Gavin continued. “Then you know that Villobek is the one who kidnaps the main character's best friend, and...” He trailed off. “Did the book ever say the name of the main character?”
“No,” Margaret said. “It's a nameless character. I'm not even sure it was a girl. I assumed it was an artistic decision.”
Carrot said, “That was confusing. There were two main characters, but sometimes there was just one. I think Annette needed an editor.”
Dawna's eyes had the glazed, unfocused look of inebriation. She banged her fists on the table again. “Villobek!” She got to her feet, cupped her hands around her mouth, and yelled, “Hey, do any of you bowling people know a guy named Villobek?”
Nobody answered. Everyone in Shady Lanes—about fifty people—stared at the woman yelling drunkenly. The stereo system glitched. The song that had been playing softly turned into noise that grew increasingly louder until someone shut it off with a crackle. In the silence that followed, alarms started going off with the pin-setting equipment.
Dawna made an excited whooping sound. “Something's happening!” she exclaimed. “Villobek! Come out, come out, wherever you are!”
Margaret clamped her hand over Dawna's mouth. “We need to get her out of here,” she said.
The two guys, Jesse and Gavin, each grabbed one of Dawna's arms and steered her toward the exit.
Five minutes later, Jesse waved goodbye to Gavin, who was driving Dawna home in her car. Jesse walked over to where Zinnia stood on the walkway between the parking area and the entrance to Shady Lanes.
“Dawna will be fine after she sleeps it off,” Jesse said. “I didn't realize how hard she was hitting the drinks.”
Zinnia asked, “What do you think about what she said? About the villain in Annette's story?”
Jesse shrugged. “I dunno. The guy seemed like a stock villain to me. I'm not even sure what the guy's motivation was. Why does someone act like a monster?”
“Some people are truly evil,” Zinnia said. “Evil in a way that makes them less than human.”
Jesse fixed his eyes on her. The light from the entrance caught his irises and made them pale and gray, like the sky in the middle of January.
His voice got low and gruff. “Less than human? I'm not sure what you mean by that.”
“Never mind.” She took a deep breath of chilly night air and let it clear her mind. “We ought to be running along home, I suppose.”
He raised an eyebrow. “If you won't come to my place, should I come over to yours? I could stay all night to protect you from wolves and monsters and things that go bump in the night.”
“I can take care of myself. We Riddle women are tougher than we look.”
“Oh?” His raised eyebrow climbed higher. “There are more than one of you?”
She waved a hand. “Just a family saying.” She made a shoo gesture. “Go on home. I'll see you on Saturday, for dinner at your house.”
“You will?” Judging by the wavering in his voice, he'd forgotten about his promise. “Right,” he said, more solidly. “Dinner. I'm cooking you something spectacular.” He grinned. “A spectacular dinner for a spectacular woman.”
Zinnia said nothing. Was he using the word spectacular because he knew that she'd overheard his conversation with Carrot? She couldn't tell by his face. Ordinarily she could get a decent sense of when people were being honest with her, but something about Jesse clouded her senses. Something about the way he made her feel when he stayed over, perhaps.
“See you then,” he said, and he went to his vehicle.
Zinnia watched his taillights disappear into the night.
Margaret finally emerged from the Shady Lanes building. “There you are,” she said. “I was waiting inside to get a word with you in private.”
“And I've been waiting outside to do the same.”
“So it would appear.” Margaret looked around. They were alone. “You felt it, didn't you? When Dawna yelled out that name?” She was careful to not say Villobek.
“I did,” Zinnia said. She'd felt it in her spine and then everywhere else. The chill of evil.
“The locating spell could work, if the name holds that much power.”
“You read my mind.”
“I need to go home first,” Margaret said. “Get the little animals into their animal pajamas so they don't stay up all night. Their father is too lenient.”
“Shall we meet at the regular place?”
“Yes. I'll be there by nine o'clock,” Margaret said.
