by Cat Larson
“Then I’m guessing it’s this other herb since they look the same.” Maybe Sage’s confidence in Violet’s innocence was unwarranted. “What do you know about chicaweed?”
“Nothing, I’m afraid. I’ve never heard of it.” She held up the leaf. “Where did you get this?”
“It was by the ice sculptures,” I said casually. “Something told me to take it.”
She glared at me. “You should not be going over there. You’re going to get in trouble.”
“Can I use your phone to look this up? Violet’s still in the dark ages here.” Didn’t she realize how much easier her life would be, and how much more normal, if she just broke down and bought a computer like the majority of the rest of the world?
“I forgot it at home. What about yours?”
“It’s dead.”
“I gave you a charger. Did you forget to use it?”
“Nope. See for yourself.” I gestured toward my cell plugged into the wall. “Charging since yesterday and still dead as a doorknob.” Her charger had done nothing so far, but it wouldn’t hurt to give it another day and see if something took. “It’s not your charger that’s the problem. It’s my phone.”
Sage frowned, going over to look. It picked that time to ring. Did I mention my haunted cell phone also had a sense of humor?
She gave me a look as if to say Dead, huh?
I smiled in response. “Go ahead. Answer it. It’ll be fun.”
She took the bait. “Hello? Wait, hold on, please.” She extended the phone toward me. “You won some tickets to a bridal show. Do you want them?” Her look was smug, falsely thinking it was a perfectly normal call.
“Ask where it is.”
I hadn’t entered any bridal-related contests. I’d only gotten engaged four days ago, and I’d been a tad busy since then.
“Where is the show located?” Sage asked. She made a face, and I chuckled. “That’s not a real place. No, it’s not. Unless you mean Seattle? Um, Washington. The United States. North America. You know what, never mind. We’ll have to pass. Thank you anyway.” She set the phone down. “It’s in Emerald City.”
“Yeah, I figured it was something like that.”
She retrieved the phone and flipped it over. After messing with it a bit, she frowned. “The phone’s dead.”
“I know. That’s what I’ve been telling you.”
“But…” She glanced back and forth between me and the screen, shaking her head.
“Too bad the show isn’t around here. I wouldn’t mind checking one out.” If for no other reason than to sample cake.
“I’m sure they’re a dime a dozen in Chicago. Speaking of, how’s it going with Griffin?”
“Don’t you mean Fernando?”
“No, I think I know the difference.”
“Apparently not, since we’re talking about bridal shows and I only have one fiancé.”
She plopped down on the couch and inspected her fingernails. “He never got over you, you realize. Not after you left and took his heart with you. I’m referring to Griffin here, in case you were confused.”
“I know who you’re talking about.” I rolled my eyes. “And we were just kids then.”
“Doesn’t matter. He never forgot you. Not even during that year he was engaged and—”
“He was engaged?” I blurted out. My stomach did a little flip. It made zero sense. “To who?” I searched my memory for any woman around our age who he’d be compatible with. Nope. No one came to mind.
“She’s no one you know, and be thankful for that. Moved here several years ago and already left. I think she put a foul taste in the town’s mouth, and it spit her out.”
“Why didn’t they get married?”
“Not sure. He doesn’t talk about it.”
“But I don’t get it. If she was so bad, why would Griffin even be with her in the first place?”
“I dunno. You’d have to ask him that.” She laughed. “Maybe she cast a spell on him.”
My gut twisted further. I knew Sage was only speaking in jest, but what if it was true? How could I assume there weren’t any other witches in the surrounding area? It was ignorant to think we were the only ones. Griffin was a terrific guy, and I couldn’t imagine him getting involved with an unsavory woman unless he wasn’t in his right mind.
That’d be like him marrying Misty. Blech. Oops, I mean, may she rest in peace.
“Why does your face resemble the guacamole we ate yesterday?”
“I think I just need some air.” I fanned my face. “It’s kind of stuffy in here, wouldn’t you agree?”
