Down on the Charm

by E L Wilder

“This is Gammy’s cigarette case,” she said, dumbfounded.

  Ronnie’s face darkened.

  “What are you doing here?” called out a voice from above.

  Hazel looked up to see Alex perched in the window, brandishing a stick like he might try to poke out their eyes.

  Not a stick, an actual wand, idiot, she thought. She cursed herself. She should have closed the window.

  “We just want to talk,” she explained.

  She thought Alex might flee, but instead he jumped to the floor, landing gracefully. He kept the wand trained on them.

  “That doesn’t look like talking,” he said, nodding at the ravaged contents of his bag.

  “And these don’t look like your things,” she spat back.

  “Are you working with him?” Alex asked.

  “I can answer for myself,” said Ronnie. “You worthless pile of cow crap.”

  “Quiet,” snapped Alex. He was getting angrier, pointing and gesticulating with the wand now as he edged closer to Ronnie with each word until he was almost within grabbing distance.

  Hazel used the distraction. She swiped the ball of light from the air and lobbed it at Alex like a hand grenade. It was a harmless thing, but it did the trick. Alex startled and tried to sidestep as the ball hurtled toward his head, but he caught his foot on the edge of a rack and crashed to the floor. Ronnie was on him, moving faster than Hazel had thought him capable and pinning Alex to the floor. He yanked the hammer from his belt and held it threateningly over Alex’s head.

  “If ya move,” growled Ronnie. “I’ll do a full renovation of yer skull.”

  Damn. Go, Ronnie!

  “Grab a harness,” Ronnie said through gritted teeth.

  Hazel jumped to and grabbed the closest harness. She helped Ronnie bind Alex’s hands and feet.

  “You’re making a mistake,” said Alex, his eyes drifting from Ronnie’s hammer long enough to look Hazel in the eyes. She looked away and wrapped his wrists tightly behind his back.

  “Shut yer mouth,” barked Ronnie. “I always knew there was something not right about this boy. Never trust a man that can’t dig a proper hole.”

  Alex hissed at Hazel. “Why did you bring him here? You’ve doomed us both.”

  “I told ya to shut yer mouth!” barked Ronnie, raising the hammer again as if to strike Alex. Something about that pose made the palms of her hand tingle, and she threw her arms up reflexively. In that moment, Ronnie turned and brought the hammer down upon Hazel.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The hammer connected with Hazel’s forearm. A sickening cracked split the room and a searing pain radiated throughout her arm.

  She stumbled back and landed hard on the floor, crashing into Alex’s bags and boxes.

  As a junior daredevil and self-professed adventurer, Hazel was no stranger to broken bones. Nary a summer of her childhood had ended without some appendage of hers wrapped in a cast. She knew from experience that Ronnie’s strike had broken something.

  When she looked up again, Ronnie was standing over her, the hammer raised once more.

  The hammer. It had been Ronnie that had stood in the road and attacked the truck. Had tried to kill her and her friends. Had attacked her in the tractor garage. Had killed Gammy’s beloved roses—and murdered Eric Moore. Ronnie, the caretaker, who had been woven into the fabric of her family as long as she had been alive. Longer.

  She thought he might strike her again and finish her off, but he just stood there, panting, both his beard and his eyes quivering in the thin light of the lantern.

  “Ya just had to meddle,” he said. “Ya’ve always been a meddler. I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  Her arm screamed in pain, but a deeper pain radiated through her chest as the reality of Ronnie’s misdeeds hit her. He had betrayed her family. He had killed a man and let Juni take the fall for it. And he had tried to do the same to Hazel and her friends.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, tears now gushing hot and furious. She hated herself for crying, but she couldn’t help it—the cocktail of raw pain and emotion was too much.

  “That’s what I was trying to tell you,” said Alex.

