A Potion to Die For: A Magic Potion Mystery

by blake, heather

  “I can’t!” Delia took another corner, and I watched in horror as Angelea veered off toward the cliff, only to swerve back onto the road.

  “I don’t think she can stop.” My heart raced, and I found myself holding my breath with each curve we encountered. “She almost went off the edge just then.”

  “What do you mean, can’t stop? Why wouldn’t she be able to stop? Do you see any smoke? Did she burn out her brake line?”

  I could think of only a few reasons and none of them were good. “There’s no smoke.”

  Dylan followed closely behind Angelea, practically on her bumper.

  “Hold on!” Delia cried, taking another corner. Tires and brakes screeched loudly.

  I grabbed onto the door handle as the wheels on the driver’s side came off the ground for a brief second before hitting the pavement with a loud thud.

  Glancing back, I saw Angelea’s car fishtail before she gained control of it again. But as we lurched downhill, her car gained speed.

  “She’s going to hit us!” I yelled.

  Suddenly, we jerked forward as Angelea’s car banged into the back of us, and I knocked my head on the windshield. The crunch of metal on metal split the air. Delia swerved hard right and braked, but the force of Angelea’s momentum kept us going forward.

  Dylan managed to get the nose of his car next to the rear of Angelea’s, like a bookend. I could hear the bang, bang, bang of her car hitting his as we careened down the road.

  Angelea’s car came loose from our bumper and swerved right toward the woods before veering back onto the road.

  “Oh no,” Delia said.

  “What?” Then I saw. The steepest part of the road. A tight turn where going more than ten miles an hour would be dangerous.

  I swallowed hard.

  Delia said, “Brace yourself.” She braked hard and steered right, hugging the trees.

  Angelea’s hatchback rammed into us with a jarring crunch, pushing the SUV, and I all could think about was that little baby. . . .

  Jerking the wheel, Delia somehow managed to keep us on the road. We’d just made it around the corner when Angelea’s car tore loose from ours and hurtled to the right, into the woods.

  Delia slammed on the brakes. I reached for the door handle and watched in horror as Angelea’s car hit a rock and flipped over with a gut-wrenching crunch of metal and glass. It skidded into a stand of trees, where it finally came to a stop on its top, its headlights beaming into woods that would never, ever look the same to me.

  My legs buckled when they hit the ground, but I grabbed on to the door to keep from falling. Sirens bellowed in the distance, and I realized that Dylan must have radioed for help as soon as he realized there was a problem. He angled his car so his headlights lit the crash scene, and I saw him now, running toward the hissing car.

  I followed him, stumbling along. Delia reached out and grabbed my arm to steady me, and I flinched, not even knowing she’d been beside me. I glanced at her and saw a dazed look in her eye—one I’m sure she saw in my own.

  Dylan knelt on the ground, and I could hear him shouting into the car but couldn’t make out his words.

  Dark smoke poured from the engine. My breath caught as the car shifted and sparked. Flames burst out from the hood.

  Unconscious, Angelea hung upside down, supported by her seat belt. Blood gushed from a wound on her head. Flames crackled.

  Dylan said, “We’ve got to get her out of here. The seat belt . . . I can’t reach the release.” He tried to shimmy inside, but the space was too narrow for his frame. “I need my knife from my car.”

  Delia said, “I’ll get it.” She sprinted off.

  There was another pop and more flames shot out.

  The sirens closed in.

  I dropped next to Dylan. “I’ll go in.”

  “No.”

  The flames were working their way into the cabin of the car, creeping along the dashboard. Thick smoke clogged my throat, stung my eyes. “There’s no time! Grab hold of her.”

  I glanced in the car, trying to figure out how to go about this, and realized the best way was to approach from the other side.

  I quickly ran around the car, pulled my locket over my head, and tossed it a good distance away. If I ever lost it inside that car . . . I didn’t even want to think about it.

  I fell to my knees, slid onto my belly, and worked my way through the broken passenger’s window.

  Emotions slammed into me. Mostly fear.

  It was probably my own.

