"I, Catherine Amanda Gale, being of sound mind..."
"That's always been debatable," Auntie Jane snorted.
"... and body do hereby leave all my worldly possessions to my granddaughter, Alysha Catherine Gale. These possessions include the building at 1223 9th Avenue S.E., Calgary, Alberta and all its contents." Allie set the handwritten sheet of paper down and took a deep breath. Then a second. "That's all there is. She signed it on the 28th and had it witnessed by a Joe O'Hallon. I think it's O'Hallon. I mean his penmanship sucks, but I just spent eighteen months reading some pretty hinky documentation, and field archaeologists have remarkably crappy penmanship and..."
"Allie."
She snapped her mouth shut and turned to her mother, reaching out to touch her shoulder. The soft nap of her sweater was still cool from walking down the lane to get the mail. Was it possible that so much had changed in such a little time? "Oh, Mom, I'm sorry. Here I'm all thrown by losing my grandmother, and you've lost your mother."
"She isn't dead."
"But..." Frowning, Allie tapped the letter. "She says she's dead."
If you're reading this, Alysha Catherine, I'm dead. Don't make a fuss-it's a state we all come to in the end. Except possibly for Jane who may be too mean to die. Now that it's happened, I need you to do me a favor. I have a small business in Calgary that's become crucial to the local community, and I want you to take it over. There's an apartment upstairs. I've left the keys with Kenny in the coffee shop next door. He'll hand them over when you settle my tab. Don't dawdle.
"She lies." Auntie Jane unplugged the kettle and filled the old brown teapot with boiling water. "She's always lied when it suited her."
When warm fingers closed around hers and squeezed gently, Allie turned her attention back to her mother-whose expression seemed caught halfway between comforting and exasperated. "If she was dead, sweetie, the aunties would know."
"But she didn't make it home this weekend." If she could have come home, she would have. Allie knew that. They all knew that. Rituals brought the wild ones home, even if they never stayed.
"We're not saying she isn't up to something," Auntie Jane pointed out, setting the teapot on the table. "We're just saying she isn't dead."
"Who isn't dead?" Auntie Ruby asked, shuffling into the kitchen and lowering herself carefully into one of the chairs.
"Catherine."
"Has she been buried?"
"Of course not, you old fool."
"Then what difference does it make? Pour my tea now, Jane dear. Off the top.You know I can't drink it when it turns to tar."
"Hey, Allie-cat! What's new?" Michael sounded just like he always did-happy to hear from her.
She clutched the phone a little tighter and concentrated on breathing. Her reaction was always more intense when she hadn't spoken to him for a few days.
"It's like the little mermaid," she'd told Charlie once, lying curled on her bed and emphatically not listening to Michael and his date through the suddenly too thin walls of their student apartment. "Only instead of walking on razor blades, it's like they're filling my chest."
"She gave up her tail for feet." On the other end of the phone, Charlie sounded merely curious. "What did you give up?"
"Michael."
"You didn't so much give him up as you never had him and, if you'll recall, no one forced you to share an apartment with him."
"He's my best friend. I love living with him."
"Have I told you lately that you're an idiot?"
"Allie?"
"Sorry. Got distracted." She never let it show in her voice; that wouldn't be fair to him. And his stupid perfect relationship. "It seems Gran's left me a business in Calgary."
"Left you? What do you mean, left you? She died?" He knew the family well enough to delay his reaction, but Allie could hear shock and grief waiting to emerge. Michael adored Gran, and she felt the same way about him. Of course, everyone felt the same way about him.
"The aunties don't think so."
His relief was palpable. "The aunties are usually right."
She felt almost sorry for those few seconds he'd believed the worst. Almost. She'd had to live through them, too. "Suck up."
"Hey, sucking up gets me pie. Auntie Jane has mad skills with blueberries." Memory provided a perfect shot of dimples flashing as he leaned back and stretched out long legs. "So, what are you going to do?"
"I don't know. They want me to go out there and figure out what she's up to."
" Calgary 's a lot closer to Vancouver. Makes it easier for us to see each other."
She'd thought of that. "So I should go all the way out to Calgary just on the chance I'd see you more often?"
"Pretty much, yeah. Oh, crap. Allie, I've got to go. I've got an outside elevation I have to finish before the client arrives, and he just walked in."
"You're still at work?"
"You can rearrange the world for your convenience, and you can't remember a three-hour time difference?"
"I can't rearrange the whole world."