Zinnia knew that Margaret's nine o'clock would be nine-fifteen, but didn't quibble.
Chapter 18
Dreamland Coffee
9:16 pm
Zinnia stood alone in the dimly lit storage room of Dreamland Coffee, surrounded by metal shelves stacked with bags of coffee beans. This was the witches' “usual place” for casting multi-witch spells. The walls were made of cinder blocks, the ceiling was metal, and the floor was gritty concrete. Nobody cared if things got a little messy back here. The storage room was not exactly fit for a scene in a Hollywood movie, but it was sturdy and secure, and their fellow coven member Maisy Nix trusted them to lock up after themselves. Dreamland had two locations in Wisteria, but the coven always met at this one, near the center of town.
Zinnia lifted a bucket of used coffee grounds out of the way so she could put the table under the light. The coffee grounds were still fresh and damp, heavy with moisture. She groaned from the weight of them in the bucket. After setting the bucket down, she looked at the redness on the palm of her hand. Her palm returned to its normal light pink immediately. She caught her breath, and then lifted and set down the bucket a few more times, just for the exercise. It was good to strain her muscles and use her body. She could heal quickly no matter what, but her muscles were bound to get rusty if she didn't use them.
She centered the table under the storage room's only light. The table wobbled. She tipped it with her hands and used magic to turn the adjustable knobs on its feet. The table still wobbled. She adjusted the other knobs. Now the wobble was even worse. She ripped a piece of cardboard off a box containing plastic utensils, and used the cardboard as a wedge under one foot and then another. Good? No. The table still wobbled.
Margaret Mills arrived to find Zinnia on her hands and knees, removing and inserting different-sized wedges of cardboard under the feet of the table.
“Don't bother trying to level that thing,” Margaret said.
Zinnia hadn't heard the gray-haired witch come in, and bumped her head on the underside of the table in surprise.
“But I've almost got it balanced,” Zinnia said, rubbing her head.
“That table has been cursed one too many times,” Margaret said. “It won't hold a flat plane anymore.”
“That's ridiculous. It's just a table. It ought to be able to do the one thing a table is meant to do.”
“Oh, it functions just fine,” Margaret said. She reached into her purse and pulled out a marble. It was a lovely cat's eye marble, yellow with a red eye. “This is just a little keepsake from the funny vasectomy doctor,” Margaret explained, and she placed the marble on the table.
The red and yellow marble didn't roll.
No matter which way the table wobbled, or where Margaret set down the marble, it didn't roll.
“This table isn't cursed,” Zinnia said. “Clearly, it's charmed.”
Margaret shrugged. “Cursed. Charmed. All depends on how you look at it.” She gave the marble a loving glance and tucked it back into her purse. “Did you bring the map?”
Zinnia frowned. “I thought you were bringing the map. Oh, Margaret, if I'd known you were going to forget the map, I could have asked...”
Margaret was already placing the aforementioned map on the table, smoothing out the fold lines. She had brought the map after all.
“It was a joke to lighten the mood,” Margaret said. “We're about to touch the edges of evil itself. We might be taking our last mortal breaths in h
ere, surrounded by coffee beans and boxes of whatever that is.” She pointed at the damaged cardboard box Zinnia had been ripping apart for table wedges.
“Plastic utensils and stir sticks.”
Margaret wrinkled her nose. “Stir sticks are so wasteful. I like it better when a place has a jar for clean spoons and a jar for dirty spoons. It's like a test for people, to make sure they're conscious, and not sleepwalking through life, using other people's dirty spoons to stir their coffee.”
Zinnia blinked at her friend. “I suppose.”
“Anyway, we could be taking our last mortal breaths right here in this concrete bunker, so I figured it might be funny to pretend I didn't bring the map.”
“It was sort of funny,” Zinnia said.
“You didn't laugh.”
“Ha ha.”
“I can be a funny person, Zinnia. People used to think I was funny, before I had kids. Did you know I did improv in college?”
