Witch Bane and the Croaking Game

by Cat Larson

  Hmm. Maybe that was why I felt pushed to bake—there was a formula to follow, unlike the rest of my present-day life. If I put apples and butter and sugar in a pie crust and put it in the oven, I wouldn’t be pulling out a roasted turkey after an hour. My rational brain was doing whatever it could to normalize and—

  Whoa.

  I grasped hold of a spiky branch, nearly smacking my head on a patch of ice, the dry, sharp needles piercing through my glove. Ouch. I shook out my hand. Better than flattening my face, though.

  I was near the back of the house, and it didn’t appear she was home. Was I crazy for coming here without her? I crossed my fingers that Blossom was still caged behind closed doors and hadn’t gnawed her way out.

  Something moved in my peripheral, and I darted my head to the side. Probably just a squirrel. I moved closer to the door when another blur whizzed past me, this time near my ear. What the…?

  “Samm.”

  I whipped around. “Clare?”

  No response. My name had sounded distant as if the wind carried it. I waited several minutes before deciding it really was the wind. Or my imagination. And the blur was likely a bird.

  I came upon the bottom step of the back porch, only making it one pace when a furry head popped into view. “Ahhhh!”

  HISS!

  Chiseled fangs flashed before me, replaced by a thin face, sans sunglasses, half-buried beneath long, straight hair. My heart leaped into my throat, taking up residence and preventing me from screaming out again.

  A small gurgling noise left my mouth, and my head felt so light I feared it would float away, leaving a lifeless body on the ground. I closed my eyes to temper the nausea.

  “Please help me, Samm,” Penelope whispered in my ear. “Tell Jonny Bellman. He’ll know what to do.”

  Chapter Seven

  I’m a hardwood floor.

  Wow, I must’ve had lots of scratches on me based on the amount of sanding. My face, especially.

  Hiss…

  A jarring noise sounded, followed by the purr of the sander as it grazed over me. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, surprisingly. I was getting scrubbed down, layers removed to reveal a shiny new me.

  Ouch. Wait, this didn’t feel so good anymore. I cracked open an eye. “Ahhhh!”

  “Samm?”

  “AHHHH!”

  I kicked back when my shoulders were grabbed. “Samm, it’s me.” The touch turned gentler. “Blossom, go outside, please.”

  I blinked up, amazed I could even lift my lids at all after having the skin on my face scraped off. “Your cat… she… she,” I stammered. “She tried to eat me!”

  “Oh, silly. Such a kidder.” I scampered up to a sitting position. Where was I? “She was helping you, not hurting you. Trying to wake you up.”

  I patted my face. “By skinning me alive?”

  She laughed. “You’re perfectly fine, thankfully.”

  Clare helped me up and plopped me onto a chair. Obviously, I was in a kitchen. “What happened?”

  “I am so sorry. You must have slipped on the icy steps. It didn’t even cross my mind to put down salt this morning when I left for work. I don’t know what I would’ve done if anything had happened to you.”

  I rubbed my head. No new bumps. I wasn’t even sore anywhere besides my raw face. “I fell on the ice? It doesn’t feel like it.”

  She nodded. “When I came home, I found you lying on the ground.”

  “And you carried me inside?”

  “Of course. How else would you have gotten in here?”

  Right. Silly question. Clare was freakishly strong for someone of her petite stature, not to mention faster than any track star I had ever witnessed at a meet. Sometimes I wondered if she were a werecheetah. Or a cheetahelf. Or an Elfcheet.

  I giggled, blaming it on my lightheadedness. There was a glass of water in my hand before I could think of another hybrid combination.

  “You’re obviously not okay yet. Would you like to lie down for a while?”

  I waved her off, taking a sip of water. “No, I’m fine.” Just more confused than a cheetah during a chickenpox outbreak. I giggled again.

  “Samm…”

  “Really, everything’s hunky-dory.” I drank more water. “So, after I slipped on the steps, which I don’t recall whatsoever, you brought me inside and then let your cat have her way with me?”

