by Bailey Cates
Heads. The thing had two heads.
Panic froze my body and scrambled my brain. Along with the others, I stared stupidly at the two reptilian heads swaying to and fro. Then Lucy’s sharp intake of breath broke the moment.
Do something.
I tried desperately to focus my attention, which was still scrabbling to hide away so I wouldn’t have to accept the freakish thing that blocked our way. With an effort, I raised my hand and willed the monstrosity to move, the same way I’d made Logan Seward back off in the stairwell.
Except nothing seemed to happen. I pushed harder. Steve’s hand gripped my elbow, and I felt a surge of power. The creature began to turn away, then stopped. It began to move.
Toward us.
Bianca took a step back. A white flash darted out of her coat pocket and down to the ground.
“Puck!” she screamed.
Her new familiar attacked with liquid speed, flowing over and around the snake, biting, dodging, confusing his opponent who always seemed to strike where Puck had just been.
Terrified, Bianca looked on helplessly, her hands fluttering by her sides.
“Go.” Steve pushed me. “Get past it.”
Before I could move, Evanston Rickers stepped onto the path on the other side of the melee. “There you are!” He poked at the warring animals with his walking stick. Puck disengaged and ran back to Bianca, who scooped him up and held him while she still visibly trembled.
Rickers lifted the mutant reptile with the end of his stick and tossed it into the marsh. “And it seems you brought friends.”
I let out a whoosh of air and pasted an innocent smile on my face, hoping he couldn’t tell I suspected him of murder. “Wow. Thanks! That thing was scary.”
He wore rubber boots and jeans along with the same plaid shirt he’d worn the last time I’d seen him. That’s how you go on a date? On the other hand, it didn’t sound like he ever intended for his conversation with Bianca to be a real date.
“We thought we’d try one more time to find evidence of maroon bats,” I said brightly.
“Oh, really.” His tone was wry. He pointed to Steve. “And you brought the enemy along to help?”
Mimsey bristled. “He’s not our enemy.”
“And who, pray tell, are you?” he asked.
“We’re . . .” She squared her shoulders. “We’re friends of Georgia Wild.” She put her arm around Wren’s waist. “This is my granddaughter.”
His eyes narrowed, and he shook his head. “I know why you’re really here. You shouldn’t have come.”
“It’s really none of your business,” Steve said.
“Everything in this swamp is my business,” Rickers hissed. “Everything. And now that you’re here, you’re my business.”
“Was Autumn Boles your business?” I asked. Lucy pinched me.
“She betrayed me,” he grated.
“Because she was going to give up looking for the bats? You killed her out of revenge for that?”
“Of course not,” Rickers scoffed. “I couldn’t care less about the stupid bats. I strangled her and left a clue so the police would blame the investment group that was going to buy this land. I couldn’t let them kill . . .” He trailed off.
The cypress.
“You were . . . really? You were trying to frame the investment group? It didn’t take long for attention to focus on her boyfriend,” I pointed out. “Despite the folded bat you put in Autumn’s hand after you killed her.”
His nostrils flared. “Stupid cops. Stupid press. The paper didn’t even investigate the connection between Georgia Wild and the Dawes Corporation’s investors.”
Steve stepped forward. “You thought you could crucify our investment group on the cross of public opinion?” He snorted.
“Don’t laugh at me!” Rickers held his walking stick up sideways. Something about it snagged my attention—something other than that he was using it to block the pathway.
“Oh, please,” Steve said. “There are eight of us. Unless you plan—”
“Steve,” I interrupted. “The staff.”
“The . . .” He trailed off.
“What?” Bianca asked.
The others looked equally baffled. But I could feel the staff tugging, subtle, weaker than the tree it came from but with the same flavor. “He’s holding a piece of the nexus.”
Rickers’ laugh was a truly unpleasant sound. It ran down my spine, weakened my knees. The women around me looked ill, and even Steve had paled under his tan.
“Well, I’m not surprised you know about the nexus, Katie. Katie Lightfoot.” He sounded a little crazy, and I wondered how living so close to the tree for so long might have affected him. “Because you’re special like me, aren’t you? Do you all know how special she is?”
“Katie?” My aunt sounded terrified.
I stepped to Steve’s side. “Special like you? Because of the tree? I can feel it, sure. But so can everyone here to some degree.” I thrust authority that I didn’t feel into my voice. “The ley lines are highly magnetic. Anyone would feel it. It’s an energetic force.”
Rickers regarded me with assessing eyes before suddenly smirking. “Nice try. But I saw you. I felt you, pushing that huge metal vehicle with your mind . . . or something. I saw the flash of light you threw to send me off course.”
I looked around at the others. Only Wren seemed fazed by his words. Everyone else, including Steve, had seen me glow in the dark. No wonder they weren’t overly surprised.
He nodded. “I see your friends know what I’m talking about.”
The sun was low in the sky, and the temperature was dropping. My friends were in danger. Quinn needed to handle this nutcase. If Rickers really killed Autumn, there would be some kind of evidence. At the very least I could testify to seeing the specimen jars through the cabin window.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Rickers. We need to be going now.”
“After I told you I tried to kill you? Fat chance.”
