by Amy Boyles
I cocked my head, calculating the chance that I might be crushed from the water—three hundred, twelve thousand, six hundred and fifty to one.
Not bad.
I inched forward until the rain fired against my hood. It sounded like a thousand gunshots exploding. It hammered so hard my car’s rear end lifted.
Time to get this over with.
I floored the accelerator and zoomed into the waterfall. The cabin immediately darkened as the falls engulfed me. The thundering sound of water filled my ears.
I gulped down a deep breath, ignoring the humidity that had taken over the cabin. Sweat dripped down my face and my hands trembled. Now was not the time to be afraid of being locked inside my car.
My eyes widened as I saw what I thought was a face greeting me. I shook my head and realized it was nothing more than some sort of weird-looking Wanted poster caught in the falls.
“That’s weird,” I mumbled.
I finally burst through, exhaling a deep breath that I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. My knuckles were white. I loosened my grip on the wheel and sank back onto the leather seat.
For the first time in my life, I took a look at Witch's Forge.
It was nighttime, but the town’s Main Street was lit up. A four-lane highway stretched for miles. A quick inventory of closed shops revealed that when Witch’s Forge had been jamming, it had really been jamming.
At least half a dozen pancake houses lined both sides of the road while a huge witch figurine stood on top of a building proclaiming to be the Witch’s Cauldron Wax Museum.
Across the highway sat the nightly live show of a historical witch family feud. The building was so large it took up one whole corner of the block.
There was another store that looked like a castle, complete with a dragon coiled atop, called Witch Journey. A billboard advertised that at Witch Journey you could go on your very own fairy-tale quest by becoming magical and saving a princess or a prince.
I took a deep inhale. Wow, at one point this town had been covered up with tourists.
My Cooper idled at the crossroads of four interlocking streets—Earth Avenue, Water Street, Wind Avenue and Fire Street.
The four elements of witches. I am a watered-down water witch. My magic tends to be more systematic, while plenty of other witches work on feelings.
If feelings were how folks experienced magic, maybe that’s why I wasn’t very good at it. With a mother who did nothing but banter on about feelings, I got pretty tired of exploring them.
I prefer things to be more reliable, which is why my power works mathematically—why I developed a precise magical questionnaire that brings together two soul mates. A questionnaire that I might add works perfectly one hundred percent of the time.
Always.
I stared at the street corner. Though the lamps burned, most of the buildings in town were dark, but even in the dim light I could see the cracks, the way they were crumbling.
Kudzu grew on the storefronts, creeping down onto the sidewalks. Seeing all that icky greenery made my shoulders itch. Ew. Someone should really do something about the state of downtown.
A light glowed in a storefront. The mayor had promised to meet me. I assumed that’s where she was.
I parked the car and headed inside. It was summer. The humidity was thick. Sweat immediately sprinkled my brow. I pulled my hair from the nape of my neck and inhaled the sweet scent of honeysuckles.
At least there was one good thing about this town.
I opened the door. A bell fixed above the frame tinkled, and a small, plump woman in her midfifties waddled up. She wore her hair short and curly. Gray streaked the tendrils at her temples, and her eyeglasses rested on a chain at her ample bosom.
She cocked a graying eyebrow at me. “Charming?”
“Yes, ma’am, that’s me.”
She sighed and approached, arms outstretched, as if I held the answer to all her problems. “Charming, you don’t know how good it is to see you.” She clasped my hand in both of hers. “I’m Winnifred Dixon, mayor of Witch's Forge.”
“Great to meet you, Mayor.” I took a moment to stare into her emerald eyes. They were filled with honesty and relief, though a mountain of worry was sprinkled in there, too.
I smiled warmly. “Tell me everything.”
“I’ll tell you more in the morning, when we officially meet. For now, let’s get you settled into your house.”
I cocked an interested brow. “House?”
I lived in a condo. It was great but small. Not that I needed a lot of space—I did not.
