Execution in E by Alexia Gordon

Author:Alexia Gordon [Gordon, Alexia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Cozy, General, African American, cozy mystery;Henery Press;paranormal mystery;African-American detective
ISBN: 9781635115185
Google: l6o9zAEACAAJ
Amazon: 1635115183
Publisher: Henery Press
Published: 2020-03-23T23:00:00+00:00

Fifteen

“Wait patiently.” Her two least favorite words. Her phone rang just as she decided to go back to the Garda station instead of continue to wait for Niall’s call.

She answered on the first notes of Beethoven’s “Fifth Symphony,” her ringtone. “Niall?”

“Tim,” the priest answered. “Can you come to the rectory?”

“I’ll be right there,” she said, glad to have something to occupy her.

Father Tim met her at the rectory door.

“Must be serious,” she said as he ushered her inside. “You aren’t conducting Ty’s memorial service?”

“Miss Markham asked to use the nave, however, my services weren’t needed. I got the impression the event is to be non-denominational. I will, of course, continue to offer prayers for the repose of Mr. Lismore’s soul. And, yes, it is serious.”

She followed Father Tim into his study. Saoirse sat on the sofa, surrounded by stacks of ancient, leather-bound books. “Hello, Miss.” She lifted a tome the size of a prayer book from the pile nearest her and flipped it open.

“Hello, Saoirse. You found something?”

“My brother’s books contained any number of banishing spells.” Father Tim held up a few books from one of the piles. “But we did locate an ancient prayer that will prevent Mr. Lismore from becoming a ghost in the first place.” He held up a small, battered, leather-bound book the size of an index card. “Then there’ll be no need to banish him.”

“You didn’t call me over here because of Ty, did you?”

Tim glanced at Saoirse. “Step into the kitchen with me,” he said to Gethsemane.

“Saoirse knows everything, anyway. Don’t you, Saoirse?”

The girl didn’t look up from her book. “Yes, Miss.”

“Humor me,” Tim said. “Prescient or not, she’s still a child and I’m old fashioned that way.” He led the way to the rear of the rectory.

“Tea?” he asked when they reached the kitchen. He turned the kettle on without waiting for an answer.

Gethsemane took a tea pot, teacups, and Bewley’s from cabinets. “What did you find? Considering Saoirse’s in there,” she jerked her head toward the study, “happily reading incantations to banish ghosts, find one’s fortune, clear up acne, and who knows what else, I’m nervous about something you don’t want to discuss in front of her.”

“I received this message this morning, not long before Saoirse arrived. Someone slipped the envelope under the door.” He pulled a plain white envelope from his pocket and handed it to Gethsemane.

She opened it and removed a slip of writing paper with a solitary black-and-white drawing in the center. “A Jerusalem cross surrounded by an arrow, seven circles, a heart, and some squiggles, in a ring labeled with letters. What is it, some kind of cipher?” What did it remind her of?

“It’s a sigil, or seal. A sort of pictograph used in medieval ceremonial magic.”

A pictograph, like Rosalie’s message. “From the expression on your face, I gather medieval ceremonial magic isn’t a good thing.”

“It’s not inherently any better nor any worse than any other form of magic. But that,” he pointed at the drawing, “was never used for anything good.

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