Murder Casts Its Spell Page 4

  "Erratic spells have erratic time lines," Jake said. "Ballpark, let's worry if it lasts more than a week. If the magic doesn't go away, I could do a removal spell."

  "Why can't you do it right now?" Ernie's crazy magic needed to go away.

  "It's better to let it fade naturally. A removal spell can hurt. It can be minor, like rubbing off a smudge. At worst, it's like removing a tattoo. There might be scars on your mind and soul, not your skin." He squinted at me, as if I were hard to read. "I always believed you had no magic blood. I wouldn't do a removal spell if you have any wizard ancestry."

  "I'm not aware that I have any magic blood." Behind Jake, Chris waggled his brows at me. His lips twisted, but he kept quiet.

  I ignored him. "Just as a hypothetical, what difference would it make if I did have magic blood?"

  "If you have magic blood, a removal spell is too close to an exorcism. Taking out a bungled spell could also pull out your own magic power. That's like losing part of your personality."

  Jake's seriousness made me want to fidget. "Since I haven't ever displayed any magic power, it's not likely I have any wizard blood."

  Jake handed me the card. "Once aroused, you can't stifle magic power. It will come out."

  Words flowed across his business card. Jacob Herz…Master Wizard …Specialist in Magical Dysfunction …Director of Disclaimer Ranch.

  "As a Master Wizard, do you have to report me for uncontrolled use of magic tonight?"

  "Not this time. Not enough proof of what happened. I count on you to tell me if you display magic in the future. I have to leave and see if any of my group is hanging around outside. Ira, I might need your help."

  "Before you go," Chris said, "Ira, we need to talk to you about Keegan's case."

  Ira paused with his hand on the doorknob. "I'm leaving town tonight on a business trip. I won't be back till Wednesday, late afternoon. I'll text you with a meeting time."

  A bond had pulsed between Ira and me. I wanted to see him again. When he opened the front door, a clamoring group of dysfunctional wizards swamped Jake and him.

  Chris scowled. "You notice I didn't correct your statements to Jake."

  "Name one statement I made that was not on its surface true."

  "Let's call it an omission." He returned to the conference room and sank into a chair. "You left out the fact that you're unaware of your own blood line because you're adopted and don't know the identity of your real parents."

  I perched on the table next to him. I didn't plan to stay long because I needed time alone to think through the Ernie incident. "My real parents are the people who raised me from infancy."

  "Isn't it true you could have magic blood?"

  Turning my hand over, I studied the blue veins of my wrist. "I haven't discovered any definite indication of magic blood in my past."

  "You always told me you never had any luck finding your birth mother."

  "I had a DNA ancestry search done two years ago. It didn't come up with any specific relatives." Sliding off the table, I headed for the door. "No email addresses of long-lost cousins."

  "Your dark hair, your milky skin, your green eyes—you have relatives in Ireland?"

  "The results did indicate a possibility of Celtic blood."

  He strode ahead of me to the front door, blocking my way. "I wish I had a spell to make you give straight answers."

  "I like to skate on the truth."

  "You do some nice spins." He stepped aside with a smile.

  "Remember, I want to be in on everything."

  Chris walked me out to the car. He always made sure I was safe.

  I kept the windows down on the way home to let the desert night air blow my hair all over. The exterior of the counseling center was dark, but I knew in the back rooms they ran groups for victims of insomnia, anxiety, and lost love.

  I scanned the mingling crowd at the Wizards Against Injustice office. I half expected Ernie to be there to collect his pay for getting signatures on their petition. As I passed the intersection where the kid had washed my windshield, I shut the windows when I saw a tattered man with a sign, Spells for Food. It wasn't Ernie, but it could have been.

  By the time I crossed the Salt River, the air conditioning had me frozen. I tried to work through the idea that Ernie's spell had awakened magic power in me. Back when I was twelve years old, the time when magic powers normally manifest, I'd kept a watch on myself, scared and excited at the possibility I had the talent. I was afraid to sleep, convinced I'd do a spell in my dreams and set the bed on fire. With all the lights in my room turned on, I whispered spells I found in books. If I had magic power, I wanted to watch it be born.

