Witchy Hexations (Witchy Fingers Book 2)

by Nic Saint

  “I promise,” I said. “What about Chazz Falcone and the others?”

  “What about them?”

  “Are they also part of the deal?”

  He sighed. “If you insist.”

  “I do,” I said, relief flooding me. We’d put those people in this position, so we had to get them out of it. In fact I felt so grateful that I tapped Sam on the shoulder, and when he turned I quickly pecked a kiss on his cheek.

  He rubbed his cheek curiously. “What was that for?”

  I shrugged. “Just to say thank you,” I said a little shyly, and he grinned, twin dimples appearing on his cheeks. My heart gave a sudden lurch, and I knew I was in big trouble, and this time it wasn’t the ‘going to prison’ kind.

  Chapter 25

  As we walked through the precinct, dozens of men and women in blue stared back at us, and I thought I could sense fear in the air. It pained me.

  “Is it just my imagination or do they look scared?” whispered Estrella.

  “They do look scared,” confirmed Ernestine, awed by the spectacle of all these hulking manly men and strong women looking at us as if we were Hannibal Lecter’s nieces. While all we did was try to crush the president with one of Chazz Falcone’s buildings, and turn one of their own into a giant toad.

  “First things first,” grunted Sam, as he took us into a conference room.

  Chazz, Johnny, Jerry and Skip, meanwhile, were escorted out of the building and I waved goodbye to them. Apparently, they were free to go, while we weren’t. We weren’t prisoners anymore, but we weren’t exactly free to go where we wanted either. And when I asked Sam, he confirmed my suspicions. “You’ve been released into my custody,” he told us briefly.

  “Which means…” said Estrella, who rarely watched cop shows. She was more into Project Runway and The Kardashians, and the term ‘released into my custody’ probably wasn’t very popular on those kinds of shows.

  “It means that from now on I’m responsible for the three of you. If you so much as make one wrong move, I’ll haul your asses back to prison.”

  “Haul our asses,” repeated Estrella with a grin. “That sounds like fun.”

  “Trust me, it won’t be fun,” he said, giving her his best ‘Don’t mess with me, young lady—I might look like your friendly neighborhood cop now but you should see the size of my gun’ look.

  We stepped into the conference room and found ourselves face to face with an old friend, or should I say an old enemy? In the corner of the room a fat toad sat, looking rather grim, I thought.

  “Oh, look, you guys,” I said, “it’s Terry Hodge.”

  “Hello, Terry!” my sisters sang in unison, but all Terry did was croak.

  Sam, who didn’t think this was funny, grunted, “Fix this. Now!”

  We stared at one another. “The thing is…” I began.

  “No excuses. You will turn this… toad back into a man. Now hop to it,” he said, quite appropriately, I thought.

  “Did you do this, Edie?” asked Ernestine, staring at the big toad.

  “I just wanted to put him to sleep. But something must have gone wrong.”

  “I’ll say,” said Estrella, approaching the toad hesitantly.

  I’d never seen a toad quite this big. He looked like a Terminator toad, and judging from the expression on his face he was feeling in a Terminator mood.

  “So how do we turn him back?” I asked my sisters, but they both shrugged, obviously at a complete loss, just like me. “I used the Soporificio spell. And this is what came out.”

  “Are you sure you pronounced it right?” asked Estrella. “I once used the Soporificio spell on Gran and she turned into a beetle. Something about the right pronunciation.”

  We stared at her. “You used magic on Gran? Why?” asked Ernestine.

  “Did it even work?” I asked.

  “I wanted to go out,” she said, “so I figured I’d try to make her go to sleep. And no, it didn’t work. Or at least only for a spell.” She grinned at the pun. “She instantly turned back into herself and grounded me for a week.”

  “Did she tell you why it didn’t work?” Ernestine wanted to know.

  “Like I said, it’s got something to do with the pronunciation—or the intention.” She shrugged. “I’m hopeless with this stuff, you guys.”

