Black Magic's Shadow: Siren Song, #2

By Kristin McTiernan

It'll take more than a bullet to the chest to stop her from finding the truth.

 

Tess Cooper is the woman you call when someone is after you—specifically, someone who can wield magic. Witches, brujos, Voodoo priests, Tess has dealt with it all. She may not have magical ability herself, but a talent for research and a lot of corporate HR experience can be more useful than casting a spell. Tess is just trying to live her best life, but other people keep getting in the way. Her girlfriend dumped her, her son and his father have left the country, and now she's been shot. Something—or someone—is attacking Tess's loved ones. A member of her family goes missing, there's that shooting, and now the police are chasing Tess for a crime she thought long buried. Racing against the clock and the police, Tess must discover if she's the target of this curse, or if there's something much bigger at play... Black Magic's Shadow is the sequel to the dark paranormal thriller Black Magic's Prey

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shockley Press LLC
• Release date: Sep 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223091585

Book preview

Chapter 1

Iwas only fourteen when I first became a victim of magic. As horrible as it was to find out there were people with the power to take control of my body—even kill me if they wanted—it made an odd kind of sense to me at the time. Deep in the throes of teenage narcissism, I figured young girls and college-age women were like catnip to witches with a grudge. As it turns out, I was wrong. My case was extremely rare. Lucky me. 

It’s a hard concept to explain to the dozens of young girls who call me every year, usually around Halloween, desperately seeking a remedy for the hex they know their ex-boyfriend put on them. What other explanation could there be for failing one of their classes and having their dad find their stash of pot? For truly beautiful girls under twenty-five, it seems having a stroke of bad luck is so unheard of, they automatically think they must be cursed. You can’t really blame them for the assumption.

Young girls and women are pretty and nubile, so most of society either wants them... or wants to be them. If you’re like me and have limited use for the opposite sex, then it’s a weird combination of both. So you’d think the pervs would be lining up at the nearest witch doctor, brujo, or voodoo priest to hex whatever poor girl caught their eye. But it’s surprisingly rare. Apparently, if you’re enough of a prick to genuinely think you’re owed sex, you’re also awful enough to just go out and be a rapist.

In my small corner of the world, the primary victims of hex magic are kids and old people. By old, I mean over seventy. Since I’m looking down the barrel of forty, I thought I should clarify. Kids end up as victims for predictably stomach-churning reasons, and I won’t go into them. It’s too early in the day for all that. Besides, Luis deals with child victims personally.

Technically, Luis handles all the victims, as I have no magical abilities. Contrary to what you might have read on the internet, there’s more to magic than saying the right words over a candle. It’s something you’re born with—a gift passed from parent to child. Luis has it in spades. And so does our son.

I, on the other hand, have a host of people skills acquired through years of working in HR and Luis uses me to screen the people who come begging for his help. Like I said, most of them are young, pretty girls who are more interested in batting their eyes at Luis than in magic. Only the unlucky few—the ones who have genuinely been cursed—warrant an in-person meeting with Luis, the most powerful brujo in the US, or at least the most respected. He does the actual magic and I handle the victims... especially the chatty ones.

My schedule is packed to the brim with old folks, which isn’t as terrible as you might be thinking.  Despite the bad rap old-timers get (especially my fellow Caucasians), most of them are actually pretty decent. Some of them, like sweet Mary Jones, are a genuine delight.

Go on and eat up, Miss Theresa. You’re looking mighty skinny these days and that’s no good. I don’t care what the hussies in those magazines say. Lord knows, I can’t eat those scones myself. If the nurses see my blood sugar creep up any higher, I can’t promise they won’t wire my jaw shut.

It was impossible not to smile at Mary, even when she was forcing food on you in the crowded common room of a nursing home. She looked like most of the other residents—so white you could nearly see through her, but she had a grace that set her apart. It wasn’t hard to imagine she’d spent her youth practicing her Scarlett O’Hara impression in the mirror. She still had her hair permed, even though it was completely white and thin enough to show through to her scalp, and she never left her room without a full face of makeup and her outfit in place, compression socks and all. I could never allow one of the gentlemen to see me in a house dress, she’d said.

I helped myself to a scone and a too-big square of butter, only just realizing I actually hadn’t eaten anything today. I appreciate you making me some treats, but really, you didn’t need to. I’m just glad everything is back the way it should be.

