Ghostly Garlic

by Ami Diane

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  WHEN LIBBY HAD told Marge to run, she had forgotten the woman was holding the crab line keeping her from floating away. Apparently, so had Marge.

  Instantly, Libby’s feet drifted up, followed by her legs, until she was practically horizontal. The only reason they didn’t continue on their upward trajectory was due to her death grip on the window sill and her tragically neglected core muscles. Judging by her lack of fitness, she wouldn’t be able to hold this position for long.

  Through the dusty window, she watched helplessly as Anti-Witch Coalition members poured out of the warehouse.

  Far below, Marge and Max sprinted alongside the building towards the dimly lit shipping yard. Their stealth left something to be desired, with the dachshund barking and the apothecary puffing air like a steam engine, but they at least had a head start.

  Both doors for the warehouse banged open. In a few moments, the AWC would discover Libby hovering in the air.

  Using her fingertips to push off from the sill, she floated as fast as she dared up the side of the building. She imagined herself looking like Spiderman, only with hair and more flailing of limbs.

  There was a frightening, heart-stopping moment when she reached the roof and discovered she’d overshot it. Scrabbling, her nails caught on a vent at the last moment.

  Sweat beaded her forehead, and she double-timed it across the roof in a sloppy handstand, floating from one handhold to the next. The fear of soaring into the night sky was only slightly more than her fear of being caught by an AWC member.

  Their vitriol spewed out from below in the form of gruesome threats, such as hunting down the spies and hanging them upside down by their toenails, and others she pretended not to hear.

  Her enhanced ears picked up Marge’s mechanic’s voice far below from the side of the building she’d come up. “Did you see who it was?”

  “No. Looked female, though.”

  “Well, where’d she go?” Ol’ Tom bit out. “That window’s got to be fifteen feet high at least. I don’t see no ladder.”

  “Looked like one of them fishers who were out here,” another said.

  “That means there’s two of them.”

  The sheriff’s voice boomed from the shipping yard. “Fan out! They can’t have gotten far.”

  Libby’s hands began to cramp, and her grip began to loosen on the vent where she’d stopped to listen. In an attempt to bring her feet down, she bicycled in the air like she was in the Tour de France.

  This had the opposite desired effect and resulted in her bending backward like a gymnast. Something popped in her back, forcing air to escape from her lungs in a high-pitched groan.

  Once her feet hit the roof, they bounced up and back over like a pendulum.

  “Oh, that’s going to hurt in the morning,” she wheezed.

  She had two options. She could either hang out on the roof like a weather vane, waiting until either the potion wore off or she was discovered—whichever came first—or she could make for the car.

  Knowing Marge, that’s where she was headed. The problem was getting there.

  Fortunately, she had just accidentally discovered that a certain amount of inertia could, briefly, defy the potion’s anti-gravity. Sort of like throwing a fastball versus lobbing it.

  With this thought, she finished making her way to the other end of the building, using vent pipes and various sticking-out bits as handholds.

  When she reached the edge, she peered over the side. The nearest AWC member scoured an area several yards away, his back to her.

  Across the way stood the dilapidated building where Marge had sandwiched her Volvo. It lay hidden in the shadows between the building and the shipping container.

  Licking her lips, she aimed for the building, whispered a prayer along the lines of not dying, then kicked off the side using her feet. She had anticipated it being similar to swimming in a pool and pushing off the edge.

  It was not.

  The sensation felt like falling upwards. She saw the edge, then she saw it passing out of reach below her as she rolled a slow somersault through the air. The sky opened above, and the stars twinkled against a velvet black.

  She was floating away!

  Suddenly, her body jerked to a halt. Breathing heavily, she twisted about and discovered that the crab line had caught on what she dubbed a “tall vent thingie.” Whatever its name, it just saved her life.

  Using the line, she pulled herself down to the building and gripped a vent. With quivering limbs, she made it to the edge and tried to pierce the puddle of darkness between the building and the shipping container.

