Wisteria Warned

by Angela Pepper

  “Don Moore,” she said, fixing her little emerald eyes on him. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

  “I am?” He stared at the transformed woman.

  The reason for Don’s visit to Felix Wonder’s house was forgotten. Not clouded by the damage of the brainweevils this time, but for a positive reason. His mission had been eclipsed by the wonderful surprise of hidden beauty revealed.

  “Shake your head, Don,” Felix said. “Your eyes are stuck.” Felix tapped Don on the back of the head playfully. “And close that mouth. You’re getting drool all over my fine linen tablecloth.”

  It was a joke. Don hadn’t actually been drooling—at least he didn’t think so—and the tablecloth was the plastic kind that bachelors like Felix valued for their ease of cleaning.

  In a formal tone, Felix asked his two visitors, “May I make the official introductions?”

  It was a special question, the type only supernaturals asked others who also used magic. The question was a reveal in and of itself, to the ones who knew, but it was their way. The asker needed to use their best judgment to pose the question in the first place.

  “You may,” Don said. His heart raced with an excitement he hadn’t felt in years. In decades. What a morning for surprises! Bellatrix had come into powers? Was she a flamingo shifter, like her brother, the flamboyant fellow who did something with books, or sock puppets, or both?

  Bellatrix, who was seemingly new at these matters, answered uncertainly. “I, uh, I guess so.” She chewed her lip, then quickly added, “Yes. Of course you may make the official introductions, Uncle Felix.”

  Don sucked his breath between his teeth and waited.

  He had known Bellatrix since she was a teenager. Though Felix was her uncle, he might as well have been a brother. She was only ten years younger than Felix, eleven years younger than Don.

  Not too much younger, Don thought. Not now that she was catching up to him in age. She’d been fifteen when Felix and Don had begun working together.

  Back in those days, Don had been married already. He was monogamous, and so he didn’t have a wandering eye for other women, let alone the knock-kneed niece of his partner. But now? Now things were different. He was pushing seventy, but going on twenty.

  Felix made the introductions, telling first one party about the other’s powers, and then vice versa.

  Both parties responded with respectful curiosity.

  Once Felix had finished, Don clarified, “But remember, Bellatrix, shifters are all the same. Birds, and wolves, and even cats. We’re all of the same line.”

  Felix grinned and hit the table with both hands. “More importantly, we’re not witches!”

  The two men had a good, hearty laugh. Bellatrix was slow to join in, but she did.

  Felix made another pot of coffee, then put out bagels and cream cheese, lox, and other good things to share with old friends on a Sunday morning.

  The mood turned serious when Don finally came around to the reason for his visit.

  *

  Bellatrix was horrified about the idea of a missing child. She had no kids of her own, but she was a good woman with a kind and understanding heart. A man could get really comfortable next to a heart like that, Don thought.

  The mood grew even more serious when Felix brought out his mage supplies. Unlike the other two, his magic was not the shifter kind. Felix used his skills as a mage to call upon his spirit guides, the ones who resided in the “Deep,” wherever that was.

  Don and Bellatrix exchanged glances that communicated fear and excitement, mingled together. This was new to her, which made it new to Don. How good it felt for something to be new. His heart soared, and then he thought of Corvin, and his cheeks flushed with guilt.

  “Your grandson is somewhere cool and dark,” Felix reported.

  “And?” Don leaned in, impatient for more.

  Felix had his eyes closed. His face was screwed up in that horrific grimace he made whenever he contacted the Spirits of the Deep. The tortured expression was enough to give a strong man the heebie-jeebies.

  Felix gasped, then pronounced, “He’s alive.”

  “Of course he is,” Don said impatiently. “That kid’s indestructible. What about the woman? Veronica Tate?”

  “There’s a woman there with him, and she’s angry.” Felix’s grimace grew even uglier. “Very angry.”

  “Angry at the boy? She’d better not touch a hair on his head.”

  A guttural sound came from Felix’s throat. His eyes flashed open, and his face relaxed.

