Spellcasters (18 page)

“Napping?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Not feeling so good.”

“You’re sick?” I hurried to the bedside. “You should have told me, hon. Is it your head or your stomach?”

“Both … I mean, neither. I don’t know.” She scrunched her nose. “I just feel … weird.”

I didn’t see any obvious signs of illness. Her temperature was normal, her skin wasn’t flushed, and her eyes looked tired but clear. Probably stress. I hadn’t been feeling so hot myself lately.

“You could be coming down with something,” I said. “I was supposed to go out, but it can wait.”

“No,” Savannah said, pushing herself up from the covers. “I want to go. I’ll probably feel better once I get outside.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. “Maybe we can rent some videos.”

“All right, then. Get ready.”

“I bet it’s a closed casket,” Savannah said as I turned onto Chestnut.

An image of Cary’s mangled corpse shot through my brain. I forced it back.

“Well, we aren’t finding out,” I said. “I’m not setting foot anywhere near that room.”

“Too bad it wasn’t one of those drive-through viewings. Then we could see him without anyone knowing.”

“Drive-through viewings?”

“Haven’t you heard about those? They had one in Phoenix when my mom and I lived there. We drove by once to see it. It’s like a drive-through bank teller, only you look in the window and there’s the dead guy.”

“Grief on the run.”

“People are real busy these days. You gotta make it easy.” She grinned and shifted in her seat. “Isn’t that weird? I mean, think about it. You drive up and then what? Talk into some drive-through speaker? Tell the guy how much you’ll miss him?”

“Just as long as he doesn’t sit up and ask if you’d like fries with that.”

Savannah laughed. “Humans are so weird.”

She shifted in her seat again.

“Do you have to go to the bathroom?” I asked.

“No. I’m just getting sore from sitting still.”

“We’ve only gone five blocks.”

She shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe I’ve got the flu.”

“How’s your stomach?”

“Okay, I guess.”

I flashed back through everything she’d eaten in the last day. Then my gut knotted. “Did Cortez get near your café mocha last night?”

“Huh?” She looked over at me. “You think he poisoned me? Nah. He didn’t touch my drink. Besides, potions aren’t like that. If someone gives you one, you get sick all at once. This comes and goes. Oh, wait … there, it’s gone. See?” She twisted to look over her shoulder. “Isn’t the funeral home on Elm?”

“Yes—damn!”

I swung the car into the nearest laneway and turned around. As I’d said, the funeral home was next to the local hospital. Actually, the two buildings were attached, maybe for ease of transporting those who didn’t respond favorably to treatment. The hospital also affords an excellent view of the adjacent local cemetery, which the patients must find most heartening.

The lot beside the funeral home was full, so I had to park behind the hospital. With Savannah trailing along behind me, I fairly scampered around to the mortuary, so worried about being seen that I wiggled through a tall hedge rather than walk along the road. Once in the funeral home parking lot, I checked to make sure no one was coming or going, then dashed across to the side door and knocked.

“I think a branch scratched my back,” Savannah said. “Who cares if someone sees us? You didn’t kill the guy.”

“I know, but it would be disrespectful. I don’t want to cause any more trouble.”

Before she could answer, the door swung open. A woman in her mid-forties peered out, her doughy face fixed in a scowl that seemed more habit than intent.

“Yes?” Before I could answer, she nodded. “Ms. Winterbourne. Good. Come in.”

I would rather have stayed outdoors, but she released the door and vanished into the room before I could protest. I ushered Savannah inside, then stepped through into a storeroom. Amidst the piles of boxes was a folding chair and a table covered with files.

Shaw wore a linen dress, smartly fashionable and tailor-made—my mother ran her own dressmaking business, so I can tell a good piece from a Wal-Mart bargain. Though the dress was top-of-the-line, the expense was wasted. Like too many large women, Shaw made the mistake of choosing oversized clothing, turning an expensive dress into a shapeless piece of sackcloth that fell in folds around her.

As my eyes adjusted to the dimly lit storeroom, Shaw settled into her chair and busied herself with her papers. I waited a few minutes, then cleared my throat.

“I’d—uh—like to get going,” I said. “I’m not comfortable being here.”

“Wait.”

I did. For another two minutes. Then, before I could comment again, Savannah sighed. Loudly.

