Gone With the Witch

by Heather Blake

  I turned my attention back to Vivienne. “And the spell affects all Wishcrafters within a certain radius of the witch who the spell has been cast upon?” I asked.

  Vivienne nodded. “Twelve feet, as Ve requested.”

  “I see,” I said, looking at my aunt.

  And there must have been something in my tone that hinted at my displeasure, because Titania glanced up at me.

  The dogs dropped the toy, and Missy came to stand near my feet.

  Ve brushed crumbs from her lap and said brightly, “Would anyone like a refill?”

  “Did I say something wrong?” Vivienne asked, glancing between us.

  “No,” I said to her. “You just cleared up something for me. Thanks.”

  She looked confused, but I didn’t want to question Ve about the spell in front of a guest, so I let it go. For now. “Is Mimi up yet?” I asked instead. “She’s love to hear all this.”

  “Up and out. She took Higgins home before heading to Spellbound to work her afternoon shift,” Ve said, looking visibly relieved that I’d changed the subject.

  Mimi worked for Harper a few times a week and loved every second of it.

  “Did you get everything you needed at the Furry Toadstool?”

  “More than I needed,” I said. “I was a pushover when it came to the cat toys.”

  “Reggie has a way of getting you to buy things you don’t need,” Vivienne said. “Audrey has more hair accessories than I do, but Baz insists on her wearing only the bows. Just like Audrey Hepburn’s dog, Mr. Famous.” At the sound of her name, Audrey jumped up next to Vivienne and settled in next to her owner, dropping her head on Vivienne’s leg. It was clear the two adored each other.

  Ve said, “Mr. Famous? Was that really his name?”

  “Oh yes,” Vivienne said. “And you should have heard the argument Baz and I had when he wanted to name Audrey ‘Ms. Famous.’ He finally relented about that, as long as I agreed Audrey would always be styled just like the other dog. Hair bow and all. Baz works with Ivy Teasdale at Fairytails to get the look just right. I’m convinced Ivy thinks we’re both crazy.” She took a weary breath. “Which we probably are, so that’s okay.”

  Vivienne was acting rather relaxed for someone whose husband had been brought in for questioning by the police last night. And whose house was now being searched inside and out. Then I glanced at her clothes again and made a leap. “When’s the last time you saw Baz?”

  Vivienne paled.

  Ve shot me a look that clearly asked where I was going with this conversation.

  Vivienne said, “We had a big fight after we got home from the Extravaganza. I told him I wanted a divorce and packed as much of my stuff as I could shove into my car. I made it clear to him that I was done and wasn’t coming back. I haven’t seen him since. I spent the night at the Pixie Cottage—Harmony and Angela were kind enough to let me and Audrey sleep in their personal guest quarters, since all the other rooms were full.”

  “Oh dear,” Ve murmured.

  “Was your fight about Natasha?” I asked.

  “Yes. He tried to deny he’d had an affair with her, but Glinda told me what she’d seen at the Extravaganza. I’m waiting for the photos that prove it without a doubt, and I can finally be free from him.”

  I guessed Glinda hadn’t told her that those photos were coming from me.

  “I’ll find another place here in the village—I belong here more than he does,” she said.

  Because she was a Crafter, and he was a mortal.

  “It’s not the first time he’s cheated,” she said sadly. “He’s been having affairs for a while now. They started right after my accident. But I could never catch him at it. He’s so smart, so smooth. Somehow he’d always convince me that I was crazy, that he loved me and only me. And I’d believe him. Over and over and over again. But this last time was different.”

  “How so?” Ve asked.

  “He was different. I think . . . I think he loved her. I had the feeling he was going to leave me.” She bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. Audrey looked up at her with such concern that it nearly broke my heart. “I didn’t know who he was cheating with, so I hired Glinda. I needed to catch him cheating if I was going to get anything out of this marriage besides a broken heart. If he divorced me . . . I got a small settlement, just fifty thousand dollars. But if I caught him cheating . . .”

