He gave her a dumbfounded look. “I feel great,” he said. “Why do I feel great?”
“It must be the weather,” she said sweetly. “We're so lucky to get a little sunshine in the middle of January.”
He looked even more dumbfounded. “But I feel so light and free.”
Zinnia continued smiling. Of course he did. The shimmering silver powder she'd dropped down the back of his neck was for body buoyancy. She could have cast the same spell with Witch Tongue, but the powder was much safer, because it was less likely to interact with any pre-existing spells and kill the recipient. Body buoyancy powder could be used in an emergency for making an injured or unconscious person light as a feather so they could be easily transported elsewhere for medical attention. When a conscious person was dosed with the powder, they experienced profound euphoria. The magic didn't just lighten their physical weight; it also took away all the thoughts and worries that weighed them down. The man most likely was feeling better than he'd felt since early childhood.
Zinnia was actually a tiny bit jealous of the man. She would love to be free of her worries, but the powder wasn't affecting her in the same way. A witch's fingertips were naturally impervious to most powders and potions, and for good reason: pulling on a big pair of rubber gloves was a surefire way for a witch to draw attention to her spellcasting.
Zinnia said sagely, “Sounds like you should enjoy this great mood with a walk outside in the sun.”
“Wonderful idea! I believe I shall do just that.” He leaned over to retrieve his box of disks.
Zinnia grabbed the box before he could. The man didn't have much more mass to him than a ghost. The body buoyancy magic had real, physical effects. The man couldn't carry the box of dusty disks because he didn't have the weight to counterbalance its heft.
“I'll take care of this for you,” she said. “Come back in half an hour, after your nice walk. Your disks will be waiting.”
He tipped back his head and laughed, then he sneered at the box. “Who cares about those old disks? I've been living in the past for too long, hanging on to things I shouldn't.” He shook his head. “Listen, lady. If I'm not back in half an hour, tell the staff to throw everything in the dumpster.”
“Are you sure?”
“Lady, I'm more sure than ever that I don't need to archive a bunch of thirty-year-old disks!”
He winked at Zinnia, rolled back his nearly weightless shoulders, and headed for the door. Zinnia used telekinesis to nudge the door open so that he wouldn't struggle with its weight. And then the unburdened man was off, marching down the sidewalk, heading in the direction of Wisteria's pleasant seawall promenade.
Zinnia silently wished him well. The effects of the body buoyancy powder would wear off gradually. He would be completely back up to his regular mass again before sundown, but it was possible the psychological effects would linger. Perhaps she had done the man a favor by ruining his plans. So, had she cursed him or charmed him? It all depended on how you looked at it.
The next two obstacles in Zinnia's way were removed just as easily.
She felt a little bad thinking of people as obstacles, but she did have a crime to solve. She was trying to keep the town safe. The end would justify the means. If Margaret Mills had been there, that was exactly what she would have said.
Back at home, Zinnia dropped the freshly bound copy of Annette's Scholem's handwritten pages on her kitchen table in front of her. A page-finding spell would help her find the specific spots she was looking for, but she wasn't ready to cast the first spell just yet.
She picked up her phone and called Detective Ethan Fung. He didn't answer the call, so she tried again, this time sending a modified compulsion spell over the line, using her pepper grinder as a magic wand to do so.
Fung answered, sounding sleepy. “What?”
She didn't apologize for waking him or ask if now was a good time. She charged ahead like Margaret Mills would have, telling Fung about the gorgon's visit and then Zinnia's subsequent visit to the gnome, as well as what she'd learned.
Fung broke in to ask, “Gavin Gorman is a gnome? But he's so tall.”
“Roll with it,” Zinnia snapped. “That's not the key point here.” She went on to tell him exactly what the key point was. She'd rather have told him everything in person, but she couldn't wait. She finished explaining her theory and paused for a response, tapping her fingers on her table impatiently.
