by Amy Boyles
"Afternoon," he said, his white teeth nearly blinding me. "I'm Dr. Spencer Burns."
I had to admit, this dude was handsome. Witch doctor or not, he looked professional, classy and totally competent in his abilities. Pretty much the exact opposite of me with my powers, aside from the few times I managed to transfer something into my hand. That, I was good at, except under pressure, of course, à la Harry Shaw and his drunken craziness. Em had said that as the solstice neared, our abilities would heighten and we'd get much better at casting spells, or whatever it was that we were doing—moving energy. Or watching butterflies grow. That's probably how Grandma in all her sane glory would put it.
"Check me out and tell them I was attacked by magic," Milly insisted.
Dr. Burns pulled an otoscope from his lab-coat pocket. He leaned over Milly. "Let me see your eyes."
With a triumphant humpf in my direction, she tilted her face toward him. The doc flashed the tiny light in each of her eyes, then her ears and finally her nose. "Open your mouth and say ah."
Milly licked her lips and belted out an "Ah" so hideous, if peace-loving woodland animals had heard it, they would have raced to a nearby river to see who could commit suicide first. I plugged my ear and wiggled the canal so it would stop ringing.
Dr. Burns sounded a series of "hmms" and "that's interesting" before stepping to the end of the bed and flipping through the chart that hung there. The seconds ticked past as he read line by line. Finally he looked at Milly and said, "You've been attacked by magic."
"See!" Milly said, "I told you. I told you all. But you snotty girls didn't want to believe me."
I rolled my eyes. "It's not that we didn't want to believe you; it's that the attack happened in broad daylight with no witnesses."
"I can understand that," Dr. Burns said. "But there's evidence on Milly." He pulled a pair of tweezers from a different pocket and walked back to her. "Milly, turn your head away from me." She did, and he placed the tweezers next to her left ear. "Almost have it. Don't move. Aha!" He lifted the tweezers in the air and said, "Come here, let me show you."
I pulled my purse tight against my chest, not because I was afraid he would do anything, but simply out of habit, and crossed to him. Sera, Reid, and I formed a semicircle around the doc. I squinted at the tweezers. Trapped in their tines hung what appeared to be a blue string. But the string didn't hang limply. It coiled and wriggled like a tiny worm.
Reid wrinkled her nose. "What's that?"
Doctor Burns flashed his thousand-watt smile. "That is magic. And more importantly, that was the magic used on your grandmother."
"It doesn't look like magic," Reid said.
"Oh, it is," Grandma said.
"How can you be so sure?" Sera asked.
Milly flapped her palms on the bed. "Because if that Queen Witch had taught you anything, the first thing she would have told you was that every witch leaves a mark when you work a spell. It's a very small thread, nearly imperceptible. You have to know what you're looking for."
"It's just a thread," Reid said. "Couldn't it have come from anywhere? Couldn't it be Milly's?"
The witch doctor chuckled. "Let me guess, you haven't been doing this for very long."
"Is it that obvious?" I asked.
The doc scratched his chin. Even under the fluorescents his perfect tan skin appeared smooth and bronzed. "It's obvious after you've seen your first thread. No two are ever alike—some are hairy, some sleek, some multicolored and some, like this one, are only one color. But the key, the most important thing to know is that you'll never leave a trace of your own magic on yourself." He pulled a small glass specimen bottle from another pocket in his coat, unscrewed the top and dropped the thread in. "I'll deliver this to the witch police. They'll run it and see if there's a match."
I remembered something. "I have seen a thread before."
"You have?" Sera said.
I nodded. "Yeah. The night we made Nan levitate. One fell off her when she was demonstrating her ninja moves. It must have been our magic." The image of the gold thread stuck in my head. So that's what it had been.
"Probably so." Grandma rolled up her sleeves. "When you make magic, you create threads, but they disappear if you're only doing the spell on yourself. They only appear if you perform a spell on someone else." She flicked her wrist, and a rain cloud appeared above Reid's head. A fine mist sprayed down on her burgundy curls.