  “That’s all I’ve got, old friend,” he said. “The Spirits of the Deep are agitated.”

  Bellatrix reached across the table and took Don’s hand in hers. “I’ll help you find your grandson,” she said. “I don’t know how, or what I can do, but I want to help.”

  “Don’t you worry your pretty little head,” Don said, straightening up in his chair. “My son’s looking for him already, and he’s got his ways.”

  “But you’ll let me know if you need anything?” She squeezed his hand in a way that had to be magic, considering how much it made him feel better.

  “There’s always the local coven,” Felix said conversationally. “If you give the witches Corvin’s other name, they may be able to locate him.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Don growled. “His other name is nobody’s business but his own.” He looked down at his second bagel, which was as yet untouched. In a softer tone, he added, “In other words, in case you haven’t guessed, I don’t know what it is. Maybe the boy told me and I forgot.”

  Don looked over at Bellatrix and gave her a sheepish smile. “My memory’s been improving lately, but I’ve had some issues.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” she said sweetly. “You look fit as a fiddle from what I can see.”

  A moment passed, and then Felix spoke, a grave tone his voice. “I’m afraid there’s something else they wanted to tell me.”

  Both Don and Bellatrix, who’d been gazing at each other, whipped their heads to face Felix.

  “Something is rising through the Deep,” Felix said ominously. “Something ancient and powerful. It’s rising to power.”

  Don let out a bark of laughter. “So? What else is new?” He laughed again, then explained to Bellatrix, “You’re new at this, but trust me. Something is always bubbling up from the Deep, or burrowing in from Elsewhere, or clawing through from Nowhere Good. If you want to keep your sanity, you’ll deal with what’s in front of you when it gets there, and only then. Stay sharp, stay strong, stay prepared. Don’t get caught up trying to see the future, because it’s always changing.” He waved at the other man. “Your uncle’s always warning us. Warnings, warnings, warnings. Sometimes he’s right. But you know what they say about a stopped clock being right twice a day.”

  Felix sighed and rubbed his temples. “I suppose you’re right, Don. It’s probably nothing.”

  Bellatrix asked, “How often do you get a warning like this, Uncle Felix?”

  He gave her an apologetic smile. “All the time,” he said. “All the time.”

  Don barked with laughter again. This time, Bellatrix joined in.

  Chapter 19

  ZARA RIDDLE

  “Does it ever get old?” Bentley asked.

  He’d finished eating his first breakfast of the day and I’d finished my second. I was using levitation to clear away the dirty dishes, floating a parade of plates and utensils into the dishwasher.

  “Do you mean, does magic ever get old?” I asked. He nodded, and I said, “I guess you could say the initial shock has worn off. I probably do take it for granted sometimes, but I try not to.”

  “And does it require less effort to load the dishwasher this way?”

  “More effort,” I said. “I could load it faster with my hands.”

  “Then why use magic?”

  I held both hands up. “You got me, Detective. I was showing off for you.”

  He nodded, as if to sa
y he’d suspected as much.

  “But can you blame me?” I sputtered. “There aren’t many people I can do magic in front of. Just my family, the next door neighbors, and a few others.”

  “Such as?”

  “I shouldn’t say, but I just found out someone I know is a sprite. That’s a creature who’s exactly like a troll but insists on being called a sprite.”

  Bentley looked down at his silver tie and flicked away a toast crumb. “I’d do the same thing if I were a troll instead of a vampire.”

  When he said the word, I felt a chilly, tickling sensation on my spine, like a trickle of water running down my back.

  He continued, “Not that being a vampire doesn’t come with its share of negative associations.”

  Another trickle of water down my back.

  “Why are you making that face?” Bentley asked. “Are you repulsed by what I am?”

  Was it that obvious? “Honestly, and it has to be honestly, thanks to that bond I gave you, I don’t know how I feel about it. I don’t even know how your powers work. My mother wasn’t exactly forthcoming.”