Fung was very quiet, and then finally his sleepy voice came over the line. “Last night, before I got called to the swamp, I was reading Annette's handwritten copy of the book. She did have certain details that she omitted in her final version.”
“Such as?” Zinnia would find out for herself in a few minutes, but it wouldn't hurt to get a summary from a live person.
“Zinnia, I don't have infinite time and resources. I'm just one man. I only checked a small sample. I don't have a definitive index, if that's what you're asking.”
“Never mind. I'll be checking it myself right now.”
“Great! You can be my research assistant.”
Zinnia snorted. “That'll be the day.”
“Seriously. I could put you on the payroll.”
“There's no time to talk about such nonsense.” She patted the bound copy in front of her. It was still vaguely warm from the print shop. “I have to start reading.”
“Good luck. For what it's worth, you may be right about the narrator being a trick, a gimmick. I didn't study much literature in school, but I've picked up on a few things over the years.”
“You know I'm right.”
He chuckled. “Maybe I'll stop by later and see what you've found. You can make me some tea. The good stuff.”
“Don't bother. I've got plans for dinner.” She said the next word with focused weight. “Elsewhere.”
Fung was slow to respond, then said, “You should stay home. By yourself.”
“You sound just like your snake-haired buddy.”
“Zinnia, stay home. I'm serious. Lock your doors and do what you need to do to stay safe.”
“I've got a better plan. How about you meet me later, just... not at my house?”
He groaned. He didn't like the sound of her plan. “Let me think about it,” he said.
“Whatever,” she snapped. “I can take care of myself.”
“Zinnia, why do you have to be so stubborn?”
“I'm self-reliant. It's a totally different thing.” And with that, she ended the call. She didn't have time to argue about her character strengths or weaknesses. She had to review Annette's original notes—the first draft, that had been written truly from her heart, thanks to the charmed pen.
Secrets revealed are trouble unsealed.
Chapter 26
Jesse Berman's Residence
6:50 pm
Zinnia Riddle parked on the street in front of Jesse Berman's house, turned off the car engine, and sat quietly. She was early. Being early to dinner was even more rude than being late. Worse than being early, she was also sweaty. Nerves. And for good reason. She was about to do something that, if her theory was correct, could be very dangerous.
She cast a drying spell on her armpits. It didn't work. Sometimes the body resists a witch's magic. This evening her body wanted her to feel every sign and side effect of her fear. Sometimes the body knew better than the witch.
She checked her phone for messages, even though she knew there wouldn't be any. Where was Detective Fung? Was she actually going to do this without him? No backup?
She pulled out the business card Charlize Wakeful had given her, with the emergency number for the Department of Water and Magic. She punched in the number before she lost her nerve. The voice that answered was male.
“Chet Moore speaking,” he said.
“Who?” She'd heard him, but needed to buy time to recover from the shock of hearing from a known wolf shifter.
He repeated his name and asked, “What is the nature of your emergency?”
> “I, uh... I don't know. It's more of a hunch.”
“A hunch?”
“Never mind,” she said hurriedly. “I shouldn't be bothering you. I just wanted to check this phone number.”
“It works.”
“By which you mean I've reached the DWM?”
Chet Moore made a displeased sound. “You have reached the Department of Water, ma'am. Do you have a water-related emergency?”
Just my sweaty armpits. “No. I suppose I don't.”
“Then thank you for keeping this emergency line clear.”
The line clicked and he was gone.
The phone buzzed in her hand. There was an incoming message.
Detective Fung: All systems are go. I will meet you there at 7:20pm.
She stared at the screen. Normally when she read a text message, she heard the sender's voice in her head. This time she didn't. The message had no dimension, no depth. She shook her head. Nerves.
She checked her appearance in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were tinged with red, but, all things considered, she looked okay. Good, even. There was a bright glint in her hazel eyes, and fresh color in her cheeks. More bounce in her long red hair.
