It all fit. And it was all bad. “The boot’s in the middle of the pentagram. There’s a splatter of blood under it.”
“Middle of what?” Layla asked. “How did you know where to find those things?” Inherent in her question was the accusation that the Everhart witches had put them there.
“They were on the points of a pentagram, the geometric shape that allows a witch coven to contain their power and safely do workings,” Cia said. “Once you discover the north point of the five-pointed star, you can find the rest based on the angles and the size of the working space.”
“High school geometry,” Liz said softly, remembering that Layla had been in their geometry class. The twins had excelled at geometry. Layla, not so much.
“The charms have nothing in common,” Cia said, “except the fact that they seem to have old blood on them. That lack of similarity of matrix—meaning that some are biological items that an earth witch might use, and some are stone—combined with the old blood, and the fresher blood in the middle, suggests that a blood witch set up a conjure in this room and triggered it.”
“Your mother didn’t run off,” Liz said. “Or at least not of her own free will.”
“Your mother was kidnapped by a practitioner of the black arts,” Cia said grimly.
“With a spell,” Liz said. “And if we’re reading it right, she was taken from the middle of this room.”
“What?” Layla said, pulling her coat tighter, the seams stretching, her face white. “Like, transported out? Like Star Trek?” Her voice rose. “You can do that?”
“We can’t,” Cia said.
“And we’ve never met a practitioner who can.”
“The police won’t believe it,” Cia said.
“No. But Layla will need to tell them. Get them back here, get them working a kidnapping case with witchcraft elements. They’ll call PsyLED and get someone in here to read the room with a psy-meter.”
“PsyLED? How long will that take?” Layla asked, seeming to understand that it would take far too much time. That her mother might not survive long enough for law enforcement to find her.
“We could do a finding,” Cia said with a faint shrug, holding Liz’s gaze, “like we planned.”
“It just won’t be easy.” Liz pointed to the clothes on the floor. “But only the left boot is missing. She was likely wearing them both when she was taken.”
“We could find the left boot with the right one. Give the cops something to go on.”
“Or figure it out before they even get started on the case.” The twins turned to Layla as one and said, almost in unison, “It’s up to you.”
“What’s up to me?” she demanded.
“If we take the boot and keep working to find your mom,” Cia said, “or return your money and let the cops take over.”
Layla looked back and forth between them, her breath coming too fast between perfectly parted lips. “I guess my mother stands the best chance of being found with both the police and you working to find her.” On that happy note, the goat raced back down the hallway and skittered to a halt in front of Layla, her hooves dancing.
Her diaper filled the room with goat-poop stink.
Layla gagged softly.
Cia giggled.
? ? ?
The sisters couldn’t do the finding inside the house, not without both contaminating any remaining magical energies left over from the blood-magic spell and also maybe having their own working skewed or corrupted by the black magic. More magic on the scene would tick off any PsyLED investigator. It might also alert the blood-magic witch. To be safe, the twins had to start somewhere else, which meant interviews, phone calls, and computer research. They had seen Jane Yellowrock track down a missing person. They had an idea of basic electronic investigative methodology, if not access to the specialized databases that the security professional used.
Rather than further contaminate a crime scene, the girls retired to Layla’s exquisite three-bedroom Weirbridge Village apartment. It was one of the luxury corner units, and like Layla herself, the apartment was elegant and refined. Unlike her mother’s place, Layla’s home looked lived-in, yet was still spotless. Early training in perfection had paid off in a neat freak.
Though painfully worried about her mother—or maybe to keep occupied—Layla served them colas and pita chips and Brie with fresh grapes on the side. And gave them access to her electronic tablets and an older laptop and her phone while her stinky goat raced around the apartment on tap-tapping hooves that had to be driving the people on the floor below crazy.