by Zoe Arden
Lincoln shot him a look. He and Felicity had been going together for quite some time, and it was obvious he didn’t like Sheriff Knoxx snapping at his girlfriend.
Sheriff Knoxx colored and cleared his throat. “What I mean to say is—”
Lincoln cut him off. “That we just want to know if anyone saw anything strange tonight. Now, we could question you all one by one, but there’s a few thousand of you here, and I don’t think you want to start off the new year by having us sequester you.”
There were murmurs of agreement.
“So, what we need to know is whether anyone saw anything unusual,” Lincoln finished.
“Like what?” someone asked.
Lincoln looked at Sheriff Knoxx, who looked at Colt.
Colt stepped forward, taking his turn now.
“Like Polly Peacock.”
Excited murmurs sprinted from one side of the room to the other.
“Or a stranger,” Lincoln said, shooting Colt an annoyed glance. Clearly, he didn’t want people getting agitated over Polly, especially since we had no idea whether she was even here. “Did anyone see any faces they didn’t recognize?”
“I did!” Blossom Woodruff said. She was the only daughter of Edith Woodruff, who owned the competing bakery to Felicity’s shop.
“Can you describe them?” Colt asked, getting excited.
“It was a woman. I’d never seen her before. She was in her late thirties, maybe, and wearing a black dress. I noticed her right away because of that. It looked like she was dressed for a funeral instead of a party.”
There were murmurs of agreement.
“I saw her, too!” someone yelled.
“Me, too! She wouldn’t even dance!”
I cringed as I realized who they were talking about. I hopped on stage and whispered to Colt, “They mean Damon’s mom, Renee.”
He nodded and whispered something to Sheriff Knoxx and Lincoln.
When he came back to me, he looked serious. “Can you text Damon and tell him we need to see him and his mom?”
“What? Why? You don’t really think she had anything to do with this?”
“Until we know more, we need to run down every lead.”
I scoffed and jumped off the stage, my irritation growing. Renee may have been a nasty woman, but she didn’t strike me as a murderer.
“The doctor’s here!” Bernice Kramer called from the back of the room. She was Mistmoor Point’s oldest living witch and loved a good party.
“Make way for Dr. Wallace,” Lincoln called out.
The people parted, creating a path for Dr. Wallace to get to the stage. He climbed the stairs and bent over Mayor Singer’s body.
“I left here just an hour ago,” he said, clearly shocked by all that had happened in his absence. “I’m not as young as I used to be and wanted to get to bed early.”
“What made you come back?” Sheriff Knoxx asked.
“Felicity called me.”
Lincoln shot Felicity a grateful look. She beamed back at him.
“Can you tell us anything, Doctor?” Colt asked anxiously. “Was he murdered?”
“Give me a minute.”
Dr. Wallace went to work examining Mayor Singer’s body. He poked at his back, pinched his arm, and did all manner of things which, to me, looked like he was playing with the body rather than testing it. He pulled something that looked like a stone out of Mayor Singer’s pocket, held it up to the light, and stared at in until his face turned pale. The stone was deep green with flecks of red throughout, resembling blood.
“Help me flip him over,” Dr. Wallace said. “Quickly.”
Lincoln and Colt gently rolled the mayor over. There were shocked gasps across the room.
“He’s blue!” Blossom shouted.
“He looks like a Smurf!” someone else cried.
“Get back, quickly,” Dr. Wallace said with such authority that the three lawmen complied without question. “Everyone out of this room at once!”
Detective Knoxx and Lincoln shared a confused look, but Colt sprang into action. Apparently, he took the word of a doctor quite seriously.
“All right, everyone line up. We will have deputies...” He looked at Lincoln and whispered, “You do have deputies here, right?”
Lincoln nodded, offended.
“Of course, we have deputies here. We’re not some backwoods country town.”
Colt continued, “We will have deputies at every exit taking your information. You cannot leave without first signing out with a deputy.”
