The warble died down and the bookwyrm went quiet. I took my hand away, expecting the worst. Would it grow fangs and bite me?
Nothing happened.
The bookwyrm was as silent and inert as a regular ball of dough in a plastic container.
“This is my life now,” I whispered to myself with a sigh. To the bookwyrm, I said, “Stay here and don't make a peep.”
Eyes and a mouth appeared. “Peep,” it said softly.
“I'm serious,” I said, shaking my finger. “Just remember, I'm much bigger than you. And I'm a witch.”
The bookwyrm gasped and sucked its eyes and mouth back into itself with a pop.
I grabbed the stack of books, gave the bookwyrm a stern look of warning, and left it in the alcove while I went to find a larger container.
It took me ten minutes to hand the restored books off to a page for shelving, and then gather an assortment of clean containers from the recycling bin in the staff lounge.
Only ten minutes, I swear.
But that was just long enough for disaster.
I returned to the cleaning supplies alcove to find my pink-haired, prank-pulling coworker, Frank Wonder, crumpled limply on the floor.
At least Frank was still breathing, and his pulse was steady from what I could tell—I'm not a nurse—but something was very wrong with his face. His mouth was black, as black as mine had been after I'd accidentally licked the bookwyrm dough. But the blackness wasn't limited to the inside of his mouth. His lips were black, as was his nose, his chin, his forehead, and even his ears. He would have been horrified, if he'd been conscious.
My best guess was that Frank had entered the alcove looking for me, seen the bookwyrm, and then what? Had he licked it, the way I had the first time I'd used it? What had given him the idea to do such a thing?
I wheeled around to face the bookwyrm, which was still nestled in the base of the plastic container.
“What did you do?” I demanded.
The bookwyrm formed two eyes and a mouth, which it used to hiss menacingly at me.
“Bad bookwyrm,” I said. “Naughty, naughty.”
It hissed again, this time spraying little balls of dough from its mouth.
“That's enough out of you for one day,” I said, and I scooped it into an empty plastic container that had once held—and still smelled of—chive and cheddar chip dip. The chip dip container was twenty-five percent larger than the container I had been using, and this time the lid snapped closed easily.
Once sealed inside the container, the bookwyrm made a mournful, recalcitrant sound.
“Don't just say you're sorry,” I told it. “Show me you're sorry. Tell me how to make Frank's face go back to normal before he wakes up.”
Again, the bookwyrm made the I dunno sound. It went on to warble innocently that it only knew how to put ink on things, not how to remove it.
“How convenient,” I said dryly.
Chapter 21
Who do you call when your coworker mistakes your magic dough for a French kissing partner and gets knocked unconscious by a bookwyrm's overly enthusiastic face inking?
If you have a trusted aunt who's a witch, you call her. Well, first you think about calling 9-1-1, and then you imagine their many curious questions, and then you call your aunt.
Zinnia got to the library in ten minutes flat. After a few sneaky text messages, I got her in through the staff door and into the book cleaning alcove to take a look at poor, limp, partially inked Frank.
“We have to get the bookwyrm ink off his face,” Zinnia said.
I blinked at her. “Either that or dye the rest of him to match,” I joked.
She seemed to consider this for a moment, until I lifted one of the unconscious man's eyelids and we both made GEEEERRRUUUUGHHH noises over his all-black eyeballs.
“Let's get him out of the library,” she said. “I've got some ideas, but they can't happen here.”
“You grab his hands and I'll get his feet.”
She twitched her nose. “I can take him by myself.”
“He's skinny, but he probably still weighs more than you.”
She twitched her nose again, and then grabbed Frank by the torso and tossed him over her shoulder as easily as a limp flamingo.
She explained, “Frank just temporarily lost most of his body weight.”
“He's going to be so bummed he missed it.”
She shook her head. “Your friend can never know about this. Understand?”
I nodded and mimed zipping my lips.
She leaned out of the alcove to check the pathway to the staff exit. I wondered what kind of magic she'd use to hide herself as she made the escape. I'm not going to lie—as bad as I felt for Frank, I was a little excited to see what Zinnia would do.
