Hold Your Witches

by Amy Boyles

  “You think it was Thundercat?”

  “Unless Thundercat was Lucinda. That’s a possibility as well.”

  “How can you find that out?”

  He cocked his chin. “I need her computer. Witch chat rooms work the same as others—you have to log in.”

  “I didn’t see one in her apartment.”

  “Pearbottom probably already has it.”

  “Asking Pearbottom for it sounds like fun. Not at all.”

  Roman tipped up the beer he was holding and took a pull. “He wouldn’t give it to me if I asked. I don’t work for the witch police, remember?”

  I thought for a moment. “Then I think I need to let Vera know we found her son. Since that’s what she hired us to do.”

  Roman nodded. “You work on that while I see what Pearbottom knows.”

  A flutter of panic beat against my rib cage. “Are you kidding? You want me to talk to Vera? Alone?”

  A sly smile coiled on his lips. “Are you worried about it? Dylan Bane, the woman who would jump through fire if it meant saving her family from disaster, is scared of a Mother Bear who’s sixty but looks thirty?”

  “When you put it like that…”

  His strong fingers curled around mine. “When I put it like that, you realize that’s what you signed up for when you started a PI firm.”

  I sighed. “You’re exactly right.”

  I called Vera at ten a.m. the next morning. “I’ve found Flynn.”

  Her voice sounded startled. “You have?”

  That was weird. Was she faking it, or was she actually surprised that I’d found him. Should I be annoyed at her lack of faith in my super sleuthing abilities?

  I decided not to be proud for being so skilled in my new job title—Dylan Bane, Seamstress Extraordinaire and Super Sleuth.

  “Can you come in two hours?” I said.

  “I can be there sooner,” she said, sounding annoyed.

  “I have other appointments.”

  “I’ll see you then.”

  Click.

  I did have other appointments, or rather one incredibly important slot filled in my schedule.

  The door to Perfect Fit opened. Sera strode in looking wired enough to be labeled post-electrocution status. Her eyes were wide, her fingers flexed and her shoulders were so tight they were practically suffocating her neck.

  “Um. You okay?” I said.

  “I tried calling you yesterday about the food. I didn’t know what to do, so I just left it.”

  I hitched a shoulder. “It was fine. I covered. Told Roman it was a present for him and to keep his nose out of it.”

  “Good,” she exhaled. “I’d hate for you to get caught.”

  I rose from the desk and came around, leaning my hip on the edge. “You seem really tense. You can’t be all worked up about last night’s dinner.”

  “No. I’m not,” she said tersely. “I’m about to pull out my hair.”

  Now Sera kept her head about her most of the time. That’s most of the time. I sensed a meltdown of epic proportions on the rise.

  “Uh-oh. What is it?”

  The door flung open. Grandma strode in, waving her hands. Milly caned slowly behind her, and Reid brought up the rear, literally looking like it took every bit of energy she had to lift each leg and plant it on the ground. It was actually quite painful looking. Lift, drag, repeat.

  “I just hope there’re feathers,” Grandma said, taking a seat on one of the viewing chairs.

  “Feathers?” Milly said. “Everyone knows a wedding dress needs pearls.”

  I shot a look at Sera. “Never mind. I think my question has been answered.”

  Sera clutched my arm for dear life. “I don’t know if I can make it through this sitting alive. I need alcohol. Lots of alcohol. Maybe illegal drugs. Do you have any?”

  I snorted. “No. I don’t have either. Come on. Let’s get you in the dress. Once they see it, they’ll shut their mouths about pearls and feathers.”

  Sera’s chin quivered. “Do you think so?”

  I hugged her to me. “Of course. Come on.”

  At least I hoped so.

  We retreated to a dressing room where I zipped Sera into a beautiful silk sheath dress. I stood back, taking her in.

  Her delicate collarbones peeked out from beneath the neck. The translucent sleeves showed off her well-defined biceps, and the straight line of the gown flattered her slim figure.

