I looked down at the squat little toxin generator on the workbench. What was this dastardly object?
I’d known that certain artificial scents, and even natural ones, could interfere with spells, but I’d never had an air freshener affect me like this, let alone cancel my bluffing spell.
Reyna was looking at me expectantly. “Pretty scent, isn’t it?”
I wiped a tear from my watering eyes. “And so strong.”
“This is a new model that’s not on the market yet,” she said. “I know a scientist at DuSanto Chemical who is developing new scents and colors. All natural. For people who don’t want chemicals.”
“All natural,” I repeated. “Nature makes plenty of chemicals. Do you mean dyes or colorings that come from vegetable or animal sources?”
She gave me a sidelong, suspicious look. “Yeah, like that.” She glanced over at the big open garage door, then the door that led to the home’s interior. “Well, I should be getting ready for my open house.”
“Isn’t it a bit soon?” I asked.
“Seven o’clock is a popular time for showings, and Tuesday nights are when many of us hold agents-only opens.”
“That’s not what I meant by soon,” I said carefully. My bluffing spell wasn’t helping, but I hadn’t given up on dragging information out of the woman. Whatever I did find out, I could pass along to Persephone Rose so she could finish the job.
Reyna tapped her toe impatiently. “What do you mean, Zara?”
“It’s just that... Isn’t it a bit soon for the house to be selling? Mr. Blackstone didn’t pass away that long ago. I believe it was exactly two weeks ago that he died at the library.”
“So?”
“Doesn’t it usually take longer for all the paperwork with the estate to go through?”
“Not always,” she said.
I let my silence do the questioning.
To my surprise, it worked almost as well as my bluffing spell. Her whole body language changed, as though all the tense muscles were giving up.
“You’re a smart woman,” she said. “There is another factor I haven’t disclosed, but I would have made it perfectly clear if your friend had made an offer.”
“You were Harry’s landlady?”
She nodded. “I’m the owner of this house, yes. I bought it from Harry as an investment, because he needed liquid assets, and we had an agreement that he could remain living here for as long as he wished.”
“You mean as long as he lived,” I said.
Her expression was stony. “Sure.”
“Harry was quite sick for a while. He was sick when he sold you the house, wasn’t he?”
“That’s not relevant.” She looked away from me, as though suddenly fascinated by the tools on the wall. “I was planning to keep the house as a long-term investment. This neighborhood is on an upward trajectory.” The tendons on her neck stood out. “I was as happy as anyone when Harry had his surprising recovery.”
“Sure you were,” I said. “Is that why you kept giving him red peppers that you knew were poisonous?”
She jerked her head to face me, gasped, and took a step back. “I beg your pardon?”
“You got the peppers, or the seeds, from your contact at DuSanto Chemical, didn’t you?”
She blinked repeatedly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Why’s your skin so yellow?”
“I-I-I told you. I’m doing a juice cleanse.”
“You’re dying,” I said.
She pressed her hands to her lips. Hoarsely, she said, “I am not.”
“You need treatment,” I said. “You haven’t touched a pepper in two weeks, but it’s getting worse, isn’t it?”
Her eyes glistened. What I’d guessed was true.
She needed a Peptyx Tapewyrm, or something even more extreme.
“You might as well confess,” I said. “Sooner than later. Maybe they can treat you for the poison exposure. If you ’fess up, it could save your life.”
“You’re crazy,” she said weakly.
“The police are going to arrest you, Reyna, because they have evidence. Tons of evidence.” Who needed magic to bluff like a pro?
“You’re crazy,” she repeated, a bit of fight returning to her voice with a growl. “You’ve been living in that horrible house of yours, and it’s rotting your brain. Everyone knows that whoever lives in the Red Witch House goes mad.”
“You think I’m mad? You’re the one poisoning people.”
“You have no proof,” she growled. “If you dare say one word about me, I’ll drag you through the mud.”
