Some Like It Witchy: A Wishcraft Mystery

by Heather Blake

  Many months ago, the Elder had given me a job as an investigator. As a protective measure, I was to snoop into criminal offenses that involved elements of the Craft. It was imperative mortals did not learn of our heritage, as the last time it had been uncovered in Salem, it hadn’t ended so well for our ancestors.

  It’s important for me to mention the Elder’s job offer hadn’t been an offer at all. It had been an order.

  I was the Craft snoop whether I liked it or not.

  Truthfully, I happened to like it. Snooping fed my nosy nature, and solving cases satisfied the fixer in me. I wanted to make everything right at all times. Justice for all. I was a sap that way.

  Plus, I enjoyed working cases alongside Nick. Even though he’d grown up mortal, he knew of the witchy world through his ex-wife, Melina, a Wishcrafter. Through marriage Nick had become a Halfcrafter (half mortal, half witch), someone who learned everything about the Craft but had no powers. Knowing the ins and outs of our magical world allowed him to support his Wishcrafter daughter Mimi’s quest to discover more about her heritage. Also, as a Halfcrafter, he knew that around this village witch law outranked mortal rules.

  Archie bowed. “The Elder relays you are now on the job. Raina’s case is yours.”

  At his words a spark of excitement and a thrum of justice-driven urgency rushed through me. Since the moment I’d spotted her body lying at my feet, I wanted to know what had happened to Raina. She’d been a nice woman, and I couldn’t begin to fathom why someone would want to hurt her.

  “Hot damn,” Cherise exclaimed. “Do you need a sidekick? I’m up for the job. I look great in a leather jumpsuit.”

  Archie let out a wolf whistle.

  I wanted to scrub my imagination as vigorously as I had my feet.

  “I think Harper has first dibs.” My sister was one morbidly curious witch. Though she had no interest whatsoever in Wishcrafting, she geeked out over CSI.

  Her boyfriend, Lawcrafter Marcus Debrowski, was currently out of town at some sort of law conference that sounded like a snooze to me. Harper, my fiercely independent little sister, had been moping since he left.

  She’d fallen hard and fast for him, and though she once swore she’d never marry (I believe she mentioned the term “shackled for life”), I had the feeling she’d be revisiting that decision soon.

  A crime scene was definitely going to lift her spirits, and she’d be bugging me for details in no time. And as much as I hated to admit it (because she was a notorious gloater), in the past she’d been helpful to my cases a time or two.

  “Where are you going to start?” Cherise kicked the swing into motion again.

  Missy trotted along the fence line as I glanced across the street, toward the village green.

  Something wicked . . .

  Andreus Woodshall was a Charmcrafter who crafted amulets.

  Was it merely a coincidence there had been an amulet in Raina’s hand?

  And the letter A written in blood on the wall?

  Possibly, but I didn’t think so.

  It creeped me out to know I was going to have to track him down and talk with him. Talk about heebies.

  “I don’t know,” I said, trying to avoid bringing up Andreus’s name at this point. “I’ll probably start with Nick.”

  Cherise grinned and elbowed me gently. “Well, sure. If I were you, I’d start there, linger, and go back for seconds.”

  Archie woefully said, “Likewise.”

  Even as I rolled my eyes, I couldn’t stop an embarrassed flush from climbing my neck. As my cheeks heated, I had to (silently) admit lingering with Nick was nothing short of amazing.

  Yes, working with him was definitely a bonus.

  It completely made up for the lack of salary with the snoop job.

  “Kent is another good place to start,” Cherise suggested. “Though he isn’t nearly as alluring as Nick, aren’t spouses the usual suspects?”

  Kent Gallagher. “How long had he and Raina been married?”

  Archie tipped his head, beak to the sky, as he pondered. “Nearly seven years, I believe.”

  Kent and Raina had been a handsome couple, both in their mid-thirties with magnetic personalities. I knew Raina was a Vitacrafter, but wasn’t sure about Kent so I asked.

  “A mortal,” Cherise answered.

  I raised an eyebrow. “Does he know about the Craft?”

