bless your witch 09 - southern witching

by Amy Boyles

  My eyes blurred when I said, “Then you need to tell her that so we can put the past behind us and move forward.” I nodded toward the room. “She’s in there.”

  I left Roman and went outside, deciding a walk in the gardens might be good for my soul. I wove through the hedges, avoiding the white singing roses. Last time I came in contact with them, the stupid flowers wrapped themselves around me and nearly strangled me and my sister.

  If it hadn’t been for Roman saving us, we probably would’ve died.

  Roman.

  I don’t know how I could ever have thought that he didn’t want to marry me.

  “Penny for your thoughts, toots.”

  I stepped behind a rabbit-shaped hedge and found Milly sitting on an iron bench. She wrapped her arthritic hands tightly over the crook of her cane and spat a wad of phlegm onto the ground.

  “Very ladylike,” I said.

  Milly snorted. “I stopped caring about things like that years ago. So. How’re you holding up? Have you killed the broad yet?”

  I rolled my eyes. “No. I haven’t killed her—Milly, that’s a horrible thing to say.”

  She shrugged. “Doesn’t mean you didn’t think about it.”

  I shook my head. “No. I didn’t. I didn’t think about that. I didn’t even consider it. That makes no sense at all. I’m not a killer. Granted, I seem to be followed around by killers, but I’m not one.”

  Milly hummed to herself for a moment. “If I was your grandmother Hazel, I would no doubt have a story concocted about how, when I was in the wilds of Borneo, a tribe of squirrels were sacrificing beetles to their squirrel god using magic and it was up to me to stop them.”

  I laughed. “You’re right.”

  “But since I’m not Hazel, the only piece of advice I can offer you is that if it comes down to a battle of magic and a test of wills, know that love is what will win in the end. Love for yourself and your love for Roman.”

  I quirked a brow. “I’m not sure what that means. Sheila doesn’t have magic. For goodness sake, she’s probably not even supposed to be here.”

  Knowledge glinted in Milly’s eyes. “But she has been before, hasn’t she? She’s been in this world. Whoever brought her back did so here.”

  I sat on the bench and glanced up at the balcony where I’d been standing a few minutes ago. Sheila popped into view. A second later Roman followed her.

  My gut twisted at the sight. But I knew what he was doing—he was gently telling her that they couldn’t be together.

  I turned back to Milly. “Is that why Grandma invited folks from the communities here? Because she thinks one of them is responsible for Sheila’s appearance?”

  Milly spread her legs out around the cane. “It’s hard to know what your grandmother thinks.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” I said.

  Seriously, you never knew what was going to come out of Grandma’s mouth.

  “But she loves you.”

  I sighed. “I know that. But now there are all these people here for a wedding that—”

  “That what?” Milly said. “Isn’t going to happen?”

  I shook my head. “No. It’s going to happen. I love Roman. He loves me.”

  “Then what? You don’t want to get married in front of his ex-girlfriend? Excuse me—wife?”

  “Well, it seems a little distasteful.”

  Milly cackled. “Toots, that lady showed up at your wedding and stopped it. I think you should offer her a front-row seat to yours.”

  Her words sank into me. Milly was right. Sheila had shown up to my wedding in order to stop it. Granted, she believed she had good reason, but still…who does that?

  Voices drifted down from the balcony. Roman’s voice was raised. So was Sheila’s. They were arguing.

  “He’s telling her that they can’t be together,” I said.

  “You think she’d know that since she’s been dead,” Milly said.

  I glanced at her. “You don’t believe it’s Sheila, do you?”

  Milly shook her head. “The only thing dead about that woman are the overprocessed tips of her hair.”

  I laughed. “That’s a horrible thing to say. But if it’s not Sheila, then who is it? And why?”

  Milly shrugged. “Beats me, toots.”

  The voices got louder. I rose, backing up to see if I could peek into the room behind the balcony. It was no use. I couldn’t see a thing.

  “Sounds like a bad one,” Milly said.

  I nodded. “Yeah. Not good at all.”

