Wisteria Witches Mysteries Box Set 2

by Angela Pepper

  Zinnia took two steps up to the porch so they were about the same height. She looked the gorgon in the eyes with no fear whatsoever.

  Through gritted teeth, Zinnia said, “You told me to stay home and not invite anyone over.”

  “That's exactly what I said. Good memory. And if that's not a warning, I don't know what is. You would have been perfectly safe if you'd done what I told you to.”

  Zinnia curled her free hand into a ball. Her power was spotty, but she had blue fire. She felt it ignite.

  Zinnia said, “This is precisely why your kind can't be trusted.”

  “Ouch.” Charlize backed up, leaned down, and picked up the cardboard box she'd been sitting next to. It was the same width as the one that had contained Annette's ashes, but twice as tall.

  “Here,” the gorgon said. “I brought you a peace offering.”

  Zinnia didn't move. “I'm not interested in your bribes, your panaceas.”

  “It's not a panaceas, whatever that is.” Charlize wrinkled her nose in what might have been a cute gesture, if Zinnia were not so angry.

  Time to cut to the chase. “Get off my porch.”

  “Take my gift. You mussssst take my gift.” As she pushed the box toward Zinnia, Charlize's copper hair snakes appeared between her golden-blonde waves of hair. They showed their magical fangs and hissed as she spoke, entwining their hypnotic hiss with her regular voice, the way Witch Tongue did with spellwork. “I insissssssst.”

  Zinnia took the cardboard box without looking at it. The box weighed about five pounds. “Listen, Ms. Wakeful. If you want peace, you've got it. I'll stay out of your business, and you stay out of mine.” She continued to stare into the gorgon's eyes. “We can have peace.”

  “Aren't you curious about what's in the box?”

  “No.” Zinnia's lie sounded hollow, even to her. Who could resist a mystery box? Nobody. Not even Zinnia. She glanced down briefly. There were no markings on the box. “I might open it later, after I've checked it for traps.”

  “Traps?”

  “Spying devices, or things that might weaken a person such as myself.”

  “Like witchbane.”

  “Yes.” Zinnia felt a light shudder. Even hearing the name of the herb brought back unpleasant feelings. Her thumb itched.

  Charlize said, in a teasing tone, “Or other, more abstract things that weaken us girls. Such as love.” Charlize raised her eyebrows twice in a playful expression. “Or lust.” Her snakes twisted sensuously.

  Zinnia held her ground and said nothing. She could only deny the truth so many times before it exhausted her.

  “Interesting,” Charlize said, squinting. “Your heart is no longer stone, and yet it is still so guarded.” She leaned in and sniffed, with both her human nose and her snake tongues flicking scent particles into their vomeronasal systems—assuming the mythical snakes shared their physiology with real ones.

  Charlize studied the witch and asked, “You are alive, aren't you? Not some creature of the grave?”

  “Don't be ridiculous,” Zinnia said. “The spell on my heart was metaphorical stone. Not gravel and rocks, like the kind you make.”

  “I can make all kinds of stone. That's what I do. And I can unmake it whenever I want.” The snake-haired woman sniffed Zinnia again. “What kind of spell has made you like this?”

  Zinnia tapped her foot and glanced around. They weren't exactly alone. People were out walking their dogs, strolling up and down the sidewalk, illuminated by the bright streetlights. Zinnia's street was smack-dab in the middle of a peaceful yet bustling neighborhood, which was just how she liked it, because she never felt alone there. It wasn't the right place for an open-air talk about magic and spells.

  “That's a discussion for another time,” Zinnia said.

  “Why not now? I've got the time. And by the look of that sad little Thai takeout meal for one, so do you.”

  Zinnia looked down, past the box she was holding, at the bag in her hand. A sad little takeout meal for one? Not true. There was actually enough food in the bag for several people. The owners of Kin Khao were fond of Zinnia and always made her portions generous.

  “Let's talk,” Charlize said. “Our people should be working together.”

  “Your people should leave my people alone.”

  “What are the odds of that happening?”

