by Zoe Arden
“Front or back?” Margaret asked as she tried to catch her breath. My own lungs were pumping way too fast. My heart joined them.
“Front,” I said. “The store should still be open. I don’t want to scare her by going around back and sneaking in.”
“Good point. Last time we were here, things didn’t go so well.”
“You could say that again.”
The Alchemic Stone was a brick-front building without any windows. It was meant to keep tourists out. The things Anastasia sold here were of a very particular nature. Magical gems and stones, plants, and herbs. Not all of them were safe. If a human ever got hold of boxie quill, for example, there was no telling what would happen.
Not long ago, a tourist had accidentally been given a Wildebeest mushroom instead of a button mushroom in their salad at a restaurant in town. The next thing Sweetland knew, a giant Wildebeest was running loose through town, eating up all the daisies. The newspaper had written it up the next day as a warning to be extra careful when serving humans anything, whether it was for consumption or not. As for the man’s dining companions, they’d all been told it was a bad case of indigestion and were comped a night at their hotel.
A rough breeze blew against my face as I stepped into The Alchemic Stone. It was the last line of defense against humans. Unless you had permission to enter, your mind would go blank, you’d forget why you came in, and you’d go right back out through the door you had just come through. It was a brilliant bit of magic, designed by Anastasia herself.
“Anastasia?” I called.
There was no answer.
“Think she’s here?” Margaret asked.
“She must be. It’s still early. Besides, the door was open.”
We started looking around.
“There they are!” I yelled, pointing at the display of stones I’d seen when Colt and I were here. “Or rather, there they should be.”
“Where have they gone?” Margaret asked, walking to the display case. It was empty. Only a sign announcing their presence remained.
“They’re gone. She must have moved them after Mayor Singer’s death. Why is Anastasia selling bloodstones anyway?” I asked. “That can’t be legal. And considering that it links her to the murders, it doesn’t make much sense.”
“From my understanding of it,” Margaret said, “bloodstones are legal to sell if you market them as novelty items. See here?”
She pointed to a cut out of a star that was attached to the sign. It read: BLOODSTONES: FOR ENTERTAINMENT ONLY!
“If that’s all it takes to sell items of dark magic, then I think the Council on Magic and Human Affairs needs to rethink some of its rules.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more. When I was head of the Witch’s Council, I contacted Dean Lampton about that very thing.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing. I could never prove it, but I’m fairly certain that Dean Lampton gets kickbacks from certain dark magic items sold in Heavenly Haven.”
“Who would buy something like this? I’d be terrified of getting caught with it. Or of it backfiring somehow and... infecting me.” I remembered what Felicity had said about it spreading.
“To most humans, bloodstones are nothing more than pretty, polished rocks. They buy them and put them on their shelves. Witches know better, but still... sometimes the lure of dark magic is overpowering.”
I frowned. “Where is she? Anastasia?” I called again.
“Let’s look in back.”
We pushed open the door that went into her back room. It was empty.
“Is she outside?” I asked.
We peeked out the window. Nothing.
“Where could she be?” Margaret asked, her hands on her hips. “The store is still open, for goodness sake. Anyone could walk in here and rob her blind.”
I realized we were forgetting something. During the draugr affair, Anastasia had stored the draugr she’d caught down in her basement. I pushed open the last door leading downstairs. “She could be down here,” I said.
“I know!” Margaret snapped her fingers. “The bathroom. I’ll check there. You check downstairs.” She hurried to the customer restroom out front while I descended the stairs. A bad feeling was creeping up my spine.
“Anastasia?” I called.
No answer.
At the bottom stair, I pulled open the only door that led inside a storage room.
“Anast—”
My voice fell away as I took in the sight before me. Anastasia lay with her arm bent at an unhealthy angle, and her face smashed into the floor. She wasn’t breathing.
“Margaret!” I yelled.
Margaret came rushing down the stairs. She took one look and pulled me back up.
