody has one. I didn’t smoke, gamble or drink. Well, not anymore since my bender in late March.

“Well it’s gone. You’ve already rationed me to one tub a month. It’s almost a new month and I would like a new tub.”

“Fine, but I’m not getting you the Chunky Monkey again; not after last time. It’s getting too cold for ice cream. You can have one of those frozen yogurt ones. Probably better for you.” I grumbled louder, snatched up my coffee and took a long swallow.

“Fine. I’ve got to go and pop into the police station.” Fussing over a pile of the shop’s mail, Trinket turned her glacial blue eyes to me. Nothing can stare you down like a clockwork doll. They don’t need to blink.

“Please call if you’re going to be late for dinner.”

“I shouldn’t be there that long.”

“I’ve heard that before. Call if you’re going to be late.”

I walked out of Grimoires muttering to myself that she supposedly worked for me.
Do what I tell you to do.
Instead, I’m embroiled in conversations about why I can’t have full fat ice cream, or how having a hamburger more than once in two weeks is bad for me. It’s like rooming with the food police. If that wasn’t bad enough, I noticed this morning – which is why I bought coffee out – that she switched me to decaf without telling me. Decaf is practically sacrilege. However, I feel that by the time she goes on her round the world tour in January one of us is going to go insane and it won’t be her.