by Raven Snow
He shook his head mutely, eyes still haunted. "I've got the whole police department looking for her— the ones who aren't mercilessly interrogating everyone at the competition."
Brushing my fingers over his palm, I said, "We'll find the antidote."
"Aren't I the one who's supposed to be assuring you?"
"I'm not worried," I told him. "I trust you."
"But as soon as you're out of this bed, you're going to go sticking your finger into every pie in town." A small, unhappy smile played at the corner of his mouth.
"You make it sound so dirty."
The doctor that had seen me last time came back in, taking in my lighter green color with relief. "From what we can tell, it looks like your body fought off the poison again." His voice was stern when he continued. "I wouldn't rely on that, though. You need to take it easy while we find a cure— doctor's orders."
If possible, his face sobered even more. “We found an elevated level of the toxin in your blood. More than last time. I’m estimating that you have less than forty-eight hours. I’m sorry, Harper.”
If he said anything else, I didn't hear it, because a roaring started in my ears. I let my head fall back against the pillows, and my mind drifted for a while.
I had to sign a ton of papers so they'd let me leave. They had just about every member of hospital personnel come visit me, trying desperately to get me to stay in the hospital bed. When I pointed out that I could die just as well at home as I could here, they mostly shut up.
Wyatt was strangely talkative as he drove us home— to his home, anyway. His brain seemed to be shooting inconsequential words out of his mouth faster than he could keep up with them. It was more than I'd ever heard him speak in one sitting, and the sound of his voice, though tense, like a string pulled too tight, was comforting.
Before he could make the turn to go to his house, I said, "No, take me—"
"I am taking you home, Harper," he said irritably. "Our home. Where you'll lay in bed, while Cooper and I wait on you hand and foot."
I smiled, though the movement hurt my too-tight skin. "Lovely, but I was just talking about a brief jaunt to my grandma's house."
"Oh."
Sitting back in my seat, I said, "I don't even have a drawer at your place."
"I'll get you one," he said immediately. "You can have a whole closet if you want it."
"I'd settle for you two eating something besides cereal."
Pulling into my grandma's driveway, he killed the engine. "Now you're just being unreasonable." When he opened my door for me and helped me out, he said, "I am happy to be included in your snooping, though. It beats getting a call that your girlfriend is in lock-up."
The front door was unlocked, so I didn't have to use magic— I'd left my spare key at home— in front of Wyatt. "Hmm, that makes me sound very mysterious and brave."
Pulling me back over the threshold, he pressed his lips to my jaw, peppering my face with kisses. Each one took my breath away, bit-by-bit, until I was pretty sure I'd need a return trip to the hospital if he kept it up.
"You are very brave," he said. "And mysterious— but I find that trait far less endearing."
Leaving Wyatt standing in the foyer, I passed by each room in the house, my heart sinking a little each time I didn't see a cranky old lady or a wickedly red robe. By the time I came back to Wyatt's waiting arms, my eyes were burning with traitorous tears, my breaths coming in little gasps.
"I thought— hoped she'd be here," I told him. "Waiting at the counter with her tea and all the answers to our problems."
He didn't tell me that was stupid. He didn't mention that he had an officer watching the house who would've told him if anyone came home. He just held me, rocking from side to side like the ocean, steadying me. I loved him a little bit more— if it was possible— for that.
Shaking off my misery, I decided to do something positive with this opportunity. “Come on,” I said to Wyatt, heading towards the attic.
In the room filled with bookshelves and ancient, dusty texts, there was a small vanity in the back. I’d never noticed this before, and I frowned, walking over to it. The rickety thing housed a couple tubes of lipstick and almost nothing more. That much was a surprise, however, because I’d never seen my grandma wear any makeup.
My eyes widening, I spun around, almost plowing Wyatt over in my haste. “They were having an affair!”
The look he gave me would have probably followed calling the men with the big nets to take me away to the loony bin, but I continued. “You found purple lipstick on Belinda’s neck, right?”
“Right,” he said slowly.
“Cherry was wearing purple lipstick when she died! Belinda didn’t borrow that awful shade from a friend; they were sleeping together. Do you remember Cherry’s cell phone number?”
Without hesitating, he listed off the digits. Pulling out my own phone, I verified that they matched the number of the unknown caller who Belinda had talked to so much.
“No wonder Cherry was so upset.” I put my phone away, thinking furiously. “Now there’s a connection between the two victims besides the contest.
“There are three victims,” he reminded me gently. A twinkle invaded his eye, and he said hopefully, “Unless you were having an affair with the two of them…”
“They offered, but there were scheduling conflicts.”
Back on the case, Wyatt said, “It’s not enough. There was no one in either of their lives that would’ve killed them if they found out.”
I agreed which was discouraging. But he was right, even if there’d been a jealous boyfriend, he wouldn’t have gone after me. I was the one piece in the puzzle that didn’t fit— like usual.
Pulling out a single book, I sank to the ground, and flipped through it with an absentminded kind of determination. My grandma knew every book in this extensive collection cover to cover— though she frequently forgot and remembered at random moments what she knew. Without her, the chances of finding what I needed in two days was slim, but…
“What are you doing?”
