by Raven Snow
"What if we break up?"
"We won't."
I let out a choked laugh. "People break up all the time," I pointed out. "And they don't have to deal with the stressors we do. You know— children, murder, and all that jazz. "
"Solution: Why don't you stop poking your nose where it doesn't belong?" He squeezed my hand even tighter and waved the waiter over. "I love that you worry about Cooper— really— but how about we don't for just a little while? Let's just eat."
After I left Wyatt, Melanie texted me to head over to the stage for rehearsal hours. I wasn't sure where I stood— with him or with Melanie. But since she wasn't pressing charges, I guessed that meant she wasn't too mad about me breaking into her house. That, or Wyatt had more of a silver tongue than I realized.
Once I got there, it became apparent that the latter must have been true. Melanie greeted me with such a coldness that I had to check my fingers for frost bite when she went to check on the sound system.
Apparently, we were all supposed to go up on stage tonight and give a little bio about ourselves. I didn't remember that part from previous years, but I likely wouldn't have attended something like that— it was all fluff and no danger.
We were ten minutes behind schedule, and Melanie looked ready to breathe fire. I would've told her that was my trick, but I liked my eyebrows the way they were.
"Where's Cherry— oh there you are, dear." Melanie instantly switched her tone to one that was so sugarcoated, it would've given me diabetes if directed my way.
The red-headed runner-up looked like she'd been crying for days, which, given the way I’d left her in her dressing room, was completely possible. Her perfectly proportioned face was puffy and red, making the almost plum-colored lipstick she was wearing stick out like a sore thumb.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” she mumbled to Melanie, her voice little more than a scratch on a chalkboard. “Belinda—“
“—would’ve wanted you to go on,” Melanie purred.
I couldn't quite agree with her, remembering Belinda as a vindictive and petty person in life. Still, Cherry seemed alright, and if she missed the woman this much, there must have been some redeeming qualities to the witch.
The words seemed to comfort Cherry slightly, and she bounced up on stage. "Hello, everyone," she said, pretending to talk to a crowd. "I'm Cherry Blossom—"
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me!" I slapped a hand to my forehead, not listening to the rest of the woman's speech and cursing myself for thinking she was all right. No one who used the name Cherry Blossom of their own free will could be considered "all right" in my book. I wondered idly, while scuffing my shoe against the ground, if that name was on her birth certificate.
A scream made my head snap up, and my eyes bulged out of my head. On stage, Cherry had stopped giving her speech and dropped to the ground, where she writhed and choked. Her skin went from porcelain to grape to amphibian before my very eyes.
All around me, people were making frantic calls to 911, but I just stood there, staring at the fallen Cherry Blossom. I didn't really see the redheaded witch, though, her bright hair replaced with my brown locks. Her eyes became mine, and I watched in horror as a greener me died in my mind's eye.
Was that what it would look like when this magical poison overwhelmed my body? A shudder ran through me, helplessness threatening to take hold. I shook it off, running to my bug and fleeing the scene before Wyatt and the police could show up. If he looked at me with those eyes I loved, I’d just lose it, and I couldn’t afford to lose it right now.
Other than Melanie, I had no suspects, and at this point, I couldn’t even say she was a good one. Killing people with magic would make big headlines and bring in the tourists she needed to stay afloat. But killing contestants in a festival she was running would ruin Witch Week and, by proxy, her reputation.
If there was one thing Melanie Gross cared about more than money, it was what people thought of her.
Grandma’s car was in the driveway, but none of the house lights were on. When I knocked— a seldom occurrence— no sounds came from inside. Frowning, I slipped inside with the spare key I’d had to bully out of the old witch.
“What do you need it for?” she’d asked, eyes beady and suspicious.
Exasperated, I’d replied, “In case you’re lying on the ground, dying, and I need the door unlocked to save your ungrateful self.”
