The District. Carol Ericson

“What are you talking about?”

      “I’m sorry.” Libby coiled her braid around one hand. “Did I frighten you? That’s good. You should be frightened.”

      Eric squared his shoulders and stepped between them. “Are you threatening her?”

      “Me?” Libby backed up and bent over, sweeping the paper with the symbol from the floor as her long braid fell over one shoulder. “I’m not the one your partner has to look out for, Agent Brody.”

      “Who, then? Why should I be afraid of a war on this coven, and what exactly do you mean by a war?”

      Libby clicked her tongue. “You’re one of those who denies her powers. Stuffs them away. Ignores them. But you’re one of us, Agent Sandoval.”

      “Did you just call me a witch?” Christina tried for a light tone, but Libby didn’t crack a smile. How did the woman know about her special powers? That handshake—something had passed between them.

      “Whether you belong to this coven,” she said, tapping the symbol, “or another, you’re still a witch.”

      “Okay, maybe there’s a little ESP going on here, someone with special gifts sensing it in someone else, but I’m no witch and I certainly didn’t join any coven.” She pointed to the piece of paper Libby had placed on the counter. “This one or any other.”

      “You don’t join a coven, my dear. You belong.” Libby turned to Eric. “Nora did. She belonged to this coven.”

      Eric whistled. “Did she, umm, practice witchcraft?”

      “She did.” Libby’s gaze trailed to Christina. “There are some who embrace their powers.”

      Christina dug her high heels into the floor. “Do you have any proof that Nora was murdered because she belonged to this coven?”

      “Tell me. Did you find the sign of this coven on Nora?” Libby reached into a drawer and pulled out three incense sticks. “Or someone else?”

      Eric shot her a look and cleared his throat. “We can’t tell you that, Libby.”

      She nodded. “Someone else. So now you have two victims who are tied to this coven. Are you going to tell me that the coven isn’t the common denominator here?”

      The bells over the door shivered and they all jerked their heads up. A tall man, dressed all in black with a black fedora, filled the doorway and for a second Christina had an urge to flee.

      Libby folded the sheet of paper with the symbol and slid it toward Eric. “Hello, Nigel. More patchouli oil?”

      “It’s a little more serious than that, Libby. I need a new deck of cards.”

      Christina weaved her fingers through Eric’s and tightened her hold.

      “I knew that was coming.” She waved her hand over Christina and Eric as if sprinkling fairy dust...or casting a spell. “This is Agent Brody and Agent Sandoval with the FBI. They’re looking into Nora’s murder.”

      Nigel tipped back his hat. “Sick bastard. Nora was a sweet girl.”

      Eric’s frame tensed. “You knew her?”

      “From the store.” He held up a crooked finger. “Brody. Are you related to the SFPD homicide detective?”

      Eric clenched his jaw so tightly Christina was afraid it would snap.

      “He’s my brother.”

      “Which one of you was kidnapped?”

      Libby expelled a breath and it turned into a hiss.

      “What do you know about that?” Eric shook off her hand and clenched his into a fist.

      “Easy, boy. I’m a native. I know the city’s history, lore and legends better than most. Who could forget Joseph Brody’s story? Son kidnapped in the middle of a serial killer investigation? It was all a sensation.” He tapped his head. “I don’t forget anything that happened in this city.”

      Libby rapped a deck of cards on the counter. “Your tarot cards, Nigel.”

      “Tarot cards?” Christina held out her hand. “Can I see them?”