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

by Kirsten Weiss

  The magic wouldn't let me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  From my apartment’s high, kitchen window I watched Karin’s taillights flare. Her SUV pulled from the curb. She drove down Main Street and vanished around a bend.

  I set my poor philodendron on the black-quartz countertop. Five short stumps of stems poked from the soil. If Karin was right, not saving the plant could mean more magic bursting free at exactly the wrong times.

  Blowing out my breath, I held my hand above the frayed stalks and grounded myself. The warm, solid power of earth flowed up through my feet, into my hands, and out my fingertips. “Grow.”

  Ecstatic energy zipped up through my body. And for a moment I was the plant and the pot and the earth. I understood their whispers, the groans of rock shifting, the vibrations of roots calling to each other.

  Stems shot upward. Leaves sprouted, curling, from the broken stems and overflowed the pot.

  I jerked my hand away, clenching my fist, breaking the connection. And I was just Jayce again. But the memory of the magic shivered my skin.

  The plant seemed to sigh, settling into its new growth.

  I breathed hard, my muscles limp, and braced my hands on the counter. Gazing out the kitchen window, I half expected to see O’Hare and Raven. But I didn’t.

  Above Main Street's false fronts, the clouds parted. Silver moonlight poured over the mountain peaks.

  I blew out a shaky, satisfied breath. Karin had been right, as usual. I might be able to lay off doing magic around Brayden, but I couldn't stop. And it wasn't right for me to pretend. A weight lifted from my heart, but it left a hollow, worried feeling behind.

  Would Brayden understand? Intellectually, sure, I believed he would. He was a good man, and a strong one. But viscerally? I didn’t know.

  A stealthy, slithering sound froze me in place. Breath stoppered in my chest, I turned my head.

  The white-painted cupboard door drifted open. Crunching sounds emerged from within.

  “Again?” I stormed to the cupboard and yanked it wider. The virika looked up, its cheeks puffed like a chipmunk's. He clutched colorful cereal in both fists. “And it's never Brayden's granola you go for,” I muttered. “What are you doing in here? I'm not Cafe Virikas.”

  Behind me, there was a low growl.

  I whipped around.

  Picatrix hunched beneath the kitchen table. Her coal-black fur stood on end.

  “You're no help.” I looked toward the open cupboard.

  Slowly, the virika raised a fistful of cereal to his mouth.

  “You know what? Go crazy. I don't need this.” I stomped to the kitchen table and grabbed my laptop.

  Picatrix bounded into the guest room.

  I took my laptop to the alcove and dropped onto the sofa, booted up the computer. If I couldn't escape the magic, then there was no sense trying to avoid the murders. “In for a penny…”

  What had Mathilda been doing arguing with Evangeline Longway-Chatterton? And how could Paul have been stupid enough to harass the judge the night of Lydia's death? Not that the latter mattered to the murder — it gave them both alibis. But Paul had to be delusional to think he could chase after the judge and not get arrested later.

  From inside the guest room, Picatrix howled.

  “I’m not listening!” I adjusted a thick, pink-and-green cushion.

  I pursed my lips. Had the judge pushed for Paul's arrest? I had no evidence of that. But if the sheriff knew Paul was harassing the judge and me, it made Mathilda’s ex look even more unstable.

  Which didn't matter, because he couldn't have killed Lydia. Ergo, he probably hadn't killed Mathilda. I crossed my legs beneath me on the couch. Unless there were two killers?

  I shook my head. No. That would be too coincidental, even for Doyle.

  I searched for more articles on Paul and the Longways and re-read the articles about Paul's arrest. They didn't tell me anything new.

  Tiny footsteps pattered across the throw rugs.

  Ignoring the virika, I pulled up an old article on the Longways at a charity function. In the photo, the judge and Evangeline sat at a table holding hands. They leaned close, smiling.

  I blinked, stared. “Is that…?”

  I strode to the kitchen and found my cell phone on the quartz counter. When I returned to the sofa, the virika sat beside the discarded laptop. The virika stared, rapt, at the glowing screen.