She checked all the supplies in her purse, then applied some fresh lipstick. As she inspected her mouth in the mirror, she thought of her older sister, Zirconia. This lipstick was Zirconia's favorite shade. Zirconia had been raised with the same manners as Zinnia, yet she had a bad habit of using cutlery as a mirror at the dinner table. In Zinnia's mind's eye, she saw her sister checking her lipstick on a butter knife. It wasn't a memory, exactly, but something else. A premonition? In the vision, Zirconia's red hair had turned as black as night. All at once, the vision was gone. Only grief remained. Zinnia's sister was gone. Everyone was gone. Grief and fear mixed together in a paralyzing concoction. She felt for a moment like she was being swallowed by a creature with a mouth as large as her body. Swallowed and digested.
Tap tap.
Someone was tapping at the car window.
The sun had set hours ago, so the person's face was in shadows.
“Are you going to sit out here all night?” It was Jesse Berman. Even muffled through the car window, Zinnia would know his voice anywhere.
She waved apologetically.
He said, “I thought I heard your car, but then you didn't come in. What are you doing out here in the dark? Don't tell me you've started meditating.”
She smiled and pushed open the door a crack. The automatic car interior light illuminated his face. His blue eyes looked pale in the yellow light, like the bleached-out fliers hanging in the windows of a convenience store.
“I was just thinking,” she said.
“Come inside and have some wine. It makes thinking more enjoyable.”
She laughed lightly as she stepped out of the car. “Yes. I suppose that might even be the true purpose of wine.”
Jesse didn't wait for her to close the car door before he kissed her. On the cheek. He'd seemed to be going for her lips and then changed his mind at the last minute.
“The wine is a Valpolicella Classico,” he said. “That's your favorite, right?”
“Oh, I don't have a favorite, but that particular blend is nice.”
“Isn't it the first wine you got drunk on? Back when you were just a kid, and you had a crush on your big sister's boyfriend?”
She pointed a finger at him in the dark. “I shouldn't have told you that story.” She'd meant her tone to be light and teasing, but it came out angry. Jesse didn't pick up on her irritation.
He asked, “What was that guy's name? It was something odd. Ricky? Ricky Rocker?”
“Rhys Quarry.”
“I knew it had something to do with rocks.”
She sighed. “Are we going to stand out here on the sidewalk discussing the most embarrassing moments from my childhood, or are you going to invite me in?”
“Touchy, touchy,” he said, grinning. “You do need that glass of wine.”
“I'm looking forward to it.”
“Right this way, ma'am.” He offered her his elbow, like a gentleman. She took it, and they walked up the overgrown pathway to the front door. The house had been Jesse's childhood home. The old bungalow was showing its age and neglect, from the cracks in the concrete pathway to the moss on the roof. Jesse had moved back in recently, after his father had passed away but before Zinnia had begun a relationship with him. She hadn't known Jesse to live in any other place, yet the house had always felt wrong for him—or wrong to Zinnia, anyway. The floorboards always creaked when they shouldn't have creaked, and were quiet when they should have creaked. The walls felt as haunted as the stairwells at the Candy Factory. Why was that, anyway? Jesse's father, Viktor Oliver Berman, had passed away peacefully in the town's hospital after battling a common type of cancer. If a ghost haunted the Berman residence, it seemed unlikely it was Viktor. Whatever or whomever it was lingering in the residence, it made Zinnia prefer entertaining Jesse at her house. She rarely had dinner here, let alone slept over. One time, she'd accompanied Jesse to the washer and dryer in the basement, and the dark underground space had given her the heebie-jeebies. For a witch to get the heebie-jeebies meant the house had some wicked bad juju.
She began cast a protection spell as she stepped through the threshold of the home, as was her habit.
Jesse's arm stiffened under her grasp. “What?”
She abruptly aborted the spell. “I didn't say anything.”
“Oh. I thought I heard you mutter something.”
