Black Cat Crossing

by Fitz Molly

  I hesitated a moment before responding. “Because I didn’t tell him about the book.”

  “What?” she thundered. “Why on earth not?”

  No surprise that Aunt Matilda disapproved. “Because I was afraid if he was with me, none of the witches would talk, and I have to find out today what’s going on.”

  Her voice softened some. “Sugah, I appreciate your wantin’ to help solve the crime, but it’s dangerous. Look what happened to Rayanne. Imagine what they might do to you.”

  “Please don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I’m very good at taking care of myself.”

  “I know ya are, under normal circumstances, but this is far from that, and I don’t want anythin’ to happen to ya.”

  “I won’t push my luck. Promise. I’m going to use Sarah Clarke as an excuse for them to let me in. You remember her, don’t you? We used to hang out together sometimes. Her grandfather owns the property down the street. Well, she used to belong to the coven, so I know a little about them. I’m not going to mention the real reason I’m there. I just want to have a quick look around, you know, in and out.”

  She studied me intently. “Ya won’t do anythin’ foolish?”

  I shook my head, no. “You have my word.”

  Aunt Matilda pressed her hand over her face. “You’re going to be the death of me one of these days, sugah.”

  “I’ll be back soon. Enjoy your book,” I called over my shoulder as I raced out of the house and down the front walk toward the driveway where Rosie, my red Thunderbird, was parked. I’d had the car since high school. It was a sweet sixteen gift from my parents and was my dream car. Rosie was sleek and gorgeous, and the most over the top accessory a fashionable woman like me could possess, and I planned on keeping her forever. However, because of the attention she created, I would have to park down the street from the coven to avoid being too conspicuous.

  It was a short drive to Bramble Root. The coven rented a storefront on Main Street, right next door to Beautiful You Salon, where all the women in town went to have their hair done, and it was the perfect location for recruiting members. Since moving here three years ago, the coven had grown from twelve to now over thirty, far surpassing the number of Wiccans in Silver Reed.

  I drove by the coven and was in search of a parking space far enough away to keep from being seen when a black pick-up truck with what sounded like a blown muffler pulled up in front of Bramble Root. My heart began to race. The wolf shifter with the straggly black hair and albino skin was behind the wheel. I was fortunate that the traffic light up ahead turned red, allowing me the opportunity to see which storefront he went into. No surprise that it belonged to the coven.

  I quickly found a space and then went around the back of the building, not sure what my next move would be now that the shifter was inside with the witches. I had just crouched behind a smelly old dumpster, when someone propped open the back door.

  “Thanks. We could use a little air in here. It’s getting pretty stuffy with all those candles you lit,” a woman with a whiny voice said.

  “Look, ya promised if I stole that urn and hit that woman over the head, that you’d give me a spellbook that I could use to make Charlene fall in love with me. Well, it didn’t work. It didn’t do nothin’, so quit complainin’ about the candle smoke and cast a spell that does work, or you’ll have more to worry about than some burnt wax,” the shifter warned.

  “I take it you brought the urn,” the witch said.

  “Course I did, but you’re not gettin’ it til you cast that spell.”

  The witch began an incantation, and when she finished said, “By tomorrow, Charlene will be head-over-heels for you. Now hand over the urn, or I’ll cast a spell on you that will turn you into a toad. And don’t ever threaten me again.”

  “Here, I don’t know what all the fuss is. Looks like nothin’ but an old tarnished piece of silver. Not worth much if ya ask me, but it’s yours. Pleasure doin’ business.”

  “Hopefully, it’s the last time,” her curt voice lashed out, and then a second later, she yelled even louder, “Hey, where do you think you’re going? Leave through the back door. It’s bad enough you came in the front. Don’t need prying eyes seeing us together.”

  I sucked in my breath and tucked into as small a ball as possible behind the dumpster, praying he wouldn’t see me as he walked in front of it. When I could no longer hear his footsteps, I let out a small sigh of relief and was about to stretch my cramped legs, when my head was sharply jerked back. Someone had a hold of my hair.

