“No wonder Glinda wants your spy pen,” Mimi said. “To her it’s a half-million-dollar video!”
“Darcy, did Glinda offer you a cut for sharing the footage?” Harper demanded to know.
I shook my head. “We didn’t get a chance to talk about it, because that’s when I saw my image on her video . . . and took off to find Ve.”
Harper jabbed a finger at me. “Don’t be all softhearted about this. Hold out for some cold hard cash, Darcy. Don’t give her the pen until you get a deal in writing.”
I tried not to roll my eyes. I had no intention of asking Glinda to share her profits. She would have captured the same footage I had if I hadn’t walked in when I did and blocked her camera. “Right now I can’t give her the pen at all.”
“Why’s that, dear?” Ve asked.
“I don’t have it.” One, two, three, four . . . All pets accounted for. “It’s sitting on my table at the Extravaganza.”
“Do you know when you’ll be able to get back in?” Starla asked.
“I haven’t heard,” I said. “I’m guessing it might be a while if Natasha’s death is ruled a homicide.”
“It will be,” Harper said definitively.
Starla glanced at the wall clock. “I need to get going. Will someone call me if you figure out a fix for this hair in the next hour?”
“You’d look lovely in a wig,” Ve said with a smile.
Starla groaned as she headed for the back door. “On the plus side, I can finally get a picture with Vince.”
Ve said, “Not—” then abruptly cut herself off. “Never mind. Have a nice evening.”
Starla pulled open the back door and let out a startled scream as Archie swooped past her head, flying into the kitchen.
“Perfect timing,” he intoned once he landed on the edge of the counter.
Starla opened her mouth, then closed it again, shook her head, and walked out the door, closing it behind her with more force than necessary.
“Was it something I said?” Archie asked, looking around. He let out his own yip when he caught Higgins trying to sneak up on him.
“Pzzt!” Harper said, sliding off her stool to grab Higgins’ collar. “You’re late for the rendezvous, Archie. We could have saved you some time looking, since Ve found Titania.”
“My apologies. I was waylaid by a message from the Elder,” he said. “So, the fugitive feline has been found?”
I pointed to the top of the steps, where Titania was sitting.
He squinted. “Do I spy Tilda grooming her? Has the world gone mad?”
“Yes and yes,” I answered.
Higgins barked at Archie and smacked his lips, sending drool droplets spraying across the kitchen.
“He’s probably ready for a walk.” Mimi jumped up.
“More likely he wants a tasty snack,” Harper said, humor lighting her eyes.
“Curse you,” Archie said, shaking his wing at her.
Mimi laughed. “He already ate, so it’s a good time to take him for a walk.” Missy danced around her feet. “Missy, too.”
“I’ll go with you,” Harper said. “Just to make sure neither of them tries to sneak off to join Cookie on the lam.”
The kettle whistled as the foursome trooped out the back door, and Ve grabbed a teapot and set about letting the tea steep. “I’m going to go change out of this dress. Save any village gossip for my return.”
As she headed upstairs, Archie asked, “Is Starla well? She seemed a trifle vexed.”
“It’s been a rough day around here for all of us,” I said, putting it mildly.
“Indeed,” he agreed, “but I daresay my bald spots are a sight better than whatever is going on with Harper’s, Starla’s, and your hairstyles.”
“I will bring Higgins back in here and let him lick you like a Popsicle.” I took some teacups from the cabinet and set them on the counter.
He blanched. “Your hair is lovely. Just lovely.”
“That’s what I thought you meant,” I said.
“Any word from Nick about the . . . ?” He drew the tip of his wing across his throat.
“Not yet.”
“I grow weary of waiting,” he said on a deep sigh.
I cleared my throat. “‘You’ve forgotten everything I taught you about a warrior’s patience.’”
“Thor,” he answered immediately. “Oh, that Chris Hemsworth, be still, my heart.”
Checking the teapot, I said, “Did Terry file his report with the police?”
“He did, but there is little to be done about it at the moment, as all police attention is currently focused on Natasha and Chip. Which”—he coughed—“brings me to why I am here.”
“Oh?”
“The message I received from the Elder earlier,” he began, “was about you.”
Adrenaline surged through me. “Me?”
“She requests your presence.”
“When?” I asked, wondering how long I could stall.
“Now.”
I’d been afraid he was going to say that.
Chapter Thirteen
The sky was shifting colors as the day slipped into evening. I left Archie behind at As You Wish to explain where I’d gotten off to, and headed into the Enchanted Woods. A little ways in, I slipped on my Craft cloak and pulled its hood over my head. Although older cloaks, like Aunt Ve’s, had the ability to make Crafters invisible to mortals no matter the location, recently crafted cloaks like mine made me invisible to mortals only while in these woods, a protective measure to keep the Elder’s meadow from being discovered.
The cloak was proving to be a useful deterrent against mosquitos as well. Twilight was thick with the insects, buzzing about.
Shadows lengthened the deeper I ventured into the woods, moving at a good clip, as I knew this route well. I’d taken this unmarked path to the Elder’s meadow at least a dozen times in the past year, and the journey still set butterflies swirling in my stomach.
