The air twinkled. Zinnia's promise was sealed.
Margaret relaxed visibly, melting against the counter behind her. “Good,” she said. “We have to be more careful than ever with what we cast. We have to be sure that whatever actions we take, no matter how extreme, are absolutely necessary.”
Zinnia gave Margaret a sidelong look. Margaret liked to get extra preachy about the rules right before she broke them all herself.
Chapter 9
2:30 pm
Zinnia was keeping an eye on Margaret Mills, who still had that devious rule-breaking look on her face. What was she up to? Every few minutes, Margaret would crane her neck to peer into Karl's office through his open door, as though she expected something to happen at any minute. It was perfectly understandable for her to be keeping an eye on Karl if she believed he was the person who killed Annette two nights before, but Margaret didn't appear to be fearful at all. If anything, she seemed excited.
“You did something,” Zinnia said in a low tone. “Something you know you shouldn't have.”
Margaret gave her a wide-eyed, innocent look and twirled her forehead curl. “Huh?”
“You did something to Karl.” Zinnia couldn't say spell or magic, because they were in the middle of a busy office.
The other witch kept twirling her rhino-horn curl. “What makes you say that?”
“Margaret Mills, I can read you like a book.”
“Me? Are you implying that I have a tell?”
“You have so many tells,” Zinnia said. “Where do I even start? How about the fact that you keep getting cups of coffee but not drinking them? Look at yourself, Margaret. You've got six full mugs on your desk. Not only have you done something you ought not to have done, but you're hoarding the office china.”
Margaret released her curl and swirled one hand over the mugs. “I'm going to drink all these. I'm, uh, cooling them to the perfect temperature.” She glanced into Karl's office once again, then stared into Zinnia's eyes with an indignant expression. “Unlike Karl, I don't drink my coffee scorching hot.”
“Sure. A likely story.”
“Since when are you the coffee police?”
“Somebody's got to keep an eye on you.”
Margaret narrowed her eyes. “Is that why you took the job here? To keep an eye on me?”
“No, Margaret. I took this job because you said it would be fun.”
“Fun? I said no such thing. I may be a lot of things, but I'm not a liar.”
Zinnia sniffed.
Margaret inhaled, and puffed up straight in her chair. She spoke quickly. “Zinnia Riddle, I told you to take this job because I knew I couldn't leave you haunting around that house of yours all day and all night, going mad.”
“Going mad?” Zinnia was so offended that she could only repeat the absurd words.
“You heard me,” Margaret said. “You were already half mad last January. It's a good thing that we needed another warm body here in the department.”
“A warm body? Is that all I am to you?”
“Of course not. Don't change the subject. You always take things so literally, and you're always so quick to be offended.”
Zinnia snorted and returned her gaze to her computer screen. She had a lot of work to do, and if Margaret was going to be so combative, there was no point in talking to her.
“Honestly,” Margaret muttered. “You try to do something good for someone and it comes back to bite you in the rear end.”
Zinnia ignored the comment. She did have a spell that made the recipient feel the sensation of something biting their rear end. Margaret shouldn't give her so many ideas!
“I know you can hear me,” Margaret said. “The truth is, you've got things backwards. I brought you into this department so that I,” she pointed at her chest, “could keep an eye on you.” She pointed at Zinnia.
Zinnia pursed her lips and continued ignoring Margaret. She didn't need anyone to keep an eye on her, let alone bossy Margaret.
Margaret sighed. “You weren't doing anyone any good holed up in that house of yours, decorating and redecorating those rooms. How much money did you spend at the Chintz Boutique?”
Zinnia frowned. Neither her redecorating nor her finances were any of Margaret's business.
“I hope Mrs. Puddikin gave you a discount,” Margaret said. “Between the wallpaper and the—”
She was interrupted by the sound of movement coming from Karl's office. Margaret craned her neck and watched his doorway with her lips parted. Karl emerged from his office looking the way he did every day by midafternoon: tired and rumpled. His posture got worse throughout the day, too. His hunched slouch made him look shorter and rounder. By five o'clock, Karl Kormac resembled a walking basket of laundry.
