What's a Witch to Do?: A Midnight Magic Mystery

by Jennifer Harlow

  “How? Anything.”

  “I need you to discreetly ask around the coven about the others. Especially Cheyenne, Collins, and Erica.”

  “Collins? She wouldn’t do this,” she says. “You’re like a sister to her. She loves you.”

  “She might have information about Cheyenne.”

  “Well, if it’s anyone, it’s that cow,” Debbie says.

  “We need proof.” And I need to stay alive long enough to find it. There’s a knock on the bedroom door. “Come in.” Adam steps in, now dressed in black jeans and camouflage T-shirt. Without the bruises and ectoplasm, his impish face is just a few degrees shy of handsome. “You’re looking better. How you feeling?”

  He shuts the door. “Good. Tired.”

  “Lot of that going around,” I say. “Debbie, give us a minute?”

  Debbie stands and walks past Adam, giving him the evil eye. “I’ll order the pizza.”

  “She’s tough,” Adam says after the door shuts.

  “She’s scared. Getting married, now this. Finding you naked didn’t help matters.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that,” he says, blushing a little.

  I rise from the bed. “Just wear pajamas from now on. Impressionable young girls around and all.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Does that mean I’m staying?”

  “So it seems. No one else is rushing to my rescue anytime soon.”

  He nods sadly. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m used to it,” I say with a shrug. He just looks at me with pity. I don’t do pity. “What do we do now? I have my spies out in full force collecting intel. I’ve identified potential suspects. I’ve established your alibi. I’ve whipped up a few protection charms at work, and dinner’s on the way. What next?”

  He seems suitably impressed, even raising an eyebrow. “I guess we eat pizza.”

  “Best damn idea I’ve heard all day.”

  Sunday Supper

  The girls, Debbie, Greg, Adam, and I all sit around the dining room table scarfing down pizza and apple juice. The dinner of champions. I figure if I’m dying soon, screw Weight Watchers, I’m going to enjoy fat, sweets, and empty calories as much as I can. Though my eating habits are positively dainty compared to Adam’s. He shovels an entire pepperoni and sausage pizza into his mouth in record time, having warned Debbie to order extra. Cora giggles and tries to do the same, barely chewing, but I yank the piece away with a scowl.

  “Hungry there, uh, Adam?” Greg asks as he exchanges a glance with Debbie.

  “Sorry,” Adam says with his mouth full. “I haven’t eaten all day.”

  “You shouldn’t talk with your mouth full,” Sophie sneers. “It’s rude.”

  Adam takes a few seconds to chew and swallow. “You’re right. I apologize.”

  Sophie’s sneer doesn’t waver as she sips her juice. We eat in silence for a few seconds. Cora smiles brightly at Adam, who smiles back. Greg and Debbie exchange another look, neither too happy with our latest addition. My house, I have to play host before the atmosphere goes from frosty to arctic. “So girls, it looks as if we’re having a guest stay with us for a few days.”

  “Him?” Sophie asks.

  “Yes, and if anyone asks, he’s our cousin A.J. from Boston here for the wedding.”

  “Why do we have to lie?” Sophie asks.

  “You’ll understand when you’re older,” Debbie says. “Your aunt has a reputation to maintain. We don’t want the entire town thinking she’s Paris Hilton, do we?”

  “But why does he have to stay here?” Sophie asks.

  “Because he’s our friend,” I say, “and since he is a guest in this house, we will treat him accordingly, okay? So drop the attitude.”

  “But—”

  “Not another word. You are being rude, and you know better.”

  Sophie tosses her half eaten slice down and stands. “This sucks!” she says before running off. Um … okay. Debbie, Greg, and I are all speechless. This is not normal behavior for her. She does silent seething, not temper tantrums. Something is really wrong. I excuse myself from the table and follow her as the unfazed Cora chatters on about all that she wants to do with Adam. Tea parties and movies are on tonight’s agenda. He’ll be worn out by tomorrow.

  The girls’ bedroom door is shut, so I knock. When there’s no answer, I let myself in. Sophie lies face down on her bed and doesn’t look up when I step in. “Soph?”

  “What?”

  “You need to go downstairs and apologize.”

  She flips over, indignant rage written all over her face. “No! I hate him!”

