Fey: A Doyle Witch Cozy Mystery (The Witches of Doyle Book 5)

by Kirsten Weiss

I jammed the virika down my back, and it gibbered.

  “I don't see anything,” Brayden said, turning to me. “What was that sound?”

  “The cat? Brayden, it's late. Call me tomorrow?”

  He frowned. “Sure. But… are we good?”

  “We are so good.”

  The virika stuck a needle-like claw into the side of my back, and I laughed, high-pitched and false.

  “Okay,” he said slowly. “I'll see you tomorrow?”

  “Great! Love you!” I kissed his cheek and slammed the door on my soul mate.

  Shit. Shit.

  This would be okay.

  I waited for the sound of his footsteps descending before I ripped off the jacket and dropped it on the rag rug.

  The virika thudded to the floor. Its face was red, but they were always red. It gasped, drawing deep breaths, and clutched at his throat.

  “You were smothering? Cry me a river,” I muttered. “You’re totally screwing with my love life. Now get out!”

  Its face fell. The virika sighed, looking ineffably depressed.

  I almost laughed. The expression had seemed so…human.

  And I wouldn’t laugh at a human in pain. A surge of sympathy weighted my chest, and I knelt. “What are you doing in here anyway?” I asked more gently.

  It shook its head, the tip of its red cap flinging back and forth.

  “And why am I asking when we obviously don't speak the same language?”

  It sprang to its feet and raced to the darkened kitchen.

  “Hey! Get back here!”

  It scrambled onto the counter and edged to the kitchen window. Surreptitiously, it chanced a look through the window then flattened its back against the wall. Its gaze darted sideways, toward the glass.

  “You want me to see something outside?”

  I walked to the window and looked out. At first, all I saw was the empty street. But unease tightened my neck.

  Something wasn't right.

  I scanned the street again. Antoine's Bar, light flowing through its batwing doors. The false fronts of shops and restaurants. And two still figures standing on the covered walk opposite.

  I hissed an indrawn breath.

  Mrs. Raven and Mr. O'Hare.

  The strange couple stared up at my apartment.

  I backed from the window. “Raven and O'Hare?” I whispered. “Is that what—?”

  The virika squirreled up a cabinet, flung open a cabinet door and darted inside.

  A fountain of dried oatmeal shot from the open cabinet.

  “Cut it out!” I flung open cabinet doors.

  Boxes tilted at crazy angles. A box of marshmallow-stuffed cereal trembled. I grabbed it and emptied it into the sink.

  The virika tumbled out, its cheeks full. He jammed colored marshmallows into his mouth.

  “Seriously?”

  The virika belched.

  I grabbed a soup pot and upended it, trapping the virika in the sink.

  Crunching sounds echoed dully from within the pot.

  “Ha! Jayce-1, virika-0. What do you think of that?”

  The cat howled a dirge.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “No snow.” Mrs. Steinberg thumped her cane accusingly and looked at Ground's wood-beamed ceiling. In her black dress and trailing scarves, she looked like a banshee.

  I handed her a coffee, black. “I hope we're not going to have another drought. We just got out of the last one.”

  She scowled. “Well, what are you going to do?”

  “I bought an energy efficient washer after the fire—”

  “Not about water rationing,” she whispered, “about you know who and you know who.”

  “I don't know what I can do,” I said, raising my palms. “They haven't done anything—”

  “Yet!”

  “Mrs. Steinberg—”

  “You and your sisters are on thin ice, young Jayce.”

  “Thin ice about what?” I asked, bemused.

  “You know what.” She glanced around the near-empty café. “Things are getting out of control. They don't like out-of-control.”

  “Well, they're going to have to live with it like the rest of us.”

  “That, Jayce Bonheim, is where you are dangerously wrong.”

  “Wait,” I called after her. “Who’s they? Is they who I think they are?”

  She thumped to the front door and stopped short when Karin came in, pushing her baby carriage before her. Mrs. Steinberg held the door and said something to Karin that widened my sister's eyes. The old woman pushed past her and onto the sidewalk.

