by Cate Conte
Uh-oh. What had Zoe done? She hadn’t cast a spell on anyone, had she? “What about her?” I asked warily.
“She sticking around? With your mum?”
It took me a second, but then I had to laugh. Gabe thought my sister was hot. Little did he know.
“Yeah,” I said. “I think she’s sticking around for a bit. I’ll introduce you next time I have the opportunity.”
Gabe grinned. “Thanks.” He grabbed his coffee and left the café.
I thought about what he said. I liked Charlie too. I definitely didn’t want to think of him as a murderer. And that story was definitely super sad. But Gabe was wrong about one thing, though. The way I’d seen Charlie haul that UPS box around, he had a lot more strength than it appeared on the surface.
CHAPTER 39
Wednesday dawned sunny but freezing. The sort of day that made you think you wanted to venture outside, but once you got there you found you’d been sadly mistaken. But today, we had no choice.
It was protest day.
And I guessed it was going to be a doozy of an event, especially given the climate around town. The people who were for the bridge project had started making claims that Carla had been killed over it, and even more finger-pointing was occurring. The cops had held a press conference again last night with a tight-lipped mayor standing next to them, who was clearly unhappy about all this press and the lack of resolution. The cops didn’t say much aside from the fact that they were tracking down every possible lead and promising that the case was their first priority.
Despite that, there’d been a story on the news right after the press conference—the woman reporter outside my shop yesterday had reported on it—going into great detail about the project, recapping which town official had been on which side, and playing sound bites of some of Carla’s very best comments. It gave me a jolt to see her alive and well, with her biting tone and sure-footed demeanor. The reporter had been live at the park where the protest would be held. I couldn’t help but wonder if the same cameraman had filmed the piece. If he’d gotten a new camera yet, or if he’d been sidelined by the . . . accident.
While I supposed anything could be true about Carla’s murder, I wondered about this motive. Carla had been “for it” in the way a politician was for something that would appease his or her main supporters who were for it. I’d never gotten the sense that she felt overly strongly about this bridge. No, I definitely thought she cared more about which shops were allowed to grace our downtown, and whether or not séances were being conducted, rather than how we addressed an old railroad bridge. But of course people would be watching for her position, so she had to say something.
But for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out who else was a viable suspect. The people on my list were: Sydney, Charlie, Andrew. And now Rain, given his identity. I couldn’t bear to think it was Syd—any of them, really, except Rain—but that meeting time haunted me. As well as why she was trying to make contact with Carla.
But Andrew? Natalie would be devastated. And probably in financial trouble. I couldn’t bear to think of that either. And Charlie, with the tragedies he’d lived through. His daughter. His wife. His best friend.
I hated to think of any of it.
I got out of bed and pulled a hoodie on over my jammies. I loved my building but it was drafty in the winter. We needed new windows. I looked around for Monty and saw him in his tree, tail swishing as he watched some action outside. No sign of the black cat. No sound from across the hall.
I’d avoided Fiona yesterday, after my conversation with Josie. I was still trying to process everything Josie had told me. And also decide how I felt about her knowing all this and never telling me. Nothing. Not even a hint, not when I’d poured my heart out to her about my mother and how I’d felt knowing she’d walked away from me so young.
How do you keep a secret like that?
Anyway, I knew I couldn’t avoid Fiona for long, but I wanted to process some of this a bit more first. Although she’d likely show up at the protest.
Heck, maybe she could melt the snow so we could get around better.
But before all that, I had to spend some time at my shop. My business was taking a beating this week, and I couldn’t continue to not pay attention. Instead of canceling them, Josie had handled two of my consults yesterday and I was grateful, but I would rather have been in the right mind-set to do them myself. I resolved to do better today.
I went to the kitchen to make coffee. And stopped, my mouth dropping open.
My entire kitchen counter was covered in breakfast. Like, real breakfast. Steaming eggs with spinach and a side of sliced avocado. A plate of smoked salmon. Buttered toast. A pot of coffee. A pitcher of green juice.
