by Kate Krake
Margie looked at me keenly, one eyebrow raised. She placed her pencil slowly down on the table.
“Why’s that?”
“Because I’m not sure anyone will believe me.”
She smiled warmly, a face I might be able to trust just enough to say what I needed to. Maybe.
“It might not seem like it, Blackthorn being such a small place and all, but I’ve seen a lot, Belinda. Why don’t you try me and then I’ll decide whether to believe you or not?”
I cleared my throat. I didn’t have to give myself away. I only had to tell them what I knew: that there had been a crime. It wasn’t like I had done anything wrong. Not recently, at least.
“I think…” I paused. I had to spit it out. I took a breath. “Kenny Langdel was killed. Murdered.”
Margie steepled her fingers, her elbows on the table. I’m not sure what reaction I expected, but it wasn’t one this calm.
“I see,” she said. “That’s a serious allegation, Belinda. What makes you think this?”
“I just know it. Even if the autopsy does show natural causes. I just wanted to give you a heads-up about what you’re dealing with here if you don’t already know.”
“What sort of thing do you think we’re dealing with?” Margie didn’t meet my eyes when she spoke.
I inhaled slowly, deeply.
“Witchcraft,” I said as I released my breath. “Specifically, a Mortis curse.”
Margie picked up the pencil again, tapping it to her notepad but still not writing any of the exchange down. I couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
At last, she spoke, still not looking at me. “Some people like to talk about strange things in these parts, get up to some strange hobbies. And that’s fine. I’m not one to tell anyone how to live if there ain’t no laws being broken. But you’re talking about a man’s life here. Obviously, the examinations will be conducted in Loreton, ruling out any foul play—of which I’m sure there’s none—and that will be the end of it. Natural causes. I know it looked real weird, but you’d be surprised what a heart attack or stroke or the like can do to a body. That’s all. A man’s death isn’t the time to be spreading rumors about fairy tales and ghost stories.”
“It’s not a rumor. I’m just telling you what I know,” I said. My heart raced as heat crept into my cheeks.
Margie’s eyes flicked about the room. She scratched her nose. When I’d first started running the Book Nook, I had helped the deputy pick out a birthday present for her son. It was a book about medieval knights, and every time I’d seen her since, she’d beamed, telling me how much her boy had loved his gift. Her eyes went too wide, her voice rising up into a nervous high pitch. She always touched her nose. Anyone could see Margie was not a good liar, and she was proving it to me again.
“And how do you know about these things?” the deputy continued. “What does the nice lady from the book shop know about death curses and murders?”
“I didn’t have anything to do with Kenny’s death, Margie. I swear it here and I’ll swear it in any court under any oath and on any polygraph test. As I’ll also swear that Kenny was killed by a curse. I’ll stake my own life on it.”
Margie took her pencil and wrote a few lines I couldn’t read.
“I’ve noted your input,” she said. “Leaving out the weirder details to protect your reputation. I’m telling you now, the Blackthorn Springs Sheriff Department will not be investigating any claims of…” She swallowed noticeably. “Witchcraft.”
Margie closed the pad and stood, offering her hand to shake. I shook it reluctantly. The deputy’s palms were hot and moist.
“There are a few people in town I might have expected to hear this kind of hooey from, Belinda. You’re not one of them.”
* * *
I cursed myself on the walk back home.
What had I expected? For the sheriff and the whole team of deputies to rush out of the station, sirens blaring, calling a public witch hunt? Of course, a witch hunt was not at all what I wanted. I only wanted justice for an obvious crime. Margie was clearly lying when she said she didn’t believe in this stuff? What did that mean?
I walked down Main Street. I was lightheaded, my entire body quivering from the inside. I passed by the little arcade leading to Henry’s music shop, Tones. Henry had a symphony blaring, which usually meant the shop was empty.