  She was stunning and would be a beautiful bride. I just hoped my grandmothers had the sense to keep their mouths shut.

  I escorted Sera to the viewing area. Reid had nodded off. Grandma elbowed her. “Wake up, girl. You’re missing all the fun.”

  Reid blinked a few times and straightened. “Oh. Wow.” She sucked in a breath. “Sera. You look beautiful. Wow, Dylan. You’ve outdone yourself.”

  I smiled. “Thanks. I zapped some of the thread with magic. It gives her a glow, don’t you think?”

  Milly chewed her invisible cud. “It’s pretty, but it’s missing something.”

  Grandma clapped her hand. “Feathers.”

  “No,” Milly said. “Definitely pearls.”

  “How about it’s not missing anything?” Sera snapped.

  “No, I just don’t think that’s right,” Grandma said.

  She pointed her finger at the dress. Magic traced the air. A line zipped toward Sera, splashing across the dress.

  It sprouted feathers. The bottom looked like a goose had exploded. There were downy feathers and long white feathers, squat feathers and more feathers.

  Sera gasped. “Get rid of them.”

  “That’s a start,” Milly said. “But I still say pearls.”

  She snapped her fingers, and a thousand pearls popped up on the top of the dress.

  Grandma folded her arms. “Now that’s a wedding dress.”

  Sera stared in the mirror. An expression of horror twisted her face. “That. Is. Not. My. Wedding. Dress.”

  Grandma gave her a toothy grin. “No, now it’s much better. See? The feathers are wonderful.”

  “And the pearls give it class,” Milly said.

  Reid snorted. “I might as well have crocheted a dress for you. It would’ve looked better than that disco explosion you’re wearing.”

  Sera closed her eyes and inhaled sharply. She muttered something under her breath. “Change it back. Now. I want the dress I asked Dylan to make. That’s my dress. That is. Not this.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Grandma said. “I think you should keep this one.”

  Sera’s eyes flared open. She fisted her hands to her sides. “Will you two stop!”

  Grandma blinked at her innocently. “Stop what?”

  “Stop trying to ruin my wedding. This is my wedding. Not yours. If I wanted feathers on my dress, they would be up to my neck. If I wanted pearls on it, I would’ve had them splashed over my breasts.”

  “That’s rather tasteless,” Grandma mumbled.

  Sera’s color deepened to cherry red. “Will you two stop meddling!”

  The room went silent. Sera exhaled a staggering breath and glanced at me. “Dylan, will you help me take this off?”

  “Yes.”

  We did so in silence. Sera didn’t say one word while she was getting dressed. She slipped back into her clothing, exited the dressing room and stalked by my family.

  She slammed the door behind her.

  Grandma glanced at Milly. “We got her good, don’t you think?”

  Milly thumbed her nose. “Our best performance yet.”

  I glared at them. “What was that all about? She’s pretty upset. I hope you had good reason to act that way.”

  Grandma glanced at Reid. “You want to tell her?”

  “I’m not speaking to Dylan.”

  “Since when?” Milly said.

  “Since she butted into my life.”

  Milly waved dismissively. “Get over it, kid. The best families butt into each other’s lives. That’s how you know
people give a rat’s butt about you.”

  Reid pulled a face. “Ew. I don’t want anyone to give me a rat’s butt.”

  “Really?” Grandma said, surprised. “In some countries those are a delicacy.”

  “That’s disgusting,” Reid said.

  “Okay, stop talking about eating animal parts,” I growled. “What is going on?”

  Grandma pressed her liver-spotted hands to the armrest and pushed herself to standing. It was wobbly done, but Grandma was old, so it was expected.

  “Your sister,” she announced, “has been experiencing what we like to refer to as ‘cold feet.’”

  I leaned forward. “What? You’re kidding.”

  “Afraid not,” Milly said. “Sera told Reid she’s not sure what’s wrong with her, but she’s confused.”

  My gaze darted to Reid. “She didn’t say anything to me about that.”

  Reid simply shrugged, keeping her promise not to talk to me.