"Hey!" She yanked the collar of her T-shirt over her head, shielding herself from the shower. "What's the big deal?"
Grandma lowered her hands. "The big deal is this point." The rain stopped.
Dr. Burns extended his hand for Reid to take. She slid her palm over his, and he proceeded to inspect her with his otoscope. "It's difficult to see magical remnants with the naked eye. This tool shoots out infrared light, making it much easier to find the threads." He picked through Reid's hair with the tweezers like a chimpanzee looking for fleas to eat. "And there's one!" He waved me and Sera over. The doc nodded at the small thing in the fabric. The squiggly rainbow noodle of a thread curled in the grasp of the metal tines.
"Ew. That was in my hair?" Reid said.
"Of course it was," Grandma said. "It's the physical form of my magic."
Doctor Burns patted the pocket where he'd placed his specimen bottle. "Every spell leaves one behind. If the police find a match, we'll have our culprit. The threads don't last forever, though; they eventually disappear. We should have a good twenty-four hours before this one vanishes, plenty of time to find a mate."
"But Em said that more than likely the witch isn't registered."
The doctor shrugged. "Not being registered and not having a criminal record are two very different things."
I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "So you're saying the witch might not be registered but have a record, so the police may be able to track the thread."
The doc pointed his finger in the air with a flourish. "Exactly."
"But wouldn't someone who's got a criminal record automatically be registered?" Sera asked.
Milly threw the blanket off her body. "Only witches in good standing are on the official registry. Criminals aren't. They're simply criminals."
"Well, that's smart," I said sarcastically.
Milly ignored me. "This only means that magic was used; it doesn't tell us who did it." She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and rose.
"Where do you think you're going?" Nan asked.
Milly yanked the lines from her vein, and with a nod of the head, bandages magically appeared on her arms to stop the bleeding. "I think I'm going home. Since we know I was attacked magically, there's no reason for me to stay here. Right, Doc?" Her tone held an undercurrent of warning that would have made anyone hesitate to argue with her.
"You seem okay. Here's your discharge papers." He handed her a paper that hadn't existed a moment before. Impressive. That was such a fancy trick I wondered if I could master something like that. Don't have a hundred dollars for dinner? Voila! Suddenly I've got a wad of cash in my pocket. Hmmm. I'd have to ask Grandma.
Wait. Better ask Milly when she got in a better mood.
***
When we got home, I sat on the couch and thought. "So let's go over what we know," I said to Sera, Reid, Grandma and Nan, who popped in every once in a while from the kitchen. "Reagan was murdered by a dress that I wore. We know it was magic even though we don't have a thread."
"Definitely not spontaneous combustion," Reid said.
Grandma tapped a ringed finger on the table. "Though it could have been spontaneous combustion. I've seen that done with magic."
I shot Reid a dark look for getting Grandma on a tangent. "It was not, I repeat, not spontaneous combustion. We also know mostly women do magic."
"Except for that doctor," Sera said. "He could do magic. How is that, Grandma?"
She shrugged. "Probably born from two witches. Men aren't always given abilities, but they sometimes are."
"But w
e believe this to be a woman," I said. "We also know that three years ago, Grandma let a witch put her into a coma."
Grandma nodded. "That's right."
"But before that, Grandma, your power was being drained," I said.
She fluffed the coarse curls of her triangle-shaped haircut. "Drained or I was just overly tired, one of the two. Could've had a thyroid problem at the time and the deep sleep took care of it."
"Right," Sera said. "A thyroid problem. Sounds like something being made into a Popsicle will solve."
"Does so every time," Reid said.
"Focus," I said. I glanced around the room. My gaze rested on the comfortable clutter of the space. Overstuffed couches, family photos, antique side tables, all surrounded by yellow walls and framed with cherry-red curtains. It was a cheerful room, one that I loved with every inch of my being. I wanted to keep it safe. Wanted to keep the women inside safe.