  Well, we all were. That was exactly the point. “How did Gran undo it?”

  Estrella thought hard, judging from the thought wrinkles that appeared on her brow. She usually tried to avoid them, as she had this horrible fear of premature aging. “I think she reversed the spell? Does that make sense?”

  I stared at her. “Reverse the spell?”

  “She said it backward.”

  We shared a look, then shrugged. “It’s worth a shot,” Ernestine said.

  She was right. It wasn’t as if we could make matters worse. Or could we?

  The three of us raised our hands, making a pinching gesture with thumb, index and middle finger like Gran had taught us, and soon tiny sparks were flying from the tips our fingers, and then joined into a golden stream of light, directed straight at the giant toad, who hunkered down in the corner, seemingly afraid we might do even more damage than we’d already done.

  And then we bellowed, “Oicifiropos!” fully intending to turn this Frog Prince back into a human being.

  And before our very eyes the toad started shrinking, and then, with a loud pop, disappeared from view entirely, leaving nothing but a large wet spot where he’d crouched on the floor.

  “Where the hell is he?!” cried Sam, moving over to examine the spot. He directed a wild-eyed look at the three of us. “What did you do to him?!”

  For all I knew Officer Hodge was now hopping around the White House Rose Garden, as that seemed to be our new favorite destination to send stuff to, but then a loud croak alerted us to another presence in the room, and when we turned we saw Terry Hodge staring malevolently at us. He was now perched on the table, where apparently the power of our spell had deposited him. He was still crouched in the same posture as his toad-like alter ego, and when he opened his mouth to speak, another loud croak came out.

  “Uh-oh,” I muttered. This didn’t look good.

  “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” said Ernestine, pushing her glasses up her nose.

  “He just needs some adjusting,” added Estrella, not sounding convinced.

  Sam stared at his colleague, seemingly unsure whether to approach him or to take another step back, as the full force of the man’s scowl hit him.

  But then Officer Hodge jumped down from the table, stretched himself, and cried, “Damn, that was the weirdest experience of my entire life!”

  We all laughed, except Terry, who’d probably never laughed in his life.

  And when he approached me menacingly, then halted, as if remembering I was the one who’d turned him into a toad and could probably do it again, he growled, “Put them back in the slammer, Sam. And throw away the key this time.” He pointed a finger at me. “You’re gonna pay for this!”

  “Um, there’s been a slight change of plans, Terry,” said Sam now, and as he explained the new reality, where we were walking free in exchange for our help in one of Sam’s cases, Terry didn’t look happy. Not very happy at all.

  Just to be on the safe side, we quickly sidled to the door and then out, putting as much distance between ourselves and Terry Hodge as possible. I’d never seen a man project so much anger and rage with a single glance as this policeman, and something told me he wouldn’t respond to Sam’s meddling too well, even if the president himself had greenlit this outrageous scheme.

  Chapter 26

  As we waited outside, I took a deep breath of fresh air, or at least as fresh as the air ever gets in New York City. “Wow, that was some experience, you guys,” I said, yawning cavernously as the tension finally dropped away.

  “We have to be a lot more careful in the future,” said Ernestine.

  “Yeah, this could have ended a lot worse,�
� Estrella chimed in.

  “Uh-oh,” I said, pointing at a mass of reporters waiting at another entrance to the precinct. They’d spotted us and were now making their way over to where we stood, anxiously waving cameras and shouting questions.

  Estrella was the only one who seemed to like all this attention, for she preened and smiled broadly, like a genuine superstar. But then Ernestine and I grabbed her arms, and pulled her back into the relative safety of the police station, where I was sure the media people wouldn’t dare to follow us.

  “It seems we’re world famous now,” I said once the doors were closed.

  Sam, who’d apparently managed to assuage his colleague’s wounded soul, came walking up to us, and growled, “What did I tell you about not leaving my side for even one second?”

  “Sorry, Sam,” we said dutifully.