  “Slim,” Zinnia said, agreeing with the gorgon for the first time that night. As she gave in by an inch, she felt her chilly walls melting. Charlize was just another gifted person, not that different from a witch, trying to make her way in the world without accidentally destroying those who crossed her path. In a way, Zinnia felt pity for her. Charlize had the powers of a goddess, but she was still so young. She didn't have the wisdom to handle her gifts. Was that the real reason she was on Zinnia's porch? Was she seeking a mentor?

  “Our families' paths are entwined,” Charlize said. “We can resist our fates, or we can accept and adapt. You and I both know what nature does to those who resist.”

  A sweet, spicy smell wafted up from Zinnia's Thai food. The longer she stood outside, the colder her dinner got. She didn't want to re-heat the food. She kept no microwave—confounded, cursed appliances!—in her house, and the oven always took so long.

  Why not invite the gorgon to join her? Charlize had guessed correctly that Zinnia did have time. Also, if Margaret Mills found out Zinnia had declined a friendly dinner with a gorgon, she'd pitch a fit. Margaret was always hungry for gossip about other supernatural people. Gorgons never showed up on Margaret's porch. Come Monday morning, Margaret would berate Zinnia for passing up on juicy details to share with the coven.

  Zinnia held the mysterious cardboard box and takeout food with one arm, opened her front door, and waved Charlize in. “You might as well come inside.”

  “I thought you'd never ask.” Charlize reached down behind her and picked up a slender paper bag—the type that holds liquor bottles. “I brought my own supply of tequila this time. A little birdie told me this one's your favorite.”

  Zinnia snorted. She didn't have a favorite tequila. Not unless...

  Charlize lifted the bottle to reveal the label. Hot diggity! It was Zinnia's favorite after all. How had Charlize known? It would have to remain a mystery. Zinnia was not going to give the gorgon the satisfaction of being asked how she knew.

  “I have salt, but I don't have any limes,” Zinnia said.

  “Fine by me.”

  “I do have something much better than limes.”

  “How much better?”

  Zinnia shrugged nonchalantly. Hidden inside a compartment of her fridge was a bottle of preserved fruits that enhanced the positive effects of tequila while minimizing the negative. Charlize would see for herself.

  They entered the kitchen together.

  Zinnia flicked on the light, thinking about how glad she was that the dusting was up to date. She was surprised to see something moving. A mouse sat atop the table, chewing on a piece of crust Zinnia had neglected to clean up that morning. Drat. Her charmed feather duster could only do so much. It didn't wash dishes or catch vermin. Zinnia reached for the broom to chase the mouse toward the front door. Charlize stopped her with a raised hand.

  “Allow me,” the gorgon said.

  Zinnia held still with the broom in hand, watching. Ordinarily, she would never let someone see her holding a broom for more than a few seconds. It was too easy to attract a comment along the lines of, “Hey, you look just like a witch with that broom in your hand!” But Charlize and Zinnia already knew each other's secrets, so there was no point in hiding.

  Charlize inched toward the mouse. Her hair snakes flared out, not quite filling the kitchen the way they had filled the entryway last weekend, but close.

  The mouse froze in place, whiskers twitching, more curious than fearful. Zinnia understood exactly how the poor mouse felt. Charlize leaned over and made a twirling gesture with her finger. The mouse obediently twirled, wrapping its tail around itself
. Then Charlize touched the mouse with the tip of her finger. It became stone.

  Charlize picked up the mouse, which was now a paperweight, and returned it to the stack of recipes. She brushed off her hands.

  “Time for tequila,” she said.

  Truer words had never been spoken.

  Zinnia cleaned the small kitchen table, sanitizing it to remove all traces of mouse, and set out the plates and Thai food. She gathered the small, slender glasses she used for tequila, and prepared the fruit slices.

  “Elegant,” Charlize said, lifting one of the long-stemmed, narrow glasses. “Most people use a shot glass.”

  Zinnia smiled. “Well, most people prefer to swig it straight from the bottle, but we're not like most people, are we?”

  “I'll drink to that.” Charlize raised her glass and clinked it against Zinnia's.

  They began dishing out the fragrant Thai food.

  After a few minutes, Zinnia decided to ask Charlize about something that had been niggling at her. “Jesse's last name was Berman,” she said.