  After watching the surrounding area for several minutes to see if it was a trap, she decided they hadn’t discovered the car yet.

  “Marge,” she whispered, hoping their enhanced hearing was still working. “Where are you?”

  “Red? I’m down here.”

  Libby turned towards the voice. “Where?”

  “Here.”

  There was nothing but creeping shadows and puddles of water.

  “Yeah, I’m going to need a better description.”

  Marge stepped out from behind the shipping container, her head swiveling in search of Libby. At her feet, Max circled, sniffing the ground in a way that gave the impression he was bored with their adventure.

  “Up here.” Libby waved.

  Just as the apothecary spotted her, footsteps pounded along the pavement. Marge and Max ducked out of sight.

  Hovering, Libby lowered herself as best she could to the edge. Below, an AWC member splashed through a puddle in a sprint. The trench coat and familiar gait gave him away.

  Marty passed the gap between the shipping container and the building, then he slid to a stop that spat up gravel. Retracing his steps, he shone a light that chased away the shadows, revealing the Volvo.

  Libby swore under her breath. There was no way the journalist didn’t know who the vehicle belonged to, especially when the AWC had the uncanny knack of knowing everything about every potionist in the community.

  She waited for him to call out to his buddies. She waited for him to approach the car and look inside. She waited.

  Turning on his heel, he resumed running only at a slower, more casual pace than before. She had only a moment to puzzle over this before Marge reemerged.

  “Throw your line down, so we can get out of here.”

  Libby contorted her body to untangle it from the vent. After a couple of frustrating minutes, she looked over the edge.

  “What’s the holdup, Red?”

  “It’s caught.”

  “You sure?”

  Libby glanced back over her shoulder at the massive knot. “Yep.”

  “Well, it’s been nice knowing you.” Marge waved and marched towards the car.

  “Marge, so help me, if you abandon me, I’ll stink bomb your house so bad you’ll have to move to another county.”

  The apothecary waved her off. “I was only kidding. Hold on…” With that, she melted into the darkness again.

  Sighing, Libby waited patiently. Then, she waited impatiently. Soon, she was naming as many flavors of ice cream as she could think of.

  When Marge appeared again, Libby whispered, “What took you so long?”

  “It was two minutes.”

  “Oh. It felt longer.”

  “And I think you mean, ‘Thanks, Marge, for rescuing me. You’re the greatest.’”

  Libby shook her head and waited for whatever rescue plan the woman had in store. One of Marge’s hands remained behind her back, holding something while the other went to her ear and pushed it towards Libby. “I’m waiting,” she said in a sing-song voice that was sure to attract any AWC member prowling nearby.

  “Are you kidding me? You know they’re going to catch us, right? Marty just ran past.”

  “Say it, and I’ll get you down.”

  “Sometimes I wonder who the adult here is.” Libby took a slow, deliberate breath, summonin
g her dwindling patience. “Thanks, Marge, for rescuing me. You’re the greatest.” She followed this with gagging noises.

  “Good enough.” Marge shrugged and revealed the object behind her back. Max’s tail whacked against the concrete in excitement as the woman unfurled a long, white rope.

  “Where’d you find rope?”

  “It’s not just rope. It’s…” She trilled her tongue with a sad version of a drumroll and held up a life preserver. “Ta-da.”

  “Fantastic. Now, throw it up here so we can get the heck out of here.”

  Marge’s face fell. Obviously, she’d been hoping Libby would be more impressed. She could stroke the woman’s ego later. Right now, Libby’s sole focus was to be inside the vehicle before her arms gave out.

  It took Marge three attempts to lob the preserver high enough to reach the roof and two more attempts before it landed on the roof. Libby stretched out and wrapped her fingers around the precious white and red object that only loosely resembled the candy.

  She freed her feet from the crabbing line and held on as hand over hand, Marge pulled the rope attached to the preserver. With a lot of griping and groping, the woman managed to wrestle Libby into the car before loading Max into the back seat.

  The now-familiar screech of metal-on-metal accompanied them as Marge reversed from between the narrow slot.