He had been so upset that morning, and he did tell me to come and see him. It was either that or go back to work, or worse, sit at home alone, fretting over the darkness that had fallen over the sleepy little town—a darkness only I seemed to be aware of.
Tones used records and CDs was right next door to Josie Dawn’s Dawn Flames candle shop. A few weeks after I had moved in, I’d learned Josie and Henry were a couple.
I had never made friends easily, or even willingly, but from our first conversation, I’d liked Henry, and we had become close, even with a twenty-year age gap between us.
“Henry?” I called out, my voice straining over the music. I pushed open the door to Henry’s office and poked my head through. “Henry? Are you in here?”
Henry was leaning over the back of another man, seated in a high stool, holding what looked like a small guitar. The other man was much younger, darkly handsome. Henry bent over his broad shoulders, his face close to the younger man’s neck. It looked like he was teaching the other man to play the instrument, and it looked a whole lot more intimate than that too.
“Belinda,” Henry said. “I didn’t hear you come in.” He stepped away from the man in a hurry.
Neither of them met my eyes, and I too looked down to the worn carpet.
“I’m not surprised with this music playing so loudly,” I said, trying to sound casual.
“I was just giving Iain here a quick lute lesson,” Henry said, smiling awkwardly.
If that’s what they were calling it. It was none of my business, but I couldn’t help but think of Josie right next door.
“I should introduce you. Belinda, meet Iain, my new helper.”
Iain’s smile matched my own awkwardness as we shook hands quickly. So, this was Lila’s famous Iain. He was in his late twenties, closely shaved head and a neat business shirt and pressed slacks. If I hadn’t just walked in on what I was sure was infidelity, I would’ve thought everything about his look said harmless nice guy.
Henry turned the music down to a conversational volume. Iain smiled sheepishly and set down the instrument on the bench beside me. “I turned the music up so no one could hear my terrible practice,” he said.
I nodded, not knowing what to say. I looked at the lute, a delicate wooden thing. A strange feeling radiated from the instrument.
“I should get back to work,” Iain said and left Henry and me alone in the backroom.
“How are you feeling?” I said, trying to clear what I’d witnessed from my mind. “You looked terrible earlier.”
“It was a terrible thing to see,” he said. “I guess I was shocked. Are you alright? You look a little off.”
“Shocked too, I suppose,” I said.
Henry’s eyes flickered to my pendant.
The first day we had met, Henry had commented on the necklace with obvious interest.
“That’s a curious amulet,” he had said. “Where did you come by it?”
“I can’t remember. It’s just a trinket,” I had said, not wanting to mention my brother or anything about my life to a stranger. “I’ve had it since forever.”
“Some people believe snakes to be guardians of the spirit world,” Henry had said.
“Do they?” I smiled. Quentin had said that exact thing when he had given it to me.
With Henry still looking at my neck, my hand went automatically to the charm.
“I think we all could use some spiritual guidance after this morning,” Henry said.
I nodded. I wasn’t imagining the intensity coming from the lute next to me on the table. Was there magic in this room? Could I tell Henry of my
suspicions about Kenny’s death? Or was I picking up on a different kind of tension?
“You look like there’s something on your mind,” he said.
“Do you believe in things, Henry?”
“Things?” He leaned against a shelf containing box sets of opera recordings and crossed his arms.
“Unexplained things. Things you can’t see.”
“Do I believe in magic?” he asked.
The door opened, and Josie came in holding two steaming mugs of peppermint tea.
“Hello, Belinda,” she beamed. “If I’d known you were stopping in, I would have brought a fourth cup. I’ve just given Iain his. Let me nip back next door, and I’ll brew one up. Or here”—she offered one mug to me—“you can have mine.”
I would’ve preferred a stiff whiskey at this point, but I was still touched by the gesture.
“Thanks, Josie, but I’ve gotta get going.”
“You’ve only just arrived,” Henry said.
