Elemental Eight

by Cindy Stark

  He kept his features firm, but she sensed the fear underneath.

  She understood, but she also knew she couldn’t let that stop her. “I would be very careful, do it at a time when I wouldn’t be caught. I know how to break in now without notice, and how to return the lock to its original state.”

  “Regardless, it puts you in danger, Hazel, and I don’t like it. I think we have enough to go on right now without it.”

  “We have some,” she conceded. “What if there’s more? What if there’s absolute proof they killed Sarah?”

  “I’m not about to endanger your life for one that’s already lost. That makes no sense. There’s nothing I’d like more than to bring her killers to justice, but I already have a place to start. I’ll investigate Fauna’s attack because the danger from that attacker is a current threat. But I have a feeling we’ll discover the two incidents are tied together.”

  She supposed she could grant him that much for now. It wasn’t like he was ignoring the situation. Just approaching it from a different, but also valid angle.

  She considered the fear both women must have felt, and a deep shiver rumbled through her. “This scares me, Peter. Since I moved to Stonebridge, the threat has always been there, but not front and present. Things have changed. I feel it in my marrow.”

  He released a long sigh, his breath turning frosty in the cool air. “I feel it, too. I have a sinking feeling that things are going to get much worse before they get better. I’d make you leave town, but I know you won’t.”

  Fear covered her like a suffocating cloud. “It’s not that I wouldn’t, Peter. If this town is to have a chance at peace, I can’t leave.”

  He stiffened next to her, and she knew he’d picked up on what she hadn’t specifically said. “What do you mean?”

  If there was anything she didn’t want to discuss, the prophecy would be at the top of her list. What she’d read was too vague, too threatening to her personal security for Peter to accept it, but it was what it was.

  She shifted and tilted her face so she could observe his reaction. “There’s a prophecy, Peter. One that involves me and the man I choose to be with.”

  He narrowed his gaze. “It’s about me?”

  She gave a quick nod. “Every hundred years, an opportunity opens for a witch from the correct line of succession and a powerful man to heal our town.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, and then laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”

  There was a small piece of her that wanted to punch him. “I’m dead serious. Victor believes he’s the one, but I think it’s you.”

  An unhappy look crossed his face, and he raised his brows. “Victor?”

  She shrugged. “He’s the most powerful male witch on the Eastern Seaboard.”

  Peter gave a derisive snort. “Then why don’t you think it’s him?”

  “Because you’re the one I love. You’re the one I’m in sync with. You’re the one who’s woven into my tapestry with unbreakable strands.”

  “What if I’m not the one? What if you choose, and you’re wrong?”

  His words churned the constant thoughts that haunted her. What if she was wrong? “My heart tells me I’m right. Even Clarabelle likes you. If you weren’t for me, don’t you think she’d rally against us being together?”

  He lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “Who knows?”

  She pondered that for a long moment. “That’s just it. Who knows. The only things I have to go on are my heart and my head. Both tell me you’re the one. Victor certainly doesn’t care about Stonebridge like you do. Maybe this person who’s supposed to help me doesn’t need magic. Maybe he just needs to care with his whole heart.”

  A slow sigh slipped from Peter, and she sensed his resistance lessening. “Maybe so. I guess whatever the future holds, we’ll be in it together.”

  She tilted her face upward and stretched her neck so that she could kiss his mouth. He responded by tightening his hold on her and matching the intensity of her kiss.

  She ended the kiss when she could no longer breathe. “I love you, Peter Parrish. You’re definitely the man for me.”

  He placed a soft kiss on the top of her head. “I sure hope so.”

  “Hey,” she said. “How would you like to buy a lady a cup of hot cocoa?”

  He chuckled. “Not tea?”

  “Nope. I want chocolate to warm my bones, topped with a mountain of whipped cream.”

  “Okay. You’ve got it.”

