by Zoe Arden
"Also, people inhabited by tricksters might not remember things," Trixie added.
"You mean like amnesia?"
"Sort of," said Eleanor. "If a person is possessed by a trickster, their memory might have holes in it. Or they might think they remember things that didn't really happen."
"You mean kind of like at the party?" I asked them.
"I suppose so," Eleanor said, looking nervous now. "But I guarantee you that if there were any tricksters stumbling around Sweetland Cove right now, we'd know."
"How?"
She opened her mouth but nothing came out. She scratched her head and looked at my father, who shrugged.
Russell's voice suddenly sounded above all the busy noise of the hospital. "YOU!"
We all turned in his direction and had just enough time to see him taking a running leap toward Dean Lampton, who was standing in the hallway with a look of panic on his face.
"I didn't do anything!" he shouted but Russell was already baring his fangs at Dean. He picked him up and swung him around the hospital amidst cries and gasps. Trixie, Eleanor, and my dad ran toward him.
"Russell! No!" my dad cried. Russell threw Dean across the hall. He landed against the wall with a thud. I jumped in front of him, my hand out like a traffic cop.
"Stop," I said in the most forceful voice I could muster.
Russell paused, his head cocking to one side.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because... Colt wouldn't want you to do this," I told him. It was the simple truth, and Russell knew it. His features softened slightly. His eyes misted over and his teeth retracted. He took a step back. Sheriff Knoxx pulled him into a separate room and returned a minute later, alone.
Dean stood up and brushed himself off. "I'm sorry I ran off like that before," he said, his voice shaky. "From the bakery, I mean." He was looking at us all like we were his executioners.
"Where's the knife?" I asked him. He hesitated then reached into a bag he'd dropped when Russell attacked him. He pulled the knife out and handed it to Sheriff Knoxx. "Why'd you take it?" I asked, angry that he'd tampered with evidence that could possibly help Colt.
"I was scared," he said. "I saw the way you were looking at me and I panicked." He gulped. "I tried to run some tests on the knife but I couldn't get to the machines I needed. Everything is back on the mainland and, thanks to Sheriff Knoxx," Dean sent him a glare, "every law officer on Heavenly Haven is looking for me. I couldn't get back to Florida.”
Sheriff Knoxx looked pleased with himself. He should be. I was sure that he'd be thanking Elwin and the rest of his deputies later. Sheriff Lincoln Maxwell probably deserved a round of thanks as well.
The sheriff passed the knife off to Dr. Dunne, who had come to see what the commotion was about. Russell peeked his head out through from the hospital room where he was situated, growled, then retreated back inside. Dean looked like he was sweating.
My head was hurting. I rubbed a temple and let out a breath. "What happened in the back room at the bakery?" I asked Dean. "What did you see before the lights went out?" I needed to know what had happened so that I could stop it before it happened again.
Everyone leaned in close, waiting for his answer.
Dean dabbed at his brow with a tissue.
"Nothing," he said. "Nothing at all."
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CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
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Sweets n' Treats did not do the same level of business that The Mystic Cupcake did but the place was generally far from empty. Which was why I was surprised to find it completely devoid of people when I arrived.
Wilma Trueheart had come a long way since first opening her store. She'd opened her bakery claiming that her cupcakes and cookies were all handmade when, really, they had come from an online bakery supplier. She had spent as little as possible on her goods, buying from the worst online retailers, even when people started complaining of finding Band-Aids and erasers baked into their cookies.
Now, when you walked into Sweets n' Treats, you could smell the cakes baking, the chocolate melting, the cinnamon mixing with sugar. It was a delight to the senses. Everything was handmade, and it showed. Most of Sweetland had forgiven Wilma of her past indiscretions but there were still those who had vowed never to set foot in Sweets n' Treats again. I might have been one of them myself if Wilma hadn't asked us for help several months ago. I'd shared my perfect recipe for vanilla cupcakes with her, and she had only grown from there.
