A Breath of Witchy Air

by Amanda M. Lee

  Landon squeezed my hand and smiled. “Fair enough. I … .” He ceased talking as he shifted his eyes to the front door when the overhead bell rang to signify a new customer. His smile fell almost instantly and he moved to get on his feet. “What’s wrong?”

  “Who are you talking to?” I followed his gaze and frowned when I saw Clove scurry toward the table. Her hair was a mess, her cheeks flushed with color, and she gasped at regular intervals as she tried to calm herself. “What happened, Clove?”

  “You need to come with me,” Clove said. “You have to see something.”

  “You didn’t find another body, did you?” Chief Terry was on his feet and pulling on his coat. “That’s the last thing we need.”

  Clove vehemently shook her head. “It’s not a body. It’s … um … something else.”

  The way she looked at me said that I wouldn’t like whatever she had to show us. “I’m going to hate this, aren’t I?”

  Clove nodded without hesitation. “Landon will, too.”

  “Oh, well great.” Landon flicked his eyes to the waitress. “Put a hold on our breakfast orders. We may or may not be back.”

  That didn’t sound good.

  “WHAT THE … ?”

  I pulled up short in front of The Whistler’s building, my mind careening as I tried to ascertain the limits of the vandalism stretching across the snowy landscape.

  “We saw it when we were heading into Hypnotic,” Thistle offered. She stood next to the front steps, hands on hips. “We knew you would want to see it. I was going to start cleaning, but I figured that might be a mistake if Chief Terry wanted to take photos.”

  “You made the right call.” Chief Terry dug in his pocket for his phone. “I need to document this.”

  I pursed my lips as I stared at the mess, my eyes moving toward what looked to be multiple shredded newspapers. I was annoyed and upset, but once I had a moment to really think about things I wasn’t nearly as furious as I would’ve expected. “I don’t understand this,” I admitted. “I mean … it’s ugly, but it’s hardly enough to cause concern for more than the thirty minutes it’ll take to clean up.”

  “It won’t even take that,” Thistle offered. I knew she was trying to be helpful from her tone, which took on a forced bravado that I didn’t quite feel, and that was almost worse than the vandalism itself. “We’ll collect the paper in the big metal trash thing over there and set it on fire. It will be taken care of in five minutes if we all work together.”

  “Good idea.” Landon hunkered down and lifted one of the discarded newspaper pages. It had something scrawled across the front. He didn’t read the word aloud, but I saw it over his shoulder.

  “‘Thief.’” I wrinkled my forehead. “Do you think that’s meant for me?”

  “Well … .” Landon shifted from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable. “I’m not sure, sweetie. I think that would be the obvious deduction, but we can’t be sure.”

  “What did I steal?” I was honestly confused. “You don’t have a jealous ex-girlfriend you haven’t told me about, do you?”

  Landon shook his head. “No. I don’t think this has anything to do with me.”

  He was a little too worked up and angry for me to settle. “‘Thief.’” Understanding dawned quickly. “You think this was Brian, don’t you?”

  Landon opened his mouth, what I’m sure would’ve been a reassuring comment on the tip of his tongue. Instead of uttering it – knowing it would be a lie – he merely shrugged. “I think he makes the most sense as a suspect. He probably tried to get in during the overnight hours and was frustrated he couldn’t.”

  “You told him you were changing the locks,” I pointed out. “He should have realized that you weren’t bluffing.”

  “Maybe he thought I wouldn’t get around to it as quickly as I did. Maybe he thought he could bypass the locks somehow. I don’t know what to tell you.”

  I tugged on my bottom lip as I debated the mess. “So what do we do now? Are you going to pick a fight to keep me from working here today?”

  “No.” Landon caught my gaze. “Bay, I know this is important to you. I know this is a big deal. I’m not going to get in your way.”

  “But?”

  “But I want you safe. That means keeping the doors locked and texting every so often so I don’t have a meltdown or panic attack.”