I hopped over a thick exposed root and thought back to my first visit with the Elder, not long after I first arrived in the village. I’d been scared to death because I’d broken a Wishcraft Law, and she’d done little to set my mind at ease.
But over the course of the last twelve months, our relationship had taken many turns. The Elder had gone from disciplinarian to teacher to boss to . . .
I wasn’t exactly sure what we were at this point. Not quite friends—I mean, I didn’t even know her name—but closer than acquaintances. I’d grown quite fond of her, but if I was being completely honest, being summoned to see her still induced fear. It felt a little like a child about to be chastised by her mother.
Vivid blues and orange lit the western horizon as clouds blew across the sky in the breezy evening. A chorus of forest noise obliterated my footfalls. Heat bugs, crickets, toads, and birds were all singing their nighttime songs.
I struggled to identify the coo of the mourning dove in the woodland concerto, but I couldn’t quite. Although I’d captured the back end of the bird on film, I found I kept asking myself if I was certain it had been the bird who’d been hanging about As You Wish for months. I wanted—yearned—for a different ending to that story. Because, how fantastic was it to still be uncovering the wonders of this magical world? That a simple bird could be something so much more . . .
But the reality was that sometimes a bird was just a bird.
As I rounded a bend, the sounds of the forest faded into a quiet hum. A grassy clearing in the woods came into view, at the center of which sat a majestic weeping tree, its branches heavy with silvery green leaves that brushed the ground, creating a natural shelter that felt all at once welcoming and magical. The sunset gave the area a fiery glow, but it was nothing compared to how it came alive when the Elder was holding court.
“Hello?” I called out.
There was no answer. I lowered my hood and walked over to the weeping tree, running my hand along its ridged bark. There was a hollow in the trunk where Crafters could leave notes for the Elder to find, but it was currently empty. I looked upward and marveled at the beautiful way the branches arced outward, creating a leafy canopy.
“Hello?” I yelled again.
A moment later, a noise came from the woods, from the direction of the path where I’d just emerged. I spun around, my cape swinging out. The sound had been distinctly human: a sneeze.
I saw nothing, but hair rose on my arms as I searched the shadows looking for anyone lurking in the depths of the underbrush.
The trouble was, everything looked out of place. Every tree trunk looked like a person, every branch like an arm.
Another sneeze came from the direction of the path, followed quickly by a grunt, as though someone had tripped.
I ducked into the leafy shelter and hid behind the wide trunk of the Elder’s tree. I quickly put my hood up again. My palms were damp as I drew my cloak tighter around me, and I was beyond grateful for the knowledge that I was unable to be seen by any mortals happening by.
But suddenly I wondered if I could be heard. Had someone heard me calling for the Elder? Panicked, I quickly tried to recall whether I’d actually used her name, and didn’t think I had. Relieved, I carefully parted the canopy to peek out.
Had someone searching for Cookie wandered this deep into the woods? It was possible, I supposed, but then I dismissed that notion. No one was calling Cookie’s name.
Squinting, I spotted someone stumbling into the clearing, swatting at bugs. He was dressed in shorts and a T-shirt and had a ball cap pulled low as he glanced around. He sneezed again and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.
I sucked in a breath.
It was Baz Lucas.
As if mesmerized by what he was seeing, he walked toward the majestic tree, and my heartbeat kicked up a notch. What was he doing here?
I held my breath as he slipped into the leafy grotto where I hid, slowly walking in a circle around the tree’s trunk. As he neared where I stood, he swatted at bugs and nearly grazed my arm. I silently willed him to go away.
He sneezed again, mumbling something about pollen.
I had to bite my tongue to hold back an instinctive “Bless you.”
He took a moment to glance upward into the branches of the tree, then shuffled past me. I noticed he was wearing his Birkenstocks. Not exactly good footwear for a hike through the woods . . . so why was he out here?
With one last look around, he trotted across the meadow toward the path leading back to the village. He soon disappeared from view.
I let out a relieved breath and didn’t dare move. Not until I was sure he was long gone. Closing my eyes, I slowly counted to one hundred. When I opened them again, the shadows had been chased from the meadow, which was now magically illuminated as though it was noon and not nearly seven at night. The meadow’s grass was gone, and in its place stood thousands of colorful wildflowers.
“You’re here,” I said, edging away from the tree.
“I was with you all along, Darcy.” The Elder’s voice came from within the weeping tree. “Sit down.”
A tree stump appeared before me, and I dutifully sat. “Do you know why Baz was here?”
“He’d been following you from the moment you stepped out of As You Wish. You must be more careful,” she reprimanded me.
Heat flooded my cheeks. “I didn— I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful. He didn’t see me put on my cloak, did he?”
“No. You’re very fortunate he didn’t.”
I was. The Craft had very strict rules about revealing ourselves to mortals, even accidentally. A slipup like that could have cost me my powers. Although I felt like slumping in dismay, I kept my shoulders back and my chin up.
“The question remains,” she said. “Why was he following you? Was his intent benign? Or malicious?”