  She laughed. “Oh, you. Blossom was making sure you were up to scratch, that’s all.”

  Hmm. “That she did.” I peered toward the cat door. “You sent her outside. It’s not too cold?”

  “Nah. With her heavy coat, she actually prefers it.”

  Shoot. My purse. I frantically felt around, it just occurring to me. No need to worry; it was sitting right there. I tugged it onto my lap and unzipped, checking on Fernando. As usual, he was no worse for the wear. Tough as coffin nails, that one.

  “That reminds me”—I pulled out the plastic bag—“I’d like you to take a look and tell me…” I crumpled the bag—the empty bag—then stuck my head in my purse.

  “Take a look at what?” she asked, but I ignored her as I continued to hunt through even though there was nothing in there but scarves, a handful of squashed berries, and a frog. “Something wrong?”

  “Uh…” I lifted my purse and felt underneath. Was there a secret hole I didn’t know about? One that dropped out books and nothing else? I frowned. But the plastic bag hadn’t disappeared.

  “You look distraught.”

  I snorted. “Yeah, I guess you could call it that.”

  I may have been dreaming about getting abraded, but I knew I’d been awake when I put the spellbook into my purse. How many times would I have to question my sanity until I checked myself into a rubber room?

  “Samm?”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “Do you want to schedule a different day to make the pie?”

  I looked up and shook my head. “No, I really want to do this. Today.” I zipped up my purse and set it aside.

  “Okay. Then how about I make it for you while you just rest?”

  “Absolutely not. What kind of thank-you gift would that be if I didn’t even make it myself? I might as well buy one from the store.”

  Not to mention my mom finding out. She’d probably send me into the town square and have rotten fruit thrown at me.

  “How about this, then?” She clapped. “Oh yes! This is a good idea. We’ll make two pies. I’ll do the first one while you watch, and then you can make the second one all by yourself…”

  All by myself. Geez, it was like I was back in kindergarten. I wanted to raise my arms and shout big girl!

  “…and that way you won’t have to stress out since you’ll know what to do...”

  The rest of her sentence faded out as her words triggered different ones. “Please help me, Samm. Tell Jonny Bellman. He’ll know what to do.”

  “How does that sound?” She waved a hand in front of my face. “Samm?”

  I bolted up, wide-eyed. “Holy crud.”

  She knitted her brows. “Is that good or bad?”

  “I just remembered what happened to me outside.” Crafty thing, the mind. It was always trying to protect you from trauma, shelter you from recalling things that could drive you insane. Not unlike an overbearing mother who insisted she knew what was best for you. “Penelope.”

  “Penelope?” she said. “Penelope Green?” I nodded, and she sighed. “Such a tragic story, isn’t it? So young too.”

  “I saw her, Clare. Right by your back steps.” Her face scrunched up. “Not only saw her, but she spoke to me too.”

  Not only spoke to me but said the same thing Damon’s witness had claimed she told me prior, about Jonny. My head was spinning so fast I had to hold it on.

  “Something’s going on here,” I said. “Something inexplicable.”

  “That sounds about right,” she said warily. “Um, you do know Penelope died, right?”

  This time, had I seen a ghost? Or
maybe it was a residual haunting, an energy imprint stuck in an endless loop. But wouldn’t she have had to die on the property for that to occur? And it’d certainly seemed like she was interacting with me this time—how much more personal could it get when she’d used my name?

  “Have you ever thought your woods were haunted?”

  “Well, no, but…. I don’t have the sight for it so I’m not the best one to ask.”

  “Then who is?”

  “Apparently, you.”

  I gawked at her. “You’re not going to tell me I’m delusional?”

  “Of course not. At least not about that.”

  Hmm. I’d get back to that later. “As I said, something strange is going on. Either Penelope’s spirit is trying to contact me or someone is pretending to be her in order to… I don’t know, but they’re messing with me big-time.”

  Clare brought a bowl of shiny green apples to the sink and rinsed them even shinier. “What can I do to help? Just name it.”

