No Rest for the Wicca (11 page)

My thoughts turned to Cole’s mention of the secret society.  Was it possible someone had made a deal with Marinette,
or  maybe another
lwa
? 
The souls of witches in exchange for…

For what?
 

You have to help us.

I should probably have confided the strange occurrence to Cole and the Commander, yet something had held me back, prevented me from baring my soul. What?

“They probably would think I’m nuts…or overreacting,” I muttered. Perhaps I seemed over-cautious, still…

I jumped as Xia touched my shoulder. Her eyes were wide, overbright. She looked like someone on crack.  “Do you remember Mrs. Alban?” she asked.  “I used to read tarot for her and her daughter.”

I drew my brows together.  “Yeah, yeah, I do.  Her daughter’s name was Florrie, right?  She always impressed me as a little…odd.” I sat up straighter as a sudden thought hit me.  “Doesn’t she go to the University?”

Xia nodded.  “Yes.  That’s the reason Mrs. Alban called.  Florrie has a part time job there—helps out
some
of the professors.  Mrs. Alban didn’t like her getting so involved. She thought th
ey were
a bad influence on her.”  She gave a small shudder. “
She and Florrie had a huge argument over it,
and she hasn’t heard from her for days.  She wanted to know if I could get a quick fix on her.”

I felt chilled.  “And did you?”

Xia lowered her voice. “I didn’t want to say, but when I tried to focus on Florrie I got a flash of flame, and a sensation of choking.”  She shook her head. “
It was weird.
”

I felt an odd stirring in the pit of my stomach. “
Did she happen to mention what professors Florrie worked for
?”

Xia reached for a muffin, bit into it. “
Yeah.  One was Eugene Morrow and the other guy had a funny name—Augustus?  No, Atticus.  That’s it.  Atticus Graft.”

When I walked into the All-Night Diner the next morning, I found Cole already seated in a booth, a half-eaten bowl of oatmeal in front of him. He gave me a cursory glance as I glided onto the bench across from him, and pointed to his watch.

“You’re late,” he said.

“Sorry. I got held up a bit down at PSI, and this annoying detail called traffic contributed heavily to the delay.”

He picked up his coffee cup, took a sip. “Perhaps you should have left a little earlier,” he said.

“Blow it out your end, Cole. Don’t mess with me.” I frowned. I hadn’t gotten much sleep. It had been fitful at best, dotted with dreams of ghosts holding out their arms to me in supplication, capped with finding a dead body with a sign reading “4” around its neck. “I didn’t sleep very well.”

He picked up his white napkin, twirled it around his finger. “Truce.” He regarded me silently for a moment, and remarked in a gentler tone, “Nervous about your assignment?”

I shook my head. The waitress appeared at my elbow, set a menu in front of me. She held a steaming pot aloft.

“Coffee?”

“Please.”

She filled my cup and walked off. I took a sip of the hot liquid, glanced over the cup’s rim at Cole. “You look fresh as the proverbial daisy,” I muttered. “You probably slept like the dead—oops, sorry. You are dead, right?”

He set his cup down, started to attack what remained of the oatmeal. “Only half, my dear.”

“Ah, right. Inheritors have one human parent. How could I forget?”

He chuckled. “It’s something we have in common, you and I.”

I looked at him. “Common? Pardon me, but my father wasn’t a vampire—although Lord knows it might have been preferable to what the gene pool stuck me with.”

“I meant the other parent. My mother was a Wiccan—like yours.”

I drained my cup, set it down. “Good for you. Where would you like me to pin the medal?”

His black gaze raked over me and he clucked his tongue. “You know, for one so bitter, you didn’t turn out so bad,” he said.

I flashed him a frozen smile. “Appearances can be deceiving, Cole.”

The waitress returned, pen and pad held aloft. She smiled at me. “Ready to order?”

“I’ll just have some orange juice and another cup of coffee.” As she moved off, Cole shook his head.

“Too nervous to eat, eh?”

“No—I’m just not hungry.” I leaned forward. “I don’t suppose the body with the number four on it turned up last night.”

He shook his head. “Not that I’m aware.” He lifted a hand to my face, his fingers barely skimming the slight dent in my chin. “I can tell something’s bothering you.”

I pulled back. “Aw, you care. You like me, Cole. You really like me.”

The smile he shot me looked wry, as if he weren’t amused by my wisecrack. “Liking you has nothing to do with it. If something’s bothering you so much, it could affect your performance on the case.”