I was honestly grateful the interruption had given me a chance to get out of there, and not only because I felt instantly embarrassed and unfaithful to Josie after seeing the two men embracing.
“Thanks, Josie, but I have to go,” I said. “I’ll see you both soon.”
“How about next Monday evening for our Scrabble rematch?” Henry said.
“Sounds great. I’ll call you before.” I hurried out of the room.
“If there’s—” Henry started.
I had already closed the door before he finished his sentence.
What was I thinking, asking Henry about magic? I couldn’t reveal my truth to anyone, especially someone I liked and respected. He would think I was crazy. Or worse, dangerous. Still, there was something in that room, something about that instrument, and it was another layer of a mystery I was falling facefirst into.
4
I barely slept. Hemlock eventually grew irritated by my tossing and turning and went to sleep in the armchair in the living room, leaving me alone, staring at the ceiling in the dark.
The Bloodfire Mortis Curse. That wasn’t what it was actually called, but that’s the way I thought of it since it was Quentin’s own coven that had made him use it. But that was in Loreton. The Bloodfire coven couldn’t be in Blackthorn, could they? If it wasn’t Bloodfire, then it had to be someone equally evil. Both possibilities turned my blood to ice.
Of course, the authorities wouldn’t believe me. The cops were the same in Loreton too, though I knew well enough they at least acknowledged the reality of magic, even if they chose or were otherwise convinced to look the other way whenever it got anyone into trouble. Could the same thing be happening with the Blackthorn sheriff’s department? But if they knew there was even a possibility Kenny was murdered, how could they not investigate? Where was the justice? The basic morality?
I lay on my back, scrunching my eyes tight. Evil curses, trouble with the law—this was the type of life I had run from, and it would be stupid to turn around and step right back into it now.
I rolled onto my right side. It wasn’t my business, had never been my business.
I rolled onto my left side. I had to ignore it and get back to my peaceful, ordinary, safe world. It was a meaningless coincidence. Nothing to do with me.
I rolled onto my back again. Coincidences had never sat well with me. If the Bloodfire was in town, did they know I was too? Was Jackfort after me again?
When I finally did fall into a light sleep, hours later in the predawn gray, I dreamt of Quentin and twisted corpses and falling through deep dark tunnels filled with my own screams.
* * *
It was a blessedly slow morning. I sat behind the counter, petting Hemlock on my lap, resting my eyes.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Lila asked me for about the three hundredth time.
“I told you, I’m fine,” I said. “I’m just shaken by what happened yesterday, and I didn’t sleep very well.”
At around ten o’clock, a delivery driver, not our usual local man, entered holding a flower arrangement half as tall as I was.
“Belinda Drake?” the man said. I nodded. Who on earth would be sending me flowers?
I signed the electronic pad, and the man hefted the massive bouquet into my arms. It was done up with pink and red star lilies and white calla lilies, a flower that always reminded me of funerals.
“Wow!” Lila said. “Who’s your secret admirer?”
“I have no idea.”
I set it down on the counter, plucking the card and tearing open the envelope while Hemlock sniffed at the flowers curiously, climbing in and out of the greenery as if he thought he was a jungle cat on the prowl.
My chest tightened as if an invisible force had locked around me. I swallowed, suddenly faint.
The note was written in the loopy scrawl of a young woman’s handwriting, someone who worked at the florist and not the person who had sent the bouquet or the dark message it contained.
Greetings, my Belladonna,
I hope the mountain air is treating you well.
See you soon.
R.J.
“Well? Who’s it from?” Lila said.
I scrunched up the note in my fist, so tight as if I could squeeze the terrifying words off the card.
“Someone from my past,” I said, not looking at Lila. “Someone I don’t want to see again. Ever.”
“Ex-boyfriend?” Lila said.
“Not in a million years.” I lifted Hemlock out of the flowers, bundled them up and took them to the trash can outside.
Slamming down the lid, my hands trembled, my stomach lurched and I might have thrown up at any second.
