Ghostly Garlic

by Ami Diane

  When it had fallen, Marge had seemed perplexed, a touch frightened even. This world of potion-making was all strange and new to Libby, and she was still learning what was normal and what wasn’t.

  If telekinesis wasn’t possible, then what had caused the implement to fall like that? Had Stacy created a draft?

  No, she decided, it would’ve taken more force than a strong wind to knock it from where it had been leaning.

  She gasped as the thought hit her full-force. How hadn’t it occurred to her before?

  Her forehead rested against the steering wheel, and she chided herself for being so dimwitted. If her theory was correct, a whole slew of things now made sense. The falling pitchfork. The fireworks.

  She groaned.

  That meant that the killer had been at the meeting. They had heard everything.

  She raised her head. But that also ruled out the other potionists. So, who was it? Was it an unaccounted for AWC member?

  Getting out of her car, she continued to ruminate on these questions while walking the aisles inside the store, barely registering the fact that she’d accidentally grabbed granola instead of the sugary cereal beside it. The crisis averted, she breezed down the coffee aisle and picked up a bag of medium roast.

  In the freezer section, she made a good dent in their frozen meals before going to check out. While she waited, she shot off a quick text to Marge, saying she was going to call her later with a new theory about the murder.

  Unsurprisingly, the woman didn’t respond.

  “Evening, ma’am,” the cashier, a young man with dark, curly hair greeted her.

  Libby grimaced at being called ma’am. “Evening, sir.”

  He gave an easy smile and swiped her items over the scanner while chatting about the weather. This led to a discussion about fishing and his father’s boat.

  Libby squeezed the third bag of groceries back into her cart and stretched her hand out for her change. The young man paused amid counting out her bills.

  “That a Bonus Buck winner there?” he asked when he handed the tender over.

  “Winner?”

  “Yeah, we’re still running the contest.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at a handmade sign. “Ends in a couple days.”

  “Oh, right. A friend told me about that.” She stuffed the change into her billfold, glancing at the sign. “It’s five-dollar bills, right? Not ones?”

  He nodded. “These are the winning serial numbers.”

  She scanned a list of five long numbers. A line of customers stretched behind her. Not wanting to waste their time, she took a quick picture with her phone of the list of numbers then guided her cart out.

  Hadn’t she promised to give the winning bill to Jackson if she had it? Or was it to split it with him?

  The poster had listed the prize for the top serial number as $10,000 with subsequent lower winnings for each number after that. Not exactly retirement money, but certainly a few house payments’ worth.

  After arriving home, she quickly unloaded her haul, leaving out a frozen tray to heat in the microwave. While it hummed and cooked, she leaned against the counter, staring out the window into the darkness.

  Stacy’s and Allison’s comments about how great invisibility would be came back to her. She imagined going through the day, unseen. Sure, it’d be fun for a while, especially haunting Marge, but it would get old fast.

  There would certainly be limitations to it. Even a simple task of going grocery shopping would be a challenge. Without Marge’s reverse potion sitting in Libby’s lab, the invisible person would be stuck at the mercy of the potion’s decay time.

  The reverse potion.

  Libby straightened. The stench of fish filled the air around her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as hot breath blew across her skin.

  “Hello.”

  Chapter Thirty

  LIBBY SCREAMED AND spun to an empty room. In the library a room over, Jasper squawked and flapped his wings in agitation.

  “Who’s there?”

  Silence.

  “I know you’re here.” Libby lunged for a knife, but as she did, the butcher block flew across the room.

  Footsteps died on the linoleum. Slowly, one of the knives pulled free of the block and floated in the air.

  Without warning, it came at her. She ducked and ran into the library. Jasper flew from his perch and circled above, screaming. Black feathers rained down as she sprinted into the family room.

  She nearly tripped over the stupid bathtub but managed to keep her feet beneath her. The footsteps came closer. They had cut her off from the front door.

  She dove behind the tub, her chest heaving.

