I'd had just about enough “motherly help” from my aunt, but I held my tongue.
“Mmm,” I said, nodding. Frank was a shifter, and he'd squealed with delight over my powers, so if it was true that shifters found spells disgusting, it was a learned prejudice.
Zoey held up the mythology book, pages facing us. “Mom, did you say Steve the Lawyer had a forked tongue and a scaly iguana face, like this?” The page showed a woodcut illustration of a beast with a cat-like body.
“Close, but Steve was more regal, more refined.”
“But only because of his law degree,” Zoey said. “If this dude here had gone to a fancy college, he'd look refined.”
Aunt Zinnia pushed her chair back and got to her feet. “Thank you so much for inviting me over,” she said politely.
“Thank you for coming,” I said. “Honestly, I'm so glad Zoey and I have you. I'm trying to be a good witch.”
Her mouth tightened. “I know you're trying,” she said.
“I'll try harder, and I'll take a break after I finish helping Chet.”
“Good luck with that. Perhaps by the next time I see you, he will have gotten the closure he needs. Then he'll be able to move forward pursuing a romantic relationship with you, as you desire.” She turned and exited the dining room. I had to jump up and chase her down the hallway to catch up.
“That's not too likely,” I said. “If his kind thinks that my kind has magic witch cooties, how would that even work?”
She gathered her light summer coat from a hook next to the front door and pulled it on gracefully—possibly using magic, but I couldn't tell for sure.
“Some mixed couples find a way to overcome their differences,” she said. “But if you ask me, their kind isn't worth the trouble. To be perfectly honest, I find the whole animal-shifter thing rather repugnant.” She scrunched her nose.
“It's a moot point if his fiancée wakes up,” I said.
“She's been in this coma for a year now, Zara. Life is not a fairy tale. People enjoy those heartwarming stories because in real life, Sleeping Beauty doesn't wake from her slumber.”
Chapter 19
Wednesday morning, I got up early and went next door to the Moore house so we could pay a visit to Chloe before I went to work.
To my surprise, Chet played the role of Mr. Chivalry. He was quick to open the passenger-side door for me, and then asked how I was feeling and if I'd slept well and did I want to stop somewhere for a coffee before we dropped in on Chloe at the bakery?
“They probably have decent coffee at the Gingerbread House,” I said warily. “Why are you being so nice? It makes me suspicious that I'm walking into a trap, and I'm about to become someone's startled yet lifelike concrete lawn ornament.”
He shrugged and started the engine. We were driving in his regular truck, not a Department van. As usual, Chet's vehicle interior was so spotless, you'd never guess he had a wild ten-year-old boy.
“Zara, I do appreciate your help,” he said.
“You're welcome, I guess.”
“I've been thinking about what you said to me on Monday—before you cast your spell. About how it's hard to be a single parent because you've got nobody to confide in, and you don't want to burden your kid. It's so true. And being what we are, it's an extra layer of complication.”
“About that,” I said, happy to bring up the matter. “Is it true that your kind finds my kind to be repulsive?”
“Do you mean librarians, or redheads?” He shot me a teasing grin, and for a second I caught a glimpse of the Chet I'd met when I first moved to Beacon Street. Gone was the prickly version of Chet, and here was the chatty single father who was so comfortable with himself, he'd made me feel at ease in my new home. With our Internet history, it had been a homecoming of sorts. I moved in next door to a ready-made friend.
I laughed at his joke, not because it was funny, but for him to keep using his sense of humor.
“You know darn well I meant witches,” I teased back. “But last night, my aunt accidentally gave me useful information without me having to drag it out of her. She told me you shifters find our spells to be distasteful.”
“Your aunt said that?”
“It does explain why Chloe was so quick to go all snake-hair, hissy-hissy-bitey-bitey mode on me.”
He tensed his jaw, and the grin disappeared. “Not all shifters are the same, just like how not all witches are the same.”
“I take it by your evasive conversational maneuvers that you do find my spells repugnant, except for when they might help you get what you want.”