  I kept my gaze focused on the balcony. My patience paid off. Sheila popped into view. She was facing me, her face buried in the cups of her hands. She was wailing over the edge.

  A voice came from behind her. She turned around and shook her head furiously. It looked like Sheila extended her arms as if trying to stop someone.

  “No,” she screamed. Sheila pitched back. Her arms flailed, flapping as if she were trying to take flight.

  It happened in slow motion. First her head lurched back; then her body followed as she sailed from the balcony and plunged to the ground.

  I raised my hand, trying to send a spray of magic to catch her, but I was too late. I ran to her, hoping a row of hedges had caught her.

  Sheila lay on a flat of concrete. Her neck was twisted in a sick position, and her arms and legs were bent awkwardly around her. I placed my trembling fingers to her neck.

  There was no pulse.

  I looked up at the balcony. Roman’s face appeared over the edge.

  Two thoughts hit me in the moment. The first was, Sheila is dead.

  The second was that Roman had pushed her.

  CHAPTER 7

  “ Let me see him,” I said.

  It was the next morning. Jonathan Pearbottom scratched the nape of his neck. He smashed his lips together into a lopsided smile. “You know I can’t do that, Dylan. I can’t let you see him.”

  We stood at the doorway of the dungeon. Yes, dungeon. Castle Witch wasn’t simply a castle in name. It had a dungeon, tapestries, chandeliers, suits of armor—the works. It was very clearly a southern attempt at European royalty.

  Hey, why knock it?

  Pearbottom pulled the wood and iron door shut with a clang. The sound sent a jolt of fear zipping down my spine.

  “You have to let me see him. You know Roman didn’t do this.”

  Pearbottom rubbed a thumb over his eyebrow. “I don’t? Your fiancé was the last person to see Sheila alive.”

  I crossed my arms. “No, he wasn’t. The killer was.”

  He smirked. “As of right now Roman was the last person to see Sheila before she was thrown from the balcony to her death.”

  Pearbottom nodded toward a man I assumed was a member of the witch police. The officer stepped in front of the door, blocking anyone from entering. The inspector clipped quickly across the stone floor. I practically sprinted to keep up with him.

  I was winded after about three steps. Boy, I really needed to work out. You would’ve thought the prospect of shimmying into a wedding gown would’ve made me find time to at least walk a block a day, but no sirree, that didn’t happen.

  My voice sounded breathless. “Was it even Sheila? Do you know that for a fact?”

  Pearbottom’s gaze slid toward me. “That’s another thing we’re looking into. We don’t know for sure yet.”

  “Well, it probably wasn’t.”

  Pearbottom stopped stiffly. He studied me as he tucked his hands into the pockets of his cape. “I know you want to help, and I know you’re used to playing amateur sleuth, but this time you need to stay out of it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I said so.”

  I crossed my arms and jutted out one hip. “That’s not a very good reason. I’m not twelve, Pearbottom. You have to give me more than that.”

  His gaze darted from side to side before settling back on me. When he spoke, it was in a hushed voice. “Because it’s going to look like you were both in on it.
Sheila’s appearance hurt both of you. If you start butting in, people will say you were in on it, and if you’re not careful, you’ll find yourself sitting in a jail cell right beside Roman.”

  I smirked. “That’s almost not a good enough reason.”

  Pearbottom leaned in so close his parrot nose brushed my skin. I edged back. “Then how’s this for a reason? Roman told me to warn you against interfering. If you want to help Roman, stay out. Way out. Let me do my job.”

  Pearbottom turned and left, leaving me alone in the hall. I felt horrible. I certainly hadn’t wanted Sheila dead, but now she was. She was dead, Roman had been arrested and I wasn’t supposed to help.

  And it was not lost on me, and I know not on Roman, that he had now been arrested twice for Sheila’s murder.

  Oh boy.

  With nowhere to turn, I decided the first thing I needed was chocolate therapy, so I meandered to the kitchen, where I found my family camped out.

  Sera stood at the stove, stirring up mugs of hot chocolate.

