Witch Bait

by Kate Allenton

  “It’s okay. I was just leaving,” Ryder announced, turning his gaze back to mine. “I’ll call after I do some digging into the archives about the symbol and let you know what I figure out.”

  Ryder turned on his heel, headed for the door, and tapped King’s arm. “She’s all yours. Take care of her, or you’ll answer to me.”

  Ryder disappeared into the hall as King turned back to me. “What symbol?”

  I shook my head before turning my attention to Livvy, who was standing at the bookshelf trying to reach a book higher than her little arm could reach. “I’m guessing Livvy wants to read a book.”

  She glanced over her shoulder before her shoulders sagged. “Mildred told me to in my dream. She said I needed to read that one.”

  Livvy jumped, pointing to one of the books. I crossed the room and pulled it down for her, the title, Witchy Ways 101: Unleashing the Witch Within. I showed the title to King. “How about I read it first and make sure it’s age-appropriate.”

  Livvy frowned, her look deflated until I leaned down to her level. “I can’t have you conjuring ghosts until I know how to get rid of them.”

  I scanned the shelves and pulled a book on herbs down and handed it to her. “Every good witch has to learn how to grow a herb garden. Start with this one until I read the other one.”

  She took it, looking satisfied. “Did you know herbs were used as medicine to cure lots of things before medicine was invented?”

  “No, I didn’t,” I said, clutching the other book to my chest.

  “It’s true. Did you know my mom couldn’t grow flowers? She said some people have green thumbs, but she didn’t.” Livvy glanced at her fingers. “My thumbs aren’t green either.”

  “It’s a figure of speech,” King said, resting his hand on her shoulder. “She couldn’t keep houseplants alive, but I bet you can. You’re smarter than all of us combined.”

  “I am,” she said, opening the book and scanning it as she left the room.

  “Thanks,” King said.

  “I guess tonight I’ll be doing some light reading.” I tossed the book onto the bed, moved to the painting, and began to explain what we’d uncovered last night and the connection of the symbols used as evidence in the crime scene pictures from Georgia’s mother’s death.

  King was getting better at believing the unimaginable after seeing it first-hand when I’d saved Livvy’s life not long ago by surrounding her in something similar to a bubble, keeping her from falling and breaking her arm or much worse. He’d been quick to figure out that I wasn’t the enemy, even though he couldn’t explain what he’d witnessed.

  I grabbed some clothes and disappeared into the bathroom to change and get ready for the day. When I reappeared, I found King propped up with his back against my headboard, reading from the witch book, his gun and badge sitting on the bedside table.

  “Working today?” I asked.

  “Yeah.” He snapped the book closed. “I’m going to the coven to question them about Katrina. I thought you might like to go with me.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I could use your expertise. You are a witch and all.”

  A smile split my lips. “I might have magic running in my veins, but that doesn’t mean I know the first thing about being a witch.”

  He slid off the bed and grabbed his badge and gun. “They don’t know that.” He grinned. “To them, you’re Mildred’s granddaughter, the wickedest witch east of the Mississippi. They might be more inclined to talk if I bring you.”

  “I’m an outsider. They don’t know me. I doubt they’ll tell me anything.” I slipped my feet into my shoes.

  “Rumor has it they want to recruit you and your sisters into their fold.” King grinned with a glint in his eye as I rose.

  “Since when do you listen to rumors?”

  He grinned. “Since they concern you.”

  “So, I’m the distraction.”

  “A beautiful distraction,” King said, following me out of the room.

  I glanced over my shoulder as we hit the top of the stairs. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

  He pulled me into his arms, his gaze softening. “Go out on a date with me, Tess. Just you and me. No sisters, no dead bodies, nobody else, just us, having dinner and enjoying each other’s company. We could both use the break.”

  I rested my hand on the fabric of his shirt. “After you catch the bartender from last night and my sisters aren’t in danger, consider me all yours.”

  ****

  King pulled onto a dirt road that led to the coven’s property and proceeded down the long bumpy path through the middle of the woods.

  “This would be a great place to hide a body.”

  King gave me a sideways look. “Do you have something you need to confess?”

  I gave him a saucy wink and grinned. “Maybe after our first date.”

  We passed several smaller homes before he pulled up and parked outside of a wooden gazebo, where several men and women were sitting on mats meditating.

  If meditating was a necessity to being a witch, I would fail the task. I’d tried it once and fell asleep five minutes into the funky-chimed singing bowls that I was told would help. “Think we should honk the horn?”

  “You’re a devious woman,” King said, climbing out of the SUV. I followed, ignoring my inner bitch, who wanted to belt out an old country song about the Devil going down to Georgia.

  Chapter 11

  “This way, slick.” King rested his hand on my back and steered me to a building off in the distance.

  “You know where you’re going?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I might have dated a girl that lived out here.”

  Big thick trees covering the property provided shade and fruit, which some men and women were picking. In the distance was a field where women were harvesting vegetables with baskets. They were self-sufficient in a way I wouldn’t have suspected. A little cult-type commune inside the community.