“Zara, go cause a distraction,” she said.
“You don't have an invisibility spell?”
“Never, ever use a spell when you can use your head.” She gave me a shove out of the alcove.
I walked over to the front counter, pulled the giant plastic spider out of a drawer, and proceeded to pretend I thought it was real. The girlish shrieking and hand waving, although humiliating, would provide Zinnia with the necessary cover to get my limp coworker out of the building.
Kathy, who had just thrust a letter opener through the plastic spider, blinked at me in shock. “Whoooooo would put a big plastic spider in the book return?”
“Probably the same jerk who return-slotted the Popsicle,” I said.
Her right eye twitched behind her horn-rimmed glasses. If she'd been a cartoon, steam would have been coming out of her ears.
Through gritted teeth, Kathy said, “Vincent Wick.”
I glanced over my shoulder to make sure my aunt was gone. Either Zinnia had turned invisible, or she'd made it outside safely.
I gingerly took the stabbed plastic spider away from Kathy. “No need for an autopsy,” I said. “What makes you think this plastic spider is the work of Vincent Wick?”
“Who else? He's always around whenever there's trouble. He's like a...” Her face went through a series of unpleasant expressions.
“Like a trouble magnet?”
“More like a lightning rod.”
Lightning rod. I thought of what Zinnia had said about magic behaving like water or electricity. “Has Vincent Wick ever been involved with big eagles? Or other birds?”
Kathy scrunched her pointy nose. “He trains falcons,” she said. “We have a few falcons who keep other birds away from the airport runways. How did you know about that?”
“Small town,” I said.
Time was ticking, and I had to get out of there and join Zinnia before she left without me.
I reached for my stomach and began moaning. The pages and library patrons had dispersed since the initial shock and awe of the spider stabbing, so this was for Kathy's benefit only.
“Zara, are you hurt?” Kathy wrung her hands. “It all happened so fast. How badly did I get you? I saw the spider, and I had the letter opener in my hands, and I wasn't thinking.”
“You didn't stab me,” I said. “It's just my guts, but for other reason. I think I've got whatever Frank has.” I groaned. “We should not have shared that odd-smelling tuna sandwich for lunch.” I moaned again. “He was making some horrible sounds in the staff washroom. I'm scared to go in there, but I don't know how much longer I can last.”
Kathy backed away, all the way to the hand sanitizer dispenser. She squirted foam liberally onto both hands.
“Zara, you can go home early,” she said. “And tell Frank the same. We can't risk all three of us getting stomach flu at the same time.”
Grimacing, I thanked her and then made my exit. The truth was, my stomach really did hurt. I felt horrible for what had happened to Frank. It was my own stupid fault for leaving the bookwyrm unattended. I checked my pocket to make sure it was still in there, cursed myself silently, and went outside to find Zinnia.
I found my aunt's car in the parking l
ot, empty.
After a few minutes of stomach-churning panic, I finally located her and Frank's limp, partly blackened body at the side of the library building, hunched down behind some bushes.
“There were people in the parking lot,” Zinnia explained.
“It's all clear now,” I reported. “But we should probably carry him there together, one arm over each of us.”
“Yes, but first give me your hand.” She reached out. I put my hand in hers, and she gave it a squeeze. A tingle of electricity buzzed from my hand throughout my body. After a full day of being grounded and having no power, the magic was intoxicating.
“Don't pull,” she said crossly. “I'm trying to draw power from you. Just relax.”
I let my hand go limp. I'd thought she was giving me my powers back, but I was to have no such luck.
She explained, “I need to borrow some of your strength so I can cast a complicated spell. If it works, it should keep him sleeping for the next several hours. He might suffer some brain damage, but I'm sure you can cover for him at work while he heals.”
“Did you say brain damage? Can't you just fix him? Cast a spell to turn his face back to... face color?”
“Face color is not a color, and no, I cannot.”
