by E L Wilder
“Clancy! What are you doing?!”
Buying you some time. Use it well, partner.
The spider turned its attention to Clancy and it spread its mandibles and opened its mouth in anticipation of a meal. Of course it would be interested in Clancy. Another riven for the cure.
Cannoli bomb away, he shouted.
Two things happened simultaneously. The werespider lunged toward Clancy and his tail flew into action, scooping up something from the satchel and catapulting it at the werespider. He was perhaps a moment too, slow. The spider swatted him, catching him full force and knocking him into the carriage, but not before he got the shot off.
The mixture hit the spider square in the face. It screeched and thrashed, collapsing first onto the edge of the carriage and then to the floor, dragging Hazel’s satchel with it and dumping its remaining contents—the ledger landing like a wounded bird, and the unicorn horn splintering into a thousand pieces.
The werespider convulsed violently as it began a transformation. It was terrifying to watch as the spider elements seemed to melt away, revealing the human form beneath. When the creature ceased spasming, the change was still incomplete. Patches of spider lingered on a mostly human form.
“Cordelia?” Hazel gasped.
The figure twitched to life upon hearing the name, and then sat up, confirming the woman’s identity. Cordelia in all her glory. Or most of it. Fangs still protruded from her mouth and patch of bristling black flesh dappled her body. But her cold, ice-blue eyes told Hazel everything she needed to know.
“It was you!” Hazel exclaimed.
Cordelia twitched. “I can’t keep it at bay forever, Hazel,” she said sadly.
“You can, Cordelia. You. Can. Do. This.”
“But what if I don’t want to?” Cordelia spoke spoke slowly, more seriously. “Every day I feel less like Cordelia and more like the beast. How many hours do I lose each day? This isn’t even working anymore.” She held up her hand, jangling the chunky bracelet. Cordelia had said the bracelet was a punishment from the Council, something that blocked her spellcasting. Maybe that was true, but it was also trying to block something far more sinister.
“How many days until there is no more Cordelia? Until the curse eclipses me entirely?”
Hazel didn’t know the answer to that, but she said the only thing she could think of. “But to kill others just to save yourself? Is that right?”
“Is this right?” Cordelia snarled, pointing to the waxy patches of flesh that still lingered on her face. “A curse inflicted on me because I followed Clancy’s advice? Because I trained hard and pushed for greatness?”
Hazel recalled what Cass had said. The beast was merely an expression of something that already lurked inside a person, some fault or fissure.
She rattled her bracelet. “This didn’t work,” she sobbed. “None of it. The medicine. The necklace. There was no artifact that could stop it. But then Silas mentioned a book he’d discovered. It was a radical concept that required consuming other riven, but it seemed pointless. There were no other riven to be found. Clancy hadn’t been seen in years. And then you came along. You provided me with an opportunity. A live wire creating opportunity. And I can’t let you stop me now. Not when I’m so close.”
“Cordelia, if killing Silas didn’t stop your curse, what makes you think consuming others will?
“Silas was not enough!” Cordelia shrieked, her voice layered with the high-pitched scream of the spider. “If I don’t do something soon, there will be nothing left of me.”
“Is this who you want to be?” asked Hazel. “You can choose. Will you be beholden to your mother, or your own person?”
Cordelia shrieked an unearthly shriek and crumpled to the floor, gripping her head, as the patches of spider flesh spread. Something skittered away from her writhing body, sliding to a stop just beneath Hazel.
Cordelia’s lighter.
An ember of hope kindled inside her. Could Hazel make this work, even if the lighter was that far away—even if no flame had been sparked? I can be the spark, she thought to herself. She had accidentally showered Clancy with a Roman-candle-style display when they’d first met earlier in the summer. She could do this again. Sparks, sparks, sparks, she repeated to herself.
She concentrated on the lighter and wiggled her fingers, clenched and unclenched her fists until her palms started that familiar tingle.