  “Ten million,” I supplied. “Glinda told me.”

  “Yes. I deserve that money after what he put me through.”

  “Hmmph,” Ve said. “I think you’re going easy on him. If he cheated on me like that, I’d slice off his—”

  My cell phone rang, cutting off Ve, thank goodness. I pulled it from my pocket. “It’s Nick.”

  I took the call in the kitchen, and Titania followed me.

  “I’m wrapping up here at the Lucases’,” he said, “and just had a call from Natasha’s sister, Alina Norcliffe. She’s in the village, staying at Natasha’s for a few days. She asked about Titania.”

  The cat twined around my legs. “She did?”

  “I had to tell her where she was. I’m sorry.”

  “No, it’s fine.” I vigorously rubbed a spot on the kitchen counter. “It’s probably best I go talk to her, get this over with.”

  “I thought you’d say that, so I set up a time for you to meet her. Two, this afternoon, at Natasha’s.”

  My heart sank. “Oh. So soon.”

  “If that doesn’t work, you can reschedule. . . .”

  “It works, it’s just . . .”

  “Darcy?” The tenderness in his voice was like a hug. “Are you okay?”

  “Sure,” I said, lying.

  “Darcy.”

  “I’ll be okay.”

  “All right,” he relented. “I’ll be done here soon. Do you want to meet at the Wisp in an hour?”

  “Definitely. How are things there?”

  “Not finding much at all. The neighbors say Baz has been in and out, acting strange by sneaking around the house, like he was hiding from someone.”

  “Hiding from who?” I asked. “You?”

  “I don’t see why. He was willing to talk with us last night. I have a call into his lawyer to set up another meeting.”

  “Maybe hiding from Vivienne?” I whispered so she wouldn’t overhear me.

  But no, that didn’t make sense, as she had moved out and made it clear she wasn’t going back.

  “No clue,” Nick said. “I’ll ask when I see him. I’ve got to go. See you soon.”

  As I headed back to the family room, I could think of only one other reason why Baz would be acting the way he was.

  If he was scared.

  Not of Vivienne.

  But of becoming the next victim.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Once I confessed to Vivienne that Nick was executing a search warrant on her house because of Baz’s relationship with Natasha, she had grabbed Audrey and hightailed it out of here faster than I could say boo. There had been no explanation to Ve or me where she was going.

  I was curious whether she was on the hunt for Baz—to kill him for dragging her into this situation—or was she headed to the police? Did she have information that would potentially help Nick’s case?

  Time would tell.

  Ve had quickly exited the house as well, feeding me an excuse about a pressing village matter she had to tend to.

  I recognized avoidance when I saw it.

  She didn’t want to talk to me about the Lunumbra spell and why she’d been casting it only on me.

  Fine. I was a patient witch. I could wait.

  I’d called Glinda to let her know I’d be getting the spy pen soon, and since I had time to kill, I headed up to my bedroom, passing Tilda at the top of the staircase. I took a moment to give her some lo
ve, and she mustered up a faint purr for me, for which I was grateful. It could just as easily have been a bite.

  She and I had a complicated relationship.

  She joined Titania and Missy as we trooped into my bedroom like some kind of ragtag conga line.

  Recognizing that I was a little on edge, I turned to the one thing that usually settled me down quickly.

  My art.

  I’d been working on that family portrait for Harper for a long while now, and I hadn’t yet finished the piece. An hour wasn’t much time, but it would be enough to make a decent dent.

  I carefully withdrew the gray sheet of paper from the large zippered portfolio I stored under the bed. I’d taken liberties with the drawing, carefully crafting the images of my mother and father and Harper and me in the present day. We all sat on a bench in front of a weeping willow tree, my father smiling as he watched my mother laughing, Harper looking at her with her heart in her eyes, and me grinning ear to ear. If my parents were still alive, I imagined this was exactly how we’d be behaving.

