by Jill Nojack
What had been a small flame was a conflagration now, licking upward in red, orange, and yellow with bright sparks flowing up into the darkening sky, where…
“What is that? That’s…”
“I don’t know.” Twink’s voice was small and hushed.
“Like a lion? A lion with wings? A lion with…look at its face. It’s like…”
“Yeah, crazy, right? Call Natalie. Do it.” She grabbed his arm. “And then you and I need to get out of here. Because from what I can hear, that’s a curse she’s casting, and even your mean, high priestess grandmother can’t stop that kind of curse by washing someone’s mouth out with a bar of soap.”
***
“What’s wrong with you? I can’t understand you,” Natalie said to Marcus on the phone, giving Robert a warning glance as he tried to slip away from his library and her demands. “Why are you breathing so heavy?”
Her own breathing quickened as she began to understand.
“Get to Twink’s and stay there until you hear from me. Drive fast, but obey the rules of the road. I’m not explaining to your social worker how you ended up in the hospital. Call me back immediately if the creature follows you.”
She dropped Marcus’s line and called William. “I don’t care what you’re doing! Make an excuse. I need you to get me home. Marcus is in danger! I’m in the library at Robert’s.”
William popped into existence by her side less than sixty seconds later.
“What took you so long?” Natalie barked. “Oh, it doesn’t matter. My house. Now. And Robert, don’t think you’re off the hook for…”
She didn’t get the chance to finish.
They landed in her driveway, and she oriented herself quickly. “Good. Marcus’s car is gone. At least the kids got away.”
She ran to the back yard, hopped up on adrenalin. It gave her the speed of a much younger woman, but she stopped dead when she saw the scene. She knew exactly what the creature was; she wouldn’t need Robert’s library again. Put an ancient Egyptian headdress on it and pretty much anyone would recognize it, but she’d already seen that face in a different context: beneath a baby bonnet.
The poor child.
But she had no time for sympathy. The witch was nearly hidden by the bonfire as she formed the face of the accursed within its flame.
She’d assumed it would be her visage in the blaze. She was wrong. And it wasn’t Marcus, either, she realized with relief. But why would someone lay a curse on the town’s police chief from her backyard?
She didn’t have time to think further because the flame exploded outward, followed by a wave of pressure that blew her backwards. William must have been affected too. She ended up in his lap, and he held her tightly, rocking her, which she was too dazed to fight.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I will be. We need to go after her. Help me up!”
But the robed figure and her companion were already gone into the cover of the trees. When she was standing again, only a little unsteady, Natalie moved toward the patch on the lawn where the witch had cast the spell. All that was left was a handful of ashes.
“I’d wager that somewhere in there was a picture of Denton. I can certainly imagine why someone would want to curse the man, but the reason it needed to be done in my personal space eludes me. It had to be Zelda. She came back to the same spot, and the creature was with her each time.”
Then her eyes were drawn to a glint of steel a few feet to the side of the pile of ash.
She walked over and reached down to the weathered wood handle that poked up through the grass, but William caught her wrist before she could pick it up. “Don’t,” he said. “I think that handle has blood on it. Get me a large plastic bag of some kind—unused. It has to be clean on the inside so that it doesn’t taint the evidence.”
She started toward the house, but he said, “No, cancel that. Stay here. Just…don’t touch anything.”
He popped out of existence and popped back in about two minutes later. His right hand was wrapped tight around the handle of a heavy plastic toolbox when he did. He squatted down and slid a large plastic bag inside out around one hand, then grasped the implement and pulled the bag back around it, closing the zip top with a sliding pinch. “It’s a garden cultivator. Handheld. And look at those claws—four of them, sharpened to a razor point. He dropped the baggie into a cardboard box, even as one of the points of the tool cut through the plastic barrier.
“Sure looks like this has been used for something other than gardening, because those are definitely bloodstains.”
Natalie peered over his shoulder. The dusky red stain on the handle where the green paint was worn away and the old wood was exposed beneath it looked like blood even in the low light of dusk. She murmured agreement. It was now even less likely the creature had anything to do with Maureen’s death.
That assurance was a relief. Despite having a murder weapon planted in her yard and a curse to sort out, she now knew exactly what the supposed fertility spell that resulted in Jenny’s triplets had really been.
And the Goddess, who she hadn’t wanted to trust, had spoken the truth.
***
Tom was comfortable enough with Sheba still snuggled against Kit’s neck as twilight faded. From her lack of movement, he thought she might even be taking a nap. Although it was sometimes inconvenient, he was glad that the cat was winning over the woman now. She didn’t need to stress about how long they’d be hanging here or what was coming for them later.
Although he’d been worried about a creature when he’d tried to keep Cassie home where it was safe, it now seemed clear that it wasn’t an animal following its belly that was taking the local pets.
He rubbed his head against Sheba’s ear, reassuring himself that all would be well for his sleeping mate the second the net came off. But his hackles rose and the calm feeling disappeared when a woman’s laugh rang out nearby.
He craned Kit’s neck to see the black-robed figure advancing through the trees. She was followed by a large cat, its golden eyes casting around restlessly until they met his.