  “Shove over.” I grabbed the computer and dropped onto the cushion, jouncing the gnome.

  The virika giggled like a toddler and grabbed the toes of his muddy boots.

  I shook my head. “This is just getting weird.”

  In the guest room, Picatrix hissed.

  Zooming on the photo of Evangeline and the judge, I compared it to the photo from Mathilda's employee bin.

  Evangeline Longway-Chatterton was wearing Mathilda's ring.

  Forehead puckered, I sat back on the couch. Had Evangeline given it to Mathilda? Had they had a relationship? Was that why Evangeline had been so hot under the collar about Mathilda? Sour grapes, thwarted love, an affair gone bad? Was that why Mathilda had stopped into Ground the day she died? To put Evangeline's ring in her employee bin, rather than take something out?

  A car engine revved in the alley. There was a soft thump.

  Stiffening, I raised my head.

  A car roared off.

  The virika convulsed. It gripped its red cap, pulling it low, and banged its head on my laptop.

  “Hey!” I jerked the computer away.

  The red-faced gnome leapt from the couch and ran headlong into the wall, rattling a watercolor. It slammed its head into the wall again.

  “Stop it!” Alarmed, I dropped the computer on a cushion. In two strides, I was at the virika's side. I grabbed its begrimed collar and dragged him gently from the wall.

  He beat his head with his tiny fists and wailed.

  “What is wrong with you?”

  Picatrix slithered from the guest room and padded to the alleyway door. Whiskers twitching, she sniffed at the cat door and looked back at me. Her green eyes glowed.

  My heart stopped. The thump I'd heard in the alley.

  I swore. Tucking the struggling virika beneath one arm, I opened the door and stepped out. The overhead light popped on. I scanned the alley below, my breath steaming the night air.

  A small, furred lump lay on the pavement, and my stomach sank. “Dammit.”

  Shivering, I trotted down the wooden stairs and stopped beside the limp body of a raccoon. It was dead. One of the car’s tires had… I looked away. At least it had been quick.

  The virika slipped from beneath my arm and landed beside the raccoon. It threw his head back and howled, the sound of serrated knives on a chalkboard.

  I clapped my hands to my ears.

  The virika banged his head on the pavement.

  “Enough!” Alarmed, I grabbed him by the collar and lifted him from the street. He dangled, kicking air, then struck himself in the face again.

  “So, you didn't predict this death. Get over…” My mouth made an O shape. He was acting like the virikas outside Lydia's house the night of her death. They’d been violent, harming themselves, shrieking. And now he was, too.

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Are you acting this way because you were too late? You didn't predict the raccoon would get hit by that car, or you didn't get to be there for its death?”

  The virika burst into tears.

  “I'll take that for a yes.” Absently, I held the wailing gnome to one shoulder and patted its back.

  I swayed in the street, bouncing the virika like I would Emmie. Mrs. Steinberg had said one of my assumptions had been wrong about Lydia's death. If I'd been wrong about the virikas, if they, like me, had arrived after her death, possibly long after… That meant the sheriff was right. Paul could have had time to kill Lydia. “Well, damn.”

  I climbed the wooden stairs. />
  On the landing, Picatrix sneezed and fled inside the apartment.

  I started to walk inside and stopped, one foot raised. “Hold on.” I set the virika on the wooden landing. “You don't get to come in. Go find your friends.”

  I shut the door.

  Outside, there was a faint, hiccupping sob.

  I was such a sucker. “Fine.” I opened the door. “One night. Then you’ve got to go.”

  The virika raced past my boots and scrambled onto the sofa.

  “I'm so going to regret this.”

  I shut the door and returned to the couch, where the virika was pressing random keys on my laptop. “Cut it out.” I picked up my phone and called Lenore.

  “Hey, witch,” she said.

  I smiled. “That's my line.”

  “What's up?”

  “Karin had an intervention with me. I'm back on the magic and the murder investigation.”

  “Good, because I can't do it.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I can't lie to Connor, and you know he'll freak out if he hears I'm sticking my nose into a murder investigation. And he’d have every right to be angry. He’s a deputy!”