  “SHUT UP!” Ronnie screamed. “Both of ya, shut up! This is movin’ too fast . . . everything is movin’ too fast. Just . . . just . . . yesterday I was playin’ gin with Helena on my porch, swattin’ mosquitos with one hand and gettin’ swatted by Helena when I reached under the table with the other . . .” He grinned, his eyes growing glassy as he became lost in his reverie. “Things are just movin’ too fast. I had to do somethin’ to slow it down. Helena . . . I saw her do magic . . . I’d swiped a few pages over the years. I thought maybe there was some magic in there that could help me . . . make us younger . . . keep us together forever . . . but there weren’t nothin’.” He started crying now, an awful sound, sadder than anything Hazel had ever heard. “I spent the years after she died just practicin’. I thought maybe if I got good enough, I could make my own spells. Helena did it all the time.”

  He moaned long and low, a miserable wailing that made her shiver. He went on. “And then yer sister, she came back from college. She had idears and plans for changin’ the farm. At first I was excited. She was gonna restore it. But that’s not what she wanted at all . . . she wanted to change things . . . bring the farm into the ‘twenty-first century.’ As if Bennett Farms ever needed the twenty-first century. Talk of artisans . . . and school programs . . . public service. Sure she was makin’ the barn like new again . . . on the outside. But inside, this weren’t my farm no more. It weren’t Helena’s farm. Things were just movin’ so fast . . . I had to stop it . . .”

  The epiphany hit Hazel harder than any hammer could. “You weren’t trying to kill Eric Moore,” said Hazel. “You were trying to kill Juniper!”

  “Helena would be so ashamed,” he mewled.

  Despite the pain, she moved to sit up. “Ronnie, you don’t have to—”

  He sprang forward, hammer raised. “I SAID SHUT UP!”

  She fell back, her good arm raised in defense, but Ronnie stayed his hand.

  Hazel racked her brain again, trying to recall the spells in her mother’s book. Something that might help her in this situation. What was she going to do? Summon a neon ping-pong ball to better see the hammer hurtling toward her face?

  Alex interrupted, drawing Ronnie’s attention away from Hazel. “The council sent me from Quark,” he said. “They wanted to know why there had been a lapse in the Bennett lineage.” This made no sense to her. There were people—a whole counsel of them—keeping tabs on the Bennetts? What for?

  Ronnie scuffled across the room and kicked Alex hard. “I should have killed ya in the sheep barn when I had the chance,” growled Ronnie.

  “Not for lack of trying,” Alex said between gritted teeth. “You almost got us both killed.”

  Hazel saw a flicker of movement overhead. Something dark darted across the rafters. And then silent as a shadow, Clancy leaped down, landing on the seat of a saddle and settling there—sejant guardant—as he flicked both his tails wildly.

  A voice lilted into Hazel’s head. And you wanted to go through the Postern.

  What a legendary jerk. If she got through this alive, she would have to seriously question whether she wanted this fur licker for a familiar. Maybe she could befriend a magic owl and rework the Bennett-family crest.

  She tried to will these thoughts to Clancy but she was no psychic, and Clancy just looked at her, slightly amused. I almost felt that. But you’ll have to do better if you want me to hear you. He started licking his paw.

  “Ronnie,” said Alex, “it doesn’t have to end like this.”

  “I told ya to shut up!”

  Hazel looked on in horror as Ronnie raised his hammer and muttered a few words. The air around him began to warp and ripple so intensely it lifted the leather reins from their cradles.

  She had to do something. She could figure this out. She just needed to focus.

  Focu
s.

  Ronnie still had Gammy’s cigarette case, but maybe there was something else here. She cast her eyes down, searching the pile of personal effects that had spilled from Alex’s bag—reading glasses, a necklace, a glove, a pack of playing cards. She cursed herself again for having broken Gammy’s hairpin. When she was done this, she was going to craft a proper wand out of steel.

  Her eyes fell upon an object peeking out of the bag. The tortoiseshell brush that Gammy had used to comb Hazel’s hair so many times. So many secrets shared, so many tales of adventures, of boys, of hopes and dreams. She could almost smell the rose oil that Gammy rubbed into her hair.

  She only needed the opportunity to grab it.

  Clancy’s words crept into her head as little more than a dead whisper. Wait for it.

  She locked gazes with him, and for a moment, she felt like she could see out of his eyes, hear from his ears, feel the swish of his double tails. She could feel his vocal cords tighten at the moment before he opened his mouth and yowled.