  “Yes. And?”

  Zinnia frowned. “It's just that Berman sounds a lot like Bear Man. Don't you find that odd?”

  Charlize seasoned her food with extra chili pepper flakes. “Not really.”

  “So, it's just a coincidence that a cougar man is named Berman?”

  “My mother didn't raise me to believe in coincidences.”

  “Neither did mine,” Zinnia said. “So, what does it mean?”

  “I'm not really at liberty to discuss such things.”

  “Not even with me?” Zinnia batted her eyelashes. “Your friend?”

  Charlize cracked a smile. “Okay, but you didn't hear it from me. The thing about shifters is it's all one genetic line. Everything from cougars to wolves and eagles. A wolf shifter father can have a son who turns into pretty much anything.”

  “Oh.” Zinnia had always suspected something like that, but she hadn't known for certain.

  “And they can even change,” Charlize said. “Some shifters go through a sort of midlife crisis and change forms completely.”

  “Fascinating.”

  Charlize looked down at her food. “But nobody talks about it. When it happens, you're supposed to carry on as though they've always been that way.”

  “What about Jesse's father, Viktor? Was he a cougar?”

  Charlize's forehead wrinkled. “From what I've read, he was a shifter of some kind, as well as a very bad man. He really did kidnap Jesse's mother, except it was worse than it was in the book Annette wrote. She was even younger, and she wasn't his wife. He'd been a stranger.”

  Zinnia's skin crawled. “That's...” She was at a loss for words, imagining what happened to Annette as a child. It was almost too much to bear. Her heart ached.

  Charlize topped up the glasses of tequila. “He's gone now. And his son.”

  “Did your people know about Jesse? About his nature?”

  “Jesse never did anything wrong, until he killed Annette. The thing is, we can't judge people by their parents.”

  “Not even when they're as evil as Viktor Oliver Berman?”

  Charlize looked into Zinnia's eyes. “Jesse's mother was Annette. He was half evil, and half good. Can any of us say any different of ourselves?”

  Zinnia snorted. “I'm not half evil.”

  Charlize tilted her head to the side, still holding Zinnia with her gaze. “What were you about to do when Annette animated those ashes in the basement?”

  She'd been about to cave in Jesse's skull with an urn. “Nothing,” Zinnia said, swallowing hard. “Escaping. I'd been trying to get away.”

  Charlize didn't blink. “Escaping. Yes. That is exactly what's in the report. But sometimes certain details are left out of reports. Is there anything you'd like to add?”

  Zinnia shook her head.

  “That's what I thought,” Charlize said.

  Zinnia tore her gaze away from the gorgon's. She cleared her throat. “On a lighter note, I've been offered a promotion at work.”

  “Good for you,” Charlize said cheerfully. “I'm glad we have something to celebrate.”

  They both raised their glasses, clinked, and drank tequila.

  Chapter 31

  Wisteria Permits Department

  2:35 pm

  The last Monday in March

  Zinnia Riddle sat in her private office, completing the paperwork for a new special building permit. She had recently been promoted, and was now the head—as well as the entire body—of the Wisteria Permits Department Division of Special Buildings. She even had new business cards with the long-winded title to prove it. Not that she had anyone to give the cards to. Since taking over Jesse Berman's old office and job, she'd been keeping a low profile.

  She submitted the permit paperwork and stretched her arms over her head. She rotated her chair so she could gaze at the painting on her wall. It was a seascape, Ethan Fung's painting. He'd given it to Zinnia in February, before he left on his sabbatical. By now, Fung's cheery ocher walls had all been painted white. The police department didn't usually redecorate for a new detective, but Fung had felt bad about the holes in the wall left behind by the fastenings of his bookshelf, so he'd paid for a painting crew out of his own pocket.

  By now, the end of March, there would be a new man sitting in Fung's chair. He was some poor schlub from out of town, who didn't know about magic. His name was Theodore Bentley. Zinnia hadn't met the man, but she knew she wanted nothing to do with him. From now on, the town's law enforcement agencies could solve their own crimes. She had permits to keep herself busy.