  Ten minutes later, she and Peter were safely ensconced in a booth inside Cora’s cozy café with large mugs of hot chocolate in their hands. Peter had opted for a slice of warm apple pie as well. Unfortunately, Cora had taken several hours off that night, so Hazel was unable to see her friend.

  Perhaps that was for the best, considering the state of their friendship at the moment. Hazel definitely had some work to do in that area.

  It seemed several couples had thought cocoa or coffee and pie was a great idea for the crisp, fall evening, including John Bartles and his wife Susan. Anger sparked in Hazel’s blood as she pondered John’s guilt or innocence where Fauna was concerned.

  On the outside, the couple seemed like the perfect pair. Both had the same sandy blond hair and brown eyes. Both usually wore similar, friendly smiles.

  But not tonight.

  Hazel lifted her fork and stole a juicy apple slice protruding from the side of Peter’s pie. “Did you notice John is here?”

  Peter frowned. “Yeah, I saw him. Hard to look at him without wondering. Hard to wonder without wanting to pummel him.”

  She snorted. “That’s exactly how I feel.”

  Hazel peered beyond Peter’s shoulder again toward the couple. “I wonder if the rumor of John possibly being responsible for Fauna’s attack has gotten out, because Susan sure isn’t happy.”

  He shook his head. “I doubt it. I’m the only one on the police force who knows of the allegations, and I can’t imagine any of your group would say anything that might cast suspicion in their direction. Know what I mean?”

  She thought for a moment and then nodded. “Yeah. I would agree.”

  A heated exchanged between the two echoed over the tops of the booths toward them. Hazel couldn’t make out specific words, but whatever was being said wasn’t good.

  The sound of a glass slamming hard against the table brought Peter’s gaze around, too, and they watched as Susan stood. Anger vibrated in red waves around her. “You disgust me.”

  She stormed from the café with a tear-streaked, red-stained face.

  Peter and Hazel kept their gazes trained in that direction. A second later, John stood, tossed some money onto the table, and followed his wife. Hazel expected to pick up stressed emotions coming from him, too, but he was a blank slate, as though he wasn’t present or in his right mind. The expression on his face showed only determination.

  Peter turned back to her with raised brows. “Whatever is up between them, it’s not good.”

  Hazel lifted her cup and sipped the chocolatey goodness. “You can say that again.”

  Chapter Eight

  Hazel sat at the workstation in the backroom of her teashop and poured chunks of peppermint candy into the ceramic mortar. She reached for the old-fashioned pestle she’d purchased in Boston on her last trip and crushed the candy into small pieces. The scent of mint rose to greet her, and she smiled. Winter was right around the corner, and she intended to have a nice selection of holiday teas available.

  First on her list was Candy Cane tea. She intended to start with a green tea, add peppermint bark, cinnamon and vanilla, and then bits of candy to sweeten it.

  Her phone vibrated on the counter near her, and she removed the latex gloves she wore when preparing teas. She touched the screen, and Peter’s message flashed bright and clear.

  We just discovered John Bartles’ body. Near Redemption Pond.

  Her heart plummeted to the floor. John? Dead?

  She’d seen him less than t
wo days ago, when he’d fought with his wife. Now, he was dead?

  Her first thoughts jumped to the coven, to Harriett and Olivia, who’d hinted they’d take revenge for Fauna’s attack.

  She quickly texted back to Peter, asking if he was at the station.

  He replied that he was on his way to the scene, and he’d let her know more information later.

  She sat for a long moment, her instincts urging her to drive out to the pond.

  She wouldn’t be welcome. It was a crime scene, after all.

  Her yearnings deepened. Persisted.

  She fought them for all of five minutes before she abandoned her task.

  She was going. They could make her leave if they wanted. But she’d learn more by being there, even if it was from the opposite side of the yellow crime scene tape. Emotions and auras told her so much more than she’d get from Peter’s perspective.

  Her trusty assistant, Gretta, was more than happy to hold down the shop while Hazel escaped.

