Curse It (A Peg Darrow Novel Book 1), page 6
My eyes flew open as a tornado of raw emotions and aura signatures raged around me. Colors swirled, and the storm dragged some wisps free of my ponytail. My breathing became labored as the spell tried to pull at me from every direction, I closed my eyes again, shutting out the emotions, and took three shuddering breaths centering myself before reopening my eyes. This time it was not nearly as overwhelming. In fact, compared to other aura pulls, it was relatively peaceful. The safe being of new construction had very limited aura signatures on it.
The illusion of chaos was caused by what surrounded the safe. The Arizona room was basically my storage unit, so it contained a lot of memories. The house was also reasonably old and had its own signatures as well. I needed to begin pulling on the threads and reliving the past because as easily as the aura signatures and memories came, they could leave at any time.
What I needed to look at was so transparent and small the rest of the room was trying to butt in. With that focus in mind, I reminded myself to keep breathing slowly and began to search the wisps surrounding me. The most dominant colors that surrounded me were orange and red. Reaching out with my left hand, I touched one. It took the invitation, traveling up my arm and into my open mouth, taking me to a different time and place.
There was fire so hot on my skin I glanced at my arms to see if my skin blistered. Sweat poured off me but the burning sensation was an illusion produced from the spell. Was somebody burned? The sensations cleared a bit and I began to see the trace. An elderly goblin worked at a forge. He was creating the safe, molding it lovingly into the masterpiece it was today.
He was sweating, but he didn't seem bothered by the heat. The goblin’s thick skin was allowed him to look fresh as a daisy in the harsh conditions. His head was shaved, which was odd because most goblins were vain about their hair. The slight gray undertones to his skin were much more apparent on his baldhead. It was fascinating watching an obvious master of the craftwork. But quickly the vision dissipated. That was for the best. I needed to move on.
The reds and oranges still swirled around me. An educated guess told me they were likely more memories at the forge. It was a bit disconcerting, because often red denoted passion or anger. In this case it was a passion for metal work. It was as though the goblin’s very soul was linked to the fire he used to lovingly manipulate the precious metals.
Passion could be a reason for murder, but Violet's death felt colder. When a purple wisp passed by, I reached for it. I returned to the forge, but the fires were not burning as brightly. It was rather quiet, compared to the previous crackles from the roaring fires and clanging hammers. This time I saw Deval. He stood with the older metal smith, and they appeared to be performing a ritual of sorts. One that involved Deval sticking his hands into molten metal while remaining silent. I hadn't realized he was a masochist.
Okay that wasn’t fair. Goblins kept their magic pretty secret. I wouldn’t want the goblins to mock my cultural history. It hit me then how lucky I was to have received Deval's permission to keep the safe and run the spell. Had he known what I would be able to pull? Or had he thought faces would pop up? Better not bring it up.
The scene left me, and I continued going through the wisps methodically, and what felt like hours later, I was ready to give up after having seen various scenes of the making and enchanting of the safe. A new respect formed for Deval's pain tolerance and the metal smith’s attention to detail. I also needed a nap, and my ass was asleep.
I kept reaching out for the different colorful strands despite my growing discomfort, the spell hadn't released me, and I still hadn't found what I was looking for. Then I noticed it, or the lack of it. There were holes in the tornado. Normally the wisps weaved together, not leaving much space between one and the next, but there were sections the size of a ruler missing.
Why hadn't I noticed it before? Oh yeah, that's right, because of the level of crap in the surrounding room. The outside auras peeked through to the vortex I was sitting in. How could someone scrub their aura? Now wasn't the time or place to analyze that because, despite the exhaustion, I needed as much information as I could get. I reached for a tiny light-green one.
Finally what I was looking for, or at least part of it. It was Violet came into view. She was in her room and appeared very tired. She was being set down into the safe and then there was darkness as she dozed off. The aura left me, and when I snapped my eyes open, the tornado was gone. Damn it. I’d wanted to look at those holes a bit more.