"Ava," Wilma cried when I walked in. The door chimed a sweet minuet. Wilma was smiling. Wilma frequently smiled. It was her response to things both good and bad. She was a big fan of the motto "fake it till you make it" and seemed to think that smiling in the face of adversity would make it easier to fix whatever was wrong.
"Hi, Wilma," I said.
"Come for some of my new cinnamon strudel waffle cakes?" she asked, her eyes shining as she grabbed a sample plate off the counter and handed me one. "I added just a dash of peppy powder to them so they'd make a nice afternoon pick-me-up."
"Oh, err, yeah, thanks." I popped it into my mouth and bit into the most delicious cinnamon snack I had ever tasted. The cake had the fluffiness of a waffle and the flaky, layered crust of a strudel. The streusel topping made my mouth water.
"Wow, that's amazing," I told her.
"Thank you," she said, beaming at me.
"Did you come up with that on your own?" I asked.
I saw a hint of annoyance shadow her face. "Yes," she said, throwing her head back.
"I didn't mean anything by that; I've just never tasted anything like this before. I have to admit, I'm a little jealous I didn't come up with it first."
The irritation that had flashed across her face faded.
"Oh, well," she said and laughed. Her smile looked much more genuine now, not forced.
I spotted Polly sitting on a stool in the corner. She was cleaning baking trays and glaring at me. She was the real reason I was here, though I didn't want to tell her or Wilma that.
"Can I get a piece of this to go?" I asked Wilma. "I want my family to try this."
"Of course." She went behind the counter and began boxing up a slice for me. "Tell you what, I'll throw in a couple extra pieces. On the house. That way none of you have to fight over it."
Polly muttered under her breath, "And that way, it won't all go stale."
Wilma's smiled dimmed slightly. "Business has been a little slow lately."
"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that." I truly was. Wilma had worked so hard to turn this place around.
"No matter," she said, shaking off the cloud passing over her. "Things will pick up again. They always do." She paused and looked up at me. "Don't they?" she asked in a small voice.
"Of course," I told her. "We've had slow times at Mystic, too."
Her shoulders relaxed. "I suppose people just aren't in the mood for sweets this week."
"Oh, I didn't mean we were slow now," I said, without thinking. Sometimes I was a warthog. "We've been slammed this last week." I caught the look on her face. Polly shot me the evil eye. "But, I mean, we've had slow times, you know, in the past. It always picks up, though, just like you said."
Wilma nodded and handed me my box. "Thanks for the pep talk," she said, her lips tight.
"How much do I owe you?" I asked, feeling dumb. I reached for my wallet.
"Just take it," Wilma muttered and leaned against the counter, her mouth drawn down. She tried to bring it back up into a smile but the most it would do was lift a teensy bit at one corner before falling down again.
"Hey, Polly," I said, turning my attention to her. "How is everything?"
"Shouldn't you be with Colt?" she snapped, not lifting her eyes to look at me.
"I was. I just left. I just... needed a little break."
I'd been sitting with Colt at the hospital for the last two days. Russell
and I traded times, alternating between mornings and evenings. He had evenings today, which meant I'd been there all morning and most of the afternoon. Neither of us wanted to leave him alone in case he woke up.
Dr. Dunne had run some tests on the cake knife used to stab him. It was definitely the same one used on Trevor, he'd said, and definitely contained dark magic. Only he couldn't figure out precisely what sort of dark spell had been used on it. It wasn't a hallucination hex like had been used on the macaroons. That hex had been so mild it was more of a practical joke in comparison. Whatever they'd used on the knife was dark magic. Very dark.
Polly finally looked at me. "Sorry. How is he?"
"The same," I told her. I watched her face closely, paying particular attention to her eyes. They were a bright blue. "Actually, that's sort of why I'm here." I cleared my throat. "Before his attack, Colt mentioned that he and you had talked about what happened at my party."