  “You sure you don’t want to grab your mirror before we go?” Libby asked. “There is only the one now.” She pointed at the side-mirror out her window.

  Marge tore out of the shipping yard like a bat out of hell. Frantically, Libby fumbled to buckle her seatbelt, realizing she wasn’t out of danger yet. Due to Defying Gravity, she had to leverage her feet against the glove box to keep from becoming a starfish on the ceiling.

  The seatbelt clicked into place. She looked up and gasped. “Why aren’t your lights on?!”

  “Don’t want them to see us.” Marge hunched over the steering wheel, squinting into the darkness.

  “Right! Go right!”

  The car swerved just in time to avoid a stack of pallets.

  “Turn your headlights on before we die!” Libby pressed her hands against the dashboard. “Besides, they’re on foot still. I think. They won’t catch up to you.”

  “Fine. You’re no fun.”

  “I’m a balloon. How much more fun can I be?”

  “Don’t say that. I didn’t make you that large.”

  Libby squeezed her eyes shut, and she spoke through clenched teeth. “I meant because I’m floating.”

  “Well, you didn’t make that clear at all.”

  Libby popped her eyes open again when Marge took a turn that she could swear sent them on two wheels. “I’m going to be sick.”

  “Use the trash.” Marge pointed at a grocery sack at Libby’s feet. Her hand flew back to the steering wheel in time to crank it for another hairpin turn.

  Max slid across the back seat, his tongue flopping around happily last time Libby checked. He let out one bark as if this was the most exciting ride of his life.

  “You two are a match made in heaven.” Along with the trash bag was Marge’s purse of horrors. “You wouldn’t happen to have the reverse potion for your anti-gravity potion in there.”

  The tires burned as Marge slammed on the brakes. They’d reached a stop sign near Cottage Grove Lane. Under normal circumstance, Libby would’ve been shocked at the potionist obeying traffic laws. The fact that they were currently evading the AWC made it suspicious.

  “There’s not really an anti-potion for it.”

  Libby blinked. “What?”

  “Don’t get your panties in a twist. What I’m saying is, I never needed to make one because I made Heavy Weight. We talked about this, remember? I threw it at Brent?”

  “And missed,” Libby pointed out.

  “Whatever. I made another batch. My point is, its effect is the opposite of Defying Gravity.”

  “And that’s not the anti-potion?”

  “How many times do I have to tell you, the anti-potion simply reverses a potion. What I made is a potion that has the opposite effect.” Libby opened her mouth but Marge continued. “If you hadn’t taken Defying Gravity but took Heavy Weight, you’d still experience the effects of Heavy Weight because it is its own full-bodied, separate potion.

  “Now, let’s say you were to use an anti-potion for Defying Gravity, despite the fact that you never used the potion, nothing would happen. The reverse potion is null unless it interacts with a specific potion.”

  Libby pinched the bridge of her nose. “Okay, that makes sense. Also, I don’t think this is the best time to have this conversation. So, where’s Heavy Weight?”

  “Back at my house.”

  Libby groaned. That explained why Marge had stopped and wasn’t headed to Libby’s. “Alright, your place it is. I don’t care where we go so long as I remain on planet earth.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  THE OVEN LIGHT turned on as Libby opened the door. She plopped the sheet of cookies in, slammed the door, then started the timer.

  Two bowls of cookie dough sat on the counter. Whistling a tune, she scooped up a vibrant green vial that sat near one of the bowls and trekked out to her laboratory.

  By the time she had climbed back up the ladder from her lab, stopped in the greenhouse to deadhead a fuchsia, and returned to the kitchen, the timer was beeping. The delectable aroma of homemade cookies filled the kitchen as she pulled them out.

  Orchid took one sniff, her tail curved into a question mark before she retreated to the living room.

  While the cookies cooled on a rack, Libby spooned out balls of non-potionized cookie dough for herself and placed them on the pan.

