by Dawn Eastman
After breakfast and a quick walk with the dogs, we piled in the Jeep to go pick up Diana. She’d called to ask for a ride to the festival. Dylan’s junker had broken down again and he needed to borrow her VW.
Both cars were in the driveway when we pulled up, so I parked in the street.
Diana lived in a small chalet-looking house that was partly obscured by vines and trees. It was the same house she’d lived in since moving to Crystal Haven as a kindergartner. Her mother had planted herbs, flowers, and shrubs over the years. Diana loved plants and couldn’t bring herself to prune or cut down anything. It showed in the spring when the vegetation launched its campaign to take over the yard. Alex had been known to sneak over to her house when she was at work and “clean up.” Now, in the fall, the foliage was subdued, the beautiful colors fading. Still, the deep shadows made me feel that they were all just biding their time until their world domination.
Seth and I climbed the stone steps to the porch and I raised my hand to knock when I heard Dylan’s voice on the other side of the door.
“Why can’t you just trust me on this?” His voice was hard, angry.
I couldn’t hear a reply.
“He wasn’t as great as you thought. Seeing the good in people is one thing, being blind to true evil is another.”
Seth’s eyes had become round, he looked back longingly at the Jeep. Before I could offer any reassurance, the door flew open and Dylan stood there, his head turned away to shout, “Whatever!” He spun back around and I watched as his face reassembled itself from anger to confusion to an uncomfortable smile. He was my height with straight black hair that he wore spiked all over his head. He had a gold hoop in one eyebrow, which drew attention to his gold-brown eyes. Diana stood just behind him in the hallway, her orange curls and bright green eyes denying the sibling relationship. The only thing they shared was their mother’s upturned nose and creative sensitivity. Diana’s mouth formed a circle of surprise.
“Hi, Clyde.” Dylan hooked his thumb over his shoulder and shrugged. “Just some sibling bickering.”
It sounded a bit more heated than their usual squabbles but I smiled in return.
Dylan was looking at Seth, obviously trying to place him.
“This is my nephew, Seth,” I said. “You haven’t seen him for a while.”
“Seth?” Dylan held his hand out at waist height. The last time they’d met, Seth had been wearing Harry Potter robes and clutching a wand.
Seth raised his hand in greeting.
“Sorry, dude. Don’t you hate it when people remember you as only a little kid?” Dylan put his fist out and Seth bumped it with his own. The male greeting ritual complete, I gestured at the door.
“Oh, yeah. Come in.” He held the door wide, glanced at Diana, and said, “Later.”
Dylan bounded down the steps and hopped into the VW. It sprayed gravel as he pulled out.
Diana gave a wobbly smile. “Seth, I didn’t expect you. . . .”
“Seth really wanted to be here for the last day of the festival,” I said.
Seth nodded. “Wouldn’t miss it. I better go check on the guys.” He gestured toward the car and hastily retreated. He was remarkably good at sensing the mood in a room and avoiding uncomfortable situations.
After he shut the door, I turned to Diana, who already had her hand up.
“I know what you’re going to say.”
I doubted that. “Okay, what?”
“You’re going to say Dylan doesn’t appreciate me and he doesn’t respect me and I shouldn’t let him take advantage.”
I shook my head. We had argued enough about her brother over the years and I had thought all that more than once. “No, I’ve already said all those things.” I let out a breath and met her gaze. “I was going to ask who Dylan thinks is evil.”
Diana twirled one of her fingers through a ginger curl and bit her lower lip.
“It’s Rafe.” She paused and took a deep breath. “He’s had it in for Rafe since my parents died. It’s the reason he left town in such a hurry after their funeral.”
That explained some things, like why Dylan hadn’t stuck by his sister, and why she had tolerated it. I gestured toward the living room. A brother hating a murder victim felt like a sit-down conversation.
“You never told me that. I knew they didn’t always get along but I thought that was because Rafe tried to step in as a substitute father. I figured Dylan resented it and just wanted to get away.” I sat next to her on the couch.
“I think he did feel that way. And initially, that’s what I thought as well. A few years ago, Dylan came here for a long weekend. You were already in Ann Arbor by then.” She stopped and looked down at her lap before continuing. “He found Rafe here having dinner and they fought. I don’t even know what it was about, to be honest, but they sure did. Dylan said something about knowing what Rafe had done. Rafe just laughed. That made Dylan even angrier.” She stared into space, her brow wrinkled. “Anyway, Rafe left in a hurry and Dylan wouldn’t tell me what he was talking about—until last night.”
“What?” I put my hand on hers.
She took a deep breath. “He thinks Rafe killed my parents.”
I pulled my hand away and stood up. “Is he serious?”
“He claims he has proof. He came back this week to confront Rafe, not for the festival.”
I didn’t like where my thoughts were leading me. If the bread had been doctored with peanuts, Dylan had been given multiple opportunities to do that. He’d been with Diana for the whole week.
“Do you know if he ever did confront Rafe?”
She shook her head. “He says they never had the chance to talk alone. He says Rafe was avoiding him. It’s certainly true that I didn’t see much of Rafe this week while Dylan was here.”
