Bake or Die

by January Daphne

  “Rebecca and I spent a lot of time in here talking over cases. We couldn’t talk about the supernatural stuff around the other officers. She lived alone and she had wards on her cabin. It was the best place to discuss sensitive information,” Connor explained. He pushed a button on the coffee maker and the delicious scent of French roast filled the air.

  He selected two mugs from another cabinet and handed me one.

  I wrapped my fingers around the glass. “I hate that she treated you like a partner.”

  Connor’s shoulders tensed. “Are you starting up with that again?”

  “No.” I waved my hand absently. “I don’t pick fights before coffee.”

  “Good.” The coffee maker beeped and he lifted the pitcher, first pouring me a cup before he filled his own.

  I took a sip, enjoying the strong, bitter flavor. “It’s just she never treated me like an equal. Sam and I barely knew the woman. She was more a drill sergeant than a mother.”

  Connor leaned against the counter. “You were a sixteen year old girl. That would be very irresponsible of her to treat you like a partner.”

  “Maybe.” I squirmed in my chair. “I called her a few times over the last few years. Never called me back.”

  “She was just trying to protect you, Willa,” Connor said quietly.

  I ran my finger along the rim of my mug. “She didn’t try to protect you. She respected you.”

  Connor’s eyes lingered on me. “It’s hard for parents to acknowledge that their kids have grown up. My dad never treated me like an equal and I worked with the guy for years.”

  “How’d he die?” I asked.

  Connor’s jaw clenched. “Doesn’t matter.”

  I cleared my throat. “Look, we got off on the wrong foot yesterday. I’m sorry for interrogating you.”

  “OK.” Connor gave me a nod. “Apology accepted.”

  I waited. “This is the part where you apologize for being obnoxious and controlling,” I prompted.

  He took a long drink of coffee. “No.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “No?”

  “I was right, and you were wrong,” Connor said, matter-of-factly. “I won’t apologize for doing my job and upholding the law.”

  “Seriously?” I gave Connor a hard stare.

  He went right on drinking coffee, completely unperturbed.

  “Well, good talk.” I finished off my mug. “I’ll grab my keys and follow you over there. It’s eight miles down the road?”

  “Don’t even think about taking that Mazda,” Connor said abruptly. “I’m not spending the day towing your sports car out of the mud.”

  “Fine, you drive.” I grabbed my messenger bag off one of the kitchen chairs and pulled it over my head. Then I reached for the coffee pitcher, getting a refill for the road.

  “You can’t take that coffee with you,” Connor said.

  “Oh, come on!” I glared at him. “Are you one of those weirdos who freaks about spills?”

  Connor looked disgusted. “It’s not weird to want to keep a clean car.”

  I nodded. “And there’s my answer.”

  “Willa, we’re not taking my car,” Connor said. “It’s really damp in that part of the woods. Chances are, the truck would get stuck, too.”

  “So what are we taking?”

  I wrapped my arms tightly around Connor’s waist as we flew between the trees along a narrow dirt path. The helmet he’d brought me was a tad too big and it knocked against my head.

  The cold air burned my cheeks and nose. I felt every bump and dip in the road. The engine was louder than a leaf blower and the bike shook like an earthquake. Still, I was having the time of my life.

  Connor leaned left and right with the turns, his boot clicking into the different gears of his dirt bike. His body felt so warm and firm under my arms. I rested my head against his back.

  Then I saw the trees give way and a beautiful, glassy lake opened up in front of us. Connor cut the engine and waited for me to untangle myself from his torso and climb off. I unbuckled my helmet and balanced it on the bike seat once Connor put the kickstand down.

  I ducked under the caution tape wrapped around the trees, and I walked up to the edge of the lake until my shoes were inches from the water.

  The ground was soft, and the rubber soles of my combat boots sunk into the mud. I checked behind me and saw my trail of footprints getting more defined the closer I got to the lake. “Connor, where exactly was the body?”