“You're doing this on purpose to punish me,” I said. “You're making this more difficult than it needs to be. But I get it, okay? Lesson learned. I was careless and left the bookwyrm out where a regular person could get their hands on it. I'll take my forty lashes, but don't punish Frank.” I crouched over his prone body and placed my free hand on his pink-and-black-hued temples. “Plus he's already so warped. Brain damage is the last thing Frank needs.”
Zinnia sighed and released my hand. “Very well then.” She reached into her purse, pulled out a vial of pills, and shook out two. She handed them to me. “Crush these up between his teeth. There are plenty of ways to knock someone out that don't involve magic.”
“Drugs?” I popped my head up over the edge of the bushes and looked around nervously before crouching down again to stare at my aunt, who'd apparently gone crazy. “We're talking about drugging and kidnapping my coworker. We're breaking all kinds of librarian codes, not to mention laws.”
She hissed back at me, “There's nothing else we can do. The bookwyrm ink will take time to deal with, and as soon as he wakes up, he's going to have all kinds of questions.”
We both looked down at Frank, who was still unconscious.
“I could tell him it was a prank,” I said, pleading. “I could tell him that, plus cast the spell that boosts my believably while increasing the subject's gullibility. That was my plan in case you didn't show up.”
She gave me a motherly look. “Zara. We must be brave, and do what needs to be done.”
Reluctantly, I took the two pills, popped them inside Frank's eerily black mouth, and worked his jaw to crush them. I rubbed his neck, and he swallowed dutifully without waking up.
Zinnia arched her red eyebrows. “You've got a real knack with human manipulation.”
“Thanks,” I said flatly, and we proceeded to carry my unconscious coworker to the parking lot and load him into the back of Zinnia's car.
“You put on his seatbelt while I make a phone call,” she said.
“Who are you calling?”
“It's more of a what than a who.”
While I got Frank into his seat belt in the back, Zinnia made her phone call. She listened to a recorded message, pressed a series of codes into her phone, and then left a message by voicemail.
“This is Zinnia Riddle. My code is D-W-M-W-eight-one-eight. I'm reporting a possible breach. I have an unconscious civilian in need of...” She paused and glanced over her shoulder into the back seat, where I was propping up Frank. “Cleanup,” she finished, and then she gave her address. “I'm in my vehicle right now, but I'll be at my residence within ten minutes.”
She ended the call and put her phone into her purse slowly.
“You're calling in the big guns?” I asked. “A more powerful witch?”
She started the car engine. “Not exactly.”
“But you do have a mentor witch you can call when you get in trouble, right? Someone from your coven?”
She checked over her shoulder as she backed the car out of the parking spot, but she avoided eye contact with me.
After a few minutes, once we were on our way to her house, she finally spoke again.
“Zara, sometimes even good witches do bad things,” she said. “Whatever happens tonight, please do as I say without question.”
The tone of her voice put a chill through me.
I looked at poor unconscious Frank. Against his charred-looking skin, his pink eyebrows looked like two fuzzy caterpillars. He looked so helpless. What did cleanup mean?
Chapter 22
“That was fast,” Aunt Zinnia commented. We were pulling up to park in front of her house, and her usual parking spot in the front was already taken by a white cargo van.
The side of the van bore an official Wisteria logo, for the Department of Sanitation. As we pulled up behind the van, the two back doors opened and a man stepped out.
Vincent Wick.
The man my boss at the library referred to as a lightning rod for trouble. The man who trained falcons. The man my aunt had warned me to stay away from. The man who... was walking toward my aunt's car.
Vincent opened the door to the back seat, on my side, and told me, “Slide over, dear.”
In the front seat, Zinnia said, “Zara, slide over and keep your mouth shut.”
I had about fifty million questions, but I did as I was told, squishing myself until I was partially on Frank's lap. I was squeamish about being touched by the Director of Wisteria Sanitation and Maintenance. It wasn't that he smelled bad or I was snobby about him being a garbage man, but the man radiated creepiness.
In the bright afternoon light, Vincent Wick had the look of something out of place—like a rat caught raiding the kitchen when you flick on the lights. Next to his receding, shiny-black hair, his bare temples were tanned, but looked waxen and artificial.