She’d given me one after a little more prompting, telling me it was highly unlikely she’d ever need anything from me. Still, I’d won the argument and lived to fight another day.
“Grandma?”
No reply.
I went from room to room, looking for any signs of a batty old lady in a red robe. Ancient magical texts and talismans were strewn all over the attic and bedroom floor. The attic, which served as a library—a bloated one, at that— was always littered with books. The bedroom, on the other hand, had never seen a spell book in its long life.
Pulling out my phone, I dialed the cell she never used. It rang for seemingly an hour before the automated lady told me to leave a message. I didn’t bother, dialing a second number.
“Is Grandma at the shop with you?” I asked Oliver, without any niceties attached.
“Hold on.” His voice became muffled, probably from pressing the phone against his shirt. “Lady, if you don’t like the service, then just get out.”
I contained my snort. Even without meaning to, Oliver could always make me feel better— even when a cold, hard lump was forming in my belly.
“I’m back, “ he said. “What’s this about Miss Hanes?”
Kicking aside one of the texts in frustration, I said, “I’m at the house right now, and she’s not here. Is she at the magic shop?”
A pause. “I didn’t think she left the house much anymore, but she’s definitely not here.”
“She doesn’t.” I sighed. “At least, I didn’t think she did.”
“Did you try calling her?”
“No, I sent up smoke signals.” My tone was a little sharper than I’d meant it to be. “Hope she gets them because the fire’s dying down, and I’m out of wood.”
“Wow,” he said. “Want me to give you a good smack with all that sass?”
Sinking down into the tiny, purple chair in the corner, I closed my eyes in an attempt to banish the headache that had suddenly sprung up. I almost wished this poison would just do its job already and stop toying with me.
“Sorry. It’s just— Cherry’s dead. Turned green and dropped like a stone on the stage just a couple moments ago.”
“I guess dying slowly is a good excuse for forgetting your manners,” he said a second later, his tone taking on a forced brightness. “If Julia is really missing, maybe a… magical solution could be used to find her.”
I clicked the end button without another word, excusing myself for the rudeness almost immediately. I’d made a promise to myself about magic and, if I was going to die, I wanted it to be keeping that promise.
Besides, even if I did know of a way to summon my grandmother— which I didn’t— there was no guarantee it would work. Actually, it probably wouldn’t. Gran always used to tell me that you couldn’t rely on magic against another witch, especially when she was more powerful than you. There was no one more powerful than my grandma, so I had to assume I couldn’t do a darn thing, magically, about her disappearance.
Non-magically, on the other hand….
I called a third number, and Wyatt, his voice equal parts annoyed and relieved, answered on the first ring. “Harper? Where are you? Another contestant has been—“
“Poisoned. I know.”
He paused, taking that in. “I’m going to assume you know because someone told you, not because you were there and ran from the police.”
“Nope, it’s the second.”
“Harper!” He dragged in a short breath. “I should arrest you.”
“Great,” I said. “Why don’t you come on over to my grandma�
�s and do that? While you’re at it, maybe you can find out why she’s missing.”
Wyatt digested that for a moment, and I let him stew. To give the man credit, there was a lot of stuff being piled onto his plate at the moment, and I knew for a fact that he was burning the candle at both ends.
Swearing, he said, “I’ll be right there.”
I stayed where I was, massaging my temples while I waited for him. Faster than I would’ve thought possible, Wyatt came bursting through the front door a few minutes later, calling my name at noise levels that did nothing good for my head. I answered him weakly, not moving from my spot.
He was right next to me before I could open my eyes, pressing his fingers gently against my forehead. “You’re a little warm.”
“Funny. I like to think of myself as smoking hot.”
Wyatt didn’t laugh at my joke, a line forming between his eyebrows as he frowned at me. “You need to rest; you’ve been on your feet too long.”
“I’ve had all the rest I can take, thank you,” I said, though just then, I felt like I could’ve gone into that eternal slumber without regrets.
