Witching Your Life Away

by Constance Barker

  Neither Avery nor Aiden had an answer for her, though. “That’s all he would say,” Avery said. “It doesn’t make any more sense to me than it does to you.”

  Now, Bailey turned on Aiden, pointing a finger. “I told you. I knew this was something… unnatural. Two in the same day, in the same place, under the same weird circumstances can’t possibly just be some… murder trend.”

  “I have to agree,” Aiden said. “I wasn’t unconvinced before, Bailey, I simply—”

  “You simply didn’t take action,” Bailey said, smoldering now. If they had acted on her instinct, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe Tori Bolton would still be alive. She didn’t say these things—she didn’t need to, she could see them in Aiden’s eyes. He was undoubtedly thinking the same thing.

  “Now knowing,” Aiden said quietly, “that there is an apparent pattern of some sort… we can certainly take steps to prevent a third incident.”

  “An ‘incident’?” Bailey snorted, her anger still hot and not showing signs of cooling down. “There will be someone watching the caves now,” she snapped. “If there’s some magic at work there, how are we supposed to check for it?”

  “I don’t know,” Aiden admitted. “But there are other venues we might cover in the meantime.”

  “And as long as someone’s down there,” Avery added, “maybe it will prevent another murder from happening; if that’s what we’re seeing.”

  “Chloe told me something today about the dangers of violent deaths in the caves,” Bailey said, sinking into a chair. “That they affected the resonance. Martha Tells was bad enough, but the Caves might heal from one event. Two, though, so close together and with the kind of emotion that must have been involved… I mean can you imagine what Tori must have been thinking or feeling? Or Bobby? Both of them killed by people they’d known for years?”

  “Maybe you should speak to Michael and Delbert,” Avery suggested. He was speaking to Bailey, and she frowned. “Me?”

  He tapped his head. “Why not?”

  Get inside the thoughts of two murderers? She’d been there before, of course, with Poppy, her old boss and previous owner of the tour business and the property the Seven Caves were on. She’d killed Martha Tells, but then at the time Bailey hadn’t realized what was happening to her—and Poppy’s was a crime of passion, on the outside. She’d skipped town, or tried to, afterward.

  Michael and Delbert had both stayed at the scene. What kind of turmoil might be going on inside their minds? Just thinking about it made Bailey feel uncomfortable in her skin. What if it was some kind of psychic infection? Would she know? Could she fend it off? Was that even possible?

  Then again, they had to know more than they did right now, and between the three of them she was the only one equipped to see past whatever lies either murderer might be likely to tell her. Surely Michael was… delusional, or mixed up. Then again…

  “Gloria never admitted to killing Professor Turner,” Bailey said softly. “Even though they gathered enough evidence to convict her.”

  “She technically got off on an insanity plea,” Avery pointed out. “Though, she’s no less imprisoned in the asylum, I suppose.”

  “What I mean is that the last time we suspected faeries of… I don’t know, making someone kill another person… she didn’t remember.”

  Aiden pursed his lips slightly. “She never admitted to remembering, at least. That doesn’t mean she didn’t.”

  When Bailey had read Gloria’s mind, she had heard only snippets of garbled thoughts, and strange, distant music that was, she now knew, one of the hallmarks of faerie magic. Of course, the presence of music didn’t necessarily point to faeries—after all, she’d heard people with songs stuck in their head as well, and somehow she didn’t think Taylor Swift was, in fact, a faerie. Though, it would explain why her music was so catchy…

  “Let us attempt to get a look at the scene down there,” Aiden told her. “I suspect that between the two of us we can manage something. You are best positioned to speak with Michael and Delbert. Take your father with you, and perhaps he can negotiate an interview. You can claim to be… studying under him, perhaps.”

  It wasn’t a bad plan. And Ryan knew everyone at the Sheriff’s station. If they could figure out what the common thread was between the two crimes, maybe they would be able to predict the next one, or at least know what to look for.

  She looked up from her thoughts when Avery put a hand on her shoulder. “Everyone in town is important,” he said, “but next time… it could be someone close to home. We have to know.”

