Teenage Romance, Part Three

Cecilia dealt with the hotel management. Fortunately, aside from Helena’s paralyzing thunderclap, the struggle hadn’t attracted any attention or guest complaints. Chad and I searched the suite thoroughly while Helena called Micah Graves.

            Our search took five minutes, No sign of Ross. The TV remote lay on his bed, next to a room service menu. His phone was gone.

Helena ended her call and put down her phone as we returned. “Micah claims he doesn’t know about any of this. He did sound—surprised. I don’t know if I believe him.”

            Short guy sat on the floor, rocking back and forth. Chad disappeared and came back a moment later with a towel to wrap around his bleeding knee. He stood over him, his handgun tucked into his belt, arms crossed, as if daring him to try standing up.

            Everyone looked at me. Like I was an expert on interrogation or something. I sighed. “How’d you hurt your leg?”

            “Someone kicked me, and I hit the corner of that table.” He glared. “You guys can’t keep me here.”

            “You came in here with a gun,” Helena snapped. “And now my nephew is missing. Do you really want to call the police?”

            “It wasn’t me! Daniel—I told him it was stupid, but he said nobody would listen to us without it.” He rolled his eyes. “Idiot.”

            “Daniel who? What’s your name, anyway?”

            He stared up at me. “Who the hell are you?”

            “Tom Jurgen. Answer me.” I sounded tough. A lot tougher than I felt. It was the aftereffect of the attack.

            He sighed. “Calvin Holman. Daniel is, uh, Daniel Crane. The other guy hired us. He just called himself Atlan. I never heard his last name.”

            “Atlan?” That came from Cecilia. She looked at Helena. 

            “You know him?” I asked.

            Helena frowned. “He’s . . .” She glanced at Holman. “Let him go. That’s all we need to know.”

            Chad backed away. Helman stood up, unsteady, uncertain. “I can really—go?”

            “Get out,” Helena ordered. “Stay away from Atlan. I hope you got paid up front.”

            He didn’t answer. Just turned on his wobbly leg and staggered to the door.

            I turned to Helena. “Who’s Atlan?”

She sighed and gestured toward the bar. “Chad? A little sherry. Anything for you, Tom?”

“Just some water.” My throat felt dry as my nerves eased. 

“Atlan is a—a cousin.” Helena glanced at Cecilia. “He has roots on both sides, and no loyalty to either of us. I haven’t seen or heard from him in years, and he changes his face regularly. He wants to be the leader in the family, and he probably wouldn’t like to see this union go through.”

I gulped some water. “This is all kind of excessive, isn’t it? It’s basically a first date.”

She shrugged with a smile. “Family politics is sometimes the worst.”

Cecilia stood up and started pacing. “Shouldn’t we be out there looking for him?” She walked to the window and peered down, as if hoping to spot Atlan and Ross on the street 21 floors below.

Helena shook her head. “The last I heard, Atlan was in Europe. I have no idea what kind of presence he has here in Chicago. I don’t know where Tom would even start to look.”

I took out my phone. “Let me try texting Ross. His phone’s not there.”

“If Atlan has him, he won’t let him answer.” Cecilia looked annoyed with me.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions.” 

“What do you mean? You think Ross just—ran away?” 

“Let’s just see.” I tapped out a simple message: Are you OK? and hit Send. “In the meantime, do you want to let Micah know about Atlan being here?”

Helena frowned. “He’ll blame us. But you’re right, we have to.” She dug her phone out of her pocket just as mine buzzed.

A text. Ross. FINE. JUST HAD TO GET OUT.

“What the—?” Helena gaped at my phone. “’Had to get out’? Why would he . . .” She looked at Cecilia, but she only stared back.

“Is there anyone in the family who can track his phone?” I stood up.

“I’ll—I’ll call his mother.” Cecilia moved to pick her phone up from the table.

“No, I will.” Helena grimaced. “She won’t be happy. I promised—anyway, Cecilia, you call Micah and tell him about Atlan. Don’t worry, that will be just as unpleasant.”

“What about him?” Cecilia looked toward me. 

I glanced toward the door. “If you can find his phone, I’ll go out and look for him. If not . . .” I shrugged. “I’ve got a possible lead on Christine. I can follow that, and maybe it will lead us to Ross.”

“You think they’re together?” Cecilia’s eyes widened in disbelief. “They ran off together? Like Romeo and Juliet or something?”

They were teenagers. Anything was possible. “It’s one idea, considering they’ve both disappeared.”

“Or Atlan could have both of them!” She looked to Helena for support. “Isn’t that more likely?”

Helena frowned, as if she didn’t want to take sides between bickering children. “Maybe. Either way, we can’t do anything until we find out if we can track him.” She started scrolling through her contacts.

“I’ll text Ross about Atlan,” I suggested. “Maybe he’ll tell us if he’s heard from him.” Maybe he was sneaking texts while this Atlan guy wasn’t looking, for that matter. 

“If Atlan has him, that will tip him off,” Cecilia said.

“We have to try something.” I looked at Helena. She nodded. 

I thought for a moment, composing the right words in my head. Then I sent: One of the kidnappers was Atlan. Watch out for him. Send.

We waited. Helena called Ross’ mother in Boston. Cecilia went to a corner of the room to call Micah. Chad started cleaning up. I stared at my phone like a lovesick teenager waiting for his crush to call him back.

That made me think of Rachel. I sent her a quick text letting her know what was going on. Everyone looked up when my phone buzzed, but it was Rachel’s usual advice: Don’t do anything stupid, with a heart emoji. I shook my head. “Unrelated.”

Another text came right away: THIS IS ATLAN. DON’T COME AFTER ME. 

Helena hung up from her call. “Ross’ mother will check his phone. What’s that?”

I showed her the message. Cecilia came over to check it out. “Oh my god! If he’s got Ross—”

“Wait. Just wait.” I held up a hand. “It’s all caps again, nothing specific. It could be Ross just trying to keep us from looking for him.”

“Or it could be Atlan wanting us to think that,” Cecilia said, exasperated with me.

“Let’s stay calm,” Helena said, annoyed at both of us. “His mother will call me back in a minute.”

We could drive ourselves crazy trying to second-guess this. I drank some water. “Yeah. Let’s wait and see what the mother’s got.”

Helena’s phone buzzed. “Yes. All right. Thank you. Yes, we’ll be in touch just as soon as I have something definite—yes. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just been—all right, yes, but—I’m sorry, I have to go.” She hung up with a sigh. “His mother is not happy. She was against this trip from the beginning, and now—”

“The location?” I asked.

“The zoo. Near the south entrance?” She ran fingers through her silvery hair. “Can you get there quickly? I don’t know the town here very well—”

The Lincoln Park Zoo. Christine’s friend lived near the zoo. I headed for the door. “It’s not too far. I can get there in 20 minutes or so. Get the picture that Micahs found, maybe that’s a meeting place.”

Helena frowned. “Why would that—”

“I’ll explain later.” I had my hand on the door.

“Cecilia, go with him.” Helena waved an arm.

Cecilia and I looked at each other, neither of us happy. Helen’s eyes darted between us, and she sighed. “Cecilia is useful. In case you run into any problems. Cecilia, be careful, watch out for Tom, and take care of Ross.”

She grimaced. “Right. Come on, Tom. I’ve got some tricks in case Atlan shows up.”

“Do you know krav maga? My girlfriend’s a master.”

She grinned. “Better. Let’s go.”

 

The Lincoln Park Zoo is in the center of, well, Lincoln Park, a few miles north of downtown. Not too far from our apartment. Parking was tricky, but I found a spot, and we hurried to the south entrance. There was no sign of Ross—we checked inside the Farm in the Zoo, where the cows were mooing loudly—and crossed the bridge over the South Pond and into the Zoo. 