The staff in his hands began to move, writhing like a gnarled brown snake. The atmosphere twanged, the air pressure changing with a sharp, explosive sound. Without warning, Evanston Rickers let drop the veil that had kept his true nature hidden, the veil none of us had known was there. The cloying, rotting stench I associated with the origami figure Autumn had been clutching in death blasted over us, a tangible wave of distorted and debased intent.
Power thrummed through him, growing in intensity—pushing, pushing, pushing at us. Steve staggered. My head throbbed. My vision blurred. I clamped my eyes shut and threw a protective mental circle around the group. Channeling the force of the tree, Rickers breached it in seconds. Mimsey cried out.
I redoubled my efforts, reaching for the power of the tree myself. Down through the earth, seeking access through the roots.
There.
The sudden influx of energy drove me to my knees. I held on to it, riding the vigor of the nexus, pure and unadulterated by Rickers’ sickness. Light flared through my closed eyelids. I knew I was the source, or at least the outlet, but it didn’t matter. Wrapping my intention in my passionate, savage desire to protect my friends, I lurched to my feet, lashing out at Rickers.
He countered, surprisingly strong. I gasped, and tried again.
A hand touched mine. Steve’s? I couldn’t look, but instinctively I opened to the help.
Darkness swirled into my light, twisting through it, touching the tree’s power, flinching, then shooting toward our attacker.
I opened my eyes. Cookie grasped my fingers with one hand and sketched figures in the air with the other. A low, guttural sound issued from her throat as she stared at Rickers, her eyes wide and black in the silver illumination of . . . me.
“Cut him off!” she shouted.
The others clasped hands and reached out to us with additional suppo
rt.
“Cut him off!” she growled. She wasn’t talking to us.
She was Commanding the tree.
I joined my voice with hers. “Let him go.” Over and over. “Let him go, let him go, let him go.”
“No,” Rickers moaned. Then he screamed, and the staff fell from his hands. He fell and lay on the path, unmoving.
The sense that my head was on the verge of exploding stopped instantly. The silvery quality in the clearing faded, leaving us in the gloaming. Taking deep, shaky breaths, I assessed my companions.
“Mimsey?” I rushed to her at the same time Lucy and Wren did.
Slowly, she sat up. Her complexion was gray, but she grasped her granddaughter’s arm and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. “I’m all right. Is everyone else okay?”
“Shaken and stirred,” Jaida said, “but intact. What the heck happened, Katie?”
I looked at Cookie. “A battle of light and dark,” I said with a small smile. I didn’t explain that they had both been on the same side. “Thanks. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
She blinked, then slowly nodded. “You’re welcome.”
You must trust that you have whom you need in your life.
The difference between good and evil had become even more complicated. Or maybe it hadn’t. Maybe it really was all about intention.
Steve approached Evanston Rickers and knelt beside him.
“Is he dead?” Cookie asked.
“No, he’s still breathing. His eyes are open, too.” He took hold of Rickers’ shoulders, and we all tensed as he pulled him into a sitting position. Lucy frowned, puzzled, then looked at me.
The man who had killed Autumn Boles and tried to kill my friends—and me, twice—stared at nothing. There was no longer any connection to the tree, but something else had been severed as well. His will? His . . . soul?
Whatever it was, I had done that to him. With Cookie’s help, I had done that.
Squaring my shoulders, I walked to where Steve sat beside him and looked down into those blank eyes. Maybe it wouldn’t last. Maybe it would. Either way, I’d do it all over again to save my friends.
“Who wants to come with me to find some cell service?” I asked.
Chapter 26
Two long tables groaned under the rows and platters of scones and cookies, biscotti and brownies, tea and coffee cakes, and a big batch of peach pecan mini-pies as Mrs. Standish had requested. The morning had been cool but sunny, and attendance at the bake sale sponsored by the Honeybee Bakery was brisk. Cookie and Mama were handling the regular bakery business while Ben, Lucy, and I worked the booth on Rousakis Plaza. We’d stretched a canopy overhead in case of rain, but now the early-afternoon sun warmed the air and the shade was welcome.
Mama and Ben had done a great job getting the word out about the Georgia Wild fund-raiser in a short amount of time. People who worked in the historic district dropped by, and the normal tourist traffic in Rousakis Plaza made a beeline toward the plethora of goodies we had on offer. Several customers also mentioned the feature Steve had written about Georgia Wild that had appeared in that morning’s News.
Nearby, Wren had set up a table with a large sign with Georgia Wild’s motto—SPACE AND A PLACE FOR ALL—and had spent a lot of time answering questions and handing out literature. A few people had written checks on the spot.
The loan officer at Bianca’s bank had given Wren the short-term loan, and one of the grants had come through the day before. She was still waiting for the second one, a little worried because she had to repay the loan in sixty days. She also wanted to hire some full-time help and arrange for more volunteers than yours truly.
