by Jill Nojack
“Yes. Sorry again. Zelda had prepared two potions. Both of them permanent transformations. One was meant for Jenny, and the other for Deborah. Deborah got her hands on the wrong one, it seems. The transformation is permanent because Deborah took the potion before Zelda could draw Deborah’s blood—origin blood, she called it. It’s the only known antidote to the glamour.”
“How terrible. But how could she overlook a thing like that?”
“She didn’t, apparently. She instructed Deborah not to go near the shed without her. I guess she didn’t listen. Well…you know Deborah better than I do.”
“Not that I wanted to.”
The pink pig looked up from its slop and grunted loudly, it’s eyes on Gillian.
“Anyway,” Robert continued, “Zelda learned about the spell from her mother, who learned it from her mother. The spell apparently went back generations, but no one in the family had ever used it. It’s one of those curiosities that get passed along in the family grimoire but seem too far-fetched or too dark to be considered.” He shook his head weakly. “Zelda apparently hadn’t even thought about the spell for years. When she remembered it, she decided it was just the thing Deborah needed to end up with Butch like she’d dreamed she would. She didn’t think Deborah would care how she got him. She was right about that.”
“So Deborah really was innocent in all of this?”
“It appears that way, yes.”
“Why did Zelda kill Maureen, though?”
“She’d been watching the house, and she snuck in to get Jenny’s blood, which she managed to do while Jenny was sleeping. Apparently she sharpened and carried the garden tool because it was a weapon that wouldn’t look like a weapon. Just in case there was trouble. And on her way out, there was.
Maureen came home and found her in the house. There had been bad business between the two of them—jealousy over Junior Rangel, of all people,” Robert said, making a sour face, “and rivalry between their daughters for Butch Holgerson. She says she didn’t mean to kill her, and she’s agreed to say she had a fight with Maureen over Junior that went wrong. It won’t expose the coven, although the charge will probably be manslaughter instead of murder unless the prosecution can prove she went there intending to kill her.”
“And the baby? How was that explained?”
“Zelda was so distracted by what she’d done, she wasn’t thinking straight. The final part of the story will be that she snatched the baby for Deborah to raise, since Deborah couldn’t have her own. But Deborah told her she was crazy and had gone to sneak it onto Jenny’s doorstep just as Jenny told Denton what happened. And, of course, no one has seen dear Deborah since she returned the baby to her mother. The theory we’re putting around is that she’s too ashamed of what her mother has done and can’t face the community. It should be gospel by nightfall.”
He looked out into the pen and sighed.
“What a mess,” Gillian said, staring into the pen, too.
“Indeed.”
“No, I meant the pigs.” She grinned and inclined her head to where the very pink pig Deborah James was now rolling in a puddle, covering herself with mud. “I can’t see us taking care of three pigs without help. If you step down from the council in the fall we’ve got travel in our future. England for me, certainly. Parts unknown for you? The Nile Valley perhaps?”
“That sounds awfully nice.” He took her hand, and they headed across the lush green yard toward the house. “I hadn’t considered a caretaker, but if you think that’s what we need. It’s not like I can’t afford it. You could use a hand with the garden as well.”
“Don’t you dare! The garden is all mine. No, I was thinking maybe Natalie’s Marcus could use an extra summer job. Throw in the mowing and some of the other maintenance we’ve been overpaying a service for, and I’m sure we could keep him busy. He’s such a nice boy, and there isn’t much in town in the way of jobs for the young people. He does have something in Salem, but it’s part time.”
“I see that, once again, you have it all worked out.” He smiled and threw an arm around her as they walked back to the house.
27
The rain had stopped by the time Natalie reached Junior’s secret taxidermy workshop, but it was a short, muddy walk from the car with the morning sun finally peeking through the clouds. She made her way carefully, avoiding puddles.
Not being able to give a ghost a good kick is one of many disappointing aspects of being a witch who sees spirits. Still, even though her foot couldn’t connect with the yorkie that ran out to cavort noisily around her ankles as Junior opened the heavy metal door, a good feint made it back off.
The smell of rot and formaldehyde rushed toward her, and she reconsidered entering the building. “I think we’ll do this outside, if you don’t mind.”
She moved down the rutted path until the smell was mostly gone, and Junior followed her, leaving the door open, until she called to him saying, “And close the door, if you could.”
After he backtracked to shut the door and then joined her, she asked, “So, have you earned the right to keep your workshop? Have you been taking the pills every day?”
“I have. And I think I’ve figured out what they do.”
“Have you?” She handed him another packet, enough for the next month. “You just keep taking them and, as long as you do, I’ll keep Cassie sweet about your use of the building.”