  “What is your problem?” I ask, shutting the door.

  “He’s bad! You told us never to lie, and now he’s making us all lie! Someone hurt him, and now they’re going to hurt us!”

  Wow. I knew she was precocious, but now I think she might be a freaking genius. That or she can see there’s trouble. It wouldn’t surprise me if my sister was into some pretty bad stuff and the girls got dragged into it. And here I am doing it all over again. I join her on the bed. “Nobody is going to hurt us, okay?”

  “I heard Aunt Debbie yelling. Someone wants to … ” She can’t finish. Her lower lip quivers, but she bites it to stop it. She refuses to cry. Even in the hospital after the bee sting when she almost died, she didn’t cry once. Damn my sister.

  “Hey, hey,” I say, taking her hands. “No one is going to hurt me or you or your sister, okay? I’m gonna make sure of it. I promise.”

  “You can’t know that,” Sophie whispers.

  “Would you feel better if you spent the week with Aunt Debbie or Miss Tamara?”

  Sophie sits up, eyes like telescopes. “No!” she shouts, suddenly terrified. “Oh please don’t send us away! Please! Don’t send us away!” She grabs a hold of me for dear life. “I can protect you! I can, I swear it! Just don’t make us go away! Please!”

  I’m momentarily shocked by her vehemence. What the hell did Ivy do to this poor girl? I wrap my arms around her tiny body, enveloping her to keep out the bad. “Okay, it’s okay, baby. You don’t have to go anywhere. You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying right here with me, I promise.”

  “I can protect you, I can,” she says quietly, squeezing me even tighter.

  “Hey,” I say, extracting her. I meet her blue eyes. “You listen to me. It is not your job to protect me, it’s my job to protect you. Got that? Now, I made a promise, okay? Nothing is going to happen to me or any of us, so don’t you spend a minute worrying about it. You just keep doing what you always do: go to school, keep a close eye on your sister, and be ten years old. Can you do that for me?”

  She shakes her head. “Okay.”

  I smooth her hair then kiss it. “Thank you. And be nice to Adam, please. He’s here to help us.”

  “Why?”

  Good question. “Because he’s a good guy,” I say for lack of a better answer.

  “Cora’s in love with him.”

  “Cora’s also in love with the mailman. She’ll get over it.” I kiss my niece’s head again and stand. “Come on. You have an apology to make.”

  I hold out my hand and she takes it, lacing her fingers with mine. And we re-join the family for Sunday Supper.

  I just pray it’s not our last.

  Hem Sophie’s damn skirt

  The rest of the night runs smoothly. After dinner Debbie and Greg reluctantly leave, Adam returns upstairs to his room to rest, and the girls get ready for bed. In between all of this, I plant the charm bags I whipped up at work and some crystals around the perimeter of the house. Magical security system, better than ADT. If someone breeches it, I’ll get a psychic heads up. I also line black salt at every entrance to ward against people who want to do me immediate harm. Keeps bad energy away. A person who wants to kill me certainly fits.

  I read to the girls and sing them two songs before kissing them goodnight. I’d join them in slumberland but still have a few things left on my To Do list. I’m happy to
find “feed Captain,” “make lunches,” and “dishes” all done for me. Adam even remembered the juice boxes. All that remains (that can be done tonight) is to hem Sophie’s skirt. I grab a beer, my rarely used sewing kit, and plop down on the sofa in front of the television. For the first time in days, I have a few minutes to myself to relax. I don’t even mind the Captain meowing from inside the fireplace. He’s crawled up the flue, the silly thing. I’ll go through my grimoire tomorrow and see if I can locate a spell to make him more comfortable around Adam.

  About halfway through Game of Thrones and with two bleeding fingers, I hear footsteps on the stairs. A second later Adam strolls in. We smile at each other as he slips his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his feet in the doorway. I guess I’m not alone in not knowing how to act around a virtual stranger in my space. “Mind if I get a beer?” he asks.

  “Mi casa es su casa,” I say.

  He disappears then reappears with a beer, sitting on the sea green armchair next to me. “Oh, I like this show.”

  “Yeah, me—fucking hell!” I say as I prick my finger with the damn needle again. I wince and stick the bleeding digit into my mouth. “Crap.”

  “Here, let me … ” Adam says, reaching for the skirt.