  My adoptive parents, who were non-magicals, knew nothing about my ancestry. They had taken the chance that I would blossom out with magic around puberty. Although they were kindhearted people who were not prejudiced against wizards, I worried about all the hassle if I turned out to have magic blood because I would have to be trained to control the power.

  After I turned thirteen and hadn't developed magic skills, I gradually decided I never would since most kids have come out by that age. In a way I was relieved because I wanted to be like my parents and my brother and sister. Being magical would give me marvelous powers, but let me in for the prejudices of those who feared what they didn't possess.

  Over time, I worried less that I had in me the blood of strangers. Tonight, on the dark streets, I clenched the steering wheel as if it were a life preserver. I was twelve years old again, scared of who I might be.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  TUESDAY MORNING

  The Phoenix Gazette, Tuesday Morning

  Wizard Charged in Nurse's Brutal Slaying

  Police have arrested a suspect in the brutal slaying of Felicia Morlatti, a 33-year-old nurse. On Monday afternoon a neighbor called police when he discovered the victim's mangled body in her backyard. Within hours, police had taken into custody Keegan Flynn, 37, an employee of a local law firm. The suspect is a wizard. On Monday afternoon, the victim failed to appear at a hearing in Justice Court on charges that Flynn used magic to influence her to sign a custody agreement. Flynn and the victim had a child together.

  * * *

  At 5 a.m., half an hour before my alarm rang, I snapped awake and reached for the laptop on the floor. Last night, the Phoenix Gazette's online edition had only a one-sentence summary.

  Although the article still didn't have many details, I checked out readers' comments for an overview of public opinion. Five readers insisted on the need to protect society from evil sorcerers. After these remarks, BiteMe wrote You ***** (inappropriate term) are what made me join Wizards Against Injustice. We're the ones who need protection from ***** (inappropriate term) like you. In the next six entries, BiteMe and the first five commentators exchanged insults. Beatitude had the last word. SOS will be demonstrating at the state capitol today. I felt discouraged that Keegan's case had activated Save Our Souls to protest. I supported SOS's right to free speech, but their stridency and paranoia about the need to protect society from wizards led to hateful words and mean-spirited ideas. When I was a teenager, and I didn't turn into a wizard, I'd been anxious around those with magic talent. Not sure how careful they were with their powers, I worried they would play tricks or lose control of their magic. It wasn't until law school when Chris Rollins and I became close friends that I let my guard down with magic people. Chris showed me how his talent was a natural force and, like his breath or voice, only projected a limited distance. In law school, he mostly used magic to move small objects, but training to be a Master Wizard meant he had expanded his repertoire.

  Before I dressed for the gym, I emailed a board member of Wizards Against Injustice whose son I'd gotten off on a drunk driving charge. SOS is demonstrating at the capitol today about my client Keegan Flynn's case. See the morning paper. How about a supportive press release from WAI?

  Each morning for the last six months, I either went to the gym or did a short run. After Eduard
o left last year, exercise helped restore me. However, I usually needed a jumpstart out the door, so I wandered into the kitchen for coffee. When I'd first moved in, I'd searched for rough-hewn cupboards and terracotta tile for the perfect rustic Mexican look. With my mother and friends, I'd make quick trips to Santa Fe to find pottery vibrant with splashes of blue, orange, and green. My father helped me set up shelves to display the pottery and antique copper pots.

  I hadn't cooked a meal from scratch for months. The only thing alive in the room was the coffeemaker and its wonderful dark liquid. As I walked in, a husky male voice with a British accent purred, "Good morning, your coffee is ready." Some people feared magic gadgets in their homes, being darkly suspicious the magic would take over. I approved of any device that greeted me with news of caffeine.