  “Is he with you now?”

  The virika burrowed beneath an orange throw pillow.

  Picatrix leapt to the opposite corner of the couch and arched her back, hissing.

  “He’s in the other room,” she said.

  “We'll have to have a talk about being true to yourself,” I said, “but later. Right now, I've got a virika in my apartment.”

  “Whoa. Are the doors locked? Are you okay? Jayce, I'll tell Connor—”

  “No. It's not a death knell. He's alone. I think he's lonely. He's got a nasty bite from another virika, and he likes my cereal.”

  Picatrix prowled along the top of the sofa, her eyes fixed on the trembling pillow.

  “That junk with the marshmallows?”

  “Unicorn marshmallows!” It was practically cereal porn. How could any right-thinking person resist?

  “Ugh. Those virikas are twisted.”

  “The point is, I think they can be reasoned with. They don't belong here, and the virikas must know that at some level.”

  The ebony cat batted tentatively at one corner of the pillow.

  “Reasoned with?” she said slowly. “They're from Fairy.”

  I rose and walked to the kitchen. “Yeah, but not everything from Fairy is alike. The Rose Rabbit helped us. Sort of.” I frowned. The Rose Rabbit. Mr. O'Hare. Mrs. Steinberg had implied O’Hare and Raven were our enemies, and the Rose Rabbit had been our friend, but—

  “You can't trust them,” she said. “For all you know, this virika in your apartment is a spy. You need to get rid of it, Jayce. Now.”

  “Oh, come on—”

  “I'm not kidding,” she said. “These things are dangerous. They totaled my Volvo and Nick's SUV. I'm coming over.”

  “No!” Lenore was powerful. I didn't know what she might do to the little guy. “I've got this. I've still got water infused with our Go Home spell.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I glanced at the virika, wrestling with Picatrix on the couch. A lime-green throw pillow tumbled to the floor. “I'm sure.”

  She sighed. “Call me if there are any problems.”

  I crossed my fingers. “Sure.” And since she was busy with Connor, she wouldn't be looking for a call in any case.

  My phone vibrated, and I checked the incoming caller. “Lenore, it's the sheriff, I should take this.”

  “Okay. Talk to you later.”

  I picked up the new call. “Hello?”

  “Miss Bonheim, this is Sheriff McCourt.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I wanted to inform you that Mr. Paul Neumark is out on bail.”

  My breath bottled in my lungs. “What? When? How?”

  “Late this afternoon. Since you were one of the people he harassed, I wanted to give you a heads up. I don't think he'll be any trouble, but I'll be sending extra patrols by your home.”

  “Okay,” I said, stunned. “Thanks.”

  We hung up.

  At least Renee would be happy. I swallowed a half-laugh. Get a grip.

  This was so not good.

  I turned to the virika. “We need to talk.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The gnome’s shadow stretched unevenly down the moonlit path. He glanced over his shoulder, as if making sure I still followed, and the bite on his neck stretched into a rictus grin.

  The pines were spires silhouetting the narrow trail. Staring into the dark gaps between the trees, I hitched up my backpack, the metal water bottles inside clinking softly.

  A branch cracked.

  I whirled, eyes straining, my hand drifting to my unlit headlamp.

  Nothing moved.

  I glanced over my shoulder.

  The virika vanished around a bend in the path.

  Blowing out my breath, I hurried forward. If something was wrong, the virika would react.

  I hoped.

  We'd reached — I thought — an understanding. And if my sign language and interpretation of his grimaces had been right, he was taking me to the other virikas.

  Alone.

  As much as I loved my sisters, I didn't trust them not to overreact. The virikas weren't evil, and they weren't dangerous. They were harbingers of death, but they didn't cause death. Plus, “my” virika loved unicorn marshmallows. Nothing bad could like unicorn marshmallows that much.

  I rounded the bend.

  The gnome stood on top of a small, granite boulder beside a clearing. He turned and raised his hand, gesturing me to stop.

  I halted. The cannisters in my pack jangled.