  “What?”

  He puts his beer on the coffee table. “I can do it. Give it here.”

  Reluctantly, I hand him the skirt and needle. “You can sew?”

  He raises an eyebrow. “You can’t?”

  I give him the stink eye. Smiling, he sits back and starts hemming. “Wow. I am impressed,” I say.

  “Well, we werewolves rip a lot of clothes. If I didn’t know how to do this, I’d be bankrupt. Also useful if you need a quick field suture.”

  “Need a lot of those? Field sutures?”

  “Enough,” he says with a half smile.

  He has a nice smile. It melts years off his already youthful face. I wonder how old he is. Werewolves age slower than humans, so he could be anywhere from twenty-five to sixty-five. He hasn’t changed much through the years, either. Never even changed his haircut from the short-on-the-sides-and-floppy-on-the-top style. I fold my arms across my chest. “You know, we’ve known each other for eighteen years, and I just realized the only thing I really know about you is that you can change a tire.”

  “You remember that?” he asks with genuine surprise.

  “Of course. It was the nicest thing anyone’s done for me in years.”

  “Really? That’s sad.”

  “It is what it is. So how old are you?”

  “I’ll be forty-three next week,” he says, still sewing.

  “Happy early birthday,” I say.

  “Thanks.”

  “Do you have a job? A career besides being Jason’s Beta?”

  “Me and some of the other wolves have a general contracting business we run. I didn’t do so hot in school, didn’t even graduate high school with the dyslexia, but I found something to suit me.” He holds up the skirt. “I’m very useful with my hands.”

  “Obviously,” I say with a smirk. “The girls must love you.”

  His smile wavers a little. “I do alright.”

  “Ever been married?”

  “Haven’t even come close.”

  “Hard to believe. Good-looking guy like you, handy around the house.” Great butt doesn’t hurt either.

  “Next subject, please,” he says.

  “What, some girl break your heart?” I ask with a fake pout.

  He looks me square in the eyes. “Next. Subject.”

  Touchy. “Okay, favorite food?”

  “Veal Parmesan. You?”

  “Blackberry pie. Favorite color?”

  “Green.”

  “Purple. Favorite TV show?”

  “Anything football. Especially when the Ravens play. A bomb could go off, and I wouldn’t move from the TV. Yours?”

  “We’re watching it. Were you born a werewolf?”

  “Yep. My grandfather was Alpha before Frank Dahl. I took over Beta duty under Jason when Frank was murdered.”

  “I remember that. I’m so sorry.” A few years ago some nasty werewolves tried to take over the Eastern Pack and killed a lot of wolves, including the Alpha Frank Dahl. Jason stopped them and became Alpha. “What about siblings?”

  “I had a brother, but … he was killed then too,” he says with a hint of regret. “Mother as well, if that’s your next question. Dad died of cancer years before that. He was human.”

  Great, I feel like crap now. He’s here to help me and I’m dredging up the most painful time of his life. “Sorry. My parents are dead too, and one sister might as well be. Or if she shows her face around here again, she soon will be.” He smiles at my last statement. “And I’m sorry about earlier with Sophie. She’s—”

  “Scared,” he finishes. “I didn’t take it personally. Besides, I’m used to surly people. Us werewolves are notorious for it. Jason especially, but you know that already.”

  “Yeah, he is not my favorite person at the moment. He was really worried about you though.”

  “I know,” he says with uneasiness.

  “Do you like working for him?”

  “He’s been my friend for over thirty years. I’d die for him in an instant. The pack is my life.”

  I know how that is. “Then why—” My psychic security system goes off inside my head like a buzzing bee. Three times. Three people cross it. “Someone’s outside.”

  The knock on the front door jolts us both. Adam and I exchange a worried glance before standing up. As he quietly pads to the door, I peek out the front window. There’s a familiar SUV with “Top Dog Construction” written on the side. It takes me a second to place it. “Of course,” I mutter.

  “Who is it?” Adam mouths.

  “Coming, Jason,” I call as I walk toward the door.