Lincoln ordered his deputies to the doors where they readied themselves with pen and paper. Otis Winken had stayed in Sweetland to “hold down the fort” as Sheriff Knoxx had put it. The Sheriff had felt so guilty about making Otis miss the party that he’d allowed him to bring Tadpole to work, provided that he didn’t spray anything.
Once the party guests had all left, Lincoln, Sheriff Knoxx, and Colt all turned to Dr. Wallace.
“Well?” Lincoln asked. “What do you have for us?”
Dr. Wallace’s face looked grim. “Do you see how his entire body is turning blue? How his eyes are bulging?
Those of us left all nodded.
Dr. Wallace held up the stone he had found in the mayor’s pocket. “It was a blood spell.”
Sheriff Knoxx’s face went white. Even Colt looked as though he’d been hit over the head with a baseball bat.
“A blood spell?” Colt asked. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“What’s a blood spell?” I whispered to Felicity, who’d been allowed to remain behind with me. Sometimes being the girlfriend of a police sheriff had its perks.
“It’s dark magic,” Felicity whispered back to me. “The spell removes the victim’s blood in such a way as to leave their body intact, even though life is gone.”
“Wait... what? Remove the blood? You mean like... drain it?”
“Yes, but in the case of blood spells, it happens instantaneously. It’s very, very dangerous. If it’s not done right, it can spread.”
“Spread?” I squealed.
Dr. Wallace looked up at me. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Whoever cast this spell was an expert. This bloodstone has a very complicated incantation inscribed on it.”
“That’s it, then!” I blurted. “It has to be Polly. She needs the blood from her victims to make her ritual work.”
Colt and Sheriff Knoxx exchanged a look.
“What?” I asked. “Is there more?”
Sheriff Knoxx began to speak. “I received a call from Dr. Dunne this morning. He got the toxicology reports back on Paisley Mudget. He’d already made his diagnosis, as it turns out, he was just being extra cautious. Didn’t want to give me a wrong diagnosis.”
“And?” I asked. “What was the diagnosis?”
“Paisley was murdered... with a blood spell.”
* * *
1 8
* * *
I woke up the next morning to something tiny and black crawling up my bed. I stared at it with one eye still closed and groaned. I lifted the ant-like thing off my sheet and held it in my palm, looking directly into its invisible eyes.
“Colt, you can’t send video bumpers into my bedroom. That’s an invasion of privacy.”
To emphasize the point, I squished the spyware between my fingers. I expected it to crumble to pieces since it was so small, but my fingers made no dent in it whatsoever. It sat on my finger pad, irritating me until it finally kicked into gear and flew out of my room.
I sighed and pulled the covers back up over my head. Today was not a good day to get out of bed. And it was just the first of the new year.
“Oh, my roses,” I said, tossing the covers aside, suddenly awake. “Ten days. I only have ten days left before Polly comes for me.” I shuddered as the realization struck home and quickly changed my clothes to go downstairs.
In the kitchen, Colt was sitting at the breakfast table eating bacon and eggs with my father. “Sorry about
the video bumper,” he said when he saw me. “Your dad was getting worried when you didn’t get up, so I suggested sending a bumper up to check on you.”
I looked at my father, who shrugged. “Sorry,” he said.
My dad and Colt looked a little too cozy sitting together at the table like that, spying on me. Then again, it was kind of nice that they were finally getting along.
“Where are Trixie and Eleanor?” I asked.
“At the bakery,” my dad said. “I mean, Coffee Cove.”
I looked hopefully at Colt. “Hey, now that we know how Paisley and Mayor Singer were killed, do you think we can reopen the bakery?”
My dad looked up from his third piece of bacon, interested in his answer as well.
“It would be nice to get back to our ovens,” my dad said. “Melbourne’s been great, but everything we bake smells like coffee beans. It’s starting to get old.”