“They’re not hurting me any, are they? I mean, I feel better than I have in years. And booze doesn’t interest me anymore. Now, knowing myself as I do, that don’t make much sense.”
“No,” she said, “I suppose it wouldn’t. Is that a new aftershave, Junior?”
“No, same stuff I’ve been wearing for years.”
“It smells nice. I’ll give you more pills next month.” She turned, her nose having given her all the evidence she needed that her foray into magical medicine had been effective. He may have been wearing that aftershave for years, but no one would have known it. He hadn’t just had alcohol on his breath daily, the man had sweated the stuff. It came off him like a mist. But that aura was gone now.
She smiled to herself as she started the car, until she was startled by the sound of a yap from the passenger seat.
She snapped a look to the side and the specter of the yorkie sat there, its head cocked to one side, its bright eyes beaming mischief.
“Proud of yourself, are you? You know, I’ve got just the thing for you. But I’ve got an errand to run first.”
***
“Whatcha want, you old crone? Ain’t it good enough for you that you got my son?”
The woman, Marcus’s mother, whom Natalie knew he loved deeply, smelled of alcohol and cannabis, thinly veiled by a cheap, musky perfume.
“It’s a pleasure to take care of your son until he can either take care of himself or you’re ready to take up your mothering duties again. And the crone thing…” She stopped herself. The woman wasn’t a witch. There was no point in correcting her.
“I’m here with an offer. A way for you to get your son back, if you truly want a relationship with him more than you do with booze and drugs.”
The woman ran the back of her hand across her mouth, smearing her purple lipstick onto a coffee-colored cheek. “Of course I want my son back. No reason for him not to be with me. The social services, they got it in for me. I do everything they tell me to do.” She sat down on the couch and tears welled up as she continued. “I keep tryin’. I do. See how clean I keep the place?” She looked from wall to wall of the small apartment, and Natalie’s eyes followed hers. She had to admit it was neat as a pin. But even she knew that wasn’t the most important thing a child needs.
“I’ve brought you something. Something that will help. I thought about offering you money to use it, but it has to be your choice. I won’t let you break that poor boy’s heart again. You have to want him.”
“I told you I do!” Jasmine Wilkerson stood unsteadily, putting a hand on Natalie’s shoulder. “If you know how I
can get my boy back, then you tell me, and I’ll do it.”
Natalie handed her the blue bottle of pills. “Twice a day. I’ll be back in a week to see how it’s going. We can talk more then.”
***
Natalie started the car to drive Marcus into Salem to pick out coveralls before she dropped him for his first day of work at Robert’s. She was accompanying him out of ulterior motives—she wanted to take a look at how Deborah was doing since she did have a personal promise to fulfill—and Marcus’s car, which had refused to start, would be just fine when they got home. Certainly she couldn’t admit to Gillian that she’d driven all the way out to Robert’s place just to check in with their livestock.
The engine coming to life signaled their small ghostly companion, the friendly yorkie, to put its paws up on the dashboard and yip happily as they got on their way.
The high pitched bark annoyed her the most. It interfered with the conversation, although she tried not to let the boy know that she was distracted. There was no point in alerting him when he couldn’t see the mutt.
If it were a live dog, perhaps she wouldn’t mind so much—it could provide him with some of the affection she herself had trouble expressing.
But it wasn’t alive, and the yapping had to end. Immediately. She’d planned to do it after she dropped Marcus off at Robert’s, but she’d had enough.
When the dog looked over to her, tongue lolling, she glared at it with a promise, and it pulled its feet back to curl up silently on Marcus’s lap.
That was better. But a permanent solution was called for.
“I’m stopping by the hospital,” she said. “I won’t be long, but there’s something I need to do.”
“You’re not sick, are you?” His face shone with concern.
“No, no, nothing like that. I just remembered something I need to take care of.”
“No problem, then. Do what you need to do, Gram.”
When they arrived at the county hospital, Natalie left the door open for a moment, whistling and clapping her leg. Marcus looked at her, questioning, but she just turned away as the dog started toward her. “I’ll explain some other time,” she called over her shoulder.
Natalie strolled confidently through the halls of the critical ward where she had once been unit manager. There were a few waves from the older nurses and a “back to check up on us?” as she did.
No one would question what she was doing there. She still stopped by once in a while. But she wasn’t there to visit. She had a passenger to drop off.
She stopped at the door to a room every so often and motioned for the eager pup who was following her to go in. It jumped up on the beds and checked out each one’s quiet occupant, then returned when they didn’t respond.
She knew she’d found what she was looking for when a weak voice said, “Well, how’d you get in here? I won’t tell the nurse if I you won’t, boy.”
It was only a matter of time.
