Wisteria Witches Mysteries Box Set 3

by Angela Pepper

  I studied Maisy’s face closely, and then I let my eyes unfocus and studied her... the opposite of closely. Seeing things on the magical plane was like trying to catch movement in your peripheral vision. You had to try not to try. It was one of the many intriguing contradictions of magic. As my gaze shifted past normal reality, the colors in my vision lost saturation and gained vibration. Maisy was still there, majestic and striking despite her tiredness. I didn’t see anything unusual. If Maisy had been a gorgon, I would be able to see her hair snakes, but there were none. No devil horns or halo, either.

  At my side, where my vision was blurry and my hearing was dampened, Bentley leaned forward and ordered a plain black coffee. Then he paid for both of our drinks. He asked no questions about the woman’s car, or her whereabouts last night. I kept relaxing my vision and being open to seeing something. Maisy’s sleek, ebony hair only revealed that she used an excellent conditioner. Since Bentley wasn’t making any moves, I guessed it was time for me to roll out the slightly bigger guns.

  When Maisy took her eyes off us and turned her tall, strong body toward the espresso machine to make our beverages, I quickly made a circle and cast the threat detection spell.

  The instant I finished the phrase, Maisy jerked her head up and stared right at me. Her black-coffee eyes were like two bottomless wells.

  “What was that?” The depth of her eyes pulled at me. “I didn’t catch what you said just now, Zaaaaara.” She dragged out my name as though we had a long and complicated personal history together, and not at all like a coffee shop owner who’d memorized the names of her regular customers.

  She’d heard my silent Witch Tongue! I was thrown off by her reaction, but I was even more thrown off by the result of the spell. It splashed back at me in a cold wave of failure, like the time I’d brushed my teeth while driving and then attempted to spit out the car window only to have it come back on my face. Grimacing, I took a step back. My backfiring spell had been both startling and unpleasant.

  Had Maisy countered my spell herself? Or was there a magical ward over the coffee shop? Or was there something wrong with me? Ishmael Greyson’s ghost had walked through my body that morning. Had he shorted out something inside me?

  Maisy, meanwhile, was patiently waiting for an explanation about what I’d “said.” Two angular eyebrows arched above those coffee-black eyes.

  I coughed delicately into my fist. “Nothing,” I said. “It must have been my stomach making a noise.”

  Maisy nodded, pressed a button on the espresso contraption, and began grinding the beans. I was relieved by the cover of noisy bean grinding. Plus, it did smell awfully good.

  I glanced over at Bentley. Well?

  He avoided eye contact with me, looking down as he lifted one foot to rest casually on the iron pipe that ran horizontally along the base of the counter. The pipe was like the brass footrails found in English pubs, except black and pockmarked.

  Maisy finished making our drinks and set the paper takeout cups on the counter. “Lids are by the cream and sugar,” she said.

  Bentley didn’t touch his.

  Maisy asked, “Would you like a carrying tray, Detective?”

  “No need,” I answered for him. “We’ve got four hands between the two of us.”

  I didn’t grab the cups just yet. Stalling for time, I rubbed my palms on my hips thoroughly, as though preparing to grab the high bar at a gymnastics competition. Bentley wasn’t making his move yet, so I kept rubbing my hands. The gray wool of my suit started to heat up from the friction. I slowed down before I accidentally shot off a spell.

  Finally, the detective spoke. “You didn’t write our names on the paper cups,” he remarked dispassionately.

  Maisy gave him a forced, fake smile. Her front teeth were very long, but mostly hidden by her large upper lip until she bared them this way. “Would you like me to write your name on the cup, Detective?”

  “I suppose not.” He peered down into the cup of plain black coffee but didn’t pick it up. “I’m just curious about something.”

  “Oh?” She looked back and forth between me and Bentley excitedly, as though our presence was the most interesting thing that had happened that day. Now her eyes were bright and lively, and there was no longer any sign of a yawn on her lips.

  “Do tell,” she said. “Or I could guess, if you give me a hint. I love games.” Her gaze came to rest on me. “Games of all kinds,” she said enigmatically.