Well, just about. The nice lawyer said Elissa might sit in jail for a bit before her trial. That’s not what I wanted, but... she trailed off, pulling her handkerchief from her pocket and dabbing at her eyes. Not a Kleenex. A handkerchief. Monogrammed and everything. I knew from our previous meetings not to hold or pat her hand. As my elder, it was her position to comfort me, not the other way around. So I poured a cup of tea for her, adding Splenda and cream, and placed it beside her, waiting for her to bashfully swallow her tears.

It’s clients like Mary who make me miss working in HR. Even though it was significantly more stressful, most of the people I had to counsel or flat-out fire deserved it. They were jerks or bullies and didn’t take the previous warnings seriously. The people who came to Luis for help absolutely did not deserve what happened to them.

In Mary’s case, her daughter-in-law, Elissa, decided she wanted Mary’s money. And her house. Even her friendly dog, which was some kind of short-legged mutt. Elissa was the worst kind of stereotypical Basic Bitch—LuLaRoe leggings and Uggs year-round, Starbucks addiction, square acrylic nails, and nineties-era over-plucked eyebrows. Having dabbled in Wicca in college, like all other Basic Bitches, Elissa knew enough about the craft to locate an actual witch, one who had the power to affect the world around her with a few words, some fire, and in this case, a lock of Mary’s hair.

The spell made Mary’s house turn against her. The gas burner would come on of its own accord, the bathtub would turn on and overflow while Mary was at the store. Her garage door would close as she was backing out. After a few weeks of her house seemingly trying to kill her, Mary reached out to her son, Matthew, and her daughter-in-law for help. Hearing Mary describe these dangerous incidents and blaming it on a poltergeist, they had no choice but to enact a civil guardianship. This meant Mary got stashed in a nursing home and all of her money and worldly possessions, including her sweet dog, went to Basic Bitch Elissa and clueless, spineless Matthew.

What Elissa didn’t know was that hexes leave a mark on their victims, one visible to the naked eye in video footage and photographs. Have you ever seen that movie The Ring? It’s kind of like that, except instead of having your facial features distorted in the picture, you have a black halo over your face. If you don’t know what you’re looking at, it can look like a lens flare or some other trick of the light. Luckily, one of the nurses here at Heritage Assisted Living knew exactly what she was looking at. And she called Luis for help.

When the police came and got her for fraud, I guess Elissa tried calling me a bunch of times but I don’t have an answering machine for the phone in my room, Mary laughed, shoving her handkerchief back in her pocket. I admit, it gave me a chuckle thinking about how annoyed she must have been. She used to fuss at me about the house phone too. She was always spitting mad that no answering machine picked up. ‘How are people supposed to get ahold of you, Mary?’ She laughed at her own impression, clearly having practiced it more than a few times.

"I told her if the call was important, they’d call back. Do you know that woman called me a narcissist? She said I burden others with the emotional labor of tracking me down. Emotional labor, she called it. Hell, I was so mad I asked Matthew what the hell he’d been thinking marrying her. She held up her hand, as if I had some criticism. It was wrong of me, saying that in front of the grandbabies. I apologized, but that was still the last time he let me come over."

Now came the awkward silence immediately following an elderly client’s ill-advised comment. It was part of the deal with senior people. Long life meant a long list of regrets and even after two years of this, I still hadn’t come up with a graceful way to move on. Luckily, Mary had it well in hand.

I miss your sweet little boy today, she said, looking over my shoulder with a smile, like she expected Nino to come tottering into the nursing home.

I smiled back, even though I wasn’t happy about Nino’s absence. At all. Well, he’s in Mexico with his father for a bit.

The handsome Spanish gentleman? she asked, her papery skin flushing at the thought of Luis.

This time my laugh was genuine, though I had a mind to smack the hell out of Luis the next time I saw him. He had quite an effect on women, no matter how old they were. Even after all this time with him, I was still under his spell, no pun intended. No matter how mad I got at him, it always melted away after a few minutes of being in the same room with him.

Yes, he’s the one, I replied, choosing not to go into our complicated co-parenting situation. Before he left, he made arrangements for you to get your house back. So you only have a little bit longer to stay here.

Oh bless his heart. And bless you too. You really do look awfully thin. I hope you’re taking care of yourself while he’s away.