  “Clueless,” she said. “Raina didn’t want to lose her ability to read clients, so she kept it from him.”

  When a Crafter married a mortal, they had two options. To tell or not to tell. In telling, the Crafter forfeited all powers, but children conceived through the union would inherit their magical abilities (as had happened with Nick and Melina). Not telling led to living a life of subterfuge. Lies upon lies. It made for a shaky foundation and most marriages in this vein didn’t last long.

  So knowing Kent and Raina had been married seven years told me one thing of particular importance.

  Raina was an excellent liar.

  My gaze shifted to movement in the street. The police officer who’d strung the tape moved it aside to let the medical examiner’s van pass. It crept down the road and stopped in front of Terry’s house.

  The officer in the street was new to the force, replacing my nemesis Glinda Hansel, who’d resigned her position in January under reprehensible circumstances. We’d done our best to stay out of each other’s way around the village, but with its size, total avoidance was impossible.

  Only last week I’d bumped into her at the Crone’s Cupboard, our local grocery store. Awkward didn’t begin to cover it. As far as I knew she’d moved on from her crush on Nick and her obsession with me, and was happily making a living using her Broomcrafting talents. I was beyond grateful she wouldn’t be assigned to this case.

  Bumping into her occasionally, though uncomfortable, was a coexistence I could deal with.

  Working side by side with her was . . . not.

  “Do you know if Kent and Raina were having any marriage trouble?” I asked, trying to push thoughts of Glinda out of my head. They tended to make me irritable.

  “I haven’t heard a peep,” Cherise said. She glanced at Archie. “You?”

  “It seems there was something.” Tapping his chin with a wing, he was silent for a moment, obviously concentrating. Suddenly, his head came up and his eyes brightened. “Yes, yes. A week or two ago, I witnessed them arguing in front of Spellbound.”

  “About?” Cherise asked.

  “Too far to eavesdrop properly,” he said, clearly disappointed by the fact. It was one of his favorite pastimes. “Kent was doing most of the shouting, and Raina looked most displeased indeed.”

  Across the green, I could barely see the awning of my sister’s bookshop, Spellbound, through the trees. Had she overheard the argument? Knowing her, she probably had—nosiness was a family trait.

  I didn’t find it unusual that Raina and Kent had been fighting—most couples did. Especially when one of them was trying to hide her witchy heritage. However, most couples didn’t usually fight so publicly, especially when business appearances counted a great deal in the real estate profession.

  I quickly decided that after checking in with Nick, I’d talk with Harper. And maybe in a day . . . or five . . . I’d go looking for Andreus.

  Missy let out a happy yip, and I looked up to find Ve charging toward the gate, a long roll of bulky plastic in her arms. Color had settled high on her plump cheeks, and her coppery hair was coming loose of its twist.

  “What a hullaballoo!” she said when she spotted us. “I heard about poor Raina Gallagher. Dear, dear thing.”

  By her mellow reaction, I figured she hadn’t yet heard that Cherise and I had been the ones to find the body. Otherwise, Ve would be peppering us with questions with relentless focus.

  Harper had inhe
rited her morbid curiosity straight from our aunt.

  I hopped off the swing to open the gate for Ve, enjoying the feel of soft grass under my bare feet. Much better than the heebie-inducing phantom blood feeling. “What’s that?” I asked, nodding toward the plastic roll.

  Ve’s golden blue eyes flashed with excitement. Shifting the bundle, she bent to pet Missy’s head. “My new election sign and campaign slogan. Want to see?”

  “Of course,” I said. It was a nice distraction.

  With a flourish, Ve unrolled the sign across the lawn. The theme (patriotic with red, white, and blue lettering) was immediately obvious, but the slogan was another story, as it was upside down.

  “Oh dear,” Ve murmured, quickly making adjustments. “There.”

  I read.

  A VOTE FOR VE IS A VOTE FOR YE.

  Laughing, she clapped her hands. “Isn’t it fabulous? It’s terrible enough to be memorable and cheesy enough to be fun. Like me.”