Instead of answering, I pointed to the stack on the other side of the room, farthest from me. “Start over there and try to find anything that mentions poison.”
Frowning he said, “If I know anything about your grandmother, I’d assume there are going to be a lot of books that mention poison.”
“Right, you are,” I said, “but we’ve got to start somewhere.”
The next couple of hours involved yelling at each other from across the room when we’d found something. Systematically, either Wyatt or I would realize that the potion didn’t exactly fit what we were looking for, and we’d return to our search with frustration and desperate movements.
For not the first time in my life, I found myself feeling extremely jealous of my grandma. Crazy though she was, she never would have found herself in this position, facing down death with no way to save herself. She was a real witch, while I was too scared of magic to do more than a fancy trick or break a lock.
Not even now, with my life literally on the line, could I lift a finger magically to save myself. I wasn’t willing, but even if I had been, I didn’t have the training— as my grandmother loved to point out.
Standing because my muscles couldn’t stand the tense sitting position for one more moment, I kicked the bookshelf. The books shook from bottom to top like dominos following over, making a loud, shuddering noise that sounded like an animal fighting with its cage. Frowning, I tried to steady the shelf, not thinking I had kicked it that hard.
“Oomph!”
A large book with a detached spine fell from the top shelf, conking me squarely on the head. With my headache, it felt like a piano falling on my skull— only, unfortunately, it didn’t kill me immediately.
Moaning, I held my aching skull while the offending book, resting at my feet, made a strangely sentient rustling. Releasing my head, I crouched down, watching the pages flip on their own right before my very eyes.
> “Wyatt…”
He was right next to me a moment later, his brown hair looking almost gray from all the dust coating him. Even his dark eyelashes had specks of gray on them, almost like dirty snow.
His expression went from concern for me to wary confusion. “What’s it doing?”
As soon as Wyatt spoke, the book’s pages stopped suddenly, falling open to a picture of a cauldron that was smoking, a green fog falling from the mouth like bad breath in a cartoon.
I picked it up and read the ingredients for the poison on the page. “Live chicken and cow blood, trace elements of belladonna, and the strengthening spell on page six seventy-two.”
“Belladonna poisons on its own.”
I shook my head. “Not in this quantity. Without the spell, it’d likely only give you a stomachache.”
“Can you remake the poison?” he asked. “So we could get an antidote?”
“Belladonna has a cure, but… I’d need to use a spell.” I flipped to the page the book had indicated, shaking my head ruefully. “This magic is beyond me. Only the killer or Grandma could do it.”
Dismay crossed his features for only a second, and then he was all business, Detective Bennett making an appearance. “Okay, so we know the poison. What does that tell us about the killer?”
“Well,” I said, putting the book down on a shelf right next to me. “It said live cow and chicken blood. That means the animals would have to be alive when you take it. Not really a way to guarantee that at a magic store. Plus, Gran says fresh is better.”
He made a face. “Of course she does. Remind me to not accept any invitations for dinner over here.”
“I doubt she’d serve you blood— unless she was particularly annoyed.”
He walked up and down the aisle, giving up all pretense of not being upset. Watching him in that moment, I was almost willing to try anything to save myself— even magic.
What would my death do to Wyatt— to Cooper? The boy had already lost one mother, and even though I’d tried to avoid filling that spot in his life, I couldn’t deny that I had a little bit.
Good intentions or not, I’d managed to secure myself a spot in Cooper’s life. That weird little dude would expect me to stick around—kids are like that. Lips curling, I realized with a start that I wouldn’t have given up my place in Cooper’s life for anything.
“Crap,” I said, but I waved off Wyatt’s concern when he would’ve said something and broken my concentration.
His icy eyes were clouded over when I looked into them, but they still managed to make my heart lurch. If it’d ever been a secret, the fact that I loved him was put into perspective in that moment. Somehow, I’d earned a spot in his life, too. So, fears of being a freak or not, I needed to figure out a way to beat this poison.
Wyatt continued talking like my revelation hadn’t happened—which, I guess it hadn’t for him.
“Fresh chicken and cows means a farm. We’re looking for a witch in overalls, carrying a pitch fork.”
A farmer witch…
My eyes threatened to pop out of my head. I was glad they didn’t, though, because that would’ve been too cliché.
“Penny Helbrim!” Wyatt winced as I shouted in his ear, but I was too excited to care. “She and her husband just moved to a farm outside of town.”
“George? The quiet one with the unibrow?”
“That’s the one, though he might have had nothing to do with it.”
“I’m pretty sure he didn’t,” Wyatt said dryly, “since he left her—and Waresville— a month ago.”
“Maybe that’s when she snapped!”
He looked doubtful. “I thought you said this spell needed a powerful witch. Is Penny Helbrim a powerful witch?”
“Not according to my grandmother, but then again, we’re all dog food in her eyes.”
He stared at me for a long moment, two emotions vying for control of his mouth. “Where’s the motive? Unless you broke into her house, too?”