“Has he told you what this proof is?”
“It has something to do with a grimoire that my father found just before he died.”
“A grimoire?”
Diana rolled her eyes at me and huffed. “A Book of Shadows? A spell book?”
“Oh, like the one you write all your spells and potions in? Isn’t it just a notebook?”
Diana got up from the couch and went into the kitchen. She returned holding a spiral notebook, its pages stained, the cover filled with doodles.
“This is my working notebook, or grimoire. I write down the mixtures of herbs and the words to say for different spells. If I come up with something I like, I add it to the family grimoire. It’s kind of like a family recipe book. Ours has been passed down for five generations through my mother’s side. In my family it always passed to the oldest daughter.”
“Why haven’t you ever shared this with me before?” I sat on the couch again.
Diana shrugged. “I sort of figured you knew we had one, and I’ve shown you some of the books I’ve used in the past. But, mostly, because it’s supposed to be a secret.”
“Still, old secret books are the kind of thing you tell your best friend . . .” I was mostly kidding but should have known better and realized Diana would take me seriously in her current mood.
“It’s not like you ever expressed an interest in anything Wicca.” She sat down, hard. “Your mother acts like I’m either crazy or deeply misguided most of the time, and Vi has been secretly asking for the lottery numbers for years. She seems to think I can do a ‘winning spell.’” Diana’s face got pink and her hair seemed to get bigger, and curlier.
“I was just kidding. Calm down.” I reached for the notebook and then stopped myself. “May I?”
She nodded and handed it over.
“First of all, my mother looks at everyone as if they’re crazy or misguided. She looks at me like I’m crazy, misguided, and ungrateful. Try living with that.” I thought for a moment. “There’s really nothing to say about Vi.”
I flipped thr
ough the book, which was filled with Diana’s perfect printing. She’d even sketched some of the plants she used. When I got to a spell about how to see your future, I flipped it shut.
I took a deep breath. “I’ve been keeping something from you as well.”
She took the book back and waited.
“I’ve noticed a few times in the past, when you’ve done spells with me, that they seem to cause the dreams.”
“You mean those dreams?”
I nodded. Diana knew how I felt about my psychic abilities. The dreams and occasional visions came unbidden and were, frankly, unwelcome. I had been trying for years to get them to stop. It was the main argument I had with my family—they thought I was throwing away a gift. Like a singer who wouldn’t sing, or a star pitcher who preferred knitting to baseball. Mom and Vi, who wished they had inherited my grandmother’s talent, constantly nagged me to “focus on my gift.” What they didn’t understand was that rather than feeling empowered by the knowledge, I felt helpless. The dreams were always bad news and I had never been able to change the outcome.
“Oh, Clyde. I’m sorry. I only did spells with you for protection. I never did anything meant to bring on your dreams.”
“I should have told you, but it didn’t come up that often.” I grabbed her hand. “You can’t tell anyone about this. If my mom and Vi get wind of it, they’ll become Wiccans. Can you imagine the spells Vi would come up with?”
Diana laughed. “They would certainly put their own spin on it.”
“But what does this grimoire have to do with Dylan and Rafe?”
“Dylan claims that Rafe and my dad had a fight about a grimoire my dad found. You remember my dad had the used bookstore and he was always haunting garage sales and estate sales for old books?”
“Sort of.” What I mostly remembered about Elliot Ward was his sense of humor. He loved to tell jokes followed by a deep, rolling laugh that forced you to join in no matter how terrible the joke.
“Rafe was at our house for dinner about a week before my parents died. I wasn’t there, but apparently the three of them were drinking and reminiscing. Dylan was outside shooting baskets and came in for a Coke. They must not have heard him come in, because he overheard them arguing about a book.”
“Why would they argue about a grimoire?”
“Dylan wondered the same thing. He walked down the hallway so he could see what they were doing in the living room. The volume was ancient and falling apart, like an old family Bible. My dad was showing Rafe something toward the back and then he slammed it shut and said, ‘You’re done.’”
I sat back on the couch. It sounded like a threat, but Elliot was one of the gentlest people I had ever known.
“What do you think it meant?”
“Dylan thought there was a spell in the book and my dad was threatening Rafe with it. But now he has a new theory—” Diana’s phone buzzed in her pocket.
Her eyes grew wide when she answered. “We’ll be right there.”
8
Diana and I flew out her front door and got in the Jeep.
“I thought we had to be there by ten. I got up early. . . .” Seth let his complaints trail off when he saw our faces.
“We lost track of time,” I said.
“We’re really late,” Diana said.
Seth slumped in the backseat and plugged in his earbuds.
“Bethany is freaking out,” Diana said. “She says it feels like the whole festival is at the booth. Most of them are asking about Rafe and whether it’s true that he was murdered. The few real customers are getting irritated at the long line.” Diana chewed on her thumbnail. She was a consummate professional, but the weeks leading up to the festival had taxed her organizational skills. I knew she was mentally beating herself up for leaving Bethany to fend for herself. I also knew better than to point out that the festival had been fantastic, with the highest attendance in ten years.