  Coming down the steps, Cherise deadpanned, “Terrible and cheesy?”

  Ve flicked her friend an annoyed glance. “Memorable and fun.”

  I glanced between the two of them. Though they’d been friends for years there was always an undercurrent of something beneath the affection. Competitiveness, maybe.

  “I like it,” I said of the banner.

  Missy barked as though agreeing with me.

  Personally, I felt as though Ve didn’t need any signage at all. She had most voters on her side. Not many around here wanted expansion, fearing it would destroy the village’s quaintness.

  Archie swooped down to the grass for a closer look. “I feel the usage of ye is sadly lacking in modern day vernacular. I approve.”

  “Thank you, Archibald,” Ve said, patting his head. “I’ll be glad when this election is over and done with.”

  Me, too. Ve had been running mostly on adrenaline these past few weeks, and I was having trouble picking up the slack with As You Wish. I’d actually had to turn away a few requests this past week.

  As a personal concierge service, we were in the business of assisting clients with anything and everything. From house-hunting to housecleaning. From planning parties to gift shopping. Due to the name of the business, a lot of times clients simply wished flat-out for what they wanted done. That was when my job was easy, because I could use my talents as a Wishcrafter. A simple spell later, and the task was complete. It was when no wish was made that it became fun and exhausting, fulfilling, and time-consuming.

  Running the company wasn’t something I was comfortable doing on my own, and it made me wonder what would happen if Ve won the election. Could she juggle both jobs?

  “My lovely ladies, I must bid farewell,” Archie said, bending into a deep bow. “I have conversations which to overhear at the Tavistock house.”

  “You’ll fill me in later, right?” I asked.

  He cleared his throat and said, “‘Get used to disappointment.’” He lifted off.

  “Are you throwing The Princess Bride back at me?” I called after him as he circled above. “The nerve. The gall. The . . .” I searched my brain for more overdramatic barbs.

  “If the gibe fits!” His laughter resonated as he quickly disappeared over Terry’s rooftop.

  Ve glanced at me, humor wrinkling the corners of her eyes. “You two might be spending too much time together.”

  It was entirely possible.

  “How do you remember all those quotes?” Cherise asked.

  I shrugged and plucked a dandelion from the lawn. “Good memory.” I didn’t mention all the hours I’d spent watching movies while growing up and during my bad marriage. Some things were better left unsaid.

  “Amazing,” she murmured.

  “Now tell me, Cherise,” Ve said as she crouched to roll up her sign. “This business with Raina. What’s to happen with the sale of the Tavistock house? There was a deadline for tonight, correct?” She winced. “Bad choice of words, considering . . .”

  “We don’t know.” Cherise looked crestfallen. “I don’t exactly want to contact Kent right now to inquire.”

  Ve looked upward, assessing her friend. “Do you really still want to live there after someone was killed inside?”

  “Oh, that doesn’t bother me,” Cherise said, waving a hand in dismissal. “A cleansing spell or two and the place will be good as new. Would it bother you?”

  Ve shrugged. “Maybe. Darcy?”

  “I’m with Cherise on this one. After a cleansing spell . . . and hiring a good cleaning company, I’d be fine.” I’d learned to accept a lot about death over the course of the past year. I wasn’t afraid of it. Killers, yes. Death, no.

  The blood, however, had to go.

  Ve nodded thoughtfully. “A cleaning crew is a must.”

  Cherise said, “I suspect the murder won’t take away from the home’s appeal. Those interested will still be interested. The house’s location really can’t be beat.”

  Ve stopped rolling the banner. Suspicion clouded her eyes. “Because it’s next door to Terry?”

  I glanced over at Terry’s place and saw him peeking out the window again. He might actually be nosier than I was. Which was saying something.

  His startling likeness to Elvis was one of the reasons why he was so reclusive. Any time he emerged, he was overwhelmed by tourists convinced he was in fact the remarkably well-preserved King of Rock and Roll who had simply been hiding out all these years.

  Cherise laughed, but I would swear I saw a smidgen of guilt in her eyes as she said, “Don’t be silly. For my home-based business.”