  Coffee cup in hand, I had a meditative pause in the courtyard of my townhouse complex, a two-story adobe building ten minutes from downtown. Clay pots overflowed with spiky aloe. Geraniums spilled out of hanging planters. Bright red in June, they would die when summer heated up. Seated on the blue tile bench that circled a bubbling fountain, I sipped coffee and geared myself up for the gym and the first item on the schedule: shepherding our firm's new attorney, Lauren Waters, through preliminary hearings in Central Phoenix Justice Court.

  What if I was training my replacement? I choked on the coffee. Wiping my mouth, I considered a major complication if I did have wizard blood Ernie had accidentally activated. Wizard kids had to be certified to be in control of their magic before they could attend public school. Adults who couldn't control their magic had to be treated and certified as safe by the Master Wizards Guild. I could end up a member of Jake Herz's group for dysfunctional wizards. Worst-case scenario, I could be forced to live at his treatment center, the Disclaimer Ranch. Lauren would have to handle my clients. Every muscle tensed. Time for the gym.

  * * *

  Energized by the workout, I stayed awake during Lauren's interviews with her clients in justice court. I worried I'd forgotten to tell her something important about appearing in front of a judge like "don't chew gum" and "make sure you know your client's name." If I was breaking in Lauren as my replacement, I'd better do a good job. Lauren had spent her career behind a desk, not in front of a judge's bench. Formerly a staff attorney at the Court of Appeals, she'd been writing briefs since law school graduation thirteen years ago, the same class as Bear and I. Now that our firm had enough work to justify another attorney, we had hired her relatively cheap because she had little courtroom experience. Just before taking the bar, she'd married a plumber.

  After ninety minutes of noise and confusion at the Central Justice Court, Lauren was ready for her first appearance as a member of our firm. We had a contract to handle cases the public defender couldn't take, usually because their office represented a codefendant. After I made sure Lauren was set to do her first case, a simple guilty plea, I sat with the criminals and lawyers who awaited their turns squirming on the wooden benches. Their hot breath and sweaty bodies thickened the air. Blobs of stains had leaked through the courtroom's green walls.

  Rather than Lauren's appearance, my mind was on the reply to my email from Wizards Against Injustice. The Flynn family members have always been big supporters. WAI will be out there for Keegan. Out there?

  As Lauren went to the front of the courtroom, Judge Mackey adjusted his glasses and beamed at her. He had thick, wavy hair and a ruddy complexion that went well with his black robe. He waited while the deputy released the cuffs attaching her client, Stan Perry, to the chain gang of today's defendants in the jury box.

  Followed by the deputy, Stan shuffled over with his shackled feet. Hands cuffed behind his back, he twitched his left shoulder and tried to shake lank brown hair from his face when he reached Lauren. He half turned to her, smiling feebly as his eyes swept over her golden hair, pencil slim black skirt, and three-inch heels. She wore the crystal pendant that would flare red if she used any spells. Maxy, Bear, and I had decided we needed a lawyer who was part of the magic community. Up to now, Keegan had been the only one in the firm who was a wizard.

  Judge Mackey turned on the mike. "Mrs. Waters, I understand your client wants to enter a plea."

  "Yes, your honor, Mr. Perry will plead to a reduced charge of misdemeanor possession of marijuana."

  Lauren sounded fine, her throaty voice rather monotone. In law school, some people had called her the Ice Queen because of her serenely aloof expression. I knew she'd written down everything she thought she'd have to say to the judge this morning. When she showed me her little script, her hands had brushed mine. Her fingers had been cold and clammy. In the two hours we'd been in court, she'd gone to the restroom four times.

  I tuned out during the first part of the plea since I didn't think Stan would screw up saying "Yes" to questions about his rights and the potential punishment. I resumed listening when Judge Mackey got to the factual basis for the crime. "On May 31, 2014, were you in possession of a usable amount of marijuana at Fifth Street and Mill Avenue in Tempe, Arizona?"

  Stan turned to Lauren, his narrow brow contorted in a frown. He mumbled, "Uh, like the pot really belonged to this other dude. And it was barely enough to get high on."

  The lawyers waiting their turns around me rustled and shifted. Oops.

  I got up. "Your honor, may we have a moment with our client?"

