by Amy Boyles
"Sure," I said. I walked stiffly from the room, fighting every urge I had to turn back and see if Roman was still there, and if he was still looking at me.
Outside, the sunlight faded. The moon glowed on the horizon, and a soft breeze filled the summer night, taking with it some of the Alabama humidity that I hated.
"So," Sera said to Stormy. "Sounds like you've experienced the twins’ abilities at gossip for yourself."
Stormy crimped her lips shut. She raised her hand, and an electronic cigarette appeared. She brought it to her mouth and puffed. A thin trail of smoke wafted from the end of the plastic contraption. "I've known Sumi and Loretta for years. Like most witches, first opportunity they get, they'll tell your deepest secrets."
"They seem nice enough," I said. "Though a bit nosy."
Stormy took a deep puff. "They wouldn't hurt anyone, if that's what you mean. I'm not trying to give you the wrong impression—they're not malevolent, just trying to make a buck off other people's secrets."
"Sounds a bit evil to me if you're trying to make money off someone else's misery," Sera said. "So they made money off one of yours, I take it?"
Stormy exhaled a thin line of smoke. "They did. I used to own a company that made swaddlers for babies. They were magical swaddlers, of course—they helped infants sleep better. A few years ago a couple of parents claimed one of them made their baby fly. The twins got wind of the story, and the next day it was all over the witching world."
"That's terrible," I said. "Was the baby all right?"
Stormy nodded. "Turned out the parents lied to earn a few bucks from me."
"Sorry," I said. "Of course, it's not like we have anything to tell," I said. "We're boring. I mean, we only recently discovered that we're witches."
Stormy flashed me a look so dark chills ran down my spine. "Hon, everyone's got something to hide." She clicked off the vapor puff. "Everyone."
"Reid! Dylan! Sera!" I glanced back at the house. Grandma stood on the front porch, waving at us as if she was directing our landing onto the tarmac. "Dinner's starting."
"Dinner?" I asked.
Stormy shrugged. "It's a witch's conference. There's a keynote speaker and everything."
"Great, ’cause I'm starved," Reid said. "Since our dinner was interrupted by that army of mosquitoes and all."
"Yeah," I said. "Don't remind me."
We made our way back. As we entered the house, I saw Roman standing by the door. My heart vaulted into my throat. Sera and Reid said hello to him. I nodded.
"Dylan," he said.
Energy pulsed in my body at the sound of my name on his lips. I stopped but motioned for the others to go on ahead. Sera quirked an eyebrow in my direction, but I ignored it.
I crossed my arms over my chest and took a good step back. I didn't want to be near enough where he could touch me. After all, he'd betrayed my trust by slipping a tape recorder into my purse during our first kiss.
That's right. When he kissed me. When his lips touched mine. When his rock-hard arms wrapped around my shoulders. When my chest pressed against his solid form. When his lips smothered my mouth. When I forgot even my own name.
Why was I angry at him again?
"Yes?" I said. "What's so important that the new detective in town needs to be here? At a friendly gathering of witches?"
He edged forward, his star-quarterback physique looking to be in excellent shape. I swallowed. "That's just it," he said in that husky voice of his. "It's not a friendly gathering."
"It isn't?"
He whisked his sunglasses from his face. His green eyes sparkled with concern. "No. There's nothing friendly about it. I'm here to warn you, darlin'. There's trouble coming."
THREE
"What makes you say that?" I asked. "Did the police department get some sort of intelligence from Em?"
He shook his head. Beach-blond hair that looked as if Roman had spent all summer basking in the sun brushed the tops of his shoulders. "Watch and wait."
I cocked my chin. "Watch and wait? Is that some new brand of intelligence I'm unaware of?"
He raked a hand through his hair. "When witches get together, bad things happen."
"You are so down on witches all the time," I hissed. "If you despise us so much, why don't you leave us alone? Why don't you go back to assassin-ing or whatever it is you do best, and leave Silver Springs?"
An amused smile painted his lips. Lips that I once kissed. Lips that I would, in fact, not mind kissing at the moment. I clenched my fists. I did not need to think about Roman Bane in a kissy manner.