Polly froze. She'd been scraping some dried dough off a cookie sheet. She set it down now and stood up, wiping her hands on a towel. I looked at her fingernails. They were painted pink. How could I tell if they were yellow beneath that? I should have asked Eleanor if the yellow fingernails of a witch possessed by a trickster would show through nail polish.
"He told you that?" Polly asked, clearly upset.
"He didn't tell me what you talked about," I told her quickly. "Only that you talked." That seemed to calm her down. "I was hoping that you could tell me about it. I've been replaying that night over and over, trying to come up with something we might've missed. Some people said they saw a black mist that night... did you see anything?"
Wilma let out a loud breath. "Is this why you came in here? To interrogate my niece? Can't people just leave her alone? First those awful guards, then Sheriff Knoxx, now you. She's doing just—"
"Aunt Wilma," Polly said, resting a hand gently on her shoulder. "It's okay. She's just worried about her boyfriend."
Wilma's shoulders heaved. She looked down at the floor and nodded. "Sorry," she murmured.
"I didn't see anything that night," Polly said, turning back to me.
"What about the macaroons?" I asked.
Her brow creased. "What about them?"
"Do you remember seeing anyone near them?"
"Other than your father, you mean? No."
"Are you sure?" I pressed. "There's nothing from that night that struck you as odd?"
"I only remember what everyone else does," Polly said, her temper flaring. "The lights went out and when they came back on Trevor was dead. It freaked me out. For a minute," she gulped, "I thought that whoever had killed him had meant to kill me instead." Her eyes were glassy. "That's what I told Colt. That's what we talked about." She shook her head sadly. "It's too bad. It was a nice party until then. You didn't even get to make your birthday wish."
I tilted my head to the side. "I made my wish," I told her. She looked at me strangely. "Right before Trevor was killed. Don't you remember?"
She crinkled her brow. "I guess not. That night is such a blur. So many things happened."
My heart began to pound. "You mean, you don't remember everything from that night?"
"Well, most of it, sure, but not all of it. I mean, it was a little mind boggling, don't you think?"
It's her. Polly really did kill Trevor. She just doesn't remember doing it.
I tried not to panic. I'd never asked Eleanor or my dad how to get rid of a trickster who was inhabiting someone. I leaned in toward Polly, staring into her eyes again.
"Is there something on my face?" she asked.
"No," I told her, still staring. Her eyes never changed color. Not once. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail but it didn't look at all greasy. I let out a breath.
I'd have to talk to Eleanor again and come back when I knew my next move. Polly's possession didn't answer all my questions—she'd been nowhere near Colt when he was attacked—but at least it was a starting place. And what about Otis? His eyes had turned black, too. Was it possible there was more than one trickster running amuck? Had Polly conjured one to do her dirty work and lost track of the other?
"Thanks for the cake," I said and turned to go. I almost ran into Sheriff Knoxx. I hadn't even heard him come in. The door hadn't chimed.
"Sheriff Knoxx," I said.
"Hi, Ava." He grinned. The scent of garlic sailed from his mouth to my nostrils. It was so strong my eyes began to water. I took a step back, blinking rapidly as my eyes teared, and tried to focus.
"What in the world have you—" I stopped talking. Sheriff Knoxx's eyes were pitch black. Not a shred of light was shining through. My eyes scanned the rest of him. His hair, though short, glistened with grease. His fingernails were long and yellow.
"Oh, my roses," I muttered. "I-It's him!" I shouted. "He's a trickster!" I stumbled backward and fell over a table stacked with cookie tins.
"What are you talking about?" Wilma asked as cookies crashed to the floor, pelting my face. "What trickster?"
"It's him!" I shouted again. "He's possessed!"
Wilma, Polly, and Sheriff Knoxx all reached for me. Sheriff Knoxx grabbed me first. He took my hand and pulled me up, even though I tried to get away from him. My head felt dizzy from the fall. The room around me grew fuzzy. I blinked and it cleared away.
"What's the matter with you?" Polly asked, her face a cross between irritation and concern.