“We don’t have all day, you know,” Savannah said.

Shaw glared, not at Savannah, but at me, as if Savannah’s rudeness could be no one’s fault but my own.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “She’s not feeling well. If you’re not ready, we could grab lunch, then come back.”

“Here,” she said, thrusting a file folder at me. “The bill is on top. We require a certified check, which you can courier to the address shown. Under no circumstances are you to contact the Carys regarding payment or anything else related to your case. If you have questions—”

“Call you. I get the idea.”

I walked to the door, yanked on the handle, and stumbled backward when it failed to open. How’s that for a gracious exit? Regaining my balance and my dignity, I grasped the handle again, turned, and pushed. Still nothing.

“Is there a lock?” I said, peering down at the handle.

“Just turn and pull, as with any exterior door.”

Bitch. I almost said it aloud. Unlike Savannah, though, my upbringing did not permit me to do any such thing. I tried the door again. Nothing happened.

“It’s jammed,” I said.

Shaw sighed and heaved herself from the chair. Crossing the room, she waved me out of the way, took hold of the handle, and yanked. The door remained closed. From the other side, I heard voices.

“Someone’s out there,” I said. “Maybe they can open the door from the outside—”

“No. I will not have you bothering the mourners. I’ll call the custodian.”

“There’s a front door, isn’t there?” Savannah said.

Again, Shaw glared at me. This time, I didn’t apologize for Savannah.

“For obvious reasons, you are not exiting through the front,” Shaw said, picking up her cell phone.

I sighed and leaned against the door. As I did, I caught a muffled exchange from outdoors. I recognized the voices.

“—really too easy,” Leah said.

Sandford laughed. “What do you expect? She’s a witch.”

The voices faded, presumably walking around the front. I yanked on the door again, this time murmuring an unlock spell. Nothing happened.

“Leah,” I mouthed at Savannah, then turned to Shaw. “Forget the custodian. We’re leaving. Now.”

“You can’t—” Shaw began.

Too late. I already had the interior door open and was propelling Savannah through. Shaw grabbed the back of my blouse, but I pulled free and pushed Savannah into the hallway.

O
nce in the hall, I prodded Savannah forward.

“Take the first door you see,” I whispered. “Hurry. I’m right behind you.”

To the left, an empty corridor snaked off into unknown territory. Sunlight radiated through a door less than twenty feet away to the right—twenty feet of hallway clogged with somber-suited mourners. I turned left. Following my advice, though, Savannah turned right, toward the front door, through the crowd.

“Sav—!” I whispered loudly, but she was out of reach and moving fast.

Taking a deep breath, I lowered my eyes, prayed no one recognized me, and followed her. I’d gone less than five feet when Shaw’s voice boomed from behind me.

“Paige Winterbourne, don’t you dare—”

I didn’t hear the rest. A dozen heads turned toward me and a dozen pairs of eyes met mine. My name hurtled down the hallway on a blast of whispers.

“Winterbourne?”

“
Paige
Winterbourne?”

“Isn’t she—”

“Oh, my God—”

“Is that her?”

My first impulse was to hold my head high and march to the door. As Savannah said, I hadn’t done anything wrong. But consideration won out over pride and, in deference to the mourners, I ducked my head, murmured my apologies, and hurried after Savannah. The whispers snaked after me, petering out before turning to slander.

“Did she …?”

“I heard …”

“They say …”

I forced more apologies to my lips and pushed through the crowd.
Ahead, a huddled quartet swallowed Savannah’s thin form and I lifted my head, picking up speed, bobbing on my toes, trying to see her.

The crowd around me rustled, whispers swelling into chatter. A brief commotion erupted ahead to my left, inside two large double doors. I paid no attention as I moved forward, gaze scanning hostile faces, struggling to find Savannah while not making eye contact with the mourners. Someone grabbed my arm. I only half-turned, catching a glimpse of blond hair under a black hat.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, eyes still roving the crowd ahead, searching for Savannah.

Without looking, I brushed the hands from my arm, tugging away. Someone gasped. There! The back of a dark head appeared near the exit. Savannah. I lunged forward, but the hands caught me again, nails digging into my arm.

“I’m sorry,” I said again, distractedly. “I really have to—”

I turned to brush my assailant off, then saw her face and stopped cold. Lacey Cary stared down at me with eyes rimmed in red grief and black mascara. Around us, the crowd went silent.

