Counterfeits and Cauldrons: Supernatural Witch Cozy Mystery (Harper “Foxxy” Beck Series Book 6)

by Raven Snow

  It was an old, broken down place with only one pump with a sign on it that said “pay inside.” I followed Ben into the gas station, the green mist brushing up against me every so often, keeping me moving and complacent.

  He handed me a crisp, twenty-dollar bill, and something pinged in my head. But it was gone in the next instant.

  “Be a good girl and go pick out some snacks for the road, sweetheart.”

  “Yes. I will.”

  He leaned forward and pressed his lips against mine. My eyes flew open at the wrongness of it, but I couldn’t figure out why it was wrong. Everything was sort of shifting at the edges, and it was hard to pick out real from fake anymore.

  While he went back to pump gas, I stood there, stock-still. My fingers pressed against my lips, and my head pounded so hard, it felt like someone was taking a bat to the back of it.

  “Hey, aren’t you that girl?” the man behind the counter asked, blushing. “You came in here a couple months ago. With just a t-shirt on. I called your boyfriend for you, remember?”

  Chapter Eleven

  And just like that, everything rushed back to me in a painful burst, like a surgeon releasing the clamp on an artery. Wyatt. Cooper. Gran. Oliver. Kosher. Melanie. Waresville.

  “Yes, I do remember,” I said calmly, resisting the urge to burn off my lips and scrape my skin raw. “And I need you to do it again.”

  While he took his cell phone out back to dial the number I’d given him, I grabbed an armful of snacks, carefully hiding the gun I’d gotten from beneath the counter in my bra. With the chips and candies covering the lump, I walked back out to Ben.

  This time, when the fog touched me, it brushed past me almost immediately, sensing the change. But between the big, dopey smile plastered to my face and the fact that I’d done what he’d asked without question, Ben was lulled into a false sense of security.

  When he looked up from the pump for the second time, though, he was met with a gun in his face. To his credit, he didn’t even flinch. Instead, he just smiled sadly like he was disappointed in me.

  “We could have had the world at our fingertips, Harper.”

  “That was never in the cards,” I said coldly, “because you’re going to spend the rest of your life in prison for what you’ve done.”

  His lips curved in a way that was very much like a villain from a children’s book. “And what have I done? Sarah was the one who tied all those people up, attacked you. I had no hand in anything physical. And the rest? Well, you can’t send me to prison for magic.”

  “I’m not just going to let you walk away.”

  The mist seemed to get thicker around us, and I turned off the safety on the gun, shivering slightly. Even though it wasn’t messing with my head now, the threat of it made me want to puke.

  “How would Wyatt feel if you shot a man in cold blood?”

  I shoved the gun right into his face. “Don’t say his name. You’re not worthy of it.”

  Whether it was another trick or not, Ben started to become less solid before my very eyes. Before long, the mist was more real than him, and I could almost see right through his body into the darkness of the night beyond.

  “It really has been a pleasure, Detective,” he said. “We’ll meet again soon. When you’re in a more agreeable mood.”

  I fired into the night, but he was already gone, the car and the mists vanishing with him. The shots rang out louder than I could’ve imagined, making me flinch. When the sound was gone, it left me feeling hollow and cold, my surroundings way too quiet.

  Without a word, I sunk down next to the gas pump, curling in on myself. I was caught between wanting Wyatt next to me and dreading his arrival. My fingers pressed my lips again, hating how foreign they felt under my skin.

  In the distance, I heard sirens, and it was too much. I wasn’t much of a crier, but I laid my head against the dirt pump and bawled my eyes out. By the time Wyatt got there, my face was puffy, my wounds from the explosion were leaking, and my clothes were torn beyond recognition. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he turned around and found someone a little more put together to marry.

  He didn’t, though, coming to crouch down next to me. His coat was wrapped around me before I’d even said anything, and while the uniforms went to search for Ben, he stayed with me.

