by Amy Boyles
I nodded to Roman. "There was, but he stopped it."
"How's the investigation going, Detective?" Roman asked. I didn't understand why he continued to pick at the detective about the case.
Blount threw Roman a tight smile. "Great. Small-town murder is always fun, especially when the victim's fiancé spouts off that Dylan's the murderer."
I fanned myself. "Whew. Is it hot out here or what?"
The detective jingled some coins in his pocket. "Dylan, I'm afraid I have to bring you in."
"Why?" I asked, leaning toward Roman, hoping he would protect me from this.
"As I said, I've got a man who just accused you of murder."
I pointed at Harry, flabbergasted that they would believe him. "But he's drunk. He's riddled with grief."
Blount took my elbow in a gentle hold. "Dylan, I need you to come with me down to the station."
Seriously? Could things get any worse?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"Where are you holding my granddaughter, you big buffoons?" Grandma's voice assaulted me all the way across the station, to the confines of Blount's office, where I was being interviewed. "If anyone lays a hand on Dylan's head, I'll sick a flock of fire-eating piglets on the lot of you."
Good ole Grandma. Making me look more innocent by the second.
Blount stuck his head out of the office. "Send her on back. We're wrapping up in here."
Grandma cussed the whole way. "In my day we didn't have all these uniforms. No one knew an officer from a regular person."
Blount glanced at me. I circled my finger around my ear, making the universal sign for crazy. "Sorry. This is how she is."
Roman, in the seat beside me and confirmed it. "She's a little off, that's for sure."
Which reminded me, I needed to apologize to him for her rude behavior.
"Dylan, where are you?" Grandma called.
"She's back here," Blount called out.
"Finally, someone who speaks English."
I shrugged. There was just no way to win with this woman. I rose. "Perhaps it would be better if I met her out there. Do you have any more questions for me?"
He shook his head. "No. You're free to go."
I drummed my fingers on the back of the chair. "You do realize that the entire town is going to think I'm guilty?"
He rested his hands on his hips. "It's a small-town murder. What can I say?"
"Say country life isn't all it's cracked up to be," Roman prodded.
I elbowed him. "Be nice."
Grandma burst through the doorway, practically knocking the detective down. Her triangle head of hair jutted out like a silver halo. Her orange pants looked fit for a clown, and a white linen scarf choked her neck like Amelia Earhart preflight. "This place is a madhouse."
I looked into the bull pen. A few officers sat, working quietly. I rubbed my thighs. "Yep, regular old crazy house in here. Thanks for the chat, Detective. Let me know when I can be a town spectacle again for you."
Blount frowned but said nothing. I threw him a cheery smile.
We left his office. "Talk about me picking at him," Roman said in a low, husky voice.
"The difference is I'm not insulting his ability or interest in doing his job," I said.
He took my elbow, guiding me toward the front door. "That's not what I'm doing."
"What did they want?" Grandma shouted.
"Nothing, just to go over what happened that morning one more time. Hey. How did you get here?" I pushed through the glass doors that led outside. The suction hold released, and with a swoosh we were standing in sunshine. My skin prickled in the heat.
Reid waved from the lot. She did a Vanna White gesture over my car. "Well, at least she didn't wreck it."
"What are you talking about?" Grandma said. "I drove."
I now had a blossoming headache. I escorted Grandma to the car. "Reid, drive Grandma home and stay there with her. I don't need her wandering the streets of Silver Springs."
Reid pouted, no doubt disappointed that she wouldn't get to hot rod my car around town. "Where are you going?"
I clapped Roman on the arm. It was like touching rock. "Roman's going to drive me back to the shop."
Reid sulked her way into the car. Grandma hugged me. "Thank goodness you're all right."
This post-freeze craziness had about worn on my last nerve. "Thanks, Grandma. See you at home."
I slid into the SUV and leaned my head back. "Calgon, take me away."
He started the ignition. The car hummed, softly vibrating my seat. "Where would you like to go?"
"How about Paris?"
"We could be there by tomorrow morning."