  He came up beside me. “Right there in the middle of the lake. The body didn’t have any cuts or bruises. No broken bones or anything like that.”

  “How long was she, um, the body out here before it was found?” I asked.

  “The coroner estimated six to eight hours,” Connor said. “Fortunately, the animals left it alone.”

  Another pang of sadness shot through me and I closed my eyes.

  “Willa?”

  I felt Connor’s hand on my shoulder. “I’m OK.” I walked along the edge of the lake, putting distance between Connor and me. There was no point to being sad right now. It would only interfere with the investigation.

  Connor shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “The strange thing is that there were no footprints left behind—from Rebecca or anyone who was with her. That doesn’t make sense with all the mud. We checked the whole area after the body was discovered.”

  “Could rain have washed them away?”

  Connor shook his head. “It didn’t rain during that time. Also we found several animal tracks—moose, ptarmigan, and snowshoe hare. No human prints. Either someone figured out a way to cover up Rebecca’s tracks, or she didn’t make any in the first place.”

  I stared down at the lake water lapping over the pebbles and bits of quartz. “Sounds supernatural.”

  “I agree,” Connor said, squinting as the sun peeked out from a thick blanket of gray clouds.

  “Who found the body?”

  “George Huber. He’s a bush pilot who lives about a half mile that way,” Connor said, pointing further up the dirt road. “This lake isn’t technically his property, but he acts like it is.”

  “I know George,” I said. “Indiana Jones.”

  “Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Connor asked.

  “That’s what everyone calls him.” I shoved my cold hands into my pockets. “He’s a pilot, wears leather jackets. He’s got all those crazy rescue stories. Not to mention, all that swagger—like Indiana Jones.”

  “I’ve never heard anyone call him that,” Connor said.

  I smirked. “I think it’s a girl thing.”

  Connor tugged the zipper higher on this fleece jacket. “You know the man’s twice your age.”

  I snickered. “He’s not actually, but even if he was, he’d still have that Indiana Jones swagger.”

  “Lots of people wear leather jackets and fly planes. It’s Alaska.” Connor ran his hand through his hair. “I have my pilot’s license.”

  I glanced over my shoulder. “I’m sorry—Connor, are you jealous?”

  “No.” Connor kicked a pebble on the ground. “I’ve just never heard him called that.”

  I smiled. “You said that already.”

  “Whatever.” Connor cleared his throat.

  I steered the conversation back to the investigation. “Did you get a chance to question him?”

  “Not as much as I would’ve liked. His alibi was crap. He said he was with an ‘old friend.’” Connor made air quotes.

  “Who was the old friend?”

  “Wouldn’t say.” Connor ground the toe of his boot into the mud. “He seemed genuinely surprised and saddened by Rebecca’s death, and not much phases a guy like that. He’s had friends that have crashed their planes in the mountains. He’s got a healthy respect for Mother Nature. I have to consider him a suspect given the circumstances, but I can’t for the life of me think of any reason he would want Rebecca dead.”

  “Were he and my mom friends?” I
knelt down and dipped my hand in the water. On a scale of one to freezing, it was off the charts.

  “Not so much friends,” Connor said. “But they got along as far as I knew. He’s a shifter—a swan shifter, and Rebecca was always an advocate for all the law-abiding supernatural folks in this town.”

  “Hold on a second.” I straightened up. “You’re telling me that Indiana Jones is a swan shifter?”

  “Oh, you didn’t know?” Connor’s lips twitched. “Yeah, he doesn’t talk about it much. I didn’t learn that until I became the sheriff. Now I finally understand why he was so protective about this lake. He comes here to swim.”

  “That is so not swagger-y.” I shook my head, attempting to erase the mental image of the rugged pilot paddling around the lake with his delicate webbed feet. “Are you sure he’s a swan shifter?”

  “That’s what Rebecca told me.” Connor smirked. “There are a lot of shifters around here since Denali is mostly wilderness. They like to vacation here. A lot of them move up here permanently for the privacy. It allows them the freedom to shift whenever they want.”