"So, Grandma, you believe your power was being drained, but now you aren't so sure."
She took a walnut from a candy dish, suspended it in the air, and I watched as it split apart with a crack. That might have been more impressive than the papers appearing in the doc's hands.
"Grandma, how did you manage not to do magic in front of us while we were growing up?" Reid asked.
She threw a walnut half in her mouth and chewed. "Sometimes I did it, but then I went back and made sure I erased your memory."
All our jaws fell. "You erased our memories?" Sera said, dumbfounded. "Is that ethical?"
"Probably not," she said, unperturbed. "But I had to keep you from knowing, and it was the easiest way to do so."
A blanket of silence fell on the room. Oh well, nothing we could do about Grandma's ethics now. "Since we know Grandma doesn't have any scruples, let's get back to piecing together the killer."
Sera dragged her eyes from Grandma to me and nodded.
I drummed my fingers on the arm of the couch. "So anyway, the freeze happened three years ago. I'm going out on a crazy hunch here, but I think the person who committed the freeze and the killer are the same. That means the killer would have arrived in town around that time." Reid raised her hand. "Yes?"
"But then why wouldn't that person have killed one of us then? I mean, Grandma was out of the way. Why wait until now? Even better than that, our powers were only recently—well yours and Sera's—were only recently fully released. The murder happened before that. There's something we're missing."
My gaze drifted around the room. I took in all their faces and folded my hands over my chest. "That's what we need to find out, and I have a good idea of who to start with."
Nan made an appearance, a wooden spoon filled with a red sauce in her hand. "Even I want to hear this. Who do you think can help you? Milly?"
I shook my head. "No. To go back three years and find out what was going on in town at that time, I need an expert."
Sera squeezed the bridge of her nose, something she did when annoyed. "And who would that be?"
"Why, the Mouth of the South herself—Jenny Butts."
***
I climbed into the SUV. Roman gave me a stern look. "Where would you like to go?"
Confused by the expression on his face, I said, "You act as if you aren't happy to see me."
"I'm not really excited to be a chauffeur, no. I'm here to protect you."
"Yeah, about that," I said. "How exactly do you do that?"
An amused twinkle sparkled in his eyes. "Want to find out?"
An uncomfortable feeling washed over me. It could have been his green eyes, the closeness of our bodies, the musky scent of his cologne—or just the fact that a hot guy was winking and nodding in my direction. I'm pretty sure a few moths flew out of my belfry, if you know what I mean.
"Um, sure?" I said.
Without one word, he peeled the SUV out of park. That was hot, right? Driving dangerously? I thought so.
Within a few minutes we were outside the town square and on a backwoods road. "Where are you taking me?" I asked, trying not to sound too nervous.
"There's a shooting range out here."
"Oh. Are we going to be shooting?"
"Yes, you are."
"Excuse me?"
"Kidding. I'm going to show you what I do."
"Which is?"
He glanced at me from the corner of his eye. "You tell me."
"I don't know. You have a very interesting résumé. You worked for the witch police, have admitted to being an assassin, and now you're a for-hire bodyguard. I have no idea. Do have nun chucks in your pocket?"
He parked the car, and we got out. He pulled something from an inside pocket of his black duster. "No. But I do have these." He brandished a pair of throwing stars. "Want me to show you how to throw them?"
"Are you flirting?"
He placed one hand on his lean hip. "If I am, this is the strangest date I've ever been on."
Okay. Well, that answered that. "Sure. Show me how to throw them."
We walked from the SUV to a grassy patch of trees. He sidled up next to me. Yes, sidled. Roman then tucked the cross-shaped star into my palm and raised my hand until it was parallel with the ground.
"Aim for that tree."
"Okay. Aim for it and then what?"
"Are you always so difficult?"
"Yes. You haven't figured that out yet?"
"I mean, I guess I had, but I was holding on to some sort of hope that it wouldn't be so."
I lowered the star. "Well, it is so."
