Shake Your Green Thing: Supernatural Witch Cozy Mystery (Harper “Foxxy” Beck Series Book 2)

by Raven Snow

  We moved on to the second barn while I was trying to get the gunk off my finger. It seemed to be permanently stained, like a tattoo. That was what I got for being curious.

  There was no farming equipment in the next barn, and Wyatt and I stopped dead upon entering. Like my grandma and Melanie, Penny had turned the whole space into her own little magic room. Unlike those other women’s spaces, this was just about the creepiest thing I’d ever seen.

  Pictures from newspapers and magazines had been ripped out and plastered to the bare wood walls. The images depicted all kinds of mutilated corpses and hideous experiments enacted on human beings. There were also pictures of infamous witches. The way they were framed, made this whole room feel like a shrine.

  A cauldron that was smoking green sat off to one corner, shoved off to the side to make room for the hundreds of books in sinister black binding that littered the floor. On the ground, there were little spots where you could see beneath the books to where someone had spray-painted satanic symbols.

  “Okay,” Wyatt said, “maybe she did it.”

  A rustling outside the barn sent us running for cover, hiding back in a corner that was almost completely obscured by shadows. Wyatt took the least shaded spot, herding me behind him despite my protests.

  Penny came in, her brown bob messy with grass sticking out in various places. She was reading a book intently, and it made me tense, readying myself for a nasty spell to be hurled my way. When I realized it was a sleazy romance novel, I felt just a little stupid.

  Before I could calm down or feel like too much of an idiot, Penny spotted us. Her face twisted from an unassuming woman in her late forties to someone dangerous, someone who knew hate and was going to show us the art of it.

  "You!"

  My eyes flickered to Wyatt. "Me?"

  Penny fished around in her pocket, quick movements that indicated practice. A tube emerged, and she brought it to her lips. It looked like a long, wooden straw, and I wondered idly if she was going to launch a spitball at us.

  Wyatt's gun went up in the next moment. "Put it down, Penny." It was amazing how serious he could sound about a spitball straw, but he was a cop— he was likely used to keeping a straight face in these situations.

  She blew into it and a tiny dart shot from the tube, heading straight for me. I didn't have time to be afraid or regret laughing about spit. Just when I thought it was going to get me right in the jugular, Wyatt slammed into me, knocking me into the wall. My vision swam a little, and I went down like a sack of potatoes.

  I struggled to my feet, and I had to push Wyatt off of me. He limply rolled, his head bouncing off the ground. Worry flashed through me, and I shook him a little. He didn't respond at all, his eyes going wild beneath his eyelids.

  Penny Helbrim watched us with satisfaction. "I bet you wish you'd dropped out of the competition now."

  "What?" But I wasn't really listening to her— not that it mattered to psychos, since they'd give you their opinion whether you wanted it or not.

  The dart that had been meant for me was lodged in his chest, a light smear of blood soaked through his dress shirt where the needle was sticking in it. I ripped open his shirt and buttons and the dart went flying. It almost hit me and, deciding to be more careful, I kicked the dart away.

  Nausea struck me like a semi, and I clapped a hand over my mouth. Around the dart, a green that was quickly darkening spread through his skin in a small radius. Right before my eyes, the infection spread, coloring his veins as it reached farther and farther into Wyatt's body.

  His breathing was irregular and a little strained. When I called his name, he didn't even twitch.

  "He's as good as dead," Penny said, sounding annoyed. "You can stop mooning over him now."

  I stood then, a calm kind of fury settling over me. "Shut up."

  Her eyes widened and then narrowed. "You don't want to talk to me that way— I won't be spoken to like that! Not anymore."

  She shot another dart my way, but I was ready for it this time, easily diving out of the way. "What did you do to him?"

  "Gave him a concentrated dose of the poison," she said simply. "The poison that should've killed you days ago."

  The poison that was killing me as we spoke, I thought silently. Even then, I could feel my body tiring, my head throbbing like I'd taken a beating. I didn't feel up to fighting a homicidal witch, but I didn't have a choice.