  Heat blasted my face; flames licked my skin. I had limited visibility, so I reached out to feel for the seat-belt release button. My fingers brushed Angelea’s hand, and I couldn’t help the shudder that rippled through my body at how lifeless she had felt.

  Metal scraped my skin as I pushed my way in a little farther. I followed the seat belt on Angelea’s lap to the release and pushed for all I was worth. The belt gave way, and Angelea immediately dropped down. Dylan had hold of her upper body, but her legs had knocked me into the dashboard.

  I yelped at the heat and jerked backward, trying to back out. I felt hands on my feet, then my knees, tugging.

  Wincing against the pain, I worked my way out, and as soon as I was free took a deep breath of air. Before I knew what was happening, I was being pulled—dragged, really.

  The car burst into a big ball of flames, the explosion busting out the rest of the windows. A blistering heat cloud flashed over me. The hands were there again, pulling me backward, toward the street. Toward safety. And, finally, to the ground.

  Shaking, I sat and wiped the soot from my eyes.

  Emotions pummeled me. Anxiety, fear, love. Love? I reached for my locket, then remembered that I’d tossed it aside. Panic rose in me as I realized the heat from the car would surely melt the silver. I went to stand up to find it, but a hand tugged me back down, and in my palm my locket appeared.

  I looked at the person sitting next to me. The person who’d saved me.

  Delia closed my fingers around my locket. “Hold it tight.”

  Slowly, I nodded and sank back down next to her. I looked around and saw Dylan yards away, hovering over Angelea’s body.

  “He got her out in time,” Delia said. “Thanks to you.”

  A sheriff’s cruiser swerved to a stop, followed closely by an ambulance and a fire truck. More help, certainly, was on the way.

  Dylan looked up, searching the area until he found me. He held my gaze.

  Love.

  An EMT knelt next to him, and he broke eye contact.

  Delia gave me a nudge. “I know exactly what he was thinking just then.”

  “What’s that?” I said thickly.

  Her teeth flashed as she smiled. “He was thinking that if you thought your hair looked bad before, you should see it now.” She wiggled her eyebrows like Groucho Marx.

  I threw my head back and laughed. I laughed until I cried.

  Then I just cried.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  It turned out that Delia hadn’t needed to share her guest room with me. I’d spent the night in the emergency room at Pape Medical Center in Huntsville, with my mama, daddy, and aunts Hazel and Eunice hovering over me like a bunch of mama hens protecting their chick. Marjie had declined to come, on account that she hated hospitals. I didn’t blame her one bit. If I’d had a choice, I wouldn’t have been there, either.

  I’d been released just after dawn, and my aunts were driving me home. We’d already dropped off Delia, and it had been quite the production explaining why she’d been with me in the first place.

  I was fine. A few bumps, scrapes, and cuts were all. Nothing a little salve and a potion or two couldn’t take care of.

  Unlike Angelea.

  She was in the ICU, clinging to life. So far the baby was clinging, too, but the doctors didn’t have high hopes that either would survive much longer.

  Aunt Hazel swerved into my driveway and slammed on the brakes. I had a flashback to the nigh
t before and gave myself a mental shake.

  Aunt Eunice chided her sister for her reckless driving, which started an argument that could probably be heard into the next county about who was the better driver. Wincing, I shoved open the back door, yelled, “Thank you for the ride!” and slammed the door closed.

  They were still arguing as I climbed the back steps. I, unfortunately, caught my reflection in the glass of the back door. Delia hadn’t been kidding about my hair. My freckled face was scraped and red from the heat of the fire, and soot clung to the skin on my neck, the roots of my hair.

  I needed a long, hot bath. A good soaking that would hopefully dissolve the bad memories along with all the dirt.

  My aunts peeled out of the driveway, their bickering carrying on the wind.

  I reached up above the doorjamb for the spare key and slid it into the lock. I slipped inside the house, hoping that Coach was long gone out of town and not sticking around for more retribution.

  Just in case, I took my pitchfork from the broom closet and suddenly realized how quiet it was in the house. Mr. Dunwoody still had Roly and Poly, but this quiet went beyond that. Then it hit me. There was no hum coming from the fridge, no whir from the ceiling fan.