“No.”
“Well, it is.”
I paced the room while Sage snickered. Yeah, it was a freaking barrel of sea monkeys. I flicked her a look of annoyance, and she responded by laughing harder. My return home had been one glorious revelation after another. What was next?
“Samm. You can’t blame Griffin for moving on. Or at least trying to. In case you forgot, that’s exactly what you did.”
“Of course, I don’t blame him.”
“Then why are you upset?”
“I’m not upset.” To prove my point, I stopped patrolling the grounds. “I’m… it’s complicated.” I twisted a lavender strand around my finger as she watched me through a corkscrew curl that flopped down her forehead.
“Do you remember when we were eight and you found that stray dog?” she asked. “You convinced your parents to keep her as long as you put up lost dog notices and contacted the shelter. They said you could have her as long as no one else claimed her within a week. You were so excited when it got to six days and you were sure the dog was yours.”
“I remember, but what has it got to do with anything?”
“Because when I told you Griffin had been engaged, you had the same look as when the owner showed up to claim his dog.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Am I?” Her lips twitched. Well, wasn’t she just the little cat with all the cream? Whatever. She stood and gave me a quick peck on the cheek. “Gotta run. Call you later.”
The moment Sage left, my cell phone rang again. I ignored it. I didn’t need magazine subscriptions or pizza pies or an Oz wedding or whatever else was coming through the line. The ringing stopped, only to resume while I was comparing the leaf I’d found to the ones in the chicaweed jar. The tone was higher this time as if someone had cranked up the volume.
All right. Geez. It was like a defective smoke detector. I marched over, ready to stomp on it when I noticed the screen was flashing Mom.
Last time she’d called, it had come up unknown. Was she back in the States? And why was she the only “real” person to get through on this phone?
“Mom?”
“Oh, Samm.” She sounded relieved. “I’m so glad I reached you. Any word on your sister?”
“Not yet.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.”
“Where are you?” My guess was still out of the country since the line was choppier than the bangs I’d given myself in first grade.
“Your father’s been working on getting us a flight home early. It’s not easy, well, with the monkeys and all.”
Um, okay. “Why are you leaving early? Is your research done?”
“How can you even ask that? We need to get back for Violet.”
“Violet’s fine, Mom. I told you we had a falling-out and she’s been staying away until it blows over. I’m still in Bigfoot Bay like I promised, so I’ll be here when she returns. You don’t need to rush home.” I debated telling her about Misty, but then she’d for sure rush home. On Pegasus, if needed.
“Sammara Eve Hain!” I pulled the phone from my ear when a bunch of screeching static came through. Either that or she was hissing out expletives. “Just because you refuse to listen to the signs doesn’t mean the rest of the family is as stubborn. There’s been foul play. I can feel it.”
“Foul play?”
“Fortunately, I also feel your sister’s unscath
ed—for now—but something’s not right, and if you’re not going to get to the bottom of it, someone has to.”
Why couldn’t I have been talking to my father instead? “I’m working on it,” I muttered. The old-fashioned way, creeping around crime scenes and asking questions. Not by gazing into teacups and reading cloud shapes.
“Whatever’s going on isn’t your fault, but it is your responsibility. Remember that, Samm.”
“Oh, I’m going to find her. You can count on it.” I pulled the charger from the phone and went into the storage closet. “Since I have you on the line, do you know anything about an herb called chicaweed?” While I waited for her reply, I switched the lids on the two jars.
“Of course. That’s the whole reason we’re in Peru. They call it the marvel leaf.”
“Really?” I perked up. I knew it! Violet was involved in this somehow.
“Yes, why are you asking?”
I scoured her herbal stock, wondering what other secrets the room contained as I grasped at straws just out of my reach. “I don’t know…” There was an empty spot where a jar used to sit before it fell and broke. That happened right after… “Clarisse!” I blurted out. I’d completely forgotten that she’d wandered in here. Could that snobby gold digger be in cahoots with my sister? Or… I shuddered.
