"Heard he was attacked from behind," one young kid said.
"What, like a robbery? Everyone knows Rick don't have no money," the other teenager replied.
I turned to the group of boys and interrupted them. "You know the guy?" I said motioning to the dead body.
"Rick? Of course we know Rick. The question is, who are you?" the first boy asked.
"Oh, I'm just visiting from out of town and wondering what I need to look out for around here," I said, clutching my handbag closer to me as if I was worried about being mugged right then and there.
"Nah, you have nothing to worry about here. Rick could've got snubbed for a hundred different reasons."
"Anyone see it go down?" I asked.
"You sure you're not a cop?" the second kid asked.
"Do I look like a cop?" I asked them.
They both nodded their heads. "Uh-huh," they said in unison.
That got a smile out of me. "Well, I promise you that I'm not."
The teenagers looked at one another, mumbling something back and forth before coming to some mutual conclusion.
"All I heard is that it happened real quick. One minute Rick is walking down the street and the next, bang, he's dead," the first kid said.
"He was shot?" I asked.
"Did I say he was shot?" the first kid asked
"You said bang," his friend said.
"Nah, he wasn't shot. I just meant that it happen in an instant."
I nodded. "Got it. So it happened really fast."
"Right, that's what I said," the first kid replied.
Michael left the scene and walked toward us. "Vee, come here?” he said to me.
"I thought you said you ain't a cop," the second kid called after me.
"I'm not, I swear," I said over my shoulder as I accompanied Michael across the street. Neither one of the boys seemed to believe me if the scowl on their faces was any indication.
"What did you learn?" Michael asked me.
"Kid said it happened real quick, though no one can make an ID on the perp."
"What do you make of this?" Michael nodded to the body, which was still lying face down. There were no visible marks, but a tourniquet was tied tightly around his upper arm and a syringe cap was next to it. Somebody took his blood. The question was, why?
Michael and I looked at one another. "What do you know about shifter blood?" I asked quietly.
"Only what it sells for on the black market. They call it Werewild. Junkies love it for the high."
I had heard that as well. "You think there's some sort of homicidal drug dealer out there?" I asked. I supposed it was a possibility. People killed each other for drugs all the time, but that didn't explain our missing witches.
"Could be. I'm going to check with the other precincts. See if they've seen an uptick in Werewild arrests."
I nodded.
"Listen, I'm going to be here a long time. Why don't you take my car, and I'll catch up with tomorrow?" Michael offered. I eyed his car. It really was a thing of beauty. Well, when it didn't have the ugly ward on it.
"No, that's okay. I can take the subway back. Thanks though."
"No, I insist."
"Really, I'm fine." I could tell Michael was trying to be chivalrous, but it really wasn't necessary. Then again, I didn't have a ton of cash left. Michael must have sensed my hesitation. He threw his car keys to me without another word.
Chapter 15
I got back to the Hendrickses' apartment and let myself in. It was late, and the rooms were dark. I hadn't bothered to leave a light on, but I wished that I would have. As a reflex, my power surged to the surface. I was ready to take down any threat that made itself known.
I walked through the kitchen and into the living room, stopping to turn on the lamp. In a second, the room was flooded in soft light and a man's voice came from behind me.
"I thought you'd never come home," he said. I whipped around and about blasted George through all of his nine lives. As it was, I hadn't been able to hold all my power back, and the carpet was now singed about a foot in front of him.
"What the what?" I said down to the cat. "You can talk?"
George stretched out into the carpet. "Now don't go telling me a witch like yourself has never heard of a familiar." His voice was like his personality—slow moving.
"No, I'm well acquainted with your type, having one of my own back home. I just had no idea that you were one yourself."
George stretched again and started raking his claws on the carpet in a rhythmic pattern. Apparently, he had decided not to comment.
I pressed on. "Do you know what happened to Irene?"
"Well, I did hear some commotion the other day. It woke me up from my midmorning nap." George left it at that.
"And?" I said drawing the word out and hopefully his explanation.
"And what? The noise woke me from my nap and then I went back to sleep." I had a feeling George had been a cat for far too long and his human tendencies were now long forgotten. Still, I tried to spark his memory. "Do you know if it was another woman's voice you heard or maybe it was a man?"
"I think it was just Mr. Hendricks. He was fighting with Irene, but there's nothing new there."
"Mr. Hendricks," I said again. I walked down the hall to the man's study.
"Hey, what about my dinner?" George shouted after me, with a couple of meows thrown in for good measure. I ignored his pleas. It wasn't like he would starve in ten minutes and it served him right for not telling me earlier that he was a familiar.
Mr. Hendricks’ doorknob unlocked at my touch, and I went inside.
"What secrets are you keeping?" I said aloud. Again, I used the summoning spell that I had used earlier when searching the office, only this time I asked it to reveal Mr. Hendricks' secrets.
At the end of the incantation, the tapestry of the periodic table of elements waved from a magical breeze and then rolled up like a shade, revealing a chalkboard covered in research. Geometric diagrams, pictures, and equations filled every inch of the chalkboard. Words like elixir of life, immortality, essence of life, with blood written in parentheses, along with different minerals and their organic compositions, filled the board. Underlined in big bold letters was, NEED MORE POWER.
