A Witch to Remember

by Heather Blake

  The smell reminded me of Hildie’s booth and the seed she’d given me. I fought a surge of apprehension as I recalled what she had told me and tried to keep my focus on this moment, right here and now.

  “Stop it,” Harper said. “You’re freaking me out.”

  I was staring because I’d been thinking about what Glinda had said earlier, about taking into account what Harper wanted versus what had been planned for her by others.

  It had stirred a memory of my father and how he’d often said to believe what people said the first time they told you. From day one of arriving in this village, Harper had made it clear that she was unsure about the Craft.

  Not much had changed since.

  I crossed my eyes and made fishy lips. “I can’t help it if you’re cute. You were born that way.”

  Just as she’d been born a Crafter.

  A Crafter who was the rightful heir to the Eldership.

  It was a title she hadn’t asked for, and it wasn’t right to blame her if she didn’t want it.

  “Are you okay?” she asked. “You’ve been acting strangely lately.”

  “I call you cute and you call me strange? How is that fair?”

  She smiled. “Strange and a master of diversion. You’re deflecting, trying not to answer the question about being okay.”

  “I’m hardly a master if you caught me doing it.”

  She spoke around the spoon in her mouth. “That’s true. You need to work on your diversion skills. So?”

  I sprinkled more jimmies into my pint and set the shaker back on the table. “So what?”

  “You. Strange. Why?”

  “Born that way?”

  “Darcy.”

  “I have a lot on my mind. The wedding …”

  She shook her spoon at me. “Uh-uhn. You’re calm about the wedding. Too calm, if you ask me, but I digress. And we already talked through all the new leads with Leyna’s death, so I don’t think it’s that. It’s as though …” She raised an eyebrow. “You’re keeping secrets from me.”

  Ha! If she only knew how many.

  “Is this about my birthday?” she asked. “You know I don’t want a big to-do.”

  The surprise party we were having for her tomorrow night was going to be a little to-do, so I didn’t feel guilty by saying, “Noted.”

  We’d opted to hold the party the night before her birthday, because shortly before sundown on her actual birthday, she’d be summoned to see the Elder and the Coven in the Elder’s meadow.

  There, she was going to get the shock of a lifetime.

  Harper was going to flip her lid.

  “And Mom?” she asked, wheedling. “She knows I don’t want anything big, right?”

  “I can’t speak for Mom.” I stuck a big gob of ice cream in my mouth to keep from accidentally saying anything incriminating.

  “I’d ask her myself, but with all these Coven meetings she’s having this week, she’s been incommunicado. Has she said anything to you about the Renewal?”

  I started choking, and as I coughed and sputtered, she pounded my back until my throat cleared. “I’m okay,” I said after a second. “I apparently tried to inhale a jimmie.”

  “Is this another diversion tactic? Better method, by the way, if it is.”

  “I’ll remember that, but no. These jimmies are dangerous. Delicious but dangerous.”

  Harper leaned back against the couch cushions and picked up our conversation as though she hadn’t almost had to perform the Heimlich maneuver. “Mom’s Renewal is coming up in two days. It’s actually the night of my birthday, since it falls on Midsummer’s Eve this year. I’m surprised she hasn’t said anything.”

  In the midst of all my worrying, I’d forgotten that Harper knew about the Renewal. Not everything, of course. Only that it existed. She’d found the information in a witchcraft book a long time ago.

  “I’m sure Mom would talk about it if she could. It’s probably one of those persnickety Craft rules.”

  She spooned more ice cream. “Are you worried at all?”

  Down to my very soul. I tried to sound surprised by the notion as I said, “Worry? Why?”

  “Do you remember when we learned about the Renewal? How it’s actually called the Renewal or Renaissance? What’s the Renaissance part?”

  I thought about faking choking to avoid saying anything, but instead said, “I’m not sure. The secrets within the Craft can be so frustrating.”

  “Agreed,” she said. “I could never be Elder. I’d lose my mind if I had to keep track of every rule and violation.”