  Karin stared after the slowly closing red door. Shaking herself, she strode to the counter and unzipped her long, blue parka.

  “What did she say to you?” I asked.

  “She said I was on borrowed time. I'd call the warning ominous, but it was from Mrs. Steinberg. What's got her all riled up?” Gently, she rocked Emmie's carriage. The baby slept, her rosebud mouth suckling an imaginary bottle. Her hands curled into tiny fists.

  “Raven and O'Hare.” Who for once weren't in Ground staring me down.

  Karin glanced around the cafe. A few locals sat around the edges of the room, typing on computers and speaking in low voices. It was the typical Monday afternoon crowd. Darla was in the kitchen, hidden behind the azure and white patterned curtains. “Those two are seeming more and more like a magical problem.”

  “And one I don't have the energy to tackle.”

  She tilted her head. “Mm, no. Not if you can't be bothered with your own employee's murder.”

  My nails bit into my palms. “That's not fair!” I lowered my voice and leaned across the counter. “You know it isn't. I called the sheriff and told her everything I've learned.” I jabbed my finger toward the paper sign in the window. “Plus, hello? Reward!” And I wasn't going to screw up what I had with Brayden. He hadn't asked for much — I could give him what he needed.

  “And how did Sheriff McCourt take that?” Karin asked.

  “She told me to stop snooping and stop bothering her with trivia.”

  “And how did that make you feel?”

  I glared. Was she a psychiatrist now?

  “The virikas aren't making solving these murders any easier,” she said.

  I crossed my arms. “How's that?”

  “They've been messing up the exterior crime scene with their tiny little feet. I went by Lydia Sinclair's house today. Her yard was a muddy mess from that battle you described.”

  “There may not be any clues outside anyway.” I turned to make her macchiato.

  “And then there's the fact that Mathilda worked for you.”

  I stilled. “You think Sheriff McCourt seriously considers me a suspect?”

  “The sheriff always considers you—”

  I ran the espresso machine, its gurgle and roar drowning her out. While it whirred, I frothed the steamed, whole milk.

  “—a suspect,” she finished. “But that wasn't my point.”

  I poured milk into the espresso, making a circle of foam. With a toothpick, I drew a frowny face in the middle. I handed it to Karin.

  She stared into the small white cup. “You're a laugh riot.”

  “I'll be here all week. Please tip your server.”

  Darla emerged from the kitchen wiping her hands on her green apron.

  “I have something for you,” Karin said to me.

  “Really? What—?”

  “Let's talk after closing.” She pushed the carriage to her favorite window table and sat.

  I scowled at my sister, her auburn hair haloed by hazy, late afternoon sunlight. If she thought I was going to make myself crazy wondering what she had for me, she was absolutely right.

  The phone buzzed in my apron pocket. I clapped it to my ear. “Yes,” I snarled.

  “Jayce? It's Brayden.”

  I relaxed. “Brayden! I'm so glad you called. About last nig
ht…”

  He didn't say anything.

  “Can we have a do over?” I asked, wincing.

  “A do over?”

  “I know I was weird last night. But I don't want to be. How about a totally normal, totally boring Monday night at Antoine's?”

  “A boring night,” he said. “You're not exactly selling this, Jayce.”

  I laughed. “Then is it a date?”

  There was a long pause. “I'm working a double tonight, but what about tomorrow? If that's what you want,” he added quickly.

  “I do.”

  “Then it's a date.”

  We said our goodbyes, and I hung up. Feeling more cheerful, I dropped the phone into my apron pocket. I hadn’t screwed things up last night.

  I worked until closing, turning the sign in the window. Darla dragged out the cleaning supplies, and we began our cleanup routine.

  Karin graciously consented to switching chairs when we mopped around her.

  Finally, Darla left. Karin handed Emmie to me while she folded up the stroller.

  I turned off Ground’s lights, plunging the café into darkness and making it easier to see Raven and O’Hare standing outside, staring in. Shuddering, I whisked Emmie through the curtains into the kitchen.

