“Annie!” I cry. “Your hair! It’s gone!”
“I banished my white hair,” Annie said. “I thought that would mean that I’d have my beautiful, long blonde hair back. No such luck.”
“I’d say not!” I say. I’m smiling. I can’t help it. If you saw her, you’d have trouble not laughing, too. I’m sorry, but she looks funny.
Annie frowns as I laugh, so I cover my mouth to stifle the giggles. “I’m sorry, Annie,” I say. “It’s just, this is all so ridiculous. Marley and her dust... Cora and her sandal in the freezer... and now you!”
I want Annie to laugh along with me, but she’s not.
So, to make things even, I reach up for my hat. I yank it off, releasing my curly, frizzy mop of hair.
“Oh!” Annie says, surprised.
Then, to my delight, she dissolves into laughter.
I dissolve into a fit too. My sides begin to ache.
Between giggles, Annie manages to speak. “I guess we both have new hairstyles,” she says. “What happened to you? Did you have a run in with a weed whacker?”
“Annie!” I say, feigning upset. Really, though, she can make fun of my hair all she wants. What’s important to me is that we’re laughing together.
When Cora and Marley walk into the cafe, Annie and I have each donned our respective headdresses, but we’re both giggly as all get out.
“What’s gotten into you two?” Cora asks. Then, studying Annie’s face, she says, “Annie, have you done something with your eyebrows?”
“I banished them!” Annie says with a laugh.
Marley is too busy staring at me to look at Annie’s brows. “Penny, you look different. Is your hair tied up under your hat?”
I shake my head. “I’ll show you soon. But first, I’ve got to tell you guys what happened to me last night.”
It felt great to release some tension with Annie, but now that the entire Terra Coven is present, I’m anxious to get down to business. The night’s festivities will start up soon, and I want us to be prepared.
If Silas is to be believed, Zeke might very well be on the prowl tonight. We don’t have much time.
Chapter Thirteen
Annie passes over the cashier duties to her nephew, and then the four of us witches-in-training migrate towards the back of the cafe to a deserted, out of the way table.
As soon as we sit, I speak in a hushed voice. “You guys won’t believe the night that I had.”
“Did you have mixed results with your Banishing Spell, too?” Cora says.
“‘Mixed; Ha!” Marley says. “I wouldn’t call an inch of dust ‘mixed’ results. I’d—”
“Guys,” I say, interrupting Marley. I look around the room. No one appears to be listening to us, but I lean in over the table and speak in a hushed voice anyways. “I went up Never Summer Peak, and tracked down one of the werewolves.”
“What!?” Marley cries out loudly. Then she covers her mouth and says in an exaggerated whisper, “You’re kidding!”
Annie and Cora gasp, too.
Cora speaks in an admonishing tone. “By yourself? Penny, that’s dangerous!”
“I had my gun,” I say.
“How did you find him?” Annie asks. “What happened? Did you fight?”
I shake my head. “No, nothing like that,” I say. “Dawson mentioned that Raul wanted a map of Never Summer Peak, so I had an idea that the Tenebris wolf might be there. I hiked up, spotted a campfire, and went over to say hello.” I shrug. “He served me s'mores and cider, and we chatted.”
I feel pretty cool saying this. My coven sisters look at me with admiration. They’re silent, so I take the opportunity to continue.
“He was actually a really nice guy. And handsome, too.” As I say this, I turn to Cora and look at her meaningfully. “He had some good information to share.”
“About Raul’s death?” Annie asks.
I nod. “He said that by the time he entered Raul’s room, he saw the guy in the trench coat—you know, the one who turned into a Lux wolf?—lift a knife up into the air and then plunge it into Raul’s already dead body.”
All of the ladies groan.
Cora shakes her head. “Penny,” she says. “If you could be a little less explicit, that would be very much appreciated.”
I throw my hands up in the air with exasperation. “We’re talking about murder here! I’m just telling you the facts!”
Cora purses her lips. “Still,” she says. “We all know that Raul died. You don’t have to go into so much detail.”