  Hazel parked in the dirt lot near the edge of the road, created for the public to access the pond. She wished she could have driven in through the private access gate she’d used when she’d discovered Fauna’s body.

  But, perhaps subtly walking up to the scene would cause less notice than driving directly to it.

  She hurried along the dirt path she and Peter had taken on their first official date, and, despite the circumstances, she couldn’t help but smile when she neared the area where she’d found the five-dollar bill she’d conjured with one of her first spells.

  She’d come a long way since then.

  Not that she didn’t still have a million miles to go where serious witchcraft was concerned. But she was no longer afraid to learn, even if she still preferred to stay away from blood spells.

  She kept to the tree line until she was near and then did her best to appear unobtrusive as she made her way across the grassy meadow toward the pond and a serious collection of police and emergency vehicles.

  Not wanting to be in the way or particularly to be noticed, she hung back, along the edge of the scene. She was there all of thirty seconds before Peter spied her.

  Irritation flared in his eyes, and she backed up a step as he approached.

  “Hazel. What are you doing here?”

  She sent him a penitent look. “I wanted to see for myself.”

  He glanced across the scene with a wild sweep. “This is an official police investigation. You can’t be here.”

  “I haven’t crossed the crime scene tape, and it’s a public place. So, why not?”

  He stared at her for a long, hard moment, and she could sense that he searched for an answer. But really, there wasn’t one.

  “Fine,” he said in a harsh tone. “You stay here, and don’t step one foot across that tape line.”

  A happy smile crossed her lips. “Thank you, Chief Parrish. I promise to behave.”

  He rolled his eyes and shook his head in defeat. “Why did I ever encourage your interest?”

  She didn’t answer, and he didn’t wait for one. Instead, he turned back to the scene and headed for John’s police SUV.

  She studied everything. From the people attending the scene, to John’s vehicle, to the sky, trees and ground. When her gaze landed on the green hose connected to the back of John’s vehicle, she froze.

  Hazel tried to follow where it led, but she couldn’t see the passenger side of the car. Still, she feared the hose would be threaded into one of the passenger windows.

  Death by carbon monoxide poisoning.

  Suicide.

  That thought settled heavy in her chest.

  Had guilt over what he’d done to Fauna driven him to this end?

  Or perhaps something that had happened with his wife?

  The residue of suffering infiltrated her senses. Residue from Fauna? Had John suffered in his final moments, or drugged himself to escape the pain and convulsions that accompanied such a death?

  She studied the area surrounding the car again, this time focusing more on other senses besides sight. Brown and gray auras surrounded the officers, showing their determination and sadness at what they’d encountered. The ones around the EMTs included hints of turquoise, a sign of caring and compassion.

  Something pulled her gaze several feet beyond the SUV, and she perused that area. When she spied a stack of small rocks, she paused. Her pulse increased. The pyramid rose to nearly a foot off the ground.

  She wished she could see the bottom, see if a circular base surrounded it. From her vantage point, she tried to count the number of stones that made up the pyramid, but yellowed grasses and a singular point of view made it difficult.

  The rocks could have been stacked as a game or pastime. Or, they could have a whole different meaning. Could be a sign of witchcraft.

  She scanned for Peter and found him squatting and studying the tailpipe along with another deputy. She gave a small wave, trying to capture his attention, but he was solely focused on his job.

  But she needed him. Needed to tell him to examine the rock pile.

  After a solid thirty seconds of staring at him, trying to send him a subliminal message, he seemed to startle. His gaze jumped to hers. A thrill shot through her.

  She was almost one hundred percent sure she’d been able to communicate with him telepathically. She hadn’t aced it, but she had gained his attention.

  She gestured with her head, motioning him to come to her.

  He stood, said something to the deputy next to him, and then strode toward her.

  “Hazel,” he said when he was near enough. “I can’t keep coming over here. I need to stay focused, and what will my men think with you constantly summoning me?”