The Bloodfire coven was in Blackthorn Springs, and its high witch, Rowan Jackfort, knew I was too.
I’d kept a low profile. I avoided all social media stuff, not wanting to broadcast where I was or what I was doing, but I wasn’t officially in hiding. I had taken over a business, obviously left a paper trail. Was that how Jackfort had tracked me?
Should I have changed my name? But then Quentin would have had no chance of finding out where I was if he ever came back for me.
I should have been more careful. How stupid to think I could run away. Maybe I should have taken a page out of Quentin’s book and disappeared, out of the world without a trace. A ghost.
I looked over to Kenny’s place, quiet and closed up tight. This message had turned up the day after someone in town, who lived right next door to me, had been murdered by a Bloodfire curse. Like I said, I’ve never believed in coincidences. But what did Kenny have to do with the whole mess?
Back inside, Hemlock rubbed against my legs as I sat behind the counter trying to breathe away the anxiety wrenching at my every cell.
“I know I keep asking you this, but are you alright?” Lila said.
“Yes!” I lied. “You can stop asking me that anytime now.”
“Geez, sorry.”
I felt guilty for snapping, and Lila’s worried frown told me she could see right through my lies. I stared at the two now-empty chocolate boxes as if they held some kind of answer as to what I should do. The cat sank to his belly and rolled into sleep. Lila knitted at a furious speed, her needles clicking together as they spun out another scarf, lengthening by the second.
“I’m going to need some more yarn,” Lila said. “Do you mind if I dash up to Elsie’s, just for a sec?”
“I’ll come with you,” I said. “I could use the walk and fresh air to clear my head.”
Hemlock meowed, curling closer to my feet, unusually affectionate for my cantankerous old familiar.
“It’s alright, darling,” I said, scratching him behind the ear. “I won’t be long.”
He gave me a look suggesting he would drag in a dead mouse as punishment for my leaving. With a quiet, slightly croaky meow, he closed his eyes.
We headed up the street in silence. Some days, it seemed as if Lila could talk until my ears might bleed, but the girl also knew when a moment didn’t need word
s.
Walking up Main Street as I had done a hundred times before, it was like I was being watched by unseen eyes. I pushed my hands into my pockets and walked closer to Lila.
Jackfort wouldn’t try anything on a crowded street. Not even he was that brazen. But what did he want from me? I’d told him a dozen times already I didn’t know where Quentin was. I guess he still didn’t believe me.
I waited outside Bobbins and Ribbons while Lila went inside. I tried to look casual and inconspicuous, picking idly through a box of offcuts and sale items. I brushed my fingers over a blue cloth woven with a raised white diamond checkered pattern.
I took a cautious look up and down the street, looking for any signs of Jackfort or anyone else I had to hide from. Standing out in front of Neville Norton’s wife’s shop was probably not a great idea, for more than a few reasons. The street seemed safe from everything that was chasing me, though. For now, at least.
“All done,” Lila said, bounding out of the craft shop with a bag bulging with colorful yarn. The retail therapy had certainly perked her up, but I was going to need more than a little shopping to lift the darkness around me.
* * *
Back in the shop, Lila resumed her knitting. She buzzed with an anxious intensity I put down to post-traumatic nerves after seeing Kenny. People do all sorts of strange things under stress. Hemlock was still sleeping on the floor where I had left him.
I leaned against the counter, cupping a mug of tea, trying to warm the cold place in my core. I should be doing something productive, like updating the website, dusting the shelves, reading—anything to get me busy and keep my mind off murder and curses and evil witches. But I just stared.
“Can I tell you something?” Lila asked. Her knitting didn’t skip a beat, and the sound of the needles was hypnotizing.
I nodded without saying anything.
“I don’t want you to be offended or anything.”
“Okay,” I said, interested now.
“I know.”
“Know what?” I took a sip of tea.
“I know you’re a witch.”