  I glanced back at the grandmothers. “Now I’m confused. Why are y’all screwing with her so badly?”

  Grandma smiled feebly. “Dylan, we’re being mother birds and shooing our fledgling from the nest.”

  What she meant hit me like a bucket of rocks. “You mean you figured if you were annoying enough, Sera would be happy to get away from y’all and get married.”

  Grandma poked the air. “Exactly.”

  I groaned. Oh, boy. That was some screwed-up logic. But was I really surprised? I was talking about my family.

  The door opened, and Vera walked in. She eyed my family and then me. “I know I’m early, but I had to talk to you.”

  My family started shuffling off toward the door.

  “It’s fine. Come on in.”

  Vera grabbed my arm. “I don’t think you understand. Something terrible has happened.”

  Reid, who was dragging behind, was the last person out the door. I turned to Vera. “What is it?”

  “It’s Flynn. He told me he wants a divorce.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Okay, so someone was obviously delusional. “Um, Vera, let’s go to the back. There’s information I need to go over with you.”

  She slid her dark sunglasses atop her head. Her eyes were red, her nose puffy. She’d been crying; probably the impending divorce had driven her to it, either that or her psychosis about being her son’s wife had just went into overdrive. Yep, that was my bet.

  I yanked some tissues from a box, handed her a bottle of water and pressed her into a chair.

  I took the seat behind the desk, cleared my throat and got ready for the assault.

  “Vera, we know that Flynn is your son, not your husband. Roman and I spoke with him, so you can cut the act.”

  Vera’s bottom lip trembled. “But it’s not an act. He is my husband.” She fisted her hands. “I don’t know why he tells people that lie. I’m not his mother. He’s my husband. I have the marriage certificate to prove it.”

  I cringed. I really didn’t want to get into a debate with crazy over crazier. So I smiled widely. “Okay, I believe you. Let’s just move forward with what I know. That’s what you hired me to do, right?”

  “Yes,” she said, sniffling.

  “Flynn was having an affair with one Lucinda Graves.” I pulled out my phone and showed her the picture. “Sorry. I haven’t had time to print it out.”

  She blew her nose. “That’s okay.”

  “Two nights ago Miss Graves was murdered. The killer used a witch battery that was purchased by your so—Flynn. It was purchased by Flynn.”

  Vera’s face blanched in horror. “Flynn would never kill anyone.”

  “Did you know about the battery?”

  “No.”

  I gave her a pointed look. “Are you sure? Because what you’re telling me is that Flynn would never kill anyone, but who else might? Who might kill his lover out of jealousy?”

  Vera splayed a hand across her chest. “I would never kill anyone. Never. I wanted to know what Flynn was doing. He’d abandoned me. Deserted me. Left me high and dry without any way to reach him. He wouldn’t answer my calls. All I wanted to do was find him. I figured he was holed up with some floozy, and I was right. But I wouldn’t have killed her.”

  I threaded my fingers atop the desk. “Mrs. Stone, does the name Thundercat mean anything to you?”

  Vera stopped. “No. Should it?”

  “You’ve never heard it before?”

  “No. I don’t…I don’t think so.”

  I chewed the inside of my lip. Whatever their relationship was, Vera wasn’t helping when it came to the investigation. She was a dead end.

  “I knew Lucinda,” she said quietly.

  Or maybe she wasn’t a dead end after all.

  “How?” I said.

  “In the witch papers. She was a thief, right?”

  “From what my husband has said, yes, she was.”

  “I thought so. I recognized the name.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell me?”

  Vera’s mouth tightened. “Just that if Flynn was involved with her, there’s no telling what she was getting him into.”

  I could’ve told her about the haunted houses, but I chose not to. All she wanted to know about was the affair. But something irked me. Something tickled the back of my mind.

  “Has Flynn ever expressed interest in the occult?”

  “No. Never. It’s never been on his radar.”

  I pushed the chair back. “Okay. Well, thank you for coming in. I appreciate it.”