Zinnia said nothing. She did know about the improv. Margaret told her about it at least once a month.
They stared at each other a moment, and then both looked down at the map. They were only quibbling because neither one of them wanted to do the spell. Touching the edges of evil seemed even less appealing than going bowling when you weren't in the mood. But the worst thing that could happen at bowling was a pulled groin muscle. If the witches screwed up and let a demon slip through, well, a pulled groin muscle would look pretty delightful by comparison.
Margaret looked down and finished smoothing the fold lines in the large sheet of paper. It was a full color map of the town of Wisteria, with select amenities and attractions highlighted. Businesses paid to have their locations featured, which covered the costs of production, since the maps were available for free at the Wisteria Tourist Info Center. This particular map was two years old. Some of the businesses had changed in the interim, but the old map would still work for their purposes.
They settled in and centered themselves before beginning their two-witch locating spell. It would, in theory anyway, work on the resonance of a name to find its evil power source. When they couldn't find any more reason to stall, they leaned across the table, joined hands, and prepared to chant.
They chanted.
And they chanted some more.
After several minutes of non-stop chanting while weaving Witch Tongue through their words, they took a break to relax their tongues. They continued holding hands so they could pick up where they left off.
Margaret grumbled, “We could have used a third set of hands to prevent flowback.”
“Sure, and we ought to be wearing pointed hats to access the higher source, but we're not.”
“Just saying it might have been nice.” Margaret squirmed in her seat, her sweaty palms slipping around in Zinnia's hands. Their chairs, like the table, were rejects from the front of the coffee shop, and equally wobbly.
Zinnia knew exactly who Margaret wanted to be there. Maisy Nix, the owner of the coffee shop. Her niece, Fatima, was not nearly as useful.
Zinnia said, “She did offer to cancel her plans and help us, but you're the one who insisted we could handle it ourselves.”
“Yes, well, is it my fault I can be a stubborn cow sometimes?”
“I'll assume that's a rhetorical question and not answer.”
“Zinnia Riddle, you're just as stubborn as—” She cut herself off, but it was too late. She'd uttered Zinnia's name. Her full name.
Zinnia kicked Margaret's shin under the table. “Thanks a lot, Margaret Mills.”
Margaret kicked her back.
The thing about using a locating spell to find evil through the resonance of its name was that you were not supposed to mention any other names, especially your own. The only thing worse than flowback on a spell like that was payback. As soon as they located the evil, it would see its way straight back to them.
“Cancel,” Margaret said, trying to pull her sweaty hands from Zinnia's. “There's too much risk. We should—”
But it was too late to cancel. The magic spell suddenly took effect, and their hands locked together.
The map on the table glowed. Power fluttered through the paper fibers like ripples on a pond. The corner of the map took a tentative crinkle, and then the whole map trembled. It folded and bunched, transforming from two dimensions to three. Paper buildings rose up like architectural models from the flat surface.
Zinnia felt the magic throughout her whole body, and it was not an unpleasant feeling at all. She'd all but forgotten the wonders of casting a dangerous spell. Her heart raced, but not with fear. Anticipation. Oh, how she'd missed practicing powerful magic. And there was darkness inside her as well. It was wrong and dark, that dear, sweet Annette's death had led Zinnia to this place on this night, to this feeling of being so alive.
Across the table, Margaret's face glowed red and green, lit by the soft glow of streetlamps appearing on the map, as well as the streaks of car taillights.
Margaret squeezed Zinnia's hands with a painful grip. The map was fully realized. It was time. If they didn't ask now, the spell would ask for them, and they might not like what it queried.
With hands gripped tightly, the women asked in unison, “Show us the one named Villobek.”
The map's miniature streetlights flickered, but nothing more happened.
Zinnia asked on her own, “Show us the one whose name contains the letters V-I-L-L-O-B-E-K.”
The map crinkled and pulled in on itself, becoming a fraction smaller than when they had begun.
