This Wicked Game

FOURTEEN

“You know you can’t tell anyone about this, right?”

Xander was sitting next to Claire at the Muddy Cup. It had taken her fifteen minutes on the phone to convince him that there was no point keeping Allegra out of things. He’d finally agreed to meet them when Claire swore she hadn’t said a word about the possible connection between Estelle and Maximilian.

“I’m on your side,” Allegra said. “Anything we give the Guild will just disappear into the Cone of Silence.”

Sasha laughed.

“Seriously,” Allegra continued. “We’d never know what, if anything, they’d done with the information. And the truth is, it probably wouldn’t be much. I don’t even think most of them are that powerful. Working potions for love and protection is a whole different thing than dealing with black magic and a threat that could involve all of us. I just don’t think they’re equipped, you know?”

“Okay,” Claire said, shuffling through the letters. “The only thing we have to go on is this woman named Sorina and the spell she and Marie were talking about.”

“The Cold Blood spell,” Sasha said.

Claire looked around nervously before nodding. “Right. I’m thinking we start at home, check out our family resource material for any mention of Sorina or this spell. Between the four of us, we have some serious voodoo history right under our own roofs.”

“My mom keeps some really old recipe books locked up in our ritual room,” Allegra said. “I’ll see if I can get a look at them.”

“Just remember, nobody says anything to the Guild until we all agree,” Xander said.

“We can meet here tomorrow and compare notes,” Claire suggested.

“Sounds like a plan,” Sasha said.

They talked for a few more minutes before Allegra and Sasha got up to leave, Allegra talking nonstop as they moved away from the table. They were almost to the door when Sasha glanced back, mouthing the words, “Help me.”

Claire laughed, picking up her bag and following Xander outside.

“I’ll give you a ride,” he said. “We can throw your bike in the back.”

“No thanks,” she squeezed his hand. “I want to think, clear my head.”

“I’m not crazy about the idea of you riding around the city by yourself with everything that’s going on.”

She smiled. “I’m fine. It’s not that far. Besides, it’s not like the firstborns are being snatched off the street. With all the break-ins, I’m probably in more danger at home.”

“Great. I feel so much better now,” he said sarcastically.

“I love you.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “But you worry too much.” She lifted her leg over the bike, glancing back at him. “I’ll text you when I get home.”

She started pedaling. A couple of minutes later, she left the busy streets behind and was gliding through the shade of the towering oaks in the residential district. She wasn’t the only one taking advantage of summer. In one front yard, two toddlers ran through sprinklers, squealing and giggling while their mother sat on the porch, flipping the pages of a magazine with a glass of iced tea by her side. Claire passed a couple of girls about her age, deep in discussion as they traversed the cracked, uneven sidewalk. Somewhere in the distance, a lawn mower hummed the sound track to every summer she could remember.

She wondered if it would be different in New York or New Hampshire or Connecticut. If kids ran through sprinklers, if teenage girls shared their secrets on long walks, if everyone mowed their lawn. For a minute, she felt a pang of loss so powerful her heart hurt. The truth was, no matter how much she wanted to get away, New Orleans was her home.

She would miss it.

She was thinking about the people at the house on Dauphine, wondering what could bring such an odd group of people halfway around the world to the Guild’s doorstep, when she glanced to the left to make sure she was clear for a turn.

That’s when she noticed the car behind her.

In this part of town, the Range Rover stood out like a sore thumb. It was black, just like the one Eugenia and the men had gotten out of in front of the house on Dauphine. Claire looked again, trying to make it casual as she tried to get a glimpse at who was driving. It was hopeless. The windows were tinted just enough to make identifying the driver impossible.

She made the turn, watching in her peripheral vision to see if the car followed her. It did, and her heartbeat picked up its pace, beads of sweat jumping out on her forehead as panic hit her system.

She calculated the distance to home. Probably less than a mile.

She was relieved to see a balding man in plaid pants brushing a fresh coat of white paint on the columns fronting his porch. Across the street, a woman was bent over a flower bed, planting a row of azaleas from under the shade of her wide-brimmed hat.

Claire tried to calm herself with the knowledge of their presence. It’s not like whoever was in the Rover would do something to her with witnesses around. Would they?

She focused on the road, on the swiftly closing distance between where she was and her house, now only two streets over. When she turned right at the next corner, she dared a glance behind her, hoping the car wouldn’t follow.

It did.

She pedaled faster. One more block. One block and another right turn and her driveway would be there.

A blue SUV came into view, slowly backing out of one of the driveways. Claire contemplated trying to beat it, going around in an effort to lose the Rover. After a moment’s indecision, she hit the brakes, stopping as the car reversed all the way into the street. A look back confirmed that the Rover was still there, idling quietly behind her. She saw the shadow of the driver, but she couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman.

The driver of the SUV—a woman with a boy in the passenger seat next to her—lifted a hand to Claire before heading down the street. At least someone had been witness to her presence there.

She started moving again, picking up speed, pumping the pedals so hard that she was standing on them as she made the final turn onto her street. She didn’t even look back to see if the Rover was still there. She focused on her house, half hidden by old trees and the bushes that seemed to grow wild near the iron gate. Then she was coasting up the driveway, steering her bike into the shelter of Spanish moss hanging from the giant elm tree next door.

She wondered if it was her imagination that someone stared at her from behind the darkened windows of the Rover as it drove past, finally disappearing beyond the edge of the property.

Claire took a hot shower, washing off the sweat and dirt of the day and changing into loose boxer shorts and a T-shirt. Her parents were at some kind of charity event, so she had plenty of time to go through the family spell and potion books.

But there was something she wanted to do first.

The old group photo was still nagging at her, and she opened her computer, looking for the pictures she’d uploaded from the house on Dauphine.

Scrolling through the photos, she stopped on the group picture. Everyone was standing on the lawn, all of them wearing a mix of clothes that looked slightly out of date.

Not quite retro, but not exactly current, either.

She zoomed in as much as she dared, not wanting to lose too much clarity on the faces, and hit the PRINT button. When it was done, she pulled the piece of paper out of the tray and hopped onto her bed, sitting cross-legged against the pillows.

The picture was definitely older. The faded colors in the photograph, the hairstyles, even the bags the women carried shrieked 1990s. The people seemed to know each other. Some of the couples had their arms around each other. That was to be expected. But even a couple of the men were clasping each other on the back, their smiles communicating trust and friendship.

And now she saw something she hadn’t seen before; a little girl in a wheelchair. She was at the edge of the group, almost omitted from the picture entirely, staring intensely into the lens of the camera. As if she was looking right at Claire.

She heard Allegra, recalling her visions . . . and maybe a little girl or something.

Claire brought the picture closer to her face, studying it more closely, willing her mind to make the connection she knew was there. But nothing was clear, and her subconscious was locked tight.

The problem was, she didn’t know what she was looking for.

She crumbled the piece of paper, throwing it across the floor. Then, she got up off the bed and headed downstairs.