At least, it smelled like a cat. That’s what his nose told him. But his eyes told him something else, something that made him wonder if his eyes were wigging out. Because he was looking into a human child’s face.
“Oh, look…here are some pretty things caught up in the net. You’re in good company.” The woman bent down and lifted the creature’s chin upward. That forced its eyes on the net as she said, “I knew a suppression spell would be a good idea just in case the net caught something nasty. Of course, there aren’t that many magical creatures to be found in Giles, are there?” She stood and faced them then, but the black hood and low light prevented him from seeing who was beneath it. “These must just be two stray cats. I’ll leave them here until it’s time to feed the pigs.”
The woman leaned down to where he hung suspended. Kit unsheathed his claws, ready to swipe as she came close, but Tom held him back. He felt Sheba springing alert against his body. He hoped that Cassie could control her. It might be dangerous for them both if the cats overreacted. He had a pretty good idea now who had captured them and why; there was only one witch in town who kept pigs. And Deborah James didn’t have the moral compass of a snail. They were in trouble.
“Poor, poor Tom. Poor, poor Cassie. Maybe if you and your snotty, snobby clique, had been nicer to those outside of it, you wouldn’t be in this predicament now. Too bad your friend Natalie won’t be able to save you. I bet she’s locked up for good now that Chief Denton knows where to look for the murder weapon.”
Her triumphant cackle shattered the silence of the woods.
20
The sound of sirens pierced the air, then ended with the squeal of tires in the driveway as red, pulsing light could be seen around the sides of the house. There was definitely a cruiser out front.
“What now?” Natalie looked to William, who shrugged. The police radio at his hip hadn’t let out a single s
quawk for hours. She continued, “I’ll take care of it, whatever it is. You need to track down the witch who left this gift in my yard. Which I’m sure you’ll find is Zelda James.”
She reached out for the bagged garden tool, but he moved it out of her reach, catching her wrist with his other hand, saying, “It’s evidence, Nat. And it’s in police custody. It stays with me.”
She glared at him full force; he wondered idly if the power of a djinn were enough to protect him against a woman’s wrath. “Look, I…”
His apology was cut short by the sound of Chief Denton’s voice behind him.
“You got her! Did you get the same tip I did? Hold her tight. She’s tricky, but she won’t get away with it this time.” William turned to see the Chief trotting toward them. “Is that it, Bill? Is that the murder weapon we’ve been looking for?”
“Chief, you’ve got it wrong…” William replied, letting go of Natalie’s wrist, giving her a look of apology. “…yes, this could be it, but someone came out of the woods and left it here. Nat had nothing to do with it.”
He didn’t notice anything strange about the chief immediately, but he was alarmed once Denton got closer and the light from the porch illuminated his face; the chief’s eyes were glazed and his pupils were huge, the irises nearly invisible. And they focused only on Natalie.
Without warning, Denton lowered his head and upper body as he rushed forward and took her to the ground. She went down with a pained “oof”.
As Denton held Natalie pinned to the grass, William’s instinct lit up on red alert; he grabbed the base of the man’s neck and pinched. Hard. And with feeling. And with magic.
Denton went slack.
***
When Deborah got home from her shift at the Toadstone Tavern, she was sure that the note on the kitchen table about her mother making all her dreams come true had to be a joke.
Zelda was so lame. She never got it right. And now she was promising the man of Deborah’s dreams and a permanent glamour so that she could keep his interest forever?
Like Zelda was capable of making that happen. Still, the note was specific; it said they’d go to the shed together when Zelda got home, and after they did, Deborah would have everything she had ever wanted. Sure. That would happen.
And it was really just tedious that her mother had written in gigantic capital letters at the end,
DON’T GO OUT TO THE SHED WITHOUT ME YOU HAVE TO WAIT.
Whatever. Why expend the energy for something that would turn out to be nothing?
She grabbed a beer and spread out on the couch to watch TV. It was boring after just ten minutes of waiting; who cared if her mother would be hurt if she took a peek? It wasn’t like there was going to be anything to it anyway.
But the new padlock stopped her. Holding on to it with one hand and concentrating, she felt a magical pulse. Her mother had enchanted the lock on top of replacing it. Like two can’t play at this game.
She returned to the house and grabbed Zelda’s favorite sweater from her dresser. She’d have to destroy it to weaken the spell. Just what her mother deserved for locking her out.
Outside the shed, she put on her black robe with its big hood, then cut the sweater into pieces with the kitchen scissors. She’d rather have used the family athame, but she kept it in the shed. She’d never mastered fire, so she used a disposable lighter to set the large pile of yarn scraps ablaze. The fire cast shadows against the fading twilight.
She chanted the spell—she’d used it many times when her mother had cast her will to keep her out or keep her in. It would work just like it always had, weakening the magic enough that Deborah would be able to get through it. The smoke sought out the lock as Deborah chanted, grinning.
Mother would never learn her lesson, no matter how many of her favorite outfits went missing. She would never be smart even if she did have stronger magic.
