The ritual was mesmerizing, comforting even. Once the sugar melted, she unscrewed the cap off a bottled water to pour into the absinthe. Odd, everything she needed was laid out on the counter. Almost as if it had been waiting for her.
The absinthe bubbled and fizzed as the water collided with the 150 proof herbed alcohol. The liquid turned a cloudy phosphorescent and danced with murky, undefined images. Bubbles of lights exploded and as the mixture settled, Skye removed the spoon and lifted the glass to her lips. She licked them in anticipation of fulfilling the craving that had intensified into a severe abdominal cramp.
The first, tentative sip scalded her tongue and Skye spit it out without swallowing.
Disgusting. How could anyone drink that nasty stuff? But no sooner had the thought materialized, when the burn in her mouth subsided leaving behind a cotton-candy explosion of sweetness. Ah, that’s why. She would feel even better if she actually swallowed it this time.
She greedily raised the glass again but before it reached her mouth, a buzzing noise radiated on the counter in front of her. It sounded like a fire alarm in the basement stillness. It took her several moments to realize exactly where the sound originated.
A palm-sized black obsidian stone rattled on the rusted metal counter surface, like a demented Mexican jumping bean. Skye picked it up curiously and the tumbled stone vibrated in her hand. On its smooth, flat surface smoky colors swirled then pixilated into an image, as if she were watching a miniature video on an iPhone. Her hand tightened in excitement. She’d tried divinations hundreds of times with no luck, but her power and connections to crystals were strengthening daily, even if her witch spells were a bust.
Fascinated, she watched the scene unfold. It was set in this very room, the carafe filled with absinthe. Dozens of pixies flew above and around the drink, their wings flapping in excitement and orange-yellow auras alit. They were so very delicate and beautiful, Skye smiled in wonder.
A black, heavily gloved pair of hands entered the picture, ruthlessly scooping the tiny fairies into the carafe and trapping them by placing a small iron tray over the carafe’s mouth. Horrified, Skye watched the pixies as they tried to escape the watery prison. Some died flinging themselves violently against the glass, others began to lose their strength as they hovered between the iron lid and the absinthe below. Skye realized they were afraid to touch the iron. A couple of fairies that did accidently brush against it had their wings singed. The noise made a hissing and crackling sound. They clung to the side of the glass, then at last slid in a long, slow descent to the waiting liquid below.
Fairy murder by drowning.
She watched, helpless, as the few remaining pixies, hovering mid-flight, finally collapsed from exhaustion and fell to join their dead companions.
The gloved hands returned in the picture. They strained the wet carcasses out of the absinthe and poured the drink into a glass. She heard the sound of heavy gurgling as the murderer drank the tainted liquid.
Gross.
The stone’s image vanished as suddenly as it had come – the colors faded and swirled into an eddy, like a plug pulled from a bathtub drain.
Her hand holding the obsidian trembled so violently she almost dropped the stone. Skye gripped it tighter. If she was able to see images, maybe she could conjure more later. Because she was more determined to do everything in her power to stop this evil. She looked at her glass of absinthe, practically untouched, lying in wait.
No way. Not after that vision. Filled with a sudden urge to get out at once, Skye tucked the stone in her pocket and pulled the light bulb chain, plunging the room into morgue-like darkness.
Chapter 12
Elf Shot
Kheelan’s eyes fixed on the microfiche screen which showed the old engagement announcement of Miss Ivy Hollow to Samuel Jeffries. But he knew the minute Skye entered the room. The air around him swirled with fresh energy and a faint scent of citrus and pear cut through the musty odor of old books.
Skye walked past rows of book stacks and tables strewn with academic periodicals, her long red hair and shamrock green eyes especially vivid in the somber hues of the eighth floor university library. Before even reaching his table, she waved a hot pink file in the air.
“I’ve got us a lead.” She slammed the file in front of him, looking ready to burst.
His own mood lightened as he took in her sparkling eyes and air of breathless expectancy. “Lay it on me.”
“I brought the printouts of all the employees at the store like you asked.” She nodded at the folder. “But, more important, I found out The Green Fairy isn’t just owned by Claribel and Mama D.” She paused dramatically.
“Go on,” he urged, leaning forward. This sounded promising.
“It has a silent partner.”