  “I know,” Bailey said. “I do. I’ll… see what Dad can manage.”

  “Best to hurry,” Aiden said. “These two were close together. For all we know, if there is a pattern, the intervals will get closer. I’d hate to learn that by witnessing a third event.”

  Bailey nodded, and rose. She hugged Avery, and had a stilted, near-hug moment with Aiden before she remembered both that she was cross with him and that Avery was with them.

  Avery, however, eyed them both and rolled his eyes—though he said nothing.

  She left them, and looked down the trail again before she left. There was someone besides the deputy, she thought… but, no. Just a shadow, wavering on the ground.

  Except, when she looked back again, it was gone.

  Chapter 8

  Bailey found Ryan at the library again, though he was no longer with the microfiche and instead was at a table out of the way in the back, surrounded by papers he’d printed off and in front of his laptop. She found him when she heard him coughing.

  It was a hacking, wet sort of cough that sounded awful. “You doing alright?” She asked as she came around the bookshelves and saw him in the midst of it.

  Ryan held up one hand and coughed into the other, and then took a swallow of water from a plastic bottle before he spoke. “Coming down with a spot of something, I think,” he told her. “Nothing serious. Change of seasons, probably.”

  Bailey looked over the papers. Some of them were property reports, it looked like. She raised an eyebrow. “What… are you looking into?”

  Her father frowned down at the papers arrayed before him. “A slippery sort of story, apparently… I can’t seem to quite pin down the information I need. Do you know Mr. Dove never actually owned a house in Coven Grove?”

  She blinked, and shook her head. “I didn’t… why does that matter? Maybe he rented.”

  “Where, exactly?” Ryan asked.

  “One of the beach houses? I admit, I’ve never been to his house before.” She leaned on a chair. “What’s brought this on?”

  He waved a hand to dismiss it all. “Nothing of particular import. What brings you by? Other than to see your ailing father, of course.” Ryan smiled.

  “You’re not ‘ailing’ just yet, old man,” Bailey said. “You’ve been in here all day?”

  Ryan looked at his watch, and both his eyebrows rose, further wrinkling his forehead. “Oh, my. So I have. Time does fly, I suppose. Faster, the older you get, I’m afraid. I seem to have missed lunch. No wonder my stomach has been growling away like a concrete truck.”

  “Then you haven’t heard,” Bailey said.

  “Heard what?” He pushed up his spectacles, frowning. “What happened?”

  She related the events of the day, and his face grew grim by degrees until there was a deep frown on his face, and a pained look in his eyes. “I heard the sirens earlier, but I was so focused on all this that… how very terrible. And, you think it’s… faerie related?” He whispered the words as though they might hear. And, for all Bailey knew, they might.

  “I can’t be certain,” she told him, “not yet, anyway. But it would be a stretch to think it was anything else. I’m willing to keep an open mind. Um… open enough, in fact, to take a closer look at Delbert and Michael.”

  “A closer… ah,” Ryan’s eyebrows creased as he put the pieces together. Cold or no cold, Ryan Robinson’s mind never slowed down. �
�But, you’ll have a difficult time speaking to two suspected murderers yourself, so I deduce that you wish to accompany me on interviews with them?”

  “Elementary, my dear Watson,” Bailey said, though with little humor.

  “Ah, I believe that would be my line,” Ryan said, equally humorless. He thought it over for a moment, tapping his fingers on the table as he did. “This early, they may not want me to speak with the suspects. There are procedures, you see. It’s not as simple as going up there and asking to talk with them.”

  “I thought of that,” Bailey said. “Ah… I may be able to… circumvent some of the red tape if I’m with you.”

  He looked at her over his glasses. “How’s that, now?”

  It was an aspect of her ability that she hadn’t told many people about—Ryan included—because it was the kind of thing that would make people very nervous. Once before, however, Bailey had compelled the woman who manned the front desk at the Sheriff’s department during the day to give her clearance to speak with Ryan when he was arrested. It was the sort of magic that could easily be misused, and even knowing that she had the ability to put thoughts in people’s heads made her uncomfortable. She knew the limits, though, and with some practice with Chloe, had learned to use it carefully. Until now, she’d never had a reason.