“Since when do witches need a good reason to kill people in this town?”
Grabbing the book from the shelf, I hugged it to my chest, chanting the words “thank you” over and over again. That bloated text had just saved my life and avenged the death of two women.
Then, in a clear, but dry and crackly voice, the book said, “You’re welcome.”
Wyatt and I froze, staring at the large spell book with deer-in-the-headlights eyes. It remained silent under our scrutiny, lying as lifeless as— well, a book— in my arms.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Wyatt said, “I honestly can’t deal with that right now.”
Taking the talking book and Wyatt in tow, I walked out of my grandma’s house with more confidence and energy than I actually had. He got in the car without argument, but when I told him to get it in gear and take us to the Helbrim farm, we ran into problems.
He shot me a murderous look. “I’m going to call the force, and you’re going to lie in bed and wait for the antidote.”
“This is why I left you behind last time,” I told him. “We don’t have time for the police— I don’t, anyway. Besides, with Gran missing, I’m the only one with a hope of taking down another witch.”
Cursing, he pressed down on the gas. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
He wouldn’t budge, however, on running to his house to pick up his firearm. I hadn’t planned on arguing, but he gave me an earful anyway.
“If you think I’m going in without my gun, you’re crazier than I thought,” he’d growled at me.
Cooper met us in the foyer, and though I couldn’t see his grandmother, I could hear her snoring in the living room. “Grandma’s asleep.” He said it as if this should have been a capital crime.
Wyatt brushed past him, ruffling his hair, and headed toward the garage to get whatever weapons he had. This left me alone with the inquisitive ten-year-old.
“Grandma said Dad was at the hospital with you again, but she wouldn’t say why.”
There were probably good reasons for that, because no matter how mature Cooper seemed, he was still just a kid. I didn’t want to traumatize him or give him nightmares by telling him that someone was trying to kill me— like they’d done to two others. He was already weird enough without a bed-wetting problem.
But I also didn’t want to lie to him.
“I was in trouble,” I said slowly.
“Dad says you get into trouble a lot.”
And just that quickly, I wasn’t so worried about him getting nightmares. “Well, if your dad would have done his job, I wouldn’t have to track down the killers for him.”
I expected Cooper to launch into a speech about how his dad would never need my help because he knew everything and was altogether a god amongst men. It wouldn’t have been the first time I’d heard that speech. It was even kind of cute, coming from Cooper—sometimes, anyway.
Instead, he launched himself at me, wrapping his arms around my waist and pressing his face into my stomach. I had the sinking feeling that tears were leaking onto my t-shirt, and I’d have much preferred a put down, telling me how I could never stack up to the amazement that was his father.
I stroked his hair like I would a cat. “I’m sorry, Cooper. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
He shook his head against me, and his words were muffled— not enough so I couldn’t understand them, though. “I like that you tell me stuff. I like you.”
“I like you too, buddy.”
Wyatt stormed into the room, taking in the scene with clueless eyes. “What’s going on?”
I rolled my eyes, thinking that the man was so not worthy of Cooper’s praise. But even then, I knew I didn’t believe that for a second. The fact of it was, Wyatt was pretty much a superhero. My hero, anyway.
Prying Cooper off of me, Wyatt grumbled that he thought we were in a hurry. Despite his words, he gave his son a big hug before we were out the door, whispering something to him that I couldn’t hear.
Chapter Seve
n
The car purred beneath us as we drove out of Waresville. Despite it being Witch Week, the streets were deserted in our little town, making it seem like a ghost town. Shuddering, I hoped all the publicity wasn’t the bad kind, because as it stood, the town was hanging on by a thread.
The only marker of the beginning of the Helbrim farm was a rusty sign that said “Green Meadows” hanging over a cloudy dirt road that ran through several acres of fields. The crop had been harvested, leaving the land bereft of life. The ground was hard and slightly overturned from the machine they’d used.
The lack of plants made it easy to see straight across the large fields. Two gray barns stood out against the rolling hillsides, leaning slightly with age and water damage. A well was out behind one of those barns, but it didn’t look functional, making me wonder where they got their water.
Thin-looking chickens peppered the road as we drove up, squawking as if they weren’t used to visitors. The cows were also sickly looking, watching us with lidded eyes while they chewed on what little grass stuck into their enclosure.
“No wonder George left,” I whispered to Wyatt, though there was no need to be quiet in the car, especially when no one was in sight.
He shook his head. “I heard there was another woman in the picture.”
If it was coming out of Wyatt’s mouth, and it was gossip, you could take it to the bank.
Parking behind a large tree, we hoped the dark car wouldn’t be immediately noticeable to anyone who would come around. Wyatt pulled his gun out as we walked up to the first barn, and it was almost too big to fit in his hand, in my opinion.
I raised my eyebrows at him, and he grinned in an “aw shucks, ma’am” kind of way.
The first barn was empty except for a bunch of old farm equipment that looked like it’d been sitting there since Prohibition. A healthy layer of dust and grime covered everything— even more so than in my grandma’s attic, and that was saying something. I ran my finger over a small green tractor and made a face when it came away black.