She expected some sort of buildup, but almost immediately the lighter clicked gently and then erupted in a fireball. The heat and flame washed over her, disintegrating her prison and she managed to curl into a ball before slamming into the floor.
Acrid and oily smoke hung in the room. Hazel dragged herself to her knees. Cordelia lay on the floor nearby, her flesh mostly blackened, though whether from burns or spider flesh, Hazel couldn’t tell.
The carriage was most definitely on fire—tongues of flame licking at the curtains.
“Clancy,” uttered Hazel. She rushed to the carriage, but the fire had already spread, engulfing the entire vehicle and the heat drove her back toward Cordelia. “No!”
Cordelia didn’t stay down for long. She sprang to her feet, now more spider than human and released a horrible noise from her throat that might have been a groan. Her body reacted instantly, sprouting a single spider leg from her back.
Hazel turned to confront her, squaring her shoulders. “You were the one that killed Silas. The one who was trying to devour the other riven. You were the one that found that book in the library. And now you’ve killed my familiar. You are the beast, Cordelia.”
Cordelia gurgled, and thick purple venom dropped from her fangs. The change was complete. The only remnant of Cordelia Strange were the eyes—those icy shards that were now trained on Hazel.
Hazel raised her hands to cast but the attempt was cut short as Cordelia leaped forward, striking her full force. Hazel tumbled to the floor, her senses momentarily knocked out of her. When she looked up again, the werespider was hunched over her, dripping venom on the floor beside her.
Hazel!
Both Hazel and Cordelia jerked their head in the direction of the carriage as Clancy sprang from the flames, landing on Cordelia’s back.
“Clancy, shriek!” she said.
I can’t. I—
His words were cut short as Cordelia grabbed hold of him. He yowled and scratched but she paid him no heed. She bared her fangs and plunged them deep into his fur. For a moment, he spasmed, then he was still. Cordelia tossed him aside.
“Suicide king,” Hazel whispered. The final card in Cass’s reading had been played.
Her hand brushed over the remnants of the unicorn’s horn and she grabbed a long shard. She lunged forward, stabbing it into Cordelia’s abdomen. The werespider staggered back, clutching at the wound. A reaction rippled across its body. Flesh bubbled and coarse black hairs drifted to the floor.
Hazel could contain her anger no longer. She kicked upward as hard as she could, sending Cordelia flying back into the burning carriage.
Hazel rushed to Clancy and picked him up. He hung limp in her hands. No rising and falling chest.
The carriage collapsed suddenly in a shower of sparks. The fire had spread to the rafters and the walls as it devoured the ancient wood at an alarming speed and churning out thick black smoke.
As the cloud of sparks from the carriage settled, the lesion emerged, rippling like a pink fire.
She knew what she needed to do, and there was no time to wring her hands over it. She had to get out of here—not just the building, but out of the magical world.
Hazel gritted her teeth, pulled Clancy close to her, and sprinted toward the lesion. A not-unpleasant sensation passed over her, like thousands of gently beating wings grazing her body, but it quickly passed.
She stood in the Carriage House. Not the Silverwell Academy version, but the one on Bennett Farms. She realized she still clutched the shard of unicorn horn in her hand, and the material glowed a brilliant white, like m
oonlight. She turned back and watched as the lesion shrank and then disappeared entirely with a gentle pop.
She looked down at the lifeless cat in her arms. No, she corrected herself, pulling him closer and nuzzling his fur, not a cat.
Her suicide king.
Her familiar.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Hazel watched as Tyler struck the last chord on his guitar, letting it ring out to the enthusiastic applause and cheers of those assembled. Hazel had never been to Four Score and Twenty Beers Ago and she surprised to find that, on a Friday night, it was a hubbub of activity. The place was absolutely packed, with every table, chair, and stool filled.
Tyler joined Hazel at her table—an old repurposed apple cart— and she slid his drink to him. He had certainly earned it, and then some. Over the last week, they had scoured the farm, tracking down the remaining lesions and using the unicorn horn to close them. But she had hardly felt any joy in the victory, or, if she was being honest, at anything. The loss of Clancy had hit her harder than she could have ever anticipated. Sure he had been a surly teacher and terrible companion, but she had grown to love him nonetheless.