Still gaping, I inched closer and caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned and nearly jumped a foot when I saw Zoe sitting at my little table. She wore a long black sweatshirt dress with a tangle of scarves wound around her neck. Today, her Converse sneakers were green. She grinned and waved a piece of toast at me.
“Morning,” she said, around a mouthful. “I thought you might be hungry. Took a guess at what you liked.” She shrugged. “Whaddaya think?”
“What do I think?” I sank into the other chair. “Where did you get all this? And how did you get it in here without my hearing you?” Unfortunately, I thought I already knew the answer.
“I just whipped it up,” she said with a wink. “Help yourself.”
It did smell good, I had to give her that. I rose to get a plate, but Zoe sighed and held up a hand. With a snap of her fingers, a full plate appeared in front of me. She observed her work and nodded approvingly. “Getting better,” she said, more to herself than me. “Coffee is tricky. I usually spill it. Want to try?”
“Uh—”
“Oh, just give it a go,” she said impatiently. “Stop treating these powers like they’re a burden. Trust me, it’s freakin’ fun.”
I knew she wouldn’t let up, so I closed my eyes and concentrated on envisioning a full mug of hot coffee in front of me, much like I’d thought about the reporter’s camera falling and breaking.
I opened my eyes when I heard Zoe gasp. “Wow. First try? And you did that well? I’m impressed.” She nodded.
I gazed at the perfectly full mug of coffee and felt a stab of pride. I looked at her. “Want one?”
She nodded. I did it again, delivering her a mug. She lifted it and touched it to mine. “Cheers, sis.”
The word sobered me, and my gaze dropped to my plate. I was starving, but I felt like a major blockage sat between my mouth and my stomach.
“I take it you aren’t thrilled that Fiona and I . . . dropped in this way,” Zoe said after taking a sip.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “It’s not that. I’m surprised, is all. Did Fiona send you over here this morning?”
She shook her head. “She actually said to let you be. That you’d come to us when you were ready.”
“Then why did she relocate my best friend and move in across the hall?” I demanded.
“Because she wanted to keep an eye on you. And she wanted to help,” Zoe added, not acknowledging the anger I knew had come through in my voice. “Like taking away your chocolates.”
I stared at her. “She did that?”
Zoe nodded. “Chocolate weakens your powers. It’s forbidden in our world.”
“You’re kidding.” One more reason to stay out of that world, I thought. “Todd brings me chocolates all the time.”
Zoe’s eyes narrowed at that. Then, “She thinks this murder thing could be serious, Violet.”
“No kidding,” I said, unable to keep the sarcasm away. “I think if anyone is accused of murder you can deduce that it’s serious.”
“It’s not just that,” Zoe said, shaking her head. “She’s worried that there’s more to your grandmother’s death. I know you don’t want to hear that. I’m just telling you what I’ve heard.”
“What does that even mean?�
�� I asked, exhausted again. “As much as I don’t want to admit it, Grandma Abby died of old age. I never thought she could either, for different reasons obviously, but I guess that’s not realistic, right?”
Zoe pressed her lips together. “From what I hear, that’s not exactly true.”
“What’s not?”
“That she died of old age. She wasn’t really supposed to.”
I stared at her. “You’ve lost me.”
“Look. I don’t know the details, but it’s been on Mother’s mind. And she’s worried about you.”
“She’s worried about my grandmother dying too young? She didn’t even like her.”
“It’s the way she died,” Zoe corrected. “Like I said. You’ll have to ask her about that. I’m not really sure how it works.”
This was a bit much for me. My head was doing that spinning thing again. To take my mind off it, I ate some avocado.
Zoe ate some eggs. “Look. I get that we disrupted your life and all that. And that you really don’t know what to believe about Mother. But I gotta tell you, a day didn’t go by that I can remember when she didn’t mention you.”
I took a sip of my coffee, trying for cool, but my hand trembled. “Really?”