  I cut on the lights, only for them to remain dark.

  My power was out again.

  I grabbed the phone, and it, too, was dead.

  The critters in the wall had declared war, and I was ready to wave a white flag. It had been one of those weeks.

  With a heavy feeling of dread, I realized my plan for a hot bath was out the window. I couldn’t stay here. I’d pack some clothes and head . . .

  Where?

  I was still in the same sinking boat I’d been in the day before. With Coach on the loose no one was safe.

  I’d just have to go back to Delia’s. Resolutely, I trudged toward the stairs and stopped dead in my tracks once I stepped foot in the living room.

  “Can I shoot him?” my aunt Marjie asked.

  My gaze whipped to Coach Butts, who cowered in the corner near the front door.

  Marjie was perched on the edge of the couch, her shotgun aimed squarely at Coach’s chest. By the panicked look in his eye, they’d been here for some time.

  “I saw him sneaking round your house in the wee hours and caught him breaking in. I should’ve shot him on the spot, but I wanted to make sure you wouldn’t mind the mess beforehand. Can I shoot him?”

  Coach’s eyes went wide. Sweat dripped down the sides of his face and darkened the fabric of his shirt. “She’s crazy!”

  He was a fine one to talk about crazy.

  Marjie cocked the gun. “What did I tell you about using that word?”

  “Call the police!” Coach cried, tears streaming from his eyes.

  I shrugged. “Can’t. Phone’s dead.”

  Marjie chuckled. “Ain’t that a shame? Can I shoot him now?”

  “Let me think a second.” On one hand, he deserved what he had coming to him. On the other, I’d just painted the wall. I tapped my fingers on the pitchfork. As I inwardly debated, I heard a door slam. I peeked out the window. “Dylan’s here.”

  “Dang it all,” Marjie grumped. “Ain’t no way he’s going to let me shoot him.”

  “You might be surprised,” I said. “After what happened last night.”

  “How’re you feeling?” Marjie asked. “You look a sight.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “What happened last night?” Coach asked.

  I threw him a dirty look. To Marjie, I said, “If he tries anything, shoot first; ask questions later. I’ve got more paint, so don’t worry none about the mess. I’m going out to talk to Dylan.”

  Marjie’s eyes brightened, and Coach kept saying, “What happened?”

  I met Dylan on the back steps. He winced when he saw me.

  “That good, huh?” I said, sitting down, propping the pitchfork on the railing.

  He sat next to me. “Could be worse.”

  That I knew. “Any word on Angelea?”

  “What’s with the pitchfork?” he asked, eyeing it warily.

  A ruckus rose from within the house. “Help! Help!” Coach yelled.

  Dylan stiffened. “Who’s that?”

  “Coach Butts.”

  “What?”

  Crows flitted from tree to tree. “Marjie’s got her gun on him. Apparently he broke in here sometime during the night, and she’s had him cornered since. She’s itchin’ to shoot. Can we let her? Pretty please?”

  “As much as I love it when you look at me like that, no. Why didn’t she call for help?”

  “My phone’s dead again. The power’s off, too.”

  He cursed under his breath.

  “Tell me about it. I was planning on a long, hot bath.” His eyes darkened, and I felt a blush rising up my neck.

  “Does she have him under control?”

  “Oh yeah. He’s crying like a baby. Angelea? How is she?” I reminded him before I could do or say something I’d regret.

  “Same,” he said.

  “Did you find out why her brakes didn’t work?”

  “Someone cut the brake line. There was a little fluid on her driveway—she probably lost the rest on the way up to Nelson’s.”

  “Wouldn’t she have realized her brakes were going?”

  “Maybe. It’s an older car, so she might have thought it was just being temperamental. We might never know.”

  “Help! Help!” Coach yelled again.

  I was surprised Marjie was showing such restraint. Me? I’d probably have shot him already.

  “I’ll radio for backup,” he said, walking to his truck.

  “I think Marjie’s the only backup you need.”

  “Your family is . . . interesting.”

  “I know.”