  She placed both leftover batters in the fridge and set the timer. Her eyes glazed over the grisly aftermath of her baking littering the marble countertop, especially the flour which had managed to spill over like a dusting of frost.

  Instead of cleaning the mess, she put it out of sight be walking into the library where she plopped into a wing-back chair. She picked up the dry chemistry book she had set aside earlier.

  She read a single paragraph before Jasper fluttered to a window to be let out. After she obliged and returned to her reading, her mind drifted to the night before. Other than feeling like she had a hangover, she wasn’t experiencing any more side effects from all of the potions. But the bigger issue still remained.

  They’d hit a dead-end the size of a giant redwood (Sequoia sempervirens). With all of the running about and dodging AWC members, Marge was confident that Max had sniffed out the unaccounted for men and had come up dry.

  Like it or not, Libby was forced to admit that the AWC most likely wasn’t behind Beatrice’s murder. There was the remote possibility that it had been a simple break-in gone wrong, but she wasn’t fully committed to that idea yet. For one thing, nothing had been taken.

  Except for the potion book.

  She sighed. That brought her back to a fellow potionist. Did another member know that Beatrice was working on an invisibility potion?

  A certain frizzy-haired woman came to mind. It would help if she knew where Stacy had been between the carwash and the PMS meeting. Maybe there was a way to get the information out of her that night at their weekly meeting.

  The timer for the cookies chimed, and she bounded into the kitchen, eager to taste the fruits of her labor. She bounced from foot to foot while they cooled, deemed it long enough, then wielded a spatula like a wand to scoop the soft morsels off the sheet.

  She popped one in her mouth, burning several tastebuds, but smacked her lips all the same. While the rest cooled on the rack alongside Bruce’s, she roamed the downstairs, replacing objects that had relocated. The mechanical bull was too heavy for just one person to move, so in the kitchen, it remained.

  After a lot of grunting and swearing, she deemed the clawfoot tub a perfect piece of furniture for a family room and wandered into the kitchen to check on the cookies.

  She a
te another then popped the last of the dough into the oven. When she grabbed the timer to set it, she discovered her skin had turned a pale shade of Yoda green.

  “Son of a—”

  How long did the potion last? It hadn’t said on the bottle, and she hadn’t looked up the recipe in the potion book. Grumbling, she poured a cup of coffee and went upstairs to change.

  Six hours. The potion had lasted six hours, something she learned while pacing her greenhouse, checking her skin every couple of minutes. Ivy seemed taken by the change, petting Libby’s skin awkwardly whenever she walked near.

  She grimaced at the memory as she pulled her car up next to an abandoned barn. The barn was a nice idea, but the row of cars wasn’t exactly covert. This was probably when an invisibility potion would come in handy.

  Shelly Crane stood nearby and greeted her.

  Libby pointed at the vehicles glinting under the evening sun. “Subtle.”

  “It will be.” The bookstore owner shook an orange-colored liquid in a bottle. “You’re the last one.”

  “What?” Libby looked at the barn. “Seriously? Marge beat me?”

  “You have everything out of your car you need?”

  “Yeah,” she said slowly. “Wait, no.” She grabbed the container of cookies from the backseat. “Okay, now I do.”

  Shelly eyed the treats from behind her thick glasses. “I thought Gladys and Betty were on snacks.”

  “Yeah, this is a gift for Marge.”

  Shelly nodded then approached the vehicles. Curious, Libby lingered.

  Liquid the color of tangerines in at sunset dripped onto the hood of the first car. The metal warped and twisted as if it were paper being crumpled. Then it collapsed with a pop.

  Libby’s mouth fell open, and she bent over the dry grass where a moment before a car had sat. “Where’d it go?”

  “It’s still there.”

  Libby waved her hand in the air, finding nothing.

  “Look,” Shelly said, pointing.

  Amongst the pale grass was a Red Alder (Alnus rubra) seedling. “No way. That’s so cool.”

  The potionist smiled. Down the row she walked, each car folding into itself and popping until there was a row of nearly a dozen seedlings poking out of the ground.