            The picture from “Jack” on Christine’s phone showed an outdoor café. We made our way north, passing the camels and zebras, and found the place. No Christine. No Ross. We showed their pictures to the cashiers, who didn’t remember either one. I really hadn’t expected to find them waiting here, but it was a disappointment. 

We walked through the zoo, checking out the great ape house, another café, and a pool where seals and walruses frolicked in the water and slept in the sun. Every few minutes we called Ross’s phone. According to a text from Helena, his ringtone was a hip-hop song by Lil Nas X. I didn’t know the song, but Cecilia said she’d recognize it, so she listened while I called repeatedly. Nothing. 

            “He could have ditched the phone,” I said, trembling as little as we emerged from the reptile house. 

            “He’s a teenager. He’d cut off his foot first.” She looked around the crowd, then at me. “So, scared of snakes, huh?”

            I nodded. “Me and Indiana Jones. And yeah, that’s all we have in common, as my girlfriend points out every time we watch Raiders.”

            Cecilia called the hotel. Frowning, she hung up. “Ross’ mom says he managed to disable the Find Me app 10 minutes ago. So he could be anywhere.” Still, she peered around, looking at the faces around us. “Anywhere but here.”

            “Maybe . . .” I found a bench. “Give me a minute. Christine’s friend lives near the zoo, Ross said.” I started tapping my phone. I wished I had my laptop, but I could manage. 

            Jackie Vega. At least her last name wasn’t Smith. But without her mother’s last name—Ross had said Jackie’s mother was divorced—I didn’t have much to go on. “Can you have Helena call Christine’s mom about Jackie? Her mother’s divorced. If you can find out her name, it would help.”

            Cecilia sighed. “Just a minute.”

            I kept searching while she called. I found an Instagram account for ja_vega, full of pictures inside the Lincoln Park Zoo and on North Avenue Beach. I scrolled quickly through the pictures and found two of her—she was short, with big round eyes and curly black hair, and a tattoo of a dagger on her shoulder. I also found a view of Lincoln Park just south of the zoo, taken from a high window. Was that her home? I looked over my shoulder at the buildings across the street. We could check those later, but only as a last resort.

I skimmed her list of followers and found Christine, username cx_tina37, confirming that I had the correct Jackie Vega. 

Then Cecilia poked my shoulder. “Pasdar,” she told me. “The mother’s name is Joyceann Pasdar.”

            Maybe I should have started with that. In a few minutes I had an address for her, over on Clark Street, approximately where Jackie’s Instagram picture could have been taken. It was all coming together. “Let’s go.”

            Ten minutes later we stood on the sidewalk outside a tall apartment building. An exercise club sat next to it. I could see people riding bikes and running on treadmills through the darkened windows. I called Pasdar’s number and got an answering machine.

            I looked at Cecilia, then said, “My name is Tom Jurgen, I’m a private detective looking for Ross Beneditti, Christine Novis, and Jackie Vega. If any of you are there, please pick up.” I waited.

            When no one picked up, I left my number and hung up. Cecilia looked up at the windows above us. “Now what?”

            I shrugged. “We wait. A lot of this job is waiting.”

            My phone buzzed with a text. GO UP. APT 932.

            We looked at each other. Cecilia was suddenly nervous. “Is it a trap?”

            “Could be.” I wished for my pepper spray, but it was in the car. “Let Helena know what’s going on.” I tapped a quick text to Rachel.

            Inside, a doorman called the apartment, spoke briefly and quietly to whoever answered, and buzzed us in. We rode the elevator in silence.

            At 932 I knocked. After a moment the door opened. It was Jackie Vega.

            She was short, in a long-sleeve T-shirt and black athletic shorts, with curly black hair and big round glasses. “Hi. You looking for Christine?”

            “And Ross. Are they here?”

            Jackie smiled. “You just missed them.”

            Damn it. “What’s going on?”

Before Jackie could answer, Cecilia pushed past her into the apartment. “Look everywhere you want,” Jackie said. “They left half an hour ago. I called them and told them to have you come up.”

“Where?” I looked around. The living room that looked out over the park. Cecilia glared at Jackie. “Where’d they go?”

“No idea.” She shrugged. “That’s sort of the plan.” 

Cecilia shook her head and started opening bedroom doors. “Hey!” Jackie shouted. “That’s my room!”

I closed the door so the neighbors wouldn’t hear us. “Look, we just want to make sure they’re okay,” I told Jackie. “I picked Ross up from the airport last night, and someone tried to kidnap him. They came to his hotel today and attacked us. This isn’t a game. Did either of them mention somebody named Atlan?”

Jackie blinked. “Y-yeah. Ross said something—that’s why he wanted to go.”

Cecilia came out of the bedroom. “Not here.” She stalked toward Jackie. “Where are they?”

Jackie backed away. “Who are you, anyway? What are you doing here?”

I held up a hand to Cecilia. “Give her a minute, okay. I’m Tom Jurgen, I’m a private detective, and I’m working for Ross’ aunt to try to keep him safe. That’s Cecilia, uh—I don’t know her last name, but she works for Ross’ aunt too. Helena Snowe. Atlan is trying to kidnap Ross, and we want to keep him safe.”

Jackie looked at Cecilia, then me, then Cecilia again. “Okay. Okay. Just . . . okay.” She walked past Cecilia to a dining room table and sat down, clutching a glass of water. She drank. 

“They just wanted to hang out a little.” She looked at me, as if I was the good cop. “Without everyone watching, okay? So Christine came up with this idea for her to get out of the airport, and I met her there with some clothes, and we came here and texted Ross to come meet us. The idea was we’d meet at the zoo and I’d come home and they’d just walk around, like a real date, you know? But Ross was nervous because he had to sneak out when that guy, Atman? Atlan. When he came to his hotel. So we came here to regroup, and they decided to leave. And then you called, so I called him, and he said to let you up and tell you everything so I didn’t get into trouble. That’s it.” She picked up her water again. “Can you go now?”

I looked at Cecilia. She frowned. “Hold still.” She bent toward Jackie.

Jackie stiffened. “What?” 

            “This’ll just take a second. It won’t hurt.” She grabbed Jackie’s shoulder with one hand and pressed her other hand against her forehead. “Hold still.”

            Jackie clenched her teeth, gazing at me, but I couldn’t stop Cecilia without a struggle. I nodded as reassuringly as I could. “It’ll be all right.” I hoped.

            Cecilia stood in front of her, and Jackie’s body trembled. After a moment Cecilia let her go and sat down. Jackie’s head drooped. “It’s all she knows.” Cecilia said.

            “Helena said you had some tricks.” I looked at Jackie. “Are you all right?”

            Her head jerked up. “What—huh? What was that? Are you—” She stared at Cecilia, no longer afraid of her. “Wow. Are you a psychic or something?”

            “Or something.” She stood up. “Let’s go.”

            “Wait! You don’t have to—I mean, uh, that was kind of nice.” Jackie smiled. “You were in my head, and I was in yours. Can we do that again?”

            “Not a good idea.” Cecilia made an impatient gesture. “Come on.”

            “Hold on a minute.” I sat down in front of Jackie. “Where would they go? What would they do? A coffee shop? A museum? A hotel?”

            Her upper lip curled in disgust. “I don’t think they’re going to go have sex. They just met face to face this morning.”

            “That’s not what I meant. Did they mention anything? Did you suggest a place?”

            Cecilia shook her head. “I just looked. I didn’t see—”

            “Oh, wait.” Jackie grinned. “She might go to the aquarium.”

            “Aquarium?” Cecilia blinked. “That wasn’t in your head. What aquarium?”

            “She didn’t say it today. She loves aquariums. She went all the time back home. You should look there.” 

            “Call her,” Cecilia said. 

            “She doesn’t have her phone, remember?” I said. “But we can call Ross.”