  The lines of his body were tense, but his fingers stroking my hair were very gentle. He didn’t push me to get up, but I couldn’t sit there any longer, so he helped me into a police cruiser without a word. Not even about how I kept touching my lips.

  We hadn’t gone two miles when he pulled the car over, the lights from the dash illuminating his face in the low light. He was clenching his jaw in that way he did when he had something on his mind. Unsurprisingly, as I was sure we’d given the whole town cause to have something on their minds.

  “Take a moment and compose yourself,” he said finally. “We’re not going home just yet.”

  I cocked my head to the side, as it was the one part of me that didn’t hurt to move. “Why not?”

  He gave me an unhappy smile. “We’re going to talk to the FBI.”

  As it turned out, while Kosher, Oliver, and I had been fighting Sarah and Ben inside, the local police had figured this situation was above their pay grade and made a few calls. It was hard to keep the surprise off my face when Wyatt told me this. Waresville business was always handled internally, especially anything that had to do with magic.

  “It was the chief’s idea,” he said. “We thought that this had to do with the counterfeiting. I was willing to try anything at that point.”

  Pulling up at the station, Wyatt parked in a handicap spot, much to my surprise. I didn’t say anything, though, because the entire parking lot was crawling with government agents. They were easily recognizable by their crisp suits and lack of personality.

  Fit to be tied, Wyatt kept his arm around me and glared at anyone who got too close. It appeared Wyatt didn’t like the FBI, for whatever reason. I wondered why I didn’t know that. Or, possibly, he was just grumpy from lack of sleep and usefulness.

  Inside, all the desks had been pushed against the wall, leaving one large table in the middle where everyone was sitting. The agents, who were circling their prey, had rounded up everyone who had been inside Town Hall. The only two not sitting at the table were Katy and Greg, still looking dazed and in handcuffs off to the side.

  “They wanted to question you all separately, but I put my foot down,” Wyatt whispered heatedly. “You’re not criminals or suspects. “

  I took the only available seat, which happened to be between Oliver and Kosher. With a sigh, Oli rested his head on my shoulder, telling me under his breath that the agent with the cute butt was in charge. Scrutinizing when the man turned around, I supposed it wasn’t a bad butt. I, however, was partial to Wyatt’s.

  Cute Butt faced us and said, “I’m Special Agent Kline, and this is Agent Runge.” He threw a handful of fake bills on the table. “Who’d like to begin with what happened tonight?”

  No one made eye contact with anyone else at the table. This was the problem with outside forces; you had to pick and choose what truth to tell them. The world thought of Waresville as a superstitious tourist town, not one with real witch trouble on the daily. It was tricky business.

  I sighed. “The night started for me when I−er−ran into my good friend, Officer Kosher, while on a stroll.”

  The man in question beside me coughed to hide his amusement, and then winced. Apparently, that movement wasn’t too friendly to his ribs.

  I ran through the whole night for the agents, leaving out the green fog and why Sarah and Ben wanted to take us hostage. I made them sound insane—which they were—and then moved onto something the agents could sink their teeth into, something they could believe: counterfeiting.

  The only thing I had to leave out about Katy and Greg’s scam was that the money disappeared after a few hours. I told them about the ink, the material, and how they had confessed to
everyone at this table. Neither said anything in their defense, still a little high on the green fog.

  By the end, Kline was nodding and looking at me with something close to respect. Every once in a while, seeing where I was going with this, Oliver or Kosher would jump in to say their supporting accounts. It wasn’t seamless, but it was pretty good for no corroboration or sleep.

  They might have believed us, too, if the money on the table hadn’t gone up in smoke right as I finished my story. Everyone in the room froze, looking from me to the place where the money had been. Agent Runge backed up, eyes wide, but Kline just smiled coldly.

  “Anything else you’d like to add, Miss Beck?”

  “Just a clarification of sorts,” I said, giving him my sunniest smile. “Does the Bureau breed you with no thoughts of your own, or do they just beat the originality out of you at a young age?”