  Reid grabbed an empty mug from the cupboard and handed it to Sera. “Wow. Grandma, how’d you do that? How’d you know Dylan would be here any second?”

  Grandma bobbed her head from side to side. “Grandmother’s intuition… It also helped that I planted the idea in Dylan’s head.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Can you please not do things like that?”

  “Yeah,” Sera said. “She’s fragile right now. You might break her brain.”

  I curled my fingers around the mug and brought it to my mouth. “I wouldn’t go that far.” I blew on the surface of the liquid to cool it. “Pearbottom won’t let me see Roman.”

  All movement stopped. My family stared at me.

  Grandma glanced at Milly. “Seal the room.”

  Milly thumbed her nose. I felt a wave of magic flood the space. The energy pricked my skin, making the hairs stand on end.

  “What are you doing?” Reid said.

  Milly adjusted the neck of her brown sweater. “I’ve made it so that we’re neither here nor there. Someone else can enter the kitchen and use it, but we won’t be here.”

  “But we are here,” Reid said.

  Grandma poked the air. “Exactly. This way we can speak freely without anyone hearing or disturbing us.” She rubbed her hands together. “Now. First things first. Roman is in the dungeon. Let’s break him out.”

  I opened my mouth to say that was a terrible idea, but then I thought about it. Maybe my grandmother had something there.

  Wait. Stop. No. Roman was innocent. All we had to do was wait and we’d find out the truth. That’s all there was to it.

  “We’re not breaking him out. I’ve been warned not to help.”

  Reid shook up a can of whipped cream and spewed a mountain into her cup. “You’re not going to listen to that, are you?”

  I shrugged. “I was thinking about it.”

  Sera pulled the pot from the stove and set it on the marble counter. “I’m assuming Pearbottom has a hand in this. Why would you listen to him? Didn’t he think Roman was guilty the first time Sheila died?”

  My stomach quivered. “The first time she died,” I mused. “We don’t even know if it’s really her. Isn’t that the first thing we need to find out?”

  Grandma clapped her hands. “Of course it is. What did Pearbottom say?”

  “He said they were looking into it.”

  Grandma scoffed. “It’ll take those nincompoops ages to figure out the truth.”

  Reid dipped her finger in the whipped cream and then sucked it off. “Didn’t you used to work for those nincompoops?”

  Grandma blinked innocently at her. “Of course I did. There weren’t any nincompoops when I was there. Then I left.”

  Sera nodded in understanding. “Ah. That’s when the nincompoopery started.”

  Grandma threw one side of her scarf over her neck. “Exactly. First things first. We need to get to that body and work a little magic on it.”

  I shook my head. “But wouldn’t they have already done that? Pearbottom and crew?”

  Milly snorted. “Let’s just go find out, shall we?”

  I glanced around the room. “So where are we going?”

  Grandma clapped her hands. “Where else? To the underground cellar. The coldest room in the castle.”

  I set the mug on the table. “Aren’t you forgetting something? The door downstairs is locked.”

  Grandma laughed. “My dear ones, I’m about to teach you a bit of magic that will forever change you.”

  My sisters and I exchanged a look. “I already know how to transport from one location to another.”

  Grandma laughed. “This is better. This isn’t like that. This is magic in the micro world.”

  Reid stopped licking whip from her finger. “Why is it this sounds terrible?”

  I swallowed a knot in the back of my throat. “Why is it I think I might be agreeing with you, there?”

  A fluttery laugh filled Grandma’s throat. Now Grandma never laughed. And when she did, it didn’t sound like that.

  “Now I’m really scared,” Reid said.

  “Yeah,” Sera added. “What’s going on?”

  Grandma crossed to Reid and Sera. She wrapped her arms around their shoulders. “Girls. This is some of the most advanced magic I can teach you.”

  “What is it?” I said.

  Grandma lowered her voice. “We will shrink our bodies to the size of mice and scurry into the room where they’re holding the body. Then we can investigate on our own.”