  As always, my gaze had immediately gone to my mother’s face first. It was finished except for her eyes, a task I’d been putting off for weeks now, for a reason I couldn’t quite define. It wasn’t like me to procrastinate.

  Sighing, I set the paper on my draft table and fastened it down. I set out my colored pencils, a sharpener, and a highlight stick. Made myself reach for the light blue to fill in my mother’s iris. After that was done, I flecked the blue with gold.

  Deryn Octavia Devaney Merriweather had been a beautiful woman. For a long time I had trouble remembering the exact details of my mom’s face, but thanks to Mimi and a spell she’d found in Melina’s diary, I’d could see my mom as clearly as I had when I was seven years old.

  I reached for another color, a vibrant blue to line her eyes—the color had been her favorite eyeliner—and then quickly picked up a silver metallic pencil to imitate the glitter in the eyeliner. After a few swipes and smudging with my fingertip to blend, I leaned back. There. Done.

  I studied the result. The image I’d drawn looked so much like my mother that my breath caught. Grief made my chest ache, and I forced myself to think of the happy times we’d had. The dancing in the rain, baking cookies, reading stories. All the dress-up playdates, the way she’d sing to me, the way she’d hold my head against her chest to soothe me, the way she’d loved me.

  The pain eased from my chest but a lingering melancholy remained. I left the portrait where it was and quickly stood up. I went into the bathroom to wash my hands, and was glad to see in the mirror that my hair was still one solid color.

  Above the sound of the water, I heard a distinct arr-ooo, the hound-dog howl that was the ring tone I used for Harper.

  I wiped my hands on my shorts and grabbed my phone from where I’d thrown it on my bed.

  “Darcy, why did Ve just walk in here and pluck a hair straight out of my head and walk out again without saying a word? Has she gone crazy?”

  I said, “Entirely possibly, but in all likelihood, she’s just fixing your hair color.” I explained the temporary fix for the Lunumbra spell. “I’m guessing she didn’t say anything because she didn’t want to explain what was going on and potentially have to answer questions she didn’t want to answer.”

  “But,” Harper said, with a pout in her voice, “I kind of liked the streak. Once, you know, I got used to it.”

  I glanced at the portrait on my draft table, and my gaze went immediately to my mother’s eyes again. There was something about them. . . . “I’m sure the Magic Wand Salon can re-create it.”

  Sounding put out, she said, “And why was Ve only casting the spell on you? Did she say?”

  “No, and she left before I could quiz her about it.” I walked over to the drafting table and packed up my supplies.

  “I live in bizzarro world. One with freaky streaks and crazy witches. Speaking of, you wouldn’t believe the things I’m reading in this Craft book. Apparently, we witches are big on fires. Elf fires, balefires, need fires. Bonfires here, bonfires there. We’re a bunch of pyros, that’s what we are.”

  Pyromaniacs. “I’m not sure I’d go that far, unless you’re talking about Dorothy Hansel Dewitt.” Dorothy was infamous around the village for being a fire-starter when she lost her temper.

  “True story,” Harper said, humor in the words.

  In the Craft world, fire was an important element for transformation, recharging energy, and even as a remedy to fix spells, as Vivienne had used it for.

  Dorothy had apparently misunderstood that memo.

  I heard a shout from outside, and went to the window. The displaced Extravaganzers were back in force, but the party atmosphere had dissipated. Now, most looked solemn or angry, and I wondered if that had more to do with the gossip about a petnapper rather than being unable to get back into the Wisp.

  I glanced at my own assorted critters and felt my stomach knot at the thought of one of them being stolen. It was a horrible feeling I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

  “And there’s nothing in this book about the Elder specifically,” Harper went on. “Except . . .”

  I perked up. “What?”

  “There’s this section in the book called the Renewal, which is a ritual that takes place every twenty-five years on Midsummer’s Eve. I think it has to do with the Elder, which is more instinct on my part than anything.”