“What did you think?” Tyler asked.
“You can now count me amongst your groupies,” she said. “It was great.”
He smiled and reached out, placing his hand on top of hers. She welcomed the gesture.
A familiar figure appeared in the doorway. “Hazel!” Charlie shouted. Hazel was surprised to see that Nancy wasn’t by her side. The two had been inseparable since they’d started dating and to see Charlie here on a Friday night without her bae was incongruous.
“You guys have room on this cart for a third wheel?”
“Absolutely,” said Tyler. “Take my seat. Let me get you a drink, Char.”
Charlie smiled. “Make it a double of something that stings on the way down.”
Charlie settled into the seat and sighed deeply. Though she had been back to work for a few days now, she still looked haggard—with darkish circles beneath her eyes and slump in her shoulders.
“How are you feeling?” asked Hazel.
Charlie shrugged. “Better.”
“You’re a horrible liar.” She said. Hazel felt endlessly guilty about her friend’s protracted illness. Even as they spoke, somewhere in the magical world, Charlie’s riven self was doing god only knows what, though Hazel liked to think she was sitting in the sunroom of Harmony House watching Cass deal cards.
“It’s not just that. It was a bit of day at work. Apparently Bretta’s Half-Baked Kickstarter was a resounding success. She’s decided to close the bakery and go into business full time. She wants to make me a partner.”
“Are you going to go for it?”
“No way, no how,” said Charlie. “I didn’t become a baker to get rich, and I’m not going to sell my standards out for a few quick bucks.”
“So what are you going to do?” She loved having her best friend just a short walk away, and the prospect of Bennett Farms without Charlie wasn’t an idea she wanted to entertain.
“Well,” said Charlie cautiously. “She’s offered to sell me the Doughn’t Even Bakery . . .”
“What?!” Hazel sat up. “And you’re going to say yes, right?”
“I’m not so sure,” she said. “It’s a lot of money...”
“I could help!”
“No handouts,” said Charlie. “Even if I wanted to do this, and I’m not sure I do, I’d want to be able to stand on my own two feet. Do it proper. Bank loans. Proper bank loans. Though you’re a national treasure for even suggesting it.” She slumped a little deeper into her chair. “Besides, I’m not sure if I’m up for being in charge of anything.”
“Are you kidding me?” said Hazel. “You were made for this.”
“I don’t know.”
A silence passed between them.
“Where’s Nancy?” Hazel asked cautiously.
Charlie looked away and then shrugged. “I sent her off to that great art gallery in the sky.”
“Charlie . . . that means you murdered her.”
“What!” Charlie blurted, her eyes widening. “Oh! No! I just broke up with her. She’s alive. I mean I’m pretty sure she’s dead on the inside, but she’s alive everywhere else. Biologically speaking.”
A wave of guilt washed over Hazel. She couldn’t help but feel this had something to do with her very serious miscalculation about Nancy’s character. “I’m really sorry, Charlie,” she said. “I was going on a hunch and—”
Charlie swatted the air, waving away both the apology and the cloud of no-see-ums bouncing in the summer air.
“Are you going to be okay?” Hazel asked.
“Yeah,” said Charlie. “Are you okay? Clancy must have cared a lot for you to sacrifice himself like that.”
The words had been meant as a comfort, but they wounded Hazel deeper than any weapon could have. Not because they were cruel, but because they made her feel cruel. She’d never known that Clancy had harbored any affection for her. At best, she’d assumed he’d been there to fulfill his duties, but he had sacrificed himself entirely for her.
Tyler reappeared with a glass filled with whiskey on ice. “I went for the hardest of stuff,” he said, swirling the contents. “And the finest of stemware.”
“You have chosen wisely, my son,” said Charlie sagely, accepting the glass like she was being handed a holy relic and taking a thirsty swig.