  “Probably because you kept calling her a zombie.”

  “That may have been part of the issue, though we do have a long history of her being not exactly forthcoming. For example, I didn’t know the Riddles were witches, and I didn’t know—” I cut myself off. Bentley knew my history. “But enough about my origin story. Tell me how things are working for you. Do you get stronger after you drink the serum?”

  “The serum is more like vitamins. It’s not where the power comes from.”

  “It’s not?” That was news to me. I had made certain assumptions.

  “The power comes from within, like yours. It comes from all around.” He scratched his stubble with his fingernails and studied me. “May I ask you something personal, Zara?”

  I waved one hand. “Ask away.”

  “Over the last hour, while you’ve been making me this fine breakfast, have you found your energy diminishing?”

  I gave it some thought. “Not at all,” I reported. “If I had one of those battery charge indicators, it would currently read one hundred percent.”

  “Me, too,” he said. “But I felt only about seventy, eighty percent when I got here.” He looked down at his coffee mug with suspicion. “Did you put something in my food?”

  “Nope,” I said with a laugh. “It must be the house.”

  He looked around at the upper corners of the room. “It does more than rearrange itself?”

  “The last owner used to brag about it being a fountain of youth. Nobody knows how old she was when she finally died.”

  “Must be the house,” he agreed. “I was concerned I might be drawing energy from you.”

  “You can’t do that very well without biting me,” I said, waggling my eyebrows.

  His gaze flitted to my neck. He looked away again, immediately, but I’d seen it.

  My cheeks flushed. The icy tickle on my spine felt like a rope of fire now. Why had Maisy felt it necessary to be so graphic in her explanations about the mating habits of certain creatures?

  I turned away and busied myself with portioning out the perfect amount of soap for the dishwasher.

  “What about other powers?” I asked over my shoulder. “Can you fly?”

  “No.”

  “Not even if you turn into a bat first?”

  “You know I can’t do that.”

  “So, all you’ve got is super strength and healing? That’s not very impressive.”

  Suddenly, he was standing between me and the dishwasher. I’d been about to put the soap into the door, so, naturally, I walked right into him. Full body contact. I managed to duck my head to the side to avoid smashing my forehead into his nose, and smashed my mouth into his shoulder instead. To anyone watching, it would have looked like I kissed his shoulder.

  “You forgot speed,” Bentley said, his tone low and gruff. “You can’t deny that it’s an advantage in certain situations.”

  “Some advantage,” I said with a snort. I pulled back, extracting myself from his grasp. “Thanks to that super speed of yours, you nearly got a handful of this gritty dishwashing detergent stuffed into your belly button.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I’d like to see you try.”

  Challenge accepted. I lunged for him.

  He yelped and jumped out of the way at regular human speed.

  I used magic to yank his shirt upward, untucking it from his trousers.

  He yelped again, and was suddenly behind me, blowing hot air onto the back of my neck.

  I howled in mock outrage, turned, and zapped him with the spell that mimicked being bit on the rear end by something toothy.

  Now he howled, as I’d intended. Except it was with laughter.

  He wiped at one eye, still grinning, and asked, “Is that all you’ve got?” He jumped from one corner of the kitchen to the other, moving so quickly he seemed to be teleporting. “You’ll never get that detergent anywhere near my stomach,” he said. “Not in a million years.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Zara, I’m stronger than you. And smarter, too.”

  “Is that so?” I lifted my arms straight up in the air, as though preparing to cast a spell that required a downward push. But instead of a new spell, I used basic telekinesis to adjust my clothing. Specifically, I whipped my blouse all the way up over my head, and off. Underneath the blouse, I wore the very special bra that my closet had selected. Lacy, peek-a-boo, and covered in non-functional ribbons. It was the sort of bra no woman would ever buy for herself. It was the sort of bra designed to provoke a reaction in a man, supernatural or not.

  Bentley’s jaw dropped. Theoretically, he could have looked away with super speed, but he couldn’t even look away at regular speed.

