He wiggled the gun at her. “I’m not coming over there. Get it done or we’ll see how much Millie bleeds.”
“I can’t believe you were the icon of justice in this town. Your wife would be so ashamed of you. What would she think about you being in bed with the Collective?”
“Shut up about my wife,” he screamed, sending a shower of saliva into the air.
Gross. But good to know she’d found a weak spot. He also hadn’t denied working with the Collective. “You know I’m right.”
He pointed the gun at her, his chest heaving. “Get those zip ties on now.”
She frowned. So much for that. It wasn’t worth trying to make him stroke out if she got shot in the process. But at least she’d be able to leave the zip tie loose. And maybe the edge of the can was sharp enough to saw through one of these things. If she got the chance to try that, she would. She pushed the pointed end through the connector end. “There.”
“Tighter. No gaps.”
She glared at him and pulled it tighter. It was a little shocking how much she wanted to shove her knee into the bits and pieces of a senior citizen.
“Good.” He tucked the gun into his waistband. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.” He laughed like he’d just told the best joke ever and went upstairs.
“Jerk,” she muttered after him. At least he’d left the light on. She started searching the shelves around her for something to cut the plastic around her wrist, but there was a reason he’d put her on this side. Other than the Folgers can full of zip ties, and a Maxwell House can with a couple inches of soot in it, the shelves were empty. Too bad she wasn’t some kind of special ops genius who could whip up a bomb out of those ingredients. She should have read more Clancy. Or watched more MacGyver.
She stretched her fingers toward the zip tie can and tried to levitate it closer.
A soft moan penetrated the stillness.
Charlotte glanced over and the can thumped down onto the shelf. Millie seemed like she was waking up. Charlotte was maybe half a foot behind her on the other side of the cellar, so she leaned forward. “Psst. Millie. Are you okay? How are you doing?”
Millie lifted her head and looked around in that groggy, sort of bobble-head kind of way that reminded Charlotte of a newborn baby. Or someone who’d had a little too much to drink. Or, you know, been recently knocked unconscious. “Charlotte?”
“Behind you a little.”
Millie turned her head. Her eyes were half-shut. “What are you doing here? Where is here?”
“We’re in Judge Turnbury’s root cellar. And I’m here because he kidnapped me too.”
That didn’t seem to help Millie. “We got kidnapped?” She tried to lift her arm. “Is that why I’m tied to this chair? Why did we get kidnapped?”
“Technically, you’re duct-taped. And it’s because of me. I’m so sorry.”
Millie shook her head once, then grimaced like that had been a bad idea. “Why is it your fault?”
Charlotte sighed and leaned against the rack. How had Walker ever thought Millie was involved? “You know that ratty old book that came through the book return slot? The one you threw away? I rescued it from the trash and it turns out, it’s pretty valuable. Gilbert wants it. Sort of.”
That didn’t seem to jive with Millie. “That book was rubbish.”
“It wasn’t, I swear.”
“How could you tell? The pages were glued shut.”
“I could tell because…” She really wasn’t supposed to reveal that she was a witch to anyone outside the coven, but then, she hadn’t taken the oath to join the coven yet. And if she was going to end up dead, what did it matter? It was a lot to process.
Millie tried to sit up a little more. “That book is magic, isn’t it?”
Well, that solved that. “Yes. How did you know?”
Millie stared straight ahead and went silent for a moment. “My mother was a witch.”
If Charlotte hadn’t been attached to the shelves, she probably would have fallen over. “For real?”
Millie nodded slowly. “Yes.” She exhaled a long, slow breath. “I had a feeling about that book. That’s why I threw it away. I didn’t want a grimoire in the library. Didn’t want a book like that to fall into the wrong hands. Guess it’s too late for that.”
Was Millie implying that Charlotte’s hands were the wrong ones? Or Judge Turnbury’s? “What do you mean it’s too late?”
“I…” Millie looked over at her. “Why are we here again?”
“Because the judge stole the book and he wants me to use it for him.”
Millie’s head lolled to the side. “You’re a witch too.”
Charlotte took a deep breath. “I am.”
“And you can…operate this book?”
“That’s what everyone seems to think.”
Millie blinked a few times. “He’s going to kill us, you know.”
“I don’t think he’ll really—”
“He told me if things didn’t go his way, he would make sure all traces of his mistakes were gone. What do you think that means?”
Charlotte swallowed. Sounded like the judge was going to kill them. “I think it means we’re in trouble.”
Millie’s eyes were round and liquid with fear. “Do whatever he wants and get us out of here. Please. I don’t want to die.”
“I don’t either.”
“Good,” Millie choked out. There was an edge of hysteria in her voice. “Because if I die and you’re to blame, so help me I will come back and haunt you to death myself.”
Charlotte just nodded. Now was not the time to remind her boss that they’d probably both be dead. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Chapter Seventeen
Walker realized pretty quickly that traveling in leopard form wasn’t so easy in a town full of people who were out and about on a Friday night. The Cranberry Festival had swelled the town’s population, and most of those visitors had no desire to be inside when there were bands to hear, games to be played, crafts to buy, and heart-attack-inducing foods to be eaten.