  “Whatcha doin’ there, pretty lady? Spyin’? I can smell your kind a mile away. I think you’ve got some explainin’ to do?” the shifter snarled against my ear.

  My mind was congested with fear. “Just let me go, and I promise you’ll never see me again.”

  “Can’t do that. I’m not stupid. You’re friends with the chief, and the first place you’d go is runnin’ to him.”

  I tried to shake my head but couldn’t because of his tight hold on me. “I wouldn’t. You have my word.”

  “Which means nothin’ to me.”

  Before I could respond, he dragged me through the back door of the coven and into a tiny office where an elderly woman with long white hair sat behind a desk.

  “I have something else for ya,” he said, closing the door behind us.

  The woman didn’t bother to turn around. “What are you doing back here? We’re done,” she barked.

  “I don’t think so.”

  When she twirled around in her chair and spotted me, she pulled her thin lips back tightly against her teeth. “Who’s she?”

  “A little bird who’d been listenin’ to our conversation. The same little bird who’d visited me earlier today, along with Chief Casanova.”

  “Really?” Her thin brows shot up in a straight line. “Now that’s quite interesting. What’s your name, dear?”

  “Please, just let me go,” I pleaded. “I won’t say a word to anyone, especially the chief. I’m leaving town next week anyway. I promise. You have nothing to worry about.”

  A suggestion of annoyance hovered in her eyes. “I’m sorry, sweetie. You’re leaving all right, but not Fiddlehead Creek. I’m afraid you’re going to be here for eternity. Earl, take her to the basement. There’s plenty of rope down there.”

  He had me in a chokehold, leaving me unable to break free. His grip tightened as we made our way downstairs, making it difficult to breathe. The basement was cold and damp and smelled like something had died down there. Could they have murdered someone before?

  Chapter Eight

  “Help!” I screamed, as Earl slammed me down onto a hard, wooden chair, and then proceeded to tie my hands and feet with a thick rope that chafed my skin.

  “Don’t you think you’d be gagged if there was a chance someone could hear you? Save your breath, dear. These walls are soundproof,” the old witch said as she came down the basement stairs.

  Fear and anger knotted inside me. “You don’t have to do this. You really don’t. Just let me go, and you’ll never see or hear from me again.”

  “Same old song. I just heard it a few minutes ago. Don’t ya have another one?” the shifter asked with an evil chuckle.

  I glared at him. “Do you have to tie those ropes so tight? They’re hurting me.”

  “Good try, but your ploy won’t work,” the witch added. “Don’t worry. Your pain won’t last. We don’t believe in making our victims suffer…long.”

  Well, that was nice of them. Guess they planned to kill me fast. “Look, do you really think you’ll get away with this? Chief Casanova will come looking for me, and he’s going to find out what you’ve done.”

  Her laugh was more like a cackle. “I wouldn’t bet your life on that. At least, not before you’re nothing but a pile of ashes,” the old woman replied.

  I tried to keep my fragile control. So they were going to burn me? I swallowed hard and managed a feeble response, hoping that would prevent the inevitable, at
least for a bit. “You’re doing all this because of an urn? Why? What’s so special about it that you would break the law and risk going to prison forever?”

  “Because I wanted that cursed thing gone!” The voice was high pitched and shrill, and one I recognized.

  “Rayanne? You were behind this?” I strained my neck to watch her sashay down the stairs as if she’d devised the most elaborate scheme imaginable.

  “That evil spirit had been haunting me for years, making my life miserable. I thought if I sold the place and all of Augustus’s silver that she would leave me alone. But no, all she cared about was that urn. She wanted it out of the house and threatened never to leave me alone unless I got rid of it. How was I supposed to do that after I sold everything to the historical society?”

  So Gladys wasn’t just threatening me… She’s been threatening Rayanne too. “You staged the theft and your attack?”

  “Yeah, well, I hired the witches, and they hired the shifters, less of a connection to me that way, but the idiots weren’t supposed to give me a concussion.”