  The door to the building was propped open, and people came and went as King led me inside. We passed classrooms where young children were attending class, and I slowed to watch. On the board were spells and directions. I watched in awe as the children poured liquids into beakers like I’d done in my science class.

  “That’s the potions class,” a woman said as she approached. Her long gray hair was braided, hanging over her shoulder.

  She looked like she could be someone’s grandmother. I don’t know what I’d expected, black pointy hats maybe and tons of mascara. I turned my gaze back to the classroom, where purple smoke was filling the air. “Is that safe?”

  “Of course.” Her brows dipped as she studied me.

  “Mrs. Gold, I’m sorry for your loss. I know the detectives have already spoken with you but I need to ask you some more questions,” King said, catching me off guard.

  “Please call me Hilda.”

  “You’re Katrina’s mother?”

  “I am,” she announced and gestured down the hall. “I’m sure you have questions. Why don’t we take this into my office where we can have some privacy.”

  I followed her down the hall past a library, where a few teenaged girls were reading, with more books like those in my attic. Mrs. Gold led us into a huge office. The cream-colored walls were soothing, a large thick oak desk set across the room, and a couch with chairs for conversation stood near the window. She led us to the chairs and gestured.

  “Again, I’m sorry for your loss,” King said.

  “Thank you.”

  “Do you have any idea what Katrina was doing inside Mrs. Hexford’s antique store?”

  “Katrina was very secretive and evasive leading up to her disappearance, but from what I gathered from talking to, Myra, her best friend, is that she was looking for a painting.”

  “Myra from the coffee shop?” I asked, interrupting. I knew Myra. She’d been the barista at the coffee shop and the only one to kind to me when I first arrived to town when everyone else
hadn’t been so quick to welcome me with open arms.

  “Yes, she’s a member of our coven and lives on the property. She told me she met you when you first arrived into town and she’s very fond of you, Ms. Venture,” Hilda answered.

  “Do you know what painting and why?”

  Hilda let out a hefty sigh. “She had a meeting scheduled with Mildred a week prior to her death, but Mildred canceled, and then, as we all know, she died. It’s possible she went looking to see if Mildred had the painting she was after. I try my best to teach my children right from wrong, but as you can imagine, they don’t always listen.”

  “And your son, James. Have you seen him?”

  I was unable to stop my mouth from parting. I’d had no idea that James was Hilda’s son.

  Hilda’s gaze went from King’s to mine and back again. “I haven’t seen or heard from James in three days. What has he done?”

  “He tried to kidnap Tess last night from the party, and he was after a painting too.”

  Hilda clenched her eyes closed, her face pinched like a raisin before she opened them again. “I’m sorry, Tess. I have no idea why he would even attempt something like that.”

  I did. He wanted the deadly symbol, but I wasn’t about to tell her.

  “You’re more than welcome to question anyone in the coven and search his and Katrina’s homes if it will help you find him and bring my daughter’s killer to justice. The coven does not condone violence of any kind.”

  “Don’t we need a search warrant?” I asked King.

  “They are owned by the coven, but first, let me show you something, Ms. Venture,” Hilda announced, rising, and we followed her out the door and out of the building to another building across the property.

  We stepped inside another building that looked similar to an enclosed mausoleum. In the center of the room was a concrete pot sitting atop a podium. Next to it was a dagger with remnants of dried blood on the hilt. There were pictures on the walls of the witches that had come before with glass vaults containing the person’s ashes. Some had family pictures and trinkets inside the glass cases, whereas others were empty. Beneath each witch was a list of their children with similar vaults for each of them. She crossed the room and gestured to one of the women on the wall. “This was your great-great-grandmother. She was one of our founding witches. We’ve kept up with your line in hopes that one day the Hexfords would return.”

  “How did you know about me and my sisters when even the attorney didn’t know how to find us?”

  “Once, a long time ago, your father spoke of each of his girls with such pride and love. Of course we added you to his lineage.”

  Sounds like there was truth to King’s rumors. I stepped closer. Beatrice Hexford was stunning in her old age. Her bright blue gaze in the picture was penetrating. Beneath her were Mildred and Blythe, my grandmother and her sister. Blyth’s name didn’t have any names beneath, but Mildred’s did. It had her children—my father, Alexander, and his sister, Charlotte.

  Next to my father were three women, my mother and two others. The other two were younger spitting images of my sisters.

  “My mother was in your coven?”

  “Yes,” Hilda said and gestured to the others. “Your father met all of his brides here.”

  Beneath my father were mine and my sisters’ name, like a family tree. The only vault to have anything in it was my great-great-grandmother’s. An antique hair comb and mirror.

  “Why did my grandmother leave the coven?” I asked as I walked around the room to the Gold family photos and vaults.

  “She had a falling-out with my mother about the way things were run,” Mrs. Gold announced.

  Katrina was a beautiful girl, full of life, warmth shining in her eyes. There were several books in the vault along with a picture of her and a dog. James, well, his was different. In his picture, he looked regal, determination shining out of his eyes. The only thing in his vault was a torn picture. The picture was of him leaning against the same motorcycle he’d escaped on the night before. And there was a spot for another portrait with the name Andrew Gold beneath it, nothing else.