"Can't leave," he said. "As you said, I'm the new detective. It's my job to stay here and help."
"Don't you mean butt into things that don't concern you?"
He winced. My heart clenched. I hadn't meant to hurt his feelings. "You concern me, Dylan."
"You should have thought about that before you planted that tape recorder in my purse."
He scrubbed a hand down his face. "We've been over this. You wouldn't have taken it if I'd offered it to you."
"You betrayed me with that kiss!"
"I didn't. You misunderstood."
I rose up on my tiptoes and got into his face best I could for a man of six-two—and I'm only five-five. "I did not misunderstand. You used that kiss—"
"What in the Sam Hill is going on in here? Where's the food? I'm starved."
My other grandmother, Milly Jones, filled the entrance of the house. Her hand clutched a knotted cane, her gnarled nose dipped down toward her chin, and on her shoulder sat—a wooden parrot?
I peered closer. Yes indeed. The wooden parrot that normally resided in a cage in her living room now perched on her right shoulder. Milly looked like a pirate sailing the high seas.
"Like I said, where's the food? I'm starved."
"Starved," squawked the parrot.
I cringed. The creature might have been made of wood, but it still talked…or squawked—however you wanted to describe it. Either way, it was totally annoying. Not to mention eerie since the parrot wasn't alive. Never had been. Never would be.
I shot Roman a dark look and headed over to Milly. "So good to see you're in high spirits today."
"High?" she snorted. "You must be thinking of your other grandmother, the one who's delusional."
"Yes, and you don't have a talking parrot on your shoulder."
She caned toward the dining room. "It's a conversation piece. You ever been in a roomful of witches? It ain't fun, toots. Now where are the old hags?"
"Right this way." I led her into the dining room. It was about the same size as the ballroom, with dark oaken walls, a parquet floor and a ginormous crystal chandelier in the center. A lectern stood at the front of the room, and round tables filled with gabbing witches encompassed every other square inch of space.
An older woman carrying a woven basket approached us. Her bright orange dress matched the color of her hair, minus the white stripe running at the root line. I grimaced. You'd think she could have fixed her dye job before coming to the soiree. She was a witch, after all. Not that I was judging. Because I was not.
Okay, I was. Guess that made me a bad person.
Anyway, her saucer-sized blue eyes shone wet, as if they'd been dunked in water. "You ladies need a potion for dinner?" she asked. Not only was her voice hurried, but the timbre sounded like a piece of meat grating over broken rocks. Not so pleasant. "I've got one here that'll make the entire meal taste like a five-star feast at a French restaurant." The woman gestured with her hand as if she were displaying her wares for an emperor at court.
Milly huffed. "I don't need a potion for my meal, Jean. The chef here at Balmore makes wonderful food."
Jean opened the lid of the basket and picked through a collection of glass vials. They tinkled and clinked as she riffled through them. "Then how about one for indigestion? I've got something for that."
Milly lifted her cane and slid the woman out of the way. "When I need a potion for what ails me, I'll
make it myself. I don't want to end up turning into a bat."
Jean slammed the lid and clutched the basket in a stranglehold against her body. “Bah. I'll have you know, I have never, ever turned anyone into a bat, Milly Jones."
Milly arched an infinitely high eyebrow. "Really?"
Jean sniffed. "Really. That was just a rumor spread by those awful twins."
"Just to sell a few newspapers, I suppose?" Milly said.
"Would you put it past them to spread lies? I wouldn't, and don't," she said with a severe nod of the head.
From across the room, Sera waved us down. "It's been great catching up, Jean. Try not to turn anyone into a slug," Milly said. She dragged me toward the table as Jean's face billowed into an angry red cloud.
I leaned over. "What was that about?"
Milly caned us at a snail's pace through the spattering of tables. "Oh, Jean Noir. Old biddy once sold a witch a love potion that turned her into a bat. Those tabloid Umi sisters found out and smeared it all over their papers. Jean had to go into hiding for a while after that." She paused to take a breath. "Said it ruined her business, but if you ask me, Jean ruined it herself."
