Margaret said nothing. She knew when she'd been beat. She was only too happy to purchase magical herbs from Tansy Wick without ever asking about their origins. She couldn't justify being judgy about Tansy Wick's supply chain.
They were nearly at the marsh, anyway. No time for jibber-jabber.
Margaret's knuckles were still white as they drove past the lookout point, where teenagers sometimes parked their vehicles to do whatever it was teenagers did those days. A single car was parked there. With steamy windows. No mystery what the teens were doing in that car.
They arrived at the visitor parking, where Margaret angle-parked across two spots. She turned off the van's engine, they double-checked their magical supplies, and then both witches stepped out into the night air.
It was colder than either of them had expected. With the first breeze, the damp from the swamp seemed to seep into their bones.
They explored the bushy area as best they could without calling attention to themselves. The outer ring of the marsh was dry enough to walk on, but as they neared the reeds and water, the earth was only partly frozen, so it got mucky and tried to slurp off their shoes.
Margaret said, “Aw, shoot. My favorite boots are getting ruined.”
Zinnia asked, “Why didn't you cast the dry shoes spell like I did?”
“I didn't think of it,” Margaret admitted. “Go easy on me. I don't exactly get to do a wide variety of spells lately, so I might be a bit rusty.”
“Here. Hold still.” Zinnia cast the spell onto Margaret's boots for her.
“Perfect. And did I detect a little—shall we say—stank on that spell of yours?”
“Maybe.” Zinnia smiled in the dark. She'd cast the dry shoes spell along with an extra clause to warm up Margaret's feet and dry her socks. Maybe Zinnia's magic wasn't so rusty after all. Maybe she could track down this Villobek entity and save the day.
They kept searching, using a variety of magical supplies to illuminate different types of cloaking magic.
After an hour, they'd circled the pond twice and had nothing to show for it but empty glass jars.
“I'm nearly out of eyeballs,” Zinnia said.
“And I'm completely out of everything I brought,” Margaret said. “So much for that location spell. Maybe the map was too out of date.”
“There is one place we haven't looked yet. The steamy car back at the make-out point.”
Margaret snickered. “There are some things I'd rather not see, not even with something else's eyeballs.”
“Come on. We have to be thorough.”
“But it's late, and I'm freezing my buns off.”
“Margaret Mills, don't make me play the dead Annette card.”
Margaret sighed. “Fine. But when we get to the steamy car, you be the good cop and I'll be the bad cop.”
“I wouldn't have it any other way.” No one could play the bad cop like Margaret.
They finished circling the pond and returned to the van. Margaret wanted to drive her van to the lookout point, but Zinnia convinced her it would be better to walk. All the better to have stealth on their side.
The distance was further than it had seemed when driving, but no more than half a mile. The car was still parked where they'd seen it.
The witches weren't yet close enough to see if the windows were still steamy when the passenger side door opened with a metallic creak.
A young woman stepped out of the car, her feet scuffing unevenly on the dry road. “You shhhtay there,” she told someone inside the vehicle. She sounded more than a little tipsy, her words slurring. “Gimme a minute, okay? Shhtay there while I find a,” she paused long enough to hiccup, “swamp bathroom.”
Margaret elbowed Zinnia and whispered, “Definitely a couple of criminal masterminds at work. Should we glamour up some disguises and give them a scare? I've been working on a new accent.”
A twig snapped nearby in the darkness.
“Shh,” Zinnia said, swiveling her head to listen. “Did you hear something?”
“Sorry,” Margaret said. “That was me. I shouldn't have ordered the chickpea burger at Shady Lanes. But it's so good with the mango chutney.”
“Not that,” Zinnia said. She knew the sound of a chickpea burger rumbling around Margaret's stomach, and what she'd heard was something else. “There's something out here with us,” she said.
The young woman who'd been stumbling around looking for a “swamp bathroom” let out a terrified scream.
Zinnia turned on her heel and ran toward the scream without hesitation, both hands crackling with blue lightning. Margaret was right behind her.
