Witch it Real Good

by Dakota Cassidy

  I giggled. “Sometimes I forget you’re a witch. I also forget how nice it is to be a witch in times like these. So, whaddya say, Win? You ready for me to kick your butt in a little whack-a-mole?”

  Win frowned. “Whack a what?”

  “You’ll see, buddy.” I held out my hand and pulled him from his chair with a mischievous grin. “C’mon. Let’s go decompress. I could use a break, and so could you.”

  I knew his reluctance likely stemmed from leaving some stones unturned, but sometimes, stepping back was the best thing you could do in any investigation. Especially as close as we were to this one.

  He pulled me to him and dropped a kiss on my cheek. “And will you share with me what exactly a whack-a-mole is?”

  I smiled up at him, brushing his dark hair from the stitches on his forehead, which didn’t look as angry and red today. “I think I’d rather surprise you. But just wait until you see how good I am at the ring toss. We’re gonna have goldfish for days.”

  “Goldfish?” he asked, his expression bewildered. “What hedonistic lot would whack a goldfish with a ring?”

  Both Hal and I laughed then, and it felt really good after so much tension between Win and I.

  Still, as we piled into the kitchen to see what Atticus was conjuring up for dinner, I couldn’t help but wonder if Win’s memory really had failed him. It was certainly a typical side effect of dying. In fact, he’d been incredibly clear on most of his life before he’d kicked the bucket. I’d always found that remarkable, but I’d often explained it away because, well…he was Win.

  In life and even later in death, he’d remembered the most minute of details as part of his job as a spy. Arkady did, too. But maybe this once, much like the hand with the tattoo, he’d forgotten about this other woman and being photographed in that picture. Maybe the trauma of his death, of betrayal, had jumbled things up.

  Thinking about someone else in the mix made me shiver.

  Call me petty, but I was fine with continuing to blame Miranda for Win’s death—it’s what made the most sense.

  But I felt less and less like she was the one responsible, and I’m going to tell you, in all honesty, I don’t like admitting that.

  Like I said. Just call me petty.

  Win swiped at the corner of my mouth with a napkin and laughed. “How did you manage to eat not one, but two of those cinnamon buns, Dove? Surely, they’re the size of your head?”

  I licked my fingers before putting my gloves back on, because it was freezing, even with heat lamps and freestanding kerosene structures lining the paths of the Ice Carnival.

  “The real question is, how did you pass one up? Somebody had to take one for the team. That somebody was me. Now, where shall we go next, double-o-seven? I’ve lost track of Hal. The last I saw her, she was talking with a group of people from her factory. So, I guess we’re on our own.”

  Everything Hal told us about the Ice Carnival was true. It was simply stunning. There were vendors galore with all manner of carney games to play and delicious treats to eat, but the most exquisite part of this particular gathering was almost everything was made out of ice.

  Upon entry to the park they’d converted for the carnival, you walked through a tunnel made of ice, and at the end of that tunnel you spilled out into a winter wonderland of ice sculptures.

  Bridges you could actually walk on made getting from vendor to vendor fun, archways decorated with Christmas lights and ornaments dotted the aisles. Along the way, there were pine trees sculpted out of ice and Santas and elves and reindeer and snow people. If I thought I might die of sheer joy when I first saw Marshmallow Hollow in all its Christmas glory, this cinched the deal.

  But the best part of this was the cloaking spell. I don’t know what we looked like to everyone else because when you’re the cloaked, the cloak-ee can’t see it, but whatever form Hal had concocted for us, I hope it showed how happy I was at this very moment.

  Win grabbed my hand and pulled me toward one of the ice sculptures made in the contest they’d had earlier while we’d stood in awe, watching the contestant cut a huge block of ice with nothing more than a chainsaw.

  “That was quite something, eh?” he asked as he admired the icy sailboat, complete with a waving Santa on the bow.

  “Oh, I know where this is headed. You absolutely will not have this man flown to Eb Falls so he can recreate this in our backyard. I haven’t forgotten your fascination with Pudge and his kooky steel sculptures,” I joked.