Groaning, I reached my arms above my head and stretched. Twisting side to side, I cracked the kinks out that had developed in my lower back. Back in prime condition, despite my left ass cheek being asleep, I pushed myself up. I let out a soft curse when I pricked my pinkie on some random piece of protruding decorative metal. Looking at the culprit, I saw blood. Dammit. Deval would not appreciate me leaving DNA behind.
That and I would rather not give it to him freely. Sucking on the injured finger, I went to the bathroom. I dumped some precautionary peroxide on the minor cut and placed a Band-Aid over it. Afterward grabbing Clorox wipes to go and take care of the safe. Did bleach hurt metal?
I looked at the point where I thought I cut myself and found no sign of blood, odd. I searched the rest of the safe, but there was nothing. Maybe I’d imagined it. The finger was definitely cut, but sometimes it took a moment for blood to rise. I just came off an aura pull. Exhaustion weighed heavily on me, but I still needed to pull from the poppy.
Mug in hand, I went back to where the potion simmered on the stove. The clock confirmed that the potion was still good. What felt like hours with the safe had actually only been forty-five minutes. The poppy would likely have only a few aura traces. I didn't want to be under the influence for as long this time. All I needed was a single gulp. Mug filled to the appropriate amount, I took it and the poppy to the backyard. There was a poured cement slab measuring three feet by three feet.
It had been poured for spell work shortly after I moved in. Not all items that needed trace spells were large enough to engulf one's self in, like the safe. I needed a place that wouldn't get too many interruptions; hence the random square of cement in the middle of my citrus trees. It came in handy for other spells, but I was glad I had it when I became a Fortune.
I plopped down on the square and wished I brought a patio cushion out. But it would have caused some interference. I chugged the small amount of potion at the bottom of the mug and gripped the poppy tight, smooshing the already wilted flower. There was no lull this time around. Having just come off of the spell, I went straight into the vortex.
What I found in the end of my session with the safe was starkly apparent now. The poppy didn’t have as many auras as the safe, but looking around, I saw the tendrils. They were oddly clear, almost as if they were malleable glass. This time I reached for them and found...nothing.
The wisp still crawled up my arm and into my mouth, but what I lived was nothing. I was in a white space, no sound, no breeze, no movement. It should have felt like reaching a high state of meditation, but instead my skin crawled. I reached for the wisps again and again. Every time the stomach sickening sensation returned. There was no color, no hint of Violet or anyone else could be found.
It made sense that I couldn't find her, likely the poppy had been placed after death. But surely there had to be some trace of the person who gave the death token to Violet? I’d never seen anything like it. Coming out of the spell the second time was jarring and uncomfortable. It left me nauseated. Just carrying my mug and the poppy back into the house took a great deal of effort as exhaustion joined the already troubling list of side effects from the spell.
I needed to recharge before I analyzed the pull. A nap was necessary. Nothing brilliant ever came to a witch after an aura pull, no matter what they might have thought in the moment.
Even after trying to analyze everything after my nap, I was just as confused. I wouldn’t be able to answer why there were holes in the aura spell, but I knew who could. There was only one place Pammy would be this time of day. I jumped in my Jeep and headed over to a little hole-in-the-wall coffee shop called Bump and Grind. Not the classiest of names, but inside it looked like many other independent coffee houses. There was a checkered floor, a bookshelf with tattered paperbacks and several well-worn armchairs and sofas.
Pammy was holding court on her couch at the back of the cafe. Not wanting to bother her without an extra dose of caffeine for courage, I sidled up to the counter. The barista had a warm smile that conflicted with her tattoos and multiple piercings. I ordered the largest iced coffee on the menu and eyed the pastries. A sugar hit on top of the caffeine would be nice. But as I was here to talk, I didn't want to do it with my mouth full. I decided against the lemon bar that wanted me to adopt it.