They rounded the parked car and saw what had made the young woman scream. Both women stopped in their tracks. Margaret whispered a spell to amplify the moonlight in the vicinity.
There was an animal standing on the poor girl's chest.
Zinnia whispered over her shoulder, “Margaret, are you seeing what I'm seeing.”
“That's not a wolf.”
“No, it's not.”
Straddling its captive prey was a giant cat. From end to end, it had to be over seven feet long. As it sniffed the young woman's face, the tip of its tail dusted the toes of her shoes. The only giant cat species native to the area was the mountain lion, also known as the cougar.
Margaret whispered, “Is that a cougar or something else? A jaguar?”
“Let's ask it.” Zinnia snapped a branch from a nearby tree and whipped it against the ground. “Hey!”
The big cat turned its head and made eye contact with Zinnia.
She nearly dropped her stick. Oh, the eyes it had. Dark yet sparkling. Dangerous. Like refreshing water teeming with sharks.
Zinnia gripped her stick tightly. Who was scared of a kitty cat? Not this witch. She whipped the branch against the ground and raised her free arm over her head. A smart way of dealing with a cougar was to make yourself appear as large as possible. The conventional wisdom was to look big while backing away slowly. But Zinnia was walking toward the beast, not away. Riddle women are tougher than they look.
“Bad kitty.” She whacked the ground again. “Go home. Shoo!”
The cat swiveled its ears and flattened them back, fangs bared. It didn't budge.
As she drew nearer, she determined the cat was definitely a cougar, with a tawny coat and lighter patches on the jaws and chin.
The cat let out a growl, gruff and desperate. Unfortunately, Zinnia wasn't gifted with a talent for understanding animals. If only they'd brought their junior coven member Fatima along, the young woman might have been useful for a change! But even without translating the growl, Zinnia sensed the big cat was hiding something. Bluffing, even. But what would a cougar be bluffing about?
The woman pinned beneath the cat let out a whimper. She didn't show any signs of having been bitten or scratched, but the cat had to weigh nearly two hundred pounds, if not more. The beast might not be eating its victim, but it was crushing her.
Margaret stepped up to stand shoulder to shoulder with Zinnia, or at least shoulder to bicep, given her stature. “Time to break out the big guns.” Margaret raised her hands, palms together, and prepared. Margaret's lightning was as green as Zinnia's was blue. It flickered between her palms, buzzing audibly.
“Wait,” Zinnia said.
The driver's side door of the car swung open. Out jumped a young man with a familiar face. He was Xavier Batista, the City Hall employee they'd seen five hours earlier. He reached into his pocket and whipped out something. The blade of a pocket knife flashed under the enhanced moonlight. It was a very small flash for a very small knife. He would have been better armed with a big stick than the tiny blade, but he brandished it bravely as he advanced on the cougar. Xavier stared straight ahead, unaware of the two witches huddled in the darkness.
Margaret whispered, “Xavier Batista's going to be Cougar Chow if we don't do something.”
“Hold your fire,” Zinnia said. “Don't you dare shoot that green lightning of yours and blo
w our cover.”
“I'll do it quick, while Xavier's back is to us. He won't know what happened.”
Zinnia dropped her stick and clapped her hands over the top of Margaret's, snuffing the green electricity.
“Tandem lighting,” Zinnia said. “Tandem.”
“Of course,” Margaret said. “I can't believe I forgot. See? I told you my magic was rusty.”
She stepped behind Zinnia, placed her hands on the taller woman's shoulders, and willed her energy forward.
Zinnia felt the borrowed magic flood her body. So much power! She could set the whole swamp ablaze if she wanted.
Luckily, Zinnia's training kicked in through muscle memory and she reeled in the power. She focused the energy in her hands, making it invisible. Then she pulled back her arm, and released. The movement was not unlike releasing a sixteen-pound bowling ball down a hardwood lane.