            Cecilia walked over to the window, looking down. “Yeah. Do that.”

Jackie flinched. “She’ll get mad.”

            “She might get kidnapped, or worse.” I pulled out my phone had handed it to her. Call.” 

            She looked at me, trembling. “Really?”

            I nodded, trying to be reassuring “I think you should.”

            Jackie nodded. “Okay—"

            Then something hit me.

            It wasn’t a physical force. More like a tidal wave hurling me into nowhere, spinning me around like a plane out of control, roaring in my ears and blinding me with the rush of wind against my face. Up and down were meaningless concepts—gravity was a vague memory. Time shot by—minutes or hours, I couldn’t tell. I tried to scream, but my throat stayed silent.

            Then I was on the floor, gasping for breath. 

            This was getting ridiculous. I grunted, tested my arms, and slowly eased my body up onto my knees, looking for Cecilia. I found my phone and sat up. “What happened? Where are—"

            Atlan was leaning against the wall. He was wearing his corduroy jacket and holding another Starbucks cup.

            I rose unsteadily to my feet. “Where are they? What’d you do with them?”

            His eyebrows rose. “I was going to ask you—where are they?”

            We stood in silence for a moment. He sipped his coffee.

            “You’re Atlan,” I said. 

            Atlan nodded slowly. “What did they tell you about me?”

            I tried to think. “You’re a cousin, you don’t want Ross and Christine to get together, you want to run the family—anything else? What’s your deal with Starbucks?”

            “I’m jet lagged. I came in from—” He shook his head. “Never mind. Yes, I should be in charge of this family. Have you met Micah? He’s an idiot. Helena is fine, but she doesn’t have any vision. And the kids?” He smiled. “I like them.”

            I leaned against a chair. The chitchat was making me nervous. What was Atlan up to? “Where’s the other guy who was with you? Are you alone?”

            “Daniel? He’s waiting in the car.” He frowned. “Is Calvin okay?”

            “He’s fine. We let him go.” I hesitated. “Are you going to kill me?”

            Atlan looked me up and down, as if considering the pros and cons in his mind. “I don’t think there’s any point to it right now. I could torture you.” He grinned. “Tell me where Christine is.”

            “I don’t know.” That was technically true. I just hoped he believed me. I wouldn’t stand up to any serious torture. Or even mild pain, honestly. I’d make a terrible spy.

            He tightened his lips. “Was she here?”

            “Yes.” I straightened up, tense. “She left.”

            “With the boy? Where did they go?” He glanced across the room. “Where’s Cecilia? Daniel said you came in here with her.”

            “He was following us?” I tail people a lot, so usually I’m pretty good at spotting when it happens to me. This was embarrassing.

            “I put him on this place. After the hotel thing. I knew about the girl here, it seemed like a long shot, but . . .” He shrugged. “Then Daniel saw you come here with Cecilia. By the time I got here, it was just you. On the floor. By yourself. Where did they go?”

Wait. My brain was starting to warm up from whatever had knocked me out. “You didn’t zap me unconscious?”

            He snorted. “I don’t do ‘zaps,’ Jurgen. If I wanted you out of the way, you’d know it was me.”

            “Then—” I shut up. I needed to think, and I couldn’t do that while I was waiting for Atlan to decide whether to torture me or kill me or just knock me out again.

            He shook his head again, disgusted. “You’re useless, Jurgen. I hope Helena is paying you well, but whatever it is, it’s more than you deserve.” Then he smiled and lifted a hand. “I’ll leave you here. I’ll leave you with one word . . .” He pointed a finger at me. “Zap.”

            Nothing happened. I waited for a fireball to burn me, or a sledgehammer to swing from nowhere and whack my head. But there was nothing. I opened my mouth—

            Except I couldn’t. My lips didn’t move. My tongue was frozen. I tried to reach up to touch my face . . .

            But my arm wouldn’t move.

            I was paralyzed.

            Atlan stepped to the door. “Don’t worry. It’ll wear off in five minutes or so. Just go home and get some rest. Tell Helena I don’t want to hurt Ross. Or Christine. But I do want them.” He waved a hand. “Good day.”

            Then Atlan left, closing the door quietly behind him. And I stood there, waiting for the spell to end.

Teenage Romance, Part Four

Back in my car 20 minutes later I stretched and bent my arms and legs to make sure they were actually working again as I called Rachel. Fortunately she wasn’t in class. I was interrupting her work, but the fact that my mouth had trouble forming words got her attention. “What happened? Were you in an accident? Did you have a stroke? Are you dead and trying to speak from beyond the grave? If you’re dead I’m giving away all your clothes to Goodwill.”

            “I’m—fine.” I managed a drink of water. “I was p-p-paralyzed. Magic s-s-spell. Getting better.” 

            “Oh geez, I miss all the fun. That’s it, I’m quitting school and being your assistant detective full time. Wait, not assistant. Co-detective. Is that a thing?”

            “Stay in school. Don’t do drugs. Don’t listen to that crazy rock and roll.” I took a deep breath. 

            “What’s going on?”

            I told her as much as I could without going full stream of consciousness. When I finished, I took a breath and then another gulp of water.

            “Wow,” Rachel said. “This is like another Raen and Rossini war, isn’t it?”

            “I hope not.” The Raen and the Rossini were two feuding families Rachel and I had run into years ago, although their rivalry seemed to have cooled lately. We hadn’t heard from them in a long time. 

“Have you called anyone?” Rachel asked.

            “No. I can’t call Helena.”

            “Yeah. You think she’s got a double agent or something with her?”

            “Maybe.” I look out the window at a nanny pushing an infant in a stroller toward the zoo. “Somebody knew I was picking up Ross last night, Atlan knew what hotel he was staying at. But Cecilia took Jackie away and knocked me out before Atlan showed up. She might be playing her own game. But right now . . .” I sighed. “I don’t think I can trust anybody.”

            “Go deep black, or whatever they call it in the CIA. So what are you going to do?”

            I leaned back in the car seat, stretching my neck. “The aquarium. Maybe they’re still there. Maybe they’re not and somebody saw them leave. It’s not much, but it’s the only lead I have.”

            “Yeah.” Rachel tapped something on her keyboard. “You want me to come down? I can use my awesome psychic powers to do—something.”

            Nice idea, but—“No. It’s probably a dead end. You have work to do.”

            “This sucks. It was more fun running around getting in trouble with you. Or trying to keep you out of trouble. Or whatever we did.”

            “Those were the good old days, all right. Maybe when you graduate.”

            “Then I’ll have to get a job. Whose bright idea was going back to school anyway?”

            “You’re going to be great,” I said. “Love you.”

            “Love you too. Jerk.” She hung up. 

            

The Shedd Aquarium. It’s on Lake Michigan, next to the Field Museum where the dinosaur skeleton “Sue” lives and close to the Adler Planetarium, where you can explore the universe without leaving the planet. I climbed the stone steps in front and started showing my phone to admissions attendants inside the lobby, asking everyone if they’d seen either Ross or Christine. No one remembered them, of course, but I’d been hoping for a lucky break.

            So I bought a ticket for admission and started walking around. The center of the aquarium has a big tank filled with fish of all kinds, even a small shark. Tourists and school kids on field trips surrounded it on all sides, pointing to the fish and chattering to each other. The place had a lot of eager visitors for a weekday, I thought, but it wasn’t too crowded to make out faces in the dim light around us. 

The big tank is pretty cool, but I didn’t have time to enjoy it. I circled it once, then headed into the galleries that branched off in both directions.

            I saw different kinds of fish, more sightseers and students, but no Ross, no Christine, no Jackie or Cecilia. Not that I really expected to find them staring at the glories of marine life, but I had to check. If Jackie was right, maybe this really had been a kind of date for the two of them, without their families watching. 