  “Nay, Dove. No ice sculptures in the backyard, I promise. However, what I do want is to apologize for my behavior last night. I was exceptionally rude in front of your newfound sister, and I regret my harsh words.”

  His words gave me thoughtful pause as I looked up at him in his down jacket and knit hat, so rakishly handsome.

  “Do you regret them because you said them in front of our host, or do you regret them because Miranda’s still a touchy subject for you?”

  I held my breath while I watched Win formulate his next words. I’d never had the chance to see him prepare what he was going to say when he was on Plane Limbo. We’d always just talked, and I tried to pay attention to the tone and inflection in his voice.

  Now that I could see his expressions, watch the wheels of his mind turn, I wondered how candid he was being or if he was holding back in order to spare my feelings.

  So I held my breath and waited for his answer, tucking my icy hands into my jacket pockets.

  As the snow fell in light flakes around us, sticking to Win’s eyelashes, he said, “I regret them…and yes. I regret that I reacted so poorly because I do still have feelings for Miranda. Not the feelings you think, though, Stephania. I never loved her the way I love you. The two can’t and never will compare. The feelings I have for her are those of deep betrayal and tinged with my foolishness. Whether she killed me or not, she sold me out. I’ll never forgive that.”

  I let out a puff of air from my lungs, the cloud of condensation filled with relief. “I know she really did you wrong, Win, but you can’t let it cloud your judgment. If you’ve taught me nothing else, you taught me that. I realize there’s a past between the two of you, fraught with many different heightened emotions, but you have to accept she could be at the bottom of what’s going on now instead of hiding under the covers and acting like she never existed.”

  Tucking me to his chest, he rested his chin on top of my head. “You won’t hear me deny that sentiment, Dove. You’re right. I lost my objectivity due to my anger. Quite frankly, the truth is, I don’t want to have to face this after all this time, I suppose. I made an egregious error trusting Miranda. When the dust settled, I felt like an utter fool and a disgrace to all the training I’ve had as a spy. How could I not know Miranda had essentially sold me out? She took sensitive information shared between us as a couple and handed over Von Krause—knowing full well I would go down with him simply because I happened to be with him—without a single care for anything but her greed.”

  “You didn’t know because you lost your objectivity, and she was a really good spy. She played her part,” I murmured, pressing my cheek to his chest, relishing the warmth he gave.

  “Exactly. Had I stayed objective, I might have seen the signs. No, the feelings I have for Miranda have nothing to do with love, whether she’s responsible for my death or not, Stephania. All that aside, I see now, after mistakenly thinking I understood love, I didn’t know what deep, true, abiding love was until I met you. Nothing I shared with Miranda could ever compare.” He gripped my shoulders, setting me away from him in order to look down at me. “So it is with deep regret that I apologize for becoming so grumpy with you last eve. I was wrong to dismiss what you saw and not acknowledge your very valid thoughts. Can you ever forgive me?”

  My heart clenched in my chest, warming by the second. “As long as you promise to always tell me the truth, even if you think it will hurt my feelings. I don’t want to wonder why you’ve taken exception to something I say. I just want
you to say it and we’ll work through it. We’ve had nothing if we haven’t had pretty good communication skills, don’t goof that up by being such a man.”

  His grin was as facetious as his nose was red from the cold. “But I am a man, Stephania.”

  I drove a gentle knuckle into his chest. “Right. And look where that got you. Me ready to punch your lights out because you refused to listen to reason. You might not want who I saw yesterday to be Miranda, but I think you’re wrong, and even if the subject is touchy, you’re going to have to suck it up and listen so you don’t end up dead.

  “Now, let’s move on to a rational conversation about Miranda. One with only objectivity…and objectively speaking, is it possible that Miranda isn’t dead as rumored and that she thinks you didn’t die that night? So now, she’s chasing after you to cover up her dirty deeds? Because, hello, Horatio, she was paid a lot of money to give up Von Krause’s location to some crazy arms dealer, knowing you were with him undercover and would be killed, too.”