Within minutes, the monitors went to alarm. But more importantly, a portal opened in the corner of the room and the specter of the elderly man went straight for it, his new pet yapping happily in his arms.
When Natalie slid back into the car she said, “Do you have any interest in stopping by the pound?” She lifted a warning finger to let him know she wasn’t finished as he looked at her, surprised, and started to say something. “Any dog you choose will have to be a large one so it has a low-pitched bark. Preferably it should be quiet. Very quiet.”
“Is that for real? My own dog?”
“You’ll have to feed it, walk it, and pick up after it. I’m not doing any of that.”
“No problem,” he slipped in when she stopped for a breath, then continued and talked over him.
“Don’t expect me to fall in love with it and pick up the slack. I won’t buy collars, dog food, or leashes. I’m not a pet person. I’ve never even had a familiar.”
He waited to talk this time, looking over at her, and it was clear that he was suppressing a grin on his sensitive dark face when he said, “Really, I get that. Not a pet person. Not a people person…”
A grin stole on to her own face at his smarty-pants but accurate response. “Yes, fine. You obviously have a firm understanding of the situation. You can use the coveralls I keep in the trunk today so that you’re not late for your first day on the new job. But you’ll need to wash them thoroughly after work. I won’t have my trunk smelling like pig.”
She altered their course to Salem Road, heading for the pound, where she’d make very sure that Junior Rangel understood the exact requirements.
***
Natalie poured a cup of tea from her grandmother’s treasured china teapot and set it down on the end table next to her favorite comfy chair. She lifted her feet onto the ottoman, and settled back to watch the rain sheet down the living room windows.
She did like a stormy day, the grayness and splattering noise of it. And with a day off from the shop, Marcus at Robert’s place learning how to slop pigs with his new black lab following devotedly behind him, and all the week’s housework done, she was looking forward to a long afternoon of doing absolutely nothing. It had been a while, and she deserved it.
And then the pop.
She groaned. “You’ve heard of the doorbell haven’t you? A useful modern invention. Highly recommended.”
William sat on the couch and patted the spot beside him. “I’ve got the day off. And I know you do, too. I thought we could spend it together.”
“I have a few hours before I have to pick up Marcus, but I’m not sure its a good idea. You figured it out yourself—the only way we can really be together is if magic intervenes. And the magic you suggested—blood magic—always has a price. Often a terrible one. Marcus is at Robert and Gillian’s place taking care of the most recent reminder of that.”
“I think you’re wrong. It’s just a blood transfusion. There’s no ritual, there’s no curse, there’s no magic. It’s medical.”
“You’re splitting hairs because you want your own way. Your blood has magical properties or what you’re suggesting would have no effect. I’m sure you know that.” She shook her head. “No. It’s too risky in any case. We don’t know what might happen.”
“It might keep you alive longer, long enough for us to have that life together we dreamed of. Don’t you want that, too?
“It is what it is, William. You’ve come back for me too late.”
“With love,” he said, his brown eyes meeting hers and refusing to let go, “it’s never too late.”
She closed her eyes to avoid his, pretending to savor the scent of the steaming tea she held poised below her nose. But she couldn’t have said what kind of tea it was. Her mind—no, her heart, was too busy to pay attention.
The problem was, she realized as she put the tea aside, then reached out a tentative hand to brush gently against his face, was that her heart wanted to believe him.
======THE END======
Afterword
Thank you, dear reader, for making it all the way through to the end! If you enjoyed this book, please consider signing up for my New Release Notification Newsletter at http://www.jillnojack.com/notify/. I launch my self-published books at a reduced “Friends and Family” price for a few days so you can grab a bargain. Unfortunately, I can’t put all of my books on sale for you because some of them are traditionally published, and I don’t control over the pricing on those books.
At the time of publication of this book (November, 2017), I am hard at work writing The Midsummer Murders, the next book in the Maid, Mother, and Crone Paranormal Cozy Mystery series. You can check out the availability of other books in the series on my website at http://jillnojack.com/books/. If you enjoyed this book and haven’t read the Bad Tom series about how Tom and Cassie met, saved the world, and got furry, you can find out more about it there. There are also links to all of my books on the next page.
As always, you can contact me at [email protected] with your comments, quest
ions, praise, or scorn. I would love to hear from you. And, of course, if you decide to leave a review of the book on Amazon, you have my most sincere thanks. Your words can help other readers decide whether or not this book is one they’ll enjoy or one they should skip.
Other Books by Jill Nojack
http://jillnojack.com/books/
Maid, Mother, and Crone Paranormal Mysteries
Bad Tom Series
Fae Unbound Series (YA/Teen)
More information at:
http://www.jillnojack.com/books/
