Soon, only the virika from my apartment was left.
He saluted.
“Thank you.” I sighed, my insides warming. Thanks to him, I’d sent them home. We'd made a real connection. I might actually miss the little guy. “You—”
He gulped a handful of water and floated into the air. He turned once, kicking me in the nose.
Pain sparked across my face. “Hey!” He’d done that on purpose!
The virika disappeared.
Heat flushed my cheeks, and I stood quickly, brushing off the knees of my jeans. Thinking we’d had a moment over unicorn marshmallows… I was such a sap.
But I'd done it. The virikas were gone, and no virikas were harmed in the making of this magic. So why was my stomach now twisting with dread?
Something shifted at the edge of the pine clearing, and my shoulders jerked.
Mr. O'Hare and Mrs. Raven faded into the trees.
Those two? Here? What—?
“Jayce?”
I jumped, gasped, turned.
Brayden stood on the edge of the clearing in a down vest and flannel shirt rolled to his elbows. The moonlight cast harsh shadows across the planes of his handsome face.
“What?” I blinked. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to talk to you in person. Our phone call…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I saw you leave your apartment. I called out to you, but you didn't hear, and you were acting furtive, so I followed. I thought you might be in trouble and need help.”
“I thought I heard someone behind me.” My brow pinched. “Why didn't you say anything?”
“I only caught up to you here. And then…” He looked around the clearing. “I thought it would be better if I didn't. What were those things?”
“Virikas.”
“The things that wrecked Nick's car? Those are real?”
“Yeah, but they're gone now— Wait. You could see them?” How was that possible?
“I saw something… lifting into the air.” He sank onto the granite boulder. “So, they're real,” he repeated dully. “Those things are real.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “I thought you already knew that. You’ve seen me make things grow. You know magic is real.”
“I did. I mean, I believed you. But I thought these virika things were nature spirits or something, not… real. Then that means everything I saw last November… It wasn't in my head.”
My throat squeezed. “No.” I closed the gap between us and took his broad hand. “That was all real too. I'm sorry.” Sorry I’d gotten him into this. Sorry I’d put him in harm’s way. Sorry I’d caused him so much pain, when all I wanted was his happiness.
He stared at his hiking boots. “And you've been dealing with this all along, taking these risks.”
“Only because I have to. Do you think the police are going to be able to deal with eighteen-inch gnomes that can dismantle an SUV? Or that… thing from last November? Lenore warned Connor what we were dealing with then, but he never saw it, and thank God. His shotgun wouldn't have made a dent. And do you think his partner would have been able to handle any of it? Owen doesn’t even know magic exists.”
“No.”
“This is my life, Brayden, mine and my sisters. And… I can't leave Doyle. Not until whatever's causing these things to come through is fixed.”
“You told me about them, but there was a lot you didn’t tell me, too, wasn’t there?” His grip tightened painfully.
“I'm sorry I wasn't completely honest.” I looked away, my throat aching. “I should have told you everything, but…” But how could I have? Why did everything have to be so impossible! “But now you know,” I said wearily.
A breeze sighed in the tree tops, and they bent closer, listening.
He released my hand, and my arms flopped to my sides.
“I’m magic,” I whispered, blinking away tears. “That won’t change. Even if I wasn't here, dealing with all this magical weirdness, it's who I am. I can't change it. I don't want to.”
“You could have been killed tonight,” he said, accusing.
“Yes.” Nausea swirled in my gut. “Well, I didn't think so, or I wouldn't have come alone. Sorry — no, I'm not sorry. I took a risk, yes. That's who I am too.” My voice cracked.
“We can't go on like this,” he said.
My breath hitched. I had to get out of here. “I know. I didn't want to hurt you, Brayden. I want you to be happy, and if that means letting you go, then that's what I'll do.”
But it was too much. Too hard.