  I chewed my lip. “I’m trying to wrap my mind around Indiana Jones transforming into an elegant white bird.”

  “Why’s that so hard to believe?” Connor asked.

  “Ignoring the fact that he does not give off swan vibes, it’s weird to think of people I’ve known all my life being supernatural.” I did a slow turn, taking in the view.

  “I felt the same when I learned about you,” Connor said.

  I flushed, grateful I was facing away from him. “If George Huber is a swan shifter, he’s obviously comfortable with water. He's a decent-sized man, capable of drowning someone. He could also fly in his bird form, I guess. Swans can fly, right?”

  “Pretty sure,” Connor said.

  “So that means he could get in and out without leaving tracks.”

  “I had the same thought.” Connor folded his arms. “But I’m not ready to accuse Huber of anything just yet. We’ve barely scratched the surface on this investigation.”

  Something in the water caught my eyes—movement of some kind. “Do you see that?” I pointed to the center of the lake?

  Connor’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the lake. “See what?”

  “There’s something in the water. It looks like colorful bubbles.”

  “Willa, I don’t see anything out there.”

  I looked around to see if there was a row boat or canoe tied to the rickety dock that I could use to get a closer look without getting wet.

  There wasn’t. That meant it was time to take my magic for a test drive.

  “If anyone comes, yell for me.” I unzipped my boots and peeled off my socks. “I’ll try to be discrete with my spell.”

  “What are you doing?” Connor’s forehead wrinkled with concern.

  I wanted to zip off Sam’s jacket to keep from ruining it. Unfortunately, I wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

  Despite being untouched by humans, a lot of the water in Denali was disgusting. It was filled with copper and iron and all kinds of minerals that stained your clothes red. If Connor wasn’t standing right there, I might have considered stripping it off. Instead, I emptied my pockets, dropping my phone and my keys beside my boots.

  “Willa, don’t even think about it. That water is freezing.” Connor’s tone grew more urgent. “You’ll get hypothermia.”

  “Quiet down. I’m doing a fire spell.” I closed my eyes and stood as straight as I could, turning my palms up to receive energy. After a few calming breaths, I searched my mind for a thought that made my blood boil.

  The image of my mom popped into my mind, and my whole body quaked with white hot anger.

  Even dead, my mom could still piss me off.

  I had done everything she asked. I practiced my magic. I kept it all a secret from my friends. I never told anyone what I was. Even after she shipped Sam and I out of Denali, I immersed myself in studying all aspects of the paranormal.

  Not once did she tell me she was proud of me.

  Not once did she pick up the phone to call.

  Now, she was dead, and I’d never even gotten to say goodbye.

  Blue witch fire feathered over my arms, legs and face. I opened my eyes to see Connor stumble back. His face paled as he watched my entire body get swallowed up in witch fire.

  “Willa—geez,” he breathed. “You’re… burning.”

  “It’s fine,” I assured him. “Think of it as witch fire wetsuit.”

  “It doesn’t hurt?”

  “No.”

  “OK.” Connor’s eyes never left my face as he nodded slowly.

  “Stop looking at me like I’m a circus freak,” I muttered.

  “I’m trying,” Connor said. “You could have warned me that you planned on bursting into flames. Someone could walk up and see you.”

  “You said this place was closed to the public.” I rolled up my jeans as far as they would go.

  “It is.”

  “Then what’s the problem?” I held my arms out. “Just keep an eye out for people. And swans.”

  “Hurry up,” Connor ordered. “I don’t like this one bit.”

  “OK, Dad.”

  The smooth pebbles lining the bottom of the lake momentarily cut through the warmth of my witch fire. I paused, reconnecting with that anger I carried for my mother.

  Once again, heat flooded my body, cocooning me as I ventured deeper in the lake. I glanced down and saw the dark slender leeches that drifted along under the water. I felt the same way about leeches as I did about snakes. I hated them. Hated. Them.

  Hopefully the witch fire would keep them off.

  I took another step and fell forward into shoulder deep water.