“Call Sheriff Knoxx,” she said. “Now.”
I pulled my phone out and realized I’d missed about twenty phone calls from Sheriff Knoxx. Another thirty from Treena and Eleanor. My stomach dropped.
I dialed the sheriff. “Hello?” I said when I heard him answer.
“Ava! Thank the wizards you’re all right. Where are you?”
“I’m at The Alchemic Stone with Margaret,” I said. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“Don’t move. Stay right where you are.”
I could hear Eleanor and my father in the background. She was trying to calm him down about something. She kept saying, “It’s okay, Eli. She’s safe. Ava’s safe.”
Margaret nudged my elbows and mouthed the words, “Tell him.” I nodded.
“Sheriff Knoxx, there’s something I have to tell you.”
“Tell me when I get there.”
“You don’t understand. Anastasia’s dead.”
There was a deafening pause from the other line.
“Dead?”
“Yes. Margaret and I just found her.”
“Ava, get out of there. Go outside. Hurry.”
“What are you talking about? You just said not to move.”
I heard Eleanor whisper something to him.
Sheriff Knoxx took a breath.
“Ava, Slater Winston has just escaped from prison. He’s with Polly. Now get out of the store and wait for me where people can see you.”
He slammed the phone down. I stood staring at Margaret, shaking.
“What?” she asked, alarmed. “Ava?”
“Outside,” I told her. “Now.”
* * *
2 2
* * *
“Maybe we should leave her alone,” Margaret said nervously as I turned Polly over. Her face was blue.
“You can go back outside if you want,” I told her. “I understand.” We’d waited out there for all of three minutes before curiosity finally got the better of me.
Polly’s body was just like the others. Perfectly preserved. If I hadn’t have known better, I might have thought she was simply sleeping. There was no sign of physical trauma. It was as if she had come down to the basement and simply fallen over.
“Are you sure it’s safe to be touching her?” Margaret asked, wringing her hands together.
I paused and looked at Polly’s face. Her eyes were still open. She looked surprised. I closed them before reaching my hand into her pocket.
“There it is!” I yelled excitedly.
I covered Anastasia with a blanket that was sitting on a nearby chair and held up the bloodstone I’d just found in her pocket. It was a perfect, rounded green stone. The dark red lines that swam throughout it only made it look that much prettier.
“Ava, I think you should put that down.” Margaret’s voice was unsteady.
“Maybe you’re right,” I agreed. I set it on a table and began looking around the room. I couldn’t find any sign that there had been a struggle.
“How do bloodstones kill, exactly? I mean, there are no signs of a struggle. There haven’t been with any of the deaths. Doesn’t someone have to... I don’t know... physically be here to cast a spell?”
“I’m not positive, but I think the spell is ca
st on the bloodstone itself. Once it comes into contact with the person it’s been cast upon, that person acts as a sort of catalyst. The spell just sort of comes together.”
“Let’s go upstairs,” I said, finding nothing in the basement of much use. Margaret was relieved when we were far away from Anastasia and the bloodstone.
“Shouldn’t Sheriff Knoxx be here by now?” Margaret asked.
“I’m sure he’s just grabbing Otis.” It occurred to me that he might also be struggling against Eleanor, who probably wanted to come with him. I was sure he wouldn’t want her anywhere near a bloodstone.
“Something about all this doesn’t make sense,” I said.
Margaret lifted an eyebrow. “I think there’s a lot of things about this that don’t make sense. Like how Polly could escape from Wormwood, to begin with. And now Slater? I thought Swords and Stones was a fortress.”
“Yes, but more than that.” I stopped pacing the floor and looked around the room as if there was some key clue right in front of me that I just couldn’t see. “Why would Polly kill her own mother? I know she and Anastasia had their problems, but I just don’t think that even Polly would stoop so low.”
“It must have been Polly though. Who else could it be?”