I could see Colt thinking. “I suppose there’s no reason to keep it closed any longer,” he said and took a bite of toast. “If Polly wants to get you, she can do it anywhere, not just the bakery.”
He caught the worried look on my face.
“Sorry,” he said.
“Sometimes, you just don’t know how to talk to people. Do you?” I asked, shaking my head as a grabbed a piece of bacon off his plate.
“Ava, the only reason to coddle you would be if I was worried you couldn’t handle the truth of the situation. You’ve proven more than once now that you can.”
I blushed at the compliment.
“Well... thanks.”
I looked up to see my father staring at me with raised eyebrows.
“I’m gonna run down to Coffee Cove and tell Eleanor and Trixie the good news,” I said, rising from the table.
“I’ll go with you,” Colt said, rising, too.
“I thought you said I could handle myself.”
“You can.”
“Then why do I still need a babysitter?”
“Because, Ava, you have a bad habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
My father laughed and orange juice came out his nose.
“You’re on his side now?” I asked.
“Honey, sometimes the man makes sense.”
I hurried to Coffee Cove, anxious to give my aunts the good news. When I told them they could reopen The Mystic Cupcake, Eleanor literally jumped for joy. Trixie did a little jig. Even Rocky, who was asleep in back, looked up long enough to wag his tail and bark several times.
“It’s about time,” Eleanor said, grabbing her cookbooks and throwing them into a bag. “Help us out here.”
Colt helped carry muffin tins, and I grabbed the cookie cutters. “Come on! You can move faster than that!” Eleanor yelled, rushing past a confused-looking Melbourne.
“You’re going?” he asked.
“Yes,” Trixie said. “Detective Hudson has finally given us permission to reopen the bakery.”
“Oh. That’s... good.” Melbourne looked disappointed. “It won’t be the same here without you.”
Trixie hesitated. “We can still see each other.”
“Of course,” Melbourne said.
Colt was busy complying with Eleanor’s demands to help carry more items. She had instructed him to go get his car so they’d only have to make one trip. He shot a glance back at me before hurrying home to do as instructed.
“I’ll be fine,” I assured him.
He nodded and jogged back toward our house to get his car. I decided now might be the best chance I had to question Melbourne some more.
“Can I talk to you in back a minute?” I asked him.
He looked at me warily.
“I don’t know...”
“It’s about... Sheriff Knoxx,” I lied.
His eyes narrowed.
“All right,” he sighed.
I followed him to the back room and, when the door was shut, I rounded on him. I didn’t have time to waste. He would never answer my questions if Colt was here. I wasn’t even sure he’d answer them now when we were alone.
“I know about the archetypes,” I told him.
“This isn’t about Sheriff Knoxx at all, is it?” he asked.
“No.”
He waited patiently for me to continue, not giving anything away. I supposed a century of practice had made him good at that.
“The Jester. That was Paisley, right?”
Still nothing.
“She was a practical joker. A comedian. Or at least she thought she was.”
“So?” Melbourne asked.
I sighed. “I spent all night last night pouring through books and the Internet, learning about this stuff.”
“Why?”
“Don’t play dumb. It’s connected to the ritual Polly’s trying to perform.”
Melbourne had the best poker face I’d ever seen.
“I told you I’d prefer not to discuss that. It’s from an... unfortunate point in my life.”
“Yes, I know. And you don’t have to discuss it,” I said, trying a new approach. “Just listen and tell me if I’m right or wrong.” I licked my lips and, when he didn’t stop me, I went on. “Paisley was the Jester. Mayor Singer was the Ruler.”
Melbourne’s mouth turned up at the corners. “You really have been doing your homework.” His brow furrowed. “All right, I’ll answer one question.”
My heart leaped.
“What I don’t get is which archetype I’m supposed to be? Or how to tell which archetype is Polly’s next victim? Or what this all has to do with Sara Sweetland?”
“That’s three questions. I said I’d answer one.”
“Ugh. Can’t you just help me? What are you afraid of?”