            But Cecilia had knocked me out right after Jackie had told us that. So she could have gotten here long before me, and if she was planning her own kidnapping—or worse—I was certainly too late.

            What was her game? She’d taken Jackie and left. Was she making her own move to be head of the family? 

            I didn’t have the time or brain capacity to figure that out now. If I didn’t find Ross and Christine, then I’d start poking at her history.

            They weren’t looking at fish. I wandered through the oceanarium, where a dolphin show was going on, and went downstairs. They weren’t looking at Beluga whales or otters. 

            I went to the food court, where you could get pizza, tacos, and other meals—no seafood, obviously. A big window looked out at Lake Michigan, waves rising and falling in endless motion. I scanned the tables, ready to give up and call Rachel again—

            And then I found them in a corner, sharing pizza and soda.

            I started to call out across the room, then shut up and looked around. No sign of Atlan, or his buddy Daniel. No Cecilia. No Jackie. I made my way toward the corner. Just families and school groups chatting and eating, paying no attention to anyone beyond their own tables.

            Ross didn’t spot me until I reached the table. He was busy talking to Christine, and from the smile in her eyes, he was doing pretty well with her. 

            Christine wore a pink hoodie, her blonde/blue hair pulled back, her eyes wide and blue. No earrings. She was watching only Ross, but he spotted me as I got near. “Oh, shit,” he said.

            I pulled out a chair and sat down. “Sorry to interrupt.” I nodded to Christine. “Hi. Tom Jurgen. I picked Ross up from the airport last night.”

            “What are you doing here?” Ross was annoyed. And embarrassed. 

            “You disappeared. Atlan is looking for you. Both of you.” I glanced between the two of them. “And right now I’m not sure who we can trust. Is Cecilia here?”

            “Why would she be here?” Now he was annoyed and confused. 

            “Because—it’s complicated. I don’t really know what’s going on, but . . .” I looked over my shoulder. “We ought to get somewhere safe.”

            Christine looked nervous. “Like where? I mean, I don’t know you—”

            “He’s okay,” Ross said quickly. “I just—damn it, we just wanted to get away for a while.” He reached out and took Christine’s hand.

            “I get it.” I scooted my chair back so I could keep an eye on everyone around me. “But they did try to kidnap you last night. At first I thought it was Micah, but now it looks like this guy Atlan, and I don’t know what the hell happened to Cecilia and Jackie—”

            “Jackie?” Christine’s eyebrows rose in alarm. “What about her?”

            “Cecilia knocked me out in Jackie’s apartment and now they’re both gone.” I stood up. “I’m sorry, but we need to go.”

            Christine looked at Ross. He groaned, then stood up. “Okay. Where are we—”

            Then I spotted him.

            Not Atlan, thank God. Daniel.

            But he was walking toward our corner like a German Shepherd determined to herd us into a pen. Atlan had to be nearby. Damn it. 

            I took a step forward to block Ross and Christine and held up a hand. “Hang on, Daniel. There are too many people around for you guys to go crazy.”

            Daniel stopped. He looked haggard, as if he’d been up all night. Jet lagged, like Atlan? He was close enough to speak in a low, tense voice. “Don’t make any trouble. Just come with us and everything will be fine.”

            “I don’t think so.” I sounded braver than I felt, especially when I thought about the handgun he’d pointed at me last night. “You’re not going to shoot me in the middle of the cafeteria, are you? I hope not, but—”

            Then everything in the food court stopped. 

            The chitchat and laughter cut off as if someone had turned them to mute. Around me, everyone was frozen. Pizza halfway to their mouths, cups raised, chairs half pushed back behind people starting to rise. 

            I looked back at Ross and Christine. They were okay. Shocked, but still moving.

            Turning back to Daniel, I saw Atlan striding across the room, immune to whatever spell he’d put on the people around us. No Starbucks this time. He stepped around Daniel and crossed his arms.

            “All right.” He sighed. “I flew from Europe for this, and I’m tired. You two can either come with me, or we can finish this off now.”

            “You’re going to—kill us?” Ross moved toward Christine, reaching for her hand. 

            “I’d rather take you with me.” He sounded like a teacher explaining a math problem. “But you keep making this way more complicated than it has to be. At least if you’re, you know, dead, the two families will blame each other, fight, and once all the powerful people are out of the way, I can come in and take what’s mine. I’m the real head of this family, and all of you have been trying to keep me locked up for years, and I’m ready to do whatever it takes to get what I deserve.” He jabbed a finger. “Now let’s go. Now.”

            I took a deep breath and tried to control my urge to collapse into a cowering ball of terror. “Okay. We’d probably better do what he says until—”

            “Not you, idiot.” Atlan glared at me. “I don’t need you.”

            Oops. I took a step back. “Look, I can help. Three hostages has got to be better than two, and I told my client—”

            “Shut up. Daniel?” He motioned to the teens. “Let’s go.”

            Daniel took out his gun. It seemed bigger now that he was starting to point it at me.

            I felt Ross move from behind me. I hoped he’d tell Rachel than I’d died bravely. 

            Then he stepped in front of me. I started to tell him to get out of the way, but he raised his hand just like he had last night at the airport. I backed away. “Uh, Ross—"

            Suddenly Daniel sailed back through the air. At least ten yards. The gun flew from his hand, and he hit the floor next to a window. Somebody shouted, and a woman stared at the gun as it slid under her table.

            Atlan growled. “Don’t think that’s going to—”

            Then Christine joined him. She lifted both her hands, a smile on her lips, and nodded to Ross.

            Atlan shot up into the air. The ceiling was at least 15 feet, maybe more, and his head slammed it hard. Then she and Ross lowered their arms, and Atlan plummeted to the floor.

            His body landed with a thud next to an empty table. Then the room came back to life. A family at the next table over saw Atlan on the floor, and the father’s chair fell over as he jumped back. The mother just stared.

            I put a hand on Ross’ shoulder. “Thanks. Let’s get out of here.”

            He nodded and took Christine’s hand. “Yeah.”

 

I expected Rachel to be mad when we showed up at the apartment, but she just looked Ross and Christine over and sighed. “Welcome, I guess. Bathroom’s though the bedroom there if you need it. Help yourself to anything in the fridge. Can we talk, Tom?” She pointed to the office.

            At my desk I said, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t think of anyplace to take them. We can’t go back to the hotel, Atlan knows where that is, and we don’t—”

            “Shut up.” She punched my arm. “It’s fine. I was getting bored anyway. Just, what are we going to do with them? Adopt them? Is Atlan going to show up here? Should I call someone to take notes in my class tonight?”

            “I don’t know.” I sat down, suddenly very tired. “I probably should call my client. At least let her know Ross and Christine are safe. I need coffee.”

            “Call them. I’ll get you coffee and make sure they’re not getting into our beer. Or making out in our bedroom. Teenagers.” She gave me a quick kiss and left.

            I called the hotel and got Helena’s room. “I’ve got Ross and Christine here with me,” I told her before she could say anything. “They’re safe. Atlan was after us. I lost track of Cecilia, do you know where she is?”

            “No, I thought—” 

            “She knocked me out at Jackie’s place and disappeared, right before Atlan showed up—”

            “Who is Jackie? I’m confused.”

            I was too. I gave her a quick recap of my day. “Atlan knew when Ross was coming in last night, he knew where you were staying, he knew I was at Jackie’s, although he seemed to think he’d find Ross there. That’s why I didn’t bring them there to the hotel.”

            “All right.” She paused, thinking. “I’m not sure what to do. I’ll have to contact Micah to let him know Christine is safe. I can locate Cecilia. Then we can—just a moment. What?  . . . What are you—”

            The line went dead.

            I called again. The hotel phone rang 16 times before I hung up. I didn’t have a cell phone number for Helena. But it was clear something bad had happened.