“Of course,” I picked up a spoon from the table, twisted it in my fingers. “How silly of me.”

“So,” he prodded as I fell silent. “Are you going to tell me what’s eating at you?”

I opened my mouth, closed it, shook my head. “Why—are you blocked? Can’t read my thoughts?”

He leaned forward so his face rested practically on top of mine. “Wisecracks are a part of your unique charm, I know, but right now—“

“Okay, okay. It might be nothing, it might be something. I don’t know. I only know I don’t have a good feeling about it.”

“Let me be the judge.”

“All right.” I told him about the phonecall from Mrs. Alban. He sat back and listened in silence as I recounted what I’d learned about Florrie. When I finished, he drummed his fingers against the table for a few mintues before turning to me.

“Do you think your dream could be right—she could be victim number four?”

“I might think so, except for one thing--she’s not a pureblood witch. All the other girls were.”

“We aren’t sure being a pureblood isn’t one of our killer’s requirements,” Cole rejoined. “
Although there is another possibility. 
If this Florrie were as versed in Wicca ways as you claim, the killer
—or killers, as the case may be--
might have mistaken her for one with the blood.”

“She did like to try out spells,” I said thoughtfully. “I
also found it interesting she worked for two of the men who you feel might be prime suspects.”

“Interesting coincidence.”

I shook my head.  “I don’t believe in coincidence.
I think I might just have to pay Mrs. Alban a little visit.”

“Not a bad idea.” Cole stretched his long legs off to one side. “
L
et’s hope we can find something useful out at the University. Now, are you straight on your cover, or do you need me to explain it again?”

“I think I’ve got it,” I said dryly. “I’m a part-time student, enrolled in the Entrée program. I have a vast interest in the occult and a particular fascination with the voodoo aspect.”

He nodded. “Very good. Now if you sound as convincing to your teachers and fellow students, we’re in business.
What’s your first class?”

I pulled a sheet of paper from my purse.  “Graft.  He’s giving a lecture on voodoo arts.  I’ve got Erdos later on for spellcasting.  Morrow’s tomorrow.”

“Good.  Graft’s a fine speaker.  You might actually enjoy it.  Morrow’s fascinating as well—humorous.”

I eyed him.  “You’ve taken some of their courses?”

“I’ve gone to lectures they’ve given,” he said shortly. “
It was long before their names came up in connection with this case, in case you’re wondering.  Graft and Morrow have worked there a number of years.  Erdos only came on board the last year and a half.
Don’t know  much about
him--yet
.”  He drummed his fingers on the table. “
How has Gilley explained your absence from work?”

I rubbed at my chin. “He told everyone I’m taking a series of special courses in the paranormal here. To beef up my ghostbusting abilities.”

“They bought it?”

I shrugged. “They seemed to. Of course, Leo Petrie, that busybody, somehow saw my course outline. He wanted to know how come I signed up for courses in voodoo—especially in light of what happened.”

Cole’s eyes narrowed into black slits. “What did you tell him?”

I smiled thinly. “Before or after I punched him silly?”

He grinned. “Before.”

“I said I’d decided it was about time I stopped letting my past inhibit me, the only way I’d ever be able to move forward was to face my own ghosts instead of exorcising others, and I thought
this
would be a step in the right direction.”

His lips parted in a smile. “Excellent answer. Thought it up all on your own, did you?”

I made a face. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure he bought it, probably because deep down I don’t.”

He leaned forward. “You should, Morgan. We all make mistakes. We have to learn from them and forge ahead—or did you hand our Commander a load of bull yesterday?”

“No bull, it’s fact,” I thrust my jaw forward aggressively. “What I learned from my mistakes is not to press my luck in unfamiliar territory—although I imagine it’s exactly just what I’m about to do, which sort of makes me a damn liar, doesn’t it?”

He pushed his bowl off to one side. “Yes, but a very attractive one.”

I felt color start to rise in my cheeks. Fortunately, the waitress brought my juice and a fresh cup of coffee. I downed the juice in one swallow. As I reached for the creamer, Cole’s hand shot out, covered mine.

“I know the details of the events leading up to your transfer from Homicide.”

I snatched my hand away. “I’m certain you do.”

“I don’t know all what transpired, but I can tell you this—not many people would have tried what you did in the line of duty.”

“You’re right. And do you know why?  I took a risk, a very foolhardy one. I thought I could beat the odds. I thought I had it all covered. My conceit cost an innocent her life, allowed a dangerous criminal to escape. I vowed never to put myself in the same position ever again, and yet…here I am.”