Pursing his lips like he wanted to say more, he switched gears reluctantly. “Do you have any clue as to where your grandma’s gone?”
“I thought you were supposed to be the detective.” I pinched my nose, which brought on a fresh wave of pain. At least it woke me up, though. “Her car’s here, but she’s not. I called Oliver; she’s not at the shop either.”
“I’ll make some calls,” he said, rising from his knees and making to step outside.
“Wyatt?” He stopped to look at me. “We need to find her.”
“I wouldn’t worry. Miss Hanes is a tough lady; she’ll turn up.”
I shook my head. “Not what I meant. She’s supposed to be finding the type of poison that was used. And since we don’t have a clue who the killer is…”
There was no need to say that, without one or the other, I was in trouble. He nodded stiffly, stepping outside to likely call everyone he knew— which was a considerable bulk of people. A surge of relief went through me. For the moment, I could relax. With Wyatt on the case, I’d be safe.
My phone rang, and it was like a shot to the base of my skull. Scrambling to answer it, I bit out a harsh hello.
“Harper,” Melanie said through the line. “Is that how you greet people?”
“Oh,” I said lamely. “It’s you.”
“Yes, well, in light of Cherry’s... accident, we’ve decided to switch the bios with something that’ll take each contestant a little longer to complete— so we can stretch it to be the same length without her.”
“Tactful,” I said.
She ignored me. “We’re having a non-magical talent contest. Very short, just a couple minutes of demonstration of something you do well. The call time’s still at seven.”
I glanced at the antique clock on the wall in horror. “That’s in an hour! I don’t have time to come up with a talent by then.”
A voice said something that I couldn’t make out, calling her attention away. “Perhaps you could break into a tax-paying citizen’s home. You’re good at that,” she said coolly, disconnecting the call with a decisive click.
Wincing, I wondered when that little stunt was going to come back to bite me. Just as soon as she didn’t need me, probably.
I got up, my body aching beneath me. Wyatt had just paused in between calls out in the hall and raised an eyebrow at me. Weighing the pros and cons about lying to him about where I was going, I twisted my face into an unflattering expression.
He probably wouldn't buy it.
"Melanie's calling in the troops for the performance tonight."
He blocked my way when I would've slid past him. "You should be in bed." His eyes were clouded over like a frozen sky.
"And give Melanie another reason to press charges— besides the fact that she hates me? Don't think so." I tried to perk up for Wyatt's sake. "Besides, the killer is likely connected to the contest. Being there ups my chances of running into him."
The conversation went downhill from there, while Wyatt's temper went through the roof. If he'd been a bull, I would've been the red blanket waved in front of his snorting nostrils. For the most part, I just stood there and took the yelling like a crowbar to the head— which it felt like. At the end of it, Wyatt was out of breath, and I was walking out the door, headed to do whatever I wanted. I was the one who was poisoned, after all.
"Be careful, alright? I'll be there as soon as I can." He said softly before the door shut between us.
The bug was reluctant to start, and I feared for a moment that I was going to have to ask Wyatt for a lift. That would've ruined my pointed exit. Plus, he probably would've given me a lift back to his house instead of to the stage.
Breathing a sigh of relief as the car finally sputtered to life, I headed toward the center of town. With each second that went by, I got a little wearier. My mouth was dry and my skin overheated. As much as it killed me to admit it, Wyatt was probably right about staying in bed. But I didn't want to spend what could be my last couple of days lying down; I wanted to fight for my life.
Melanie gave me such a look upon my arrival that I was sure it would've killed a lesser mammal. She didn't say anything, though, leaving me to get dressed slowly in the dressing room they'd given me.
The doors to Cherry and Belinda's dressing rooms were securely shut with the lights off, like someone was trying to hide them from notice. One look at the other contestants' faces told me that someone was unsuccessful. The girls looked fearful, some were grieving, and almost all of them were thinking of dropping out.