  My cheeks felt hot. She was so beautiful. Was she flirting with me? Or trying to tell me something? She’d heard my Witch Tongue. What else did she know about me?

  Bentley picked up his cup slowly, turned his body away from the counter, paused as though having second thoughts, and turned back again. In a casual, off-handed tone, he said, “I’m just wondering what it was you wrote on Ishmael Greyson’s cup last night that had him so rattled.”

  The tall woman stopped breathing, and for some reason, I felt it in my own chest. My airway seemed to pinch, though I was still breathing. I watched her as the tendons in her long, slender neck stood out. Then she stretched upward, becoming half an inch taller, and the tendons became less pronounced. The hollow at the center of her collarbone grew deeper, and darkness pooled within the depression like an abandoned well.

  She licked her lips and asked, “Fishtail didn’t report me to the police for that bit of fun, now, did he?”

  Bentley almost smiled. He had her right where he wanted her. “Ms. Nix, I assure you I’m asking out of curiosity. It’s not the concern of the Wisteria Police Department what you did or did not write on a customer’s takeout cup. Unless, of course, it was a hate crime, or a threat of some sort.”

  She turned and walked away hurriedly. Was she running? She moved quickly on those long legs.

  Get her, my brain yelled. She’s getting away! I was yelling at myself more than Bentley. I wanted to get her. My fingertips crackled as my magic readied itself.

  Bentley, however, didn’t even twitch. I felt like kicking him, or zapping him with one of my newest spells. I had recently mastered a biting spell that mimicked being bit on the buttocks by a toothy animal. Before Aunt Zinnia would teach it to me, she made me swear up and down to never, ever, ever use it on her. But I could use it on Bentley.

  Maisy had been running, but she didn’t run far. She stopped at a recycling bin full of paper cups and dug in. I remembered Carrot Greyson, digging through her wastebasket. None of this would be happening if people were more environmentally conscious and brought their own reusable mugs to coffee shops, I thought. Not that I ever remembered my takeout mug.

  “Got it,” Maisy said. She skipped back to us with an empty cup held forward like a trophy. “This is the cup that Fishtail, I mean Ishmael, wouldn’t take. You’ll see it’s not a hate crime or a threat.”

  Written neatly in black felt pen was the phrase CARROT’S BROTHER. Maisy set it on the counter between us.

  I nearly laughed. “That’s it?” I asked. “He was all torn up about being identified as his sister’s brother?”

  Maisy shot me a conspiratorial grin. “I know, right? Some men! They’re so terrified of us having any type of recognition or power they don’t.” Her right eye twitched in what seemed like a canceled wink.

  “You enjoyed teasing him,” Bentley said. “You knew that description would bother him, which is why you wrote it on his cup.”

  Maisy laughed and held out both hands, wrists together, over the top of the counter. “Guilty as charged. You’d better cuff me and take me away.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” he said crisply.

  Maisy pulled back her hands, placed them on her hips, and cocked her head. “What’s this all about?” She directed the question at me, specifically. “Are you two working together on something?”

  I lifted my takeout cup. “Just driving in a car, going for coffee, like normal people do.”

  She arched one black, angular eyebrow. “Sounds like my kind of fun.” She picked up a
bar cloth and wiped some coffee grinds from the counter into a metal-ringed hole.

  “One more thing,” Bentley said, taking the previous day’s used paper cup gingerly. “Where were you and your vehicle last night?”

  Maisy stiffened. Staring straight ahead without moving, she said, “I was at the other Dreamland location, roasting coffee beans. I was there until my niece came by at dawn to pick me up.” She yawned again, though it looked to me like a fake one. “I only got a few hours’ sleep before coming in here. Excuse my yawns.”

  “Your niece had your car last night?” He repeated the make of the car and its license plate number.

  Maisy Nix confirmed it was the same one, and gave her niece’s name. Fatima Nix.

  “Fatima? I’ve met her,” I interjected. “Does she work for the veterinarian? Dr. Katz?”