  Midsummer, the summer solstice, was a big deal with Crafters, a celebration of life. In the village, the euphoric atmosphere was marked by a weeklong observance that included a festival and a dance that was the biggest event of the year. “What kind of ritual?”

  “A renewal,” Harper said with a “duh” tone to her voice.

  I frowned at my phone.

  “The paragraph talks in circles about the gathering of a coven of seven to—and I quote—‘facilitate matriarchal renewal or renaissance.’ There is, of course, a fire involved. The cunning fire.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “I had to look it up. It’s essentially a special bonfire that’s used to give omniscient powers to a chosen witch. From what I’ve researched, this fire can be used for either good or evil, depending on the group using it, but for Craft purposes, it’s used for good. That witch becomes a high priestess, the governess of her community.” She took a breath. “Sounds like the role of the Elder to me.”

  It definitely did.

  “And didn’t Ve tell us once that the Craft was a matriarchal society?” she asked.

  She had. “Yes.”

  “Then the Renewal ritual has to involve renewing the Elder’s powers. Right?”

  “It sure sounds like it.” Harper had excellent instincts, so I didn’t doubt for a moment that she was right. But one thing about what she’d read was bothering me. “Does it explain what the renaissance represents? Because to me renaissance is something entirely new, a rebirth, a change. Which doesn’t fit with a renewal of old powers.”

  “No, but maybe it’s more semantic than anything and just means that the renaissance is the beginning of another twenty-five years as governess. You know how witches can double-talk.”

  We certainly could. “But you said renewal or renaissance. It doesn’t add up.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Darcy. There’s no clarification in this book. Maybe you should ask the Elder about it.”

  I lifted Titania onto my lap and adjusted her new collar. She looked at me with those big amber eyes of hers, completely trusting me.

  In that moment, I knew I somehow had to convince Alina Norcliffe to let me keep the cat. Exactly how, I didn’t know yet, but I had a couple of hours to figure it out.

  “When have you ever known the Elder to spill any Craft secrets?” I asked.

  “Never,” she said. “But I’ve never been called to see the Elder, unlike some
people I know. Cough, cough.”

  “That’s because you refuse to have anything to do with the Craft.”

  “For good reason, you bunch of pyros.” She laughed. “I’ve got to go. I left Marcus downstairs in the shop, and we’re swamped.”

  “Hey,” I said before she hung up.

  “What?”

  “You seem awfully interested in the Elder, Harper Merriweather, for someone who doesn’t care about the Craft.”

  She blew a raspberry and hung up.

  Smiling, I dropped the phone on the bed. Harper would eventually come around to accepting her heritage.

  I hoped.

  Tilda hopped up next to me and inched her way onto my lap, snuggling in next to Titania. I scratched her chin.

  “Tilda and Titania. The tongue-twisting double T’s. That’s going to get a little confusing, isn’t it?” I asked them.

  Tilda flicked her tail in my face while Titania flopped in my arms, stretching out.

  I took that as agreement on both their parts.

  Titania’s name was from A Midsummer Night’s Dream by Shakespeare. The character of Titania was a fairy queen, headstrong but perhaps a little too trusting of her husband, who’d used a magic potion to make her look like a fool.

  Headstrong would be the last thing I’d call the cat in my arms. The same went with foolish. She was neither. She was . . . a marshmallow, really.

  Fluffy and sweet.

  “How about a nickname?” I said to Titania. Then I glanced at Missy, who was watching us intently from the floor. “I’ve become one of those women, haven’t I? One who talks to her pets and expects an answer.”

  She barked, and I swore I saw her nod her head.

  “I blame it on living in this village,” I explained to myself under my breath. “Where animals actually do talk.”

  Missy dropped to the floor and yawned.

  I turned my attention back to Titania. There was no way I was nicknaming her Marshmallow. Or Marsh. Or Mallow. They just didn’t fit.

  “Titania. Hmm. T? Tita? Tannie?” I tested. “Annie?”