  “So that part is true?” I asked, stalling for time, my mind a crazy mixture of hope and terror.

  She stared at me as if I were stupid. “I’m not that good an actress. Yes, I do have a concussion.”

  “But why involve Bramble Root? Why not just say the urn was lost?” I was confused about the role the coven played.

  “I wasn’t going to let Gladys manipulate me. I wanted that ghost gone, and the coven could use their magic to make that happen.” She ripped out the words impatiently.

  “Then why ask me to contact a spirit?” I asked, still confused.

  She laughed. “I don’t know. It was a spur of the moment stupid idea. I thought it would give credibility to my story if I asked you to help me find the vandals. I never thought anything would come of it. Why, you’re not even a real psychic. How was I to know you’d be nosey and go snooping around?”

  I stiffened as though she’d struck me. “I am a real psychic. Just because I’m not certified doesn’t mean I can’t communicate with spirits. I spoke to Augustus and Gladys.”

  Her eyes narrowed to slits. “You contacted Gladys?”

  “It was more like she contacted me, but still, we’re in communication,” I said smugly.

  She gritted her teeth. “I don’t believe you. You’re just saying that to scare me.”

  “It’s the truth. I don’t care if you believe me or not, but know this, messing around with a spirit like Gladys, is like playing with fire. She’s not going to let you get rid of her without a fight.”

  Rayanne shrugged. “Maybe not, but that has nothing to do with you, and since you know everything, we have no choice but to—”

  I cut her off before she could finish. “You don’t have to do this. It’s not too late to do the right thing and let me go.”

  A shadow of annoyance crossed her face. “You’re wrong, Esme. It’s way too late to turn back now. You might not believe it, but I am sorry it’s come to this.”

  The old witch took a vial out of her pocket and said with a heavy dose of contempt in her voice, “You can make this easy on yourself or difficult. It’s your choice.”

  So they weren’t going to burn me alive. That was nice. They were going to poison me like Augustus had poisoned Gladys and then set me on fire to get rid of my remains. How considerate of them. “What’s in there?” I asked, looking at the vial.

  The witch came closer, holding the bottle up in front of me. “Hemlock. You’ll probably experience some abdominal pains, muscle tremors, and respiratory paralysis. Death usually occurs in a few hours, but with this large dose, it’ll be much quicker. What’s it going to be? Will you drink it, or will we need to pour it down your throat?”

  Icy fear twisted around my heart. “I’m certainly not going to make my death easier for you.”

  “I guess that’s a no to drinking it,” Rayanne said to the old woman.

  “Then make her take it.” The witch handed the vial over to Rayanne, who gave her a hostile glare.

  “Oh, great, make me do it,” she spat.

  “This was your plan, so you have to finish it.” The witch’s voice was hoarse with frustration.

  Rayanne let out a huge sigh and then put the vial up to my mouth.

  Panic like I’d never known before welled in my throat, and I clamped my mouth shut, praying none of the poisonous liquid drizzled down my throat.

  I couldn’t control the spasmodic trembling of my body. I felt like a volcano about to blow, yet I was helplessly bound to the chair, knowing that soon my life would slip away. I closed my eyes and wished for a miracle.

  Suddenly, Rayanne screamed. My lids flew open just as her arm jerked back, and the vial in her hand exploded, spraying poison all over her. “Look what you’ve done,” she yelled. “I have hemlock all over me.”

  I followed her gaze and spotted the figment of a woman, angrily glaring at her and knew immediately that it was Gladys.

  “Let Esme go,” the ghost ordered. “I’m not going to let you poison her.”

  When neither Rayanne nor the witch moved, the spirit let out a piercing wail before ripping the shutters off the basement windows. “I’m not going to ask again.”

  Earl, the wolf shifter, who’d been cowering in a corner, quickly untied my hands and feet. I raced upstairs without looking back, but before I made it out the door, I encountered Gladys. She hovered before me.

  “Thank you for saving me,” I said softly.

  “I’m not as bad as everyone thinks.”

  “What now?” I asked, curious about what her plan was.