“Indeed.” Cole leaned back in the booth. “Why?”

You have to help us.

I took a swallow of coffee. “Let’s just say I’m a sucker for people in distress. Not to mention the fact if there is a witch killer on the loose, both myself and Xia could be in danger. Hell’s bells, Xia almost got killed herself. Call this an act of self-preservation. But don’t mistake it for heroism or bravery, because it most definitely is not.”

“As you wish.” Cole signaled for the check. “Let’s get a move on. After all, we don’t want to be late on our first day, do we?”

I gave him an eyeroll as I slid out of my seat. “Heaven forbid.”

Professor Atticus Graft was not exactly what I’d expected. I’d had a vision of a Vincent Price look-alike, someone tall, distinguished, slick black hair, pencil moustache, with a sophisticated air and a deep, rich voice.

Well, I had the voice part right, anyway.

He stood barely five-six, slight of build, with thinning strawberry blonde hair and a sparse goatee. His pale blue eyes could best be described as watery. Frankly, I could see nothing Vincent Pricey or mesmerizing about him at all—until he spoke. His voice could charm devils out of hellholes. He certainly had the female students mesmerized, I thought, glancing around. Practically all the students attending his lecture were female. I wondered if there might be some significance attached.

I slipped into my seat just scant minutes before he began his first lecture. Cole had gone off to the faculty advisement room in keeping with his cover as a substitute professor, leaving me to register, get my Entrée program, and race around the myriad of halls looking for Lecture Room One all by myself. Now, as I sat in the back of the large classroom, I found myself oddly stirred by Professor Graft.

“Good morning,” he beamed at us from the podium, “and welcome to your first class of the day. Those of you who have been enrolled in the voodoo arts program for awhile are familiar with my method of teaching. I drone on and on, boring the hell out of you, and when you least expect it, bam! I ask someone who looks half asleep a question just to see if you’ve been taking a catnap, or actually paying attention to me.”

There came a smattering of laughter, and he continued.

“Many think voodoo is some sort of mystic rite, mumbo-jumbo connected with zombies, pagan gods, and the likes. I hope to enlighten you, during my series of lectures, that voodoo is actually a religion shrouded in mystery, in myth, if you will, for centuries. If there’s anyone here who thinks all there is to voodoo is black magic spells, pins stuck in dolls, and the living dead, get out! I mean it. Get out now.”

He stopped speaking, and the room fell so silent you could her a pin drop. I craned my neck, looked around. Everyone’s gaze fastened on the small man at the podium, his arms outstretched.

“Good. If you approach my lectures with an open mind, boys and girls, you’re about to discover a powerful spiritual system that will benefit your life immensely.

You see, voodoo encompasses much more than the mere magic portrayed in film noir movies of years ago. I’m sure you’ve seen them on cable channels—
I was a Teenage Zombie, Zombie Nightmare
, and my personal favorite…
Dawn of the Dead
. But it’s so much more than the
Hollywood
stereotype.”

One boy in the front raised his hand. “Do you mean the portrayal of raising the dead—zombies—is false?”

Graft shook his head. “Not at all. I merely meant to impress upon you voodoo is much more than that.  It encompasses a broad pantheon of immortal spirits, rituals, and the miracle of spirit possession. It encourages a personal relationship with the divine, or the
lwa,
as their gods are referred to.”

“So there could actually be zombies walking around Central City? Cool,” grinned the boy, which elicited a spasm of laughter from the other students.

A girl with flame-colored hair sitting in the front row raised her hand. “Professor, just what are the similarities between voodoo and witchcraft?”

He smiled. “We’re getting a bit ahead of ourselves, my dear. As most of you know, I recently received a grant to further my studies along the lines of voodoo as it relates to witchcraft and the study of black magic.”

Another hand shot up. “Black magic has its roots in religion too, doesn’t it?”

Graft nodded. “Satanism, the worship of Lucifer. The dark side of religion, some would say. There are shades and textures to both. I hope to enable you to have a better understanding of the protective, beneficial powers of white magic and the malevolent, dangerous realm of black magic before this course is through.

“Now, what do most of you think of when you hear the word voodoo? Black magic, right? Evil curses. Witch doctors sticking pins in dolls, causing pain and heart attack, even death, to enemies. And let’s not forget the zombie, clawing its way out of the grave, moving mindlessly toward an innocent, hands stretching out, locking around their throats.