Karl noticed both women looking at him and stopped in his tracks. “What are you two looking at?”
In unison, Margaret and Zinnia said, “Nothing.” They both looked down and shuffled papers.
“If you two busybodies must know,” Karl said with an air of indignation, “I'm going for a walk in the fresh air to clear my head.”
This caught the attention of Dawna, who'd just finished helping a walk-in customer. Dawna waved her bright orange nails in the air. “Ooh, Karl. If you're going to Lindell's, get me a Diet Coke.”
Gavin interrupted. “Not Diet Coke,” he said to Dawna. “That stuff is poison. I keep telling you.”
“Whatever,” Dawna said to Gavin. “You're the one who ate a whole ice cream cake by himself last night.”
Gavin, who'd been taking a sip of triple-filtered water from his stainless steel bottle, choked and started coughing.
Karl meanwhile, continued to look like an irritated pile of laundry. He shook his head, and as he did, there was the tell-tale sound of gas being expelled. That was another thing Karl did midafternoon. He quickly made a HARUMPH sound to cover it, and started walking again, crop-dusting Margaret's work space as he did.
Zinnia watched carefully for a reaction from Margaret. Whatever spell she'd cast on Karl, it had not prevented his midafternoon fart-bombing. Margaret didn't even fan her hand beneath her nose as she typically did. She just kept on staring at Karl, as though any minute now fireworks were going to shoot from his ears.
With another HARUMPH, Karl passed gas again on his way to Dawna. He snapped up her money for the Diet Coke.
“Dawna, I'll get you whatever you want,” he said sweetly, tucking the money into his wrinkled trousers. “I'm the kind of boss who takes care of his people.” He turned to look back at the two witches. “Can I get you anything for you two eager beavers? A little squeeze bottle of honey for the busy worker bees?”
Margaret's eyes widened. “Do you need any company for the walk? Someone to talk to?”
That wasn't normal midafternoon behavior for Margaret, and Zinnia knew it. Oh, no, you don't, Zinnia thought. Before Karl could answer, Zinnia got to her feet. She wasn't about to let Margaret be alone with Karl and cast whatever spell she'd been cooking up. Why torture the guy? Zinnia didn't believe for a minute that Karl had done anything to Annette. Both Fung and Margaret were barking up the wrong tree.
“A walk sounds great,” Zinnia said, smiling. “Margaret's too busy to go, because she's working on a very important report, but I'll go with you, boss.” Zinnia looked at Margaret and asked, “Is there anything at the store I can pick up for you, since you're so busy?”
Margaret swallowed audibly. “Just keep your eyes open,” she said weakly.
Zinnia raised an eyebrow. “You think I'll see something interesting?” Had Margaret already done something to their boss?
Margaret shrugged one of her round shoulders. “You never know. Keep your eyes and ears open.”
“Always,” Zinnia said through a thin smile.
While Zinnia was gathering her purse and jacket, Karl made two more HARUMPH noises, but they weren't the same ones he used to cover fart-bombing. They were the HARUMPHS of Karl changing his mind about something. When Zinnia met him at the door,
he handed her the Diet Coke money Dawna had given him.
“On second thought, I don't need a walk,” Karl said. “We had a late start this morning, so I should get back to my desk, push through, and deal with all my emails.”
Over at her desk, Margaret made a strangled sound. She gestured that Zinnia should get Karl to go outside. Zinnia sighed inwardly. Whatever it was Margaret had in mind, Zinnia would try to help, regardless of how she felt. It was best for a witch to go along with whatever a fellow witch requested. Trust was tantamount in coven relationships.
What could Zinnia do about Karl? She had to think fast and act faster. Normally, Zinnia wouldn't cast spells at work, but she sensed that charm alone wouldn't get Karl to change his mind again.