  “I’m going home.”

  My eyes widened in surprise. “What about the urn?”

  “It’s in the office on the desk,” the spirit said. “Take it, and give it to the historical society.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Are you sure? I thought you didn’t want it in the house.”

  “I don’t, but it belongs to them. My selfishness is responsible for what almost happened to you,” she said sadly. “Enough is enough.”

  Before I could respond, the ghost disappeared. I did as she asked and took the urn and then raced out of the building, almost running headfirst into Guy.

  “Thank goodness you’re here. The wolf shifter, an old witch, and Rayanne are in the basement. They’re responsible for stealing the urn and staging Rayanne’s attack, but worst of all, they tried to kill me. If it weren’t for Gladys, I’d be dead right now.” My words came out fast and furious.

  Guy wrapped me in his arms. “Calm down. You’re safe now.”

  Still extremely agitated, I spouted, “Yes, but you need to hurry and arrest them before they get away.”

  He stroked the back of my head. “Don’t worry. They’re not going anywhere but to jail.”

  My rapid heartbeat began to return to a regular beat as I started to relax. “How did you know I was here?”

  “Your Aunt Matilda called me. She was worried sick that something might happen to you.” His gaze turned accusatory. “Why didn’t you tell me about the spellbook? You never should’ve come to the coven alone.”

  A wave of regret swept through me. “You’re right. This wasn’t one of my brightest moves.”

  He studied me intently for a moment and then said, “Go home, Esme. I’ll take it from here.” His voice was strong and powerful, leaving no room for objections.

  “I just have to stop at the historical society first and give them this,” I said, taking the urn out of my pocket.

  The corners of his mouth twitched as he tried hard not to smile. “Go home after that. No stopping anywhere else.”

  My gaze caught and held his. “I won’t. I promise. Now go arrest those bad guys.”

  Chapter Nine

  Charles Raymond ran the historical society. He was a nice older man in his mid-seventies who was thrilled to have the urn included in the silver collection in time for the Halloween celebration. I didn’t think it was necessary
to fill him in on all that transpired to get it to him, but I did ask if he would do me a favor and only display it at the Johnson house each year on October thirty-first. The rest of the time, the public could view it at the historical society. He quickly agreed when I told him it would make the resident ghost very happy. That was the least I could do for Gladys, seeing as she had saved my life.

  When I got home, Aunt Matilda had a delicious dinner waiting for me, and it wasn’t until I sat down at the kitchen table that I realized how hungry I was. Must’ve been all the excess adrenaline that gave me such an appetite.

  “So how did things go at the coven, sugah? I hope you’re not angry that I sent Chief Casanova over there to check on ya,” she said while passing a large plate filled with pan-fried chicken.

  I helped myself to a piece and replied, “Of course not. I’m glad you did. He was able to arrest the criminals responsible for stealing the urn and attacking Rayanne, but you’ll never guess who the ringleader was.”

  She paused before taking a bite of black-eyed peas. “Don’t keep me in suspense. Who was it?”

  “Rayanne! She staged her attack and hired the Bramble Root Coven to help her with her scheme. The witches brought the wolf shifters into the mix.”

  Intense astonishment touched her face. “I’m shocked. I always thought Rayanne was such a nice woman. Goes to show how people aren’t always what they seem. But how did ya discover all this?”

  I took a long drink of sweet tea before answering, trying to decide how best to tell her. “Now, don’t get upset, but things didn’t go so smoothly at the coven. An old woman who must’ve been their High Priestess tried to poison me with hemlock, and most likely would’ve succeeded if Gladys hadn’t appeared and stopped them.”

  Aunt Matilda dropped her fork, and it hit the side of her plate with a clang. “Oh, my! I was afraid somethin’ bad might happen, but nothin’ as awful as that. Thank goodness for spirits, even those we think might not have the best of intentions.”

  “Yes, it turned out Gladys wasn’t so bad, after all. Just misunderstood. She wanted her house to herself, and who could blame her after what Augustus did to her. But I think she’ll be a lot happier there now.”