  The sound split the air and held Ronnie’s attention long enough for Hazel to grab the hairbrush. There was no time to ponder how absurd it was that she was wielding a hairbrush like a weapon. She gripped it tightly and pointed it at Ronnie, envisioning a fitting end for him. A whirlwind picked up in the room, blowing fiercely and zeroing in on Ronnie. In a matter of moments, he was obscured in a vortex of dust that had been stripped from every surface in the room. The reins tore loose from their hooks and joined the maelstrom, spinning closer to the center of the cyclone. When at last the wind settled and the dust cleared, Ronnie lay on the ground, cocooned in an elaborate weave of leather reins, the hammer lying on the ground beside him.

  She pulled herself to her feet and approached him. He made no attempt to wriggle out from his binds. Perhaps he could sense the futility in it.

  “Gammy would be so disappointed,” she said.

  His two beady eyes stared out from between the web of reins, burning with such unchecked hatred that it caught her off guard. But she refused to look away.

  She stooped next to him and unhooked the carabiner holding his bouquet of keys. “Now I own the locks and the keys,” she said.

  She hurried to Alex and undid his bonds clumsily with her good arm. “Accept my apologies,” she said.

  He rubbed his wrists and looked at her warily. “Maybe I should have been more forthcoming with you. We might have avoided this entirely. I wasn’t even sure if you had the Knack.”

  “What do you think now?”

  “He surveyed the disheveled room, the gift-wrapped Ronnie lying on the Carriage House floor, and nodded. “Yeah, I’d say you passed the entrance exam.”

  I would agree.

  Clancy approached, stepping over the pile of horse blankets.

  “Couldn’t you have just jumped on him?”

  And risk injury? asked Clancy.

  Hazel scoffed and turned toward Alex.

  “And you,” she said. “If you knew Ronnie was up to no good, why didn’t you stop him?”

  “I didn’t know,” said Alex. “When I got here, I found evidence of magical malfeasance. I started working on the farm to try to get to the bottom of it. I just barely found that Ronnie was practicing magic—black magic. He had learned enough from your grandmother to understand he needed focuses. He started stealing things from your grandmother’s room. As best I can tell, he’s been practicing for years. Harmlessly enough. Still, I did my best to stymie his efforts. I stole his focuses. I thought that would be enough. I didn’t realize that he was capable of murder.”

  “Thanks for the play-by-play,” said Hazel, “but my arm is killing me and I’m anxious to clear my sister. Any chance you could run to the manor and call for reinforcements?”

  “What? Oh, yes, of course.” Alex hopped into the window and started to climb out.

  “You could have just used the door this time,” Hazel called after him, but he was already gone.

  “So does this mean you’ll wait with me until help arrives?” she asked Clancy.

  I’m a busy guy, but I think I can clear a few minutes in my schedule.

  Hazel lifted the hairbrush with her good arm and started running it through her hair with long even strokes, saying a silent thank-you to Gammy. At least they could both commiserate in the afterlife about their bad taste in men.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  A horn blew in the distance. The crowd erupted in cheers and turned their attention to the South Way, stepping away from game booths, scooping up plates of barbeque fare, and rushing to get a spot at the roadside.

  This was it. The grand opening of Bennett Farms had arrived after two weeks of backbreaking labor that had left Hazel more tired than she’d ever been. And happier. She’d spent that time working side-by-side with Juniper, putting the finishing touches on the East Barn and decorating floats for the parade.

  She looked out over the crowd, a mix of new and familiar faces. That meant the town was changing, that the farm was changing. It was frightening, but exhilarating, the same way she felt every time she released a new movie. They were moments full of danger and possibility. A moment to live or die. And judging by the attendance here today Bennett Farm would breathe new life. Thanks to Juniper’s ingenuity and good sense.

  The tabloids had their day with the sensational story—the murder, the arrest, Juniper’s redemption, the financial malfeasance, and Ronnie’s guilty plea. And then they had quickly moved on, like they always did, to the next news cycle. But Ronnie’s betrayal had left a wound that would take time to heal, though heal it would. She could see that in the faces gathered here.