"If a witch became a bat because of her, I'd have to agree," I said.
"Agree," squawked Polly, or whatever the bird's name was.
Warmth rushed over my cheeks as women craned their necks to see our little group of two women and wooden parrot. I scurried across the floor with Milly waddling beside me.
My gaze rested on the two twins, Loretta and Sumi. They sat at our table along with another woman I hadn't met before, as well as Sera, Reid and Grandma. That left me and Milly—and of course the parrot, if you counted inanimate objects that occasionally came to life.
"I'm Margaret Duncan," said the woman I didn't know. She extended a hand, and I gave it a gentle shake. "I'm Sumi and Loretta's aunt."
"Nice to meet you."
Margaret pushed her bifocal glasses up the bridge of her nose. She was older, perhaps late fifties, with her light brown hair swept up and tucked in place with silver combs. Her unblemished skin radiated as if she took milk baths every day. "The pleasure's all mine. Many years ago I was acquainted with your parents."
I raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
She nodded. "Yes, such lovely people. It was terrible about the accident." Margaret shook her head in sympathy. "They were good stock, as we say."
"Thank you," I said.
When I was ten, my parents were killed in a car crash. There were rumors, but only rumors as far as I was concerned, that my parents' deaths weren't accidental. According to Roman, there was and still is a magic-stealing crime ring in the witch world. At the time of their deaths, my parents were supposedly working undercover for the witch police. They had told my grandmother that they'd discovered something big related to magic stealing. Next thing we knew, they were dead.
But once again, there was no proof that their deaths were anything but accidental.
Milly took a seat, leaving a single vacant chair between the Umi sisters. My stomach flopped, unsure of what I was about to be pinned between.
"We're so glad you could make it," said Loretta in a voice filled with exuberance and sickly sweet niceness. "We were getting worried about you."
I winked at her. "No need to worry about me." I slipped into the empty seat between them.
"I don't know about that," Sera said, picking up what looked like a newspaper from her plate. She unfolded it. It was a copy of The Witching Eye, which I presumed to be the twins' newspaper. I scanned the headline.
APEL SISTER FAKES MOSQUITO ATTACK FOR ATTENTION
The hackles reared on my backside. I was ready to pounce. "What's this?"
"The Umi twins strike again," Milly mumbled from across the table.
They gave her a plastic smile and turned to me.
"It's our newest edition," Loretta said proudly. She pointed to my plate. "You've got a copy."
The thin paper looked like little more than a flyer, only it had the entire—and when I say entire, I mean the entire story of what happened at our house only hours earlier, with a few exceptions. Like, "I didn't call the mosquitoes for attention. I was trying to get rid of them. Calling them to us was an accident."
Loretta gave me a sly smile. "Well, that's not what we heard."
"Who'd you hear that from? I know Reid mentioned the incident to you." I glanced around the table and noticed Grandma looking up at the ceiling and whistling. It was like a bad cartoon where the suspect is trying not to appear guilty. "Grandma, what did you tell them?"
She touched a delicate hand to her chest. "Who, moi? I didn't tell anyone anything. Especially not about the calamitous events where you nearly got us swallowed by a giant mosquito."
"What? There wasn't one giant mosquito."
Loretta tapped the paper. "There is now."
I scanned the article and saw that sure enough, the swarm had become one giant, bloodsucking insect intent on destroying my family. Of course, the whole thing had been a hoax according to what was written. I rubbed my eyes and groaned. "Great. Now I'm really toast. Once the council finds out, I'll be boiled alive for sure."
Sumi patted my hand. "Now, now, dear. This story is only for the guests here. Don't worry; the council won't find out anything about this."
Loretta lifted a finger to her lips. "Not one word. You have our promise."
I smirked. "I'm sure that's worth something."
"Like a nickel," Reid added.
"Right. About that. So everyone has a copy of this? Or just us?"
"Oh, everyone," Sumi assured me. "They all know what a powerful witch you are."