“Clarisse?” my mom said.
“Yes, Mr. Jones’s widow. What do you know about her? Is she a witch?”
“A witch? Good heavens, no. You’d know that too if—”
“Let’s not get into that now. What about Clarisse and Violet—are they close?”
“What do you mean by ‘close’?”
“Friends, Mom. Are they friends?”
The ideas were spinning fast and furious. Did Clarisse sneak into the shop the other day to swipe some chicaweed for Violet, who then used it to ice Misty? Was that the “special” order she wanted? I needed to take a deep breath and think it through. Just because I found a nonlocal herb in the tunnel didn’t mean it was used as an ingredient in a freezing spell.
“They hardly have much in common. Seriously, Samm.”
“She stopped in a couple of days ago to pick up an order.”
“Nothing unusual about that. Clarisse suffers from horrendous migraines and gets feverfew from the shop. It’s the only thing that helps her cope. My opinion? She doesn’t belong here, and the town is letting her know it. If she just left, so would her headaches.”
What was it with people thinking Bigfoot Bay was alive or something? The town didn’t care who lived here or not. Wait, did she say feverfew? I was almost positive that was the jar that broke. So, maybe that was the herb she stole, and I was back to square one.
“What can you tell me about this marvel leaf? Is it used in spells?”
“Almost anything can be used in a spell, dear. You’d know that if—”
I sighed. “Okay, Mom. I get it.”
“Then you shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to. And while we’re on the subject, you’d better take extra care since you insist on not protecting yourself properly. It’s a good thing your sister had the common sense to hang mugwort over the door or else things could’ve been much worse.”
No need to mention that I took it all down the other day. I’d gotten fed up with spitting out a mouthful of the nasty-tasting stuff every time I walked in.
“Bigfoot Bay is safe. I don’t think I have to worry about—”
The line went dead.
It took me a whole half of a second to decide what to do next. I ran into the bedroom and scooped up a very fat and very happy Fernando who’d consumed the entire two pints of blueberries. I put him in my purse, threw on my winter gear, and was out the door, sprinting to the public library. I made it there in minutes. Fortunately, Mrs. Booker, the warmhearted, gray-bunned head librarian, remembered me since my card expired ten years back. Unfortunately, they closed early on Sundays. I didn’t have much time. She handed me the password and a key to one of the private computer rooms, and I dove right in.
It felt like I’d entered a sweatbox; I had to peel off half my clothes before I could even begin. If I just allowed myself to back down and get another phone, I wouldn’t be dealing with this right now, but to do so was akin to throwing in the towel. I was determined not to be here long enough to need a new one. I’d take care of that task when I was home in Chicago.
I logged in and searched for chicaweed. Immediately, a picture popped up of a healthy plant with small, fuzzy yellow flowers. I clicked around further and found a dried version. The leaf showed the same golden stripe underneath as the one I’d found.
A medicinal herb found in the Amazon rainforest. Native to Peru. Already knew. Locals call it the marvel leaf due to its almost-supernatural abilities to successfully treat everything from minor skin conditions to depression to late-stage cancer. Knew that too, partly. Scientific name: Banax veriditas. Takes five years to mature. Grows low to the ground. The active constituents isolated… Blah, blah, blah.
I quickly skimmed through data that would’ve excited Sage to no end. It wasn’t as if I didn’t appreciate the wonderment of the so-called miracle plant, but all the technical jargon made my head swim. It was not my thing. I just wanted to get to the good stuff, but what was I expecting to find? A Spellcaster’s Guide to Chicaweed? Funny how I was actively seeking out magical information when only days before, I wouldn’t have touched it with a ten-foot broomstick.
I came across something that read like a medical journal, itemizing all the curative properties when used in low doses but becoming toxic in higher quantities. A classic case of “the dose makes the poison.”
Nothing at all about freezing someone to death. Imagine that.