The clues could only mean one thing: Mr. Hendricks was an alchemist. In addition to being obsessed with gold, alchemists sought to create the philosopher's stone, which was said to not only turn base metals into gold but also allow for everlasting life.
Then I thought back to earlier tonight when we were inside the capturer’s mind. The person had been worried about their life's work being for naught. Mr. Hendricks’ impressive calculations on the chalkboard certainly fit that description.
A flood of questions poured into my mind. If Mr. Hendricks had kidnapped the young witches, had he really taken Mrs. Hendricks to the Catskills or was it possible that she was in on it too? I didn't think so, but I also saw firsthand how impressive she was at lying. In the corner of the chalkboard were three words that pretty much solidified Mr. Hendricks’ guilt. It read, power equals Irene. It seemed that his research had identified that he needed a power source, and a supernatural one at that.
Then I thought back to the dead shifters and made the blood connection. Mr. Hendricks was somehow going to use the shifters' blood and the witches’ power to make the philosopher's stone. It was the biggest lightbulb moment of the case and yet I still had no idea where the young witches were being kept. I raced out of Mr. Hendricks' office and hunted down George. He was looking wistfully at his food bowl.
"Are you gonna feed me yet or what?" the cat asked.
"One more thing," I said.
If cats could roll their eyes, I had a feeling George would. "Again with the questions. Please, I'm starving here." He threw in a couple pitiful meows as evidence.
"The Catskills, what do you know about them?" I asked.
"Do they have cats there?"
"I'm serious. I need to find out if the Hendri
ckses are really there."
"I wouldn't know nothing about that. Mary always prepared the house."
"Mary ..." I raced to the phone and quickly retrieved the telephone book, flipping through the pages until I found Mary's home phone number. It was late, but I couldn't do anything about that. This was far too important to worry about being polite.
Mary's line rang and rang, but there was no answer. I wondered where on Earth she could be at ten o'clock at night with an ailing mother at home. She could have turned off the phone ringer so it wouldn’t disturb her mother, much like Mr. Hendricks had asked me to do this morning. Come to think of it, the phone ringer here was still turned off. I turned the phone upside down and switched it back on. With Mary not answering her phone, there was only one thing left to do—pay Mary a late-night visit.
I threw a handful of kibble into George's bowl and started to leave the apartment once more.
"What, no cold cuts?" George hollered after me.
I ignored him and locked the door after me. Henry greeted me once more in the elevator.
"You know what, I just thought of something,” he said. “I did see Irene on Monday morning. She was going out to breakfast with Mr. Hendricks. I remember I was surprised they were going anywhere because the young miss didn't look too well."
I was right. Mr. Hendricks had taken Irene hostage. As if I needed more evidence.
"What do you mean, she didn't look well?” I asked.
"She looked tired. I remembered Mr. Hendricks kept his arm around her waist."
That was good to know. "Thanks much," I said and stepped out of the elevator and into the night.
Mary opened the door, clearly alarmed. Her cornflower blue eyes were bright and wide like their namesake.
She was wearing a nightgown with a sheer robe over it. Her long blonde hair was down and wavy, ending just past her shoulders. Worry lines creased between her eyebrows.
"What's wrong?" Mary asked upon seeing that I was the one knocking so late at night.
I hesitated. I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to involve Mary, for her sake. But something had to account for me showing up at her apartment close to midnight and asking about the Hendrickses' summer residence.
"I have to find the Hendrickses. It's about Irene, and they went to the Catskills this morning. Do you have any idea where they're staying? Do they stay at a certain resort every summer or ..."
"Oh no, nothing like that. Mr. Hendricks doesn't believe in socialized activities. You'll never see him at a themed dinner."
That I could see. "So where is it exactly?" I asked.
"In the mountains. A little less than two hours away," Mary answered.
I was going to need more directions than that. "Is it by a certain landmark or do you have an address?"
"It's by the North Ridge Resort. That way Mr. Hendricks can drop Madeline off and she can get her fill of society while he enjoys the peace and tranquility of the lake and mountains."
I had never been a guest at the type of resort Mary was describing, but I had seen the movie Dirty Dancing, so I had a general gist of what she was referencing. Hokey entertainment, like magic shows and hula-hoop contests, and games like Simon Says and countless trips to the beauty salon to try on wigs dominated the daily schedule.
"North Ridge Resort," I repeated out loud. "Is it hard to find?"
"You can't possibly be thinking about heading there right now?" Mary's voice was incredulous.
"Actually, I am. It's imperative that I speak with them." More like, it was imperative that I tracked down Mr. Hendricks and see where he was keeping his daughter and the other witches captive. Heaven forbid, I was too late. I had no idea how he had planned to transfer the witches’ power into a stone. I had a feeling that it wouldn't be gentle.
The worry in Mary's forehead creased even deeper. I couldn't help it if she didn't like my plan. She had no idea who I really was or what I was there to do.