  I gasped and covered myself with my arms. “Bentley! How could you?”

  He stammered, “Tha-tha-that wasn’t me. I didn’t do that. I swear.”

  I relaxed and put my hands on my hips. “I know,” I said flatly. “Check your belly button.”

  He looked down to find the bottom of his shirt unbuttoned, and a generous portion of gritty dishwashing detergent caked into his navel. He made a disgusted sound.

  I turned away for modesty, grabbed my blouse from the air where it was floating, and re-dressed myself.

  “We all have our own kind of strengths,” I said over my shoulder.

  Suddenly he was in front of me again.

  I finished fastening my top button and stared him in the eyes. “And our own kind of smarts,” I finished.

  “Is that so? What makes you think taking off your blouse was your idea?”

  “Of course it was my...” I took a step back and braced myself on the sink. Had it been my idea? His kind could cloud memories, hide words, and even implant ideas. “You tricked me! You no-good, grave-digging, brain-munching zombie!”

  He frowned. “Zara, it was just a joke. I didn’t trick you, unless you count the part just now where I tricked you into thinking I’d tricked you.”

  “Oh.”

  “Did you call me a grave-digging, brain-munching zombie?” He gave me a hurt look, then walked at regular speed around me to the sink. He cleaned the detergent out of his navel. “So much for you not being sure about how you feel about my kind. It’s all clear to me now.”

  “It was a figure of speech... with some truth to it.” Again, the bond I’d given was keeping me too honest. “After everything went down in the cafeteria, you disappeared. I asked around, Bentley. I know you were in the ground.” I crossed my arms and rubbed my upper arms. The mere thought of being buried in the dirt gave me a bad, cold feeling. “You were in the ground,” I repeated.

  “I was in a crypt,” he said. “I was underground, but not in the ground. Not in the dirt. Dr. Ankh said it was vital for the transition. She believes that...” He trailed off as he tucked in his shirt. “Who told you about that? Was it the gorgon?” His silver eyes glinted. “Don’t answe
r that. I can see it on your face. It was her.” He spat the words out bitterly. “I know you two are friends, but I didn’t realize her loyalty to you superseded her loyalty to keeping my business private.”

  What was happening? I reached up and twirled a strand of my hair. A moment earlier, we’d been goofing around, flirting like crazy and literally pulling on each other’s clothes. Then I had to go and ruin it by insulting him.

  Or, no. He was the one who ruined it by having no sense of humor.

  We stared at each other, neither one moving.

  How could I have thought, even for a minute, that he and I could have a relationship beyond consulting on a case?

  He wasn’t the man for me. He never had been. I’d been distracted by all his talk about being my protector. He’d appealed to something weak and feeble inside myself—something I didn’t want to grow.

  Bentley was the first to look away. He turned his head, and then his whole body. He walked over to a pantry cupboard and poked at the pink leather strap hanging out under the drawer.

  “This is your purse,” he said. His tone was neutral.

  “Yes, it is.”

  Why was he so interested in my purse?

  I couldn’t tell if it was his powers of suggestion or my desire to drop the disagreement, but I immediately stopped thinking about everything that had been bothering me.

  Bentley was a true master of the topic change.

  He poked at the leather strap again, as though it might turn into a snake and bite him.

  “Your purse is in a different place every time I visit,” he said. “Doesn’t it cost you time when you’re trying to leave the house?”

  “Witches don’t lose their purses. Or their keys, or their cell phones. Watch this.” I cast the spell that called my purse to come to its master.

  The detective watched the cupboard door nudge itself open. My pink leather purse peeked out cautiously, then flew obediently to my outstretched arm.

  “Ta-da,” I said. “Saying ‘ta-da’ actually dampens spells, because it associates us witches with stage magicians, who are the corniest of all fake supernaturals. As a general rule we shouldn’t say it, or the magic gets embarrassed. But sometimes I say ‘ta-da’ anyway. Some rules are meant to be broken, right?”