"So you say. Let me know what you decide. Love you."
"Love you, too." But she was talking to a dial tone.
"What did Michael say?"
"How do you know I called Michael first?"
On the other end of the phone, Charlie made a rude noise. "You always call Michael first, Allie."
Michael had received a family phone the same day Allie'd got hers-the day they left for university. Although the phones began as the cheapest pay-as-you-go handset available, by the time the aunties got through with them, they provided free, reliable cell service. There was a strong suspicion among the younger members of the family that the aunties were using the technology to eavesdrop, but-given free, reliable cell service-no one tried too hard to prove it.
Michael'd accidentally flushed his down the toilet during the first party they'd thrown in their shared apartment. Four days later, it had arrived in the mail; plain manila envelope, no return address, still working if a bit funky smelling.
"He said if I moved to Calgary, it'd be easier for us to get together."
"For what? Cappuccinos?" Charlie snorted, sounding frighteningly like Auntie Jane.
"For..." Sitting cross-legged in the tree house, Allie waved a hand, knowing Charlie'd get the intent even if she couldn't see the motion. "Why do you think she left her business to me?"
"Because you're unemployed with no emotional commitments that have any connection to reality."
"You think she saw that?"
"I think your mother called her when your grant ran out and, as your grandmother, she's understandably concerned about your creepy obsession with your gay best friend and thinks you should get a life. And I'm on the phone, dipshit!" Charlie's volume rose. "Keep your pants on, I'll be right there."
"I'm interrupting something."
"Not really. Just a prima donna who's sucking all the life out of this track by insisting it be perfect!"
Allie didn't quite catch the prima donna's answer, but it seemed to involve inserting instruments where they clearly wouldn't fit.
"This," Charlie added with a weary sigh, "is why I hate session work. So what are you going to do? You've never been that far away from home."
"I know." Allie picked at a piece of splintered wood; swore as it drove in under her nail. "I think I'm going," she mumbled around the taste of blood as she sucked at her fingertip.
"You think?"
"I am." Staring across the moonlit pasture at the dark line of the woods, she wondered if Granddad was still hanging around. "You're right, I don't have anything better to do, and I'd like to know what Gran's up to as much as the aunties."
"Doubt that."
"I actually believed she was dead, Charlie." Her reaction lingered; like the phantom pain of a missing limb.
Charlie was quiet for a long moment, then she sighed. "All right, then."
"Besides, I can always come home when I need to." Like Charlie did. Well, not quite like Charlie did, but there were plenty of aunts and cousins out in the world. As each generation got larger, more of the Gale girls spread out, came home for ritual, spread out again. "You know they have these things called airplanes now."
"They smell like ass and they make you check your guitar."
"I don't have a guitar."
"It's not all about you, sweetie. Hey, you want me to come with you? You could be Nancy Drew and I can be the snappy sidekick with the gender inappropriate name. I always figured they were getting it on."
Allie grinned and leaned back against the tree house wall, the faded catalog pages that covered it crinkling under her weight. "You also figured Daphne and Velma were getting it on. If I haven't solved the mystery of the missing grandmother by the time you've finished the demo, come out then, okay?"
"Okay. And now we've got your life sorted, I'm needed elsewhere. Someone found two brain cells to rub together, and we might actually make some music tonight."
"Have fun." But she was talking to dead air. Again.
Flat on her back, feet out over the edge, she stared up through the latticework of branches and wondered why, at twenty-four, she still felt as though she were waiting for her real life to begin.
Off in the darkness, a small animal screamed and died.
She decided not to consider it an omen.
Allie left Wednesday morning. Aunt Andrea, Charlie's mother, who ran Darsden East's single travel agency, got her a last-minute ticket at a deep discount and her father took a personal day to drive her to the airport.
"They've all got reading to catch up on, Kitten," he told her, getting into the truck. "It won't kill them to sit quietly and make the attempt. Besides, I had a word with Dmitri. He'll keep our lot under control, and you know what they say..."
"It's better to follow a Gale than get in their way." Allie fastened her seat belt, twisted to wave at her mother and the aunties on the porch then settled back in the seat with a sigh as they started down the lane. "Dmitri's in charge at the school?"
"Fought Cameron for it back in the fall." They drove in silence for a few kilometers, gravel pinging up against the undercarriage. Then, as they turned onto the paved county road, he added, "I think Dmitri's after your granddad's job."
"Dad, he's eighteen."