            Rachel came back with a mug of coffee. “They’re watching TV—” She saw my expression. “What’s wrong?”

            “Looks like they got Helena.” I took the coffee. “Thanks.” I took a sip, then stood up. “I have no idea what to do, but . . .” I went out to the living room.

            They were holding hands and watching Friends. Christine put it on mute. “What’s going on?”

            “I was talking to Helena and she got cut off.” I put my coffee down. “I don’t know what’s happening. Christine, we should call your—uncle? Is Micah your uncle? Whatever, we need to let him know you’re all right.”

            She pulled her hand from Ross. “I can call—let me use your phone, Ross. I don’t know Micah’s number, and I left my phone at the airport, but I can call my mom and have her call him.”

            “What about Helena?” Ross handed over his phone while looking at me. “What happened?”

            “I was talking to her, and then the line went dead. Do you have a cell phone number for her?” I was scrolling through my phone. “Let Christine call first. Get a number for Micah. I’m going to—” Cecilia and I had exchanged numbers. I called her. The phone buzzed once. Twice. Then—

            “Hi, Tom.” Cecilia sounded chipper. “Sorry about knocking you out there, I just had—”

            “Never mind that right now.” I was annoyed. I saw Rachel raise an eyebrow. “Are you working for Atlan?”

            “What? Of course not. Did you find Ross?”

            “Yeah, and I’ve got them both here with me right now. Someone’s attacking Helena, I think. So what’s your deal? Why did you knock me out and take Jackie?”

            “I didn’t want to risk Jackie getting hurt. I figured you could take care of yourself.”

            That was nice, but—“Wait, you know Atlan was going to show up?”

            “I can explain. Just not right now. When you hear from Atlan, tell me what he wants. It’s going to be okay. ‘Bye.” She hung up.

            What the—? I looked at Rachel. She looked back at me. For a moment there was nothing for either of us to say.

            Christine gave Ross her phone. “I talked to my mom. She’s calling Micah. He’ll call back, and then, I don’t know, I might have to go back home.” She looked at Ross. “Sorry.”

            He nodded, trying to be all mature. “I just, uh, want you to be safe, you know?”

            It looked like part of the trip had been a success, at least. I just had to make sure both lovebirds survived to have a second date. “Do you have a number for your aunt?” I asked. “Maybe she’ll pick up—”

            But the buzz of my phone interrupted me. Unknown number, but the way my day was going—“Tom Jurgen speaking.”

            “Tom.” Atlan. “Your young friends have a lot to learn, but they pulled a good one at the aquarium. Four Tylenols and my head is still throbbing.”

            “Sorry to hear that,” I said. “Did the sarcasm come through? My girlfriend says it’s not always obvious over the phone.”

            “Loud and clear, Tom. Now listen up so this comes through. You know what? Put me on speaker so everyone can hear me.”

            I switched to speaker and set the phone down. “Atlan.”

            Ross straightened up, tensing his shoulders as if aching to throw a punch. Christine stared at my phone as if it were a snake trying to hypnotize its prey. Rachel just crossed her arms and waited.

            “Ross? Christine?” Atlan was trying to sound reassuring and reasonable, like a devoted uncle. “I don’t want to hurt you guys. I want to teach you. I want to show you how you can use your power and not have to follow all those rules your parents and relatives have been trying to force on you all your lives. That’s all.”

            Ross opened his mouth, but I held up a hand, and he shut up. Atlan went on:

            “Now, I want you to meet me in 30 minutes. There’s an alley behind the hotel, and I’ll have a car there. You’ll get to see your aunt, and then you can come with me. Like I said, I won’t hurt you. We’ll go someplace where no one will bother you, and I’ll teach you some things you need to know. Does that sound all right?”

            “And if they don’t want to go anywhere?” I asked. “What happens to Helena?”

            Atlan paused. “Then she comes with me. And anyone else I can scoop up before I leave. I want to get home, Tom, but I want some souvenirs too. Thirty minutes.” He hung up.

            I picked up the phone. ”Anything?” I asked Rachel.

            She shrugged. “You know I can’t pick up much over a phone call. He’s telling the truth, as far as it goes. But he definitely doesn’t have warm fuzzy feelings for Helena. That came through hard.” She glanced at Christine and Ross. “I’m psychic. A little.”

            At least I didn’t have to worry about explaining that. “What do you think?” I asked them. 

Ross looked at Christine. She looked away, but reached for his hand. 

It wasn’t fair to make them decide, of course. But it wasn’t my call. Helena would probably tell them to stay away from Atlan, even if he really meant to kill her. Micah, too. Their parents, definitely, even if we had time to call them. 

I could just shut it down on my own, of course. Refuse to follow Atlan’s demands no matter what the kids thought they wanted to do. But this was their family. Their business. I could help, but the decision had to belong to them.

            “We can take him,” Ross said finally. “I mean, we did already.”

I envied his confidence, but I knew some of the mistakes I’d made when I was his age. “He’s older and meaner than you two, and he’ll be ready this time.”

Christine smiled. “So will we.”

On the other hand, I didn’t know what they were capable of. Maybe 

Rachel and I looked at each other. “Do we need Donald?” she asked. Donald Duck was the name for the Glock we kept in the closet for potentially dangerous situations.

I nodded. “I hope not, but yeah. Maybe you should get him.” I tapped my phone. “I’m going to call Cecilia.”

Teenage Romance, Part Five

I pulled up beside a big dumpster 45 minutes later and turned my car’s engine off. “Here we are.”

The sky was a dirty gray, threatening rain. The alley was narrow, with shadows falling from both sides like dusty curtains . Opposite the Hotel Venetian was the back door of an Italian restaurant, and the air in between smelled like a mixture of garlic and laundry detergent. A pigeon sat on top of one of the hotel’s dumpsters, poking at a French fry, then flapped over onto the other side to investigate a crust of garlic bread.

The black SUV that had tried to run me off the highway last night blocked the way forward. The passenger door opened, and Daniel jumped out. He scowled at me, then pulled on the rear door’s handle, sliding it back.

Helena sat in the rear seat, buckled in, duct tape over her mouth and wrapped around her wrists and arms in front. She looked over at me, then saw Ross and Christine. She closed her eyes for a moment, then glared at me like a wolf on a chain, ready to snap my neck if I got too close.

Rachel got out. She’d insisted on coming, and I’d learned not to argue with her about that. “So now what?” She looked around.

We waited a moment in silence. Then Atlan walked around the front of the van. Same corduroy jacket, fresh Starbucks cup.

“Still with the coffee?” I asked. “You should talk to your doctor about caffeine.” I was trying to be cocky to cover up the churning in my stomach. Also to look good in front of Rachel. 

“We all have our vices.” He took a sip and smiled at Rachel. “And you are?”

“Rachel. I’m with him.” She nudged me. 

He ran his eyes up and down. “Nice to meet you.” Then he turned to the teenagers. “Welcome, Ross. Christine. I’m glad you decided to make the right decision.”

“Let my aunt go.” Ross’ voice was quiet, tense.

Atlan took another sip of coffee, then nodded to Daniel. “Get her out. She stays bound, though. And keep the tape on her mouth, especially.”

Daniel seemed unhappy at taking orders, but maybe he was just still mad about being slapped around by Ross. He grabbed Helena by the shoulders and yanked her from the vehicle. Her feet were free, and she swayed unsteadily next to him. 

“Go to his car,” Atlan told her. “Ross—Christine? Come on. I want to get out of this city.”

“What’s your plan, Atlan?” I didn’t have much of a plan myself—I was mostly trying to play for time. Plus, I was curious. “Family takeover? World domination? Or just no more boring Thanksgiving dinners?”

He laughed. “It depends. Right now I just want us to all be together. Get to know each other. Find out what we can do together if we put our minds to it. You’ll see, guys.” He motioned them toward the SUV. “Come on. It’s going to be fun.”