I ran blindly into the pines, and the forest took me into its embrace.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Breathing hard, I made my way to my pickup, parked beside Brayden's Jeep at the trailhead. I hesitated, one hand on the still-warm hood. Running off hadn't been my finest moment. It wasn’t… like me. I rubbed my palm over my chest. But I couldn’t face him now. If we were breaking up, it was better to know now, to rip off the bandage.
But I couldn't. Not tonight.
Not with this aspirin taste in my mouth. Not with my chest weighted like lead. Not with the weird feeling that something terrible was about to happen.
I stepped into my F-150. My hands clenched and released the wheel. I drove into town, my sense of wrongness growing. I thought of Karin. What was I feeling, exactly?
My headlights illuminated Evangeline Longway-Chatterton outside Lenore's darkened bookstore. The sick feeling in my gut intensified. I slowed and pulled over, slid from the cab.
“Mrs. Longway?”
“Longway-Chatterton.” She turned, glaring. Her gold earrings grazed the top of an expensive-looking black scarf. “Oh, it's you. What is it? It's late, and I'm in a hurry.”
“It's about Mathilda.” My hands jittered at my sides. It had always been about Mathilda. “I know about the ring.”
She flushed and jammed her hands into the pockets of her thick, crimson parka. “Ring? What ring?”
A station wagon drifted past, its headlights making our shadows dance.
“Your vintage ring, the one you gave her.”
She raised her chin. “I never gave her a ring.”
“You had strong opinions about Mathilda's character when it came to relationships. They were the sort of opinions that come from personal experience.”
Her mouth twisted. “Personal? If you have something to say, come out and say it. I'm tired of this dance.”
“You and Mathilda had a relationship.”
She whitened and took a step backward, nearly bumping into a wrought-iron bench. “A—” Evangeline laughed. “That's what you think? Really?”
I bit the inside of my cheek. Her reaction had seemed real. Had I gotten it wrong? “She had your ring,” I said stubbornly.
She waved me off. “I lost that ring ages ago. Mathilda must have found it, that's all.”
“Then why did you say all those things about Mathilda to her stepmother?”
“Because a girl doesn't attract that sort of… attention from a man for no reason.”
My muscles quivered with anger. “You're saying she was to blame for Paul stalking her?”
“If he even was.”
“After her death, I caught him hanging around my apartment.”
“Well, there you go.”
I bridled. “What's that supposed to mean?”
“Please. Everyone knows you chased that paramedic for years before his poor wife was killed.”
My fists clenched. That wasn't what had happened. But it also wasn’t worth arguing about with Evangeline. “So that's your story. You lost the ring.”
The judge’s wife arched a brow. “Was I supposed to file a police report? It was a silly thing, and not worth much.” Evangeline strode to a Mercedes and got inside. She slammed the door and roared down the street. The car screeched around a bend, its taillights fishtailing.
It was coming.
Nerves jan
gling, I stared after her, and my jaw tightened. I'd gotten something wrong, but I'd struck a nerve with that ring. She'd been wearing it at a big event. A big event for Doyle, at least.
I scrubbed my hands over my face. They trembled.
I had to go.
What was this? Why did I feel like I was in the middle of a panic attack?
You're the one with feelings. Karin's voice echoed in my mind.
“Oh, damn.” And suddenly I saw it all. How could I have been so blind?
Headlights illuminated my patch of sidewalk, and Brayden's Jeep pulled up beside me. A door slammed, and he hurried around the side of the green car. “Jayce. Why did you run off?”
“Sorry, but… This isn't a good time.”
Go. Go now!
I gripped the hair at my scalp and squeezed my eyes shut. Where the hell was this compulsion to exit, stage left coming from? Why had I left Brayden? It didn't make sense. I didn't run from Brayden.
“I don’t want to wait for a good time anymore,” he said. “We have to get this out.”
I grabbed the back of the iron bench to anchor me in place. It burned my palm, and I gasped, jerked away.
“Brayden—”
“I'm bored with boring Jayce.”