"Granted, but that'll change. He's looking ahead. Building alliances."
Allie rolled her eyes. Gale boy or not, Dmitri thought a little too highly of himself. "It doesn't work like that, and the aunties would never choose him, not if he wants it that much."
"You're sure?"
"Pretty sure, yeah." She shifted inside the confines of the seat belt, really not wanting to talk about why she was sure with her father even though he had to have known that Dmitri'd spent Thursday night. He'd given him a ride to school Friday morning, so the odds were good. "Dmitri's not powerful enough, and he's too... tame." Not quite the best description, but anything more exact crossed over the TMI line. Way over. Gale women were attracted to power, and it took a lot to keep them from wandering off. Dmitri just didn't have what it took to hold the rituals in place.
"David..."
Allie waited for more, but the name just hung there.
"David's not tame," she said at last, rubbing at a smudge on the window with her sleeve. And then, because it was clearly where the conversation was heading, added, "Auntie Jane wants him."
"So I've heard." The aunties shared the habit of talking amongst themselves like they were the only ones in the room and, with two of them in the old farmhouse, her father had likely heard any number of conversations he'd have been happier remaining ignorant of. "Your Auntie Jane is worried David's going to turn. Says it's been very a long time since a Gale boy went bad, and it's not going to happen on her watch."
"Really?" Allie felt her lip curl. She couldn't seem to stop it. "And who put Auntie Jane in charge?"
"I suspect Auntie Jane did."
Hard to argue with that, actually. Even among the aunties, who insisted on a lack of hierarchy, force of personality won out. Even Gran had deferred to her, although she'd done it mockingly. Allie drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "David's not going to turn."
"They're worried about how much time he spends away from the family."
"He's there if he's needed. And come on, Dad, he works with the police. He helps put bad guys in jail. He's... David. Sure he gets all dark and brooding sometimes, but hello, great power, great responsibility... she knows that. They all know that. Or don't they listen to the lectures they give us?"
"You're his baby sister, Kitten.You're not exactly unbiased."
"You're his father!"
"Well, fathers. Sons. It's complicated."
She glanced over at her father's smooth profile. Allie had asked her mother once if she'd been afraid the aunties would turn him down when she'd presented him. He was smart and funny and infinitely patient, but he brought nothing out of the ordinary to the family.
Fortunately, her mother had understood. "Don't worry, Allie, when the time comes, they'll approve Michael. Everyone likes him and that's a very useful trait for the family to acquire. Or control if it comes to it. As for your father, well, your gran came home and made such a nuisance of herself that I think they agreed to accept him at least partially just to shut her up. And, who knows, maybe they saw what I saw in him."
Of course, the aunties had never been given a chance to approve Michael and Allie'd come to see that infinite patience when dealing as an outsider with the Gale family was a wonderful thing to have. David had inherited some of that patience. Allie hadn't. And none of that changed the fact that her father had no scars. He'd never gone head-to-head in a blind rut, unable to stop the need to dominate. He thought he understood his son, but really, bottom line, he couldn't.
"David won't turn," she told him. "And he'll choose when he's ready to choose. If Auntie Jane wants to tie him to ritual and the land, wants to tame him with chains of family obligation, she'll have to go through me!"
One dark brow rose. Unless he'd been practicing, it was likely they'd both gone up, but Allie could only see the one. "Tame him with chains of family obligation?"
"A little melodramatic?"
"Just a bit." But he was smiling and the tense line of his shoulders-tension she thought had come from her leaving-had eased. Which was flattering and not terribly realistic since even Auntie Gwen, whose eyes had only just darkened, could go through her opposition like a knife through meringue. "I take it you don't want me to repeat that to Auntie Jane?"
Allie literally felt her heart skip a beat. "Oh, God, no!"
"It'd help if he'd choose."
David's list was long enough that Allie suspected the aunties had bent a few lines trying to get him safely tied to one of his cousins.
"Or he could go Roland's route. I know there's cousins willing and that'd take the pressure off."
"Dad, shouldn't you be talking about this with David?"
"He gets enough of it from the aunties." He turned just far enough to flash her a self-conscious smile. "I'm not going to add to the chorus. But I still worry."
They talked about other things then; about new babies, and future plans, and what they thought Gran was really up to.
"You need to recognize that there's a chance she's actually dead, Kitten. If anyone could figure out a way to hide it from the aunties, it'd be your gran."
"But why?"
"Just to prove she could."
