Jaida had been downtown already when Cookie called and told her I was being questioned by the police, so she’d buzzed right over. After Detective Taite left, she tried to reassure me. “Don’t worry. It sounded like he was just shooting in the dark.”
“Yeah, but he’s shooting at witches,” I whispered, glancing over to where Declan had rejoined his friends.
“What?”
So I hustled my coven mates into the kitchen and told them what Taite had said.
Jaida closed her eyes. “A witch-hunter. Great.”
“Really? In this day and age?” I asked.
“In every day and age, unfortunately,” Jaida said.
I lifted my palms toward the ceiling in exasperation. “But we haven’t done anything wrong.”
Cookie said, “He will think that practicing magic itself is wrong.”
“We’ll talk about it at the meeting,” Jaida said. “I have errands to finish.” But she looked uneasy as she grabbed her triple latte and left.
The firemen left right behind her. “Deck’s right,” Scott said. “That scone was great! See you soon.” The bell on the door rang as they opened it.
Declan paused. “Are you worried about that detective?”
I shrugged.
“Well, try not to be. I’m tempted to call up Peter Quinn and give him a piece of my mind.” He gave me a one-armed squeeze and followed the other two out.
I glanced at the clock on the wall. Just after twelve thirty. Two women sat and chatted in the library area, but the other customers were primarily tourists stopping in for coffee and treats to go. In between serving them, Cookie and I began the process of shutting down the Honeybee.
* * *
Herbs and flowers crammed the small yard in front of my aunt and uncle’s town house. Cookie and I walked up the narrow path between the plants to the front door. Ben opened it before we could knock.
“Come on in, ladies. You’re the last to arrive and the wine is open and waiting upstairs.”
Cookie gave him a broad grin. “Excellent.” She went to the steps that led to the roof garden and proceeded up.
“I’ll be there in a second,” I called.
Dozens of houseplants reached out of pots on the floor and tables and hung from the vaulted ceiling above. Ivy clung to the brick fireplace. Yet despite the jungle of greenery, their home felt light and airy. Two skylights and tall windows streamed sunshine. White sofas and chairs glowed against cherrywood floors, and boldly patterned rugs defined the seating areas.
“How was golf today?” I asked my uncle as I bent down and deposited Mungo on the floor.
“Shot a ninety. Some pars, couple of birdies, couple of snowmen.”
Whatever that meant. But he sounded happy enough. I smiled and nodded.
Honeybee, Lucy’s orange tabby, approached on soft paws and stopped at my feet. She did that squinty thing at me, and a ladylike purr emanated from her furry chest.
I sneezed.
Oh, well. At least my aunt’s familiar had the good manners not to rub against my legs.
I sneezed again.
Mungo and Honeybee touched noses as a Great Dane walked out from the sunroom. Anubis was Jaida’s familiar, and it always cracked me up to see him and Mungo together. It was hard to imagine they’d both descended from wolves.
“Where’s Heckle?” I asked.
My answer was a squawk and a flurry of wings. I ducked, and managed not to squeal. After once startling me into a squawk very like his own, Mimsey’s familiar now tried to do it all the time. I straightened and glared at the parrot.
“Katie is a scaredy-cat. Wawk!”
Ben laughed. I turned away and saw Honeybee glaring at the bird, too. Bad choice of words, Heckle my dear. Oh, well. The familiars could work it out amongst themselves.
“You going to watch the game this afternoon?” I asked over my shoulder as I followed in Cookie’s footsteps.
My uncle nodded. “Thinking about heading over to Five House and watching it with the guys.”
“Have fun.”
“And say hi to Deck?”
I paused. “Sure, but I just saw him in the Honeybee this morning. Brought a couple of his friends in.”
Ben stroked his beard and beamed.
It was a little unnerving how badly he wanted Declan and me to be together. He no doubt had visions of white picket fences, a dog, and lots of kids that would be almost like grandkids for him and Lucy. But I’d done the engagement thing, the plan-your-perfect-life thing, when I lived in Akron. It hadn’t turned out so well. Now I had the dog and the house, and I didn’t feel a need quite yet for a husband and kids. I had time.
And I love my life now, I thought as I stood in the doorway that led out to Lucy’s rooftop garden, inhaling the heady scents of lavender and rue. There were at least a hundred pots, from teensy starts in one-inch terra-cotta containers to large wooden structures Ben had built along the edges. Thriving vegetables, herbs, medicinal plants, flowers planted for aroma and beauty—and all for magic, because every growing thing is magic in its own way. Lucy’s hedgewitchery manifested in whimsical touches, in the careful arrangement and frequent rearrangement of her container garden, the combinations of plants she chose, and the many additions tucked here and there. A tiny glass fairy gazed up from one pot, the edge of a coin she’d buried from another. In addition to their beauty, practicality, and magical essences, many of these plants were spells themselves, growing into manifestation. I knew many of them had offerings or spell-specific items buried next to their roots.
And there at the wrought-iron table in the middle of the verdant space were my coven members. The spellbook club. How I loved those ladies, each and every one.
“Get on over here.” Jaida beckoned. “You are at least one glass behind on the wine.” She’d changed into white capris and a deep red shirt that glowed like spice against her dark skin.
“Bit early, isn’t it?” I slid into a chair, pulling out our book club selection for the week, Get Off Your High Broom.