Coffee in hand and a tip in the jar, I headed back to Pammy. She hadn't acknowledged me when I’d walked in but this was her unofficial headquarters and she kept her eyes on the comings and goings. It wouldn't go with her badass reputation to wave across the cafe yelling “yoo-hoo.” She sat alone on the overstuffed couch while several chairs had been scooted over to form a half circle around her. No one ever seemed to sit on the couch with her, as if it were some great faux pas. I didn't want to be the one who broke the trend, I gave her a nod, set my iced coffee on the table in front of the couch, and began to manhandle another chair into submission.
Her deep voice stopped me. "No need for that, Sug. Ladies, I have business to attend to, scoot along."
"But, Pammy, you said–"
"I know what I said, Aldine. I’ll talk to you later. This is business, and you know nothing interferes with my business."
The young woman flushed and rose abruptly, moving to sit on the other side of the cafe. The other two women were already gone, getting up as quickly as Pammy had asked for the space. They were probably her regular groupies and knew the routine. Pammy drew people to her like only a person in power could. Even humans came to her, although not as openly.
She was a mover and a shaker and very dangerous if you let her facade fool you. I knew better. I also didn't anticipate a day that our goals in life would not be aligned. I probably didn't fear her as much as I should.
I sat down on the faded pink armchair that Aldine vacated as it was facing directly in front of Pammy. "How are you, Pammy?"
Pammy liked social niceties. "Good, Sug, better if you tell me who killed her."
"Sorry, I can't tell you that. I need some help with some research."
"Good girl, need help, ask for it. No one needs to be John Fucking Wayne.” She took a sip from the mug in her hand. “What's the problem?"
I explained to her the connection with Deval and the holes in the trace.
"Well, shit on toast."
"Yeah, that's what I was thinking."
"The goblins are involved? Hmmm, this is a bit more political than what I wanted to give you. Are you good at diplomacy?"
I thought about lying, but that was never a good route with Pammy. "Uh, normally yes. I may have a hard time with this one."
"Because he knocked you out and tied you up in your underwear?"
"Pajamas, I was reasonably dressed given the time of night," I stuttered, telling myself to remain calm so I wouldn't flush and give away my embarrassment.
"What ladies call pajamas these days aren't as conservative as the way I was brought up. I assumed, not that it matters, you're not a woman who can get over being in a subordinate position are you?"
"I’m not his subordinate." I wanted to yell but kept my voice even.
"Course not, Sug. Witches are powerful. The others forget, but we won't always be weakened, and we won't forget."
I knew she was talking about the curse being lifted, but if it hadn't happened in three hundred years, it wasn't likely to happen now. If she wanted to believe she would become immortal again and live a thousand years, I didn't feel the need to disillusion her.
"Well, I won't forget. It's one of those embarrassing things I would write as a true confession to one of those trashy women's magazines, if I was allowed to say the G-word in public."
Pammy harrumphed. "Those fools are lucky we haven't outed their asses years ago."
Again I kept mum because I didn't need to tell Pammy the reason we hadn't outed those fools years ago had more to do with the fact we didn't all want to be murdered in our beds in retribution. I had no doubt that would be exactly what happened.
Pammy took a sip of what appeared to be iced tea and visibly calmed down. Her shoulders relaxed, and the hint of a smirk returned to her full lips. "Aw, well, now is not the time to talk about that dreadful business. Now keep working with the boy, try to be respectful. They aren't our enemies, but always remember they are no longer our allies either, and their needs will always come above ours. Now, you are saying you believe someone scrubbed their aura?"
I leaned closer, Pammy's voice was strong but at times its deep timber made it difficult to hear. "I can't think of anything that would do that, but I haven't been in the business of hiding my identity."
"Haven't you?"
"Huh?"
"Girl, you are now ass deep in the business of finding people who do need to hide themselves. It's time to take this seriously."