Why indeed? “He saw me at Chip’s this afternoon, but he doesn’t know I am the witness who reported seeing him climbing down the fire escape.” Nick had told me he would keep that information under wraps as long as possible.
“I am fully aware that he is involved in today’s tragedies. To what extent remains to be seen, which is why I’ve summoned you.”
Her stern voice had become familiar to me over the years, but I yearned to hear her softer tones. It wasn’t often I heard them at all, but when I did it was as though something magical happened within me that cast me under her spell. Her laugh, especially, filled me with emotion so tender it was nearly painful.
“You want me to investigate a mortal?”
“No. I want you to investigate the poisoning of a Crafter.”
A gust of wind bent the wildflowers nearly in half, and the rustle of the leaves on the weeping tree created pleasing melody, as if each branch was a chime.
I waited until the wind died down before I spoke again. “I thought Natasha was a mortal?”
“She was. I am speaking of Chip Goldman, a Vitacrafter.”
“Chip? I had no idea.” A Vitacrafter could read people’s energy, and I wasn’t sure if that was a benefit or a detriment to an actor.
“Many don’t. He is much like your sister, Harper, in eschewing his heritage. That does not mean, however, that their heritage eschews them. We take care of our own. I have already sent Cherise Goodwin to pay him a visit at the hospital.”
Curecrafter Cherise was a healing witch. If the poison Chip had ingested hadn’t already proved fatal, she would have him on his feet in no time.
“Do you know who poisoned him?” I asked.
“No. That is where you come in. I am aware you are investigating Natasha’s death at a request from Ivy Teasdale. It would be too much a stretch of the imagination to believe the two cases are not linked. What are your theories?”
“I have only two. One is that this is a messy love triangle proven fatal. The other is that somehow the Extravaganza played a role in the deaths. Someone who did not want Natasha to win once again.”
“Who are your suspects?”
“Baz, of course. Vivienne, simply because Baz was cheating on her with Natasha. But she hadn’t known about the affair until moments before Natasha died, so I’m doubtful of her involvement. I’d had Chip on the list until he almost died, since he loved Natasha. Natasha had plenty of enemies at the Extravaganza, but I still need to whittle down a list to talk to.”
“It is a start,” she said.
The wind kicked up again, and a strand of silver hair blew across my face. I took hold of it. “I don’t suppose you know how to fix this?”
“I suggest visiting a Colorcrafter at the Magic Wand for a speedy solution. Otherwise, only time and an adjustment to the spell will truly remedy the situation.”
An adjustment to the spell . . . That meant getting in touch with Vivienne. It was a good reason to go see her, slip in some questions about the case. But certainly not tonight. I added it to my morning’s to-do list.
“Send me updates on the case via Archie,” the Elder said. “Use caution in your investigation. Do not eat or drink anything you have not prepared yourself.”
A chill swept over me at the thought that someone might try to poison me as well.
Then her voice softened as she added, “We do not want anything tragic happening to you.”
My heart swelled. “Thank you.”
“Good night, Darcy.”
I made to stand up, then sat back down. “Elder?”
She sighed. “Yes?”
“Next week . . .” I trailed off.
“Yes?” she prompted.
“Next week, are you planning to reveal your true identity to me?” There was a long stretch of silence, and I wondered if she’d heard me. “Elder?”
Wh
en she finally answered, she used that soft tone of voice again. “Darcy, you already know who I am.”
It took a moment for her words to register. “No, no, I don’t.”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, you do.”
“No, I’m not kidding. I don’t.”
She let out a laugh, and that tender feeling zipped through my chest, squeezing my heart for all it was worth.
Gently she insisted, “You do.”
Baffled, I sat there beginning to fume. How dare she tell me what I did or didn’t know? Then I suddenly recalled another time she’d taught me a lesson about my heritage. It was when I had been dealing with a tricky situation regarding Mimi and Melina’s diary . . . and how to hide the journal.
I eyed the tree. “Is this another Wizard of Oz–ish life lesson? An I’ve-had-the-power-all-along kind of thing?”
“Something like th—”
In a flash, the sky went dark, and I fell with a grunt to the grassy ground. Gone was the light, the flowers, the tree stump. As the wind blew, there were no enchanting chimes coming from the weeping branches.
What in the world had happened?
Leaning up on my elbows, I said, “Hello?”
My eyes slowly adjusted to the woods around me. Fireflies danced at the edge of the trees, bright sparks in the twilight.
Suddenly, a flash of movement came from the pathway that led to the village.
Baz again?
I had no time to hide beneath the tree, so I curled into a ball, pulling my cloak over me like a blanket and drawing its hood over my whole face.
A moment later, I heard the sound of approaching, cautious footsteps, and my heart hammered in my chest.
“Mehh.”
I peeked out. Cookie blinked at me.
“You naughty little goat,” I said to her.
“Mehh!”
I was about to reach out to grab her when I heard the voices. A search party of three with flashlights emerged into the clearing. Angela and Colleen Curtis, and Harmony Atchison. “There she is!”
Cookie looked over her shoulder, then tried to burrow under the folds of the cloak, trying to snuggle close to me.
“No,” I whispered, pushing at her. “Go away.”
Gone With the Witch Page 12