She had a few options, but it was best to stick to the basics, the so-called “bread and butter” magic. A bluffing spell would increase her charisma while simultaneously making Karl more gullible. She'd never understood the exact mechanism, but it was a handy bit of magic for getting people to be more cooperative. If she didn't have her no-spells-at-work rule, she would probably use the bluffing spell all the time. Or perhaps not. She did have her ethics, and manipulating people wasn't something a good witch did. This afternoon's situation with Karl was different because she was helping a fellow witch. Plus why was she so worried about Karl's feelings, anyway? He was both a murder suspect and a fart-bomber.
She looked Karl in the eyes, and then, while weaving a web of Witch Tongue around her words, she said, “Come on, boss. I know you want to go for a walk to the store. Put on your jacket and we'll go together.”
The sparks that only Zinnia could see fluttered around the sixty-three-year-old man. The air around them tightened up, becoming more viscous, the way it did when the spell was working.
Karl's eyes bulged. His cheeks turned red and then back to a healthy color. He made a noise that sounded like HARUMPH, except backward: PHMURAH! He yanked his winter jacket from the coat rack. He pulled it on so quickly, Zinnia heard a seam in the lining rip. Karl didn't show any sign of noticing the tear. Moving jerkily, he gripped the door handle with both hands and yanked it open forcefully, making a breeze that blew some fliers off the front counter. With another PHMURAH, he was out the door. The man was already halfway down the hallway before Zinnia caught up.
Outside in the thin January sunlight, Karl walked down the sidewalk with surprising speed. Zinnia was nearly jogging to keep up. Karl's gait was not normal. He had stiff arms and legs, and rhythmically tilted from side to side, as though being pushed by invisible hands. He reminded Zinnia of a toy wind-up robot.
The longer they walked, the worse it got. Karl's arms fought the air as though he was underwater. He puffed loudly from the effort. His feet pointed at odd angles with every step. His butt would sag and then his hips would thrust forward. He was looking less like a wind-up robot and more like a wooden marionette. It was such a spectacle that people walking their dogs were stopping to stare. Even the dogs were staring.
Zinnia had to investigate what was controlling Karl. She reached into her purse and pulled out a pair of polarized sunglasses, along with a tube of what any onlooker might guess was sunscreen. She squirted the goop onto the lenses, smeared it with her fingers, and put on the sunglasses. Karl didn't seem to notice or even turn his head her way. Zinnia peered through the sight-enhancement gel at her boss. She didn't see any of the tell-tale streaks of light that would indicate manual control over Karl by another entity. She sighed with relief as she put away the glasses. The creatures who controlled others were the worst kinds.
Next, she pulled out what would look to onlookers like an ordinary breath mint. She cracked the capsule between her front teeth and blew the light dust in Karl's direction. The magical compound would give her insight without interacting. The powder swirled around Karl's head three times before turning a color that no witch likes to see on magic. It was a color called bruise, a shifting blend of sickly green and grayish purple. The revealing powder confirmed what Zinnia suspected: Margaret must have cast a powerful spell on Karl, perhaps when they'd been alone together in the break room at lunch time.
That Margaret! Why didn't she and Zinnia have better communication with each other? Zinnia wouldn't have cast her bluffing spell if she'd known Karl was already under the influence. Now the two witches had made a terrible mess, the color of bruise.
The thing about spells was they were like prescription medicines. One would do its intended job, but if you added in a second or third, there could be interactions. Unpredictable, undesirable, unappealing interactions. And judging by the unpredictable, undesirable, and unappealing way that Karl was robot-marionette-walking, he'd been the victim of conflicting spells.
Now what? A lesser witch with no impulse control might have cast a third spell, but Zinnia knew better. She would have to be patient and wait for the spells to fade. All she had to do was keep Karl out of trouble for a few hours. How hard could that be?
“What a lovely day,” she said conversationally. “It's such a treat to see blue sky in the middle of January.”
“Yes-it-is,” Karl said robotically. “It-is-a-lovely-day. It-is-a-treat. The-sky-is-blue. It-is-January.”
“You seem tense, boss. Would you like to stop for a moment to relax?” They were passing a small park with a children's playground. “We could sit on the swings for a bit, like kids.”
“I-am-tense. I-would-like-to-relax.” His robotic voice became even more choppy. “Swings. Sit. Kids. Yes. Swing.”