  “Libby, isn’t it?” The voice finally spoke. Male. A floorboard creaked as he stepped into the room. “Why are you hiding?”

  Because you killed Bea and are holding a knife, you psycho.

  Another groaning step.

  “Look, I’ll even put down the knife.” There was a loud clatter as the butcher knife hit the floor.

  Could she make it back into the library before he caught her? The back door in the kitchen was now her best means of escape.

  Her muscles coiled, ready to flee. The tense silence filled with a high-pitched ringtone as her phone went off.

  Libby swore, popped up, and ran back through the library. Her phone continued to ring, and she fished it out of her pocket. Her hand trembled as she glanced down to see it was James calling.

  As she slid into the kitchen, she answered. “James! Call 9—”

  The phone flew out of her hand and skittered across the floor.

  “Hello?” came her ex’s small voice from the device before there was a crunching noise. The screen cracked, and the light went out.

  Libby swallowed, backing towards the sliding door. “Well, that was unnecessary. You could’ve just hung up. Do you know how much those things cost?”

  “Not another step.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or I’ll shoot you.”

  Libby froze. He was lying… unless it was invisible as well.

  “That’s right,” the deep voice said. “I have a gun. I—is that a mechanical bull?”

  She nodded. “What do you want?”

  She searched for a weapon, but the other knives were still across the room.

  “I heard you witches at the meeting, talking about a potion that could undo this.”

  “We’re not witches.”

  He roared. “Where is it?!”

  Directly behind him and on top of the refrigerator, Orchid arched her back and hissed.

  “Shut up!” he screamed at the feline.

  “Wait!” Libby’s hands shot out in placation, trying to calm him so he didn’t hurt Orchid.

  It was frustrating not seeing his eyes, his body movements, to know where his attention went. But if she kept him talking, she knew where he was. Currently, from the sound of his breathing, he remained near the fridge.

  “Did you set off all of those fireworks?”

  It was a few breaths before he answered. “Pretty great, right?”

  “Heh, yeah. Great. I mean, I’m not big on burning down buildings or inhaling smoke, but up until that point, sure, it was pretty great.”

  She couldn’t place his voice. It was only vaguely familiar and certainly didn’t belong to Brent. He had to be an unaccounted for AWC member.

  “I’m running out of patience.” The metallic click of a gun sounded. Apparently, he wasn’t lying about the weapon.

  “Alright, alright. I have to go get it for you. I just have to ask, why kill Beatrice? Does the AWC just plan on killing us off one by one?”

  “What’s the AWC?”

  Her hands, which had been up this entire time, dropped a few inches. “You’re not with them?”

  “Who?” the voice spat in irritation.

  “Then why kill her?”

  “She had my money.” The statement came out so matter-of-fact that it sent a chill up her spine.


  The whole puzzle became complete. “You’re that guy at the carwash, the one digging through the cash box.” She clicked her tongue, searching for his name. “Help me out here. It starts with an ‘R’.”

  “Rodney Rogers.”

  “Mr. Rogers!” She snapped her fingers. “That’s right. You aren’t by any chance a fisherman, are you?”

  “Why?” Suspicion edged his tone.

  “No reason. There’s been a fisherman missing.” Also, the killer had used a fishing knife. “Wait, why didn’t you use the gun to kill Bea?” The question slipped out before she could stop it.

  “That old bat knocked it loose before I could use it.”

  Good old Bea. “And you killed her for five dollars?”

  “It was my money. I had a right to get it back.”

  She inhaled sharply. “The Bonus Bucks.”

  “I had the winning number, but it got mixed up in my wallet. I was on my way to claim my winnings at the supermarket when I pulled into your stupid carwash. I accidentally donated the winning five-dollar bill instead. And that witch didn’t have the box when I went to her house.”

  “That’s why you killed her?” In the pit of her stomach, a well of anger began to boil.