  “I can be very persuasive,” she said. “Magic stuff.”

  “Oh,” Ryan said. “Naturally. If you can be persuasive enough to get me an interview with the suspects, well… I wish I’d had you around when I was at my peak.”

  Bailey smiled. “Are you feeling up to a trip, then?”

  “Right now?” Ryan asked. He looked at his papers with some apprehension, but ultimately nodded and began shuffling them together to put into his briefcase. “Just let me tidy up here.”

  “I don’t see why you’ve got such an interest in Mr. Dove,” Bailey said. “He’s just a weird old man, as far as I can tell.”

  “Be that as it may,” Ryan said, “he has some eccentricities. And do you know in all the time he’s been here, I’ve never once written a story featuring him? The sale of the antique shop was quite an event. Maybe… less so, in light of the year we’ve had, but nonetheless that’s the very reason I should have written something about it. Most everyone in town has been part of some story or another, even common things like… bake sales and graduations.”

  “So, he stays out of the limelight,” Bailey reasoned. “I don’t see why that should warrant all this research.”

  Ryan lifted a finger. “Precisely, my dear,” he said. “That’s precisely the reason why it does.”

  They took Ryan’s car to the sheriff’s station. Once inside, Ryan spoke to Darla Simmons at the front desk. She gave Bailey a wary eye that made Bailey want to hide her face—Darla had been the person she’d compelled before, even if there was no way she could know that’s what happened. Bailey still felt guilty for it, even though it had been necessity at the time, and an accident.

  “Ryan Robinson,” Darla said as soon as Ryan greeted her. “I bet I can guess why you’re here. I shouldn’t have to tell you that you can’t speak to either suspect yet, hon. You know I can’t let you in.”

  Bailey had discussed the plan with Ryan on the way to the station, and he followed it now. “Just let me speak to Sheriff Larson,” he told her. “That’s all. He can make a statement or tell me to shuffle off, and I will if that’s what he wants.”

  “You already know what he’ll tell you,” Darla sighed.

  “Neverthe ess,” Ryan told her, “you and I are both simply doing our jobs. The Sheriff is, as well.”

  Darla gave him a long look, and then shook her head as she picked up the dispatch radio and spoke into it. “Is Bill at the station?”

  A moment later, “Ten four, Darla, what is it now?”

  “I’ve got Ryan Robinson up here, wants to speak with you, Bill.” Darla waited expectantly, along with Bailey and Ryan. There was a long silence.

  “I’ll be up in a second,” Sheriff Larson said over the radio, clearly not happy about it.

  Darla put the radio down, and gestured at the waiting area. “Have a seat.”

  It took some time for the Sheriff to meet them, and when he did it was with preemptive exasperation. “Mr. Robinson,” he said as he approached, “I see you’ve got your ear to the ground as always. I don’t have a statement yet. Not until we get all this sorted through.”

  Bailey stood with her father, and the Sheriff looked her over before he shook Ryan’s hand. “Bring your daughter to work day?” he asked.

  “Bailey is considering following in my footsteps,” Ryan announced, as they’d discussed. “Lately she seems to have a talent for being in the right place at the right time. Or, the wrong place at the wrong time; depending on one’s perspective, I suppose.”

  “We’ve noticed,” Larson said. “Well, like I said, I don’t have anything to say at the moment. We’re not even done processing the second suspect and—”

  Bailey opened her mind, and focused on Sheriff Larson’s presence before her. She found his thoughts, mostly concerned with paperwork and the trepidation of visiting Bobby Baines’ parents as well as Tori’s niece. She gathered her will, focusing on the words as she formed them in her own head and imagined them forming amid the tumult of thoughts in his. “We can speak with the suspects, at least. That shouldn’t be a problem, and we can hold the story back until you’re ready to release information about the crimes.”