Annie interjects. “Cora, dear, maybe she does. Penny, that might be important. You say that Raul was already dead when this Tenebris wolf saw—”
“Silas,” I say. “His name is Silas.”
Annie nods. “Raul was already dead when this Tenebris wolf, Silas, saw what he saw?”
I nod.
Annie continues. “Therefore, we do not know that the Lux wolf—”
“Zeke,” I supply.
“Good. We do not know that the Lux wolf, Zeke, actually killed Raul.”
We all sit with this for a moment.
I’m thinking over Annie’s statement. I think we’re all digesting it. I wish I was also digesting food —perhaps some sugary baked good—but our table is abnormally sparse. For the first time in the history of our knitting circle, we’re all gathered without the usual refreshments or knitting projects.
I guess it’s because this is an emergency meeting. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
After turning over Annie’s statement in my mind a few more times, I speak. “Annie’s right. What Silas witnessed doesn’t exactly mean that Zeke killed Raul. But, Zeke did have a lot of motive. The Tenebris wolves and the Lux wolves have a long history of fighting over land. Both clans were trying to stake claims in land around Hillcrest. By killing Raul, Zeke would prove he was dominant. Silas said that the Lux wolves stick knives into bodies kind of like the early explorers stuck flags into the ground.”
There are groans all around the table.
“Penny, you’re being so gruesome!” Cora says.
“Well, that’s what Silas told me. His words,” I say. “I’m just repeating it.”
“It must be kind of cool,” Marley says.
“I’ve been doing some research into werewolf culture,” Cora says. “I found one of Doctor Max Shire’s books on the subject.”
Due to the flush of her cheeks, I have a suspicion as to what book she discovered.
“‘The Curse that turned into Love?’” I guess.
She nods primly, and then shifts in her seat.
“I heard that it’s quite a steamy story,” I say.
“I wouldn’t know,” Cora says, lifting her chin. “I approached it from a research perspective. I wanted information—not to indulge in the most beautiful love story I’ve ever—” she stops short, and then continues abruptly. “I mean, yes, there’s a story there, but I just wanted the facts.”
“Sure,” I say, mischievously. “Wait ‘til you meet Silas, Cora. You might have your own love story between witch and werewolf on your hands.” I give her a wink.
She ignores my goading. “As I was saying,” she says. “From my research I learned that it takes effort for a werewolf to change form. Most of the time, they take the shape of a human. Many years ago, when the original werewolf was cursed, he changed into wolf form involuntarily, at inopportune moments.”
“Like the full moon?” guesses Marley.
“Exactly,” Cora says. “He couldn’t help it. That was why it was such a curse. One moment he’d be at the bar, enjoying a mug of ale with the guys, and then the next moment he’d be sprouting hair and stumbling around on all fours. It was embarrassing.”
I nod. I know a thing or two about embarrassing. “Sounds like it,” I say, empathetically.
Cora continues. “Then, over the years, werewolves started evolving. They learned to control their abilities, and shapeshift when they wanted to. If it’s not a full mo
on, it takes effort for them to morph into wolf-form, but it can be done.”
“Silas was saying that it’s nice when he’s sleeping out in the woods,” I say. “His fur keeps him warm. I’d imagine that it also makes traveling easy.”
Cora nods. She likes her role as our coven werewolf expert. “That’s correct,” she says. “Max’s book goes into that in quite a lot of detail. Werewolves have evolved so much that they can actually maintain their shape for hours... for a whole night, for example. Inexperienced wolves might lose the shape halfway through the night. It takes quite a bit of effort to get to the point where they can maintain it. And when they die, they morph back into human form almost instantly.”
“It sounds like staying fit, for humans,” says Marley. “It takes a lot of effort, and when you stop putting the effort in, you lose all of the progress you’ve made.”
“Except we’re not talking about a firm tush or toned arms,” I say. “We’re talking a completely different body altogether. It’s hard to fathom how they do it.” I say.