  Karin followed us up the stairs to my apartment. She took the baby from me at the top of the steps while I unlocked the door.

  She raised a brow. “You keep the interior door locked while you're working downstairs?”

  “I'm learning.”

  She walked inside and stopped short on the rag rug, wrinkled her nose. “What's that smell?” She managed to hang her ginormous parka on the wall peg without setting down my niece.

  “Virika.”

  She clutched Emmie to her chest. “What?” Her fair skin turned a shade whiter.

  “One found its way into my apartment last night.”

  “What!”

  “It's gone now.” Though its manky smell lingered. It had somehow escaped from beneath the pot. I should have used my aunt’s cauldron – fairies were allergic to iron, even cast-iron.

  “A virika in your house.” She paced, her mouth a white line. “Jayce, why didn't you call me?”

  “Because I took care of it,” I said, my voice rising.

  “But… virikas, here. That could mean…” She trailed off, her hazel eyes wide.

  “Only one virika. I think he was the one I saved from a bad beating — or worse beating — the night of Lydia's death. His presence wasn't a death omen.”

  “How do you know?”

  Emmie let out a short wail and kicked her bootied feet.

  “Because I'm still alive,” I said, exasperated. “You said you had something for me?”

  “Oh. Right.” Juggling her oversized purse, Karin bustled to the alcove couch. The folded carriage bumped behind her. She found a bottle and gave it to Emmie. “So. Mathilda was definitely not looking for a job when she went to the Lavender tasting room on the day she died.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because she went into the back room to talk to Evangeline Longway, shouted at her, and stormed out in tears.”

  “Whoa.” My sister was scary efficient. I flopped down on the couch, jouncing her and the baby.

  Emmie dropped the bottle and squealed.

  Frowning, Karin bent to retrieve the bottle off the boho rug. “Yeah, it left a real impression on the woman behind the bar, who fortunately, is a friend of mine.”

  “Here's to small towns.”

  “Unfortunately, she wasn't able to hear what Mathilda was shouting about. But I think we can assume one doesn't scream at a potential employer.”

  “Agreed.”

  She smiled. “Also, I can fill in a bit of your timeline. After Mathilda got gas that afternoon, she drove to Angels Camp.”

  “No way. How'd you find that out?”

  “Dumb luck,” she said. “I overheard two waitresses in the Garden Restaurant talking about Mathilda. So, I asked. It turned out she was there that day, waiting for someone who never showed.”

  Had it really been luck Karin had found those women? Or magic? “Like at Antoine's that night,” I said. “Was she angry?”

  “The waitresses said she looked more worried.”

  “Anything else?”

  “That isn't enough?” she asked, mock outraged. “I'm glad you're not my boss.”

  “I'm an excellent employer.” I frowned. Or I’d thought I’d been, until Mathilda—

  “Mm hm. Oh, and there's also this.” One-handed, she rummaged in her purse and drew out something wrapped in red silk.

  I stared, wary. Red silk is used to protect magical objects. “What's that?”

  “Open it and find out.” She handed it to me.

  I unfolded the fabric. It slithered over my fingers, revealing a slender crystal, pointed on both ends like a wand. “Whoa.”

  “I found it in that tiny candle shop in Angels Camp, but when I went to buy it for myself (because it's amazing), it said Jayce.”

  I was drooling. It was gorgeous. It hummed in my hand, asking to be mine.

  But it couldn't be mine.

  Reluctantly, I rewrapped the crystal. “A bribe? Thanks, but no thanks. I couldn't bear to bury this in potting soil.”

  “Then don't.”

  “Karin, you know I can't—”

  “Stop being such a damned hypocrite,” she said. “I can't believe you, of all people, are pretending to be someone you're not. Do you really think that's what Brayden wants?”

  “Brayden wants stability. Normality.” I leaned away from her on the couch and rested my elbow on its arm.