  I nodded as Chief Terry finished taking his photos. “Okay. I promise.”

  “Good.” Landon heaved out a sigh as he looked to the pile of shredded newspapers. “Just out of curiosity, how would Brian have gotten his hands on so many copies of The Whistler? Aren’t they recycled?”

  “They are, but they’re dropped in a bin behind the municipal building. They’re picked up once a month. This isn’t a big operation, and we’re pretty good at knowing how many copies to print each week. We never go more than a hundred or so copies over our target.”

  “I guess that’s good for the environment.”

  “Yeah.”

  Landon was quiet for an extended period of time before his eyes suddenly lit with interest. “So he could’ve easily gotten them from the municipal building. That’s what you’re saying.”

  I nodded. “Why are you so excited by that prospect?”

  “Because I bet they have cameras.”

  Huh. I hadn’t even thought of that.

  Fourteen

  It didn’t take us long to clean up the shredded newspapers, even with Chief Terry running over to the municipal building to see if he could track down footage from the night before. It turned out he couldn’t, which he found infuriating, so he was back within ten minutes … and groused the entire time he helped clean up the mess.

  In hindsight, it seemed a rather lame attempt at vandalism. Because of the snow, the newspaper print barely stood out, so we had to go over the property twice to make sure we got everything.

  As far as I could tell, no one noticed but us because it was too cold outside to draw a crowd for something so mundane. I was grateful for that.

  Thistle enjoyed burning the paper – she was a bit of a firebug at times and always insisted on lighting bonfires during the summer – but once the flame died so did most of my anxiety. In the bright light of day, the cold dampening my enthusiasm, the vandalism seemed petty and immature rather than threatening.

  Landon didn’t see things the same way.

  “Be careful.” He stroked his hand down the back of my head, making sure to affix my knit cap tightly. “Lock the doors. I’ll check later in the day to make sure. If I find them unlocked we’ll probably argue.”

  I didn’t want to laugh. I knew it would potentially cause an argument. I couldn’t stop myself, though. “So you’re going to test me?”

  Landon’s smile was rueful. “I want you safe. If that makes me an ogre for the day, so be it.”

  “You’re hardly an ogre.” I rolled up to the balls of my feet and gave him a quick kiss. “I know how to take care of myself.”

  “You do. I’m a worrier. I can’t change that.” He gave me a long hug and met Chief Terry’s gaze. “We should probably head into the office.”

  “We probably should,” Chief Terry agreed, shifting his eyes to the sidewalk that led to the cop shop and frowning. “What is she doing?”

  “Who?” I was curious so I craned my neck.

  “Speaking of ogres, look who’s out and about early with her phone this morning,” Thistle said, shaking her head as Aunt Tillie popped into view. “Good grief. She’s acting like she’s nine instead of ninety.”

  Inadvertently, Clove and I lifted our fingers to our lips in unison and hissed out a warning.

  “What was that?” Landon asked.

  “Never say the N-word in front of Aunt Tillie,” Clove warned. “Not ever!”

  “I agree. The N-word is terrible. But something tells me you’re talking about a different N-word.”

  “Ninety.” My voice was barely a whisper. “Aunt Tillie thinks people who are ninety a
re old.”

  “Remember, she thinks she’s middle-aged,” Clove added.

  Thistle snorted. “Yeah. Aunt Tillie is nuts and these guys are nuts for playing into her delusions. The old bat is crazy. I don’t know why this surprises you.”

  Landon stared at Thistle a long moment before shifting his gaze to Aunt Tillie, his expression unreadable. “Do you know what I find interesting?”

  I knew he was changing the subject because he didn’t want to get into a long discussion about the N-word. “What?”

  “Aunt Tillie spent most of lunch telling us that she thought the game was stupid, and now she’s playing it. I don’t get it.”

  “She’s not playing because she enjoys the game,” I supplied. “She’s playing because she likes winning.”

  “And is bored,” Clove added. “There’s only so many times she can plow in Mrs. Little and find the same level of delight in watching her melt down.”