He raised my arm, tucked his body into mine. Did I mention how good he smelled? Seriously. It was like nature and animal merged, becoming one sort of frontier-man scent. It was awesome.
"When you throw, do so with your entire body, but only let the follow-through happen with your arm."
"What?"
"Feel the swing, but don't overcompensate."
"You know, I make dresses for a living."
He sighed, his soft breath blowing on the back of my neck. A tingle raced down my spine. "I realize that, but you can do this. I don't expect you to be assassin perfect, but I think you'll be able to put a dent in that tree over there."
I stared at the forest before us. "You mean the one three feet away?"
"That's the one."
"Thanks," I griped. "I'm so glad you have confidence in me."
He chuckled. His arms around me tightened. Heat blossomed across my chest, and I was, for once, relieved that I couldn't look into his perfectly sculpted face.
"I have a load of confidence in you. It's just I want to start slow. Make sure you can hit the target."
I pressed my arms back. "If you'd get your hands off me, I could."
"Don't you want to learn proper technique?" he whispered in my ear.
My bones jellied. "Sure," I said, not remembering what I was agreeing to.
"Okay. Hold the star eye level."
"Eye level," I repeated, holding some cross-shaped bit of metal to my face.
"Use the energy of your body to throw, but only move your arm."
Oh, that seemed simple. Sort of like, whisper to the wind, but only use half your voice. Of course, that didn't make any sense either. Not wanting to think it through any farther, I aimed, pulled back my arm and fired off the star. It hit the tree with a thud, then bounced off.
Roman gave me a chaste clap on the shoulder. "Good first try." He retrieved the star and pocketed it.
"You don't want me to try again?" I asked, mildly disappointed.
"Nah. I need to keep them sharp in case I actually need one. Besides, you get the idea of what I do."
I do?
"So you find a bad guy and throw stars at them?"
Roman nodded. "More or less."
"So it's more." I held out my palm and bent my fingers toward me in a come-on gesture. "Fess up. How else will you protect us?"
He threaded his fingers through his silky hair. "See the duster?"
Oh, that. "How can I miss it?"
"It hold
s about ten pistols," he said sheepishly.
"What?" Surely I hadn't heard him correctly.
"I'm packing a lot of heat."
I mean, I figured he was packing some heat, but ten guns? "So it is an assassin jacket."
"It's a bodyguard jacket. And don't you want your body guarded?"
Oh boy, did I ever. "Well, if that's what needs to happen, of course."
He grinned. "It's what needs to happen if you're to stay safe." He leaned toward me, his hulking body blocking the light. I felt so small before him, so insignificant. That reminded me—what about Sera? They'd been talking. I knew he had to like her.
"If I'm to stay safe as well as my sister," I corrected.
He glanced away. "Right. All of you."
"Don't you think we should be heading into town?"
"Why?"
"Because I've got an errand to run, and you need to get back to protecting all of us, including Sera."
He didn't say anything. I wasn't sure how to take that. Had I said the wrong thing? Roman escorted me back to the SUV. Opened the door. He motioned for me to climb in, so I did.
"Thank you," I said.
"Don't mention it."
"I mean, I'm a witch and all, so I probably should mention it."
He shut my door, walked around the vehicle and got in. He pulled off his sunglasses. The heat from his body billowed off him, practically paralyzing me in my seat. "Why do you feel the need to constantly mention that I don't like witches?"
So that I remember not to fall for you. "So that you keep it straight in your head."
He leaned forward. The intensity in his eyes made me want to pitch forward, press my lips against his, taste his mouth.
Whoa. Wait. What was I thinking?
"What if I don't want to remember that? What if I like being around you?"
I fastened my seat belt, wedging myself into the side of the SUV. I'd spent so much time throwing myself into my work, ignoring men, that when one expressed his feelings, I felt like a schoolgirl—unsure of what to say and do. But he meant as a friend, right? Yes. Definitely. Liked me as a friend.