The town was also better lit than usual, thanks to the Festival, meaning that many of the shadows that might normally conceal him weren’t there. He had no choice but to shift back to his human form until he got through the madness of Main Street and into the residential area.
Here, among the homes, there were enough shadows. He slunk between houses, going around those that were ablaze with lights, to pick up Charlotte’s scent again on the other side. Her scent was getting stronger, as was the sour stench of dark magic.
It almost overwhelmed him behind the next house, enough so that he shifted into human form to get a better look. Was he at Judge Turnbury’s? He picked his way around the side until he came to a window. The house was dark inside like no one was home. He went as close to the front as he dared.
And picked up another scent he recognized. This was Lola Honeycutt’s house. Charlotte’s mentor. For a woman who proclaimed none of the witches in town would have anything to do with dark magic, her house reeked of it. That was new. He would never have missed it before.
Maybe because the grimoire hadn’t been there before. That could be the sourness filling his nose. But he’d had Middian’s in his hands and the smell hadn’t been this strong. Could it be the stench increased if the book was used? Or maybe Lola had recently cast some new, dark magic spells.
Either way, Charlotte could be in worse trouble than he’d imagined. He prayed that wasn’t the case, but there was no telling what dark magic had been unleashed. Or where Charlotte was. Turnbury might have taken her, but he could be in league with Honeycutt. That would explain why the witch’s house stank of dark magic.
In fact, the stench was too powerful to ignore.
The book was here. It had to be. Which meant Charlotte probably was too. They could have taken her to lure him in. Or they could have snatched her to shut her up about the book. Or they might need her because she was the only one who could open
the book. If that was the case, they’d have to force her to do the bonding ritual too, or she wouldn’t be able to cast any of the spells in the book.
Once she bonded with the book, the FOL would never release her. His heart sank with that terrible realization. They’d lock her and the book away. After he turned them both in. He swallowed against the bitter taste in his mouth.
The thought of her in FOL custody chilled him. Charlotte wasn’t a bad witch. She was kind and generous and good. But being locked up in the FOL cells would change all that. It would destroy her.
He couldn’t let that happen.
Still in human form, he started around the home’s perimeter, listening carefully for signs of life while he looked for a way into the house. All while hoping he wasn’t too late.
Gilbert’s clomping footsteps announced his return to the basement before Charlotte actually saw him. When he appeared on the lower half of the stairs, all she could focus on was the book tucked under his arm.
Middian’s.
What kind of man spent his career working for justice, then turned into a scheming, lying, power-hungry thief? And went to work for a group like the Collective? That low-life piece of trash, that’s who. Charlotte had never considered herself a violent woman, but she was rethinking that in a big way.
The judge smiled grimly at Millie. “I see you’re awake, Ms. Merriweather.”
“Go suck an egg, Gil.”
“Tsk, tsk. Such language from the head librarian. Maybe I should slap some duct tape over your mouth.”
Millie shut up.
Gilbert approached Charlotte, but not too close. He patted the book under his arm. “Time to get to work. I assume you’ve completed the bonding ritual?”
She hadn’t, but lying about it could buy her some time. “Yep.”
“Excellent.” He put the book on the shelf nearest her and shoved it so that it slid close enough for her to reach it. “Open the book and find the spell for resurrection.”
“Um…what?”
“You heard me. Resurrection.”
“Who do you think I’m going to resurrect?”
His eyes sparkled with manic intensity. “My wife, of course.”
Which was both sweet and creepy and probably how the zombie apocalypse started. “Gilbert, she’s been gone for five—”
“Six,” he corrected. “Six years.”
“Okay, even worse. I don’t think you want to see what she looks like right now. Bringing her back to life in her current state would be…really unfortunate.”
“I know exactly what she looks like. Her ashes are in that Maxwell House can. The spell will restore her beautifully, you’ll see.”
Charlotte grimaced. “That’s your wife in that can? Why wouldn’t you put her in something, I don’t know, prettier?”
“Erma never went for fancy.” He laughed, but it ended in a weird sob. “Just get that spell working.”
“I will. I promise. Just one question first. How could you join up with a group like the Collective?”
“How? Because they promised me my wife back, you dumb girl. Now get to work on that spell.”
But she needed to know a little more. “Then what? You turn the book over to them?”
“Yes. Enough.” He gestured with the gun. “The spell.”
“On it.” Charlotte pulled the book closer as she opened it. The spell on the page in front of her was for the bonding ritual—Lola had said the book would open to that one—but she wasn’t about to perform that one. If only Lola were here now. She’d know what to do.
Charlotte turned the pages as slowly as she could, acting like she was studying each one. This was a game she could play indefinitely, but she hoped it didn’t take that long for Walker to show up. He had to be looking for her by now, right?
The spells in the book got darker the deeper in she went, the illustrations more twisted. She got the sense they were written in a variety of languages, all magically translated as her gaze fell upon the words.
The eerie knowledge that the book was aware of her settled over Charlotte like a damp fog. She couldn’t shake the prickliness of it, and couldn’t wait to be done with this wretched thing.