I blinked, rubbing my hand. “What?” Bored? He was bored with me?
The pain faded. It's coming, coming, coming…
Stop it! I groaned, struggling to understand. The feeling had begun in the clearing, after the last virika had left…
“I fell in love with spontaneous Jayce, magical Jayce. I don't want you to stop being that way. I only want you to be safe — like not run out of gas on the side of the road. Or ask for backup when you're dealing with…” He waved his broad hands.
“Magic,” I said, gritting my teeth. This was important. We needed to talk. So why did I want to race after Evangeline's Mercedes? It was important, but I had no idea why. The virikas…
“Yeah,” he said. “I understand responsibility, and I respect it. I'm not happy about what you and your sisters are doing, but it needs to be done, and there's no one else. Jayce, I never wanted you to stop being you. I never asked for that.”
“You sort of did.”
Go, go, go.
I clenched my hands.
He flushed. “All right. There was a time, after what happened…” He looked away. A muscle pulsed in his jaw. “I need to be able to trust you, Jayce. That means you need to tell me what's going on.”
My insides seemed to empty. He'd been abused in the worst way. Of course he had trust issues. And I'd made things worse.
But I had to leave. Now.
Involuntarily, I edged backward. Why was I edging backward? Why was I moving away from the only person that mattered? “I'm sorry. I thought I was making things easier for you by keeping you away from the magic and from Mathilda's murder. I made things worse, didn't I?” I asked bleakly.
“And I made things worse,” he said, “by not forcing this conversation.”
“You tried.”
Made things worse. You've made things worse. Karin's voice echoed.
“Not hard enough.”
I dizzied. I couldn't wait. I had to go. It was coming, and I had to be there. Jerkily, I moved toward my pickup.
“Jayce?”
I had to be there to see. It was on its way. I couldn't wait.
As if from a distance, I watched my hand grasp the metal door handle, yank it open. “Call the sheriff,” I choked out. “He's coming to the judge's house.”
“Who's coming?”
“HE is!” I slid into the F-150 and started the engine.
“Jayce!”
“I can't stop,” I shouted through the haze. “I have to see Him!” Slamming my foot on the gas, I roared down Main.
I swerved around a corner, two wheels lifting off the ground, and I shrieked. I was going to be late. I'd been waiting so long. He would be here soon, and I couldn't miss him again.
Palms damp on the wheel, I leaned forward in my seat and willed the truck to go faster. My stomach fluttered. I wouldn't be late. Not again.
I screeched into a graveled driveway. Stones pinged the bottom of my truck. I slammed on the brakes, and the pickup skidded to a halt beside Evangeline's Mercedes.
Light flowed from the diamond-paned windows of the modern Tudor-style house. It cascaded over the geometric topiaries, the circular drive.
I jumped from the truck and raced to the open front door. Not too late. I couldn't be too late again. I ran inside the tiled foyer.
Something crashed from a nearby room.
I veered toward the sound and ran through an open, arched doorway.
On the white carpet, Evangeline lay face down beside a desk. A growing splotch of blood darkened her crimson parka.
Paul shoved the Judge against the opposite side of the elegant desk and extended his arm. In his hand was a gun.
Above them all, a black cloud writhed, and I smiled.
I wasn't too late to meet Him. Death had arrived.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Paul spun toward me. A gunshot cracked.
Heat seared my cheek. The compulsion that had brought me here broke in a shower of ice. “Paul, don't!” I raised quaking hands over my head. Tiny shreds of paper drifted onto my head and shoulders.
Stoddard Longway sat upright against the desk. His patrician profile reflected against the arched, diamond-paned windows behind him.
My head had cleared, and I began noticing more now. Potting soil spilled across the white carpet. A philodendron fallen from the row in the window and tipped on its side. An overturned globe, broken open, the liquor bottles inside exposed.
Paul aimed the gun at the judge. “He killed Mathilda!”