I cringed. "You're not the first person who's said that to me today."
She nodded. "Good, get your head on right. The best Fortunes are the ones who research on the side. By day they're finding the bad guys, by night they’re scholars. Course it's your choice, but the more you educate yourself, the less likely someone will be investigating your death."
I started to feel a little snarky. As an adult, there were only so many times you could hear you were being a dumbass before you wanted to do something stupid, like make a request for some rock star Fortune to investigate your death. I brushed over the subject. "What can scrub or hide its aura?"
Pammy sat there thoughtful for a moment before answering, “I haven't heard of an aura scrub, but obviously it can exist. I think, given where the evidence is pointing, you should start with the worst-case scenario, and if that doesn't pan out, you can go ask Alice."
Pammy was oblivious to her literary reference, but I decided to follow her down the rabbit hole anyway. Anything to ignore the dread cramping my stomach, already knowing what the worst-case scenario was.
"Who's Alice?"
"What do you mean 'who's Alice’?”
Damn it. Did every other sentence I uttered have to end in a rebuff? "I’m sorry, Pammy, I don't know who Alice is."
"Humph, baby witches need to learn more about their community. All up on the Internet with their social media, but don't know the best scholar in their own state. Even if she is batshit." Pammy said everything under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear.
I decided it was meant to be rhetorical and kept quiet. She didn't make me wait long; apparently my punishment for ignorance was being called a “baby witch.”
"Sug, we'll talk about Alice if you get nothing at the Opium Den."
I knew it was inevitable, but the cramps were now accompanied by a cold sweat. No witch in her right mind wanted to hang out with vampires.
She ignored my sudden lack of color, raising her hand she called out, "Aldine, go grab my bag from the car."
I peered over my shoulder and spotted Aldine rushing out the front door, as eager as a puppy. Pammy and I sipped our respective drinks while Aldine completed her errand. She returned quickly. Pammy took the leather duffel bag from Aldine's hands and shooed her back to her corner after offering a curt, "Thanks," that made her light up like a joint at a reggae concert.
I didn’t know what I was expecting Pammy to pull out of her bag, perhaps a rabbit after all of the veiled Alice references, but a solid silver collar and wristbands was not it. Yep, I was going to the Opium Den. The sight of the collar should have made the cramps worse or brought on another bout of the sweats. Oddly though it brought on a calming force, a sense of resolve. I was doing this. I was a Fortune, not just in name, and damned if I wasn't going to be a kick ass one.
8
I wanted to go straight to The Opium Den, but it was only seven, and I didn't think that my faded jeans and t-shirt were going to meet the dress code. Like most popular nightclubs, The Opium Den wasn't really swinging until later. If I could get away with going early before the crowd I would, but I doubted the higher up vamps would be there until the going got good. Their lackeys would run the joint unless there was a problem. They would just show up for the all-you-could-eat buffet.
I perused my closet trying to find something that would get me entrance but also be good to move in in case I needed to run. My choices were fairly limited. Given my recent financial struggles, I hadn't been on many shopping sprees. When I shopped I usually went for the staples, and thankfully.
I found a pair of black skinny jeans and quickly put them on. Next came a few requisite lunges to make sure they would work if it came down to a fight. They were perfect, form-fitting enough to be sexy but also containing a high enough Lycra percentage to move with the body. After that, I decided to keep with the simple theme and donned a low-cut black tank top.
The silver cuffs and collar added enough dramatic flair to dress up the outfit. The other customers would think they were statement jewelry, but the vampires would recognize them for what they were: a not-interested notice. Not that they would respect that.
Dressed, I arranged my tools of torture on the bathroom counter to tame my hair when my phone started up with the psychedelic sounds of the Josie and The Pussycats theme song. Lola was calling. She hated the ring tone, but it made me laugh.
"Hey there."
"What's up, Peg? Wanna get some Mexican food?"
"Always, but I have plans tonight."