“Or someone connected to Villobek,” Margaret said. “Do you have anything at all for Villobek? Or some form of that name? Some related—”
A bolt of lightning shot down from the space above their heads. The map seemed to catch fire.
“Wow,” Margaret said. “That's a very convincing illusion. I swear I can smell paper burning.”
Zinnia yanked her hands free, grabbed the bucket of wet coffee grounds from the floor, and dumped it on the map.
Margaret jumped back and brushed the coffee grounds from her clothes. “What did you do that for?”
“The map was burning,” Zinnia said. “That wasn't an illusion.”
“You could have let me cast a water spell,” Margaret said.
“The coffee grounds were sitting right there.”
Margaret started pawing through the brown, muddy grounds. “The lightning strike was too bright. I didn't see where it landed.”
Zinnia put her hand on Margaret's wrist. “I did,” she said softly.
They looked into each other's eyes. Margaret's gray irises had disappeared. The magic had turned her eyes almost pure black. Zinnia was sure her eyes looked equally odd. The only sound was their breathing. Rapid, excited breaths. The air smelled of ozone and smoke and damp coffee grounds.
Margaret licked her lips. Her black eyes flicked left and right wildly. Her hair had more curl. She was having as much fun as Zinnia.
Her voice came out raspy, desperate. “Where?”
“Towhee Marsh,” Zinnia said.
The entity known as Villobek was, at that very minute, in Towhee Marsh.
Chapter 19
Outskirts of Wisteria
10:10 pm
Margaret Mills drove, leaning forward against her seat belt, her knuckles white from her tight grip on the steering wheel. Margaret's vehicle was a typical family van, littered with the usual family debris, and it did smell exactly as bad as Jesse had implied. Like sour milk and beef jerky.
They drove toward Towhee Marsh, a man-made freshwater wetland near the edge of town. The marsh served as both a wildlife preserve and a park, with a mile-long looping path for walkers. No dogs or bicycles were permitted. The marsh was inhabited by hundreds of species of birds, which made it a popular destination for bird watchers and wildlife photographers. Zinnia's favorite birds were the great blue herons, magnificent creatures with long necks. They patiently stalked the reeds at the water's edge for minnows. Of course she would
n't see any herons tonight. Maybe a few bats. Or whatever had ripped open the front of Annette Scholem.
Zinnia swallowed the lump of fear in her throat. She rubbed her hands together, practicing the delicate hand movements that would help her control her blue lightning powers, should she need them.
Margaret, who hadn't spoken for several minutes, said, “I sure hope Tansy Wick isn't involved in any of this business.” Zinnia guessed Margaret had brought up Tansy Wick because her property wasn't far from the marsh.
Zinnia snorted at the idea of Tansy being involved.
“I'm not being paranoid,” Margaret said. “You have to admit a lot of this town's problems trace back to Tansy and her business.”
“Margaret, are you suggesting that one of Tansy's larger left-handed snails has escaped the garden and gone on a killing spree?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Some of those snails can grow quite big.” Zinnia smiled in the dark. Teasing Margaret Mills was nearly as fun as doing dangerous magic.
Margaret made an indignant rhino noise. “The thing is, and I mean no disrespect to our mutual friend, she does hang around some dangerous people.”
“That's her business,” Zinnia said crisply. She didn't regard Tansy as a friend, exactly. How could one be friends with a hermit who despised people? But she did feel a certain kinship with the older woman. Tansy Wick wasn't wrong to live away from everyone, content with the companionship of her left-handed snails, her magical plants, and her dogs, Jasper and Coco.
“She should be more...” Margaret trailed off.
Zinnia finished the sentence. “More like us? Sitting in the dark underbelly of City Hall, tapping away on our keyboards, earning our meager salary, like good little secret witches?”
“Well, no, but she shouldn't consort with the sort of people she does.”
“Oh, but Margaret, those are exactly the sort of people who have the best cuttings and seeds. Nice, well-behaved people don't spend years of their lives breeding stronger strains of black scarabyce.”
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