  “Come,” he said, making his way to the elevator. “We’re getting out of here.”

  Sweet words, I thought. In fact the sweetest I’d heard in quite a while. Sam took us to the car park beneath the precinct, and moments later we were riding in his squad car for the second time that day, his partner Pierre Farrier at the wheel. The kindly policeman glanced back at us, and said, deadpan, “Please don’t make me disappear.”

  “We won’t!” we promised him with a smile.

  “Yeah, no more disappearing,” grunted Sam with a menacing look at us. “From now on you’re going to be on your best behavior, all right?”

  “We will, Sam,” we said in unison, and suddenly I felt like a teenager again, on a school trip, the teacher riding shotgun while the bus driver sang silly songs. I grinned at my two sisters, and asked, “Remember that time we went to the zoo?”

  They both nodded. “Strel locked Walden Claymore up in the tarantula display,” Ernestine remembered.

  “I didn’t mean to,” said Estrella defensively. “I just wanted to get back at him for pulling my pigtails. Actually I wanted to make his pants drop.”

  “He never pulled your pigtails again,” I said, remembering vividly how Walden Claymore had been covered with tarantulas, standing perfectly still, white as a sheet, until the zookeeper had saved him from his predicament.

  Sam was eyeing us suspiciously, and I didn’t blame him.

  “So tell us about this murder case,” I said, changing the subject.

  The police detective nodded, draping an arm over the seat and addressing us as Pierre expertly drove the car, heading to the airport. “We found the third victim this morning. Sofya Craib. A PR intern from Queens.”

  He took out his phone and showed us some pictures of the victim.

  “She looks like a mummy!” gasped Estrella, who hated horror movies.

  I stared at the pictures intently. “She looks… old. Extremely old.”

  “She was twenty-four,” Sam said, directing a knowing look at us.

  We all gasped in shock and horror.

  “Are you sure she died recently?” Ernestine asked.

  “Yeah,” I chimed in. “She looks like she died a long time ago.”

  “Thousands of years,” said Estrella in a low voice, staring at the phone.

  “Results got back from the lab an hour ago. She died yesterday, though the cause of death is not clear. And even the time of death is hard to pinpoint, because of the state of the body.”

  “So how do you know she died yesterday?” I asked.

  “She was seen leaving her office yesterday around six. She interned for Carlo Senza’s, one of the big PR companies operating out of Queens. She walked home, as she usually did, since she lived just around the corner, but the super of the building where she lived never saw her arrive, and neither did her friend whom she’d arranged to meet for drinks.” He checked his notebook. “She disappeared somewhere between the time she left work, at six, and seven thirty, when she was supposed to meet her friend. We canvassed the area and nobody saw her. Vanished without a trace.”

  “What about CCTV cameras?” asked Ernestine.

  Sam nodded. “We got her on camera at least part of the way, but the last couple of blocks aren’t covered by any cameras, nor was her building.”

  I stared at the pictures some more. They gave me a very bad feeling, and not just because this was a woman who’d been murdered. There was something else going on here. I could feel it. And if I wasn’t mistaken, this had something to do with magic and witchcraft.

  My sisters seemed to agree, for they cast an anxious look at me. And when I handed the phone back to Sam, I said, “And you believe that the same perpetrator took Susan Gnash?”

  He nodded. “I do. She disappeared yesterday, and hasn’t been seen since. She was in New York, visiting with a friend.” He tapped his notebook. “In the same area Sofya Craib disappeared. And Jeanette Weaning. And Sidra Selden. All victims of the Mummifier. All disappeared in this part of Queens.”

  The Mummifier. Now I understood where the name came from, and I shivered. What a terrible thing to do to these women. To disfigure them like this.

  “But how is that possible?” asked Ernestine. “She’s the president’s daughter. Isn’t she guarded by the Secret Service twenty-four seven?”

  “She is,” Sam confirmed, “but she’d stepped out for a smoke, apparently. Against her parents’ wishes she’s taken up the habit of smoking. And while she was out smoking she managed to escape the men guarding her.”