  “She wouldn’t give me my money. When I asked for it back, the old broad ran to her attic of all places. Can you believe that? Looked like a science classroom up there. She said she didn’t have the cash box, but I knew she was lying.

  “Then, I saw her grabbing these chemical bottles and thought she was going to throw them at me. I panicked. She threw them on herself instead. Got some on me, too. But it was too late.”

  “Because you’d stabbed her,” she said softly.

  “I just wanted my money! Was that so much to ask? My kid’s in the hospital with cancer. The bank’s going to take our house.” He released a noise cross between a sob and a scream. “You’re going to get me that potion.”

  Her mind raced. Who had the cash box? Shelly? Marge? It had been Marge who’d taken it. She had witnessed the woman wrangle it into her purse.

  Libby’s thoughts scattered and refused to fall into place, but the thought of the apothecary sent her fear soaring. He wasn’t demanding the cash box, only the potion which meant he must have the winning five-dollar bill now. That meant he had already been to Marge’s.

  “I can get you the potion. But we have to go outside.”

  “Liar! You’re trying to trick me like that other one just tried to!”

  An icy feeling gripped her heart as her fear was just confirmed. “Other one? Marge?” She tried to wet her mouth which had suddenly gone dry. “What did you do?”

  “Shut up! And get me that potion NOW!” His roar rattled the windows.

  She saw it before he did.

  Orchid leaped from the top of the refrigerator into the air. The cat must have landed on his head because she dug in with all four claws, floating mid-air.

  She let out another loud hiss.

  The room filled with his screams. There was a loud pop as his weapon discharged. The window above the sink exploded in a shower of glass at the same moment Libby charged at the bag of flour still sitting on the counter.

  Glass shards cut her face. Gripping the bottom of the bag, she swung the flour in the direction of the man’s cries.

  A white cloud puffed out, revealing the faint shape of her intruder. And his gun.

  Orchid doubled down on her grip. The man reached up, grappling at the feline while Libby grabbed for the weapon. Her hands tangled with one of his. The other gripped a hunk of Orchid’s fur.

  “Let her go!”

  Libby did what any sensible woman would do. She brought her knee up hard in a direct shot to the man’s groin.

  He doubled over like a wilted flower before crumpling to the ground. He let out a whimper then rolled around in silent agony.

  She wrenched the gun from his grip as Orchid darted out of the room. Rodney stirred, growling as if gearing up for a run at her.

  Using the gun as a hammer, she struck the side of his head.

  He stilled.

  Taking several steps back to put distance between them, Libby stood, staring at the man for the faintest hint of movement.

  In the distance, sirens wailed. Were they coming to her house? James must have understood her cut-off cry for help.

  Her moment of relief was short-lived, however, when she looked down at Rodney, only partially visible thanks to the flour.

  “Crap!”

  She sprinted to the greenhouse, tore open the door, and dashed the length to the far end. As she did, she stuffed the gun in her pocket and yelled, “Ivy, door!”

  Without slowing her stride, she dropped through the hole into her plaid-covered laboratory. Frantically, she shoved aside glass bottles, searching for Marge’s reverse potion.

  The familiar bottle glinted in the dim light. She snatched it up and skipped rungs on the ladder as she ascended. Rolling on the gravel, secret agent style, she panted, “Ivy, door.”

  She leaped through the sliding back door as the sound of cop cars screamed into her driveway. She’d just squeezed out a few drops onto Rodney when they pounded on her front door.

  After screwing the lid on, she threw the bottle in a drawer and jogged to let them in, hurrying in case they planned on busting in.

  Deputy Jackson stood on the porch, his hand on his holster.

  “We got a call. Everything okay?”

  “No! Marge may be hurt!” She sprinted past him. He caught her as she’d attempted to vault the steps.

  “Easy, she’s okay. She’s the one who called us and said you were in danger.”

  It took a moment for his words to sink in. Slowly, he unwrapped his arm around her when it appeared her feet were firmly planted.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Someone broke in and attacked her.” At the expression on her face, he quickly added, “But she’s fine. Just a bit bruised up. Beatrice’s dog—”

  “Max.”