Her aim was true. The invisible ball connected with its target. The big cat made an OOF sound. It flew off the girl and tumble rolled. The dust settled, and the cat scrambled up to four paws. The swamp was silent except for the scratch of its claws in the dirt. The cat looked Zinnia directly in the eyes as it slowly backed away.
Just then, Xavier darted toward the cat. He lunged out, brandishing his tiny knife. He slashed the cat clumsily across the top of its head.
The cat howled as it whipped its head. Blood sprayed from its wound, spattering Zinnia's face.
Xavier Batista retreated swiftly, hopping from foot to foot like a boxer. “You like that?” He flashed the blade in the moonlight. “Want another taste?”
The cougar retreated stepped away. It moved slowly, taking its time to look at each of them. It seemed to be memorizing their faces.
The young woman on the ground rolled to her side and used her hands to push herself upright. She groaned and mentioned that she no longer needed to find the bathroom.
Margaret let out a near-silent whoop. “We got him. Or her. We got it. Bam. Right in the kisser.” She did a little of Xavier's boxing footwork herself.
Zinnia blinked the blood from her eyes and wiped her mouth. She licked her lips. The blood was still warm, and it had a taste. A magical taste. This was no ordinary local cougar.
She looked into the dark eyes of the retreating cougar and asked softly, “What are you? Who are you?”
The cat blinked at her slowly, growled again, then turned and disappeared into the darkness.
Chapter 20
Midnight
The secluded lookout point was now a chaotic scene of flashing lights and emergency vehicles. The sound of idling engines covered the wetlands' owl hoots and frog noises with a rumbling blanket of noise.
The female victim was being treated by paramedics for minor scrapes and a bump to the head. There was some confusion over what kind of animal had attacked. She and Xavier had called it a wolf to some people and a cougar to others.
Zinnia left the young woman in capable hands and joined Margaret for some mutual grumbling.
After two hours at Towhee Swamp, both witches were ready to go home. They'd been ready to leave right after the cougar attack, but Xavier Batista had spotted them standing next to the car. He'd called the police on his phone immediately, and then asked that the two women stay to corroborate his statement. Now Zinnia regretted being such a responsible citizen. The weather had been chilly enough at ten o'clock, but it had dipped further below freezing since then, and now rain was falling. Icy-cold January rain, bordering on sleet.
Meanwhile, Xavier Batista was having the time of his life. The young man had found an audience with the first responders. He puffed out his chest and bragged about how he'd shown that “big, bad kitty cat” that he could be just as big and bad. “And that's when I stabbed the beast right in the jugular!” Xavier swung his right arm and small pocketknife to demonstrate.
One of the male first-responders, who was in his early twenties like Xavier, said, “Come on, bro. You don't even know where the jugular is.”
“I know where your jugular is,” Xavier said with adrenaline-fueled bravado. “Step up and I'll show you.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Xavier puffed out his chest even further.
“Sure, why not. I could use some practice giving stitches.” He started removing his reflective safety jacket.
Xavier's shoes scuffed on the dirt road as he did his boxing footwork again, like he had with the cougar.
“That's enough,” said one of the more sensible of the crew. He calmed down his coworker and put an end to the fighting talk.
Margaret and Zinnia watched everything from their seat on the bumper of Xavier's car. They had charmed the bumper to be a source of heat. It was pleasantly warm, but not too hot. They didn't want to drain the car's battery, which was the power source. The witches had to use the battery since they'd drained their magical energy on the invisible lightning ball. Both witches would recharge, but it would take time and high calorie food. Zinnia usually steered clear of junk food, but she would open up her emergency supply as soon as she got home.
Margaret, who was taking the temporary loss of her magic harder than Zinnia, leaned over and grumbled, “I feel like I've been dosed with witchbane.”
“Witchbane feels nothing like a power drain. You don't even notice a smaller dose until you try a spell, and a high dose feels like you've been run over by a paving crew.”
“Since when are you the resident expert on witchbane?”
“My mentor had interesting methods of teaching lessons.”