“How dare you?” she hissed. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”

“I’m so, so sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean—it was a mistake—I needed my file.”

“Your file?” Lacey’s face twisted. “You—you interrupted my husband’s visitation to come and ask me about your file?”

“No, I was told to pick it—” I stopped, realizing this wasn’t the time to correct her. I glanced down the hall for Savannah, but didn’t see her. “I’m so sorry. I’ll just leave—”

Someone pushed through the crowd behind me. The ripples of movement caught my attention and I saw Shaw move into an open gap a dozen feet down the hall.

As I turned away, Shaw took something from the folds of her dress. A doll. The sight was so unexpected that I paused, just long enough to see her lips move … and to see that the doll wasn’t a doll at all.

“A poppet,” I whispered. “Oh, God—”

I whirled to run, but not before I saw Leah step up behind Shaw. She lifted a hand and finger-waved at me.

“Savannah!” I shouted, wrenching free from Lacey and throwing myself against the crowd that blocked my path.

Something popped overhead. A small explosion. Then another and another. Glass flew everywhere, tiny razor-sharp shards of glass. Lightbulb glass. Even the sconces on the walls exploded, sinking the hallway into
twilight, lit only by the curtained exit at the end. I scrambled for the front door, clawing at everything in my path. An interior door slammed, blocking the way into the front vestibule and plunging the hallway into darkness. Other doors slammed. People screamed.

Someone hit me. No, not just someone, the whole crowd. Everyone around me seemed to fly off their feet, and we shot in a screaming, seething, kicking mass through a doorway. The huge double doors slammed shut behind us, deadening the shouts and cries of those trapped in the hallway.

As I struggled up from the carpet, I looked around. We were in a large room festooned with hanging curtains. Scattered pockets of mourners stared at us. Someone ran to help Lacey to her feet.

“What’s going—”

“Has someone called—”

“Goddamn it—”

With the confused shouts, my own senses returned and I leaped to my feet. I heard a small pop. A now-familiar sound. I glanced up to see a chandelier over my head and dove to the ground, covering my head just as the tiny bulbs began to explode.

Only when the shards stopped falling did I peek out, expecting pitch dark. Instead, I found that I could see, a little. Light flickered from one single unbroken chandelier bulb, giving just enough illumination to allow me to make out my surroundings.

Again I sprang to my feet, searching for an exit. People were shouting, screaming, sobbing. They banged at the sealed door and yelled into cell phones. I noticed little of it. My brain was filled with a single refrain.
Savannah
. I had to find Savannah.

I stood, oddly clearheaded amidst the confusion, and took inventory of my situation. Main door blocked or sealed shut. No windows. No auxiliary doors. The room was roughly twenty feet square, ringed with chairs. Against the far wall was … a coffin.

In that moment, I realized where I was. In the viewing room. Thankfully, as Savannah had guessed, there was no actual viewing. The coffin was closed. Still, my gut twisted at being so close to Cary’s body.

I forced myself to be calm. Around me, everyone else seemed to be calming as well, shouts turning to quiet sobbing and whispered reassurances that help was on the way.

I returned to surveying my surroundings. No windows … Through the muffling cushion of whispers and sobs came a low moaning. A moaning and a scratching. I hardly dared pinpoint the source. I didn’t need to. I
knew without turning, without looking, that the noise came from the far wall. From the coffin.

In my mind, I saw Shaw again, holding the poppet and reciting her incantation. I saw her and I knew what she was: a necromancer.

The scratching changed to a thumping. As the noise grew, the room went silent. Every eye turned to the coffin. A man stepped forward, grasping the edge of it.

“No!” I shouted. I dove forward, throwing myself at him. “Don’t—”

He undid the latch just as my body struck his, knocking him sideways. I tried to scramble up, but our legs entwined and I tripped, falling against the casket. As I fought free, the lid creaked open.

I froze, heart hammering, then closed my eyes, squeezed them as tight as I could, as tight as I had when I was four years old and mistook the creaking of the pipes for a monster in my closet. The room went quiet, so quiet I could hear the breathing of those closest to me. I opened one eye and saw … nothing. From my vantage point on the floor, I saw only an open coffin lid.