Melbourne tightened his lips. “I’m afraid of people judging me based on a person I no longer am.”
I hated to admit it, but I could understand his point. I got judged enough on this island, and I was a witch living amongst witches. I couldn’t imagine what it must be like for a vampire.
“Which question do you want me to answer?” he asked.
“Whichever one you think will help the most.”
He thought a minute before responding. “Your archetype is obvious.”
“It is?” I thought over the archetypes I’d read about. I couldn’t see myself fitting any of them.
“You’re the Heroine.”
Melbourne turned and headed back out front.
The Heroine? Me?
The Hero/Heroine archetype was supposed to be a warrior... a crusader... someone courageous.
I went outside, looking for Eleanor, with thoughts of being the Heroine running around in the back of my head. Colt pulled up in his car.
“Oh, good!” Eleanor cried and started to load it up with cookie sheets. Colt’s face was dark as he got out of the driver’s seat.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“When I got back to my car, this was waiting for me.” He held up an envelope and removed the letter. “I’ve been called back to headquarters.”
“What? For how long?”
“Indefinitely. Apparently, they don’t think I’m doing a very good job over here. Someone sent in a complaint.”
“A complaint?” I asked.
“They didn’t like the fact that I closed your bakery.”
“I didn’t send that, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
I suddenly remembered my father’s offer to talk to Dean Lampton. Was that the complaint that Colt was talking about?
“It’s not just that,” he said. “There have been two murders under my watch. It doesn’t exactly make me look good.”
“I don’t want you to go,” I said. Colt’s head tilted to the side. “I mean, who will protect me? Not that I need protection.”
Colt’s face brightened when he realized I was being sincere. “I’ll text you when I find out more. If I can come back, I will.”
“If not?”
“Then you’re on your own.”
&n
bsp; * * *
1 9
* * *
It was weird looking out my window at night and not seeing Colt. He’d taken everything out of our house except for a few video and voice bumpers, which he’d left scattered around our property. He wanted to be able to check in with us without his supervisors knowing.
“Seems more peaceful, I think. Without Detective Hudson here, I mean,” Eleanor said at breakfast, but she bit her lower lips and ended up overflowing her coffee mug.
I knew she was bothered by his absence as much as I was. Well, maybe not quite as much. I hadn’t talked to Damon since the night of Mayor Singer’s party. He wasn’t returning my texts. I was beginning to think that no matter how much I cared for him, a lasting relationship between us would never be possible. In fact, I was starting to think I should officially end things between us. I hated to admit it—I still liked him so much—but I didn’t want to have to change who I was to be with him.
“What’s on your mind?” my dad asked.
“Nothing. I just hope that Colt doesn’t get into any trouble. He’s doing the best that he can.”
I swallowed the last of my coffee and rose from the table.
“Since when did you start calling him Colt?” my dad asked with raised eyebrows.
I paused, trying to remember. “I don’t know.”
“Where are you going?” Trixie asked. “Aren’t you coming into work with us today? It’s our first full day back at the bakery.”
“Yes, I’ll be there. I just need to do a couple of things first.”
“What things?” Eleanor asked suspiciously.
I shrugged. “I just, um, need to see Lucy for a bit.” I turned quickly away, hoping they didn’t see the look on my face. I was never a very good liar. It usually showed in the pink on my cheeks.
“Lucy, huh?” my dad asked, not buying it. “Are you sure you don’t mean Damon?”
“Definitely not,” I said, a little more heatedly than I meant to. My dad caught the tone and backed off from asking me any more questions. The truth was, I wanted to talk to Melbourne. Alone. Not in the Coffee Cove where Trixie was always at his side or customers were constantly asking for refills.
Melbourne knew more than he was saying. He’d made that very clear. I was hoping that if I got him alone—truly alone, without the possibility of interruption—he might open up a bit more. Lucy had told me the other night that he was taking the morning off today to tend to some personal matters. It might be my only chance to get him alone.