  My heart sank. I’d suspected she felt that way, but to hear her speak the words clear as day nearly took my breath away.

  “You know what, though?” she asked, waving the spoon.

  “What?” I asked, trying to keep my voice from cracking.

  “I’d love to be part of the Coven. I want to be the one to make the rules. Our laws need a complete overhaul. How do I get that job, because I’m ready to start tomorrow. First up, more transparency. Why are there so many secrets within the Craft? Especially about the Eldership? And yeah, yeah, I understand there’s a danger present, but come on, we’re witches. Surely we can come up with protection spells for the Elder’s family. I think in general it’s stupid.”

  My head was swimming. There was a lot to sort through in what she’d just said, but one thing jumped straight out. “I thought you were done with the Craft?”

  “I didn’t mean forever. Gosh, Darcy. You take everything so literally.”

  “You literally said you were done with it forever.”

  She smiled. “I’m pregnant. It was the hormones talking.”

  My phone chiming with a text message was the only thing that stopped me from wringing her neck. “You are so lucky I love you.”

  “I know,” she said, licking her spoon.

  I picked up the phone. “It’s Nick—he’s on his way home.”

  “Nothing else? How can he leave us hanging like that?” she asked. “What’s happening with Dorothy? Is she walking into a sage-scented house right now only to be doused with holy water? I bet she melts, by the way.”

  It wouldn’t have surprised me if she did. “You know as much as I—”

  I was cut off by a creaking sound coming from the floor. Harper and I leaned over the couch arm and watched as one of the oak floorboards lifted upward. A small white mouse popped up and out, followed by a chubbier brown mouse.

  “Hiya, dolls!” Mrs. P said, straightening her pink velour dress. “Have you heard the news?”

  “What news?” Harper asked. “We haven’t heard anything other than Archie waxing on about Ryan Reynolds.”

  “Do you blame him?” Mrs. P asked. “I don’t!”

  “What news have you brought, Mrs. P?” I asked. “Hi, Pepe.”

  “Bonjour, mes amies,” he said as he dropped the floorboard back into position.

  “The news about Dorothy!” The fur sticking up between Mrs. P’s big ears fairly quivered with excitement. “We’ve been keeping our eyes on her all day.”

  Pepe tugged at the hem of his red vest. “Wait, wait, s’il vous plaît. There is a more pressing matter at hand at the moment than Dorothy.”

  “What’s that?” I reached down, and both climbed into my palm. I set them on the arm of the couch. “I can’t imagine what’s more pressing than Dorothy right now.”

  Pepe pressed his tiny hands together. “Ma chère, please tell me you saved some cheesy bread. I’ve been dreaming of it all day. It’s the only thing that saw me through listening to Dorothy and her mumbo jumbo. The woman is …”

  “She’s off her rocker, that’s what.” Mrs. P laughed, a sound that always reminded me of the way Phyllis Diller had laughed—it was more of a joyous bark.

  “More than usual?” Harper asked. “Because we all know she’s never been sane of mind.”

  Mrs. P said, “Enough so that she’s finally been carted off to the loony bin.”

  “Mon amou
r, I do not think that is the technical term for the institution in question.” He tapped my arm. “The bread, ma chère?”

  “The loony bin?” I asked. “As in a psychiatric hospital?”

  Mrs. P rubbed her hands together. “Yes indeedy.”

  Harper’s jaw dropped. “Has she been involuntarily admitted to the hospital for an evaluation?”

  “Oui, for seventy-two hours. The bread?” Pepe asked again.

  I smiled at him. “It’s keeping warm in the oven. I’ll make you two a plate.”

  “Wow, Dorothy in a psych ward,” Harper said. “I’m going to need all the details. Do not leave anything out.”

  As I bustled around the kitchen, I listened in as Pepe explained what had happened at the police station during the day—but my mind was already jumping ahead.

  Seventy-two hours.

  That would put Dorothy’s release date the day after Harper’s birthday.

  Dorothy was going to miss the Renewal.