  "How much time does he have?"

  She had the gall to look bored. "A few minutes, maybe longer."

  Deliberately misunderstanding her intentions, I said, "Why do you want Wyatt dead?"

  The book she'd been carrying crashed into the spot a foot above my head with a huge bang. I winced, flinching away from the heavy text before it could fall on my head. The book that was in my hands, conversely, trembled a little bit. It didn't seem to be afraid, though I had no experience with emotional books. The thing seemed more... excited.

  "I don't want him dead! I want you dead!"

  You and everyone else, I thought, trying to focus. I needed reasons, and I needed her to slip up. She was obviously a powerful witch. Without an advantage, I couldn't take her down and save Wyatt. The trouble was my thoughts kept splintering and going off on tangents.

  "Why is that?" I asked dully, moving away from the corner and towards the steaming cauldron.

  Penny was too caught up in her anger and didn't notice my movement. "You were standing in my way. I'm going to be the Witch of the Year—that'll make him see."

  And everything came back to that stupid competition. Grandma was right. It was a joke— a joke that was about to get me killed.

  Was there no end to crazy witches in town? One wanted to kill for eternal youth, and the other to win a contest so her loser husband would come back to her. From what I remembered of George, he wasn't much of a catch. Then again, can a crazy witch whose looks are going really afford to be that choosy?

  But Penny wasn't done talking. "They'll all see then. They'll see that I'm powerful— that I'm the most powerful witch that's ever walked the streets of Waresville!"

  I didn't snort because it wouldn't have been polite. But inside, I was screaming that my grandma was the head witch in town, and she would continue to be until the end of time. Or however long she lived for. I wasn't really sure which would come first at that point.

  Scooping up a ladle from the cauldron, I flung a handful of the green poison at the other witch's unprotected face. The hot liquid splashed against her flesh, and I winced as she screamed bloody murder. Clutching her face, she stumbled around, flinging curses—both magical and not— my way.

  One spell hit me right in the chest, and I flew backward, my back colliding with the wooden wall. The material creaked under the pressure, and I slid to the ground. Under other circumstances, I would've surged to my feet and tackled her, but I couldn't find my bearings. Up didn't seem to have any meaning anymore, and my head fell back against the wood.

  Somewhere, Penny was whimpering. Not far from there, a man moaned. That sound of pain got me moving like nothing else could, and I lurched up, almost as if I was under someone else's power.

  There was still plenty of poison in the cauldron, and when I bent over it, the smell burnt the inside of my nose like antifreeze. The talking book had landed at the foot of the pot, so I swiped it up and opened to the right page. Before I could, however, the book turned for me, making me pause and shift uncomfortably.

  Another moan from Wyatt got me moving again. The words of the spell didn't seem complicated, but I knew that looks could be deceiving. If this was too much for me, the drain combined with the poison would kill me. Even now, I could see the green seeping back into my skin, my fingers the color of moss already.

  My gaze flickered over to Wyatt, who was lying on the floor, limp and lifeless. His breath was so shallow that, for a terrifying second, I thought he was already gone, and that I was too late. The despair that surged through my body almost sent me to my knees.

&
nbsp; I turned back to the book and started reciting the words that would turn the contents into an antidote. The words had power. I felt it resonating deeply within me, like a vibration in my stomach that built and built until I was shaking. The shaking got so bad, I almost couldn't read anymore.

  Halfway through, a body even heavier than Wyatt's crashed into me. Penny's weight knocked the air out of me, and when my hand fell between me and the floor, I felt my wrist snap with an audible crunch. At first, I didn't feel anything, and that was almost worse than the pain that followed.

  Almost.

  I screamed, my throat raw like I'd been swallowing salt. I tried to throw Penny off, but she was too heavy. Penny got off of me on her own, rolling away once she was satisfied I couldn't just bounce back up again.

  Seeing her face, I almost screamed again. The heated poison had burned away at her skin, the outer layer completely gone. Painful looking boils accompanied the severe, red burns. The face didn't even look human anymore, and it hurt to look at it.