  Judge Mackey scanned the back of the courtroom. "Very well. I have a few matters that can be handled in chambers."

  Stan slunk back to the chain gang. The deputy put him at the end of the row of six inmates. Gesturing at Lauren to join me, I leaned over the railing of the jury box. I braced myself to breathe in urine and stale sweat, the stench of jailed men. Stan sat hunched forward.

  I waited till we had eye contact. "Stan, the judge won't let you plead guilty unless you say you did something wrong. The police report said the cops saw you sitting on the bench smoking a joint. And they said you confessed." When he opened his mouth, I hurried on, "Don't say anything about the charges. If you plead guilty today, you get the felony reduced to a misdemeanor. That's a less serious charge. Do you understand that's a good thing?"

  He moved his head in sync with Lauren, who had nodded at the end of each of my sentences.

  "Do you want to get out of jail today?"

  He leaned forward, tugging at the guy cuffed next to him. "Yeah, sure."

  Closer up, poor Stan smelled even worse. "Here's the sweet part of the deal that Mrs. Waters negotiated for you. You get out of jail today. Time served. No fine. Now, Stan, you're going to tell the judge you had the joint, and it was a usable amount. No debates. No philosophical discussions. The point is not whether you enjoyed the pot. The point is you were smoking a joint. Got it?"

  He looked at the guy next to him, an emaciated meth addict who advised, "Take the deal, man."

  Since Judge Mackey wasn't ready for us yet, Lauren and I walked out into the hallway. She leaned against the wall and bit her lip.

  I patted her on the arm. "Don't worry. It'll be fine. You're doing a great job. I could tell Judge Mackay likes your style."

  "I thought I had Stan perfectly prepped. And after all we've said, he wanted legal advice from that burned-out drug addict next to him."

  "It's the dumb ones like Stan who throw you curve balls." She was used to the world of intellectual arguments in appellate briefs. "It's hard to reduce complex legal terms to concepts simple enough for his few remaining brain cells."

  "Should we have asked the deputy to move Stan away from the other inmates when we were talking to him to protect client confidentiality?"

  "That would've been the correct procedure. I did structure my pep talk so that Stan wouldn't make any statements."

  She bolted off to the restroom again. Showing a rookie the ropes involved some self-examination. She was right. I should've insisted that the deputy separate Stan from the other inmates. It never pays to cut corners. I strode up and down the hall as I checked my phone, worried I
was losing my edge.

  Rusty, Chris's assistant, had left a message. I got you booked this evening. A neighbor of Felicia's who says he has important information. He works all day. Nervous type, won't let us come to his home. He insists we meet at his church, St. Ignatius. Pick you up at six at your place. Rusty's grating, husky voice made everything sound urgent.

  I also had an update from Chris. Petra, the sheriff's office just announced they're putting Keegan in segregation because they've already received death threats against him. You know what that means. You said you wanted to be in on all developments, so if you want to draft the motions…

  I did indeed know what was coming. Having a client in isolation meant it took forever for the deputies to bring him out for a visit, which was not face-to-face but over the phone. We were set for a big legal fight with the sheriff's department, both about Keegan's rights as an inmate and our access to him for confidential communications. I had filed some motions last year but needed to update the research.

  Lauren, heels tapping on the linoleum, caught up with me.

  "You know," I said, "I really liked the way you analyzed the legal issues in Stan's police report. In fact, I have a hot topic for you to look into on Keegan Flynn's case."

  A frown marred her creamy brow. "Bear left me a message. He said to stay away from the state capitol. Somebody got hurt during a confrontation between WAI protestors and SOS demonstrators. Police all over the place."

  My heart pounded, and I panicked at the thought that my request for support from WAI had led to violence. Before I could get details from Lauren, the bailiff called us into court. Stan got out of jail after admitting he smoked the joint. A win for our side.

  CHAPTER SIX

  TUESDAY EVENING

  I got home before five to have time to fix dinner. Rusty, Chris's investigator and office manager, knew my place because I usually had her over Saturdays for coffee after our gym workout.