Helena didn’t move. Daniel gave her a shove, and she staggered forward, trying to pull at the tape around her wrists and arms. She twisted her head to glare at Atlan, and I could see her lips struggling to form words beneath the tape over her mouth. A curse? Or just cursing? Either way, I couldn’t hear whatever she as trying to say.

“Come on.” Atlan was growing impatient. “In the car, kids. Now.”

“We’re not kids!” Ross shouted.

Atlan hurled his Starbucks to the ground. The cup burst, spilling coffee over the pavement. He jabbed a finger at the two of them. “Now!”

Ross’s body started to tremble. He lumbered forward, his feet sliding, as if some force was pulling him. Christine put a hand on his shoulder, then yanked it away as if his jacket had burned her hand.

Then she lifted her arm, mumbling under her breath, and a beam of light shot from her palm. It hit Atlan in the chest, and he took a step back, grunting. Then he planted his feet on the pavement and raised both his arms.

Helena’s eyes went wide with fear, and she tried to shout under the duct tape over her lips.

Ross and Christine suddenly dropped to their knees, clutching their heads in pain. Atlan clenched his teeth, concentrating his power on them.

Then the door behind him popped open and Cecilia stepped out from inside the hotel.

I let myself breathe again. “She could have come sooner.”

“Give a girl a break,” Rachel said. “At least she’s here like she said.”

Atlan glanced over his shoulder, then whirled around. “You—what—why are you—” Then he turned, still pushing down on the teenagers while he snapped his fingers at her.

But Cecilia was already sending a bolt of energy his way, silver and shiny. It sliced his shoulder, ripping his jacket. But he stomped a foot hard, and the ground shook. Cecilia rocked back and forth, off balance, giving him a chance to swing both arms around, fingers spread wide.

Cecilia clawed at the air as if an invisible web was tightening around her. She started gasping for air. Atlan grunted with effort, sweat running down his face as he put his energy into controlling Cecilia. She was more powerful than the kids. She was more dangerous.

Ross, on his knees, reached out for Christine. She nodded, and then started to raise their arms again.

“Hey!” Daniel started reaching under his arm for his handgun.

I was quicker, for once. I had my Glock out, and I pointed it at him with both hands, my finger nowhere near the trigger. “Don’t!” I shouted.

He froze, thank God. I’ve never actually shot anyone—well, not anything human. I didn’t want to start today.

Atlan wasn’t paying me any attention. Cecilia seemed to be fighting to breathe. He kept one arm aimed at her, but he swiveled halfway and raised his other arm like a spear.

Ross and Christine slammed to the ground. Ross’s legs twitched. Blood seeped from his scalp. Christine moaned, face down, crawling into a fetal position.

What now? Maybe I could shoot Atlan. Maybe. Would a bullet stop him, or at least slow him down? Would Daniel shoot me first? What would I tell the cops? 

Helena was twisting on her feet, waving her head back and forth, grunting urgently against the tape over her mouth. Glaring at me.

“The duct tape,” I snapped. Rachel was closer to her. “Take it off. Get it off her—”

I saw Daniel’s look of alarm as Rachel reached for Helena’s cheek, but he couldn’t do anything with my gun on him as Rachel ripped the tape off. Helena moved her jaw back and forth, flicked her tongue over her lips, and opened her mouth wide.

Atlan saw her. Too late. He tried to shift his arm from Ross, but he was—

Too late.

I don’t know what she uttered. Her shout was too loud for me to grasp the words, if they were even in English. Whatever it was, it pushed Atlan to the pavement, right on top of his crushed Starbucks, and held him there. His body twisted as if she was grinding him into the ground, until he gave one long, loud groan and went limp.

Cecilia lurched up, gasping for air. She took a step forward, looked down at Atlan, and kicked him in the butt. “Nice try.”

Rachel started working on Helena’s arms. I kept my handgun aimed at Daniel. “Why don’t you just leave your gun on the ground and get out of here,” I told him. 

He sighed, slowly set his pistol on the pavement, and turned to walk away. “And make better choices in the future, all right?” I yelled. I kept my eyes on him until he turned a corner and disappeared.

“Ross!” Christine was on her knees next to him. “Are you okay?” She touched his face, keeping her fingers clear of the blood leaking from his hair.

“Uh . . .” He blinked. “I think so. My head hurts.” He sat up. “Are you—Helena? What—arw you all right?”

“What on Earth were you thinking?” She was talking to Ross, to me, and to Cecilia at the same time. “You could have been killed! Or worse! Cecilia—”

“I know, I know.” She rubbed her face. “Look, let’s all go upstairs and talk before someone shows up and starts asking why we’re blocking the alley.”

“What about him?” I pointed at Atlan, motionless on the ground. 

“Yeah.” She looked down at him. “Help me get him into the van and find some of that duct tape. I’ll use a spell to keep him out for a day or so, too.” 

I handed my keys to Rachel. “The valet’s out front. Try not to flirt with him too much.”

She smirked. “That’s how I tip these guys.” She opened the door. “What room?”

 

Micah Graves showed up in Helena’s suite 20 minutes later. Maybe he teleported, I don’t know. I was still recovering from the mixture of adrenalin and terror running through my veins, with the help of some of Helena’s whiskey. Rachel cocked an eyebrow at me but didn’t say anything. 

            Micah stalked across the room to Christine, who was on a sofa next to Ross. She stood up and let him hug her, then sat down and took Ross’ hand again, as if telling him which side she was on. Chad watched from the corner of the room.

            He crossed his arms, looked at Helena, and then walked over to the bar for a scotch. Taking a swallow, he turned and looked around the room. “Helena.”

            She nodded. “Micah.”

            Then he turned to me. I was in a chair, with Rachel next to me. “I suppose I owe you an apology. And a thank you.”

            I shrugged. “Actually, Cecilia did most of it.” Rachel jabbed an elbow into my ribs. Subtly. “I mean, I did find Ross and Christine, but she helped. Sort of.”

            Cecilia, next to Helena smiled. “And we’ve got Atlan.”

            Micah smiled. “That calls for another drink.” He poured himself more scotch.

            “That was the point, wasn’t it?” I looked at Cecilia. “Capturing Atlan?”

She was sipping some white wine. “You could say it was a bonus.”

“Did you know he’d come after Ross and Christine?” I looked over at them. “Were they bait?”

Ross stiffened. Christine clutched his arm before he could say anything.

Helena cleared her throat. “Ross and Christine are very important to us. Nothing is bigger than that, and I have to say . . .” She smiled at them. “I’m glad things seem to be going well.”

“But you knew Atlan was coming.”

She looked at Micah. They both nodded. “We were prepared for that,” Helena said. “That’s why Cecilia is here.”

“Yeah.” I looked at her. She was drinking a Coke. 

I’d called her to arrange the ambush on Atlan, but there hadn’t been time to go into details. Now I had to ask: “What’s your deal?”

She glanced at Helena, as if for permission. Helena nodded. Cecilia put down her can of Coke and sighed. “Atlan is my father.”

I lifted my eyebrows, but no one else in the room seemed surprised. “Did everyone but me know that?”

“We didn’t know he’d show up.” Helena picked up a bottle of lotion to rub on her arms. “Until he showed up at the airport. That’s when I called Cecilia.”

“Dad and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms.” She looked at the floor. “Never. Years of abuse—well, it took me a long time, but I finally left. Helena took me in.”

“You went to her?” Micah gripped his glass tightly. “Not us?”

“We had ulterior motives, but we were honest about them.” Helena carefully picked up her own glass of wine. 

“I wanted to get back at him. When I was ready. You would have sent me out for him when I was their age.” She pointed at Ross and Christine. “Helena let me wait.”