“Darlin’,” she said in an exaggerated drawl, “it’s never too early on a Sunday in the South.”
I noticed Bianca’s glass was still unused. She noticed me noticing. “I have to pick up Colette after the meeting.”
“Ah. That hardly seems fair, since you always bring the wine.” Bianca owned a wine shop called Moon Grapes, and always insisted on providing the libations for our meetings.
“Such is the life of a single mom.” Her face lit up in a smile. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“We were just updating the others on what you told us about the Dragoh Society last night,” Mimsey said. “And Jaida told us about the visit you had from that nasty detective.”
Bianca nodded. “I heard the term Dragoh once, at a party. Some vague rumor about secret societies, but nothing else. But I had no idea your Steve’s father was a member.”
“He’s not my Steve,” I said for what seemed like the zillionth time.
Bianca, with her talent for getting in on financial bubbles, riding them, and then ducking out before they popped, was among Savannah’s nouveaux riches. Nouveau or not, all that money allowed her entrance to some pretty fancy hoedowns. No doubt the rumors she spoke of were whispered among the upper crust of Southern society. I was starting to think the existence of the Dragohs wasn’t as secret as they believed.
“So we know Lawrence Eastmore and Heinrich Dawes are members,” I said. “Were. Whatever. I wonder who the others are.”
“I know of one,” Jaida said.
“Who?” we chorused.
“Someone I defended in court once.”
“Who?” I asked again.
“I think that might fall under attorney-client privilege.”
Hmmph.
“Shall we talk about this week’s book?” Lucy asked, obviously changing the subject. “There have been several reviews on Web sites that say they don’t like the author’s casual approach, but I found it refreshing.”
Jaida smiled. “So did I. It’s accessible.”
“A little too casual, if you ask me. No respect for ritual and tradition,” Bianca said.
“I liked how she gives a framework for developing your own spells,” I said. “Like a how-to book about method and how things in the world correspond magically, and then she encourages readers to make up our own spells. It reminds me of some of my favorite recipe books.”
“I fall in the middle,” Cookie said. “Like Bianca, I like the ritual, but sometimes you need to tailor a spell to very specific needs, and she gives advice on how to do that.”
Voices drifted up to the open doorway. Male voices. For a moment I thought Declan had come over to watch the game with Ben, then realized he was still on duty. Besides, my uncle wouldn’t have invited him when the spellbook club was meeting upstairs.
“I need to see them, sir. I’m sorry, but no, I won’t wait. Are they up here?”
“Now hang on there,” Ben said. “Who do you think you are? Wait!”
Footsteps followed, and we all came to our feet as a man burst onto the garden terrace, with Ben right on his heels.
The newcomer was about my height. Skinny. How had he managed to get past Ben? His eyes were magnified by glasses with black plastic frames. I guessed his age at forty-three or forty-four, and if nerdy was the new cool he was about as cool as it got. His head jerked nervously as he looked around at us.
“Please. I need your help.”
Jaida stepped forward. “Andersen, what’s going on?”
“I need your help,” he said again. “Someone killed Larry.”
My stomach swooped. We all exchanged looks.
The man noticed. “I see you already know that.” Then he focused on me. “You.”
I could feel the color drain from my face, but I held my ground. “Me?” I wished the word had come out an octave lower.
“You’re the one Heinrich was telling us about.”
Us? I looked at Jaida, who nodded slightly. This was her druid client? “You’re a member of the Dragoh Society, then,” I said.
“Andersen Lane.” He stepped toward me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ben take a step, too. “At your service.” The smell of bourbon drifted through the air between us. Of course, with the wine we’d been sipping, everyone except Bianca probably had some kind of alcohol on her breath.
Which actually made it more notable that I could smell it coming off Andersen. With reluctance, I shook his outstretched hand. “I think we’re okay up here, Ben.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” My uncle stood with his arms crossed, eyes glinting at Andersen from behind his rimless glasses.
Lucy went over to Ben, took his elbow, and turned him away from the rest of us. I heard her murmur. A pause. Then more murmurs. Finally his shoulders drooped and he turned back.
“Okay, I’ll give you your privacy. But I’ll be right downstairs.” He looked down at his wife, his affection for her obvious even under those circumstances, and said, “And I’ll be back to check on you.” He gave Andersen a hard look, then spun on his heel and went back inside.
So much for going to the firehouse. Still, it made me feel better to know Ben was nearby. I had no idea what this guy really wanted.
I turned back to Andersen, alarm and curiosity warring under what I hoped came across as a calm demeanor. The air fairly crackled with potential now, but potential for what, I didn’t know. Magic? Violence? Both? I looked around the group to see if they noticed it.
But they all seemed focused on our visitor. Lucy looked worried. Mimsey frowned, as unhappy as I’d ever seen her. Bianca nervously fingered her bracelet as if the charms on it were rosary beads. Jaida’s unsmiling brown eyes bored into Andersen as if she were trying to read his mind. Not that that was possible, of course. Cookie was the only one who didn’t seem upset. She leaned forward with frank, rapt attention.
Andersen looked at Jaida. “Please, Ms. French.” Then at me. “If Larry’s killer isn’t found, an unspeakable evil could be released into the world.”
We all looked at each other with alarm. The air vibrated with unasked questions.