She studied his face in the bright light of the entryway. Could he have detected her spell? He might have. She was nervous, after all.
Zinnia leaned casually on the kitchen counter, sipping a glass of wine while Jesse cooked dinner.
She munched on the crackers and soft cheese that he'd set out for her. The herbed cheese wasn't her favorite—too much dill—but she was hungry. Charlize had interrupted her breakfast that morning, and then there had been the whole thing where Zinnia thought she was dying. Understandably, she'd lost her appetite for a while. It was coming back now with a vengeance.
She checked the time. 7:10 pm. Another ten minutes until Fung showed up. Another ten minutes to act normal. She glanced around the room. Jesse's kitchen was as dusty and neglected as her own. What a matched pair they were.
Her gaze came to rest on a cardboard shipping box sitting on a side table. Either the box had a magical glow, or its faint shimmer was a trick of the light.
“What's in the box?” she asked conversationally.
Jesse tossed more chopped vegetables into a pot before answering. “That's Annette.”
“Her personal stuff from her desk?”
He kept his back to her as he stirred the stew on the stove. “No. I mean literally. That is Annette. She doesn't have any next of kin in town, so her cousin asked me to pick up the ashes from the cremation place. I'm supposed to hang onto her until one of the family members can drive up.”
Zinnia didn't want to say anything. She wanted to let that fact pass without comment, but she had to act normal. She had to say what she would normally say in a situation like this.
“Poor Annette!” she exclaimed. “You just dumped her on a side table along with a pile of unopened mail. Poor thing!” She made a tsk-tsk sound.
“It's only temporary,” he said. “Don't you worry about good ol' Annette. If one of her cousins doesn't turn up, I'll put her to good use. There's a scraggly rose bush in the back yard that could use some fertilizer.”
Zinnia gasped in mock horror. “You're terrible.” She laughed and took another sip of wine.
What she didn't say was that cremated ashes wouldn't do the rose bush any good. Human ashes were extremely high in salt, and didn't contain manganese, carbon, or zinc. The imbalance could actually hinder plant growth. The high calcium content could reduce the plant's supply of nitrogen. She didn't say any of these things because it wasn't normal for a permits department clerk to know so m
uch about growing plants. That was the realm of the Kitchen Bewitched.
Instead, she got up from her stool, grabbed the box containing Annette's ashes, and set it on the other stool next to hers.
“That's better,” she said, patting the box.
Jesse turned and gave her a curious look. “Shall we pour a glass of wine for Annette, too?”
“I don't think that's necessary, but you can top up mine.”
Jesse grabbed the bottle and refilled Zinnia's glass.
“Don't forget yours,” she said, pointing to Jesse's glass, which he'd barely touched.
He held still and looked into her eyes. Zinnia's breath caught in her throat. He was so handsome, so virile. And his eyes were so pure, and blue, and penetrating. She felt the floor giving way beneath her, and the sensation of falling backward, tumbling down the rabbit hole. Jesse's eyes had always had such a powerful effect on her. Now that her heart was unguarded, the sensation of being seen by him was almost unbearable.
Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he downed his dark red wine in three gulps and refilled the glass. He held up the wine glass—it was heavy, cut crystal, one of his father's—and clinked it against Zinnia's.
“To Annette Scholem,” he said.
“Our dear friend and coworker,” she added.
“Leader of the Incredibowls.”
“And future bestselling author.”
Jesse's nostrils flared. He opened his mouth as if to say something but tossed back the wine instead. “We'll see about that,” he said, licking his lips.
Zinnia said nothing. She pulled her phone from her purse and checked it again.
Jesse said, “Expecting a call from someone?”
“Just my boyfriend,” she said, teasing him the way she normally would.
The pot bubbled over and hissed on the stove element. Jesse turned away and tended the dinner.
Zinnia tried to check the time on the digital clock of the microwave to see if it was different from the one on her phone but found her vision was blurry. She hadn't consumed that much wine, had she?
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