Unsympathetic Magic by Laura Resnic

Author:Laura Resnic
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Daw
Published: 2010-08-01T23:00:00+00:00

14

“Apparently there was some commotion after you left my office yesterday?” Catherine said to me.

I was in her office again today. I looked up from the employee paperwork I was filling out so that I could get paid and also so that I could work with the kids. There were various forms I had to sign guaranteeing that I didn’t have a criminal past and that I wouldn’t lead my students astray. I felt very glad that no record existed of my recent arrest.

“Commotion? Oh!” I recalled Max’s mad dash through the building in pursuit of the boy with the sword as Jeff and I ran after him. It seemed like a long time ago. I supposed that the worried receptionist had told Catherine about it. “Max and I thought we saw someone we knew. We were wrong.”

“My, you do keep things lively, er . . . Esther.” She’d had to glance quickly at one of my employment forms to recall my name.

I decided not to tell her that I had sent a student to a voodoo shop today. Despite her enthusiasm for the syncretic faiths of the New World, Catherine would no doubt realize that the girl’s family might not approve, and she might feel obliged to reprimand me. So, in the spirit of not looking for trouble unless it came looking for me, I said nothing.

After I had finished teaching the class today, I’d checked at the reception desk. Lopez hadn’t dropped off my purse yet. The receptionist—whose name was Henry—had let me use the foundation’s phone to call the shop. Puma assured me that Shondolyn had arrived safely and that I had done the right thing by sending her there. Max and Biko were also there, and between Puma and Max, they were figuring out what ailed the girl and finding a solution. Shondolyn had dismissed Jamal, who had seemed worried about her and disappointed about being sent away; but he had left after the girl made it clear that she didn’t want him there.

Ah, rejection. I knew the feeling.

Which reminded me of something. “I understand that a police detective came here yesterday to see you?” I said to Catherine.

“Goodness, word travels fast,” she responded with a cool look. “Yes. Like you, the police officer had questions about Darius Phelps’ death. And I gather that . . .” She paused for a moment, evidently wrestling with distaste. “That is, the detective informed me that Darius’ grave has been robbed and the body taken.”

I feigned shock. “Do you have any idea who would have done such a thing?”

“As I told the detective, no.”

I met her eyes. “Do you have any idea why someone would take his body?”

She looked surprised by the question. “Perhaps it was stolen by someone who provides cadavers to medical schools. Or by a necrophiliac. Or by a gruesome prankster.”

I was a little sorry I had asked.

Catherine added, “Or perhaps someone is trying to raise a zombie.”

I blinked. “Pardon?”

“When I mentioned this yesterday, the detective looked almost as surprised as you do right now.

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