The mayor led me out the front door. “Yes, it’s where Jimmy was staying.”
I glanced at the rundown buildings. “This town used to really be something, huh?”
The mayor snorted. “Absolutely, and the only reason why Witch’s Forge even flourished to begin with was because of the Bigfoot rumors.”
“Bigfoot?” I nearly tripped over my own feet. “You’re kidding.”
She shook her head briskly. “Not at all. Supposedly the first settlers wiped out the population—that’s if you believe the witch history books. Anyway, the creatures haven’t been seen in these parts for years. But still, the legend persists.”
The mayor grinned. “And tourists love legends and the possibility of sightings.”
I didn’t particularly like the idea of a Bigfoot sighting, but I stayed quiet.
The mayor exhaled a breath. “Anyway, maybe the house will show you something that will help us find Jimmy.”
I frowned, confused. “Maybe the house will show me something? Mayor, what are you talking about?”
I followed her down the deserted street, being sure to avoid the creeping kudzu that looked to want to strangle anything in its path.
“You’ll see.”
I stopped to think about that, but the mayor continued on, keeping a brisk pace.
I rushed to catch up with her.
“You see how our town is—oh, mind the kudzu. It’ll bite you if you’re not careful.”
Bite me? I lifted my leg. “Why doesn’t someone do something about it? Y’all are witches and wizards, after all.”
“We can’t,” she explained. “It’s part of the problem here. Charming, I explained that the town is broken. The magic in it is drying up. If I want to resurrect the way Witch’s Forge used to be in its heyday, then we have to bring the magic back.”
The more I stared at the crumbling buildings, the more I realized it would take a miracle from the Almighty to make that happen.
Either way, I would still get paid.
The mayor stopped abruptly. “Ah, here we are.” Her arm swept out in front of her. “Your new home away from home.”
My gaze followed. Looming over me stood an empire-style building with a clock tower secured in the center. It sat just off the main four-lane, taking up its own patch of land.
I tipped my head from side to side, trying to puzzle this thing out. “Is that the courthouse?”
Mayor Dixon climbed the steps. Her heels clacked against the concrete. “It used to be. At one time the library was housed here. It was converted to a home years ago, but people say there are still a slew of books inside—if the house lets you find them.”
I laughed nervously. “You make it sound like the house is alive.”
She pulled an elaborate silver key from her pocket, shoved it in the lock and twisted it to the right. “Oh, it is. Jimmy thought it most intriguing. It’s about the only magic that still works correctly in this town. For instance, if I try to light a match with my power, it won’t work. See?”
The mayor yanked a stick from a nearby bush and chanted silently. Instead of the stick flaming, it turned to ice.
“Townsfolk can’t work magic the way we used to.”
She tossed the branch aside and opened the door, revealing darkness that reminded me of a cavernous mouth. The scent of must trickled up my nose. I sucked in my breath.
I wasn’t one to be frightened
of things like ghosts or darkness, but there was something heavy in the air of the place.
A cool wind whisked across my shoulders. I rubbed them, fighting the dread that threatened to take over.
Winnifred stepped inside, heels clacking. Gaslights flared to life, revealing a hall rich with lush teal brocade wallpaper, a darkly finished oak bannister and staircase and, well, that was it.
I took a step back outside and glanced left and right. There were windows and wings. Granted they were covered in kudzu like just about everything else in this town, but they existed.
When I stepped back inside, all I saw were the staircase and walls.
Winnifred understood my confusion. “The building has a mind of its own. It will reveal rooms to you as it sees fit.”
I grimaced. “What if it doesn’t like me?”
She laughed. It was a rich belly laugh, a deep chuckle that made me like her. “It will like you. Of course it will. Now, let me show you Jimmy’s room.” She lowered her voice. “That is, if the house hasn’t changed it.”
I wanted to slap my forehead. What had I gotten myself into?
