I made sure no one was in the stairwell before opening the door. Someone had gone through a lot of trouble to hide this room and the last thing I wanted was to be disturbed. I turned the knob and opened it with a gentle push, and a lot of puzzle pieces that had been swirling about in my head fell into place.
CHAPTER THREE
When solving a crime, an investigator needs to look for three things; opportunity, means and motive. I had the first two in the bag. Nichole lived alone, so that provided plenty of opportunity. The means were gruesomely evident and would likely give me nightmares for some time to come. But the motive, the ‘why’ of it all, had been eluding me…until I opened that door.
Nichole Barret was a witch. A powerful witch, at that. The entire room was dedicated to the study and practice of the magical arts, and was as professional a setup as I’d ever seen.
I’d had my suspicions when I first walked in the door. No pictures of friends or family anywhere in the house. Only a few portraits and some blurry selfies she took on vacation. In the magical community, pictures can be used for a lot of spells, not all of them friendly. That’s why a serious practitioner won’t keep any around.
This also explained how she was able to affect me so much. Without access to their physical bodies, ghosts have to glean energy around them in order to interact with the physical world. Thanks to the rituals and spell casting she did in life, Nichole had a virtual gold mine of the stuff to work with.
And finally, it explained the condition of the body. Burning, beheading and salting had all been used at some point in history to kill or hold a witch at bay. The murderer must have known she was a practitioner and wanted to be sure she wouldn’t rise up as some undead abomination to take her revenge. I bet if he’d had time, he’d have drowned and hung her, just to be certain. That told me he knew some, but not everything, about our kind.
This was why most people in the magical community stayed on the fringes of society, from which we took our name. It was safer. The wrong person discovers you can cast spells, feed off psychic energies or shift forms, and next thing you know there’s an angry mob coming at you with plenty in the way of torches and pitchforks.
I fought down the surge of anger I felt welling up. Fighting ignorance with rage was never a good idea and often did more harm than good. I needed to keep a cool head and see if there was anything here that would tell me who else knew Nichole Barret’s secret. Professional and detached, that was me.
The sacred room was like many others I’d seen over the years. Polished hardwood floors gleamed up at me. Shelves lined the walls, each holding a wide assortment of books, candles and herbs. The single window had been painted black to ensure total privacy. One whole half of the room was taken up by the altar, a low wooden table covered by a ceremonial cloth, on which rested a pewter bowl, incense and other tools used to practice magic. The air smelled sweet and slightly spicy, which was a welcome change from the rest of the house.
Under normal conditions, entering another witch’s sacred space without permission was considered tantamount to a slap across the face. But these weren’t normal conditions and instinct told me there was something in here worth finding. I wanted to do it quickly before someone from downstairs came up and saw this.
I hadn’t taken more than three steps in when Bill’s voice called my name from right outside the door. Shit. In my haste to complete my look around, I’d neglected to fully shut it. Apparently, the cloaking spell only engaged when the door was firmly latched. So much for this place remaining undiscovered.
“In here,” I called. My partner poked his head in a second later, looking for all the world like Aladdin discovering the Cave of Wonders.
“Whoa!” he said in a hushed tone. “What is this place?”
“Nichole Barret was a Wiccan. This is where she practiced her religion.” I actually had no idea if Nichole was Wiccan or not. There were plenty of witches in the world who didn’t practice the Wiccan religion and vice versa. But it just seemed easier to explain it this way to someone who’s entire education in magic had been in the form of the old Bewitched television show.
“You mean she worshiped devils and demons and such?” I grimaced. See what I mean?
“No, she believed the universe was made of a malleable energy she could manipulate and channel through ritual, prayer and meditation. Devils and demons have nothing to do with it.”
“Oh.” He screwed up his face as he let this bit of information sink in. “Wait a second. How come nobody saw this room before?” I shrugged and tried to appear nonchalant.
“Typical case of tunnel vision. Dead body in the bathroom, that’s where all the attention is going to be focused. Besides, the lighting is bad out in that hall. I thought this was just a broom closet until I looked inside.”
I didn’t like lying to my partner. But explaining how I casted a spell to see through the hidden enchantment after I encountered the ghost of our victim was out of the question.
Bill considered my explanation for a few agonizing seconds before