She came to the resurrection spell at about one-third in, which said volumes about what the rest of the book held. It creeped her out just to have her hands on it now, knowing what sort of awful things it was capable of. This book should absolutely be locked away. She stared at the spell, wishing she hadn’t found it.
“Did you find it?”
She looked up to see the gun still in his hand. She sighed. “Yes, I found it. But I need to read it first and understand it. I imagine you want me to get this right the first time.”
“Yes. But if I think you’re procrastinating…”
She read the first few lines of the spell. Then read them again before answering him. “You’ll what?”
His brows lifted. “I’ll put some lead in Millie.”
Charlotte pursed her lips as a burst of inspiration came to her. Sometimes, deceit had its uses. “You’d better not. Unless you want Erma to take possession of a holey body.”
“What?” Millie strained to look at her. “Are you saying you’re going to put his dead wife into my body?”
Charlotte tapped the book with her free hand and did her best to lie convincingly. “That’s what it says this spell does. Resurrects the spirit, not the body, then puts it in a new host.”
“No,” Gilbert snarled. “I want my wife back just like she was, not my wife in Millie’s body.”
“How do you think I feel?” Millie snapped. “Enough of this. I want out. Now. Cut me loose, Gilbert.” She struggled against the duct tape, straining and getting nowhere.
“Sorry,” Charlotte said. “That’s what this spell does.”
Gilbert cursed before speaking to Charlotte. “It’s better than nothing, I guess. Do you need Millie conscious for the spell to work?”
“I don’t think so, why?”
“Gil,” Millie barked. “Cut me loose.”
Gilbert walked over and clocked her on the head with the butt of the gun. “You’re not going anywhere.” She slumped down as he swiveled back toward Charlotte. “Get on with it.”
“Right.” Crap. Crappity crap crap. Charlotte’s pulse kicked up. She stared at Millie, trying to think of some way to stall, but she was running out of ideas.
“Now.” He aimed the barrel at her. “Start casting, witch.”
“I haven’t read it all the way through yet. I need to finish that first.” Maybe she shouldn’t have lied about this spell. Or about having completed the bonding ritual. Gilbert was really going to be mad when he found that out.
He waved the gun around. “What are you waiting for? Read!”
“Okay, reading.” She swallowed and focused her gaze on the book again.
Upstairs, a door closed with a dull thud. She and Gilbert looked up at the same time, but the sound only held Gilbert’s attention for a second. He grew frantic. “No more reading. Cast it now. Now.”
Charlotte’s spirits soared. That had to be Walker. “I’m down here,” she shouted. “In the basement.”
The cellar door opened, and Charlotte almost held her breath with joy. But the feet that appeared on the steps were not Walker’s.
The kitten-heeled black lace-up boots were only a temporary disappointment. As soon as Charlotte recognized them, she smiled.
Her mentor stopped at the bottom of the landing and took in the scene before her with a stern expression. “Well, well.”
“Lola, you’re here! And just in time. How perfect!” Charlotte was gushing a little, but if there was ever a time for gushing, it was now. “How did you find me? You know what? I don’t care. I’m just happy to be rescued. Thank you! But watch out for the judge. He’s got some kind of protection spell against magic on him.”
“Yes, I know,” Lola said. Her eyes tapered as she took in the judge. “I put it there. Perhaps I shouldn’t have.”
Charlotte’s jaw fell open. “What?”
Lola frowned. “Was he trying to get you to perform the resurrection spell?”
“Yes. Why did you give him magical protection?”
“Was he trying to get you to perform the binding ritual too?”
“No, because I told him I already had.”
Her body went tense. “Did you?”
“Not yet.”
She relaxed. “Good.”
“I still don’t understand why you’d give him magical protection.”
Lola ignored Charlotte, choosing instead to walk over to the judge and backhand him. “You fool. I told you we’d do your spell after mine was finished.”
He cowered in front of her. “But you promised. I’ll tell the Collective—”
Lola cut him off with a laugh. “You still think we’re turning the book over to the Collective?”
“But I promised them—”
“The only reason you’re even a part of this, old man, is to keep that group of fanatics off our backs until we have the power we need.”
The judge went silent, but Millie had come to life rather quickly at the sound of Lola’s voice. The head librarian lifted her chin triumphantly. What she had to be triumphant about, Charlotte wasn’t sure. Maybe the fact that her hair still looked perfect.
Charlotte tried to think, but there was so much happening that confusion clouded her ability to make sense of it all. “What’s going on? Just tell me in plain English.”
Lola smiled at her mentee. “You and I are about to make witch history.”
“We are? How?”
“You’re going to perform the binding ritual.” Lola’s smile widened like the Cheshire cat’s. “But we’re going to use my blood.”
Charlotte had a pretty good idea what that meant based on the sinking feeling in her stomach. “You’re not on the side of good, are you?”
Lola snorted. “My sweet little mentee. I’m on the same side I’ve always been on. Mine.”
Witchful Thinking: A Cozy Paranormal Mystery (The Happily Everlasting Series Book 4) Page 13