  The virika nodded and hopped from the stone. He jogged into the middle of the clearing and sat, cross-legged.

  Uncertain, I sank onto my knees. Made-up sign language only takes you so far. But I'd fed the little guy, and everything I'd read about fairies said they had rules about hospitality. I didn't think he'd sell me out, but I couldn't be sure.

  Something shifted in the brush behind me. Bracing my hand on the boulder for balance, I twisted. A low pine branch swayed. I glanced again at the gnome. He sat motionless in the clearing.

  I carefully placed my other hand on the cold, rough stone and sent my awareness into its heart. Earth. Speak. What is here?

  The tremble of pine branches. A crackle of dried needles. And all around me, the weight of virikas. Behind trees. Seated on branches. Lurking against stones. All watched “my” marshmallow-unicorn-loving gnome.

  I jerked my hand from the stone.

  Small figures crept into the clearing.

  “My” virika, the bite in his neck a crimson rainbow, sprang to his feet.

  The gnomes gabbled. Their voices rose and fell in razor tones that prickled my flesh. The clash of voices went on and on, and then they fell silent.

  The gnome rubbed the bitemark on his neck and pointed to the granite boulder, where I crouched. His friends’ heads swiveled toward me, their eyes glittering red and feral.

  I cleared my throat and stood, brushing off the thighs of my jeans. The metal bottles clanked in my pack. “Um, hi.” I waved.

  A virika howled. Others joined him, their voices rising in a glass-breaking wail.

  Flinching, I clapped my hands to my ears.

  As suddenly as it began, the shrieking stopped.

  The gnome solemnly raised a unicorn-shaped marshmallow.

  I started. I hadn’t noticed he’d gotten himself a doggy bag.

  He muttered something, and the others leaned closer, listening. He extended a pudgy hand toward me. The others parted, making a path toward the center of the clearing.

  My grip tightened on the backpack straps. “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” I muttered.

  I eased free of the pack and let it dangle from one trembling hand.

  “My”
virika gestured with his hand again, impatient.

  I exhaled slowly and walked to him.

  The path closed behind me, virikas nipping at my heels. Oh, boy. I was surrounded in the center of the clearing, but it was too late to do anything but keep on going.

  Kneeling, I unzipped my pack, removing water bottles and wide-mouthed cereal bowls. I set the bowls around me.

  “You can go home,” I said, my voice uneven. “Where you belong. All you need to do is drink this water.” The water my sisters and I had infused last November with the Go Home spell. I looked to the virika who'd invaded my apartment.

  He nodded.

  I unscrewed a cap from one of my metal water bottles and filled a bowl with water. “Here.” I poured a thimble of water into the thermos’s cap and handed it to the marshmallow-loving virika.

  He stared into the metal cap and looked up at me. The gnome rubbed his dirt-smeared cheek and handed me the makeshift cup.

  I groaned. Didn't he understand? Had this all been a mistake? Gently, I pressed the thermos cap back toward him. “Drink, and go home.”

  He shook his head.

  The moon rose higher, shortening the shadows of the pines.

  This isn’t working. I sank back on my heels and crossed my arms. We hadn’t understood each other at all. Now what?

  He made an imperious gesture to a nearby virika. The gnome tugged his red cap lower on his head and edged toward us. “My” virika handed the newcomer the cup and spoke to him in a garbled voice.

  The virika looked into the cup suspiciously. He sniffed. He sniffed again. The virika gulped the drink.

  Nothing happened.

  The virikas muttered, shifting, and my stomach clenched. This should have worked immediately. But it wasn’t working. The virikas was just standing there, and…

  The gnome lifted into the air. Rotating slowly, it laughed. There was a pphht sound, and he disappeared with the metal cap.

  The remaining virikas gaped.

  The virika from my apartment cheered and motioned toward the bowls. The others swarmed forward.

  Hastily, I filled the remaining containers.

  The virikas dipped their hands into the water and drank. They bobbed in the air, the clearing filling with what looked like gnome balloons. One-by-one they flitted out of our existence.