I squinted at him. Was he kidding? He was kidding. Wasn't he? But the stone look on his face reflected only a quiet intent.
I threaded my fingers through my ponytail and snagged a tangle. Sexy. "So what was that about? Why did Blount haul me in only to ask me the same questions?"
"He needs people to see that he's doing something because he doesn't have any leads."
"How can you be so sure?"
Roman glanced at the gear shift, his long lashes practically brushing his cheek. He looked up and smiled, the dark edges of his eyes smudging. They willed me to nibble on them. I bit my finger and stared out the window.
"I was a witch cop, remember? Whenever my cases crossed into the regular world, cops were always befuddled."
"Befuddled?"
He nosed the vehicle into the street. "Don't make fun. Anyway, I'm right. Blount came here to retire. Now that you and your sisters are out as witches, his life is about to be even more complicated than it was in Atlanta. I'm trying to make him realize this isn't the job for him."
"Why? What's it to you?" He didn't answer. "Listen, I'm sorry about Grandma the other night. It was inexcusable for her to pry like that."
He shrugged. "It's okay. I know she didn't mean anything by it."
"Still," I said. "I wanted to apologize."
"Nothing to be sorry for."
"Can you at least accept my apology?"
"Is that what I'm supposed to do?"
"That's what a gentleman would do."
"What makes you think I'm a gentleman?" he said with a twinkle in his eye.
Sand filled my mouth. Was he flirting? He was definitely flirting. But he liked Sera. I saw them talking together. "Um. Well, you took a job to protect a couple of witches, a subgroup you've repeatedly said you don't like. Doesn't that make you somewhat of a gentleman?"
He shrugged. "That's debatable. But for now, let's say yes." He turned the car down Main and parked in front of my store. "Good job dropping that bottle out of Harry's hand this morning."
"Oh, that." I rubbed the lines that formed on my forehead. "Yeah, I broke a cardinal rule, I know, but what other choice did I have? Do you think I'll be boiled alive?" Please, please don't let that happen to me.
"Nah. The witch police'll probably throw you in jail, is all."
I pulled my ponytail. "What? I have a business to run."
He smiled. "I'm kidding."
I placed a hand on my chest. "Thank goodness."
Roman laughed. The sound soothed my soul. I felt like curling up next to him and purring. "No, they won't throw you in jail. It was for your own protection. If you don't bring it up, perhaps the council won't know."
He put the car in park, and I unfastened my seat belt. I glanced toward the store. Em stood in the window, a dark scowl on her face as she glared at me.
I shrank down. "Something tells me they already know."
***
Em ruffled her silky crimson and cinnamon curls when I walked through the door. "We need to chitchat."
"Just us," I said.
"No. Your sister too."
I nodded toward Carrie, who sat behind the desk. "Is there anyone waiting on me?"
She finished filing down a nail and said, "No. No one's here."
"Great. Do you mind taking an early lunch and bringing something back
for me?"
She beamed. "Sure. There's a delicious hunk at that new brick-oven pizza place."
Uh-oh. That delicious hunk would be Rick, our next door neighbor and the guy Reid regularly used the binoculars to spy on.
"Want me to bring back a slice?"
"That would be great. Thanks!"
She swung a wristlet over her hand and said, "Dylan, don't forget your promise about the banquet."
"I haven't." I had. "Can you remind me what that was, again?"
Carrie splayed her fingers over a jutting hip. "That I can pick out whatever dress I want to wear."
I swatted the air. "Of course I haven't forgotten that." I had. "Just let me know what you choose."
After she left, I called Sera and told her to come over. Barely a minute later she walked through the door, brushing flour off her apron. "What's going on?" She saw Em sitting in a wingback chair. "You could have warned me," Sera mumbled to me.
"Sorry."
Em steepled her fingers under her chin. The bangles on her arms tinkled prettily. "I may not have made some of the rules clear."
"No, you did," I said. "Rule one—don't anger a witch. Which it seems has been broken."