Hazel looked back and forth between Tyler and Charlie, and basked in their companionship. She hadn’t fully appreciated the value of a good partnership before now, and she could see that she had spent too much time hogging the limelight. It would take time to fully shed her Hollywood habits, but she was working on it, and she would get there.
The hours passed like minutes. As the trio emptied cups and cleared plates of appetizers. At last closing time came, and the trio stumbled out in the warm July night.
“Maybe I’ll call it The Four and Twenty Blackbird Café,” said Charlie, almost tripping her own feet.
“No good,” Tyler said. “Too close to Four Score and Twenty Beers.”
“Dang. Back to the drawing board.” Charlie suddenly stopped, her breath catching in her throat. “Oh god,” she whispered hoarsely. “Is that a mouse?”
Hazel followed her gaze across the courtyard and watched as a rodent scurried into the path of the floodlight shining down from above Four Score.
“Don’t look now, Charlie, but it’s coming this way,” said Tyler.
“Is it rabid?” squealed Charlie, using Tyler as a human shield. “Tell me it’s not rabid.”
Hazel felt something, a telltale pins-and-needles creeping across her skin. And for a moment—a quick flash—she saw herself standing in the courtyard beside Charlie and Tyler, from the ground up.
Tyler stepped forward to meet the advancing rodent and raised his boot as if to stomp on the poor creature.
“Tyler, no!” Hazel yelled, jumping up and grabbing his wrist.
“First off,” she said. “Never kill a living creature. Second—” She lowered her hand to ground level, palm open, and the mouse scurried over her fingers and nestled there.
“Hazel, no!” Charlie said. “I’m pretty sure that’s how the Black Plague started!”
Hazel laughed. She couldn’t help it. It came unexpected and unbidden, that was equal parts joy and relief, and maybe just a little bit at the absurdity of the small creature cradled in her palm.
A voice drifted into her head, like lake water rippling against a stony shore. If you keep laughing, it said, I swear I’ll poop in your hand.
She laughed harder, both for that caustic comment and the affection she knew was masked behind the humor—perfectly familiar regardless of the form it took.
“Clancy!” she exclaimed, her vision blurring with tears.
I told you I was no cat.
NOTES FROM THE FARM
I hope you enjoyed your time with Hazel, Charlie, Tyler, and the rest of t
he lovers, laborers, and loiterers on Bennett Farms. There are twelve books planned for the Farm to Fable Paranormal Cozy Mystery series, each of them packed with the same sort of action, mystery, and humor you found in A Familiar Sense of Dead. What’s next? What’s up with that weird red light that Alex was sent to investigate? Will the Postern forever be destroyed? Is there a unicorn just prancing around Bennett Farms now? All of these will be answered in good time.
PREORDER BOOK 3
Book 3, Scrying Over Spelled Milk is coming in February 2020. You can preorder your copy today to ensure the next mystery on Bennett Farms shows up on your Kindle on day one!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
They say it takes a village to get things done, but I somehow got by with a ragtag team of superdedicated and supertalented individuals. First and foremost, I want to thank my spouse whose endless and unwavering support, keen editorial eye, and spot-on feedback made this book so much better than it would have otherwise been. I owe a lot to Gemma Thorne, who has designed my gorgeous covers and walked me through the publications process in painstaking detail, answering my thousand-and-one questions. Endless thanks are in order for my two beta readers, my brother Devin and my friend Meg, both of whom turned this thing around in record time and pointed out typos and errors that just defied human logic. And last, but not least, to my readers and my three children, who make this whole endeavor worthwhile. The magic of writing, like the magic of Bennett Farms, was meant to be shared.
CONNECT WITH ME
There’s a slew of ways to get in touch with me and stay current on updates. Pick the one (or ones) you prefer. And never hesitate to reach out. I love hearing from readers!
Subscribe to my newsletter to stay in the know
(and to get free access to the Homespun Psychic Cozy Mystery series)
Like my Facebook page.