Zinnia led the way up a grassy incline toward the playground. The grass was mostly yellow due to the season, and the play equipment was empty. Karl barreled past Zinnia at top speed—top speed for portly Karl—and launched himself at a swing. He whooped excitedly as he swung higher and higher, pumping his legs and giggling.
Zinnia settled onto a swing next to him. The chains were very cold, so she pulled the sleeves of her jacket down to act as mittens. She could have cast a hand-warming spell, but if some of the spell had sprinkled over to Karl, he very well might have spontaneously combusted.
Karl whooped again, and jumped out of his swing at the apex. He landed heavily, his joints complaining audibly.
Zinnia called after him, “What are you up to, Karl? Do you want to take turns swinging? You can push me for a bit, then I'll push you.”
But Karl was already racing down the grassy hill toward someone. “Detective!” He waved his arms. “Detective, wait up! I have to tell you something!”
Zinnia jumped off her swing and chased after him.
By the time she reached Karl and Detective Fung, Karl was already well into what sounded like a confession.
Karl was saying, “I confess. Ah. That's better. I confess. I did it. I'm a bad man.” He got down on his knees and held his fists up, touching his arms together at the wrists. “Arrest me,” he pleaded. “I confess. Whip me, beat me, take me to jail.”
Fung took a half step back and ran his fingers through his impeccably trimmed black hair. “Whip you and beat you? Mr. Kormac, that's not how arrests work. At least not on my watch.”
Karl bowed his head, keeping his fists raised, and whimpered as he stared at the ground.
Fung looked over the kneeling man at Zinnia. His small, quick eyes flicked left and right, up and down, taking in the whole picture.
Zinnia said, “This isn't what it looks like.”
“It's not?” Fung's eyes kept flitting between Zinnia and her boss, who was still kneeling. “I was driving by when I noticed a couple of extra-large kids on the playground. I thought I'd stop to see how much they'd been drinking, which is when this happened.” He nodded at Karl.
“Arrest me,” Karl pleaded. “I feel so guilty. Put some handcuffs on me. Please.”
“I'm telling you, Detective, this isn't what it looks like.”
“It's not?” Fung scratched his head.
Zinnia made a wand-swirling gesture, and then a second one with her other hand, trying to communicate the double spe
ll interaction to the detective.
“Gotcha,” Fung said with a wink. Then he reached for his handcuffs and snapped them onto Karl's wrists.
Zinnia shook her head. What was it with her and communicating with other people today?
“Okay, Mr. Kormac,” Fung said in a soothing tone. “I've got you in handcuffs, as per your request. But technically I can't arrest you, because I don't know what you've done.”
“I did something bad,” Karl said in a low, growling tone that took both Zinnia and Fung by surprise. They exchanged a wide-eyed look.
Fung tentatively asked, “Did you... do something to Annette Scholem?”
Karl nodded, his head floppy and puppet like. “I wanted to hurt her like she hurt me.”
Fung mouthed something at Zinnia. Told you so.
She did the double wand gesture again. “I really need to speak with you, Detective. In private. It's important.”
He waved her off. “Go back to work. I'll call you if I need anything, Ms. Riddle.”
“But—”
“I said I'll call you if I need anything. I'm the detective here, not you.”
Zinnia backed away. They could sort it out over the phone. They'd probably throw Karl in the drunk tank and let him sleep it off. He was probably safer with them than with Zinnia, who was liable to give poor Karl a heart attack on the playground equipment.
Zinnia said to Fung, “Promise you won't hurt him.”
Fung shot her an offended look. Not a pretend, mock-offended look, but a real one.
Then he helped Karl to his feet and walked him toward the unmarked police car.
“I only did it because I loved her,” Karl said.
“That's what they all say,” Fung replied. “Let's zip those lips until we get to the station, all right?”
Zinnia practically ran back to the office.
She'd barely stepped in the door when unseen forces grabbed her and yanked her into the supply closet.
To defend herself, Zinnia instinctively cast the first spell that came to mind.
Wolves of Wisteria Page 8