Or a stupid one. "But they all think I faked it. It wasn't fake, for the record. We were attacked." Great, now all the witches here would hate me. They'd think I was some sort of attention-seeking pseudo-celebrity. Awesome-sauce.
Loretta rested a hand on my shoulder. "Of course you were attacked."
Now I realized why no one wanted to sit between the evil Bobbsey twins. It was like being pinned between two vampires who wanted to drain the life from you.
"Are you okay?" Loretta cooed. "Did that man upset you? We were so worried. We didn't know if you were in trouble with him."
Now why would a man upset me when I had these two doing a perfectly fine job? "What?" I asked, confused.
"That man outside the room. The tall one. I saw you talking to him before you sat down."
Oh, they meant Roman. "He didn't upset me," I said stiffly.
Sumi elbowed my arm. "Yes, he's so good-looking. You must have had a great time under the sheets."
I did a double take. Did she say what I think she said?
"Dylan doesn't have coitus with anyone," Grandma said.
"Grandma," I yelled, trying to stop all further conversation in that vein.
Grandma ignored me. "She hasn't slept with a man since one little jerk betrayed her in high school."
"Okay, I think that's quite enough."
Loretta pulled out a pad of paper. "No. Keep going. This is the sort of thing our readers want to know about. They want to feel a connection with other witches. They want to feel like they're a part of their lives."
"Yes, tell us more," Sumi said.
Grandma polished her fork with an ivory-colored cloth napkin. "The boy's name was Colton Blacklock. It's a simple story. Dylan gave him her, um, heart, among other things, and then like plenty of teenage boys, he up and dumped her."
"That's so tragic," Sumi said. She propped her chin on the pocket of her palm, a wistful look in her eyes. "So sad. Young love is something readers adore, though. They want to root for the guy and gal to have a happy ending. They want to cheer when things are good and cry when they're bad. That's what they do."
"And we help them," Loretta said. "Our little paper circulates to over half the witches in this country."
Sumi touched my arm. I shrank back. "Young love is so sad. Did you ever make amends with the boy?"
"No," Grandma sa
id. "She never did, and hasn't dated anyone since. Which is why I don't think any man would want to have a part of what Dylan's got to offer. Her girl parts are all covered up with cobwebs," Grandma said.
I banged my knife against the table. "Okay, stop it." Blank stares all around. "Now. Can we please have a nice dinner that has nothing to do with gossip?"
Sumi gave me a warm smile. She reminded me of a piranha, waiting for her moment to take a chunk out of me. "I know you probably think all we want is gossip, but that's not the case. These are stories our readers live for. They want to know that the celebrities in our world are human."
"Celebrities?" Sera said. "I'm a baker; Dylan's a dressmaker. We're hardly celebrities."
"Au contraire," Loretta said. "You evaded a very public hunt by a witch. Everyone here knows about you, and everyone wants to be your friend."
"I don't need any more friends," I said. "I'm good."
"I agree," Milly said. "Witch friends aren't the best type to have. Betray you in an instant with a piece of gossip, as far as I'm concerned."
Margaret Duncan cleared her throat. "Girls, perhaps you should give the Apel sisters some time to adjust to their new lives before seeking an interview. Let the mosquito story gain them some notoriety." She locked gazes with me. "Dylan, you think the witches here will despise you for such a tale, but I think they'll see it differently. Just wait."
"You're right, of course, Margaret," Sumi said, folding her napkin. "Sorry to come on a bit strong, but I guess that's what we're used to. You could say it's in our genes."
Loretta leaned into my ear. "Stories are definitely in our genes. It's what we live for. Well, what I live for. It's what I'm best at. Now Sumi's different. She was always the star student, got A's on her report card. She can do anything."
"You don't say," I mumbled.
Em crossed to the lectern. Thank goodness. I needed to focus on something other than the twins and the mess they'd made of my reputation.
"Thank y'all for comin' on such short notice to our little women's summit." Em's eyes twinkled at her own private joke. Balmore House employed lots of workers, so Em had to be careful in her phrasing. She couldn't exactly announce that we were witches.