“Well,” interjects Annie. “We’re witches. We don’t change shapes—we cast spells. So we’d better leave shapeshifting to the werewolves and get on with mastering our own craft. Our first attempts at the Banishing Spell were... not wonderful.”
“Disastrous,” says Marley.
“Incredibly haphazard,” says Cora.
I add in my two cents, before my coven sisters can get too down on themselves. “That was just the first try,” I say. “Maybe learning the Banishing Spell is kind of like learning to drive. You wouldn’t expect a fifteen-year-old to get into a car and be able to drive a car right away, would you?”
“No,” says Marley.
“Definitely not,” says Cora.
Annie shakes her head.
“Right,” I say. “You would show them where the blinker is, and the headlights, and how to turn the windshield wipers on. You’d have them practice going five miles per hour, and then ten...”
The ladies are nodding their heads.
I lift my copy of ASBW up off of the table. “That’s what this book is trying to tell us. We have to practice. We can’t expect it to go right the first time. We mess up, but then we try again. Patience; it’s one of our three P’s. Right?”
“Right,” says Marley.
“Well said,” says Cora.
“Penny, dear, you’ve done it again,” says Annie, reaching for my forearm. She gives it a little pat. “I was feeling discouraged, but now I’m excited to try once more.”
I grin. “Good. Because, ladies, I’ve had a horrible day so far. But being here with you makes everything okay. We can do this. I know we can.”
Annie slaps her thighs and stands. “I know just what we’ll practice on,” she says.
I stand up too. “What?” I ask.
“Not the ants, right Annie?” Marley asks.
“Not the ants,” Annie agrees. “This tangible object isn’t a living thing. Come on. I’ll show you.”
She once again leads us to the back of the cafe, into her little industrial kitchen.
Once again, she points to the shelf of baking goods. This time, however, she’s not pointing to the middle shelf where the honey container is still stored, ants and all. Instead, she motions towards the bottom shelf.
“My nephew, Tommy, bless his soul, was helping me make muffin batter this morning. He was reaching for the sugar canister, and he knocked over my fifty-pound bag of flour.”
As I focus on the bottom shelf, I see little piles of flour everywhere. If the bottom shelf of baking supplies was a ski resort, today would be a powder day. There are poofy pillows of the white stuff settled on every surface.
“What a mess,” says Cora.
“You’re telling me.” Annie shakes her head. “It’s going to take me a few hours to really clean this properly. So, why don’t we—”
“Banish the flour!” says Marley.
“Hang on,” I say. “We should be careful with our wording. And our intention.” I adjust my glasses, feeling like a smarty pants. “We don’t want to banish the flour; we want to banish the flour that spilled out of the bag onto the bottom shelf.”
“Good, Penny,” Annie says, tapping the scarf on her head. “You’re a brainy one, you are.”
I smile. “I just don’t want us to go and banish all of the flour from Hillcrest. I’m going to need a muffin once this meeting is done.”
I have my book in my hands, and I lift it now and begin flipping through the cycles. When I land on the Banishing Spell, I read the instructions aloud.
“Focus a beam of light on that which you wish to banish. Speak this magical poem, written below, with precision. While speaking this poem, move your hands, palms out, counterclockwise around the visual of the object.
“Your palms must be painted with a counterclockwise spiral symbol. Use charcoal, the juice of an elderberry, or another natural source of ink. In your mind’s eye, imagine erasing the banished object or being.”
When I finish, I look around at my coven. “What do you guys think?” I ask. “Are we ready for this?”
“I think so,” Cora says, her tone full of uncertainty.
“It can’t go any worse than my practice session last night,” Marley says.
“Well, technically, it could,” Annie says.
A heavy beat of silence passes over us. I speak up, trying to sound bright. “What should we use for paint?” I ask. “You know, for our palms?”
“I have some eyeliner in my purse,” says Cora. “Would that work?”
I lower my eyes to the pages of ASBW. “It says charcoal, the juice of an elderberry, or another natural ink,” I say. “Is your eyeliner natural?”