  “Max, he scared off the intruder.”

  She took a slow breath, letting her adrenaline die down. “Wait, Max attacked the intruder? That little guy?”

  Jackson let out a snort. “Broke skin from what I’m told.”

  “Good for him.”

  “So, you’re okay?” he asked as he swept the beam from his flashlight across the front of her house. One of the other deputies was in the front yard and had been shining a light around the perimeter.

  “I am now.” She pulled the gun out from her sweatshirt pocket. “He’s in the kitchen.”

  Jackson stared at the weapon, his eyes growing in alarm. “What? Why didn’t you say anything?”

  He charged past her, calling for the other deputy. What followed were several tense moments of shouting and confusion inside.

  Part of her feared that Rodney had awoken, but by the time she crept in after they’d secured the scene, he was only just coming to.

  She let out a quiet breath of relief at seeing that the reverse potion had worked, and the killer was fully visible.

  Sure enough, Rodney’s right leg was covered in blood, the pants shredded. He groaned when Jackson rolled him over roughly and cuffed him. After pulling Rodney to his feet, the deputy did a double take when he spotted the mechanical bull. He shook his head but had sense enough not to ask anything.

  “So, no one wants this?” She held the gun out again.

  “Put that down, please,” Jackson ordered. “Before you accidentally shoot someone.”

  “Hey, I—” Her thumb pressed the release for the magazine, and it dropped to the ground with a loud clatter, causing both lawmen to jump. “Yep, good call. Putting it down.”

  Red and blue lights strobed from the light bar atop four patrol cars, washing Libby’s front drive and the surrounding landscape in flashes of color. She watched from the porch, wrapped up in a blanket, as Jackson and another deputy marched Rodney across the lawn.

  It wouldn’t be long befor
e they began questioning him. Her stomach clenched at what the murderer might say. He’d heard their meeting, knew their secret and all of their faces. If the sheriff talked to him…

  “Wait!” She jogged over. “Can I have a word with him before you put him in the paddy wagon?”

  Jackson glanced at his patrol car. “It’s not—it’s just a—yeah, why not?”

  “Alone?”

  When he hesitated, she pleaded, saying, “Please? It’ll only take a moment.”

  “You have one minute. I’ll be right there.” He indicated the small cluster of officers then shot Rodney a dark look before walking a few paces away.

  He was well within earshot, his eyes on the perp like Orchid stalking a mouse. Libby had to drop her voice to give them some privacy.

  At some point earlier, the officers had killed the sirens, so the only noise was the crashing waves below. She faced Rodney, her friend’s killer.

  “They won’t believe you,” she said. A small frown creased his face. “About being invisible.”

  “I think they might if I tell them all I overheard. All they have to do is look at that woman’s attic.”

  “Her name was Beatrice,” Libby bit out, talking over him. “And they won’t find anything because there’s nothing there.”

  Pulling her blanket to her chin, she leaned closer, narrowing her eyes. “You can say what you want, but they’ll just think you’re crazy—which you are. You’re full-blown nuts. But when you open your mouth, I just want you to remember what we’re capable of. In a blink, I could make you eat your toes then turn you into a fish and serve you up at dinner. Do you understand?”

  He didn’t blink and seemed to be waiting for a punchline that didn’t come. When it was obvious she meant her threat, he nodded.

  “What do I say?”

  “The truth. Just not all of it. Tell them about the cash box and the Bonus Bucks, but leave out the potion stuff. One more thing. Where’s the potion book?”

  “What potion book?”

  “In Bea’s attic, didn’t you see a book?”

  He shrugged. “I guess. I wasn’t really looking.”

  The realization dawned on her. “You didn’t take it?”

  “Lady, I didn’t take nothing.”

  She stared past him into the darkness. “I don’t suppose you wear high heels, do you?”