He cleared his throat but didn't comment.
“Coffee,” I said with a sigh. “I promise I will be a more pleasant Watson to your Sherlock once I get some more coffee in me. I had one at home, but it didn't take, as evidenced by my current irascibility.”
He shot me a confused look.
“Irascibility means you're short-tempered,” I explained. “Growing up as a redhead, I acquired an extensive vocabulary in one particular area.” I blinked innocently. “Not that it's true, what they say about my kind.”
“Of course not,” he said, a little too vehemently.
* * *
When we arrived at the bakery, Chloe wasn't at all surprised to see us. She was dressed in her baker's whites, though she hadn't tied her long hair back or even covered her ringlets with a hairnet. She did wear a white headband, which kept her hair off her face, but not necessarily out of the food. She'd always worn her hair down, but I hadn't noticed until now. Was it the snakes? Did they get hissy-hissy-bitey-bitey if she smothered them in a hairnet?
“I'll be with you two in a minute,” Chloe said, as though we were regular customers.
Chet leaned over and told me, “I called ahead.”
“Probably for the best,” I whispered. “There are some scary creatures you don't want to startle.”
Chet elbowed me. His dirty look warned that he was one of those scary creatures, and he didn't find my comment funny. Was a distinct lack of humor the reason for the divide between shifters and witches? That would explain why Frank was so easygoing. He could—and did—laugh at anything.
Chloe finished loading muffins into the display cabinet. A customer left with her box of croissants, and the front of the bakery was empty except for the three of us. Chloe waved for us to come around through the gap in the front counter. She ushered us back, through the delicious-smelling, flour-dusted prep area, and into a private office at the back of the bakery.
The office also served as storage, and was lined with metal shelves holding every kind of baking pan imaginable. A computer desk had been stuck in one corner, seemingly as an afterthought.
Chet and I both took seats on either side of a small pine table. The table was extremely familiar. Was I getting one of Chessa's memories?
I rubbed the yellowed surface until more of the memory came to me. The table was made by Ikea, and it was the same model of table I'd gotten as a hand-me-down when Zoey was a baby. I'd since given it away, so it hadn't made the move to Wisteria.
I hadn't thought about my first table in many years, but seeing this other version made me nostalgic. Why hadn't I at least taken a photo of the artwork Zoey had drawn on the underside? Back then, I thought I'd have all the time in the world to enjoy my daughter's drawings, but then she became so serious and book-oriented as soon as she learned to read. Her crayon artwork had ceased. Time was marching on, and we were both growing up, she with her independence at high school and me with my... whatever this was.
Chloe covered the small pine table with baked goods and mugs of coffee. She gave me a few cautious glances. We hadn't seen each other since our visit at her house two days earlier, when I'd insulted her by avoiding eye contact. But then yesterday, she'd sent the peace offering through Detective Bentley. How could I stay angry at someone who sent me donuts at work? Or anything edible, really.
“Chloe, thanks for the pastries yesterday. The other staff and I enjoyed them v
ery much.”
She flicked her pale eyes up to mine and locked on. “You're welcome.”
I was careful not to blink. I kept looking straight at her. No way was I going to be the one to break eye contact first. Not even if my cheeks were streaming with tears.
Chloe broke eye contact to look at the table. “We need more savory options,” she said. She left with a toss of her golden ringlets, and returned a few minutes later with mini quiches. She was about to dart out again when Chet barked at her to sit down.
“It's time for the three of us to talk,” Chet said, his tone intimidating.
Jordan Taub, Chloe's husband, arrived at the office doorway. He stood blocking the exit, wiping flour from his hands onto his white apron. “Everything okay in here?”
Chloe waved him away. “I can handle this,” she said.
Jordan shot me a look of friendly embarrassment. The last time we'd seen each other, our relationship had been strictly baker-customer. Now, two days later, everything was upside down. He knew I was a witch, and I knew his wife had hissy-hissy-bitey-bitey hair, but I still didn't know what Jordan was, other than a baker.