“I know,” I rasped. “Did he shoot his wife as well?”
“Yes!”
“No!” the judge shouted.
“Evangeline needs help.” On my knees, I moved toward the fallen woman and shrugged out of my jacket.
“Don't move!” Beside the desk, Paul aimed the gun at my center.
“Someone needs to keep pressure on the wound.” I'd learned a few things from Brayden's work as an EMT. But was Evangeline even still alive?
I glanced toward the ceiling. The dark shadow was gone, and all at once I knew Evangeline was beyond help. My shoulders curled forward, my muscles cording.
“Okay,” Paul said. “Okay.”
From my vantage beside her, I could see Evangeline’s eyes were open, staring at a spot beneath the desk.
“Thank you.” Gritting my teeth, I folded my jacket in half and pressed it against the wound on Evangeline’s back. It was futile, but something told me to keep going, to keep up the pretense. I looked to the judge. “So, what happened here?”
“This… lunatic came in—”
“He was fighting with his wife,” Paul said. “He shot her.”
“This lunatic came in and shot my wife.”
Paul jammed the gun against the judge's temple, tilting Stoddard's head sideways. “I did not!”
“Paul,” I said steadily, “what are you doing here?” Keep them talking.
“He invited me,” Paul said, his voice rising to a whine.
“Did the judge tell you that I was responsible for Mathilda and Lydia's deaths?” I asked.
Paul blinked, and the gun moved fractionally away from the judge's head. “Yeah. How did you know?”
“He was using you.” Sweat beaded the skin above my lips, and I forced myself not to wipe it away. “He knew Mathilda had a restraining order against you, and that would make you look guilty in her death. He must have been surprised when the sheriff didn't arrest you right away.”
“I had an alibi,” Paul said. “I was with Renee.”
“So,” I said, “he pushed you into coming after me, knowing I'd report it to the police. You'd look like you were unbalanced, a stalker.”
“H
e pretended he was on my side!”
“Paul, Mrs. Longway needs our help. Someone needs to call nine-one-one.” Listen, Paul. Please listen.
The gun shook in his grasp. “I don't know.”
“You don't want to hurt us. The police are going to have to be involved, and the sooner the better if Mrs. Longway has any chance to live.”
“No.” He shook his head and stepped away from the judge, keeping his gun trained on the man. “They won't believe me.”
“They will,” I said, my fingers twitching with fear. “Mathilda had a ring, a unique, vintage ring, that had once belonged to Mrs. Longway. I can prove it. There's a photo in the newspaper of Mrs. Longway wearing it.”
The judge made a strangled sound, his knuckles whitening on the desk.
“At first I thought Evangeline had given it to Mathilda,” I continued, “but then I realized it had been the judge.”
“They were having an affair,” Paul said.
“I know. I should have seen it sooner. He came to Ground asking questions. At first, I thought he felt guilty, because his restraining order hadn't worked. Later I realized he was looking for the ring. I made the mistake of asking Evangeline about it tonight. She realized immediately who had given the ring to Mathilda and why.”
“She was pretty angry,” Paul said. “I heard her shouting.”
“It's her gun,” the judge said. “She came at me with it. We struggled, and it went off. It was an accident.”
The lights from a passing car glowed outside the diamond-paned windows. I forced myself not to look. Let it be the sheriff. Brayden would have called them. Even furious at me, he’d have called. But would Sheriff McCourt believe him?
“Liar!” Paul's gun arm straightened. “You shot her in the back.”
“I was so distraught,” the judge said, “I dropped the gun, and he picked it up.”
“That's not what you said when I came in,” I snapped.
The judge covered his face with his hands. “I panicked. I'm in shock.”
“And your wife is lying face down,” I said. “She was shot in the back. Paul, you haven't done anything wrong. It's time to call the police. Maybe we can save Mrs. Longway.”
Fey: A Doyle Witch Cozy Mystery (The Witches of Doyle Book 5) Page 20