Silent Doll (27 page)

“Not at all. She sold it for cash, she knew better. We have a strict agreement with the Council that any item with actual magical properties must be purchased with a cheque or credit card. So a record is kept of who has purchased such materials, in case misuse occurs.”

“Perhaps she was coerced.”

“My wards prevent the use of such magic on the premises. The girl was just bone idle and didn’t look at what she was selling before she rang it up. Good help is so hard to find.”

“How do you know it’s this book?”

“I have an eidetic memory and I’ve read a copy of every book in here—that’s of any interest,” she amended, and opened the book to show me the dotted page. “The reason this one is still on the shelf is because it’s a braille edition.” She ran her elegant long fingers down the table of contents and flipped to a section in the middle of the book. “Here we go—ground bay leaf, Komodo venom, berry paste, fur of wolf, and the dust of Morpheus’s agent.”

“Morpheus’s agent?”

“Sleeping pills ground to powder, to the layman.”

I checked the list in my hand. “That’s everything but the vanilla.”

“Most likely flavoring to hide the bitter taste. This sounds like it was to be administered in food. Cassandra, what are you up to?” She arched one delicate brow.

“It’s not me. I’ll explain—but first, tell me what it does.”

Truth closed the book. “It’s designed not only to put a person to sleep but to paralyze them so that even if they wake they cannot move. That’s where the Komodo venom comes in. In the wild, Komodo bite their prey, dousing them with venom, and follow them until the paralysis takes effect. They’re essentially cowards.”

I put my hands out to catch hold of the counter as my knees went weak. Truth touched my hands.

I said, “Remember I told you someone was leaving me gifts? That stuff was in chocolate left for me. If my overnight guest hadn’t seen an unknown warlock’s familiar in my room, I might have eaten one.”

The thought that someone had deliberately set out to incapacitate me both boiled my blood and sent a chill over my flesh. I know the old adage about not to take candy from strangers was for good reasons—but it was still candy. I had a diabolical sweet tooth, which, watching me, my stalker would have learned.

Truth leaned in close to my ear. “I do not wish to alarm you further,” she said, “but we are being watched. The energy is that of a male human, and he’s trying to conceal himself in the shadows on the other side of the courtyard.”

I straightened up and gave her a smile. “I’ll be right back,” I said through tight lips.

Truth waved as if I was departing for the night. I exited the shop, building power as I made sure the door clicked into place, then, whirling, aimed it directly where Truth had said the stalker was hiding. There was a muffled exclamation and a body hit the ground. The courtyard’s security light came on behind me as I ran toward the sound. When I got there, I sat on him, pinning his arms to his sides with my hands. I found it remarkably easy to hold him there.

“You!” I glared down at a face I hadn’t wanted to meet again, let alone tonight. “Amran?”

“Let me up.” I tightened my grip on his arms; he yelped in protest.

“Not bloody likely. Tell me what you’re doing here.”

He tried a glare that could have probably taken down a lesser person than myself. The door to the shop opened; I heard the clack of Truth’s heels as she approached.

“Do you require assistance?”

“No, I got him,” I said. “Now, talk!”

“You will be my proof.”

“Proof of what?” I gave him glare for glare.

“That Ororo is engaging in black magic, making her an unfit mother.”

“Ro has nothing to do with this!”

“You’ll find this is a white magic establishment,” Truth chimed in.

I stared at him, completely amazed; the man was so proud that he was blowing his chance at having a real relationship with his child.

“Ro has nothing to do with magic,” I told him, “and I am so going to enjoy telling her that you’ve blown your chance.”

He growled at me and rocked his body, trying to get free. This man wouldn’t change. He’d pry November away from Ro, ruining her life if he had to. I had to stop him—but did I really have any right to interfere? I wanted to save someone, for once, rather than just clean up in the aftermath. I shifted to pin his arms under my knees so I could have my hands free, then called on power.

“Mnemosyne, goddess of memory, I call upon you,” I said. A blue glow surrounded my hands; I splayed my fingers along his scalp. The blue glow flowed into and through his skin. His irises shone blue. I made my voice low and commanding.

“You did not come to this place; you will go back to your big posh car and your big posh life and forget about Ro and her child. Consider adopting some poor unfortunate orphan. You know how the press likes acts of charity.”

I pulled my hands away from his head and stood up. I walked back to where Truth was standing. Amran slowly got to his feet, then stumbled from the courtyard like a zombie. Truth looked at me, stroking her chin with her elegant finger.

“I am not entirely sure that was ethical.”

“Neither am I, but it had to be done. The man wouldn’t have stopped; he’d have ruined a good woman’s life. I couldn’t allow it.”

Truth placed her hand on my shoulder. “It’s not up to you to right all the wrongs of the world. That’s for God.”

I shook my head, amused that Truth could deal in magic and still follow true to the Christian concept of a deity. Especially one that apparently would not suffer a witch to live.

“Maybe not, but even he’s gotta need a hand every now and again. Something had to be done. I had the power.”

Her fingers squeezed my shoulder. “With great power comes great responsibility.”

I brushed her hand off. “I’ve never claimed to be a hero.”

“You have all the qualities,” she said and handed me the vial I’d brought her. “You just have to make sure that you stand on even ground.”

I looked at the vial in my hands. “I’m trying, Truth,” I said, sighing. “I have good intentions.”

“Ah, good intentions and the way they pave.”

I shot her an unfriendly look; my aura must have pulsed because she put her hands up in surrender. “I suppose I have preached enough for one evening. Consider the sermon over. Let us get back to the issue at hand.”

“Yes, I’m being stalked by an underhanded warlock.”