Jordan Taub looked about thirty. His skin was dark, but not as black as Chet's coworker, Knox. Jordan was muscular and tough looking, a former army soldier, but not quite as tough as Knox, who was a mountain. Knox had turned into an eagle. Was Jordan also an eagle shifter? Was it racist to ponder if skin color or ethnicity had anything to do with powers? People had been dropping comments about redheaded witches, and I couldn't help but wonder.
Jordan remained in the doorway, still human. Chloe shooed him away again. What if the man didn't have supernatural abilities? What if he didn't even know about me? Or his own wife, for that matter? If I were a gorgon, would I tell my future husband? What an interesting conversation that would be.
Jordan smiled at me. “Zara, thanks for helping us,” he said.
Ah, so he did know. “I haven't helped much yet.”
“But you'll be getting a discount from now on,” he said.
“There's a discount for supernaturals?”
His expression screwed up into profound confusion. “There's a discount for friends and family,” he said. “What do you mean by supernaturals?”
My mouth opened. No words came out.
In the silence that followed, you could have heard a silicone spatula drop onto a soft towel.
Jordan's face cracked into a grin. “C'mon, Zara. I'm joking. I thought you witches had a wicked sense of humor.”
Across from me, Chet guffawed.
I pointed my finger at the tall, dark baker. “You got me, Jordan. I was speechless, thanks to you, and that's no small feat.”
Jordan waved his big hands in the air. “Don't turn me into a frog. I swear I'll behave myself from now on.”
I cackled theatrically and rubbed my hands together. What was it with people thinking I would turn them into frogs? The doctor at the DWM had said the same thing. Maybe it was just one of those clichéd things people said to witches.
Jordan checked to see that we had cream and sugar for our coffee, and left us to our meeting. The coffee was excellent. I usually picked up pastries only on my way in to work, then made a fresh pot at the library. The Gingerbread House blend had a pleasant touch of spice.
I relaxed and enjoyed my coffee and pastries while Chet relayed the details of the previous evening's visit to Chessa's bedside.
Chloe didn't ask any questions. Once Chet was out of details, we both waited for Chloe's response.
She fussed with her white headband and then twisted one golden ringlet in her hand while she stared into her coffee mug. Without looking up, she said, “Are you sure she didn't mean Charlize? Chessa was much closer to her than she ever was to me.”
“That's not true,” Chet said. “Why are you lying?”
I detected a faint hiss coming from Chloe's bouncy ringlets. I not so subtly shifted my pine chair a few inches away from her. Chloe looked up at me, her pale eyes nearly colorless. I clenched my jaw and held eye contact. If I backed down again, and fled the premises like I wanted to, she'd know she could intimidate me. Plus we'd never get our answer.
“Thanks again for the donuts yesterday,” I said sweetly. “Detective Bentley makes a fine delivery boy.”
“Bentley,” Chloe said, her pretty forehead wrinkling. “Does he know about us?” Chloe nervously glanced from me to Chet and back again.
Chet said, “He's not a member of the inner circle, but he's no dummy. It won't be long.”
“I hear he has some interesting talents,” Chloe said. “The DWM should put the squeeze on him. See what he does.” The corners of her mouth twitched up. “I could squeeze him for you. I can be very good at squeezing.”
Chet pointed a cinnamon twist at her. “Stop changing the subject. What was going on with Chessa before her accident? She was very clear that you had answers about her emotional state. You remember how she was before the accident. Always sneaking off to be alone. Defensive. Moody.”
Chloe squirmed in her chair. Three of her ringlets changed into a trio of undulating snakes.
I jumped up from my chair and put it between me and the gorgon.
She reached up and stroked the snakes, calming them. Watching me closely, she asked, “You can see them?”
“If by them you mean three snakes with golden scales and pointy fangs, yes. I can see them.”
“They don't bite,” she said. “Not even when Jordan Junior tugs on them. Zara, would you like to touch them?”
I pushed the chair out of the way without hesitation.