  Vera balled the tissue and tossed it in the trash can. “If you have more information on Flynn, let me know. Do you know where he lives?”

  “No, but I have this.” I handed her his phone. “You should be able to find him using it if you need to.”

  She palmed the hunk of plastic and glass. “If I need it. We’ll see and thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  As soon as Vera was gone, I grabbed a pen from my desk and fished out the used tissue.

  “Now,” I said. “Let’s see who’s telling the truth about you. Are you his mother or his wife?”

  I called Grandma, who was still with Milly and Reid. The three of them dragged their heinies back to Perfect Fit a few minutes later.

  “We got Reid some coffee,” Grandma said, eyeing my sister. “She almost fell face-first into it.”

  Reid yawned. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m so tired.”

  “I guess that boyfriend of yours is keeping you up late.”

  She shot me a look so dark it nearly singed my skin. “I didn’t see Jeremy last night, thank you very much.”

  “Who’s this Jeremy?” Grandma said.

  “No one,” Reid said quickly.

  In order to keep the peace and stop my sister from hating me any more than she already did, I didn’t answer. Instead I dropped the snotty tissue on the desk.

  “I want to know the age of the witch who mucused all over that.”

  Reid scowled. “Is that a word?”

  “It is now.”

  Milly caned over to the desk and glanced down. “She’s twelve.”

  “I’m serious. This could help us discover who stole Polly Parrot.”

  Grandma strode over, leaned down and inspected the tissue. “There is a way, and luckily it means we don’t have to touch the disgusting thing.”

  She waved a hand over it. Magic trickled from her fingers, wrapping the scrap in a glowing cocoon. “Milly?” she said.

  Milly rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you could handle this on your own, Hazel.”

  My grandmother smiled. “Two heads are better than one, I always say. Unless you’re actually two-headed. Then you might just want one head as the second head would probably talk too much, make inappropriate comments, that sort of thing.”

  Milly raised her hand and shot a stream of magic into the tissue. The tuft of paper lifted from the desk, spun around and exploded into confetti.

  Then the most dis
gusting thing happened. Milly and Grandma both stuck out their tongues and allowed a piece to land on them.

  Oh, so gross. My stomach clenched, and I almost vomited on my feet.

  When it was over, Grandma smiled widely. “She’s thirty-five.”

  Milly nodded. “And not eighty pretending to be thirty-five. She’s actually that age.”

  So Flynn was lying. Vera was his wife, and Flynn was telling tales about their relationship. If he was lying about that, what else was he lying about?

  And why would he bother lying about it? It didn’t make any sense. Lucinda was dead. It’s not as if he needed to keep the information from her.

  As soon as Roman returned, I needed to talk to him. We had to figure this out.

  “Thanks,” I said to my grandmothers. “I owe you one.”

  They left for the second time that day. I picked up my phone and was about to dial Roman’s number when he entered.

  His mouth was set in a thin line, his jaw was clenched tight and the cloud of testosterone that normally followed him everywhere he went had been traded in for an aura of energy that spelled totally ticked off instead of hunky and manly.

  I reached for him. “What’s wrong?”

  “What’d you find out about Vera?” Roman said, sidestepping my question.

  I clicked my tongue. “Flynn lied. She is his wife.”

  “How’d do you know?”

  “I stole a snot-rag from her.”

  “I don’t even want to ask.”

  I clicked my tongue. So proud of myself. “That’s probably for the best. Anyway, I had Milly and Grandma analyze it for her age. It’s like carbon dating.”

  “Except snot dating.”

  “Exactly right. They determined her age to be thirty-five. So he lied. What other secrets is Flynn hiding?”

  Roman’s jaw flexed. “I don’t think he’s the only one we have to worry about that.”

  I folded my arms. “What do you mean?”

  “Sit down.”

  “Not a good way to start a conversation. Sometimes I think folks should just blurt out the bad news. I mean, have you ever known me to faint?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s beside the point. I am a professional—something. PI. Private investigator. Whatever it is you have to tell me, I can handle it. Trust me.”