When the chanting and burning was over, Deborah up-ended a plastic feed bucket over the smoldering mess and stuck the scissors blade between the lock’s hasp and the shackle and applied force. It didn’t open easily, but with steady pressure, it yielded after several minutes.
She stepped inside, then closed the door behind her, sticking to the spot for a moment to let her eyes adjust to the dim light.
“Who’s there?” a man’s voice asked from somewhere in the back of the shed.
Butch? It was Butch. Her mother really had brought him here. Wow. That part of the note was true. There might actually be an interesting surprise here.
She looked in the direction of the sound, but she didn’t say anything. He knew her voice; he’d know it was her.
“Jenny? Is that you? You gotta let me go. Just undo these chains, babe.”
She thought about answering, then decided to keep her mouth shut. It might not be a good idea for him to think she was in on a kidnapping. But he’d have no way of knowing who was there in the dark as long as she stayed covered in the robe. Not so long as she kept quiet.
But why would he think Jenny was here?
Because he always thought of Jenny first, that’s why. She grabbed one of the garden implements that hung on the right side of the shed and pitched it at him. Payback for the smack last time she’d been with him; it had smarted. She must have missed because she heard it bounce off the wooden wall. But it shut him up.
What else had her mother’s note said? That she’d prepared a glamour so Deborah could keep Butch forever. But she’d also said she’d made some bad magic for Jenny based on the same spell so that she could never take another woman’s man again.
She’d make Jenny ugly? Not that Jenny was so much of a much. If she was, Butch wouldn’t have to run around on her. But uglier? That would definitely be justice.
So if her own potion was here, it was time to go for it. Her mother was deluded if she thought Deborah should wait just so Zelda could get her warm fuzzies; Deborah didn’t owe her anything. After all, if mother dearest could have helped her get Butch back all along, why did she wait until now? She could have done it in high school.
It was too dark to go scrabbling around on the shelves. She punched the Home button on her phone and it lit up with a soft glow. She made sure not to point it toward the mouth of her hood.
The workbench where she mixed her potions had been cleared of most of her things, but her mother’s grimoire—the one that had been passed down from family member to family member and would someday come to her, was open on the surface. She bent in close to read it. She’d never seen the spell before. In fact, even though it was a glamour, Deborah’s own specialty, neither her grandmother or mother had ever mentioned it to her.
Oh, that’s why. Blood magic. Which wasn’t a surprise. She’d known her family had practiced dark magic in the past, although her grandparents and mother had told her to stay away from it. Supposedly, it always came with a price. Looks like her mother was a big hypocrite then, because there were three hypodermic needles on the counter and the residue left in two of them sure looked like blood.
With blood magic, maybe her mother’s potion really could do something amazing. She read through the spell again and it didn’t make a lot of sense. The language was archaic and stilted, which meant it must have come from a witch way back in her family tree, but her mother had stuck sticky notes next to some of the passages. Permanent transformation, but it can be undone with origin blood if it goes wrong. So, no problem. Whatever origin blood was, her mother could use it reverse the spell if it went wrong. No risk for Deborah at all.
She moved the light of the phone to look carefully at the two potions next to the grimoire. They were labeled in her mother’s sloppy writing with a large P, or maybe it was a D, and the other one was clearly a J. That clarified it then—one potion for her—the D, and the other with the J for Jenny. Two spells, just like her mother’s note said.
She looked forward to being there when her mother administered Jenny’s potion, whatever it made her look like, because it would be hilarious. It s
erved the wench right; Deborah hoped it transformed her into someone so hideous that she not only lost Butch, she lost everything—the kids, her friends, everything.
Of course, if it did, it would be safer for her if she and Butch were already well out of town, just the two of them. Otherwise, Butch could get saddled with the two brats that were left, and there was no way she was taking care of Jenny’s kids. Yeah, they should probably be long gone before her mother administered her revenge. Well, whatever. Pictures were easy enough to send by text.
She was smiling so wide she had to get herself back under control before she could drink her potion down. She sniffed at it first and recognized its main scent immediately—lemongrass. No wonder her mother had stolen so much of her stash. It made sense now. But she still could have gotten her own. She’d still deserved the slap.
“Jenny?” Butch asked again, his voice small and cowed this time. “Please undo this chain, okay? And then we can talk.”
She reached into a pocket of her robe for her earphones and shoved them into her ears, then tapped a playlist on her phone to drown Butch out until she could claim him. She could wait. A little longer. Not that she cared if her mother was there when she got Butch for good and permanent. She was pretty sure it would make Butch think she was Jenny. It’s not like she hadn’t pulled that one on him before, back in high school. It took some of Jenny’s hair, but that was easy enough to get with a strong tug. But Zelda was such a loser, she’d probably make a mess of it.
Then again, an old family spell like this obviously worked or it would have been removed from the book a long time ago. Even her waste-of-space mother could manage to follow a recipe.
***
William pulled Denton’s unconscious body gently onto the grass so that Natalie could get up from where she was pinned beneath him. She rubbed gently at a tender rib, soothing it with a flash of healing magic at her fingertips. Just bruised, not broken. That was a positive.