  “That’s the one,” Maisy said, curling her thick upper lip to reveal her long front teeth. “You’d never guess we were related, since I’m so tall and poor little squat Fatima is so not-tall.”

  I liked how Maisy described Fatima’s shortness as not-tallness.

  Maisy shifted forward and deftly wrung the bar cloth in her strong-looking hands. “Is there a problem? Has my niece gotten in any trouble? She’s a good girl, Detective. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but Fatima has a good heart. She loves animals and people.”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing,” Bentley said. “We’re looking for some witnesses who may have seen something unusual last night. Your vehicle was captured on home security footage not far from where the incident took place.”

  Home security footage? Nice move, Detective Bentley. People can’t argue with hard evidence.

  Instead of becoming more worried about her niece, Maisy relaxed, leaning forward and propping one pointy elbow on the counter. “Don’t tell me you’re chasing shadows again, Detective.” She pursed her lips and gave him a flirty eye flash. In a sultry tone, she said, “You know what they say about people who look hard enough for something.”

  “Sooner or later, they find it,” he said. “I fail to see what’s wrong with that.”

  “There are other ways to chase shadows. Have you ever tried asking nicely?” She ran her free hand through her glossy hair in a practiced move straight out of the handbook for Flirting 101.

  I reached over and patted Bentley on the shoulder. “Nicely isn’t his style,” I said.

  She pursed her lips more tightly, narrowed her coffee-black eyes, and shot me a look that could freeze rain. “And you would know, Zara? You’re familiar with the detective’s style?”

  “Somewhat,” I said, my voice quivering and betraying my uncertainty. What was the deal with Maisy Nix? She had power in that tall body of hers, of that I was certain. But what kind?

  Maisy’s tight lips relaxed into a crooked smile. “Oh, Zara. You have so much to learn.”

  Bentley took a half step back and raised his cup of black coffee as though offering a toast. “Informative, as always, Ms. Nix.”

  “A pleasure, as always,” she replied, her smile broadening.

  His voice gritty, he said, “Try to stay out of trouble.”

  “Oh, Detective. I never make promises I have no intention of keeping.”

  My mouth dropped open. That was my line! Who did this woman think she was, stealing the lines I said to Bentley? I nearly dropped my coffee. My arms felt heavy and my body filled with jerky energy. I thought of hockey players throwing off their gloves to begin a bare-knuckles fight on the ice. I wanted to throw down my metaphorical gloves and challenge this powerful woman to a duel. If she had magic, I wanted to see it.

  Distantly, I heard the tut-tut of my aunt inside my head. Zara, be careful. Do not allow your emotions to be used against you.

  Luckily for Maisy Nix, Bentley grabbed me by my arm and steered me out of the coffee shop before I could cast the biting spell to chomp her on the butt.

  Chapter 13

  As soon as we got into Bentley’s car, I started ranting about Maisy Nix. “That woman really thinks she’s something! Can you believe the nerve of her? All that hinting around about stuff, but without the decency of giving us anything concrete.”

  “She’s quite the woman,” Bentley said neutrally.

  I snorted. “You were right to be suspicious of her. What sort of cases was she involved with?”

  “That’s not particularly relevant to the current investigation.”

  “Humor me. What do you think she’s up to?”

  He started the engine and the air conditioning, then turned toward me, looking hopeful. “Never mind Maisy.”

  “Never mind her? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I don’t even find her attractive. She’s much too tall.”

  I pulled my head back and blinked at him. “What? Are you implying I’m jealous of that woman? That ebony-haired, black-eyed... giraffe?”

  “She’s not my type, but I understand she’s a very striking woman. Some men might call her perfect.”

  “She’s not perfect. Her upper lip is a bit puffy, which I suppose is good, because it covers those long front teeth of hers.” I glanced over at the door to the coffee shop and ran my tongue over my own front teeth. “Do you think she’s got rodent powers? Maybe she’s a rat shifter. That would explain the teeth.”

  “Never mind Maisy,” Bentley said again. “Let’s stay on track. Did you happen to see the ghost in there?”