“I'll say.” Margaret rubbed her hands together rapidly. Nothing magical happened. She sighed. “Look at that. Not even a spark.”
Zinnia elbowed her. “Cool it. Detective Fung is coming over.”
“Oh, pfft. He knows I'm a witch.”
“Yes, but he doesn't know that you know that he knows.”
“I'm too tired to keep up on who knows what.” Margaret hopped off the bumper. “I smell granola bars. Watch my back while I go for a quick recon.”
“Sure,” Zinnia said. She had very little power remaining for protecting Margaret, but a quest for granola bars was unlikely to prove dangerous.
After Margaret left, Fung took her spot on the bumper. “Wow,” he said, twisting to look down at the magically warmed bumper. “Margaret Mills must have a hot butt.”
Zinnia said, “I shall pass along your compliment.”
He rested his hands on the bumper and looked down again. “It's magic, right?”
“Do you really need to ask?”
He chuckled. “Impressive, whatever it is.”
She turned her head and studied his face. The lines around his eyes looked deeper, and his cheeks seemed to be hanging from his face. He'd lost weight recently, but given his current state of near-exhaustion, he looked sick.
“You need to sleep,” Zinnia said. “You're only human.”
“I hate it when you remind me of that.” He reached into his suit jacket, and handed Zinnia a crisp white handkerchief.
“No, thanks,” she said.
He put the cloth in her hand. “You've got something on your face,” he explained.
She touched her face, contacting something crusty on her upper lip. “It's blood,” she said. “I forgot about that.”
“Yours?”
“No.” She spat on the handkerchief and started wiping her face. Fung tilted his head and gave her a somewhat disgusted look. He didn't know any better. Unladylike though it seemed to spit on a hankie, it was the best solution. Witch saliva was an effective agent for many things, such as breaking down blood or magical compounds. Witch saliva could deodorize a musty room in less than ten minutes. Plus, it was naturally antibacterial.
“There's something funny about this blood,” she said, sticking the tip of her tongue against the red spots on the handkerchief.
Fung's face kept contorting with disgust. It was a normal human reaction, so Zinnia didn't hold it against him.
She handed him
the soiled hankie. “Thanks.”
He reeled back. “That's yours to keep. I have plenty.”
Zinnia smiled. She'd missed freaking out Fung during her last year of staying under the radar.
“You might want to take the blood for evidence,” she said.
Fung asked, “To test that it was a cougar and not a wolf? That young woman is so shaken up, she doesn't know what attacked her. She was babbling about a wolf, then she said it was a cougar.”
“Margaret and I both saw a cougar.”
“And you're sure it wasn't a wolf using one of those masking spells?”
“You mean a glamour?” She frowned and looked down at the handkerchief she was folding into a tiny square. “I have been wondering if it might have been a magical disguise. It is possible my eyes deceived me.”
Fung turned his head toward Xavier Batista, who was hopping from foot to foot, demonstrating his fighting technique for a trio of bemused ambulance attendants.
Fung turned back to Zinnia. “My money is on the witches. Cougar it is. I believe your eyes over anyone's.” He pulled a plastic evidence bag from his pocket and gingerly accepted the folded, stained handkerchief. “Maybe we can test this blood for something at the, er, special lab.”
A moment that might have been quiet, if not for the idling engines, passed.
“It might not have been a glamour at all,” Zinnia said. “Group hysteria has been well documented over the years. If our young lovers were psychologically primed to see a wolf, then fear could have made them see what they expected.”
“But you and Margaret didn't see a wolf.”
“We weren't afraid,” Zinnia said, which wasn't entirely true.
“Neither was Mr. Batista, according to... Mr. Batista.”
Zinnia smirked. “He didn't even cut the cat until it was already retreating.”
“What do you think made it retreat? It didn't hurt Liza Gilbert at all.”
“Gilbert? Are you telling me that drunk girl is related to the Gilberts?”
“It's a common last name, and I believe she has sobered up.” He fixed his gaze on Zinnia and didn't waver. “You were saying? Something made the cougar retreat?”
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