Mourning Moon (A Guinan Jones Paranormal Mystery #2) by Callista Foley Read Free Book Online Page B

room, and I looked around, wide eyed. Her bed wasn't just unmade. The comforter and the sheets were halfway off the mattress, and one pillow was on the nightstand. Papers and books were piled in a corner, and energy-drink cans littered the desk.
    "It's no t usually like this," she said. A framed photo of her and Desmond hung on the wall above her desk. "I was anxious to hear what you and Luke had to say."
    "Can I ask you something?" I said, studying the photo.
    Sinder stop tidying and turned to face me.
    "Did you and Desmond ever—"
    "I wasn't his type."
    "And what was his type?"
    She folded her arms and looked at the photo. "Picture Ione. Everything about her. Her nose in the air, her entitled attitude, the hair flip, the mood swings."
    "They dated so briefl y," I said. "Were they together after that?"
    Sinder gathered her hair and tied it in a knot. "He didn't confide in me like that. I suspected they were still connected somehow. But that's not why I asked you to come over."
    I found myself wishing more an d more that I had Tessa's power of premonition. Sinder seemed nervous all of sudden. She opened the closet door and pulled on a string dangling from the ceiling. I peered inside. The light illuminated a closet empty of clothes and shoes. On the floor, pushed against the back wall, was an altar.
    My eyes traveled over it. Two fat, white candles sat at either end near the top of the board of dark wood. Beside the candle on the left were two, small, unlabeled glass vials that contained what looked like oil. On the right was a silver chalice etched with a pentagram. A small, silver bowl sat on top of another pentagram carved onto the board.
    "I know you think it's silly ." Sinder said in a shaky voice. "It's just that, well, I've been following the Ridge Grove case since before you got here. I know you say you're not a witch, but I think you're confusing it with the stereotype."
    I kept a straight face. "Witches call themselves pagans, right? They worship the goddess or w hatever? Well, I believe in God, and the Bible condemns witchcraft."
    "Tell me this," she said, cupping her hands together. "Where do you think your abilities come from?"
    I'd wondered about this, myself. "From God."
    She nodded slowly and seemed to be choosing her next words carefully. "If that's true, why are you afraid of them?"
    "I'm not," I said too quickly. "I just don't...it's not about..." I sighed. "I have to figure this out at my own pace, and I have to do it alone. I'm not a witch, and I don't want to practice witchcraft or start a coven."
    "But that's just it," Sinder said, her face shining with excitement. "You don't have to do it alone. I can help you."
    "You're not clairvoyant."
    Her lips twitched . "I think I'm an Intuitive."
    I g lanced at her little altar. Why was she hounding me about this? "When you start dreaming about death," I said, "we'll talk. I've got to go. You don't have to drop me off. I'll take the Metro."
    She visibly stiffened. I hated disappointing people, but I certainly didn't have a problem saying no. As Sinder turned off the light and closed the door, I did double-take at the altar. I grabbed the door and pushed it open.
    "What's in those little bottles?"
    "Oils," she said, pulling the light on again.
    "What kind?"
    "Almond and lavender. Why?"
    "Almonds?"
    "Yeah," she said. "I use them in my spells."

Chapter Eight
     
    When the implication behind my question dawned on her, she shook her head. "Desmond wasn't allergic to almonds."
    "How do you know?"
    "Because I..." She stopped abruptly and looked at her feet. I'd already caught a flash of shame. She folded her arms. "You've got the wrong idea. I practice good magic. I don't hurt people."
    "There is no such thing as—"
    "There is," she said, her voice rising.
    Before I could receive another flash of emotion from her, I turned to leave. "I'll see you later."
    She grabbed my arm. "I didn't do anything wrong."
    I glanced at door. Could her mother hear us? "I'm not accusing