  Darla snorted behind the counter. But Bailey felt the little rush of energy as it passed through her forehead, leaving behind a slight ache.

  The Sheriff sighed, and looked from Ryan to her and back. “You can speak with the suspects,” he said after a moment, “but not a word in the paper about this until I give the go ahead. Am I clear?”

  Her mind still open, and a little unbalanced from the effort, she felt Ryan’s shock although he hid it outwardly like a trained spy. “You have my word, Sheriff. Not until you say.”

  Sheriff Larson nodded slowly, and rubbed his chin. “Alright. Well, Delbert’s already in his cell. I can’t let you in, mind you, but you can speak with him. I’m not sure when Michael will be processed but he’s on his way to a cell shortly.” He turned to Darla to retrieve passes from her.

  “Bill,” she whispered, “you sure this is a good idea?”

  Sheriff Larson shrugged. “You heard him, Darla,” he said. “He’ll keep it to himself until I’m ready to make a statement.”

  “You don’t think this could undermine the case?” She asked doubtfully.

  “They both confessed to the crime,” Larson said blithely. “They were both at the scene, and both had murder weapons on them. Doesn’t get much more convicted than that.”

  Bailey and Ryan said nothing until he turned and handed them their passes, and then led them through the station and to the door leading to the jail.

  Seamus was at a desk and noticed them as they passed, and gave Bailey a look of confusion and concern just before they passed from the main station and into the long hall that led to the cell block.

  “I don’t miss this place,” Ryan muttered.

  Bailey touched his shoulder and then accepted a brief hug from her father as Sheriff Larson got them buzzed into the jail proper.

  “You’ve got ten minutes with each of them,” Larson said firmly. “And that’s it.”

  “Absolutely,” Ryan assured him, and they walked through the heavy steel door when Larson opened it for them and waved them through.

  “Perhaps,” Ryan said when the door closed heavily behind them, “you should have been more specific in your… persuasion.”

  “I didn’t think about it,” Bailey said. They were both quiet a moment. She looked up at her father. “What are you thinking?”

  He glanced down at her. “You can’t tell?”

  “Dad,” she said, “I would never read your thoughts without your permission.”

  Ryan nodded at that, and then shifted his briefca
se strap a bit. “I’m thinking that it must be an awful burden, having a power like yours. I wish you didn’t have to bear it.”

  “You’re not worried I might… abuse it?”

  Ryan smiled. “The thought never crosses my mind, Bailey-Bee. Your mother and I raised you better than that.”

  She smiled, her eyes momentarily stinging, and hugged him. “Thank you, Daddy.”

  A moment later, a guard met them and led them past a row of mostly empty cells, to the one holding Delbert Finn.

  Delbert looked ragged. His eyes were red, his hair a mess, and he was still in his clothes although he no longer wore the jacket that Bailey was certain she’d seen him in at the Caves. Evidence now, she assumed. There were still dark spots under his fingernails, and she tried not to think of what it was. He didn’t look up when they stopped, just sat on the squat bunk and stared at the concrete floor.

  Ryan turned to the guard. “We’ll stay well out of arm’s reach, and call you if you’re needed. But we need the… suspect… to be able to talk freely, if you don’t mind.”

  The guard, a square faced man with several days worth of stubble, eyed them both for a moment, and then glanced at Delbert before he sighed, and left them. “Ten minutes,” he said over his shoulder.

  “I have any number of questions,” Ryan said to Bailey when the guard was back at his station, “but I suspect this interview is yours to conduct?”

  “Yeah,” Bailey breathed. She was watching Delbert. It was more difficult than she realized it was going to be. Sweet, unassuming Delbert Finn. She hadn’t really seen him much since High School. For some reason, she felt bad about that now; as though somehow being more social with him once they were out of school might have… what? Prevented him from coming under the influence of dark magic? Kept him from harboring whatever secret tendencies that magic had taken advantage of?

  It was impossible to think that he’d be capable of murder, even now—looking at him here, in a cell, blood still on him from the event.