Yeah. That sounded like Gran. "Then I'll find out how and why it happened."
"All on your own."
"Dad, I'm twenty-four."
"And you're a Gale."
An undeniable statement of fact that could have a myriad of meanings. Allie decided she'd be happier not knowing which particular meaning her father felt applied.
They argued about music.
"I swear to you, Dad, if you say Rush one more time, I'm going to walk the rest of the way to Toronto."
And they talked about Michael although Allie put it off as long as she could.
"I'm not saying you should stop loving him, Allie. I'm just saying you should stop pining for him."
"I'm not pining." Pining meant she thought they might happen someday and she knew they wouldn't. She'd learned to work around the Michael-shaped hole in her life. "Michael was the one for me, and just because I'm not the one for him, that doesn't change things."
"It should."
"It doesn't. What if Mom hadn't wanted you? Or if the aunties hadn't approved you?"
He did her the credit of actually thinking about it for a few minutes. "I'd have moved on. Eventually."
"Well, maybe my eventually just hasn't happened yet." But she only said it because it was what he wanted to hear. "Dad! Last Tim Horton's before the airport!" As he decelerated up the off ramp, Allie gave a quiet thanks for coffee and doughnuts. She'd eat enough fried dough with sprinkles to need larger jeans if it got her out of that particular conversation.
Gales didn't have problems with airport security and, after a short wait, Allie accepted it as her due that the plane had been overbooked and they were bumping her to first class. Or business class. Or whatever they were now calling those seats an adult could actually fit into.
Family influence did not, unfortunately, extend to providing anything worth watching while in the air. Allie read, napped a bit, and pulled her father's final warning out of memory to examine it for content she may have missed.
"Be careful, Kitten. The aunties have been wondering for some time what your grandmother's been up to and her getting you out there is no doubt a part of a much larger... thing. Whatever it is. Also, if you ask me, I think they're afraid."
"The aunties?"
"If your grandmother is dead, then clearly whatever killed her was something outside the norm, or we'd have heard from the proper authorities. And if something was capable of killing your grandmother, then that something is a danger to the entire family."
"Are you saying you don't want me to go?"
"Would you not go if that was what I wanted?" After a long moment, while she searched for the right words, he pulled her into a hug. "It's all right. Just don't take anything for granted and call David if you run into something you can't handle. He's your big brother, it's his job to look after you."
Sometimes Allie wondered if her father paid that little attention to how the family actually worked. "Don't worry, Dad. I'll be fine."
She'd be fine but a long way from home. She could feel family ties stretching. It wasn't a pleasant feeling.
A red light held her cab at the corner of 4th Avenue S.W. and 6th Street S.W. and Allie found her attention drawn to the north along 6th-the streets went north/south, the avenues east/west, but the ease of movement that suggested got canceled out by the compass locations. It wasn't enough to find 6th Street, it was crucial to know which 6th Street.
This 6th Street ended three short blocks to the north, and it looked like the entire west side of that last block was one long, two-story building.
"Excuse me." Allie twisted in the seat, trying to get a better angle. "Do you know what that building is?"
"The nice-looking one with the railing on the roof and the kind of pale stone trim? Big windows? Got all those trees out front behind the fence?"
Allie couldn't see that kind of detail but why not. "Yes, that one."
"No idea. Probably offices." He hit the gas as the light finally changed and sped along 4th Avenue mentioning points of interest as the buildings blurred by. He'd been completely silent all the way in from the airport-Allie didn't count the on-again, off-again duet he'd been performing with Country 105-but her question seemed to have tapped his inner tour guide. "The Old Spaghetti Factory's on 3rd Street, and then there..." A brisk nod as they raced a yellow light through the intersection. "... there's a good Korean barbecue and something Spanish or something and a pizza place. And this is pretty much Chinatown," he added turning south onto Center Street.
Allie would have asked what he meant by "pretty much Chinatown" but thought it might be safer if he concentrated on his driving for a while given that traffic had gone from insane to certifiable. The workday was ending and the sidewalks were fairly crowded, but not one head wore a cowboy hat. What point was there in going west if people dressed like they did in Toronto?
" Calgary Tower," he grunted, turning east on 9th.
As freestanding phallic symbols went, it was smaller than the one Allie was used to, but maybe Calgary felt it had less to prove.
The signs said they were in the southeast part of the city now. Allie had no idea where or when they'd crossed the line.
