Possessed

she knew a lot about.

“That’s what it’s like with Lauren’s kind of death. It’s different from an illness, even different from a sudden accident. Murder tends to shake the living to the core, not because you can’t prepare for it-no one can ever prepare themselves for losing someone. It’s the violence of the act. It’s not just that she’s gone; it’s the fact that she was taken from you, forcibly, against her will and yours. It’s going to make you a little crazy. Probably for some time to come.”

She couldn’t tell if her words penetrated as his eyes stayed focused on the red light hanging above them.

“It doesn’t give me the right to take my pain out on anyone else,” he finally said.

“No, it doesn’t,” she agreed.

“Especially you.”

That had her raising her eyebrows. “What does that mean?”

“I just meant that, well, you’re very…small,” he finished awkwardly.

Cass smirked. “Small doesn’t always mean ‘weak.’”

He turned his head and studied her for a moment. She couldn’t imagine what he was thinking. After a second, his scrutiny became almost uncomfortable. Fortunately, the light turned green.

“We should go,” she prompted.

It was no more than eight or nine blocks from Cass’s apartment to Lauren’s. Parallel parking with ruthless efficiency, Malcolm settled his SAAB into a tight spot. Cass had reached for the handle when he put a hand on her arm and stopped her.

“Wait.”

He exited, circled the car and opened her door-the habit of someone who had been taught manners and used them.

“Gentleman,” he said. “Remember?”

He offered his hand, and Cass looked at it as if it were a snake. She didn’t want to touch him. It was too soon, and she still hadn’t processed all that had happened when he’d touched her the last time. Misinterpreting her reticence, he scowled slightly but moved away from the car door to let her out.

Lauren’s apartment was the top floor of what was essentially a row home. The block was lined with narrow, three-story buildings that were kept in only moderately good condition. Cass had surmised from what Dougie had said that Lauren didn’t live far down on Addison Street from where Cass’s current apartment was, and her old apartment was just a few blocks further up. She knew the neighborhood well enough to know that there was nothing high-class about any of the buildings in this particular section of the city.

She considered all the money Malcolm had at his disposal, not to mention what she knew about how Lauren had grown up, and figured that Lauren must have rejected that lifestyle. It could have been a pride thing. She wanted to make it on her own, or it could have been a family split. She wondered if Malcolm would comment, but he said nothing.

“It’s this one,” he indicated, pointing to the third house on the right. There were front steps that led to a door that, once unlocked, led to another door that served as the entrance to the downstairs apartment. Another set of stairs, still blocked by yellow tape, would take them to where Lauren had lived.

Together they climbed to the top, where they stood on a handwoven mat that covered the small landing, while Malcolm unlocked the door.

Cass glanced down at her feet.

Blessed Be.

Malcolm pushed open the door, then took a few steps down to allow Cass to proceed ahead of him. It was well past midmorning at this point, and the light from the sun was more than enough to illuminate the tiny space.

The first thing that caught her eye was the stain of blood that could be seen so clearly on the floor. Large and ghastly, it resembled a small lake covering the cream linoleum of the kitchen floor. It got even darker as it spread out to the cheap, pale beige carpet.

“You don’t have to come up here,” she said, looking over her shoulder to where he stood still two steps down.

“I’ve already seen it,” he muttered.

“That doesn’t mean you have to see it again.”

He pinned her with a gaze that suggested he didn’t need to be coddled, and she guessed he was right. It wasn’t her place to tell him what he could or could not bear.

He was on his own.

Ignoring him, she stepped into the apartment and focused her senses. There was something here that Lauren thought was important. Something obscure enough that the police had missed it.

It stood to reason that if they had missed something, it wasn’t going to be easy to find.

Cass waited for the tingling sensation to hit her, but, for a long moment, there was only silence. “I’m going to need a little help here,” she mumbled.

“Help with what, exactly?” Malcolm asked as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

“Uh…I was sort of talking to her,” Cass admitted.

She watched his jaw tighten, but this time he managed to maintain his cool.

The space wasn’t as she’d expected, but then she’d probably been associating Lauren too much with her brother. There was nothing austere or elegant or high-class about it. Instead, it was a chaotic mess of knickknacks, wall hangings and two shelves that were filled with books and tiny porcelain figurines. At the center of all of it was a plump, bright-yellow couch and an end table covered with more books and magazines and…well, stuff.

There was also a hint of vanilla, she determined, in the air. Cass couldn’t understand how that was possible, given the blood that had been lost, but it was there.

Heading for the end table, the first thing she spotted was an oblong, carved wooden bowl that held two slim sticks inside of it. She lifted a stick, sniffed the top of it and knew where the vanilla had come from. Next to the incense holder was a box with a pentagram carved into it. As she scanned the book titles and magazines on the table, a picture began to form. Magickal Digest, Spells and Cants for Beginners, The Wicca Almanac.

A set of pentagram chimes blended with a dream catcher that hung from the ceiling near the window that overlooked the street below, and, moving to one of the bookshelves, Cass could see rows of tiny figurine fairies that sat almost as if protecting the reading material behind them. Gently pushing past them, she pulled out Advanced Spells. It looked unread.

The reading material, the pentacle box, the doormat out front.

“She was a witch,” Cass said, lifting one of the porcelain pieces. It wasn’t particularly well crafted, but it was whimsical and said a great deal about the person who would buy it in the first place.

Behind her, she felt Malcolm’s approach, and before she could close her hand on it, he was snatching the fairy out of her grasp and placing it back on the shelf. Hard.

“She was into a lot of things,” he explained.

And maybe that was true, but one of the things she was very much into was the practice of Wicca. Although based on what Lauren had been reading versus what had been left untouched, Cass was guessing she’d just recently pursued the religion.

“There’s nothing wrong with having alternative spiritual beliefs.” As so many of the people she’d been committed with in the asylum had told her.

Malcolm cringed, and Cass had to admit she took a perverse pleasure in it. She could only imagine his reluctance to listen to his sister prattle on about nature, the moon cycles and which herbs were best for love spells. She could see him now trying to reason her beliefs right out of her.

Did he feel guilty? Now that she was gone, was he sad that he had so quickly dismissed her and her beliefs as nonsense?

A bright bolt of pain smacked her, and a voice echoed in her head.

He didn’t like it, but he always listened. He never made fun of me.

Lauren’s voice startled her, but Cass quickly worked to construct her room so she could hear clearly what Lauren had to say.

Interesting. “You were okay with her being a witch.” Cass was astonished.

He straightened the figurine so that it was exactly where it was before she had disturbed it. “Lauren believed