  “Willa, are you OK?” Connor called.

  I turned around, holding a thumbs-up. “All good.” Except for Sam’s Lululemon jacket, I thought. Sam’s jacket was pink. Maybe the coppery hue would blend in? Or maybe I’d be buying her a new jacket.

  Ahead, I saw the bubbles in the water, and I realized why Connor hadn’t been able to see them.

  They were magic—bubbles created with energy rather than water and air.

  They were most likely only visible to people who were supernatural or who had some supernatural blood in their family tree. The latter included psychics, healers, mediums—people like that. They were human, with a little magic thrown in.

  Being a witch was different. We weren’t all the way human, but we also couldn’t be categorized as vampires, werewolves, fairies, or shifters. It was a gray area.

  In another couple strides, the bottom of the lake dropped off underneath me and I had to tread water. Kicking my feet to stay above water, I cupped one of the bubbles with the palm of my hand.

  There appeared to be a mini movie playing inside. I felt the buzz of magic wash over me.

  Suddenly, I wasn’t me anymore.

  I was my mother.

  I stood on the top step of Rosie’s trailer wearing my faded jeans and a long wool coat that concealed the magical tools I carried when working on a case. My short blonde hair was hidden under a plain black knit cap.

  Rosie, a woman with sun-kissed skin and warm eyes, gave me a hug. “You be safe now, you understand? It’s bad enough you won’t be here for Willa’s birthday, so you better make sure you come back in one piece.”

  “I always do.” I returned the hug, squeezing my eyes shut. “The girls won’t miss me. They like being with you more than being in that drafty old cabin anyway. You tell Willa ‘Happy Birthday’ for me.”

  Rosie stepped back, holding me at arm’s length. “Of course, I will.”

  “If Willa asks, you can tell her I’ll be with Sheriff McGregor working on a case. It will help her understand why I can’t be there for her birthday,” I said.

  Then I leaned into the trailer, smiling at the two grade-school girls with long blonde hair. They laid on their bellies and drew in their notebooks with crayons—my two beautiful daughters. />
  Samantha drew princesses. Wilhelmina drew dragons. Both girls were so different. Sam had the power. Willa had the courage. One day they’d be doing this job, and what a formidable pair they’d be. I wished I could shield them from the horrors of this world forever, but it was in their blood.

  This was how it had to be.

  I blinked, finding myself back in the frigid lake, treading water.

  “What was that?” I breathed.

  Then the bubble I’d been gazing into popped in my hand, and it released a flood of feeling rushing through my body that couldn’t possibly be mine.

  Fear, guilt, anger, and above all, a deep unconditional love for my children. These must have been mom’s feelings, energetic imprints of her soul that were left behind from her last minutes.

  Another bubble floated towards me, bursting as it touched my shoulder. Instantly, I was dragged into another vision. The images swirled around me, overwhelming me, consuming me.

  I’m drowning.

  I clawed at the surface of the water, fighting to get another breath of air. I couldn’t go like this—my girls were too young, twenty-six and twenty-eight. They deserved more time to live their lives.

  Cold slimy hands pulled me down.

  A voice whispered, “Where is the child’s grimoire?” The voice was inhuman, a slippery whisper.

  “I don’t know,” I said, my voice inaudible in the water, just a stream of bubbles.

  Even if I did know, I would never tell this monster. I might have made mistakes with my girls, but I’d go down protecting them.

  “You will tell me,” the voice said, somehow pulling the thoughts right out of my weakening mind. “Where did your daughters go when they wanted to hide something from you? Where did they keep their secrets?”

  “I don’t know,” I responded.

  “You know, Rebecca. You have the answer.”

  There was no air left in my lungs to speak. All my protective magic fell away, and I felt a pinch in the back of my head.

  I knew what was happening, and I was powerless to stop it.

  This creature was extracting my memories, one at a time, and there was nothing I could do. What about Sam and Willa? Would I ever see them again? Did they know I loved them more than anything else? Did they understand that everything I ever did was to…