Pulling out to pass a transport, the cabbie jerked his head to the north with enough emphasis the cab swerved over the center line. " Fort Calgary. Bow River. Oh, and there's a zoo." Across a bridge, and they were suddenly on Atlantic Avenue. "I never been, but it's there."
"Where?"
"There." He jerked his head again, and Allie clutched at the edge of her seat.
"Okay."
Atlantic Avenue S.E. was also 9th Avenue S.E. And 1223 was only three long blocks in from the bridge.
Gran's business, the business that had become crucial to the local community, took up a double storefront and from the road looked to be...
"A junk shop?"
Her driver paused, one suitcase on the sidewalk the other hauled half out of the trunk, and peered up at the sign. "Says The Enchantment Emporium. Fair number of secondhand shops in this area. On the weekends, you'll get antiquers."
"By any other name," Allie muttered, eyes rolling at the emphasis. Gran had charms in the bottom right corner of all eight narrow windows obscuring the view-the lace curtains covering the top half meter of each gleaming glass pane were probably there to give the place an air of shabby gentility-but, from what she could see of the store's content, junk seemed more than accurate.
As the cabbie slowly counted out her change, Allie considered drawing a quick charm. She couldn't stop him from taking other fares to their destinations by the scenic route, but she could arrange it so passengers stayed out of his backseat. In the end she let it go, lifting her finger off the dusty metal and wiping the grime off onto her jeans. Her family didn't get screwed over, so something they'd passed on the way in from the airport had to have been important.
Or would be important.
Eventually.
At least she knew where to find a good Korean barbecue. She factored that information into his tip.
Kenny in the coffeehouse next door was an elderly Asian man who pulled Gran's keys out from under the counter, cupped his hand over the pile, and demanded twelve fifty. "You know where she's gone?"
"No." It seemed the safest answer and had the added benefit of being the truth.
"Yeah, well, she's an original, your grandmother. The things she could do with a yoyo..." As the pause lengthened, Allie cleared her throat and he reluctantly returned from wherever the memories had taken him, pushing the keys toward her. "If you hear from her, you let me know."
"She didn't say anything when she left the keys?"
"Just that you'd be coming for them." Kenny pulled a dark red paper cup off the stack by the cash register and turned to the row of urns behind the counter to fill it. "Alysha Catherine Gale, five foot eight, long blonde hair, usually worn in a single braid, gray eyes, mole under the outside corner of her right eye, sprinkle of freckles, still bites her nails..."
Allie curled her fingers in.
"... drinks her coffee black." He slid it along the same path as the key. "First one's free."
Of course it was. "Thank you, Mister...?"
"Shoji. But call me Kenny, everyone does." Grinning broadly, he waved at the signed photos up on the wall. Allie recognized a few actors, a couple of politicians, one very well known hockey player, and...
"Is that Bob Dylan?"
"It is." Kenny leaned closer although he didn't lower his voice. "I met him at Woodstock."
"Okay." Wondering how much of his own coffee he'd sampled, she picked up her cup and backed away from the counter. "I need to go and..." A wave of the keys filled in the blank.
Kenny beamed, his face pleating into a hundred wrinkles, suddenly looking like one of the apple dolls Auntie Kay entered in the county fair every year. Auntie Kay's were specific to people in and around Darsden East-"Don't be ridiculous, Allie dear, of course it's inert. Now."-but, otherwise, the resemblance was astounding.
Her two suitcases and her carry-on bag were exactly where she'd left them, resting on a charm scuffed into the sidewalk by the junk shop's door. She paused, turned to face the street, and frowned. Something felt wrong. Off.
A teenage boy slouched past; baseball cap on backward, dark glasses covering his eyes, jeans nearly falling off nonexistent hips, the tinny sound of Rita McNeil being the wind beneath someone's wings coming from his earbuds.
An SUV, two pickup trucks, and a car that looked a lot like her Uncle Stephen's ancient Pacer drove by.
Two pigeons stared down at her from the power lines while one stared up at the sky.
Not exactly signs of an approaching apocalypse.
She was probably just reacting to the entirely new and not entirely pleasant feeling of being so far from home.
Key in the lock, she paused again and traced four lines scored lightly into the glass, the spread a little wider than her fingers. There could be a hundred explanations. Her brain kept fixating on the one involving claws, but that didn't make the other ninety-nine any less valid.
The lock turned with a definitive snick. The door opened silently, swinging in on well-maintained hinges. The bank of four light switches was just to the left of the door where light switches always were. Allie reached out with the hand holding the coffee cup and nudged the first one up with the rim.