  When she growled at me, I was convinced she wasn't human, and that she was going to attack me. There was nothing sentient in her eyes, and all I could see in those fathomless depths was the desire to hurt me.

  Penny lunged at me, her horrible face twisting into what I was sure was going to be the last thing I ever saw. Her hand was clenched around the last dart, raising it above her head as she descended on me, getting ready to stab it into me. It'd finish me; I knew that.

  A gunshot went off, and Penny slumped to the ground— like a puppet whose strings had been cut..

  The sight was too much for me, and I felt sick, the last of my energy leaving me, along with my lunch. A few feet away, Wyatt's hand fell to the ground, the gun with it. The air rushed from his lungs, and I wanted to cry.

  Somehow, I managed to pick up the book. It was as heavy as a baby, and I felt every ounce. The words seemed to fall from my mouth of their own accord. The book wanted me to finish, so I had to finish. I didn't matter. Wyatt didn't matter. Only the book mattered.

  The spell was cast and the green smoke quickly evaporated, leaving a purple one in its wake. The cauldron was still far above my head, though, and I didn't know how I was going to reach it.

  To give myself strength, I looked over at Wyatt and almost stuffed my fist into my mouth in distress. His color was even greener than Belinda's or Cherry's had been, and I couldn't even tell if he was alive.

  Not caring if the potion burned me, I scooped up a handful of the purple antidote and shoved it in his mouth. He wouldn't swallow, I realized with a panic. I had to massage his throat, forcing myself to be gentle when I was frantic enough to throttle him if I wasn't careful.

  When it finally went down, I stumbled over and got some for myself and then fell on top of Wyatt again. His chest was firm under me, and I could make out the faint movement of him breathing. That felt beautiful to me, and I sighed.

  A moment later, he coughed, his hands clenching at his sides. "We win?"

  A fresh wave of pain went through me, and I said, "Doesn't feel like it."

  "Rarely does, in my experience."

  With me collapsed on top of him, Wyatt laid there for a long moment, just focusing on breathing. He probably would've had an easier time of it, too, if I'd been able to roll over. That last bout of victory had done me in, though, and there was nothing left.

  "Bennett!"

  We flinched at the same time, and then groaned as our injuries caught up to our movements. Above my face, Officer Koser's bloated face came into view. He looked concerned, for which I was oddly touched, but then it became clear he was concerned for Wyatt. It was probably just as well. I don't think I could've handled that complete one eighty in our relationship.

  Crouching down, he put a hand on Wyatt's shoulder. "An ambulance is on the way. Did you find an antidote?"

  "I found an antidote," I said, more than a little miffed at being ignored. The irritation gave me the strength to roll off Wyatt, but my momentum carried me a little far, and my face smacked against the concrete.

  Koser raised an eyebrow. "And how would you know what you found was the antidote?"

  Before I could inform him that I'd made the potion, thank you very much, Wyatt cut in. His voice was hoarse, and I could tell he was fighting to stay awake with every breath. "Penny Helbrim had already mixed up a batch when we arrived. She confessed to the murders, and when she tried to attack us, I shot her in self-defense."

  I wondered briefly why Wyatt didn't want the police to know I used magic to make an antidote, but I was too tired to really care. Likely, he had a reason. Wyatt was rarely without a reason or a justification, and I personally found that annoying.

  Like a hero that refuses to be beaten, Wyatt got to his feet with a slowness that looked painful. Incredibly, he bent down to give me a hand. After giving his shaky stance a dubious look, I struggled to my feet on my own. I wasn't in the mood to be crushed by his body—though that did sound appealing for later— just because he was trying to be chivalrous.

  The sirens were blaring now, right on top of us. I marveled at how often I'd been hearing them lately. Maybe it was time to rethink my nosy policy if I wanted to live to see thirty— which was closer than I cared to admit.

  Wyatt and I weaved as we walked out of the barn, bumping into each other slightly. After one such painful bump, I told him, "I'm never sleuthing again."