Chapter 16
Ten minutes later and with a rough set of directions on how to get to the Hendrickses' summer home, I set back off in Michael's car. Speaking of Michael, I decided to swing by his apartment and see if he was home yet. Best case, he could ride shotgun. Worst case, I would leave a note on his door. I'd hate to just disappear with his car into the dead of night, never to be heard from again. After all, I was planning on jumping back to the future after I solved this case, which if all went well, would be in a few short hours.
It turned out Michael wasn't home yet. I scribbled a quick note with a pencil and scrap piece of paper that I had found in his glove box. It read: Took your car to the Catskills. Tracking down the Hendrickses. Think Mr. is our bad guy.
I signed my name and slipped the note under the door and backtracked to Michael's car, ready to hit the road. But first, a quick stop at the gas station. My funds were teetering dangerously low, and I had just enough cash to fill the car's gas tank and grab some late-night snacks for the road trip.
The two-lane road curved steeply up the mountain. Pine trees were on one side and a steep drop-off was on the other. I had visions of chasing Mr. Hendricks back down this treacherous road and fighting to maintain control of the car as he swerved and attempted to out run me. Thankfully, in Michael's car, that was highly unlikely. Along the highway, some of the houses had signs with things like “Shelters Cove/Established 1934,” or simple signs such as “The Millers” with a cartoon bear or a rainbow trout painted on them. They were meant to let guests know which cabin they had rented or for homeowners to show off their properties. The Hendrickses’, however, was marked only with a regular address sign and a practical reflector. I didn't want to roll up in their driveway and announce that they had company. So I passed by their entrance and drove down to a neighboring cabin, choosing to pull into their driveway instead and walk through the woods toward the house.
Seeing as it was summertime in the Catskills, almost all of the cabins were occupied and the house that I was approaching was no different. Only this house was in full party mode, and I highly doubted there was an adult in sight. Not that it hadn't been sanctioned. It wasn't unheard of for the parents of rich kids to open their homes to these wild summer soirées. The driveway was packed with cars, and the front yard was littered with people and empty beer cans. Music rolled out the front open windows as did laughter. It was a perfect cover, as I highly doubted anyone would pay any attention to me. The only thing these kids would care about was if someone called the police and busted up their party, which was just the sort of thing Mr. Hendricks would do if he knew what was happening next door to him.
I parked Michael's car, and the moment I got out with my purse and stood in the gravel driveway, my senses went on higher alert. I assumed it had to do with the fact that I was in close proximity to the missing witches, but as soon as I started to make my way through the wooded lot that separated the homes, my senses pulled me back toward the party house. At first, I wasn't sure if I was reading my feelings right. I'd take two or three steps toward the Hendrickses’ property and then stop and take inventory of how I felt. Time after time, my body and intuition told me to go back toward the party house. It didn't make sense, but I learned a long time ago to trust my intuition. So, I listened to it and backtracked toward the house, retracing my steps until I was back at Michael's car.
"Okay, what is it that you want me to see?" I asked myself. I opened my intuition up and stood there in the driveway. Hidden in shadow, I surveyed the scene and waited for something to jump out at me. A group of guys, teenagers really, were standing in the middle of the yard just off the porch. With their varsity jackets on and slicked-back hair, they were the epitome of the high school cool kids club. Nothing about their behavior, except that it was a bit obnoxious, jumped out at me. So I moved on, scanning the group of girls sitting on the porch swing, sipping drinks out of plastic cups and giggling like fools. They, of course, were watching the group of guys not thirty feet away. The girls’ admiring looks made me feel slightly sorry for the
m. Don't waste your time on a boy like that, I wanted to warn them. Not that they would listen, but hey, it would make my conscious feel better if I gave them a warning. Of course, nothing nefarious was going on there either. I stood there, biting my bottom lip and wondering what in the world my intuition wanted me to see. Certainly, I wasn't opposed to teenaged summer parties. I knew that underage drinking was frowned upon, but I highly doubted my witchy sense was encouraging me to call the cops to report such behavior. No, there had to be something else that I just wasn't seeing yet.
Then upstairs in the second story of the house, I saw it. A green flash. It lasted just long enough to have me look up in the window. I stood there for a minute, waiting to see if it would happen again. After a few seconds passed, I started to question if I had really seen anything at all and then there it was again—the green flash. Something supernatural was definitely going on upstairs. Now it was up to me to find out what it was. The only problem was I was practically old enough to be the parent of one of these kids. At least I was short. Generally, I didn’t see my height as an advantage, but in this case, I was more than happy to be vertically compact.
The last thing I wanted was for the partygoers to think that their party was being busted. That would create chaos as the teenagers tried to flee and I was far less likely to walk in on whatever was happening upstairs. My powers hummed and cracked on my fingertips as I kept my head low and made my way to the house. Luckily, everyone was so absorbed in their own conversations and under the influence of alcohol to pay much attention to me. I grabbed a discarded cup that had been left on the entry table and used it as a prop as I weaved my way through the crowd and found the staircase that headed up. There were groups of teenagers here as well, even one couple engaged in a lip-lock session about four steps up. I politely sidestepped them and over others as I went upstairs. My powers peaked, as did my curiosity, the closer I came to the landing.
Better Witch Next Time Page 12