  He made the call on his truck’s radio, then came back over to the step and held out a hand to help me up. With me on the step, we stood eye to eye. Reaching out, he brushed a strand of hair behind my ear and let his fingers trail down my neck. My heart began thumping hard against my ribs.

  “You scared the life out of me last night.”

  Love.

  “I was careful,” I whispered.

  He leaned in, his gaze intent on my lips. Heaven help me, but I knew I couldn’t resist. His lips had barely brushed mine when a shotgun blast split the air.

  Dylan said, “Stay here!”

  Like hell.

  I followed him inside.

  Coach lay in the fetal position on the floor, crying buckets of tears.

  Marjie beamed from the couch. “It was just a wee little warning shot.”

  Buckshot dotted my wall like some sort of abstract art piece.

  Dylan quickly cuffed Coach, and it was only a minute more before a sheriff’s car screamed into my driveway. Two beefy deputies rushed into the house and dragged Coach away.

  “Miz Marjie,” Dylan said, shaking his head.

  Patting his cheek, she said, “Someone’s got to keep the law around here.” She winked at me and headed for the back door.

  “I’ve got to get to the jail,” Dylan said. “But after that, I can come back and fix your power proper.”

  “Like last time?”

  He smiled. “Proper enough until Jasper comes back. What’ll you do in the meantime?”

  “Find a bathtub that has hot water. Then go to work. It’ll help take my mind off things. Plus, there are bound to be a lot of customers today, mostly looking for gossip, but they’ll buy potions while they’re there. I can use the business. Especially since I have a costly electrical repair ahead of me.”

  “Don’t forget about the drywall work, courtesy of Marjie.”

  I glanced at him, thinking about what might have happened if Marjie had come seen me in the hospital. “Thank goodness for Aunt Marjie.”

  He nodded. “I should go. You need a ride anywhere?”

  “No. I’ll probably bother one of my aunts or Delia for a tub.”

  Dylan look
ed off into the distance, then back at me. “Coach won’t be bothering you anymore.”

  “Promise?” I asked him. I glanced out the window. My witchy senses were still acting up, and I didn’t know why.

  He cupped my face with his hand. “Promise.”

  “I’m going to hold you to that, Dylan Jackson.”

  His expression turned somber and his voice dropped to a whisper. “I take my promises seriously, Care Bear. I don’t ever break them. You, of all people, should know that.”

  I recalled him once promising to love me forever. . . .

  Oh.

  Love.

  “Sometimes I forget,” I murmured, my heart aching for all we had lost.

  He nudged my chin, then started for the back door. “Then it’s my job to help you remember. Isn’t it?”

  After a second, I said, “I guess so.”

  He pulled open the door. “I look forward to it.”

  As I watched him drive off, I couldn’t help but think that I was looking forward to it, too.

  Very much so.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  There was nothing quite like the restorative power of hot water. It was Mr. Dunwoody who’d loaned me the use of his guest bath when I went to collect the cats. I’d taken a hot shower first to wash away the grime, then soaked my sore bones for an hour, having to refill the claw-foot tub twice to keep the water steaming hot.

  I’d taken my time blow-drying my hair and dabbing on a little makeup to cover the worst of the bruises on my face, but had to use a bandage to cover the cut on my forehead. I changed into clean clothes, putting on my favorite green sundress to brighten my mood, and figured I’d burn the outfit I’d been wearing the day before.

  There was one thing I kept from the outfit, however.

  The vial pendant and necklace that had been in my pocket. For lack of a better place to put it before giving it back to Delia, it now hung around my neck, the vial tucked under the ruffled neckline of my dress.

  Roly and Poly had been so spoiled at Mr. Dunwoody’s that at first they didn’t seem to want to leave with me. Then I reminded them about all the critters in the walls of our house they needed to catch, and they really didn’t want to leave.

  Finally, I’d bundled them into their carrier, thanked Mr. Dunwoody profusely, and forcibly taken the kitties home. Ordinarily, I’d bring them to the shop with me, but there was the issue of broken glass that I still had to clean up. I didn’t want to risk their paws being cut.