He flicked his dark, hooded eyes over to my face, gave me a thin smile flashing only the top row of his crooked, gleaming-white teeth, and all my fifty million questions died in my throat.
“Zara Riddle and Zinnia Riddle in one place,” he said. “If only we had sweet, young Zoey here, we could go for a family picnic.”
At the mention of my daughter, something clicked inside me. A tiger unleashed. ROOOOOARRRR! I wanted to squeeze him by the neck until he promised to never say my daughter's name again.
But I kept my hands at my sides and used only my mouth.
“Don't you say her name,” I snarled. “Leave my daughter alone.”
Vincent snorted and reached for the door handle. “I guess you don't need my help today after all.”
“Please stay,” Aunt Zinnia said firmly and sweetly. “My niece has had a troubling day. And Vincent, you do come on rather strongly at times. I wouldn't call the DSM if it wasn't serious.”
“Very well, then. I can be a professional and do my job.” He let go of the interior car door handle and turned to look past me, at Frank's unconscious body. “Let's see how far the affliction extends.” He reached over and tugged at Frank's shirt collar. The edge of the blackness was irregular, like a birthmark, but some pink was visible on Frank's lower neck.
Vincent's hands were within biting range, but I was able to resist chomping him. I'd calmed down since wanting to strangle Vincent Wick a minute earlier. What was that all about, anyway? I'd shocked myself with the sudden violent reaction to him saying my daughter's name. The day Kathy and I had gone out to the dump, Kathy had warned me that Vincent deliberately tried to antagonize women. I'd not been on guard against it, but I would be more wary in the future.
“Interesting,” Vincent said, still looking at Frank's half-blackened neck.
I asked, “Can you fix him?”
Vincent ignor
ed my question and turned to my aunt, who was still in the front seat, watching. He asked her, “Was this an accident with pashylar paste?”
“Bookwyrm dough,” she said.
“Of course.” He patted Frank's hair. “I was thrown off by the pink hair.”
I said, “It was like that before. He dyes it pink.”
Vincent didn't react to my input. He only nodded and said, more to Zinnia than to me, “Help me load him into the van.” He reached under Frank's butt, withdrawing his wallet and then opening it up. “His residence is an apartment,” he said. “Not my favorite, but I'll return him to this address as soon as I'm done. He won't be in to work tomorrow.” He glanced in my direction briefly. “I trust you can cover for him.”
“Sure,” I said. “Will he be back on Monday?”
Vincent ignored me again. He turned away, opened the door, and stepped out of the car.
While he walked around the back of the vehicle, I asked Zinnia, “Is Frank going to come back to work on Monday? Or is he going to get cleaned up all the way into someone's concrete foundation?”
She gave me a look that was almost reassuring but not quite. She silently got out of the driver's side to come around and help move Frank.
After Zinnia and Vincent pulled Frank from the back seat, his pink-and-black head lolling from side to side limply, Zinnia pointed one finger at me. “Go and wait in the house,” she commanded.
I walked toward her front door, but as soon as she and Vincent got into the back of the van with Frank, I turned around and came back to the van.
Standing at the corner of the bumper, with my ear at the edge of the door's hinge side, I could hear their conversation.
Vincent was saying, “It's been a long time, Zinnia.”
“I haven't needed to report any incursions, until now.”
“There's always gossip,” he said. “You women love gossip. I bet you haven't heard the latest about Dorothy Tibbits.”
“I've heard she's claiming we framed her for murdering Winona Vander Zalm and tricked her into confessing on camera.”
He chuckled. “That's half true, though. Help me get Pinkie onto this cot.” The van rocked as they moved around inside it. “As for Tibbits, the latest news is someone must have gotten to her. She was released on bail, but now she's in a coma. She'll never see the inside of a jail cell, or anything else for that matter. The doctors are saying it was a stroke or an aneurysm, but I think you and I know differently.”
Wicked Wisteria (Witch Cozy Mystery and Paranormal Romance) (Wisteria Witches Book 2) Page 18