Cora shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s Maybelline.”
“I don’t think that’s natural,” says Marley.
“Did you use your eyeliner last night?” I ask.
Cora nods.
“Maybe that’s why it didn’t work,” I say. “We should probably try to stick to the directions as closely as we can.”
“I have some ash,” Annie says. “That’s the same as charcoal, right?” She sidesteps to the oven, and opens the door.
“I think charcoal is made from wood,” Cora says.
“Oh,” says Annie. “Well, this isn’t from wood. Bits and pieces of baked goods are always falling off and burning up on the bottom here. Let me see....” she looks over the countertops next to the oven and spots a spatula. Then, she uses it to scrape the bottom of the oven.
“I think that burnt up baked goods will work,” Marley says.
When Annie lifts the spatula up, out of the oven, it’s covered with a little pile of black soot.
“Blech!” Cora says. She folds her arms across chest.
Cora is one of the happiest people I know. Really. The one thing that will ever get her down is a mess. The woman thrives on cleanliness and organization. Because it’s so rare to hear her say anything negative, I know that this sooty practice is really getting under her skin.
“Come on, Cora,” I say. I step forwards and stick my finger into the soot. I use the black ashes to draw a spiral on my palm. “It’s not so bad. Marley, will you do my other hand? It’s hard to draw with my left.”
Marley steps forwards. “OOhhh!” she says, happily dipping her finger into the ash that Annie’s still holding out for us. “It’s like we’re finger painting! Or better... it’s like henna!” she gives a happy squeal as she draws a spiral on my right palm. “Now do me, Penny!” She holds up her palms.
I draw spirals on Marley’s palms, and then I dip my finger back into the soot. With a black finger, I approach Cora. “Your tu-u-urn!” I say, in a sing song voice, while wagging my soot-covered finger back and forth. I know Cora hates this.
She frowns. “Why does witchcraft have to be so messy?” she asks, before unfolding her arms and offering up her palms.
“Because,” I say. “Magic is playful. We’re playing.”
An
nie sets the spatula down. Marley uses some soot to paint Annie’s hands.
“I like this,” Annie says. “But I don’t feel like we’re playing... I feel like this is war paint—and we’re getting ready for battle.”
“We kind of are,” Marley says. “We might have to do battle with a seriously dangerous werewolf tonight.”
With Marley’s words, the energy in the kitchen becomes much more somber. Instead of feeling like a group of kids playing, we suddenly start acting much more like warriors getting ready for battle, as Annie said.
Our nervous, giddy excitement turns to determination.
Soon we’re all in a straight line, facing the shelf of flour-covered baking supplies.
Annie has grabbed a candle from the racks of goods near the register. She turned off the lights in the kitchen, and as we stand in one straight line, she strikes a match and lights the candle.
Then, she holds the candle out so that it illuminates the bottom shelf.
I take a deep breath. “Okay,” I say. “Has everyone memorized the poem we have to recite?”
Silence.
Shoot. I was hoping my friends memorized the verses, and I could follow along. Judging by their silence, they’re just as clueless about the wording as I am.
“Guys?” I say.
“I didn’t memorize it,” Annie says.
“I didn’t know we were supposed to,” Marley says.
“I have it almost memorized, but not quite,” Cora says.
I sigh. “Okay. That’s fine. We’ll have it memorized by tonight. For now, let’s just... here, can you guys see this?” I hold the book up in front of me.
The ladies move in closer, until we’re all bunched up. The candle is mostly shining on the shelf, but a little bit of golden light flickers over the ancient pages.
“On three,” I say. “We’ll all say the poem together, while moving our hands. Does that sound good?”
There are hushed yes’s all round.
“All right.” I take another deep breath. Why am I so nervous?
I feel my heart beating fast. We have to get this right. “One....” I say aloud.
If we don’t get this right, we won’t be able to banish Zeke tonight.
A Hillcrest Witch Mystery Collection Page 31