  She’d offered in such a casual manner I thought we were talking about volunteering for a bake sale or something, raising money for a new gymnasium, not speaking about a dead girl contacting me.

  In a way, her acceptance was comforting, but it also felt wrong because how could I ever come to grips with the whole situation being normal?

  “Do you know of anyone who would pass themselves off as Penelope in order to deceive me?”

  “No, I can’t think of anyone who could. She had a very distinctive look.”

  “She mentioned a Jonny Bellman. Do you know him?”

  “Sure. He came into the café yesterday when you were leaving.”

  “One of those guys? A friend of Gavin’s?”

  “Yeah. They’re not usually in too often. You’re more likely to find them across the street at the Inn.” She set a large saucepan on the stove and tossed in some butter. “Depending on when you bring Mr. McGuinness his pie, maybe you’ll run into him. He’s easy to spot since he’s a foot shorter than the rest of the group.”

  I’d been distracted by Tommy the other day so I hadn’t paid enough attention to notice any vertically challenged buddies tagging along.

  “On to the last question, then—do you have any idea why Penelope would come to me? I never even met the girl before.”

  She measured out a few tablespoons of flour then stirred it into the melted butter. “Are you watching? It’s pretty easy but—”

  “Yes, I’m watching. Why are you ignoring my question?”

  She paused for a moment. “I hesitate.”

  “I see that.”

  She faced me. “I can’t say exactly why she came to you, but…”

  “But what? This is really important to me, Clare.”

  She breathed deeply. “Well… during the time Regina darkened our town, those two were thick as thieves. I never thought Penelope was on the same level as that wicked shrew, but for whatever reason, they were close.”

  “So, this does have to do with Regina in some way. She’s back, you know. Penelope told me.” I pursed my lips. “I think.”

  Clare shook her head. “No, she’s not back. I’d smell the stench, and the town would shudder. It’d feel like an earthquake around here.”

  “Oh-kay. But back or not, she still must have something to do with Penelope seeking me out.”

  “I don’t think she likes—liked—that you’re in Bigfoot Bay. On account of Griffin being in love with you instead of her best friend.”

  She’s the one who left, I thought. She’s the one who ended the engagement. “This is not about Griffin,” I snapped.

  “I disagree. And you did ask for my opinion.”

  “No, this has to do with Regina. Penelope asked for my help like she was scared of her.”

  She made a weird face. “Are you positive about that?”

  Argh. “No,” I admitted. “But I really don’t want to discuss Griffin.”

  “That’s why I was hesitant to mention it.”

  We sat there in silence while she measured and mixed and sliced. Finally, I spoke up. “I’m sorry. You’re right, I did ask for your opinion. I didn’t mean to get all snippy with you.”

  She gave me a little smile. “Remember at the hospital when we had our chat in the cleaning closet? Well, I’m sorry for the stuff I said then too, how I blamed you for Griffin getting involved with Regina in the first place.” I was about to say, That’s okay, ancient history when she continued, “But I’m also not sorry.”

  “That’s supposed to be an apology?”

  “You did break his heart, and I’m not going to sugarcoat that. But I didn’t mean to say it in a mean way, more of a you-should-know way.”

  “Noted,” I said dryly. I watched as she popped the pie into the oven, setting the timer. “I never once saw you check the recipe.”

  “Don’t need to. I only printed it up for your sake. I could make this pie with my eyes closed; it’s Niall’s favorite.”

  I went over and took the recipe off the fridge. Unlike her, I did need it. I hadn’t wanted to mention it, but I’d never made a pie from scratch before.

  She stayed back while I prepared the entire second pie on my own. Big girl! I smiled proudly, thankful it’d been much easier than I’d anticipated. Hopefully, that didn’t mean I did something wrong and it would end up tasting like the inside of a garbage can.

  As mine was baking, we each had a slice of Clare’s while still warm. I think I swooned a little more with each bite. If mine turned out even half as good…

  “This is amazing,” I said. “I can see where it gets its name.”

  “So, Samm… I’ve been meaning to ask you—”

  “If I want another slice? Yes, please.”