“What about your other assistant?”
“Skye hasn’t shown up and Bethany can’t reach her by phone.”
I focused on the road and drove as fast as I could.
When we arrived, I had barely stopped the Jeep before Diana jumped out and made her way to her booth. Seth and I followed with the dogs.
Bethany had not been exaggerating. The line leading up to Diana’s booth snaked past several other tables selling everything from pumpkin pies to wands to corn husk dolls. She pushed her way through the crowd to where Bethany, a blonde, plump, twenty-something, stood, trying to placate a customer and get the line to move along.
Diana stepped in and took over. I told Seth we should spread out along the table and gestured at the next in line to move forward.
“Dude, I just got here last night. I don’t know anything about Rafe Godwin,” Seth said to the fourth person who had quizzed him. He handed the man his bag and said, “That’ll be twelve dollars.”
After about half an hour of all four of us taking orders and sending the merely curious on their way, the line had died down to just a couple of people who were still deciding on their purchases.
“Bethany, I’m so sorry you were dealing with that all alone.” Diana pushed a handful of curls off her forehead.
“No prob. They were here when I came to open up—it would have been crazy no matter what. I just got worried when you didn’t show up on time. You’re never late.” Bethany made change for a lady who bought a lapis bracelet.
Seth sidled down to our end of the table. “I think you should take this one,” he said, his face reddening.
Diana nodded and slid down to the middle-aged woman.
“What’s up?” I said to Seth, and nodded at the customer.
“Nothing,” he said. He leaned toward me and whispered, “She wants something to stabilize her hormones.” He scrunched his nose. “I don’t want to know about her hormones.”
I looked away so he wouldn’t see my smile.
After the menopausal customer left, Diana and I straightened up the booth, which looked like a windstorm had blown through. We went to the back of the stall to get more stock.
“Hi. Can I help you?” Seth’s voice sounded deeper and I turned to see who had caused the modulation.
“I work here. I’m late.” The girl brushed past him to put her bag under the table.
Seth’s mouth hung open. I tried to think of a subtle signal to tell him to shut it before he started drooling, when the girl stood up and turned toward him. He clamped his jaw shut.
“I’m Skye,” she said.
Seth nodded and pretended to be interested in the crystal balls on the table.
“I’m Seth.”
Skye spotted Diana and me and came to the back of the booth. When she approached, I realized what had Seth so tongue-tied. She had bright blue eyes in a delicately perfect face framed by dark wavy hair. She was mesmerizing—I couldn’t stop staring.
“Diana, I’m so sorry I’m late. My mom insisted I go to church with her.” Her words came out in a rush. “She’s been acting like a lunatic since Rafe died. She hopes I’ll leave the coven now.” I was surprised when, rather than scolding her for leaving everyone in the lurch, Diana pulled her into a hug.
“These past couple of days must have been awful for you. I’m sorry I didn’t call.” Diana patted her back and released her.
“Clyde, this is Skye. You might have met her the night Rafe . . .”
I put out my hand to shake hers. I remembered her now, but meeting her in the woods in the dark had not prepared me to see her during the day. A quick glance at Seth showed a person not ready to meet her under any circumstances.
Seth turned reluctantly away when a customer tapped him on the shoulder.
“Diana, since Seth and Skye are here to help Bethany, maybe we can wander the festival for a few minutes?”
She cocked her head at me an
d seemed to understand immediately what I wanted to do.
“Good idea. Let’s go.” Diana turned to Bethany and said, “Call me if it gets crazy again. We won’t go far.”
I glanced at Seth, who seemed to be standing very tall.
Once we got a few booths away, I said, “What’s up with Skye?”
Diana nodded and sighed. “I hired her for the festival because Rafe recommended her. She’s been working on some sort of project with him and she’s a computer expert. Do you remember meeting her mother at the ceremony? Bea? She’s short, thin, and always wears her hair in a bun?”
I slowly nodded as I ran the ceremony through my mind. “She didn’t seem very happy to be there that night. Sort of the way my mother would act if I had forced her to come.”
“That’s not too far off. Bea doesn’t approve of Skye’s choice but came to the ceremony as a show of support or interest. Anyway, the fact that someone died right in the middle of the ceremony hasn’t made matters any better.”
“Is Skye old enough to join a coven? I thought you had to be eighteen?”
“She turned eighteen a few months ago. Her parents weren’t happy when her first act as a legal adult was to leave their church and join the coven. They blamed Rafe and things got pretty ugly for a while there. When Bea asked if she could come to the ceremony I thought it was a good sign, that maybe she had developed an open mind.”
“Sounds like maybe you were wrong.”
Diana nodded and chewed on her thumb. I knew she worried about Rafe’s coven and some of the accusations that had been swirling over the years. Rafe liked to run things his own way and some in the Wiccan community felt he was too heavy-handed. Even within his coven there were detractors. Now that he was dead, the group would have to figure out if it would stay together or split up. Diana had avoided covens because she didn’t like the politics and she didn’t want to do anything that would jeopardize her business. She would never admit it but she was just too independent to join a group that would dictate how she should practice her religion.