She exhaled, did a slow blink and said, "There's an even more important rule than that. Can you remember what it is?"
I grimaced. In the smallest voice possible, I said, "Don't do magic in front of regular people?"
"Correct."
Sera gaped at me. "You did magic in front of someone?"
I gestured with my thumb and forefinger. "Only a teensy bit." I sat across from Em in another boutique chair. "Harry Shaw had a weapon raised to hurt me. What was I supposed to do?"
She gave me a blank stare. "Run."
"That's not very good advice," I said.
"I didn't say it was." She tousled her perfect Queen Witch locks. Her gaze settled on Sera and then back at me.
"How did you even know I'd done any magic? I thought you were long gone."
A smear of pink blazed over her cheeks. "I ain't your teacher no more, but I'm still keepin' an eye on you. Magical ripples are easy to sense if you know what you're lookin' for. When you use your power, I feel it."
I looked at Sera. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. We were thinking the same thing—why was she so interested in us?
"Why are you spying on us?" Sera asked.
Em scoffed. "I ain't spyin' on you. Queen Witches don't spy. I was being mindful of your presence."
"From where? Across the street at the diner?" I asked. I figured you couldn't feel a ripple of magic from a thousand miles away, so she had to be close.
The pink on her cheeks deepened. Seriously? She was spying on us from Gus's Diner, home of the deep-fried burger?
She rose. "I don't answer to you. This works the other way around. I only came to remind you—don't work magic in front of nonmagics."
"Then I suppose next time a drunk lunatic is trying to kill me, I'll just let him."
"Yeah," Sera said. "You can't expect her not to use magic in a life-threatening situation."
"Thank you," I said.
"You're welcome."
Em raised her hands. "Would both of you please shut up?"
"Yes," I squeaked, having been properly chastised.
"Now, stop bein' so darn childish," Em snapped. "Next time, don't use magic. And if you find yourself in a situation like that again, use a small amount of power and try to trip the person instead."
"Trip them? I don't know how to do that."
"It's not hard. Imagine and make it happen."
"Oh yes," Sera said. "Magic is so easy for someone who's been around a hundred years. To the rest of us peons, it's a bit more complicated."
Em clapped her hands together. "Y'all have to practice, that's all." She slinked like a cat to the door. She placed a hand on the knob and glanced over her shoulder. "Been keepin' up your protection spell?"
I rubbed a kink from the back of my neck. "No. I've been busy."
"I recommend you do one. Need to keep yourselves safe."
After she left, I cupped my head in my hands. "There are too many rules to this whole witching business. Seems like it should be easier."
Sera rolled her eyes. "Okay. You tell Em that. Let me know how it goes." Her eyes drifted to the window, she stared for a moment and then her lips pressed into a hard line. I followed her gaze and saw Tim fiddling with his yellow environmentally friendly bicycle.
I took her hand and squeezed. "He's a loser."
"And a jerk," she said.
"You're better off without him."
Her lips curled into a whimsical smile. I did not like that look. Not at all. "Sera? What are you doing?"
She ignored me and kept watching him. "Look," she said.
I peered out the window right as Tim's shorts fell. His yellow T-shirt barely covered his little-boy-style tighty-whities. A laugh exploded from my mouth. "Oh my God. Are those Superman Underoos?"
Sera held her sides, trying to contain her own laughter. "I think so."
"And no playing tricks on people." Em's disembodied voice boomed overhead.
I shrank. "All right. We get it. Don't do anything to save our lives and no having fun." Em didn't reply. Guessing she was gone, I said, "But that was definitely worth it."
"I'd better get back to work," Sera said. She reached for the door as Reid burst in, apron strings flying.
"What's wrong?" I asked, not wanting to know.
Reid pulled the apron off her head. "Nan called. Milly's in the hospital. She's been attacked by a witch."
Holy crapola.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
When we arrived at the hospital, Milly was in rare form. She could be heard from halfway down the hall. "Don't you poke me with that. I'm fine. Why do I have all these wires and things in me? Get them out!"