The last few days had been busy. Lucy, Mama, and I had spent long hours at the Honeybee getting all the extra baking done for the sale. We’d still found time to meet with the ladies of the spellbook club at the Georgia Wild office. We’d finished the cleaning job I’d started, and then my mother had given the whole place an organizational makeover. The former living room of the renovated house was now Wren’s office, and Autumn’s office had been converted to a storage and file room. Finally, we’d smudged the whole place with white sage and French lavender to get rid of any of Evanston Rickers’ lingering influences. I was happy to report there was no remaining trace of the unpleasant, intangible essence I’d perceived from Autumn’s origami bat.
As for Dr. Rickers, he was still being evaluated in the hospital. So far he’d only sat and stared at the wall, saying nothing. According to Quinn, one doctor had speculated that his apparent catatonia may have resulted from a mental break caused by guilt over killing another person. Quinn himself thought Rickers was faking it to get out of going to trial. The police had found ample physical evidence that he was guilty of Autumn’s murder. Besides the formaldehyde he used to preserve his snakes, they’d discovered a packet of maroon origami paper stuffed under his mattress, and his fingerprints matched some found in Autumn’s office as well as in Logan Seward’s smashed-up BMW.
Of course, there was also the fact that he’d confessed to eight people who were willing to testify to that effect.
I didn’t think it would come to that, however. Something had happened in the swamp that cut Evanston Rickers off from more than the tree. I’d been a part of what happened, even if I hadn’t been entirely responsible. Thoughts of going to visit Rickers had gone through my mind, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. At least not yet.
Hunter Normandy had been released after his deceased client’s family agreed not to press charges. They only wanted their mother’s ring back. He did lose his job at the mortuary, however. Peter Quinn told me Hunter planned on moving to the West Coast and starting over. He might not have been a killer, but after the unfortunate episode with him in my carriage house, I was glad to hear he would be leaving town.
“Thank you,” I said to a petite, dark-haired woman who had purchased a baker’s dozen of chocolate-filled sandwich cookies. “You have a nice afternoon.”
“Oh, I will.” She winked. “Starting with eating at least two of these in the car on my way home.”
As she walked away, a tall man with a shock of sandy blond hair approached the Georgia Wild table. Skip Thorsen appeared much better than when I’d talked to him in the Old Familiar—clear-eyed and ruddy-cheeked. He stopped in front of Wren, said something, and held out his hand for her to shake. Instead, she stood and gave him a hug. He blinked away tears as she sat back down, then pulled a checkbook out of his back pocket and began writing.
After he left, I sidled over. “Autumn’s ex made a donation?”
She blinked up at me with a stunned expression. “He just wrote me a check for a hundred thousand dollars.”
“Holy cow!”
“He said it was the amount Autumn’s life insurance policy will pay out. He knew she’d want Georgia Wild to have it.”
“Wow.” I shook my head. He hadn’t been kidding about still being in love with his ex.
Declan still hadn’t called. The day before, Ben had pulled me aside and asked what was going on. How could I tell my uncle what I’d done to his protégé—and one of his favorite people? But he’d pressed me, and I’d settled on saying that something had happened to make Declan realize that my being a witch involved a lot more than burning incense and dancing around a fire. It was something that he’d found very alarming and had needed time to think over.
Margie stopped by with Baby Bart in a backpack carrier. He grinned at me over her shoulder.
“Where are the JJs?” I asked.
“At my sister’s. She watches them once a week so I can run my errands. Oh, my God, Katie. Those are the cutest little pies I’ve ever seen!”
My neighbor turned to my aunt. “You make cakes for special occasions, don’t you?”
“Of course,” Lucy said. “What did you have in mind?”
“M
y mother-in-law’s birthday is coming up, and I wouldn’t dare try to make her a cake myself.” Margie was a self-proclaimed disaster in the kitchen, while Redding’s mother was a culinary genius.
“Oh, now,” I said. “I happen to know you make a mean Coca-Cola cake.”
She made a face. “That’s fine for the kids, but not exactly proper fare for Evelyn Coopersmith.”
I waved at Lucy. “This is your gal, then.”
“What kind of a woman is your mother-in-law?” Lucy asked.
“Kind of formal. Not snooty-formal. More like . . . precise.”
They discussed a few designs, deciding on one that featured Mrs. Coopersmith’s favorite pastel colors.
“How about if I add some iridescent candy pearls?” Lucy suggested.
Margie laughed. “She’ll love it. Heck, I love it.”
Steve came up to the booth. “Hello, Ben,” he said to my uncle.
“Steve.” Ben’s monosyllabic response was stiff at best.
“I’ll take a dozen of anything,” he said. “The guys at the News will go through whatever I bring back like a panzer division.”
Ben nodded and began loading up a bakery box. I noticed he chose the most expensive items we offered, and I suppressed a smile.
“I took my father out to the swamp,” Steve said to me.
“Finally,” I said. “I can’t believe he’s going to purchase the property without even looking at it.”
“Oh, he’d seen it.” Steve said. “However, as you might guess, he’s not one to tromp through swampland, so he’d checked it out from the air. Helicopter.”
“Naturally.” I rolled my eyes.
“This morning I took him to see the cypress in person.”
“And?”
“He’s already steered the other investors to another property they’d been considering for the golf course, and he’s buying the entire swamp from Gart Fagen.”
My jaw dropped. “You’re kidding. Talk about moving fast. What’s he going to do with it?”