Mary was a good Southern lady and too well-bred to allow any conversation to linger on her own needs, much to my irritation. Even if Mary had been an acquaintance rather than a client, I certainly wasn’t going to stomp on her happiness with a run-down of the rolling dumpster fire my life had recently become.

Well, with Luis and Nino being gone, I’m not really cooking. I pulled the sheet of foil over the plate of scones. Thanks so much for these—

Didn’t you have that other young lady and her little boy living with you? Mary leaned forward, tapping her fingertips against my knee.

I froze for a minute, the fake smile feeling like it would crack my face in half. She... she met a man, I squeaked out. She and her son have moved to Texas.

Oh that’s so lovely, Mary cried, clapping her hands together. The joy on her face at Caroline’s newfound love was like an ice pick in my heart, but in the last few months, I’d perfected my armor enough to keep my smile in place.

Yes. So lovely. Listen, Mrs. Jones, I need to run. But I’ll call you when it’s time to move back into your house. I can come and drive you there if you need me to.

She stood up at the same time I did, opening her arms in expectation of a hug. Holding the plate of scones off to the side, I leaned in and let her hug me, for once not feeling awkward about it. No need for that, my dear. Matthew has been a very attentive son lately. Trying to make up for me being right about Elissa, I suppose.

She gave me a wink as she pulled out of the hug, silently communicating a mother’s joy at being able to say, I told you so. I smiled more softly at her, not yet familiar with the smug sensation of my kid admitting I was right. He was only three and seemed to think he was right about everything. It didn’t help that he was a brujo like his father, meaning he could see people’s thoughts and emotions... and sometimes the future. Hell, he wasn’t even five yet and he’d already said to me more than once, told ya so, Mama.

I gave a final polite nod to Mary before turning away from her and weaving around the wheelchairs and gaggles of socializing seniors to head out to the parking lot. It was only a little after ten in the morning and I was exhausted already. As I shuffled out to the truck, I avoided eye contact with the staff and visitors, looking down at my phone...as if I had someone to talk to.

Caroline had taken our sedan since she didn’t want either of the RVs. Because Jeremy lived in a condo. So I was stuck driving the gas-guzzling Dodge Ram as a daily driver while she got the efficient and fully loaded Subaru Legacy. And every fucking thing else she’d asked for. Because really, when the only person you’ve ever loved tells you, I haven’t been happy in a long time, it doesn’t seem right to be stingy about what they pack when they leave you. Forever. For fucking Jeremy.

Feeling tears blur my vision, I put my phone away and pulled out my keys, giving an angry, overly aggressive sniff. Like I was going to show those tears who was boss.

I clicked the unlock button and walked up to the driver’s side, only to see movement coming up on my left.

My stomach clenched when I first registered a short figure in a bulky hooded jacket striding toward me. It was an uncommonly warm November and there was no need for a coat that size. I only relaxed when the figure looked up, allowing me to see the angry face beneath the hood. Actually, relax might be the wrong word. It was more like an acceptance of what was about to happen.

Priscilla? What are you doing here? I asked, feigning surprise. There was only one reason in the world Cesar’s wife would have gone to the trouble of tracking me down.

Priscilla’s eyes were wide and her mouth set in a thin line, her face the very picture of barely concealed rage.

Is Cesar all right? I tried again, a tremor popping up in my voice as she stopped directly in front of my face. She was shaking too.

What did you do to my daughter? she hissed.

Oh God. I closed my eyes for a moment, foolishly hoping not seeing her enraged face would make the guilt clawing at my gut less sharp, my humiliation less paralyzing. It didn’t.

Listen, Priscilla—

In a flash, she lunged at me, her short, soft arm turning into a claw as she shoved me into my truck. I raised my arms, ready to draw a line in the sand, to tell her she was entitled to her anger but she wasn’t going to put her hands on me.

My lecture about boundaries faded when I felt the pistol sticking into my chest.

Jesus! I hissed.

Don’t you dare say his name! she shrieked, jabbing the gun harder into my sternum. You think I don’t know where your power comes from. You and Luis? I knew... she trailed off, overcome by a sob so powerful it took her breath away, freezing her mouth open for what seemed like forever. Finally, she took in a long, ragged breath which sounded more like a muffled scream.

You... she gasped out. Take back what you did. You take it back!

From the corner of my eye, I could see two