As the lights immediately overhead came on, hot coffee spilled over her hand.
Swearing, she took four quick steps to a glass display case where she could put the cup down beside a half empty box of glow-in-the-dark yoyos and suck at the scalded skin at the base of her thumb.
It took her a moment to realize what she was staring at through the glass top of the case.
Resting on a folded paper towel, tucked in between a set of cowboy boot salt and pepper shakers and a set of four highball glasses commemorating the Winter Olympics, was a monkey's paw. The fur around the wrist had matted into triangular clumps. Only two of the darker gray, leathery fingers were folded down. It still had a wish left.
"Are you sure it's real?"
Even with the glass between them, it was making her skin crawl. "Pretty sure, yeah." There was only one way to be positive, and Allie didn't want to know that badly.
"How much is she charging for it?"
"Mom! I hardly think that's the point. This is a dangerous artifact just lying out in the open."
"You said it was in a glass case."
Reaching around, Allie slid open the nearer half of the badly fitting wooden panel and then closed it again. Quickly. "The case isn't locked. Anyone could reach in and take it."
"Sweetie, anyone stealing from your grandmother would get exactly what they deserved."
"No one deserves one of those things!" Was it moving? Was that a twitch. She tapped a finger against the glass but didn't see a reaction.
"If you can't handle it, Auntie Jane says she'd be willing to join you."
"I'm surprised none of the aunties insisted on coming with me," Allie muttered, placing a stack of folded T-shirts into her suitcase.
"They want to, but Mother has always made it quite clear they aren't welcome, and now they won't go without an invitation."
"Won't or can't?"
Allie's mother smiled."At this point, it's impossible to tell. Things get tangled."
"No, it's all right." Auntie Jane or a monkey's paw; wasn't that a choice between the lesser of two evils. "I can handle things here. I was just startled a bit by..." Allie's eyes widened. "Mom, there's a signed photograph of a minotaur on the wall behind the counter."
"Probably Boris."
"He dotted his i with a little heart."
"Definitely Boris.Your grandmother seemed very fond of him."
Given the way Boris was built, Allie didn't doubt that in the least.
"You are in cattle country, remember." There was the faint sound of a distant horn, and her mother sighed. "Oh, wonderful; your father stopped at Ikea on the way home from the airport. That explains why it took him so long. And it looks like more bookcases. I'm glad you got there safely, don't forget to put the charm in the fridge. Tom, where are we supposed to put..."
Once again, Allie was listening to a dial tone. "I could start getting a complex about this," she muttered, closing the phone.
Finding the monkey's paw-for certain very small values of the word finding since the horrid thing would have taken work to avoid-convinced her she didn't want to deal with the store until she'd had a shower, a meal, and a good night's sleep. If Gran was keeping that powerful an artifact out in the open, there was no telling what she might have tucked in amongst the junk as a trap for the unwary. Or a not particularly funny joke. The differences could be subtle.
Flicking off the lights, Allie picked up her carry-on bag and headed for the door opposite the store entrance, eyes locked on the employees only sign. If I don't see it, I don't have to deal with it until tomorrow. The door led into a narrow hallway-yet another door opposite led out into a small courtyard of scruffy grass boxed in by buildings on all four sides, three scruffy shrubs in a circular bed defining exact center of the space. To her immediate left, a somewhat grubby two-piece bath, and about ten feet to the right, the bottom step of a long, narrow staircase.
A huge rectangular mirror covered almost half the wall between the door into the shop and the stairs. The glass alone had to be nearly six by four and the addition of the triple-molded pediment and carved frame easily added another foot each way. While her degree was actually in art history, working on the museum inventory had given her enough exposure to antique furniture that Allie was certain she was looking at an actual 1870's Renaissance Victorian piece in walnut, still wearing its original finish. Even with the few flaws she could see, it was worth around five thousand dollars.
And then she noticed her reflection-black dress, black stockings, black shoes, little black purse, and black pillbox hat with a tiny net veil.
"Oh, wonderful." A number of the oldest aunties kept magic mirrors but not on this scale and, as a rule, they didn't leave them running. Stepping back, she folded her arms over her white cotton sweater. Her reflection pulled a tissue from her purse and blew her nose.
Finding meaning in any mirror most closely resembled playing a surreal game of charades.
"If it helps, the aunties say Gran's not dead."
