Long ago, witches had used large pools of water to scry on people, while today it was more common to use a glass of water like she was doing.
She waited for what seemed like an eternity. A bubble rose to the water’s surface, then another. To her delight, an image of a man appeared inside the glass. It was Reggie, lying in bed in striped pajamas. He was yawning, and appeared to have just woken up.
“Wonderful, he’s home,” she said, feeling relieved.
She watched Reggie climb out of bed. A minute later, he was at his kitchen sink, sipping a hot drink. He was a confirmed bachelor, and the counter and sink were cluttered with dirty dishes. He went into his living room, and switched on the TV. The news came on, with Wolfe’s death the lead story. Reggie pumped the air joyously with his fist.
“Oh, no,” Holly said.
She called him again on her cell. In the glass, Reggie glanced at the ringing phone in his kitchen, but did not answer it.
“Pick up the phone, damn it,” she swore.
Reggie still did not answer. Instead, he returned to his bedroom, where he selected a pair of dark slacks and blue blazer from the closet, and tossed them onto the bed. Next came a sporty dress shirt and solid blue necktie. He was planning to go out and celebrate, not knowing that danger might be lurking around the corner, ready to take him down.
Holly kept calling his apartment, and Reggie kept refusing to answer. Panic set in. She had to do something, and she was not about to call Peter and beg for his help. This was her time.
Rising from the desk, she crossed the room. In the corner of the study was a small closet. She flicked on the overhead light and entered. It was empty, except for the safe set into the wall. Many of the building’s apartments had safes just like this one. Her aunt had entrusted her with the combination years ago, and she recited it from memory while spinning the safe’s dial.
The safe clicked open, and she pulled back the door. The interior was lined with shelves filled with witch’s tools: a human skull, a cracked mirror, a jar of chicken bones used to cast spells, a box of talismans for removing spells, and the most precious item of all, a braided lock of Mary Glover’s hair. These items had been passed down among the Glover witches for centuries, and would someday be hers.
She decided upon the lock of hair. Shutting the safe, she hurried from the study.
33
Reggie Brown finished dressing. Now that Wolfe was dead, he was going to celebrate, and do a little gambling. Gambling was his passion, and always got his juices flowing. The question was, should he play the horse tracks in New York, or gamble at the Indian reservation casinos in Connecticut? Each was a pleasant car ride away. Each had nice accommodations, good food, and friendly service. None had yet to catch on that he’d been robbing them blind for years, and passing along his winnings to charity.
Decisions, decisions.
Most psychics would have looked down their noses at such behavior. Psychics were not supposed to steal, even if playing Robin Hood. Reggie saw the situation differently. The casinos and horse tracks were supposed to lose every now and then. Why not redistribute the wealth to the people who needed it most?
The phone continued to ring in the kitchen. He ignored it. The only people who ever called were the charities that he’d given money to. He didn’t feel like talking to them right now, or anyone else.
He went to the window to check the weather. It was still raining like there was no tomorrow. That settled it. He’d dance with Lady Luck in Connecticut.
He pulled his overcoat off a hanger in the closet and started to put it on. He had company, and he heard himself gasp. The garment fell from his hand to the floor.
“Hello, Marie,” he said. “How wonderful that you came by.”
“Hello, Reggie,” his guest replied.
Madame Marie sat on the couch in his living room dressed in one of her elaborate Gypsy costumes. She looked just like the last time he’d seen her. It was not uncommon for the newly dead to drift for a few days, as if in a spiritual fog, yet that didn’t lessen the surprise.
“As they say in the old movies, fancy meeting you here,” he said. “Are you all right?”
“I suppose so, considering I’m dead,” she replied. “I’ve been saying good-bye to friends and loved ones. I wanted to make sure I didn’t miss you.”
“That was awfully nice of you.”
“You were my favorite among the Friday night group. You always came wearing your best clothes. I like that in a man.”
“Can I get you something?”
“There’s nothing I need anymore. In that regard, being dead is rather pleasant. Were you going out?”
“Matter of fact, I was.”
“Please don’t leave just yet. We need to talk.”
Reggie took a deep breath. Having a conversation with a ghost was the last thing he wanted to do right now. But this was his lifelong friend, so he dutifully sat down beside her. His weight made the cushion sag, yet Madame Marie did not move. He crossed his hands in his lap, and waited for her to begin.
“When you die, the unanswered questions that have bothered you don’t go away,” Madame Marie said. “They remain, begging for answers.”
“Really,” he said.
“One of those questions came to me right before I was murdered. I looked at my Tarot cards, and saw that the Order of Astrum had sent an assassin to kill us. I asked myself, ‘What did any of us do to deserve this fate?’ If the Order wanted us out of the picture, they could have been a little more subtle about it, don’t you think?”
“They do seem to be in a bit of a hurry,” Reggie conceded.
“Does that bother you?”
“Come to mention it, yes.”
“What do you think’s going on?”
Reggie had always left the Big Questions to the others, and preferred to dwell on life’s more pleasant diversions, like picking the ponies and playing cards at the casinos.
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” he mumbled.
“Do we pose a threat to the Order?”
Reggie had never posed a threat to anyone in his life, and chuckled at the notion. “A threat? What kind of threat can we pose to a group of madmen? Not to belittle what we do, but in the vast scheme of things, it’s rather insignificant, don’t you think? We mean nothing to them.”
“Until now.”
“How so?”
“We hit a nerve, Reggie, and now they’re afraid of us. Why else would they send an assassin to kill us?”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“And how did they infiltrate our group? We are all sworn to secrecy, yet somehow they knew who we were. How did they know?”
“I don’t have the foggiest idea.”
“You need to find out. If you don’t, you’ll be asking yourself later, like I did.”
Reggie nodded solemnly. Madame Marie had come to say good-bye, and to warn him. A better friend he’d never had. It saddened him to think that she had departed this earth, and that he would not be seeing her again for a while. Without thinking, he leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek, then pulled back upon realizing his mistake. A smile crossed her face, and then she was gone.
Reggie kept a vintage 1971 Aston Martin DB6 parked in a private garage near his hotel. Keeping a car in the