I set my phone on the workbench, put my hands on my hips, and sighed as I shook my head. Rhetorically, I asked, “What is up with the real estate agents in this town? Are all of you evil, or just the ones I have to deal with?”
She stepped toward the interior door, eying me warily. “I, uh, have to show the house now,” she said. “For the record, I don’t know anything about whatever you’re talking about. However, if I did happen to give Harry anything, it was...” She trailed off.
A voice at the entrance finished her thought. “To kill him,” said the newcomer to the conversation. There was a shadow at our feet, connected to the figure standing in the garage door opening. It was Ambrosia Abernathy.
Reyna gasped, “What?”
“That’s Harry’s next-door neighbor and friend,” I said. “And what she said is that you only gave Harry the peppers in order to kill him.”
“That’s preposterous,” Reyna said.
“She doesn’t think so,” I said. “Maybe the three of us should go down to the police station to...” I trailed off as my jaw dropped open.
Ambrosia Abernathy had not learned her lesson about using her witch magic willy-nilly.
The young witch had two hands full of her purple plasma, ready to fire. The lightning balls were bright enough that even a non-magical person, such as the real estate agent trembling in front of me, could see them.
Ambrosia stepped forward and jerked her head. The motor fired up overhead, and the garage door started rolling down, closing behind her. As the natural light disappeared, the garage interior was lit mainly by the eerie purple glow of the young witch’s weapons.
Ambrosia growled, “Harry was my friend, and you killed him. I know everything.”
There was a PFFFT, and the air freshener released more fake lilac into the air next to me.
Reyna held both of her hands up. “Easy now, little girl. I don’t know what you think is going on here, but you’d better not throw any of that stuff at me. What is that, anyway?”
“You’ll see,” Ambrosia said, and she lobbed a purple comet at the Realtor.
I moved to defend Reyna from the shot, but, to my absolute horror, my magic wasn’t working.
Witchbane?
The air freshener was doing more than blocking my bluffing spell. It must have contained the substance that was Kryptonite to witches. It was airborne, and while it had grounded my powers, it apparently hadn’t affected Ambrosia, who stood fifteen feet away. Nor did it affect the plasma ball bearing down on us.
The shot struck Reyna squarely in the chest. She dropped to her knees, groaning.
“That’s enough,” I said to Ambrosia through clenched teeth. “Whatever you’re doing with that, um, stun gun, you need to stop it at once.”
Ambrosia lifted her chin defiantly. “Who cares what we do right now? The people at the Department are going to take her away and make her disappear. They protect their own, and Harry was one of them. He told me everything.”
“I care what you do right now,” I said. “Cool your jets.”
“No.” Ambrosia glowered at the real estate agent as she brought her hands together and prepared a single, large ball of plasma, holding it like a bowling ball. “I want to hear her admit she killed him. Harry needs to know she’s been caught, so he can move on.”
Reyna wasn’t even looking at the young witch. She was hunc
hed over, convulsing. She let out a horrible, choking sound, and slumped to the concrete floor, limp and lifeless.
“Oh, no,” Ambrosia said. She dropped the bowling-ball sized plasma. It sputtered out on the concrete floor.
The garage was dim again, the purple light dissipated.
I waved a hand to flick on the garage lights. Nothing happened. How quickly I’d forgotten about my grounding. My magic was still on the fritz thanks to the air freshener. I manually groped the wall in the dark until I found the light switch and turned it on.
The garage filled with artificial light.
Ambrosia was hunched over Reyna’s still body, her big, brown eyes full of crocodile tears and regret.
“I didn’t mean it,” Ambrosia said. “I didn’t mean to kill her. You’ve got to tell the others it was an accident.”
“Help me drag the body outside,” I said.
Ambrosia’s eyes bulged. She whispered, “We’re going to bury her?”
The look on the novice witch’s face almost made me laugh.
“Yes. I’m going to help you bury your first victim,” I said. “That’s what coven friends are for.”