Micah scowled. “We spent years looking for him. You could have helped us avoid all that—”

“It’s done, Micah.” Helena raised a hand. 

“Why did you leave me alone at Jackie’s place?” I asked, still annoyed about that. 

“I saw him outside, coming to the building. I knew you’d find Ross. And I didn’t want my father to see me. I—I’ve been waiting a long time to see him again, and I wanted to be, well, ready.” She looked away from me, embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

“Ready with your powers? Or just to see him again?” But Rachel poked me again, so I said, “Is Jackie all right?”

“She’s home now. You should call her,” she told Christine.

Helena cut in, rescuing Cecilia from me. “We were pretty sure he didn’t notice Cecilia when he was here. You managed to get out of sight pretty fast, didn’t you?” I couldn’t tell if she was pleased or disappointed. “But I sent her with you because I knew she’d be the best one to deal with him.”

Having an evil wizard for a father must be traumatizing, so I suppose I couldn’t blame her for ditching me. Rachel could probably write a paper about it. I changed the subject. “Except you were the one we needed in the end,” I told Helena.

She frowned. “It took both of us. All of us.” She rubbed her wrists. “Will my skin ever stop itching?”

“I can send something over,” Micah said. “I’ve got some good stuff. Christine? Let’s go.”

Christine stood up, reluctant, her eyes on Ross. “See you later?”

“Yeah.” He looked away from her, shy, then suddenly darted in for a quick kiss. They smiled, and Christina turned to Micah. “Okay.”

Micah gave Ross a probing look, then nodded to Helena. “Talk to you later.” They left.

Ross immediately went to his room. Cecilia got herself another Coke and poured a glass of sherry for Helena. She offered me another drink, but I shook my head. “We should go.”

Helena stood to hand me a check. I glanced at it and managed to keep my face from bursting with excitement. “Thank you.”

“Thank you.” She shook my hand, then Rachel’s. “Good to meet you.”

I waved to Cecilia. “Good luck with your—with Atlan.”

“Yeah, I’d better call and have someone pick him up.” She pulled out her phone. “Can’t leave my dad tied up in a car all night, can I?”

I nodded to Chad, who only stared solemnly at us.

Ross came back, looking embarrassed, as though he’d forgotten something. He walked up to me and stuck out a hand. “Uh, thanks. Sorry to be a problem.”

“No problem at all.” Well, that wasn’t entirely true, but I was a teenager once too. “Take care.”

In the elevator Rachel took my hand. “Those crazy kids.”

I smiled. “Call me crazy, but I think they’re going to make it.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s your turn to make dinner.”

I frowned. “How about we go out?”

“To dinner? You mean like a date? Or are you just trying to get out of cooking?”

“Why not both? All this teenage romance has me feeling lucky.”

She snorted. “Don’t get your hopes up, loverboy.” 

The elevator doors opened on the lobby. “I’ll take my chances.”

 

# # #

Book of Curses

 A book filled with magical curses falls into the wrong hands, spelling danger for Tom Jurgen when he becomes one of its targets. 

Book of Curses, Part One

“My aunt died recently, and she left me a lot of money,” Vivian Vogel told me.

            I wasn’t sure how to respond. I’m sorry? Congratulations? I just nodded. “Go on.”

            Vivian Vogel was in her 40s, like me, with short dark hair and narrow, guarded blue eyes. We sat in a downtown coffee near her office, where she worked as a sales manager for a pharmaceutical firm.

            “I’m—nervous about where all the money came from.” She leaned down to open a briefcase, then dropped a spiral-bound notebook between our coffees, the kind college students used before laptops and iPads. She opened it to a page halfway through, marked with a Post-it.

            I took a look. It was a list of names, dates, and dollar amounts. Kevin Schneiderman, 5-13-22, $350. Margaret Montgomery, 5-27-11, $750. Cheryl Macon, 7-5-22, $1,250. The entries stopped three months ago. The notebook went back years. 

            “This was two weeks before she died.” Vivian pointed to the last line, halfway down the page. “And it goes back to 2015.”

            “Do you know any of the names?”

            She shook her head. “My aunt—her name was Emma Shipler—she did a lot of things. Ran an art gallery, a yoga studio, Tarot readings, so I guess she met a lot of people. And she did good. She left me her house, and I don’t know what I’m going to do with that.” She sighed. “And my other aunt is mad because she didn’t get the house. But anyway, it’s a nice house, and now I’m wondering, where did all the money come from? Is it legal? Who are all these people? Are they going to come after me?” She sighed again and took a gulp of her coffee.

            I skimmed a few pages of the notebook. “Well, a lot of these names are fairly distinctive. I should be able to find at least some of them and just ask. Is that what you want me to do?”

            “I guess. I could do it, but—well, I’m afraid of what they might say. If it is stolen money, am I going to have to return it? I don’t know.” She groaned softly.

            “Well, you might consult a lawyer. Whoever handled her estate, maybe. But one step at a time—I’ll start calling these people and tell you what I find out.”

            We discussed my fee, and she wrote me a check for a retainer. Then she stood up. “I have to get back to work. Thanks for meeting me.” She left the notebook with me.

            It wasn’t my usual P.I. case, but it looked like an interesting break from cheating spouses and workers comp fraud. I flipped through the notebook, then finished my coffee and headed home.

 

Rachel was getting ready to go to class. “How was the client? Don’t talk to me. I’ll be home early. Or maybe late. Where’s my phone? You’re making dinner. Can I borrow $20? I’m almost out of gas.” She zipped up her hoodie.

            Rachel’s my girlfriend. We’ve been living together for years. She’s got red hair, hazelnut eyes, and mild psychic abilities, which come in handy on some of my cases—the psychic powers, I mean. She’s been studying psychology on top of working as a graphic designer, so lately she’s been pretty busy. I was trying not to feel neglected.

            I gave her $20. She gave me a quick kiss before leaving. “Wish me luck on my presentation.”

            What presentation? I had no idea, but I said, “Break a leg!” anyway. She was already halfway out the door.

            After checking my email and doing some paperwork on my other cases, I started on Vivian Vogel. First I did a quick check on her aunt, Emma Shipler, just to confirm the details of Vivian’s story. 

Emma Shipler was in fact dead, at least according to the obituary I found. She was 73, an “entrepreneur who founded multiple businesses throughout her life,” a traveler to Europe, Asia, and Africa, and a big fan of Elton John, claiming to have seen him in concert 32 times. Cause of death wasn’t specified. She was survived by a niece, a sister, and a distant cousin. She’d died three months ago.

Research beyond the obituary told me she owned a house in the Ravenswood neighborhood, had declared bankruptcy twice, and had been arrested on a few minor drug and traffic charges. None of it directly contradicted anything my client had told me, but it gave the case some extra context. She wasn’t a master criminal, but she wasn’t about following the rules obsessively.

I ate lunch, made some phone calls for other cases, then opened the notebook. I started with the middle of last year, looking up names in and around Chicago, skipping common names like “Mary Smith” and “Joe Brown.” In half an hour I had 26 names. I started calling.

            A few didn’t answer. I left voicemail messages. Some answered, but were definitely not the right person. Others answered and said they’d never heard of Emma Shipler. But they sounded like they were lying. And scared.

            “Emma—what? Shipler? I don’t think so. No. Sorry. No.”

            “Who? No.” Call ended.

            “I knew someone like that—wait. Wait, no, I didn’t. That was—someone else. Sorry.”

            Finally, close to the end of my list, I found someone. Her name was Lilah Osgood. The amount next to her name, from six months ago, was $360.

            “Emma? Yes, I remember her from a class I took on healing crystals. She was—why are you calling again?”

            “I’m going through some financial records of her. She passed away a few months ago—”

            “Oh! That’s too bad. I didn’t know her that well, but—that’s too bad. Are you a relative?”