People stared in the direction of her room. I turned to Sera. "Do we really need to be here?"
"She's our grandmother."
I lifted my finger. "But we only just found that out. A couple of days ago this wouldn't have concerned us."
She tugged my elbow. "Come on. Let's see how she's doing."
Sera led me and Reid into the room. An IV line ran from Milly's arm to a hanging bag of saline. A black screen bleeped as it flashed her heart rate, blood pressure and whatever else those things showed. The room had the distinct smell of old people, which was fitting seeing as Grandma and Nan had arrived before us.
Milly swatted an exhausted-looking nurse away from her. "I don't need anything. I'm fine. Just look at all those numbers on the screen there. Everything says I'm fine."
The nurse offered Milly a patient but stern smile. "The doctor will make the final call on that."
"Then send him in. What are you waiting for?"
Another tight, reserved, I-really-want-to-kick-you-in-the-heinie smile and the nurse said, "I'll see if I can reach him."
"You do that."
"Hi, Milly," Sera said.
Milly shifted her beady eyes in our direction. She glanced at Grandma and Nan, who sat in one corner of the cramped room, and then over to us. "Great. So everybody had to come and see me at my lowest."
I knew this was a bad idea. "No," I said quickly. "We wanted to make sure you were okay."
"A witch gets knocked out and everyone thinks she's lost her touch," Milly grumbled. "Could have happened to anyone." She pointed a bony finger at me. "You could have been up and killed. No one would have thought you'd lost your touch."
"We didn't know we were witches at that time," I corrected.
"Tomato, potato."
Reid frowned. "Um, isn't that tomato, tomah—"
I kicked her.
She rubbed her leg. "Ow."
"What happened?" I asked.
"I'd gone outside to weed some plants. Had my back to the street, which is not something I normally do. Next thing I know, I'm here."
"So you could have blacked out," I said. "Maybe your blood pressure dropped or
something, and you fainted."
Milly glared at me hard enough to burn a third eye through my forehead. "I did not pass out. I was attacked. I could still smell the magic on me when I woke up."
"You can smell magic?" Reid asked.
Grandma nodded. "You most certainly can. Life doesn't always smell like raindrops and kittens. Sometimes it has a lemony scent."
"Lemony?" Sera said.
Milly nodded. "Magic can smell like citrus. It's a common occurrence."
"I haven't noticed that," I said.
Grandma fluffed her gossamer scarf. "You don't have a particularly good sniffer. Remember that time you stepped in dog doo and the rest of us had to tell you?"
"Right. Not a good sniffer," I said.
"I've noticed something," Reid said. "But I can't say it's lemons."
"Whatever," I said, knowing I'd have a massive headache by the time I got home. "So you think it's the killer?"
Milly slammed her fist down on the bed tray. "Of course it's the killer. She's getting bold. Brazen."
"So why aren't you dead?" I asked. Everyone looked at me like it was the rudest question in the world. I shrugged. "What? If the witch knocked you out, how did you end up here?"
"One of my neighbors saw me and called the hospital."
"So did they see anyone else?" I asked.
"No."
We stared at her.
"But the stink of magic was on me." She shoved her fist in the air. "I know when I've been attacked, and I was, without a doubt, assaulted with magic."
The room quieted, and a soft knock came from the door. A middle-aged man wearing a white lab coat entered.
"Milly, I haven't visited you in years, but I had to come once Hazel told me what happened," he said.
She sniffed. "I haven't needed a witch doctor for a long time, and I wouldn't need one now if I'd been standing the right way."
Witch doctor? Oh, this was rich. Seriously? How had I lived for twenty-eight years and been oblivious to all this? Witches and witch doctors and magic?
Sera flashed me a what-the-bejesus look. I shook my head. I give up.
Said witch doctor's expensive Italian loafers clicked as he walked across the peel-and-stick hospital tile. His peppery hair was clipped short on the sides with a sweeping pompadour on top. Fine vertical lines streaked his tan face, and he took a moment to smile at each of us in turn.