  Things went downhill from there, prompting another couple hours of intense questioning. By the end, none of us were saying anything, circling the wagons, and Wyatt’s boss had to step in to kick the agents out of his station.

  While Wyatt and Kosher went behind closed doors with the chief to give their accounts privately, I walked over to the water station by the receptionist’s desk. I was sipping cherry-flavored water when Agent Kline, who was supposed to go back to his hotel, came up behind me.

  “Something’s not quite right about this town.”

  Jumping out of my skin, I glared at him. “Everything that’s wrong with this town could be fixed with your speedy departure.”

  His brow furrowed, but he said, “I can respect loyalty.”

  “Bully for you.”

  “But, Miss Beck,” he said, leaning closer, “it’s a fine line between loyalty and going down with a sinking ship.”

  He turned on his heel and walked in a very businesslike manner toward the door. Stopping short, he turned back to say one last thing. “I trust you’ll be hearing from me again. Soon.”

  Wyatt was still in his meeting, and I found my feet carrying me back toward the holding cells. Almost from across the room, I could hear an unearthly moaning. It made my stomach sick, and I wanted to turn back around and join my friends—half of whom were asleep at the table.

  Sarah Goodfellow, her apron shredded, covered in blood, dirt, and slobber, sat alone behind a slew of bars. Like a puppet with the strings cut, she was hunched over herself, staring at the nondescript floor while her stringy, greasy hair hung in her face.

  Her eyes flickered up for the barest moment, seeing me standing there, and she screeched, lunching herself at the bars. With a start, I stumbled back, almost hitting my head on a steel bar behind me. Sarah reached through, trying to fit herself through the cage to get at me.

  “What have you done with him?” Her voice was high and shrill. “What have you done with my Ben?”

  My stomach rebelled, and I kept my dinner down by the smallest margins. “It wasn’t real, Sarah.” My voice shook, but I was insistent. “It’s just his gift. None of it was real.”

  She sank back into her seat, whimpering to herself. “No, he loved me.”

  “That isn’t love,” I told her firmly. “Forcing people to obey, making them forget themselves.”

  Her head snapped up at that, peering at me with eyes I couldn’t begin to read. Slowly, she crawled back to the bars, gripping them and staring up at me. “You fell for him. You love my Ben too.”

  “No.”

  “You do. You do,” she said in a singsong voice. “That’s why you want to convince yourself it was a trick, that it wasn’t real. But it was real.”

  “He used magic,” I said, gripping the bars behind me in an effort to stay upright.

  She gave me a shrewd look. “Of course, he did. But that doesn’t mean you didn’t love him.”

  Like flipping a switch, my hands began to glow. My vision narrowed down to just focus on Sarah, who was laughing with glee now. I wanted to hurt her, to stop her from ever talking about my Ben again.

  And just like that, the glowing stopped, and so did my anger. I took a step back from her, breathing deeply.

  “It’s not love, Sarah. In love, you have a choice.”

  I was gone from the cells before she could formulate a response, but that didn’t stop her from yelling after me. Her unholy shrieks filled the station, gnawing at my self-control and peace of mind. If I had to listen to her for one more minute, I was going to lose it. I was just going to−

  “Whoa,” Wyatt said, steadying me when I ran straight into him. “Are you alright?”

  Shaking my head, I pulled on his hand and led him to the car, guilt unfurling in my gut. It hadn’t been real; I knew that. But for a few minutes, while under his control, I’d betrayed Wyatt. It made me sick to think about it.

  He started to drive us home, but I stopped him a bit away, making him pull over to the side of the road when I just couldn’t take it anymore. I could still feel the last bits of fog messing with my head, making me fuzzy. I sprang from the car and lost what little I’d eaten that day in a ditch a couple miles from home.

  Like before, Wyatt was a steady presence next to me, getting me water to wash the taste out of my mouth and helping me back to the car when I could breathe again. It brought tears to my eyes, because I didn’t deserve his kindness.

