ATwistedMagick by Shara Lanel Page A

with them on their move, hence the mossy spaces you’ll see. Anyway, I gather they tacked on this little greenhouse based on their budget.”
    “So this is where you hack up the bodies and use them as fertilizer?” He thought his tone humorous, but Shylah didn’t laugh. “Hey, I was trying to be funny.”
    “And you might be if you weren’t also accusing me of murdering three people.”
    “So you don’t deny your connection to the other murder?”
    “Of course not. My coven was investigated. It’s a matter of record.”
    “It seems awfully odd that, while most people never have murder touch them, you’ve had two.”
    “It is odd. I’m starting to feel jinxed.” She pulled a palm frond toward her then let it go so that it sprung back into place. Almost to herself she said, “It’s as if the murderer is following me.”
    “Isn’t it more likely that you’re the murderer?”
    “It’s not more likely to me, since I know I didn’t do it.” She left him surrounded by overwhelming palms and vines to move farther into the solarium. There were raised beds for all the plants with a cement walkway in between. Once he moved the fronds out of the way to follow her, he spotted her destination. There was a circle of cement framed by the exotic plants. A warm-colored Indian rug covered almost the entire space, and in the middle was a huge chunk of log. He took a step closer and saw that the stool-size log was shellacked. On the top there was a gorgeous inlaid Ouija board.
    “Wow, that had to have taken a lot of work.”
    She sat next to it and ran her fingers over the surface, immediately making him think of her fingers on his body. He shook that off and sat on the floor opposite her.
    “I inherited it.”
    “Your parents were witches?”
    “They were, but I inherited it from a distant relative in England, one I don’t even remember.” She closed her eyes, then opened them and stared at his face, but she wasn’t really looking at his face. “It was found in my cousin…uncle, I’m not sure what he was to me…but it was in his attic. They were holding an estate sale to pay for his burial.”
    “So no other children?”
    She shrugged. “Apparently not. I wish I knew more of the story behind this though.” She laid her palm flat on the wood. “It’s very old.”
    “How can you tell that?”
    She focused on his eyes. “Can’t you feel it? It’s seen violence, loneliness and joy, over and over, not only while it was standing, but as this table was passed down from generation to generation.”
    Hmm. Okay . She certainly seemed to believe what she said, so he wouldn’t quash her fantasy. “So this is your altar?”
    “Yes.”
    “And your tools?”
    She leaned back to the wood border of the raised beds and popped open a cleverly camouflaged drawer. Then she pulled items out one by one. “This will prove nothing, you know, because I could have hidden or sold another set. Really it was quite irresponsible of the murderer to leave a chalice at both scenes.”
    “You should look after your tools better.”
    Her lips quirked. “I do look after my tools.” She knew he could only take her word for it. She kissed each item and laid them on the altar. The first piece was a bowl carved from a solid piece of wood. “This is for water.” Another wood bowl, lightly stained, newer. “This is to hold the salt.” The next three items were gunmetal gray and downright ugly. “This is my athame.” She set it down. “This is my chalice and this is my candle holder for when I use tapers.”
    “Couldn’t you have bought something prettier?”
    She looked at them and frowned. “I took a trip to England after I was sent the altar. I wanted to find out more about the man who left it for me. Anyway, I was at a market in London when I saw these on a dented folding table. They called to me. I re-consecrated them, of course, so that no lingering vibrations would infect my magick.”
    She sounded more and more flakey,