  Chief Terry made a growling noise in the back of his throat. “I really wish you guys wouldn’t encourage her when she does that.”

  “What makes you think we encourage her?” I challenged.

  “I seem to remember three little girls riding along with glee when she did it twenty years ago. In fact, I remember one year when I had to wade into deep snow and carry all three of you out at the same time because you would’ve essentially drowned otherwise.”

  “Oh, well, that.” Whoops. I forgot about that particular incident. “We were kids. What do you want from us? Yellow snow is always entertaining when you’re ten.”

  “She’s not wrong,” Landon said. “As for the plowing, I know it’s a pain for you, but if that’s the worst Aunt Tillie comes up with you should consider yourself lucky. When she puts her imagination into something, we end up with … well … issues.”

  “Fairy tale worlds,” Thistle grumbled.

  “Weird memories we can’t escape from,” I added.

  “Soap opera lands where Chief Terry is a vampire and snow sharks are a thing,” Clove muttered.

  “Christmas stories that take us to a future where I’m fat,” Landon growled.

  Chief Terry rolled his eyes. He’d heard the stories of Aunt Tillie’s punishments, but because he’d been left out of those particular instances he didn’t understand the true horror associated with them. “I think you guys are exaggerating. I’d much rather go through any of those things than have to listen to Margaret Little screech seven times a day.”

  “Sometimes Mrs. Little is in the worlds doing worse things than screeching,” Thistle pointed out. “Trust me. You’re better off with the yellow snow.”

  “There’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear.” Chief Terry ran a hand through his dark hair, his expression thoughtful. “As for the game, I’ve noticed several kids playing. It seems to be the new thing. It’ll pass. It’s no different than when you girls spun around on your roller skates all the time.”

  “Blades,” Thistle corrected hurriedly. “We wore Roller Blades. Roller skates are what they had when Mom and the aunts were kids. We’re nowhere near old enough to wear roller skates.”

  “I don’t think Aunt Tillie is the only one sensitive about her age,” Landon whispered, causing me to smile.

  “Some of us didn’t even roll around on blades,” Clove pointed out. “Bay had negative balance and fell so many times she gave up.”

  My smile slipped. “I still maintain those Roller Blades were defective. There was something wrong with them.”

  “There was something wrong with them,” Thistle agreed. “You couldn’t use them correctly.”

  “Whatever.” I folded my arms over my chest and focused on Aunt Tillie. “Should we do something about this? It’s awfully cold for her to be running around for hours on end in the middle of winter.”

  “She’s an adult.” Landon adopted a pragmatic tone. “She’s allowed to do whatever she wants as long as it doesn’t harm others. If she wants to play that stupid game … well … I don’t see where it’s our place to stop her.”

  That sounded nothing like him. There were times when Landon wanted to nip Aunt Tillie’s current hobby in the bud simply because he enjoyed watching her freak out. This was unlike him. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m more worried about you,” Landon admitted. “Aunt Tillie’s game addiction isn’t high on my list of things to obsess about.”

  “You don’t need to obsess about me either.”

  “History proves that statement is false.” Landon gave me a quick kiss. “Have fun with your first day of work, boss. If you head out for lunch – which I’m sure you will – make sure no one is following you. Just … be alert.”

  “I’m always alert.”

  Landon made a face. “Be way more alert than that.”

  I SETTLED IN MY old office. I couldn’t bring myself to work in the big one given everything going on. I knew it was ridiculous to be afraid of an empty office, but between the dream and the sun catcher I wasn’t quite ready. I needed to change the décor for it to feel like my space, so I opted to wait until that was done to move my things.

  Viola swore up and down she didn’t hear a peep outside the previous evening – or this morning – but unlike The Whistler’s former ghost she wasn’t known for her observation skills. It was entirely possible that someone got inside the building, did a little dance, called to the forces of evil and exited without Viola knowing.