Her jaw moved but no sound came out.
“Of course not,” I said. “See that air freshener dispenser on the workbench? It’s got witchbane in it. My powers aren’t working at the moment, but if we get ourselves outside into fresh air, we might be able to join our healing forces and save Reyna.”
“We can’t bring back the dead.” Ambrosia was crying now. “Nothing brings back the dead.”
That wasn’t entirely true, but I didn’t correct the girl.
“Pull yourself together,” I barked. “This woman isn’t dead yet. As long as she’s alive, you haven’t killed anyone.”
“I didn’t mean to! It was only a stun blast!”
“I know. But her system was already compromised by—” I cut myself off and grabbed the real estate agent under the armpits. “Just grab the feet and help me haul her outside.”
Ambrosia and I hauled the unconscious woman out the side door. We exited the garage right as lightning flashed across the sky. Thunder rolled over almost instantly. The storm was upon us.
Chapter 36
Later That Night
(8:05 pm)
Dreamland Coffee, Downtown Location
Stock Room
“You’re late,” Maisy Nix said as I entered through the heavy steel delivery door.
The owner of the establishment preferred that we use the back door for coven meetings when the coffee shop was still open. I’d thought about sneaking in disguised as a bush, but I was all out of magic. Between the witchbane in the air freshener and all the healing efforts required to save someone’s life, I didn’t have much left in me. I’d had to ask Ambrosia to open the door for us.
“She’s only late by five minutes,” Fatima Nix said, coming to my rescue.
I smiled at the short, dark-haired girl with the oversized white glasses. One could always count on soft-hearted Fatima for some defense against her aunt, Maisy.
“You had us worried,” Zinnia said.
“I wasn’t worried,” Margaret Mills said. “I would have sensed it if you were in danger.”
Zinnia snorted.
Maisy leaned to the side to look at the person I’d brought with me, the soaking wet novice witch Ambrosia Abernathy.
We were both soaking wet. I’d used all my energy to revive the real estate agent before handing her over to the authorities for further questioning. I didn’t have the resources to waste on drying myself, and I had avoided stopping by my house for a change of clothes because I didn’t want to be late—not that doing so had saved me from a scolding by Maisy.
“Ambrosia,” Maisy said coolly. “You reek of ozone.”
My aunt gasped and jumped to her feet. The jinxed table tilted on the edge of its base on its own accord and rolled away.
“Witchbane,” Zinnia said. “I can smell it on you.”
Fatima raised her hand slowly and asked meekly, “I thought witchbane was colorless and odorless?”
Margaret said, “I don’t smell anything, other than the ozone.”
Maisy said to her niece, “Some witches have a heightened ability to detect the toxin, especially after traumatic encounters.”
Zinnia kept her gaze fixed on me. “What happened? Did Harry make you do something?”
“He wasn’t even there,” I said.
Behind me, Ambrosia said, “He was there.”
I whirled to face her. “He was? I didn’t see him.”
“He was there,” Ambrosia said.
I rubbed the goosebumps on my arms. I’d never been on that side of the equation before—listening to a witch tell me about the presence of a ghost. It was spooky as heck.
“You two are dripping all over the place,” Maisy said.
“I’ll do the drying spell,” Fatima said. She jumped up, avoiding the jinxed table that was still rolling around like an overexcited puppy, and dried both me and Ambrosia. Fatima’s drying spell, honed through countless pet grooming sessions, was superior to all others.
Then she offered Ambrosia her hand. “Hello. I’m Fatima,” she said. “I’m Whisper Graced. Some people call it Whisker Graced, because I can talk to animals. You can call me either one. I don’t mind.”
Ambrosia nodded and took her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Margaret Mills pushed her way in next. “Margaret Mills. I don’t believe in specialties.”
Zinnia snorted.
“Nice to meet you,” Ambrosia said again.
She shook Zinnia’s hand next.