  I pulled my gaze away from Dreamland Coffee and took a breath to reset. My aunt was right about many things, including my weakness for letting my emotions get the better of me. I hated living up to the stereotypes about fiery redheads, but I did have my fiery moments.

  “The ghost,” Bentley prompted patiently.

  “Ishmael? No. I didn’t see anyone dead in there. Why? Did you feel something? Sometimes even regular people pick up on the presence of spirits. You might have felt a cold spot, or a sudden sense of dread.”

  “No dread, and I didn’t feel any cold spots, though it would be a welcome relief on a day like this.” He leaned forward and let the cool air from the vents stream over his face.

  “Ishmael isn’t there now, but it’s mid-day. His usual routine was to stop by after work.” I paused, picturing the skinny, pale-haired ghost walking through the wall of the coffee shop to order his usual beverages. “Bentley, do you think, if we stuck around, we’d see him show up around six o’clock?”

  Bentley rubbed his chin. “Doing a stakeout for a ghost would be a new one for me.”

  I checked the time. “It’s not even two o’clock yet. We could come back in a few hours.”

  He made a noncommittal sound and put on the car’s turn signal as he prepared to pull out onto the street.

  “Are we going to visit Fatima Nix?” I asked.

  “You’re a quick study,” he said warmly. “Are you sure you haven’t done any police work before?”

  I grinned at the rare compliment. “Maybe a detective ghost passed through me briefly and I didn’t notice. They tend to leave some stuff behind. Residual memories and...”

  “And what?”

  It was hard to say the word, but I did. “Emotions.” I cleared my throat. “The ghosts leave behind some of their feelings. It really isn’t very considerate of them. I already have a tough time trying to deal with my own feelings, let alone theirs.”

  “That must complicate your life.”

  I let out a sarcastic whoop. “And the Understatement of the Year Award goes to Detective Theodore Dean Bentley!”

  He shot me a wry smile. “You and I have a lot in common. When I’m on a homicide case, I feel possessed by it until it’s resolved.”

  The man didn’t know what possession truly felt like, but I kept my mouth shut this time and let him think he did.

  He shoulder-checked before pulling the car out onto the street. “And the difficult cases always leave behind an emotional residue.”

  I still had my mint mocha in my hand. It was too full to put in the cup ho
lder because the smallest bump in the road would cause it to splash. Dreamland Coffee’s takeout cups didn’t have the handy cap that some coffee places did. I took a sip to bring down the volume. Before I became a witch, I wouldn’t have taken that sip lest I burn my tongue, but one benefit of being a witch was never having to worry about the temperature of coffee. Any burn I received healed almost immediately.

  The mint mocha was perfect, as usual. I nestled it in the cup holder between us, next to Bentley’s coffee. Seeing our coffees next to each other gave me a feeling. A pleasant feeling.

  Bentley broke the silence. “I don’t know anything about Fatima Nix, but her aunt, Maisy, certainly is an alpha type. Do you know what I mean by that?”

  “Alpha? You mean like the leader of a pack of werewolves?”

  “Less supernatural.”

  “Ah. Alpha, but not supernatural. Sure, I know the type.” I listed them on my fingers. “Head cheerleaders, rich ladies with reality TV shows, and some—but not all—head librarians.”

  “Really? Librarians? I suppose you would know.”

  “Not all librarians.”

  “Right.” He tapped the screen for the car’s navigation, asked me for the name of my veterinary clinic, and pulled up the address so we could pay a visit to young Fatima Nix at her workplace.

  He took a sip of his plain coffee and asked, “Did you detect anything magic back there at Dreamland? Or am I just out nine dollars and fifty cents for the overpriced coffee?”

  “You did get the lead about Fatima driving the car last night.”

  “Sure, but I didn’t need to buy coffee to get that.”

  “Now that you mention it, there was something odd that happened.” I explained how I’d attempted to cast a threat-detection spell, only to have it splash back at me.

  Bentley said, “Maybe your spell did work, and you’re the threat. It detected you.”

  “Ha ha.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But you should have seen the look Maisy gave me after I cast it. That was when she asked me what I’d said, and I told her it must have been my stomach.”