  Linda Wilkins bumped her way through the crowd, hugging everything and everyone she could get her hands on. When she saw Hazel, she went in for a bear hug but stopped short. “I don’t want to break your other arm, honey!” she shouted, cackling.

  Hazel wagged her casted forearm at Linda. “If you’re nice, I’ll let you sign it.”

  Linda laughed in delight and moved off into the crowd to grapple more unsuspecting friends.

  Hazel saw Charlie exit the East Barn archway, looking like something of a mystic, powdered as she was with flour from head to toe. Charlie saw Hazel and ambled over.

  “I didn’t miss it!” she exclaimed. The stitches just below her hairline were barely visible beneath the bright-red bandana covering her hair.

  “Just in time,” Hazel said. “Did you just finish battling with the industrial mixer?”

  “Don’t get me started.”

  “Are you back in Bretta’s good graces?”

  Charlie smiled. “It turns out that helping to clear the good name of your boss’s generous landlord and bringing a murderer to justice buys one a lot of goodwill. The results of your bad driving didn’t hurt either.” She lightly touched her stitches and put a hand to her ribs. “It was a hard price to pay, but it bought me a few sympathy points.”

  Hazel chuckled. “I’m glad you’re on the mend. I need my Watson back.”

  “How about we just investigate a bottle of Shiraz?”

  Hazel giggled. “Deal. I think I owe you at least that much.”

  Charlie scanned the crowd and finally mustered up the courage to ask, “What happened to Tall-Dark-and-Handsome?”

  Hazel shrugged. “He went back through the Postern. He said he had to report on what had happened—that the warlock was no longer practicing.” And that the Bennett line was alive and well.

  “When’s the trial again?”

  “Next week,” she said. “He’s pleaded guilty, so it should be a quick ordeal. It’s justice, but it’s hard to feel good about it.”

  They spotted Tyler. He wore a pair of dark shorts and a short-sleeved button-down, sported a freshly minted haircut and a pair of sunglasses. He saw them and started weaving through the crowd.

  “Here comes Rico Suave,” said Charlie.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Hazel.

  Charlie smirked and before she could say
anything, Tyler arrived and flopped down on the grass next to them.

  “Hazel, as the resident celebrity, shouldn’t you be in the parade?” he asked.

  “I’ve had my share of the limelight. I’d like to be in the audience for once. Juni gets to play the leading lady today.”

  “Tired of attention?” he teased. “Does that mean you’re sticking around for a bit?”

  “Yeah,” she said, smiling. “I think it does. And you?”

  “I’m not going anywhere. I never was.” He said it without any pain and disappointment, but rather a hint of satisfaction.

  She laughed. “Shouldn’t our new caretaker be leading the way?”

  He shrugged and exhaled loudly. “I might have been if somebody hadn’t trashed my ride.”

  Hazel winced. “About that,” she said. “I talked to mom—”

  “I don’t do charity,” he interjected.

  “And she thinks that whoever can fix up that old Duesenberg is welcome to have it.”

  He turned to her, eyes ready to pop from their sockets. “No way.” It was a statement of rejection, not of disbelief. “I’d be a lot more comfortable with a forty-year-old pickup.”

  “Well, she’s giving you an ultimatum. Either you rescue it from the ravages of the Carriage House or she’s selling it at auction.”

  He was dumbfounded. “Hazel, if you sold that, it could pay to renovate Bennett Manor.”

  “No need,” she said. “Bennett Farms and everything on it has recently caught the attention of a wealthy donor and she plans to stick around and make sure her money gets used wisely.”

  “I thought Juni didn’t want handouts either,” said Tyler.

  “It’s not a handout. I’m a partner. That makes it an investment. And that means the car is up for grabs. Besides,” she said, “with your new job, where do you need to go that isn’t already here on the farm?”

  “I do have a life to attend to.”

  “Oh do you?”

  “I do!” he said. “And when I need to attend to it, I’ll borrow my mom’s Dodge Neon.”

  “That’s the saddest statement ever uttered by a single man.”