  Interesting. Was Cherise looking to steal Terry? It wasn’t all that preposterous, considering it had happened before. . . .

  Slowly, Ve stood, giving Cherise a long once-over. “Uh-huh.”

  Cherise gave her a little shove. “Stop with you now.”

  The more she denied, the more I wondered if Ve had hit on something.

  Unblinking, Cherise smiled broadly. Finally, she said, “Oh, look. Kent Gallagher’s coming this way.” She quickly rushed past us to the gate, clutching the picket like a lifeline.

  Kent’s arrival was good timing for her. A perfect change of subject.

  Ve slid me a curious look. I shrugged.

  With our blatant nosiness on full display, we lined up to watch Kent, dressed in a fancy suit, as he walked across the green toward the Tavistock place. Even Missy had her gaze set on him.

  I was a bit surprised to see the little dog still in the yard. She was a notorious escape artist, and I’d become accustomed to her disappearing in the blink of an eye. Yet she always returned home. In the past week, she’d escaped twice and was found by Scott Whiting both times. It seemed the little dog had a crush on the TV producer. It was only a matter of time before she got loose again.

  Missy glanced up at me as though sensing what I was thinking. She blinked innocently, then turned her attention back to the street.

  “Kent doesn’t seem to be in much of a hurry, does he?” Ve pointed out, a judgmental eyebrow raised.

  No, he didn’t.

  “Is he . . . skipping?” Cherise asked, heavy disapproval in her low tone.

  It sure looked like he had a kick in his wing-tipped step.

  Joining in on the judgment, I narrowed my gaze on him. As he dipped his sage green tweed flat cap at someone passing by, I noted he didn’t look all that distraught. No concern. No tears. No . . . torment.

  It baffled me. If someone had just told me Nick had died, I’d no doubt fall instantly to pieces. The thought alone sent anxiety coursing through my veins.

  But Kent Gallagher?

  He certainly didn’t appear to be a grieving widower.

  Chapter Three

  As we continued to watch Kent stroll toward the Tavistock house, a sudden chill went through me, once a
gain raising goose bumps on my arms. I rubbed the pebbled skin and couldn’t shake the feeling I was being watched.

  I knew this feeling.

  I’d experienced it before. Last summer. When Charmcrafter Andreus Woodshall had stalked me, hoping I’d lead him to a missing magical amulet he wanted desperately. The amulet would have granted him unlimited wishes. Anything and everything.

  With senses heightened, I glanced around.

  Sure enough, Andreus Woodshall, not so fondly known as Mr. Macabre, leaned against a birch tree on the village green. His thin frame blended in with the multiple trunks, making it seem as though he was just another limb.

  A dark, dangerous one.

  “What’s wrong, Darcy dear?” Aunt Ve asked.

  “Look.” Using my chin, I motioned toward the birch.

  Pushing fifty years old, Andreus was tall with a dignified air, but he was a man of two faces.

  Literally.

  In light, he was handsome. Debonair with his silver-streaked dark hair slicked back into a modern pompadour. Dark soulful eyes. Dignified. Regal.

  In darkness, his appearance morphed into something evil. Sinister. Malevolent eyes. A malicious countenance.

  Currently, the tree’s leafy canopy cast Andreus’s face in shadow, giving him an eerie, evil look.

  Not for the first time he reminded me of Dracula.

  He gave us a curt nod of recognition, then turned and strode away.

  “I hadn’t realized he’d arrived in town already,” Cherise said.

  Ve fussed with her banner. “I saw him two days ago at the Witch’s Brew, so he’s been here for a few days at least.”

  “Perhaps he was indeed your source of foreboding earlier, Darcy,” Cherise said.

  “Foreboding?” Ve questioned, turning her attention toward me.

  I explained the uneasiness I’d felt this morning. The wickedness. After finding Raina’s body, I attributed my feelings to the murder, not Andreus.

  But now I suspected the two were somehow connected.

  It was a theory I had planned to keep to myself, but after seeing Andreus standing there, watching us, I couldn’t help but share my thoughts.