"I need the prize money," one of the witches said to her shorter friend. "Otherwise, I'd be gone."
The friend nodded. "It's been a rough year all around. Without the publicity, my tour bus company will go under."
The atmosphere was so depressing, I was having trouble keeping my eyes open. If I didn't do something soon, I'd keel over.
Turning to Penny, who was decked out in bright pink that was not flattering, I asked, "Didn't you and your husband move out of town recently?"
She looked up from tying her shoe laces, blinking in the harsh light. "Oh— yes. To a farm just outside the city limits. I've got cattle, horses, and chickens now."
"That sounds nice." It sounded horrible, and it must have shown on my face. To save the conversation, I said quickly, "How's your husband? George, isn't it?"
Her expression frosted over like it'd been exposed to liquid nitrogen. "He's fine."
Leaving me standing there without another word, I watched Penny with surprise. I didn't really know much about her— only that she lived in Melanie's shadow and wasn't a very powerful witch. That last bit came from my grandmother. I wondered if I'd said something to offend her, or if she was one of the people in this town who simply hated me for not fitting in.
"Harper!" Melanie screeched, running up to me. Her blonde hair was sticking out at odd angles and sweat rolled down from her damp forehead. "You're on next! What in the world are you doing standing around shooting the breeze?"
"Coming, coming," I said, rolling past her and deciding not to say anything clever. Frankly, Melanie looked like she'd skin me for it at the moment, and I didn't really have it in me.
When the stage lights hit me, I felt sweat break out all over my body, drenching me instantly. The temperature on stage was easily twenty degrees higher than it'd been back in the offices, and it hadn't been cool there. Wiping my brow, I tried to shake off the feeling of being slow-roasted. The green wig didn't help the situation much.
The stairs were a little difficult to operate in roller skates, especially when my bones felt like they were made out of some kind of gelatin. Cheering began as soon as I rolled to the center of the platform, and I tried to smile at the crowd. It came out like more of a grimace.
Looking around, the stage seemed a lot smaller than when I'd been looking at it from the ground. I wasn't sure the
re'd be enough room for my tricks.
Getting up a little momentum, I skated in a tight, continuous circle in front of the audience. Pulling my foot up from the ground, I held the leg straight up, while still rolling on the other leg. Owning a disco skate will teach you all kinds of flashing tricks, and I demonstrated one after the other for the appreciative crowd.
About halfway through my routine, sweat seeping through my clothes, I started to feel funny. My head felt clogged like a million bees were buzzing away in there. Even though it was roasting on the stage, I kept shivering, feeling a chill that wasn't there.
The next thing I knew, I was on the ground, and people were screaming. A shaking hand went up to wipe the sweat off my face, but it froze a few inches from my nose. My fingers, long and slender, were quickly turning a vivid green. My head collapsed against the wood beneath me. I returned my hand to the ground not wanting to look at my skin anymore.
Sirens sounded in the distance, and Wyatt was touching my face, saying something to me in a hushed tone. The noise of people panicking drowned out his words, but I was pretty sure I couldn't have understood them at that point anyway.
I closed my eyes for a moment.
Chapter Six
When I opened my eyes, we were at the hospital, back in the same room I'd woken up in a couple of days ago. I wondered why they didn't take me to the emergency room first. Probably because they knew there was nothing they could do.
The doctors came in and said that they were going to put me on fluids and a couple of medications in the hope that something would work. I didn't reply to any of that, letting Wyatt take care of everything. His hand clenched around mine when they started talking about DNR forms and all that jazz. Before I knew it, he was kicking them out.
"It's their hospital, you know." My voice didn't sound like mine.
"Shut up, Harper." His words were harsh, but his fingers were gentle and cool against my feverish skin.
"Hey, is that any way to speak to a dying woman?" I'd meant it as a joke, but my smile vanished when I saw what my words did to him. Changing the subject, I said, "Any leads on my grandmother?"