Truth nodded. “I will listen to the gossip mills, and if I hear anything I will be in contact.”

“Thank you,” I said, putting the vial back into my pocket.

“Is there anything more? I just got a couple of shipments of rare texts that I have to check after I’m done with the monthly inventory.”

I shoved my hands in my pockets, about to tell her no, then remembered something. “Actually, there is one more thing. Do you remember the spell you found for me?”

“Of course. The spell for youth of a coven.”

“Could the spell be absorbed by one person?”

Truth tapped her bottom lip, thinking. “I did not think there was need to expand your knowledge in this area, so I did not elaborate when I should have. The spell requires the combined energy of a coven to work, by reciting words and each eating of a heart to draw on the energy of the taken life.”

“Wait, if the victim had left a ghost, what would happen?”

“The ghost would cease to exist. The spirit is energy; it cannot be made or destroyed, only changed into something else. A ghost is only an echo, it would feel no pain. It would just become a part of someone else. Like drinking one of those new-fangled energy drinks. Which brings us to the second way—creating an elixir.”

“Like juicing the hearts?”

“Yes, only not quite as literal as sticking them in a juicer. The energy would be drawn out and converted into a liquid which the whole group would sup.”

I tried not to smile, because the subject was grave, but I loved when Truth used older, out of fashion words like “sup”.

“So, once it’s a liquid,” I asked, “in theory, it could be drunk by just one person?”

“Yes, but with the energy of seven young lives, that could regress youth to that of an acne ridden adolescent.”

“You’d still need the combined power of a coven to do it?”

“You would certainly need the energy of a coven. As you suggest, one person can act as a focus—he or she could draw on the power of the others without them really knowing what they are doing, as long as they are willing.”

“Could it be done with just one really strong witch and some non-magical followers?” Trinket and her sisters were not themselves witches, or at least I’d seen no sign of it.

Truth tugged at her lip again, then said, “Perhaps if they were bound by a blood tie of some kind. Our spirits, as I said, are energy-raw, unharnessed energy.”

“Thank you. I have to get home.”

“You’re welcome.”

Trinket and her sister were bonded to their mother; her blood had created their magical tethers, which formed a web with her at the center. Each of them connected up to her like energy sources. She was going to use them like batteries to power her spell to regain her youth. I could stop it only by keeping Trinket away from her, slamming a non-conductive element into their circuit. I had to hope that distance would be enough until Hamilton could get that warrant.

I ran home.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I was confronted by a strange sight when I let myself into my apartment and flicked on the light. Trinket was crouched behind the couch, and my best friend was holding my cast iron skillet aloft, prepared to let my noggin have it.

“What is that for?” I asked, letting my brow arch as I used my foot to close the door.

“In case you were a burglar.”

“Do burglars usually enter using a key?”

She lowered the pan and set it down on the coffee table. “Maybe if you were a really crafty burglar.”

I pulled my jacket off and hung it up on the peg by the door. I looked at the flickering candles and then at the paused television screen. A horror movie. I rolled my eyes and blew out the nearest candle.

“You are officially relegated to kiddy movies and rom-coms,” I said turning the television off. I started blowing out the rest of the candles.

“I couldn’t find
Crouching Tiger
,” Incarra said, settling down into the chair. Trinket helped put out the remaining candles by squeezing the tip of the wicks with her fingers. I picked up the case and looked at the movie.

“So you thought the original
Halloween
was a good choice? It actually got to you?”

“No,” Incarra said, poking out her bottom lip in an attempt to look tough. “It was Trinket, she was scared. I was just protecting her!”

I chuckled and took the skillet back into the kitchen, hung it back up, and put the last candle out. Trinket smoothed out her dress and sat down on the couch.

“It’s been quiet?” I asked, leaning against the counter.

“Yeah, deadly quiet.” Incarra turned to look over the back of the armchair at me. “What happened to you? You’ve been gone longer than you said.”

I checked the clock on the oven and shook my head; I hadn’t been gone two hours since I’d called in.

“I got waylaid. Let me sum up my evening for you. Unpleasant interview with the cops, dead girl, bad chocolates, research, and dealing with one grade A asshole.” Incarra nodded along with everything I said.

“Sounds like a full evening. Find out anything good?”

“Relevant, sure, but not necessarily good.” I explained about the chocolates and then, more cautiously, my battery theory. Trinket got visibly upset, standing up and beginning to pace.

“No, no, Momma loves us, she does.”

“Trinket, I’m sorry, but…”

A knock on the door interrupted the forming argument. I checked the clock on the oven again. It was a little late for friendly visitors. I placed a finger to my lips and pointed them each in a direction, Trinket to the spare room and Incarra to my room. I motioned for Incarra to slide under my bed as I closed the door to my room—out of the three of us, she was the one that I worried would get hurt.

Going to the front door, I wished for about the thousandth time that I had a peep-hole. I put the chain on and pulled the door open staring out the gap.

The woman on the other side of the door was statuesque. Her dark hair was piled on top of her head in an outdated, movie starlet style and held in place with elaborate jade combs. She was swathed in a fur coat that once must have been several animals, with a high fur collar that puffed around her face and a hem that hid her feet. Her bony white fingers sported an array of rings topped with large, gaudy jewels. Her nails were at least three inches long and painted a bright fuchsia that stood out against the brown and cream of the fur coat.

I looked at her face, marked with tiers of lines around eyes, mouth, neck and jaw; she tried to hide the signs of age under makeup. She had painted herself like a scarlet beauty—thick lashes, some of which had to be fake, heavy black eyeliner and eyeshadow that matched her nails. Her lips were outlined in dark maroon and filled by the brightest red—which only highlighted the unevenness of her lips.