  To that, he only laughed— laughed so hard, he almost toppled to the ground. A few of his police buddies had to steady him as tears ran down his face and his body shook. The whole scene was rather indelicate, and I sniffed and put myself in the nearest ambulance.

  They took us to the local hospital separately. The long couple of minutes I was apart from Wyatt made me panic as the reality of what had just happened came crashing down on me. My heart sped up, and my head started pounding.

  I'd almost died. Again. I'd never considered my life very dangerous, even though I was frequently scantily clad at night and had a penchant for trouble. But this was the second time in a few weeks that I'd confronted a killer. Both times, Wyatt had been there to save me, but what about next time?

  I was a good detective, but I wasn't so sure I was as good at keeping myself out of harm's way.

  A few minutes after the sassy ER nurse told me she didn't want to see me around again, I was put back in the same room I'd occupied off and on for the past few days. It was good to get back to basics.

  I hadn't noticed before, but the room was so clinical and white. There was hardly any color or dirt anywhere— the two items that primarily made up the Funky Wheel. A wave of homesickness surged through me, and I wished more than anything that I was on skates and grooving to the sounds.

  It was at that moment, when I needed him most, that Wyatt waddled in. He was in a hospital gown like me, and he was rolling a metal thing that looked like a coat rack that housed his fluids.

  I raised an eyebrow at him. "Do they know you've escaped?"

  He pressed a finger to his lips, shooting me a cheeky smile that made my heart do funny things. Scooting over with great difficulty, I made space for him. He collapsed onto the vacant side of the bed with a large exhale.

  With his lips right next to my ear, it was hard to concentrate on what he was saying. After a few moments, I realized it didn't matter—not as much as sleep did, anyway.

  The doctor came in and gave us an exasperated look. “You two—“

  I was asleep before he finished the sentence.

  Chapter Eight

  The hospital personnel released us on the same day as the closing ceremony, which I felt was awfully inconvenient. As in all small towns, the news of our deeds and release had been spread before we'd even signed the discharge papers. That meant that, as Wyatt and I were walking out of the large, automatic doors, my phone rang.

  "No," I answered. "Whatever it is, the answer is no."

  Melanie's prim and annoyed voice came through the line. "Again, that is no way to greet someone." />
  Why did it always have to be her? Couldn't it once be a billionaire, wanting to give me a little of his excess pocket change?

  "The answer's still no."

  Wyatt took the phone from me then. His eyes were bruised and tired. Looking at him sent a surge of desire and guilt through me. I'd really put him through the wringer this past week, and he was still standing right beside me. The same couldn't be said of really anyone else in my life— not even my mom when she was still alive.

  He listened to Melanie for a moment, grunting when appropriate. I couldn't hear anything she was saying, as my phone was old, crappy, and had horrible reception. Luckily, I didn't have to wonder for long, because Wyatt hung up a minute later and handed the phone back to me.

  I waved it in his face before pocketing it. "Gee, thanks."

  "Melanie wants you to attend the ceremony since she's already down three girls, thanks to you." At my narrow eyes, he added, "Her words, not mine."

  "But, being the perfect boyfriend that you are, you talked her out of it, and we can just go home and fall into bed?"

  "Nope," he said, popping the "p." "You have to go, or I'll have to arrest you for breaking into her house."

  "She's gonna hang that over my head forever, isn't she?"

  "Probably." Leaning in closer, he whispered in my ear, "But after, if that falling into bed thing's still on the table..."

  More people were there than I could remember ever seeing in my lifetime. Everyone who had left after the murders— likely for their own safety— had returned and multiplied. The crowd was backed up all the way past the Funky Wheel, which was clear down the block. No one could even see the stage from that distance.

  Reporters with cameras and notebooks swarmed the edges of the gathering, talking to everyday folks, townspeople, and a very pleased looking Melanie Gross. Several of the vultures were pecking at her, hanging onto her every word as she likely described how she single-handedly took down her assistant for the greater good. I had to look away from that scene to avoid my eyes rolling so hard they never turned right again.