I trudged up the stairs behind Winnifred, questioning why I ever took this job to begin with. As I walked, the gaslights flickered. They seemed to mock me as they danced side to side as if saying the house had all the answers but I would never know any of them.
“Here we are.” Winnifred turned the knob and pushed but nothing happened. She gave me a sidelong glance. “The house may be preparing for a female visitor. Did the same thing when I brought Jimmy. It wouldn’t let us in for a moment.”
The walls shuddered. They tightened and condensed. My skin did the same. I scraped my nails along the wall, trying to find something to hold on to.
Winnifred took one look at me and laughed. “It’s just the house, dear. Nothing to be frightened about.” She hummed to herself. “Oh, I can’t wait to see what it has done.”
She turned the knob again, and this time the door opened with a swoosh.
More gaslights welcomed me, but so did a room with walls painted light blue and gold. A four-poster bed sat in the center. A gauzy canopy hung from the center down toward the mattress. A mahogany dressing table, a changing screen and a deep brown wardrobe all furnished the room.
Winnifred smiled. “I suspect your wardrobe will be full of clothes, too.”
It was. Dresses and pants, shirts and blouses all freshly pressed and hanging perfectly greeted me when I opened the doors.
“What is this place?” I said, my voice filled with wonder.
“One of the last places in town still rich with magic. You’ll see tomorrow.”
Winnifred clapped her hands. “Now. I’m sure Jimmy would’ve left behind some things. The room will have those for you.” She wagged a finger at me. “If you ask nicely, that is.”
She laughed a little to herself and plumped her hair. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, nine a.m. sharp at my office.”
I stared at the room in fascination. Little gold enameled boxes littered the surfaces. They were delicate and looked to be hundreds of years old. I felt like Belle in the enchanted castle in Beauty and the Beast.
I wondered if a candelabra would jump out and start singing and dancing.
I could only hope.
I nodded absently to Winnifred. “I’ll see you then.”
She stopped before heading out the door to drop the key in my hand. It was solid, weighing a good half pound.
“Guess I won’t be losing that anytime soon. It’s too heavy.”
“That’s the only key available now that Jimmy is missing. Please don’t lose it.”
I clutched it tightly and smiled. “I’ll do my best not to.”
I escorted her from the house and was about to go upstairs when I noticed a light burning in one of the buildings. The sign hanging above it named the place the Flying Hickory Stick.
It was well-known that Southern witches used hickory trees to make their brooms—the air witches did, at least. The wood was in abundance, light and strong—perfect for flying.
I had no idea what the other elemental witches rode. For all I knew, they grew toads from the ponds and sat on them.
A witch flying over the moon in silhouette was stamped over the Flying Hickory Stick along with a mug of beer.
“Food,” I murmured to myself.
My stomach grumbled. I stared back up at the room and the loneliness that awaited me there. I could return to it and search for clues about Jimmy, or I could grab a bite to eat and then return to search for Jimmy.
My stomach rolled again, and my problem was solved.
The Flying Hickory Stick it was.
The brass handle felt cool under my touch. I swung the door open and the sound of roaring laughter filled my ears.
The inside was like a tavern—dark wooden furniture abounded and the warm glow of amber light gave a cozy ambience. Booths lined the back wall and each one was bordered with red velvet curtains that could easily be drawn for privacy.
Oh, this was my kind of place.
The laughter that had flooded the room stopped. My gaze swept across the floor, where half a dozen patrons—all men—sat at one table.
Their cold glares felt like ice on my skin. The men stood stock still for a moment, and when one of them moved his arm, he did it with a grace and ease the likes of which no human or witch could mimic.
In that instant I knew I was standing face-to-face with vampires.
Vampires in a town full of witches made absolutely no sense to me. As far as I’d ever learned, the two were mortal enemies. Yet here sat a group of vampires drinking…something in a local tavern.