“I just don’t think that Polly would kill her mom,” I snapped. “It doesn’t make sense. Polly loved her mother.”
“Not everyone is as good a person as you are, Ava,” Margaret snapped back. “Just because Polly loves her mom doesn’t mean she wouldn’t kill her to get her powers back.”
I bit my lip and had to admit Margaret had a point.
“Sorry if I got short with you, “I told her.
“Me, too. I guess it’s normal in a situation like this. Tempers are bound to flair.”
There was a squeal of tires out front, and Sheriff Knoxx came running through the front door. Otis Winken was just behind him. He was carrying a small, brown satchel over his shoulder. It had a mesh screen on one side and was open at the top. A small, furry, black and white head popped out of it and looked around. Sheriff Knoxx shot an irritated glance in its direction. He reached out one hand and pushed its head gently back into Otis’s bag.
Otis looked down at his furry friend nervously.
“Tadpole doesn’t like it when other people touch him,” Otis said.
“If that familiar of yours lets loose inside this store, you’re going to be sorry,” Sheriff Knoxx warned.
I tried to suppress a laugh. I couldn’t believe that Sheriff Knoxx had allowed Tadpole within ten feet of him, let alone a crime scene.
Otis looked at me apologetically. “Tadpole wanted to come,” he explained. “He has a real knack for solving crimes.”
Margaret wrinkled her nose.
“Hi, Miss Margaret. It’s me. Otis. Otis Winken.”
“Hello, Otis. Nice to see you.”
Sheriff Knoxx rolled his eyes.
There was a squeak from inside his bag, and Otis held the satchel up to his ear. Tadpole’s nose popped out and nudged against Otis’s earlobe. I waited for the smell to follow, but nothing happened except that Otis nodded his head. He lowered the satchel and looked at Sheriff Knoxx.
“Tadpole says something smells weird in here.”
Sheriff Knoxx rolled his eyes. “I should think so.”
Otis’s cheeks colored. “I think he means that he smells danger.”
There was an affirmative squeak from inside the bag.
“Amazing,” Sheriff Knoxx said sarcastically. “Your skunk smells danger at a crime scene.” He held up a hand as Otis opened his mouth. “Are you two okay?” he asked me and Margaret.
“Fine,” I told him.
He looked at Margaret and gritted his teeth. “What are you doing here?” I could tell it was taking all of his willpower not to begin shouting at her.
For her part, Margaret spoke without anger or sarcasm. “I’m helping Ava find Paisley’s killer,” she said simply and left it at that.
“Sheriff, you said on the phone that Slater escaped?” I asked. The idea that Slater was free scared me. Last time I’d seen him, his main goal in life had been to get rid of witches altogether.
“Yes, but don’t worry. I’ve spoken with Dean Lampton, and he’s already got people tracking them.”
“Them?”
“Slater and Polly. He could never have escaped without her. The prison has them both on video surveillance. Now, Ava, where’s the body?”
I showed Sheriff Knoxx where Anastasia was. His face was grim as he looked her over. Otis looked like he was going to be sick. I didn’t blame him. Her normally milky skin was tinted a light shade of blue that was growing darker by the second.
“I can’t believe Polly would do this to her own mother,” Sheriff Knoxx muttered.
“That’s just my problem, Sheriff,” I said. “I don’t think she did.”
Sheriff Knoxx looked at me. “What do you mean? Of course, she did.”
“How could she?”
“How could she not?” Margaret interjected.
“When did Slater escape?” I asked.
“A few hours ago. Unlike Wormwood, Swords and Bones immediately notified the Council on Magic and Human Affairs. Given that the last time Slater was free he started killing humans, I think that was probably a smart move.”
“Yes, but don’t you see?” I asked.
Margaret, Sheriff Knoxx, and Otis all looked at me with blank expressions.
“I saw Anastasia alive early this morning.”
“When?” Sheriff Knoxx asked.
“Around four.”