  “He wants you, and you're not normal, Jayce. None of us are. For you, normal is virikas in the house, and crystals, and finding Mathilda's killer.”

  “But it's not right for Brayden,” I said hotly. “Not right now.”

  “How do you know?”

  Emmie cried.

  “Because he told me.” My nostrils flared.

  “Did he? Did he really?” Karin bounced the baby on her lap and made shushing noises. “Because I have a hard time believing Brayden, in his right mind, would want anything short of your best. And you're not your best right now Jayce. Not by a long shot. Leaving Lenore and me to track down your employee's killer? To get rid of the virikas? To figure out what's up with O'Hare and Raven?”

  I folded my arms. Karin was way over the line. “You don’t understand.”

  She reached behind her with one hand and grabbed a small, potted philodendron. “I understand plenty.” In a quick motion, she twisted the top off the plant.

  I shrieked. “What did you do? You’re a plant murderer!”

  “You can make this plant grow back, grow to twice its size, in an instant.”

  “So, you killed it?” I asked, incredulous.

  She dropped the leaves on the rug. “I didn’t kill it. The roots are still there, and you can save it.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Then Brayden’s going to ask what happened to your houseplant.”

  “I’ll tell him you went psycho,” I said, staring at the ruined plant. Again. No, I wouldn’t say that. It would freak Brayden out about my sister more. “That is so mean!”

  “What’s mean is letting this poor plant die.”

  “You were supposed to be figuring out what’s up with O’Hare and Raven, not killing my plants. I don't suppose you've made any progress on what you promised?” I asked.

  “None. And don't change the subject. Jayce, your feelings are never wrong. What are they telling you now?”

  I drew breath to argue and closed my mouth. What were my feelings telling me? That my sister could be a real witch with a B. That things weren't right with Brayden. And that they hadn't gotten any better over the last couple of days. Even our phone call this afternoon had been off.

  I was off.

  Emmie’s sobs subsided to soft hi
ccups.

  My throat closed. “I can't lose him, Karin.”

  “When did you stop trusting that you wouldn't?”

  I met her gaze. “Last November, when a witch used magic to turn him into an automaton.”

  Karin didn't say anything for a long while. “That was dark magic.”

  “Is it so different from what we do?”

  “Of course it is.”

  “I don’t know what to do.” My voice cracked, and I looked away. “I don’t know how to help him.”

  She rubbed Emmie’s back and swayed gently. “I don’t know either. But I’ve seen how strong Brayden is. I know what he’s done for you, and what you’ve both gone through together, and I think he’ll let you know.”

  But did he even know what he needed?

  “What are you feeling now?” she asked.

  “Scared.”

  “That’s natural.”

  I exhaled a shuddering breath. “No, it’s about more than me and Brayden.” I set the wrapped crystal on the cushion between us and studied the silken folds, clenched my fists. I ran them over the thighs of my jeans. “I’m so damned selfish.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It is. And… my magic has gotten out of control.”

  Twin furrows appeared between her brows. “Out of control? What does that mean?”

  “It means that twice, I accidentally used magic. The first time was when Paul broke into Ground. I used magic to throw him into the supply closet and somehow jam the door shut until the sheriff arrived. The second time, I shoved Renee away. Hard. It scared her. She thought I’d punched her. And that scared me.”

  “What was Renee doing at the time?”

  “Accusing me of getting Paul tossed in jail.”

  “She was angry.”

  I nodded.

  “And you were scared,” she said.

  “Yeah. Well, angry too. Do you think negative emotions are the trigger?”

  “Let's break this down. You've been suppressing your magic to make Brayden feel safe. Now, it's busting out all over when your emotions are running high.”

  My cheeks warmed. “Um, yeah.”

  “Wow,” she said, sarcastic. “It's almost as if they're connected.”

  Picatrix slunk through the cat door and sniffed Emmie's soft, pink booties.

  I slouched against the couch. “Oh, damn.” It was obvious. So obvious, I'd been ignoring what I knew in my gut. I couldn't stop using magic.