  Zinnia slowly rotated her chair away from the painting. Her gaze landed on the printer's proof copy of Annette Scholem's novel. It would be released by Annette's small publisher later that year, under the name AJ Scholem, the same as her other books. The editor predicted it would sell very few copies, since it was a spin-off about a side character, but had agreed to publish it anyway to honor Annette's final wishes.

  Zinnia closed her eyes and rubbed them. In her mind's eye, she saw the ash version of Annette. Vengeful and loving at the same time. Facing her son and her killer, then becoming a killer herself. It was a perfect circle; Annette brought him into this world, and she took him out. She had embodied the spirit of one of the original women, one of the four Eves. Mahra. Mother and destroyer.

  It had been ten weeks since Annette Scholem's death. Almost three months. The office had stabilized to a new range of normal. The chemical carpet smell was gone. They even had some new hires. There was Xavier Batista, the self-anointed hero of Towhee Swamp, who'd taken over Annette's position. And Liza Gilbert, the young woman who'd survived being attacked by Jesse in cougar form. She had taken over Zinnia's job and desk, much to Margaret's annoyance.

  Karl Kormac was back from his leave of absence. The others thought he was back to the usual Karl Kormac, alternately blustery and pouty, but Zinnia noticed he wasn't the same. For one thing, he had stopped announcing the number of days he had left until retirement. She wondered if he'd changed his plans about retiring, or if he feared he wouldn't live that long and didn't want to tempt fate. She hadn't asked. Karl would talk about it when he felt ready. Whatever he was, troll or otherwise, the man had his private issues. He had falsely confessed to killing a coworker, after all. A smart witch gives a guy like that some space.

  Zinnia leaned over to peer through her office doorway at her old desk. Nobody had touched the candy jar in months. Not Karl, who claimed to be off sweets. And not Margaret, who felt the candy had been cursed by Jesse Berman's spirit. Nobody else wanted them, so they were starting to melt together into a lump.

  Zinnia planned to eventually take the hardened lump to the cemetery and drop it on Jesse's grave. Closure, the psychology people called it. One last goodbye. The cougar shifter had been laid to rest next to his father—if you could call it “laid to rest.” After Annette's ghost blew him apart from the inside, there hadn't been much to lay to rest. The DWM had clea
ned the basement and scooped up the organic materials—ash and bone and flesh—and given it a controlled cremation. First time 'round for Jesse, second time 'round for Annette. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Mother and child reunion.

  The official story in town was that Jesse had learned Annette was his mother and killed her in a fit of rage when she told him the truth about his father. He'd made her death appear to be an animal attack to cover his trail. Then he'd kidnapped a police officer, confessed, and shot himself. Case closed.

  Nothing to see here, folks. Just a regular, everyday murder-suicide. Case closed!

  Zinnia rolled her chair over to see what Margaret Mills was up to. By the look of her face, slightly frowning, Margaret was doing data entry, minding her own business and being a productive employee. In fact, the whole office looked and sounded productive. Zinnia could hear Carrot Greyson talking to a customer who'd walked in with some questions. Carrot was saying how she loved working at City Hall, but one day she planned to be a full-time tattoo artist.

  Underneath that chatter, there was a quiet exchange going on between deskmates Gavin and Dawna. She was telling him to stop making puppy-dog eyes at her because they were not getting back together again. Not ever. Zinnia rolled her eyes. Dawna was as drawn to Gavin as he was to her. A gnome and a cartomancer. What could possibly go wrong? If they could stop bickering over petty things, they could become a real power couple.

  The phone on Zinnia's desk rang. It was her direct line.

  She answered, “WPD, Special Buildings Division. Zinnia Riddle speaking.”

  “Zinnia, it's Kathy. Kathy Carmichael. From the library.”

  “Oh, hello, Kathy. I've been meaning to follow up—”

  “She's here now,” Kathy said abruptly. “The woman named Zara Riddle. She's been telling people she doesn't have any family here in Wisteria, but she looks exactly like you. It has to be your niece, right? I mean, what are the odds?”

  “I don't know. Riddle isn't that uncommon a last name. It might not be my niece, but it sure sounds like her.”