Deep-rooted fear rose in my chest. Childhood fear, the sort that is ingrained in your brain from an early age. An irrational fear that can’t be overcome. It’s the boogeyman waiting in your bedroom at night. It’s the cold chill of intangible terror, very gripping and real.
I hated vampires but I would not let my first night in this town be ruined by them. I would not bow to my fear and leave the Flying Hickory Stick.
I might not be a great witch, but I was no coward.
I put one foot in front of the other, threw my shoulders back and strode into the den of bloodsuckers.
THREE
As soon as I stepped inside the bar and restaurant, the gazes boring into me shifted back to their own conversations.
I released a deep breath.
“What are you doing here?” came a voice from my left.
I turned to find the bartender polishing glasses. He was a burly man with arms like tree trunks, big meaty fists and a gleaming bald head.
“Um.” I cleared the fear from my head. The gaggle of vampires had set me on edge. “I’m new in town.”
“Gathered that, ma’am,” he said in a smooth Southern drawl. “But why are you here?”
My gaze darted around the dark interior. “I wanted some food. Whatcha got that’s good?”
“Pork shoulder sandwich. Fried dill pickle chips. Ranch dressing. Sweet tea.”
“I’ll take it to go.”
He nodded, and before he disappeared into what I assumed to be the kitchen, he pointed a finger at the vampires and said in a threatening tone, “Stay away from them.”
I would not be made to feel small and intimidated by a bunch of vampires, so I faced them. But I made sure not to look at them directly. To look at a vampire dead-on was to challenge it.
“What do we have here?” a tall, skinny one wearing Carhart pants, a baseball cap and a white T-shirt said.
Turned out, redneck wasn’t just for everyday folks. Looked like this vamp had a good handle on it.
The skinny guy sauntered up to me in a menacing way. I cocked my head. “I am not a what; I am a whom.”
He swiveled his head back to the crowd. “And whom do we have here?” he mocked.
“Not a tasty treat for you,” I said defiantly.
He threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, she’s got guts, y�
��all. Walking in here when there’s a crowd of vampires. She must either want to be eaten or is spying on us.”
Now I might not be the most powerful witch in the world, but if I had to use a bit of water magic to hold him back while I escaped, it could’ve been done.
The odds were two million, eight hundred thousand, fifty-two to one that I would escape alive.
I would take those odds.
And I would not be intimidated by a vampire living in a witch town.
I smiled tightly. “I’m not interested in spying on y’all. I’m searching for someone.”
He cocked a brow. “Oh? And you think we ate him?”
“No,” I said stiffly. “I didn’t think that until just now. Pretty sure that if you’re living in Witch's Forge, then there are rules against you eating any witch here. Am I right? Even me.”
The cocky glint in his eyes faded. The table of vampires he had been with stopped talking and started snickering.
Cocky Man opened his mouth to say something when another voice cut him off.
“That’s enough, Peek.”
Peek? As in peekaboo? I almost laughed out loud. But I was much more interested in discovering who had spoken.
The voice was a rich baritone and filled the room with an authority that made the entire bar stand at attention.
I glanced around and found the body that accompanied the voice standing at the door.
He was tall, athletically built, wearing tan pants, riding boots and a white shirt.
He looked like he’d stepped out of another century.
Well, he was a vampire—I could tell by the slow yet elegant movement of his arm as he slid one hand into his pocket—so he could be as old as time.
He strode over. Dark hair with golden tendrils woven through tumbled over his shoulders. Danger seeped from his every pore. If danger had been a wine, this guy would’ve been carrying a glass of it.
There was no doubt in my mind he was deadly.
Silvery eyes flashed in the gaslights. What was it with gas lamps? Were they the only means of light in this town?
“I didn’t mean nothing,” Peek said.
“Ah, grammar at its finest,” I murmured.
Anger flashed in the stranger’s eyes. He nodded to Peek without taking his icy glare from me. Peek slinked back to the table of vamps.
