Angel Magic

Chapter Four

Saturday. Usually another uneventful day spent staring at the television. This Saturday, however, she’d planned an outing. Cassidy spent the better part of an hour donning her disguise before she left her room as Sally Farmer, with the locket in the pocket of her jeans. Today, she would go to the antique dealer to find out more information about Tristan Neal. For the first time in three years, something other than her own circumstances consumed her. She’d decided to follow the advice in the letter and find all of Tristan’s grave goods.

   Her gait purposeful, she passed the local tavern and paused when she saw the Karaoke Night sign in the window. There were cash prizes. She could do with more of that. The songster inside her rose with a vengeance, but the cool gold of the locket reminded her of her current purpose. With a despondent sigh she continued around the corner and along the esplanade. She glanced at the phone she’d used the day before.

   A short, heavyset man with Italian features stood at the phone booth, eyes narrow as he scanned the passing crowd. Cassidy’s heart lurched. He could be innocent, she reminded herself. He could be waiting for his wife, or his daughter, or his girlfriend to come out of the nearby bathroom. Cassidy slowed her steps and watched him over her shoulder. He looked familiar. He could be one of Fabian Nico’s thugs.

   A woman emerged from the public bathroom and linked arms with the man. Cassidy managed a thankful chuckle and carried on. Paranoia had become an unwelcomed way of life, and she despised constantly glancing behind her. She pushed the glass door of the antique shop. A small bell above the door announced her arrival. When the man didn’t step from the back of the shop she studied the jewelry and artifacts in glass cases around the walls. A shiny suit of armor dominated the middle of the shop, complete with mace and sword at his sabatons. Cassidy examined the gauntlets with curiosity, and then stepped back to stare at the helm. She wondered if Tristan wore armor.

   “Can I help you?”

   She turned to the shop owner and smiled.

   “I hope you’re not returning that angel,” he said and waggled his fat finger at her.

   “No, I’m here for information. Who owned the angel before me?”

   “Some guy. He moved north.”

   Barely there sounds came from the direction of the armor. Cassidy glanced at it before continuing to question the shop keeper. “Do you know any information about the history of the angel?” More noises came from the suit of armor.

   “The angel is possessed. Whoever owns it suffers from bad luck.”

   A wry smile lifted Cassidy’s lips. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

   “Have strange things happened to you since you bought it?”

   “No,” Cassidy lied. “What do you know about Tristan Neal?”

   “Who’s he?”

   “The original owner.”

   Behind her, the armor rattled. The shopkeeper peered around her. “Is someone with you?”

   “No. Do you know where I might find the original—?”

   The suit of armor shuddered and collapsed to the shop floor in a flurry of shiny metal. It sounded as though a box of spanners had been dumped onto the concrete. The helmet rolled to Cassidy’s feet. She stared at it, one eyebrow raised. From the corner of her eye she saw a man where the armor had once stood. Turning quickly, she caught a glimpse of dark eyes and tousled blond hair. His handsome face split into a wide grin before he disappeared.