  She tried not to let his words bruise her heart. “I’ve been watching and studying. There’s a pile of rocks several feet from the front tire.”

  His expression grew incredulous. “Rocks?”

  She tightened her jaw and breathed. “In case you’ve forgotten,” she said in a harsh whisper. “Fauna named John as her attacker and subtly threatened to make him pay.”

  He shook his head. “This appears to be a suicide, Hazel.”

  She groaned, thinking she’d taught him better. “I understand that, but maybe you need to consider that a witch might have caused him to take his life.”

  He lifted his brows, now interested. “Can a witch do that?”

  She sighed. “I’m not sure. But, if enough blood or black magic was used, it might be possible. That stack of rocks that you’re laughing at reminds me of something I’ve seen before used in a ceremony. The placement of the stones. The number of stones could mean something. All I’m asking is that you take a closer look because I can’t. If it is evidence, even if otherworldly, I would think you’d want to know.”

  He sent her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ll make sure we photograph anything that’s out of place, whether nature related or otherwise.”

  A grin hovered on her lips. She wanted to stand on her tiptoes and kiss him, but she’d probably compromised the man in his officers’ eyes enough for one day. “Thank you, Peter. I really appreciate that.”

  He snorted. “I’m sure I’ll appreciate it, too.”

  He gestured toward the SUV. “Coroner is going to take the body in a few minutes. After he leaves, I’m headed to notify his wife. I wouldn’t mind some emotional support. I have a feeling Susan might welcome it, too.”

  Her heart opened wide that he trusted her to help him. “Of course. Anything you or she needs.”

  “Why don’t you head out to your car? I’ll be there in about five minutes, and I’ll follow you into town. We’ll leave your car at the teashop and drive to Susan’s together. Afterward, I’ll need to return here.”

  She frowned.

  He widened his eyes and groaned. He knew. “You want to stay until they take the body.”

  She gave him a hopeful look and nodded.

  He shook his head and sighed. “My k
ind of girl.”

  Inexplicable warmth spread inside her. “You never know. I might see something your men have missed.”

  “Fine. Stay until they take him, and then I’ll give you a ride to your car.”

  Chapter Nine

  Other than the fact that John Bartles was dead, Hazel didn’t notice anything unusual as the coroner and some of Peter’s men removed his lifeless body from the vehicle and loaded him onto an unzipped black bag that rested on a gurney. The coroner, an older man with gray, grizzled hair, appeared frail enough that Hazel would be surprised if he was any help at all in moving the body.

  Officers rolled the gurney over uneven ground and slid the body bag into the back of the ambulance. The coroner slammed the door, startling crows from the long grasses and into flight. The ambulance drove away, silent and without flashing lights. No need to rush when it was already too late for John.

  Peter held up the crime scene tape and allowed Hazel to walk along the perimeter to his vehicle. He helped her inside and shut the door. When he was behind the wheel, he started the engine and then turned to her with a serious look.

  “I don’t think I can have you showing up unexpectedly at crime scenes in the future. I overheard a couple of guys whispering about the chief’s groupie, and sooner or later, they’re going to realize I’m the one who leaked information about John’s death to you.”

  Sadness enveloped her. “I guess in my attempt to learn all I can, I hadn’t thought of that. I’m sorry I caused you trouble, Peter.”

  He reached over and squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’d still like to have you involved in my cases. You provide a perspective I can’t get anywhere else, and you’ve provided invaluable assistance in the past. We’ll just have to figure out another way.”

  A small smile curved her lips. “Okay. It might not be what I’d really like, but I’ll take it.”

  The ride to Susan Bartles’ home was somber and quiet for the most part. Dread cloaked the inside of the car and stayed with her and Peter as they exited and headed up the cement walkway in one of the newer homes in Stonebridge. Sadly, most modern housing had resorted to functional buildings and had lost the unique charm of past centuries.