  * * *

  “It was Dorothy’s own lawyer who suggested the psychiatric hold?” Starla asked early the next morning as we jogged around the village. “Is she already trying to set up an insanity plea?”

  “Maybe,” I said, kicking a pine cone off the path. “Nick said that Dorothy was truly behaving erratically. Cursing. Flailing. Slurring her words. Spitting.”

  Still not feeling all that well, I’d almost canceled our usual morning jog, but I’d thought the fresh air might do me some good. So far, running had chased away some of my nerves, but my stomach wasn’t having it, tossing and turning to the point where I’d had to stop to walk a few times and had finally decided to cut the run short. Jogging slowly, we were on our way back to the village.

  “Spitting?” Starla made a horrified face.

  “I know, right?” I shuddered. I could deal with cursing and flailing, but get saliva involved, and it gives me the heebies. “She threatened Nick, me, the lawyer, and to burn down the village. She said we were all framing her. She started pulling her hair out and eventually had to be restrained.”

  My heart rate kicked up just talking about the threat to burn down the village. Had it been an empty threat? I wanted to think so. But those scorch marks at her house suggested otherwise.

  I also left out the part where Dorothy had said we were framing her to keep her from taking over the village—Starla didn’t know about the Renewal. And the statement had been vague enough that the mortal lawyer hadn’t needed a memory cleanse.

  “Was she acting?” Starla asked. “Because she wasn’t drunk anymore—she’d spent the night drying out, right?”

  “Right, and I don’t know if she was faking it. All I do know is that Dorothy’s lawyer suggested the psych hold and Nick was relieved to agree to it. He didn’t want to have to arrest Dorothy, and it was looking like that was the only option after she didn’t deny the threats to Leyna or come up with a logical solution for being in possession of the hairpin. Not to mention, an arrest was in order for attacking a police officer at the station and making threats.”

  I kept thinking about how Glinda had said Dorothy seemed off lately and how Sylar had said her personality changed. I was beginning to wonder if she’d actually had a mental breakdown.

  Starla’s blonde ponytail swung as she jogged. “Her out-of-control behavior only bolsters the theory that she’s planning an insanity plea, doesn’t it?”

  “I can see her lawyer thinking so, but I can’t imagine Dorothy believes she’d ever be found guilty of anything. Nick said Dorothy went berserk after arriving at the psychiatric facility. They had to sedate her when she learned she was going to be there for three days.”

  Because she was going to miss the Renewal.

  “Maybe she really has lost her mind,” Starla said. “What happens in three days when she’s released?”

  “Nick mentioned that it’s possible her stay could be extended if deemed necessary.”

  We turned a corner, and I looked ahead to the Pixie Cottage. Dew on the roof sparkled in the early-morning light.

  Before Pepe and Mrs. P had left last night, I’d asked a favor of them that involved sneaking into Feif Highbridge’s room, and I wondered if they’d had a chance to complete their mission yet. I planned to meet up with them later today for a full report on what they might have discovered.

  Something incriminating, I hoped.

  “Well, hidey ho,” Starla said. “There’s Feif.”

  He crossed the street toward the Pixie Cottage, a cup from the Witch’s Brew in one hand, a pastry bag in the other.

  “Good morning, ladies,” he said when he spotted us.

  I smiled and kept jogging, only to find that Starla had stopped to chat. With a groan, I doubled back, giving her the evil eye the whole way. Which was completely lost on her, as she had eyes for only Feif.

  Googly eyes, at that.

  “It’s a shame,” he said, “that I have only a few days left here in the village. I wouldn’t have minded running with you. Such a great form of exercise.”

  His gaze drifted down Starla’s legs, and I wanted to smack him upside his head.

  I bit my tongue to keep from saying he hadn’t been invited to run with us, but Starla said, “You have a few days left. You can join us tomorrow morning.”

  And now I wanted to smack her. What was she thinking?

  He smiled her way, all warm and charming. “Thank you, I think I’ll take you up on that.”

  I said sternly, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Feif is a subject of an investigation.”

  Feif raised his eyebrows at me. “I thought I was cleared?”