  So, because I couldn’t keep quiet another minute, I told him everything that I hadn’t told the agent, starting with when Ben and I left Town Hall. I had to stop a couple times, putting my head between my knees when I felt like talking about it would bring the fog back.

  Wyatt’s hands flexed on the steering wheel, going white with strain, but he didn’t interrupt, not even when I told him what Ben made me feel. When I was finally done, breathing jagged and eyes leaking, he still didn’t say anything. His silence was almost worse than the yelling I knew I deserved.

  Instead, he reached in his pocket and pulled out a little, blue velvet box. I frowned at it as he set it in the palm of my hand with a sigh.

  “I’ve been carrying it around for at least a week now,” he said. “I’m afraid I’ll sit on it if I wait any longer.”

  “I don’t understand.” Wasn’t he listening to all I’d just told him?

  He gritted his teeth. “That’s because that bastard messed with your head, and you’re not thinking straight right now.”

  I always counted it a real achievement when I could make Wyatt, the southern gentleman, swear in front of a lady. But, as he said, I really wasn’t in a headspace to appreciate it at the moment. Instead, I ran my fingers over the smooth, silky outside of the box.

  “Most women are more interested in what’s inside,” he said, smiling even though there were still tense lines in his face.

  “Maybe you should give it to one of them,” I said in a small voice.

  He closed his hands over mine and the box when I would’ve given it back, no matter how badly I wanted to keep it. He squeezed once and then let go, giving me that choice.

  “If I were a better man, I wouldn’t be asking this now, with everything that’s happened,” he said. “But I’ve been patient enough, Harper, and you’re going to marry me.”

  “I am?”

  “You are. Because you love me.”

  He turned the car back on and drove the couple of miles back to the Victorian. Late as it was, there wasn’t a single light on in the whole street. It seemed not even hostage situations and invading government agencies could keep Waresville from getting to bed at a decent hour.

  Wyatt went inside and bustled around the kitchen, warming up a pizza and making me a strong cup of tea—the calming one, without the caffeine. I sat in his chair, watching him with a little bit of awe. That marvelous creature was mine. That is, if I accepted the contents of the box I still held clutched tightly in my palm.

  “And what if I say no?”

  He raised an eyebrow, making the leap back to our conversation, though it’d been a bit since we’d said anything. “Then I ask you again tomorrow. And
the day after that.”

  “And then?”

  He shrugged. “I keep asking until we’re old and gray, and I’ve worn you down.”

  I could picture it now: Wyatt and I wrinkled, sitting on a porch swing together. He’d be that old man who knew everyone’s business and had his finger in every pie. I’d be that crazy old woman who flushed people’s dentures at the nursing home and skated away from the orderlies with a green wig on.

  “You haven’t asked me, you know,” I said, proud that I could keep my voice from shaking.

  There was a glint in his eye as he crossed the room. Grabbing the box from me, he got down on one knee and presented it to me again, still keeping it closed. The smell of pizza filled the air, and we both had large bruises under our eyes and everywhere else. We were filthy, smelly, dead tired, and it was the perfect moment, as far as I was concerned.

  “Harper Foxxy Beck,” he said, “will you marry me?”

  My stomach did flips, and I couldn’t stop myself from grinning ear to ear like an idiot. I didn’t take the box, though. Not yet. This was Wyatt and I we were talking about here. I couldn’t resist the urge to tease him a little.

  Tapping my chin, I said, “I don’t know… Is that all you’ve got? It seems a little anticlimactic after all this time.”

  “Anticlimactic?” he asked dryly.

  “It just seems like there’d be more, don’t you think?” I grinned at him, unrepentant.

  “Try this on for size. I knew the moment I met you−”

  “It’s been done.”

  “−that I wanted to sleep with you,” he finished with a grin.

  Smacking him upside the head, I said, “Sorry, I was under the impression that you actually wanted to marry me.”

  “You were a hot mess: your wig was falling off; your shorts were riding up—I didn’t actually mind that bit. And then, you had the nerve to challenge me, a police officer, and get in the way of my murder case.”