  I flared out my arms. “Hold on there, pardner. This has all kinds of wrong written all over it. For one thing, in movies whenever anyone shrinks, it’s never easy to get big again. That’s what the entire movie is about, trying to become normal size again.”

  Sera shrank from Grandma. “Not only that, but we might get squished.”

  I slapped my thigh. “Exactly. So this has all kinds of terrible written on it.”

  Milly caned over to me. “Do you want to know if it was really Sheila?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Do you trust that Pearbottom will find out the truth?”

  Hmmm. Did I trust that the witch police would figure everything out? They’d been on cases before, and who had ended up solving them?

  Me.

  And Roman.

  And Roman was locked up.

  I took a deep breath and clenched my stomach, ignoring the pang of unease that seemed to be swelling by the minute.

  “Okay,” I said. “Show me how to become a tiny Dylan.”

  FIVE MINUTES later I was about the size of a mouse. Reid, who’d wanted no part in this craziness, had stayed normal size.

  You might say that out of my sisters, she was the sane one.

  Go figure.

  She carried us in her palm. She’d been instructed to get us as close to the dungeon door as possible. Grandma would lead us the rest of the way.

  “Hi,” the officer guarding the door said.

  “Hi,” Reid said. “I just need to tie my shoe.”

  The officer didn’t pay any attention as she dumped us behind a plant. It was at that point that my grandmother Hazel snapped her fingers. We were whisked underneath the door and into another room.

  Candlelight flickered from sconces attached to the walls. A large table lay in the middle of the room. It looked to be at least fifty feet tall, but I was only about three inches, so, you know, that was relative.

  “Why couldn’t we have stayed our regular size if you were just going to use magic to get us under the door?” Sera said, clearly annoyed.

  “Because the spell on that door has a size restriction, toots,” Milly said. “The only way to get past was to shrink. Now if you would, Hazel, can you please return us to ourselves so that we can get on with this?”

  “Will do,” Grandma said.

  She wiggled her fingers, and a moment later I was five foot two and had a pounding headache.

  “My head is kill
ing me,” Sera said.

  Grandma patted her shoulder. “Drink some orange juice when we’re done. The vitamin C will help.”

  Note to self, drink carton of breakfast beverage.

  My gaze drifted to the table. A white sheet covered Sheila’s body. I pointed to it. “Who wants to do the honors?”

  Sera strode up. “I will.” She whisked off the sheet.

  I cringed.

  Milly poked my ribs. “You can open your eyes, toots. She just died.”

  I peeked out and saw Sheila lying peacefully on the slick tabletop. I felt an overwhelming sadness. If it really was Sheila, what a horrible thing to have happened. It would mean that she was never really dead to begin with. Ugh. Horrible.

  A chill settled into my bones. The room was cold, and I really didn’t want to be here any longer than necessary.

  “Okay. What happens now?”

  Grandma flexed her fingers. “Now we work ancient magic that few know about. It is an unmasking of the dead.”

  “If it’s so ancient, why didn’t Pearbottom ask you to do it to begin with?” I said.

  Grandma shrugged. “Oh, he did. But I didn’t want to help him. I want to help you.”

  I ground my teeth. “Helping him is helping me.”

  She whimpered as if they weren’t the same thing at all. I held my breath and counted to ten so I wouldn’t yell at her.

  “Can you please do the ancient magic so that we can get out of here?” I said.

  “Bossy, bossy,” Grandma mumbled.

  I chewed the inside of my lip. The grandmothers raised their hands in the air. Wisps of magic swirled from their fingertips, cascading up to the ceiling. The tendrils created shapes—circles and triangles, then the forms seemed to circle back around and transform into primitive-looking animals.

  The magic almost looked like the images on ancient cave paintings. Well, my grandmothers had said it was ancient magic, so maybe that made sense.

  The wisps came together, bundling into a sort of thick stack of sticklike pieces. The bundle floated down to Sheila and dispelled into smoke. The vapors curled over her in thick, looping strands. They almost seemed to coat her body in a thick cast.