  “We haven’t verified your alibi.” I folded my arms.

  “It’s all but said and done, right?” Starla said to me. “Once you talk to Stef …”

  “Stef?” he said. “Is that the woman’s name?”

  Starla nodded. “Stef Millet. She works at the Sorcerer’s Stove. I actually have a picture of her coming back from the restroom that verifies your story.”

  “You were there that day?” he asked. “You’re my savior.” He tucked the bag under one arm and picked up Starla’s hand to kiss it.

  I bit back gagging noises. “Nothing is verified yet,” I said, fighting the urge to yank her hand away from him. “Just because Feif said that he saw Stef doesn’t mean she saw him. Glinda and I are going to talk to her this morning. We’ll see what she says.”

  “Oh, she saw me,” he said.

  Ugh, his arrogance irritated me to no end. I said, “Just like you waited at the Witch’s Brew for Leyna on Friday?”

  The red tea tag sticking out of his cup fluttered in the breeze like a warning flag. “I didn’t?”

  “No, you didn’t. I know this because I was at the Witch’s Brew and saw Leyna there. Who I didn’t see was you.”

  “Oh, I’d forgotten about that lie,” Starla said, taking a step away from him.

  He lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “I might’ve had the times wrong.”

  “I don’t think you did. I think you stood her up. Why, though? Where were you when you were supposed to be meeting with her?” I asked.

  He took a sip of his drink. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I think it does,” I countered.

  “Fine, if you must know, I was here,” he said, gesturing to the Pixie Cottage. “And if you need verification on that, you can ask Carolyn Honeycutt. We were together. In bed.”

  My jaw dropped.

  “Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I have things to do.” He pushed open the gate and started up the path.

  Starla yelled, “The offer to run with us is officially rescinded.”

  He didn’t comment as he pulled open the front door and went inside.

  “Did he just say he slept with Carolyn Honeycutt?” I asked.

  “Yeah, he did. Didn’t he tell you she was a sociopath?”

  “And didn’t she say she hated him?”

  “It’s looking like they’re both lying liars
who lie,” Starla said as we kicked into a jog again. “I always had a bad feeling about that Feif.”

  I slid her a glance. “You did, did you?”

  “I’m a fabulous judge of character.” She grinned and sprinted ahead.

  I glanced back at the Pixie Cottage. As much as I wanted to go pound on Carolyn’s door to see what she had to say for herself, it was too early to go barreling in there. Plus, I should wait for Glinda.

  But as I ran to catch up with Starla, I couldn’t help thinking about all the lies told between Carolyn and Feif. Why? Was it because one of them had killed Leyna?

  Or because it had been both of them?

  Chapter Sixteen

  “It’s possible they were working together to get rid of Leyna,” I said forty minutes later as I frowned at the full pot of Merriweather blend coffee, willing myself to pour a cup. My stomach had settled a bit after a couple of pieces of toast.

  Nick came up behind me and kissed my neck. “Why not just have one cup of coffee a day that’s full-strength caffeine rather than suffer through a few cups of that horrid decaf blend?”

  “You don’t know what you’re asking of me. One single cup?”

  His lips lingered. “Maybe you should cut coffee altogether. Have you considered herbal tea instead?”

  “Considered and dismissed.”

  Annie sat on a counter stool, watching us. Nick went over and rubbed her ears. She pushed her head against his palm and purred. He said, “I hear water is quite satisfying.”

  “Are you trying to get turned into a frog?”

  “Do no harm, remember?”

  “Frogs are cute. No harm there.” I poured cream into my cup, added coffee, tasted it, and then added more cream and a pinch of sugar.

  Nick laughed at the dour look on my face. “One cup …”

  “Ribbit.”

  I was about to pick up the topic of Carolyn and Feif but held back when Mimi came into the kitchen, her backpack slung over her shoulder. Her hair was still damp from a shower, and curls hung around her face in tight black spirals.

  She kissed the top of Annie’s head and then dropped her backpack on a stool and yawned. “I hate Mondays.”

  I put my arm around her. “As much as I hate this coffee?”