“Sure,” I said. “When one is invited to touch magical hair snakes, one should not pass up the opportunity.” I reached out and chucked one writhing snake under the chin. The gold-scaled snake seemed surprised, its dark eyes widening, but it didn't bite me. After a moment, the other two snakes jostled for attention. Soon I had both hands in Chloe's den of hair snakes, which now numbered over a dozen.
Chloe giggled. “That tickles,” she said.
I dropped my hands, suddenly embarrassed to have both of my hands in another woman's hair, even if her hair was magical snakes.
“Not that I mind the tickling,” Chloe said quickly. “It's kind of relaxing to let my hair down, so to speak.”
“I'm sorry we got off on the wrong foot the other day, over at your house,” I said.
“Let me cook for you again sometime. We can have a girls' night. You could bring over this daughter of yours that I haven't met yet. Miss Zolanda Daizy Cazzaundra Riddle.”
The hairs on the back of my neck raised. Hearing a gorgon refer to your daughter by her full name is not an everyday experience.
Chet interrupted with a gruff, “Let's stick to the topic at hand.”
Chloe took a deep breath and gave me a bored look as she exhaled. “I told you guys, I don't know anything I haven't already shared, with the DWM, and with the regular cops. Chessa was emotional before the accident because that's how she was. The three of us are very passionate. And family oriented. Especially—” She choked on her words. Her eyes filled with tears. She reached for a napkin and dabbed at the corners of her eyes.
Her tears looked real enough, but something about her outburst struck me as theatrical. Perhaps it was the echo of memory in my mind, Chessa's memory of Chloe throwing tantrums over the years.
I took a seat in my chair again and turned to face Chloe. “How did you know my daughter's full name?”
She had dried her eyes. “From the scroll,” she said plainly. “The one Chessa was working on.” She dabbed her dry eyes rhythmically. “And then Chet and I worked so hard to bring Zoey here, to Wisteria. She was all I thought about for weeks on end, so of course I know her name.”
I slowly turned my head to focus on Chet. “What?”
Chet growled at the blond baker, “Stop talking, Chloe.”
“Don't stop,” I said. “What do you mean, you worked so hard to bring Zoey here?”
Chloe
reached up with one flour-dusted hand and twirled a pair of coiling hair snakes. “You didn't tell her everything? Oh, Chet.” She shook her head. “That's no way to treat a woman. Especially a witch. You're going to pay dearly for keeping Zara in the dark.”
Yes, he is, I thought. There's a price for keeping me in the dark.
“Thanks for the help,” Chet said coldly as he got to his feet. “We're going now. Don't say another word, Chloe. I think you've done enough harm for one day.”
Her golden snakes hissed in unison at Chet as he prowled around the table toward the office's door.
I ran after him. He was wise to stay a few steps ahead of me.
I caught up to him outside, in the bright morning sunshine.
Breathlessly, I asked, “Is it true? You and Chloe had some scheme to get my daughter here to Wisteria?”
He glanced around furtively. The bakery was on a busy street, and plenty of people were within earshot. “We're not discussing this here,” he said.
“Fine. Let's get in your truck and talk somewhere else.”
We were standing next to his vehicle. He looked down, pulled his phone from his pocket, and frowned at it. “I've got to get to work.”
I used my magic to grab his phone and toss it up, into a tree. I didn't care if he found magic distasteful. I didn't care if someone saw me practicing magic out in the open. He was going to explain himself.
“You can be a few minutes late,” I said. “Is it true what Chloe said back there?”
He looked down at the sidewalk between us.
I put my hands on my hips. “I'll take your silence as an admission of guilt.”
“I'm only guilty of trying everything within my powers to help my fiancée.”
“So, the end justifies the means? My family is expendable, if it helps you get Chessa back?” There was a bitter tang in my mouth. “Wow. She must be a super-special shifter, or monster, or whatever. Is that her power, Chet? She makes people do terrible things for her?”
Wisteria Wonders (Witch Cozy Mystery and Paranormal Romance) (Wisteria Witches Book 3) Page 14