            “No, I’m working for a relative. We have records of a payment you made to Ms. Shipler of $360 on Nov. 21 of last year. Can I ask what that was for?”

            She hesitated. “Well . . . I guess it’s all right. It’s just—it’s going to sound a little silly.”

            “That’s all right. We’re just making sure everything is accounted for correctly.” I waited.

            “Well . . . my dog Pepper was sick. Really sick. And Emma said—it’s just, I was so worried, and when she said she could make Pepper better, I gave her some money. And then she got better. I don’t know what she did, or if she really did anything, but my dog was happy and healthy again, and I didn’t think about it again.” I could hear the smile in her voice.

“So Ms. Shipler cured your dog, and you paid her?” Honestly, that’s far from the craziest thing I’ve ever heard as a P.I., and that’s not even counting vampires and demons.

“Yes. She knew how much I love Pepper, she’s all I’ve got. One day Pepper was fine, and the next she wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t go for walks, just slept all day. And had—stomach problems, you know?”            

“Right. But Pepper’s fine now?”

“Absolutely perfect. The vet couldn’t figure it out, but all I care about is my dog is here with me. Aren’t you, Peps? She’s here right now.”

“That’s good. Well, thanks, Ms. Osgood. You’ve been a big help.”

The next two people on my list said they’d never heard of Emma. They seemed to be lying, but I didn’t push them. Then came Cristen Archer.

“I swear she did something to my plants.” She barely let me have any time to explain who I was and what I wanted. “I have dozens of plants—mostly succulents, they take a lot of care. She lived in my building for a few months. My plants just started dying for no reason, and one day I ran into her outside and she asked, out of nowhere, how my plants were doing. And I knew, I just knew, you know?” She paused for breath. “And she said, maybe she could do something about them, but it would cost me. I didn’t understand what she meant, but in the end I gave her a check for $120 just to see if she could do anything. I figured I could stop payment if I wanted to, but then right away my plants started recovering. I looked for her to ask what she did, but I never ran into  her. I guess she moved out.”

I thanked her, made some notes, and took a break for a Coke.

Rachel came home. “How’d your presentation go?” 

“I was great.” She dumped her backpack on the floor and unzipped her hoodie. “Abnormal psych is my thing, apparently.”

“With me around, you’ve got lots of material. Not even counting the vampires and monsters and stuff.”

“You’re very abnormal.” She gave me a quick kiss. “How’s the new case?” She slumped in her chair and closed her eyes.

“Getting interesting. A few more calls, and I’ll start on dinner.” We take turns, mostly, although lately I’ve been in charge of dinner more because of Rachel’s grad school schedule. “Vegetarian tacos okay?”

“Lots of jalapenos.” She yawned. “Let me check my email and pretend to do work for half an hour.”

She put on noise canceling headphones while I made my calls. The next few didn’t get me anywhere. But then—

Bryce Preston started talking right after I introduced myself and mentioned Emma’s name. “That bitch! What does she want now?” He’d paid Emma $1,200 in January of this year. 

“She’s dead,” I told him. “I’m working for a relative. It’s about the $1,200 you paid Emma Shipler on Jan. 19 of this year.”

“Dead?” He hesitated. “Okay. I mean, I’m sorry she’s dead, but—honestly, she screwed me over like a—I don’t mean screwed, it wasn’t like that. More like a gangster.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s—” He sighed. “I was stupid. I think. We were in a creative writing class together. I was—well, I wrote a profile of my girlfriend. Fictional, but her. And we read it in class, we’d exchange projects and make comments on them, and she got mine. When she gave it back, her comment at the button was, ‘It would be bad if she got sick.’ I didn’t know what she meant. I was exaggerating some stuff, all right? I made my girlfriend out to be worse than she really is, maybe I was mad at her that day.”

I glanced over at Rachel. “That happens.”

“But the next day my girlfriend got sick. Really sick. Like, throwing up and a fever and blurry vision and everything else. She wouldn’t go to the ER. And I remembered that note from Emma, and I emailed her, and she basically said she could make Sherry get better if I helped her out. And I was half crazy, so I sent some money to her Venmo, and right away Sherry started getting better. It was weird. I sent her another email asking her what was going on, you know? And she just said, ‘Things happen.’ And she never came back to class after that.”

I looked at Preston’s name in the notebook, processing his story. “You think she was somehow responsible for your girlfriend getting sick?”

“I don’t know. All I know is she took me for $1,200 when I was too worried to think straight. I never wanted her dead or anything, but—I just never want to have anything to do with her again.”

I thanked him, and he hung up.

I wrote up some notes. Rachel was still working. After finishing off some minor business, I went to the kitchen to open a beer and start dinner.

Rachel came in while I was putting tortillas on a plate. “Smells good.” She opened the refrigerator for a beer.

I told her about Vivian, Emma Shipler, and her list. And the people I’d talked to. “It looks like Emma was some kind of a witch.” 

Rachel shook her head. “I swear, these cases just find you. Like it’s your curse.” She started assembling her taco.  “Pun intended.”

“At least she didn’t kill anybody. That we know about.” I took a sip of beer. “I just wonder what my client’s going to say when I tell her that her aunt was apparently a curse-slinging witch. It’s not exactly what you expect to hear from your friendly neighborhood P.I.”

“It sounds like the mafia, or some sort of witchy protection racket. ‘Nice dog you’ve got there, shame if anything happened to it.’” She grabbed the hot sauce. 

“That’s me, Tom Jurgen, private eye. Tangling with the witch mafia. I hope the client believes me.” 

 

I called Vivian Vogel the next morning. She listened to my report without interrupting, and then said, “That’s crazy.” She thought for a moment. “I mean—that is crazy, but I can kind of believe it. Emma was—weird. Different. Like I said, she never could settle on any one thing. And I always wondered how she could afford things. Like the house she gave me. I guess—” She sighed. “I was worried she was selling drugs or running a brothel out of the house. This is better, I guess.”

“None of the people I talked to said she’d done them any permanent or serious harm,” I said. “I mean, I can’t say that’s a good thing, but I don’t think they can come after you in court.”

“Yes, but—that doesn’t mean I’m comfortable with all that money. Should I try to track people down, or—wait a minute.”

“What?”

“How would she do it? Snap her fingers? Do a spell? Summon a, a demon?”

I don’t know a lot about witchcraft, although I’ve encountered enough witches in my work. “Any of those ways, yes, or it could be something else. I’ve, uh, had some dealings with the supernatural.”

“I’m just thinking.” She sighed. “My other aunt, Mina. She’s mad at me because Emma didn’t leave the house to her. She made me let her into the house so she could look for stuff that belonged to her. I wonder—what if she took something?”

Something that helped Emma set the curses on people? That could be a problem. “Where did you find the list?”

“At her house. She had an office.  I don’t think Mina went in there, but I wasn’t with her every single minute.”

“Could you tell if something was missing?”

“Maybe. I might.”

Rachel walked into the office, carrying her Wonder Woman coffee mug. 

“Any chance of going to the house sometime today?” I asked Vivian.

“I could take some time this afternoon. Maybe around two?”

“I’ll call you back.” We hung up.I looked at Rachel.

Rachel sipped from her mug. “What’s going on?”

“Do you have class today?”

“It’s a night class. Why?” She was justifiably suspicious.

“The house where the witch, or whatever, lived. Could you come out with me to see if you feel any magic? There might be something missing or stolen that you could pick up traces of.”

Rachel set down her mug and crossed her arms. “So you want me to blow off all my work to help you on another case? Should I tell you how much work I have to do? How much homework I have? How much stress I’m under?” She took a step toward me, and I tensed.

Then she leaned forward to give me a kiss. “Thank God. I need a break. But you have to buy me ice cream afterward.”

“As you wish.” I smiled and picked up my phone.