  “Oh, God, that’s terrible,” muttered Estrella.

  “First they thought she’d simply run away. She’s sixteen, so they figured maybe she just wanted to have some fun. But when she didn’t respond to her mother’s urgent texts, they became worried, and when it came to their attention this was the area where three other women had disappeared…”

  “They contacted you,” I finished the sentence.

  “Three women in the same area…” said Ernestine, shaking her head.

  “All disappeared in the same neighborhood. All walking home from work or from the metro station. All three found later, looking like mummies.”

  “God, this is so terrible,” said Estrella, wiping away a tear.

  Even though we didn’t know Susan Gnash personally, we had the feeling we did. As the teenage daughter of one of the youngest presidents in US history, we all liked her. She seemed like a perfectly nice young woman, and the fact that someone had snatched her in this area didn’t bode well for her.

  “Have you searched the neighborhood?” I asked.

  “Of course,” Sam said. “Multiple times. With several teams.”

  I frowned. The more I thought about this, the more I felt that this wasn’t simply a random serial killer. This was more than likely a manifestation of the forces of darkness that lurk beneath the surface of our ordinary world. I didn’t tell Sam that, of course, for he’d never believe me, nor did it matter.

  We simply had to find Susan Gnash before it was too late.

  Before the Mummifier turned her into another one of his mummies.

  Chapter 27

  The flight from New York to Washington passed uneventfully. On the tarmac Sam kept darting anxious glances in our direction, fully expecting us to make the private jet disappear, but we were true to our word: we didn’t even point a finger at the harmless little plane. During the flight, Pierre kept engaging us in conversation, trying to get us to spill the beans on some of our tricks of the trade—he clearly hadn’t bought into the story that we were witches and was quite sure we were simply the female counterparts of the David Copperfields and David Blaines of this world.

  We, of course, told him that a true magician never reveals her secrets, which he took in his stride, muttering something about us being spoilsports.

  Sam, meanwhile, tightly held onto his tumbler of Scotch as if afraid we might turn it into orange juice when he wasn’t looking. And then we landed in Washington and an actual motorcade escorted us to the White House.

  The sight that met our eyes was an impressive one: right there, in front of the most famous building in the worl
d, stood that large and imposing Falcone Tower. Like a gigantic upended blimp haphazardly parked in the wrong place. It was almost as if we’d suddenly landed ourselves a part on Independence Day 3, and Falcone Tower was the spaceship that was trying to colonize our planet this time. Only the colonizer was Chazz Falcone, and since that man was now probably licking his wounds in his Happy Bays mansion, there wasn’t a lot of menace emanating from the concrete structure anymore.

  “So…” said Sam once we’d exited the armored limo. “Now it’s up to you. Put Falcone Tower back and let’s get to work trying to find Susan Gnash.”

  I nodded, and stared up at the impressive tower. How the heck were we going to accomplish this extraordinary feat?

  “You guys,” whispered Estrella, like me now very coy about exposing ourselves as witches before Sam and Pierre and the dozen members of the Secret Service who’d picked us up from the airport in their fancy motorcade. “Why don’t we apply the same principle we applied to Officer Toad?”

  “I don’t think his name was Officer Toad,” I muttered.

  “Whatever,” she said with a wave of the hand. “The same principle applies.”

  “What principle?” asked Ernestine, also staring up at the tower and gaping, which didn’t add to her appeal. But then we were all gaping, I guess, and probably looking all sorts of silly. And since there were several camera crews parked nearby, filming all of our movements, I knew that we were going to look our worst on national television tonight.

  “We simply repeat the same spell we used to park this thing here but reverse it!” Estrella exclaimed happily. “That should do the trick, right?”

  “I guess so,” agreed Ernestine, that thought wrinkle firmly in place again, her finger stroking her chin ponderously. “But what if it doesn’t? What if it falls over and drops on the White House, crushing everyone inside?”