  His sigh was ragged. “It certainly is possible Miranda thinks I miraculously lived after being on the receiving end of a bullet hole to the chest. If we rule out the idea she doesn’t know about Balthazar’s existence, that could absolutely be her truth. Unless she’s in on some mess with MI6, who might have known my biological mother’s identity and about Balthazar. I suppose even more likely, she could have found a way into my files at MI6. That brings an entirely different element to this mess.”

  That made me pause and ponder something we’d never discussed. I leaned in to whisper to him as a crowd of children and their parents strolled past us, laughing and talking, bundled in their winter coats.

  “You know…what happened to your body after you died, Win? No one in Eb Falls ever gossiped about anything beyond who they all thought Miranda was. I never heard a thing about you once people realized I was buying the house. The speculation was only about Miranda. And for sure, no one ever mentioned a dead body left in our house on the night you were killed. So where did your physical form go?”

  “MI6 would have discreetly sent someone to clean up and collect my body. That’s how it’s always done. That aside, Davis Monroe would have seen to the disposal of my body, which I’d ordered cremated upon notification. In fact, MI6 would have contacted him for verification the body was truly mine. He would have seen it, or at the very least, photographic evidence of its existence.”

  He said those words with such complete faith, I wondered if I should bring up the fact that he’d never seen his body while in his spirit form. All sorts of crazy theories were running around in my brain. For instance, maybe MI6 had frozen Win somewhere and reanimated him. As in, his soul was gone, but his body was in storage.

  I know, I know. That sounded crazy. But every time I think something’s too crazy, I remember, I currently have a reincarnated boyfriend.

  That’s what made me ask, “Okay, but where did they clean you up to? Where are your ashes? In a mausoleum? Do you have a headstone in a graveyard somewhere?”

  He shrugged his wide shoulders. “My ashes should be buried near my mother. I suppose you could always call Davis and ask to be sure, or check with the cemetery, but those are the instructions I left for him. Where are you going with this, Stephania?”

  Nowhere. That’s where.

  “Forget your physical form for now. What really bugs me about Miranda in all of this is, if she’s here in Marshmallow Hollow because of you, shouldn’t she be all sorts of flipped out? You died that night. There’s no two ways about that. She was there. She could verify that much, right? Does she think you’ve risen from the dead? Does she think MI6 played some kind of joke on her like making it only appear as though you were dead? Can that even be done with the help of some MI6 spy magic? Is that like a thing?”

  His laughter was deep, resonating in my ears. “MI6 can do many things, Dove. Certainly, they could make it appear as though I died by slowing my heart rate with some sort of drug, but it isn’t like the movies make it appear. Besides, I did die that night. That’s the only part of this that is fact. So if Miranda’s chasing after me, you’re correct. She should be very freaked out. But would that stop her from trying to ensure I was dead so I wouldn’t pass the information on to the proper superiors that she committed treason? Unlikely.”

  Phew. Hardcore. Because I can tell you, if I didn’t know the afterlife was a real thing, I’d be hiding under my covers for the rest of my life if I thought some guy I watched die wasn’t really dead.

  Yet, that set of questions I’d just asked sparked a whole new line of questions. “Do you think they had a funeral for you?”

  He balked at the notion. Judging by his expression, they weren’t into the fanfare of a funeral. “MI6 doesn’t have funerals, Stephania. They have minute-long memorials before briefings. We are British, after all, and even then, it’s typically a quick word with fellow spies gathered round a table, then we’re on to business as usual. Spies rarely become friendly enough to mourn your passing. Thus, I’m unclear as to what you’re getting at.”

  Wrinkling my nose, I wondered what I was getting at, too. “I guess I’m just wondering if anyone actually saw your physical form before cremation. So even if someone thinks they saw you, and it was actually Balthazar they saw, she wouldn’t know that because no one even knew about Balthazar. Also, why would she be casually passing around a picture of some guy she says she’s looking for who looks like you, but isn’t you? Who else would she think that was a picture of if not you?” I shook my head. I was so confused by this. “I still say you’re wrong about that being your pic, fake James Bond. I think you forgot it was taken or it was taken on the sly.”