  After several hours of work – most of which involved writing an article on the dead girls – I broke for lunch and headed toward Hypnotic. I was careful to lock the door as Landon requested, but I never felt uneasy while inside and I was fairly certain my inner danger alarm would sound should real trouble present itself. He wasn’t a witch, so Landon never understood the alarm thing – not that I could blame him – and I knew he would never take it as an excuse for leaving the doors unlocked.

  Thistle and Clove were in the middle of rearranging shelves. The wind chimes above the door sounded, but the pair didn’t as much as look in my direction because they were too busy sniping at one another.

  “I’m not saying that your candles are ugly,” Clove whined. “I’m simply saying that they might – and I stress might – look sinister to some people.” She held up a skull candle as an example. “This is terrifying to people who aren’t you … or crazy.”

  “Oh, whatever.” Thistle’s tone told me the argument had been going on for quite some time. “It’s a witch store. It’s a store for witches. That means we have to give our demographic what they want, which is witchy things. Witches don’t like flowers and butterflies, for crying out loud.”

  Clove made an exaggerated face. “I’m a witch and I like butterflies.”

  “You’re barely a witch.”

  “And what is that supposed to mean?” Clove planted her hands on her hips and glared at Thistle. “Witches like more than one thing … and I’m totally a real witch. There’s no rule that says what a witch can and can’t like.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Bay, tell her that witches can like whatever they want.” Clove sounded petulant when she finally addressed me. “Butterflies and witches go together like … honey and tea.”

  “Who would ruin perfectly good tea with honey?” I teased, grinning when Thistle’s eyes lit with mirth and Clove scowled. I threw myself on the couch in the middle of Hypnotic’s sitting area and took in the mess on the floor. “Let me guess … it’s an off week for tourism and you guys are bored.”

  “I’m never bored.” Thistle’s tone was haughty. “I’m so smart I can entertain myself with nothing but my brain and a puzzle book.”

  “You’re an absolute wonder,” I agreed. “I guess that means you’re not going to join Aunt Tillie and play Infinity Echo, huh?”

  “I’m not playing a game with a dumb name like that,” Thistle replied. “Now, if it was Angry Birds or something, then I might be tempted. That’s a great freaking name for a video game.”

  I didn’t bother to h
ide my sigh. “We really are old.”

  “We’re young and spry,” Clove argued. “Why would you think otherwise?”

  “Angry Birds is, like, ten years old.”

  “I think you’re exaggerating.”

  Because it was something of a challenge, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and started Googling. “It came out in December 2009.”

  “That’s not ten years.”

  “Nine.”

  “Oh.” Clove made a face. “Either way, Angry Birds is still cool.”

  “It is, but I’m starting to think Bay might be right about us being old,” Thistle said, abandoning her organization project and heading toward the counter. She came back with her phone and an intent expression on her face. “I’m going to download that game.”

  “Really?” I wasn’t pushing on the age stuff to get her to join the Infinity Echo revolution, but it seemed a good idea now that she’d mentioned it. “That sounds fun.”

  “You’re the one who’s bored,” Thistle noted as she waited for the game to download. “You thought you would be busy all day now that you’re the boss, but you’re coming to the realization that The Whistler essentially runs itself.”

  I didn’t want to admit she was right, but I saw no sense in lying. “Did you know that the business owners email their ads in? I mean … I kind of knew it. I got twenty-five ads today. They were all emailed and the templates make it so I just have to drag and drop them in the layout program. I’m done … except for the article on the dead girls.”

  “Poor Bay.” Thistle rubbed her hand through my hair, purposely messing it up. “You just found out that you basically did all the work for years and now that you’re the boss your workload is almost exactly that same … and you actually paid money for that privilege. That has to be a bitter pill to swallow.”

  It honestly was. “I thought being the boss would be more fun.”

  “It will be fun,” Clove argued. She was always the optimist, which was grating. “You’ve barely had a chance to focus on that with everything else going on. It will be fun before you know it.”