“Zinnia Riddle. Kitchen Bewitched.”
Next, everyone looked at me expectantly.
I turned to the girl and offered my hand. “It seems a bit backwards to do this now, less than an hour after we nearly killed and then revived someone, but okay. Zara Riddle. Spirit Charmed.” She shook my hand with a trembling grip that grew stronger after I offered her a smile.
Maisy shook her hand next, speaking formally and standing taller than ever. “Maisy Nix. Flame Touched.”
Then Maisy barked a command at the table, and we all sat to begin our first coven meeting with six members.
To Ambrosia’s astonishment, the group didn’t treat our recent encounter with Reyna Drinkwater as the top-most item of business. The most contentious item on the agenda was over the official naming of Margaret’s lucky marble. It was a lovely cat’s-eye marble, yellow with a red eye.
As we all discussed the marble, and its significance in the history and culture of the coven, I shot Ambrosia a look to let her know that everything was going to be okay. And that her punishment would be coming. All in due time.
Chapter 37
Four Days Later
Saturday Afternoon
Abernathy Family Funeral Home
Memorial Services for Mr. Harold Blackstone
I didn’t like wearing black from head to toe, which my closet understood, so it had offered up a navy blue dress with a wide brown belt.
When I joined my coworkers in the second-to-last row of the chapel at the Abernathy Family Funeral Home, both Kathy and Frank subtly signaled their approval of my funeral attire.
They both looked appropriate as well, though Kathy often dressed in dark, drab shades, so she could have worn anything in her closet. Today she looked more chic than usual, dressed in a dark-olive pantsuit that flattered her shape. Frank wore a conservative dark-gray suit that, judging by the loose fit on the shoulders, he’d borrowed from someone.
As I slid into the pew, a few heads turned our way, and then more, like dominoes. I picked up snippets of hushed conversations as members of the Blackstone family and their friends identified the three of us as the local librarians. We were the ones who’d been unable to wake poor Harry from his final nap. We were also the ones who’d been interviewed in the recent news stories about a ghost haunting a small town library.
Frank had given most of the so
und bites to the press, while Kathy and I had recited the speeches she’d prepared about the importance of funding for libraries and other civic facilities that fostered community and connection.
The press had been less interested in talk about budgets for community services, but, Frank Wonder, with his wild pink hair and extensive catalog of character voices for storytime, had become an overnight media sensation.
I smiled and waved politely at the other funeral attendees.
Once the talk had died down, and people had returned to their eyes-forward position, I scanned the crowd for my father.
Rhys Quarry had been friends with Harry Blackstone, and I’d been expecting him to make an appearance in town for a while now. I’d heard from my sources that he had shown up earlier that morning.
I found him easily. He was seated in the second row, and staring back at me with a hopeful look on his face.
I held very still as a mix of feelings washed over me.
Frank leaned across Kathy’s lap and whispered, “Zara, is that your father over there? You should go sit with him. We’ll be fine on our own.”
Kathy followed Frank’s gaze, took in my father for two slow, owlish blinks, then looked at me. “Sit with your father,” she said, using her Boss Voice.
I hemmed and hawed. I checked the time. We didn’t have long before the services were to begin, so I had to decide quickly. I found myself rising. My body had decided.
When I reached the pew where Rhys Quarry was sitting, he slid over to make room for me while keeping his attention straight ahead.
He asked softly, “How’s the car running?”
“She’s tickety-boo,” I said, and she was.
I’d used Harry Blackstone’s enchanted wrench to make a few adjustments to get Foxy Pumpkin running again, but my father didn’t need to hear every detail. Plus, I wasn’t about to talk about magic cars and tools in public.
I could have tried casting a sound bubble to give us privacy, but that would be a foolish, dangerous move that only a novice witch like Ambrosia Abernathy would make. Not a smart witch such as yours truly.
Wishful Wisteria (Wisteria Witches Mysteries - Daybreak Book 3) Page 21