The knock almost sprung me from my chair. Mrs. Booker cracked open the door and pointed at the clock. Already?
There’s always tomorrow, I thought as I prepared to leave. But just before I exited out, a small block of text caught my eye: Adverse effects intensified by significant levels of carbon dioxide. Local folklore describes instances of combining the leaves with the Cavena fern to induce a catatonic state.
Catatonic state? Throw in some ice and Misty Evans came to mind. While that was the most engrossing thing I’d read so far on chicaweed, it left me more confused than ever.
And I couldn’t escape the feeling that Clarisse was somehow involved. Maybe she and Violet were nothing more than acquaintances. Maybe her wandering into the supply closet was only a case of needing her migraine remedy. Maybe she wasn’t working with my sister or connected with Misty’s death in any way.
But maybe she was. And if that was true, Violet could be hiding out in her mansion. The possibility wasn’t that far-fetched. Clarisse could’ve even picked her up after she’d ditched the car in Caledonia. It was the most rational explanation I had so far.
I left the library and headed back to the shop to get my car. I had to talk to Clarisse and get to the bottom of this, and she lived much too far to walk.
I rounded the corner and spied someone leaning against the front door. A man. But not just any man. He turned his head and stared straight at me. I blew out a puff of air. There was no avoiding him now.
“Care to explain what you were doing this morning at 6:00 a.m.?”
Oh crud.
Chapter Eleven
“Hello to you too, Griffin.”
“Samm…”
“I get it. You’re not very happy with me right now.” That was an understatement. His expression would put Grumpy to shame. I should’ve known Officer Blabbermouth would tell his brother. Like it was any of his concern. We weren’t a couple anymore.
“I asked you not to go there. It’s too dangerous.”
“Yes, but if you think back, I never agreed to it.”
He groaned. “What are you doing?” I thought it was pretty clear. I was using my coat sleeve to brush snow off my windshield. I gave him a look, stating the obvious. “I know what you’re doing, but why are you doing it?
Where’re you going?”
“There’s something I need to do.” I should’ve fired back with, Why were you engaged to a woman not good enough for you?
“And what is that?”
I dug out my car keys. “For a private person, you sure are inquisitive about others. You don’t like to divulge anything about yourself, yet you want to know everything about everyone else? Hardly seems fair.”
His jaw dropped. “What are you talking about?”
Ugh. What was I talking about? I wasn’t acting normal, that much I knew. “Sorry, don’t mind me. I guess I’m not myself right now.” He grabbed the keys from my hand. “Hey!”
“Wherever you’re going, I’ll drive.”
“No, you won’t.”
“You just admitted you’re not yourself.”
“So?”
“So, that means you’re not driving. Get in.”
I almost told him that I’d changed my mind, but I really did want to get this over with sooner rather than later. And it wasn’t the worst idea to have him along for backup, in case Violet wasn’t there and Clarisse tried anything underhanded. There were at least twenty rooms she could’ve locked me in before anyone would even know I was missing.
“Fine,” I said.
Griffin opened the passenger side door, and I slid in. When he got behind the wheel, he tipped his imaginary cap. “Where to, boss?”
“Very funny. I’m going to the late Mr. Jones’s house.”
“What?”
“That monstrosity of a mansion on the outskirts of town.”
“I know where he lived.”
“Then why are you looking at me like I have three eyes, and they’re all crossed?”
“Why in the world do you want to go there?”
“To see Clarisse Jones. She, uh, came into the shop asking about a special order.”
“What’s going on, Samm?”
“I just told you. Now, are you going to drive me or not?”
He responded by shaking his head, but in an ‘I don’t get it’ way rather than a refusal, since he’d pulled out of the spot and was driving in the mansion’s direction. I zoned out the window, taking some much-needed time to work out my plan. I had no clue what I was going to say when I confronted Clarisse, but I was more interested in her houseguest register. Maybe I could get Griffin to distract her while I snuck in.