Her reflection wavered and was suddenly in sweater, jeans, and sneakers standing in what looked like a casino.
"Not likely. Not after the last time." Auntie Jane had traveled to Vegas to bail her out, and she had not been happy about it even though a dollar slot machine at the airport had paid for the trip.
Allie's reflection wavered again, and she was naked. She could see Charlie's charm glowing on her shoulder, but her breasts were a bit big.
"Cute," she muttered and started up the stairs.
With any luck, Gran had left documentation lying around somewhere. Without an instruction manual and a way to turn it off, she was stuck sharing space with a large reflective surface exhibiting a juvenile sense of humor.
No surprise; she found charms surrounding the apartment door. Most of them were the standard Gale protections, keeping out those who entered with intent to harm, but a couple were strangely specific. One of them seemed to be denying entrance to crows, and three of them, strategically located, didn't just cover the door but were part of a pattern that warded the entire apartment.
Gran had enemies?
Feeling stupid, Allie connected the dots. Of course Gran had enemies. If Gran wasn't dead, there was a good chance she was on the run from something. If she was dead, that something had killed her.
Allie took a deep breath. A large part of her insisted that opening the door was a bad idea. The rest of her found the right key and slid it into the lock.
All of her paused.
If Gran was dead, there was a chance that Gran's rotting, mutilated corpse could be on the other side of the door because if Gran was dead, there had to be a body. Okay, there didn't have to be a body. Given what it would take to kill Gran, a body after the fact had to be considered optional. And it wasn't as if she hadn't dealt with bodies before; the family maintained a hands-on approach to death.
But, if Gran was dead, the thing that killed her could be waiting on the other side of the door.
Reminding herself that dealing with either a week-old corpse or a something mean enough to get through Gran's charms would be preferable to dealing with Auntie Jane should she call for help before she'd even unpacked, Allie pushed the door open and stepped into an enormous room that was living room and dining room and kitchen combined. From where she was standing, she could see neither corpse nor thing, so she stepped further in and pulled the door closed behind her.
The last of the daylight poured into the room through tall, multipaned windows on both the street and the courtyard sides. The walls were a deep yellow and the floor a dark natural wood, the wide boards probably original to the building. The furniture was large, overstuffed, and predominantly upholstered in dark brown velvet. A quick glance under the cushions proved both of the sofas folded out into queen-size beds. The scuffed rectangular table could easily seat eight. Ten with very little crowding. Twelve if manners weren't a factor. Gran may have left the family behind, but old habits died hard. Fairy lights had been wound around both of the thick steel poles supporting the massive beam that indicated where the interior load-bearing wall had been removed.
Not actual fairy lights, Allie was relieved to see, although she wouldn't have been surprised had Gran been dealing with the UnderRealm.
There were three doors on the far wall.
A double set of French doors, curtained in ivory lace, led into a large bedroom where the wood floor had been painted black and the walls were the same dark red as the heavy velvet drapes over the windows. Allie glanced in at the king-sized bed and tried not to think of minotaurs. There was a duvet on the bed, the red-and-gold damask cover safely purchased and charm free. Allie'd slept under family quilts her entire life, each piece of fabric placed by the aunties to fulfill multiple purposes-Gran had left that combination of protection and influence behind. Now, so had she.
The middle door led to a narrow bathroom with a shower centered in a claw-footed tub, shower curtain hanging in a circle from the ceiling. The rug, like the duvet cover, had been bought, not made.
The third door led to another bedroom piled high with boxes and larger pieces of junk in place of a bed. Peering into a box of bright green baseball caps, Allie realized no one in the family had known exactly where Gran had settled until the letter and the will arrived. She'd come home for holidays and rituals and stayed in touch by phone, but no one had ever visited her here.
That was sad. Even the wild Gales needed family around them once in a while.
There could be a clue to her disappearance hidden somewhere amongst the junk in the spare room.
Or in the junk downstairs.
Or in the medicine cabinet.
Or under the sofa.
"Where the hell do I start?"
Her stomach growled.
"Good answer."
Pulling the door closed, Allie realized she'd have to sleep in Gran's bed.
The sheets had gone into the dryer by the time the take-out Thai arrived. Allie'd picked the restaurant at random from the half dozen stained flyers stuck to the front of the fridge. The fridge itself held only the kinds of food that could last a week or even two; whatever had happened, Gran'd had warning. Or she'd lived on soy sauce, margarine, mustard, and extra old cheese-which couldn't be ruled out. Auntie Ester had lived on gingerbread for the last two years of her very long life. Fortunately, as Allie hadn't the faintest idea of where the closest grocery store was, the freezer and the pantry were better stocked.