Zoe nodded. “I have no idea what happened with your grandmother, or any of that, but she never forgave her for keeping you two apart.”
I poked at my avocado with my fork. “If she’s such a powerful witch, why didn’t she just override the spell, or whatever witches do?”
“I see you need a crash course in witch etiquette,” Zoe said with a giggle. “You can’t just override certain things, especially things like whatever they had going on. Or I suppose you could, but it would cause a war. Especially between those two. It went way deeper than just the two of them. And they had to work together on the council.”
“So let me get this straight.” I put my fork down and looked at Zoe. “Fiona is a super powerful witch, but another equally powerful witch—”
“Actually, Abigail was more powerful,” Zoe interrupted. “Mother doesn’t like to admit that, but it’s true. I mean, she was a lot older. Mother knew it too. It’s what made it so hard when she had to see her all the time.”
“She saw her all the time?” I shook my head, trying to keep up. It seemed so insane that Fiona saw my grandmother regularly, but Grandma Abby never spoke about it to me. It was like she had this whole other life I knew nothing about. “Okay. So a powerful witch who she used to be related to put a spell on her to stop her from finding me.”
“Related to by marriage,” Zoe corrected. “And the spell was really just on the necklace. Which was on you. So it was more about you than her. Sorry.” She winced. “Go on. Ask me whatever you want.”
“What’s this council?”
“They both have seats on the Magickal Council. The kind of seats that you come by because you’re part of a long line of witches in special families.” She gestured to the plate of eggs. “Are you gonna have some? It’s getting cold.”
I took a bite of eggs and salmon, barely tasting it. “So they both sat on this council and never fought it out about me?”
Zoe shook her head slowly. “Forbidden topic. It’s like the whole elder thing, you know? And Mother can be volatile, but she understood that if she started a feud with the Moonstones, the results would reach way beyond her family problems. I heard Grandmother—our other grandmother, Fiona’s mom—talking to her about it many times. Warning her, in fact.”
My other grandmother. That thought hadn’t even crossed my mind yet. I had a whole other branch of family, of whom I had no real concept. I wondered what my other grandmother looked like. All I could picture was Endora, Samantha’s eccentric mother in the classic TV show Bewitched, and I started to giggle.
Zoe stared at me. “What the heck is so funny?”
That made me laugh even harder, and soon I was snorting, tears running down my face as I contemplated how my life had ended up at this moment, and if there were any spells I could learn to go back a few days and create a whole different story.
Zoe waited until my apparent fit was over before she spoke again. “I know it all sounds a little nuts,” she admitted. “But Vi. It’s all true. And I’ve never seen Mother as happy as the moment she knew the spell over you had been broken.”
CHAPTER 40
After Zoe left, I showered, got dressed, fed Monty, and headed out to my store. I didn’t know if I felt better or worse after Zoe’s visit and our talk. I certainly didn’t want to think about what she’d said, about there being more to Grandma Abby’s death. I had to put that aside for the time being.
I needed to focus on my work, at least for a little while—until it was time for the protest. I wondered if Gabe had tracked Syd down. Or if she would show up at the protest, or at Pete’s this morning. I hoped Presley was okay and that wasn’t the reason for her radio silence. But it wasn’t like her to drop off the face of the earth.
The first time I met Syd, it was at Pete’s right after she showed up in town two years ago. We were both waiting for our coffees, and she’d casually asked me where people went dancing around here. Of course I had no good answer for her because I didn’t dance and had no clue, but somehow we’d struck up a conversation anyway. Despite our differing priorities (me—yoga, Syd—food) and different opinions about all things woo-woo, we had become good friends.
But when I really thought about it, I knew next to nothing about Syd. She’d told me she used to live in Chicago, but hadn’t really said what brought her here. She never mentioned family, or Presley’s dad, and she hadn’t dated anyone that I’ve known about since moving here. I knew she flirted with Pete, but I had no idea if she really liked him or what. She’d made a vague mention of her mother once or twice and said they didn’t speak much. She hadn’t mentioned her dad. I wasn’t sure if she had other family. She’d never volunteered the info, and I hadn’t asked.