“So?” Margaret asked. “She was killed sometime between four a.m. and now.”
“But if Polly was breaking Slater out of Swords and Bones a few hours ago...”
“Then she couldn’t be the killer,” Sheriff Knoxx finished for me.
Margaret’s eyes lit up. “Oh, my roses,” she said. “You mean...”
“Either Polly isn’t the murderer at all... or she’s not working alone.”
* * *
2 3
* * *
The next day was gray and grim. January fifth. Two days. I only had two days left before the start of the Wolf Moon.
I’d spent the night pouring through my books on Sara Sweetland and Patrick Mistmoor. I researched everything I could about them, then turned to my book on the archetypes. There were twelve main archetypes. The Jester, which had been Paisley. The Ruler, which had obviously been Mayor Singer. Now Anastasia.
I opened the book again and turned to the chapter that had struck me most: The Caregiver.
The Caregiver is also known as the saint, supporter, and parent. Their goal is to help those they love.
Even though I’d never refer to Anastasia as a saint, she was definitely a parent. As for helping others... it was strange to think of her like that, given the antagonistic relationship we’d shared, but the truth was she had helped others.
Anastasia had been a gifted seer. She gave readings to people in the back of her store—she’d even given me readings before—and almost never charged for them. At least not officially. I knew that most people slipped her some money, which she always took willingly enough, but still... money never seemed to be her main motivation. She offered insight and advice to anyone who came seeking it. She wanted to help them.
There was a soft knock on my door. “Honey? You awake?” It was my father.
“Come in.”
My door popped open, and my dad’s head poked into the room. “Morning,” he said, smiling.
“What’s good about it?” I asked.
“You should get dressed. I think there’s someone downstairs you’re gonna want to see.”
“If it’s Margaret, tell her thanks, but I’m taking the day off. I have forty-eight hours to live, and I’ve decided to spend it in my room eating ice cream and watching old movies.”
“You’re not going to die,” my dad said, frowning.
“We have no idea who Polly
’s working with. We’re back to square one.”
“Just get dressed and come downstairs,” he said and paused before closing the door. “That’s an order.”
I let out a breath and got dressed. I figured I might as well humor him before I was gone. On my way down the stairs, I heard a man’s voice. It was smooth and deep and sent a shiver up my spine.
“Colt!” I yelled, darting down the rest of the way down. In the kitchen, he spun toward the sound of my footfalls. I ran to him and threw my arms around him, hugging him until he couldn’t breathe.
“Well, thanks,” he said, blushing. “It’s good to see you, too.”
I was grinning like a fool but didn’t care. I had a million questions for him and a million more things to tell him.
“What happened? When did you get back? Did they fire you?”
“Ava,” Eleanor called from the stove where she was preparing breakfast, “give him time to breathe.”
“It’s okay,” Colt said, grinning back at me. He seemed genuinely happy to be back. “To start with your last question, no. I wasn’t fired.”
“Good. They’d have been crazy to do that to you.”
My father was watching me carefully. I knew what he was thinking—I’d done a complete 180 since I’d first met Colt. In less than two weeks, I’d gone from hating him to... well... to enjoying his company. But I’d gotten to know him in that time. He’d shared intimate details of his life with me. His father’s death. His desire to live up to his dad’s memory. Even the thing about the saxophone. It almost felt like in the short time we’d spent together, I knew Colt better than I knew Damon.
“It wasn’t quite that easy,” Colt said, scowling slightly. “I had to convince them to give me some more time. Of course, when Slater escaped, they had no choice but to send me back. I wasn’t even on the case at that point, so they could hardly blame me for that one.”
“Well, either way, I’m glad you’re here.”
Eleanor and Trixie exchanged a look and suddenly I wanted to get out of here. Colt must have caught on and asked if I wanted to join him for an interview.
“Interview... or interrogation?” I gave him a sly smile.
“Depends on the person,” he said, smiling back.