  She laughed. “Have as much as you want. But what I wanted to ask… Now, you can say no if you want, and I promise it won’t hurt my feelings.”

  I stuffed a large piece into my mouth. “Okay,” I mumbled.

  “Will you stand up in my wedding?”

  A chunk of cinnamony apple lodged in my throat, and I coughed so hard I thought I was hacking up a hairball. She was about to whack me on the back when it shifted enough to swallow it down, necessitating a full glass of water. After chugging it all, I turned and rasped out, “What?”

  “Oh, applesauce. I thought it might be too much. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. We only recently got on friendly terms, and I’m not comparing myself to Sage or anything, but, well, it’d be an honor if you would consider it.”

  My lips twitched. “It’d be good luck?”

  “Oh yes. But no! That’s not the only reason. I just want you a part of my special day.”

  I placed my hand on her arm. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but can I think about it? I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying in Bigfoot Bay.”

  She looked down, sides of her mouth curling up like she was muzzling a secret. Humph. Why did everyone assume I was moving back here permanently?

  “Yes, of course. You can let me know later. We’re still ironing out the details anyway.”

  A bridesmaid? I was still working on getting me down the aisle.

  It wasn’t long after that when Mr. McGuinness’s pie was done, and Clare packed it up for me. “I'll walk with you,” she said. “I need to pop in and check on some things at the coffee house.”

  “Okay.” I was relieved. The thought of walking back through her woods alone creeped me out. Although, if Penelope really were stuck on Earth in spirit form, couldn’t she show up anywhere—like my room in the middle of the night? I shivered.

  “Blossom!” Clare scolded, reminding me of the other reason I didn’t want to walk alone. Catzilla was on the loose. “What have you gotten into now?”

  The beast raised her monstrous head, making me shrink behind Clare. Forget the otherworldly—flesh-and-blood creatures could be even more terrifying.

  Clare put her hands on her hips. “Blossom, bring it here. Now.” The cat padded over and dropped something at her o
wner’s feet.

  It was a rhinestone.

  I teetered into McGuinness Inn, pie in hand, dazed look on my face.

  At least I felt that way, stunned after seeing the stone Catzilla had “captured.” Clare said she was always collecting stuff—from plastic bottle caps to full-grown chipmunks—so in actuality, it wasn’t a big deal. But it was for me. A very big deal. Penelope hadn’t been wearing her sparkly sunglasses during this last encounter, but the discovery was still highly unnerving.

  “Top o’ the mornin’ to ya, Samm!”

  I glanced over at Niall’s beaming smile, and he gave me an enthusiastic wave from across the bar. It wasn’t morning, but I returned the sentiment all the same.

  A quick look around showed more of a crowd than I’d expect for a Wednesday afternoon. Obviously, a floating body in the beer vat hadn’t deterred customers.

  My eyes landed on one of the far tables—ah, Gavin was here. Although at this point, my news didn’t hold the same urgency as earlier. Tommy was also here, along with two other guys. Which one was Jonny? Considering they were slouched over, I wouldn’t know until they stood.

  Niall ambled over, accompanied by his hearty laugh. His charms wouldn’t work on me anymore, but that didn’t make them any less gregarious.

  “What brang ye here on this grand afternoon?” I lifted the pie cover, and his eyes twinkled. “Tis an apple pie I spy?”

  “It is.” Should I have made one for him too? I assumed he and Mr. McGuinness would share. I hoped. “Just came from Clare’s where she graciously let me use her recipe.”

  “Aye.” He licked his lips, his mouth appearing to water at the mention of her recipe—or at the mention of Clare.

  “It’s a small token of appreciation to you and your uncle. I know it’s not much, considering everything—”

  “Tis perfect.” He stroked his bushy beard. “Yer looking a wee peaked. Can I fetch ya a wee nip o’ whiskey to put some color back in yer cheeks?”

  I smiled. The McGuinness family believed that whiskey cured whatever ailed you, from chilled bones to broken ones.