  All the color drains out of Adam’s face. I gesture for him to go into the kitchen, and he does. I move to the front door. You can do this. Taking a deep breath, I open it. Jason Dahl and two other imposing werewolves stand on my porch with matching scowls. The Alpha glares down at me with stone cold ice blue eyes like a husky. He’d be a decent-looking guy if he ever smiled. Six foot four, overly muscular, with sandy blonde hair, hawk-like nose, and sharp cheekbones. It isn’t just his physicality that puts a person on edge. The air around him grows a little stiller when he’s there. The only people I’ve seen him smile at are his wife and kids, otherwise he’s expressionless or sporting this scowl. Quite honestly he scares the shit out of me. And now he’s pissed off. At me. Gulp.

  “Jason. This is unexpected,” I say with a smile.

  “I need to speak with Adam. Right now.”

  “Adam? He’s not—”

  “Stop it,” Jason says, voice booming. “The vampire didn’t cover your lie. I know he’s here. I can smell him.”

  I cross my arms. “I don’t appreciate your—”

  “It’s okay, Mona,” Adam says behind me. I spin around as he walks toward us.

  “Aunt Mona?” Sophie asks she walks onto the landing above.

  “It’s okay, Soph. Go back to bed.” Her eyes narrow at the wolves before obeying.

  The men exchange a guilty look. “Let’s not do this here, okay?” Adam says.

  “Agreed,” Jason says.

  Adam steps onto the porch. “Give me a minute?” Adam asks Jason.

  The surly werewolf eyes me, then says, “Fine. We’ll wait in the car.” He nods at me. “Mona.”

  I nod back. “Your Alphaness.” Jason’s glare grows stronger, but he walks toward the SUV with his flunkies. “So much for the cooperation part of the co-op,” I say to Adam.

  “He’s just angry right now. I’ll talk to him.”

  “What about you? Will you be okay? He won’t hurt you, will he?”

  “I’ll be fine,” Adam says. “Sorry about this whole mess.”

  “Stop apologizing for everything. You tried to help when everyone else wouldn’t. I
t means more to me than I can say. Thank you.”

  Now, I’m not the touchy feely type, but I follow my instinct and move toward him, putting my arms around him. He did endure physical torture, not to mention the mental torture of Sunday Supper, for me; I think he deserves a hug for that. He stiffens at first, but after a second he embraces me back. I kiss his cheek and pull away, but he doesn’t let me go for a few moments. “Um, Adam?”

  My voice breaks whatever spell he’s under. “Sorry,” he mutters, stepping away. “I better go. They’re waiting. Um, bye.” The man practically sprints off the porch toward his friends. Jason, who has been watching the whole exchange through the car window, gazes at me, hard face almost sad. Didn’t know he was capable of that emotion. Weird. Adam jumps into the car, and it speeds off before the door’s even closed.

  And that’s it. I’m completely on my own now. I should be used to it, years of practice and all, but … Tears spring into my eyes, and I push them away. Crying never does a lick of good. You are solid steel, High Priestess. Indestructible. “It’s okay,” I whisper to myself. “It’ll all be okay.”

  Yeah, not even I believe it anymore. I shut my front door.

  Clean the Captain

  I lull the girls back to sleep after evading their million questions with platitudes that sound hollow even to me. There’s no real way to make, “We’re screwed,” sound good. When they’re down, I want nothing more than to join them. Just one last thing to do, and now that Adam is gone, I can do it. It takes some coaxing, and a tin of tuna, but the Captain crawls out of the fireplace. He puts up little protest, mostly due to the tuna, as I carry him into the kitchen and use a wet towel to wipe the soot off him. I kiss the top of his head. “You won’t abandon me, will you, Captain Wentworth?” He purrs, which I take to mean no. I almost start weeping but once again stop myself.

  A few deep breaths, a few seconds of digging my nails into my palms do the trick. I don’t cry. I am tough, I am capable, I am …

  scared shitless. At least with a werewolf on the team, I had a fighting chance. Someone to guard the girls when I couldn’t be around. Someone who faced killers before and came out alive. Damn Jason. Damn them all. I’d be there for them if they needed it. Hell, I have. Recently even. And Adam … damn him for giving me false hope. Okay, that one’s not on him. He had to go back, I know that and I don’t fault him for it. A relative stranger or his family, no choice there. No, I raised my own hopes, and I know better. After thirty-five years, I should know at the end of the day I can’t really rely on anyone but myself. I’m just an idiot who—