I really didn’t know much at all. I’d never wondered why before, but now it seemed incredibly important.
When I got to Pete’s, she wasn’t there. Fiona, however, was, holding court at the table she and I had commandeered yesterday, with people crowded around her. I could hear her tinkling laughter while I waited in line. It made me feel worse. Here she was apparently having a grand old time and making friends, and I was conflicted as ever about all this. I got my coffee and slunk out. I’m sure she saw me, or felt my presence, or whatever, but I didn’t feel like socializing.
I unlocked my store and got ready for the day. No appointments today, I saw after checking my book. It may be just as well, I told myself. I needed some brain space to untangle some of these convoluted threads weaving their way around Carla and her death. So I figured I’d focus on some busy work. Boxes with new stones were still waiting for my attention. I lugged a couple out into the main store and spent some time rearranging the display in the front window with amethyst and rose quartz stones. I’d gotten some lovely large, raw pieces in my last shipment and figured they would help send positive vibes out into the town. And hopefully, back to me.
I was so engrossed in what I was doing that I barely glanced up when the door chimed.
Then I did a double take. The last person I expected to see there stood in my doorway. “Syd!” I jumped up and went over to her, not sure whether to hug her or yell at her for making me worry. “What are you doing here?” She never came to my shop. I didn’t take offense to it, really—it just wasn’t her thing.
“Hey.” She gave me a weak smile, letting the door slam behind her. “Sorry I’ve been out of touch. I know you were trying to get me yesterday. I . . . wasn’t feeling well.”
She didn’t look well. It had been only twenty-four hours since I’d seen her, and she looked like she’d lost weight. Her face was pale and drawn, hair pulled back in a messy bun. She wore no makeup, not even her trademark lipstick. Syd was a huge proponent of lipstick making everything better, even if you did nothing else. “Don’t worry about i
t. Come in.”
I was dying to start firing questions at her, but figured that would freak her out. I was getting pings of energy off her the closer I was to her, and I could feel fear, confusion, and despair.
“I actually thought, um . . .” She glanced around as if looking for the right words. “Can you help me?”
“Of course. What do you need?”
“Crystals, maybe? I don’t really know. You know me, I don’t usually want stuff like that, but I’ve been feeling lousy and thought, what’s the harm?”
I tried to cover my shock at this request, but probably didn’t succeed all too well.
Syd took my hesitation to mean this was a bad move on her part and took a step back toward the door. “But if you’re too busy—”
“I’m not busy at all,” I said. “I would be honored to help you.”
Relief softened her face. “Thanks. Really.”
“Of course.” On impulse, I locked the door and flipped the sign closed. “For some privacy,” I said when she sent me a questioning look. “Now, what’s going on? Is it Presley?”
She chewed on her lip. “Not really. It’s just . . . a lot of things. I’d rather not go into detail, if that’s okay.”
No, it’s not! I need to know what the deal is with you and Carla’s son, I wanted to scream, but I swallowed it. She must really be desperate, to be coming here for this kind of help. Her science mind wouldn’t stand for this on a normal day. I covered my impatience as best I could. “It’s totally fine. Sit.” I pointed her toward a chair.
I pulled my chair up in front of her. While she got comfortable, I concentrated really hard on tuning in. If my mother was right and I had some kind of magical power, maybe I could amplify what I already did, reading people. I focused a soft gaze just over her head and saw a rainbow of greens—dull and muddy, lime, dark and stormy and almost black. And a yellowy tinge too, which troubled me—it usually meant emotional blackmail.
Whoa. I sat back, trying to process this. Syd’s typical aura was usually red or magenta, both strong, creative, independent, happy colors in aura-land. These colors were all about conflicting emotions, relationship trouble, and overall relationship negativity.