  Win popped his lips. “I won’t refute your claim until I have undeniable proof.”

  “If all that’s true, she’s gunning for you because of the payoff she took for ratting out your location with Von Krause. She’s finishing what she started because like you said, treason. I don’t know if MI6 is into capital punishment, but she’d be first on the list to go if they knew what she did. There’s your motive.”

  Win gazed into my eyes for a moment while the world went on without us, a long moment I couldn’t read before he finally said, “You truly astound me, Dove. That’s all a very brilliant theory, indeed.”

  I flicked my fingers under his nose. “That’s not what you were calling me last night. Last night I was amateur hour, according to you, Mr. Expert Spy.”

  He chuckled, latching onto my hand again and pulling me toward a hot cocoa stand. “Shall I purchase you a pair of non-slip gloves so that you might hold tighter to your grudge? Or are we moving on after I’ve begged forgiveness and humbled myself before you?”

  I giggled and tucked myself closer to him as we strolled. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist. Letting go. Now, let’s go see the life-size Santa’s village in ice while we figure this thing out. I hear they have to truck in thousands of pounds of—”

  Win suddenly stopped walking, which made me stop talking. He reared up short at a food truck cart that advertised the best lobster rolls in all of Maine, but it appeared to be closed for the night.

  I looked around, but the area was quiet. “Win? You okay?”

  He held up a gloved finger and cocked his ear as though he were listening. “Do you hear that, Stephania?”

  I looked around again. Most everyone had moved off to the center of the carnival, where I heard they were going to have a Best Ugly Christmas Sweater contest. The only thing I could hear was the muffled sound of the people across the way in the center of the park.

  So I cocked my ear toward the food truck. “Hear what, specifically?”

  “Someone calling my name.”

  Chills skittered up my spine, and it wasn’t only because it was twelve degrees out. Lately, when a ghost appeared, I got a chill just like the one I was getting now. So I did what I always did when an entity entered my space—I squinted my eyes and looked around some more.

  But I didn’t see anything.
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  Then Win was pulling me behind the food truck, almost dragging me as I tried to keep up, kicking up snow and stumbling behind him. Man, I really needed to up my Stairmaster game.

  And then he stopped again, making me ask as I gasped for breath and my panic began to rise, “Win? What’s happening? What are you hearing?”

  But he didn’t have to answer.

  In the swirl of snow, a shadowy figure lurked, hunched over, its back to us, shrouded in a dark cloud. It shivered and shook, quaking as it moved.

  Now I stopped, too, jerking Win back to my side.

  Win gripped my hand tighter, ceasing all motion. “Stephania, do you see something?”

  But then I began to pull him, trudging across the park after the figure as it moved faster and faster toward some picnic tables and a swing set, both covered in snow. “I do!” I hissed, trying to keep up with the figure. “Is it still talking? What is it saying, Win?”

  “It’s a woman!” he declared. “She’s calling me by name. Not Winterbottom, but Crispin.”

  I halted all movement the moment the shadow of the figure stopped, and I pointed at what I was seeing. “She’s there, by the oak tree. Just wait and let me see if I can get her to turn around.”

  I crept closer, trudging through the snow, deeper here where it hadn’t been shoveled, hoping not to frighten her. “It’s all right,” I whispered into the dark night. “I won’t hurt you. My name is Stevie, and I only want to help you. Can you tell me what you want?”

  It was then she turned around.

  She was little more than an outline, I couldn’t see her clearly—and I’m not sure I wanted to, because what I could see? Holy spook show, she was creepy as she opened her mouth wide (at least I think it was her mouth) and appeared to silently scream something over and over.

  But when I took a step closer, when the snow beneath my feet crunched, she vanished—dissipated in a puff of vapor.

  Returning to Win, I gripped his hand, my feet numb, my heart thrashing in my chest. “Did you hear what she said?”