On her way back to the stairs, mouth watering at the scent of the Pad Thai Talay, the mirror showed her the delivery boy naked.
"You go, Gran," Allie sighed, taking the stairs two at a time. After she ate, she'd start in on the spare room and leave the store for the morning. Right now, skirting the edges of her grandmother's life was all she could cope with, and that was only because she'd found ice cream in the freezer.
"Honestly, Michael, who needs that much variation?"
"Apparently, your grandmother." He couldn't stop snickering. "Anything look interesting?"
"I don't care if one them looks like yours, I'm not even considering the word interesting as a reaction to a drawer full of my grandmother's sex toys. What am I supposed to do with them? Shut up," she snapped as the snickering turned into a shout of laughter. "I mean, I can't just throw them out. What if the bag breaks open and everyone knows where they came from?"
"The family doesn't have a charm for that?"
"Oh, yeah, of course we have a charm to keep garbage bags from breaking open and half a dozen dildos belonging to our grandmothers from spilling out onto the pavement."
"Problem solved, then."
"Ass."
"You love my ass."
"Oh, please..." Allie reached up and turned off the bedside light. "... everyone loves your ass."
She could see him smiling, see him stretched out on one of their stupid perfect black leather sofas wearing a pair of worn gray sweatpants and an equally worn T-shirt, the tap tap of Brian working on his laptop the perfect quiet background noise. Stupid, perfect, quiet, background noise.
"Lonely, Allie-cat?"
She rubbed the ache in the center of her chest that told her how far she was from home. "A little."
"Where's Charlie?"
" Halifax. Working on a friend's demo." The heavy drapes blocked most of the city sounds. Allie pressed her other ear into the pillow and blocked the rest.
"Want me to stay on the phone until you fall asleep?"
The sheets smelled like fabric softener and the mattress was exactly the right combination of hard and soft. "I'm not six."
"I know. And I know you hate sleeping alone."
"Yeah, my life sucks. Gran's up to something and all I get is a business, an apartment..."
"An assortment of sex toys."
"I'm going to regret telling you about them, aren't I?"
"Probably."
"Good night, Michael."
She hung up before she could tell him she missed him and eventually fell asleep with the phone cradled in her hand.
"There's a Gale staying in the apartment?" Heavy black brows met in a vee over his nose. "You're certain of that?"
He shrugged. "Alysha Gale ordered take-out this evening. I just got word from one of my sources. She had it delivered to the store."
"I knew it was too good to be true when the old woman disappeared. Damn. Damn. Fucking damn!" One scarred fist pounded the words into the desktop, hard enough the silver letter opener slid off the pile of paper.
He caught it before it hit the floor.
"We're too close to the day," his boss continued, ignoring both the letter opener's fall and its subsequent retrieval. "We have no choice but to stay and see it through. No choice for me but to stay and face the danger inherent in yet another fucking Gale!"
"All right." He kept his voice low, calming. Things happened when his boss lost his temper. Things that could attract attention, and-right now-attention was the last thing they wanted to attract. He knew that for a fact because not attracting attention had been a part of every conversation they'd had since Catherine Gale had first appeared on the scene and, for the last month, not attracting attention had moved to the top of the agenda. "I'm still not exactly clear on just what you think she'll do."
"There's no way of knowing what she'll do. That's the fucking problem! You say black, and they're likely to say white just to be contrary. Controlling harpies, the whole lot of them!" Nostrils flaring, he took a deep breath, then another, and finally growled, "We need to know if she's here because of me. If Catherine Gale got suspicious before she disappeared and passed those suspicions on."
"This Alysha Gale could be here merely to take over the store. Or because of them.You told me that the Gale women were not known for their subtle reactions. That if Catherine Gale knew you were here, we'd know."
"I know what I told you!"
He held up a hand in apology as the vein in the older man's forehead throbbed.
"I need to know what Alysha Gale knows."
"About you?"
"About everything! The last thing I need is to have them stumble on the situation and destroy me all unknowing with their incessant need to meddle. Wouldn't those controlling harpies love that. Find out what she knows!" A beefy finger jabbed the command toward him.
"And what happens then?" He rested his hand on his weapons case.
"That depends on what you find out. I'll reevaluate when I have more information."