"Have you been eating more macaroons?" Sheriff Knoxx asked seriously. He turned to Wilma. "Maybe she's having some sort of delayed reaction." The greasy hair I'd seen on him was gone. His eyes were normal again, as were his fingernails. He was standing inches from me, holding me up, and his breath smelled just fine. No trace of garlic.
"I-I'm fine," I told them but no one looked convinced.
"Maybe you should take her to see Dr. Dunne," Wilma suggested.
"Good idea," Sheriff Knoxx said, taking my arm.
I yanked it away.
"I said I'm fine," I snapped. My voice didn't sound quite like my own. My head was aching. I was suddenly so tired I didn't know how I was even standing up. "I'm just tired."
I looked at the sheriff. "Why are you here?" I demanded.
He scratched his head. "You know... I'm not sure. I think I wanted to ask Polly some more questions about the night Trevor was killed. And those macaroons."
"Great," Polly said, "more questions. You guys don't stop, do you?"
"Not until we find the answers," Sheriff Knoxx said.
Wilma began picking up the fallen cookie tins.
"I'm sorry," I said, bending to help her. Had I really imagined everything just now? Sheriff Knoxx looked perfectly normal to me now that I saw him closer.
"Don't worry about it," Wilma said. "Just go home and get some sleep."
"Or some coffee," said Polly.
"Yeah, good idea," I muttered. "I'll go to Coffee Cove. I need to see Trixie." I blinked. "I mean Lucy."
Sheriff Knoxx looked at me. "You sure you're okay?"
I nodded. My head felt heavy.
"Yes, I just need caffeine. To Coffee Cove. Bye."
I felt their eyes on me as I left the shop. It made me angry. If they didn't stop staring at me like that, I just might have to kill one of them.
* * *
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
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"Ava, wait up!"
I turned to see Polly running up behind me. For some reason, seeing her face made me even angrier than I already felt. I wasn't sure why I was so irritated, I only knew that I was.
"Can we talk?" she asked.
"I already tried that. Like five minutes ago. You didn't want to talk to me, remember?"
"I answered your questions; you just didn't like my answers." She folded her arms across her chest. I looked away from her, not wanting to look at her pretty little face anymore. Her lips were too pink, I decided. The
y would look better a different color. Blue or green or black maybe. Something different. Something that would alert people to how ugly she was on the inside.
I shook my head, trying to clear it of the strange thoughts I was having. Every time they left, they seemed to come back that much stronger a minute later.
"Coffee," I said, my voice bleary.
"Yeah, sure," Polly said. "I'll buy you one. Come on."
Lucy's eyes bugged out of her head when Polly and I walked in together. It almost made me laugh. We ordered some iced coffees and took a seat. I was amused to realize it was the same table Damon and I had sat at together. I wondered what Damon was doing now. Was he with Betsey LaGrange, hanging out at Mistmoor Beach? Relaxing? I wasn't jealous, I told myself, but that didn't mean I wanted to see him with another girl.
I shook my head again, wondering where these thoughts were coming from. They weren't true. I wanted Damon to be happy. I wanted everyone to be happy. There was no one at the coffee shop right now. It was getting late and people were putting away their caffeine for the night.
"Listen," Polly said, licking her too-pink lips. It was the pixie in her. All pixies had pink lips. Her mother had had them as well. "There's something I think I should tell you." She began to fidget with the sugar packets.
"I'm only telling you this because people won't stop interrogating me. Between you and Sheriff Knoxx, not to mention those guards Warden Banks threw on me, I'm afraid you're gonna find out anyway, and I'd rather it was you who found out first. Maybe..." She opened a packet and made a little pile with the sugar. It looked like snow. "Maybe you can help to sort of soften things with the warden."
"What are we talking about here, Polly? Did you kill Trevor?"
"No!" she shouted. "Roses, no!" Her face had gone red.
I raised an eyebrow. "Well? What are you trying to tell me?"
She began pushing the sugar pile to the opposite side of the table, picking up each little granule and carefully moving it as though it was gold she was transporting instead of sugar.