  “Who was torn out of the picture?”

  “An ex-girlfriend,” Hilda signed.

  “Where’s Damien’s picture?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder.

  “How do you know about Damien?” she asked. The venom in her words had me turning to see the daggers in her eyes.

  “I don’t,” I answered in honesty. “My sister Georgia told me a bit about him. If he’s your son, why doesn’t he have a vault?”

  “He refused to have one. He was my rebellious child. Every family has a black sheep. He was ours. He and his twin, Andrew, left when they were seventeen. After a time, they split ways, but Andrew regularly checks in. At first, Damien sent postcards, but even those quit coming. I have no idea where he is now.”

  Dead, although it wasn’t my place to tell her about the way his ghost was clinging to Georgia. It sounded like all of Mrs. Gold’s children were criminals of some kind. Katrina, for breaking and entering, James, for attempted kidnapping, and Damien was the thief that Georgia had encountered when the witches were looking for the stolen painting’s hiding place. What did that say about the woman that raised them?

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to see James’ home,” King interjected, and the mask of the attentive host slid right back into place. It was no wonder my family line split from the Golds. I’d thought my life was screwed up with the secrets that were kept from me, but I was beginning to understand it had been out of love and a blessing in disguise. If I’d met these people when I was younger, there was no telling how I would have turned out. My mother running was starting to make a lot more sense.

  King and I followed behind Hilda toward a row of apartments. “Looks like my dad used the coven as a dating pool.”

  Hilda glanced back over her shoulder. “He did more than that. He made a blood pact with each woman. They were all friends when they lived here.”

  “What’s a blood pact?” I asked.

  “It’s a promise made of blood between two or more people. It’s a sacred oath between witches and their lineage.”

  “What did they promise?”

  She shrugged. “Sorry, they didn’t share that with me.”

  “But you knew them?” I asked, quickening my stride.

  “Of course, until they all disappeared. We’d always wondered what happened to them. Your father was a very powerful man. He chose each woman carefully for her abilities and created offspring. We believe he had a plan for you three.”

  I knew it. He was a sperm donor. Still, I took Hilda’s words with a grain of salt. If that were the case and his wives left, he couldn’t have predicted that we’d all come back together. Could he? He might not have, but Mildred would have. She’d set out to accomplish just that. Her motives were now tainted, beyond those of as a grandmother just looking to reconnect. If she’d wanted to reconnect, she would have done it before her deathbed instead of by use of her will. What had that woman been up to?

  Chapter 12

  The search of James’ apartment returned zilch. Nada. Nothing to tell us where he might be hiding out or what his endgame might be. I’d lost hope that we’d find any clues until Hilda knocked on Katrina’s door explaining that Myra and Katrina were roommates.

  Myra, the coffee barista, dressed in her uniform, opened the door and stared at us with wide eyes.

  “Myra, the detective and Tess would like to look at Katrina’s room. Please show them around.”

  “You aren’t staying?” King asked.

  “Unfortunately, I have another appointment, so I’m leaving you in good hands. Myra will help you and answer any questions you have. Isn’t that right, dear?”

  “Of course.” Myra’s cheeks reddened as she pulled the door open for us to enter.

  I always felt weird going into other people’s homes. I’m sure my grandmother might say the foreign energy that prickled my skin was b
ecause I was trespassing into their personal space. That, coupled with the fact that Myra was being forced to let us in, wasn’t helping. The hair on my neck stood to attention as I walked in.

  The living room was modest at best, a couple knickknacks on the table. Very few pictures hung on the bland walls. I’d barely had time to take it in when Myra opened a bedroom door and stepped inside. “This is Katrina’s room.”

  Unlike the modest living room, the bedroom was vibrant and blinding. Everything was pink and cheerful, much like I’d imagine Katrina to be. Paintings lined the wall. An easel sat near the window, holding a half-finished painting of the weeping willow tree outside, with two black silhouettes beneath it.

  “She was a painter?” I asked.

  King walked around the room before plopping down in the desk chair. He shuffled through the paperwork on top before he started opening the drawers.

  “She’s a professional. She sells them online and makes a decent income so that she doesn’t have to help with the crops.”

  “Is that why you work at the coffee shop?” I asked.

  Myra leaned against the doorframe. “I chose air conditioned work instead of the heat. Some coven members might even say that I’m lazy because of it.”

  King sighed and straightened in the desk chair. “Do you know why she went to the antique shop?”

  “Sure. She was looking for a painting of a bowl with fruit. She thought Mildred had it.”

  King slowly turned to look at her, catching my gaze before looking at Myra. “Do you know why she wanted the painting?”

  Myra shrugged. “I haven’t a clue.”

  “Did she have any enemies in the coven or in town?”

  Myra lowered her gaze and started fiddling with the coffee shop apron.

  “You can tell us,” I prompted. “We can keep your identity a secret.”

  Myra raised her gaze. “There is one person that hated her.”

  “Who?” King asked, standing from the chair.

  “James’ ex-girlfriend, Nadia Clements. She’s a member of the coven. Katrina went for a walk one night and caught Nadia kissing another guy. She told her brother, and he broke up with Nadia.”