A Witch to Remember

by Heather Blake

  I’d already searched high and low for any sign of my mother’s presence. Although as Elder she could take on any form, even her human one, she often traveled around the village as a mourning dove. It allowed her freedom to move about the community without anyone being the wiser to her true identity.

  “As you know, she’s in meetings all day with various Coven of Seven members,” Ve said. “I doubt she could get away. There are important matters at hand.”

  The identities of the Coven members were as top secret as the Elder’s, though I suspected I knew a few of them. Ve, for one. Godfrey Baleaux, another. I suspected Dorothy was also a Coven member, and I wondered how that was playing out with her plan to remove my mother as head of the Craft.

  Not peacefully, I presumed.

  Leaves rustled in the breeze as I shifted on the grass, crossing my legs at the ankles. I knew Ve couldn’t tell me much about what was going on with the Coven. That said, I couldn’t help testing the waters. “I imagine Coven members are bracing for the worst, with the Renewal fast approaching.”

  Ve wouldn’t look my way. “All avenues must be explored in case Harper rejects the Eldership.”

  As veiled as they were, her words gave me hope. “Then Dorothy’s call to insert Glinda as the new Elder isn’t set in stone?”

  Ve unclipped her hair, retwisted it, and clipped it again. “Dorothy’s claim that her family is the rightful heir to the Eldership has not been ignored.”

  I kept my voice low, always wary of eavesdroppers when we spoke of the Craft. “Has any proof been found to support her claims?”

  Dorothy had always believed my family stole the Eldership from hers. It was the source of the deeply rooted contention between our families.

  “I’ve said too much already.” Ve pretended to zip her lips. “You’ve heard none of this from me, Darcy. Got it?”

  “Got it,” I answered reluctantly.

  But still. Ve had given me hope, and some of my anxiety ebbed.

  All avenues.

  The Coven, at least some of the members, were looking for ways to thwart Dorothy’s plan.

  Did that include a way to keep my mother installed as Elder? I certainly hoped so. She was a kind, fair, and intelligent leader. She deserved to stay.

  Ve sighed, long and hard. “I thought for sure Harper’s child was a girl … a gift from the fates to stop Dorothy’s plan in its tracks.”

  We’d all thought so, if truth be told. The news that Harper was carrying a boy had come as quite a shock to many.

  If Harper’s child had been a girl, she would have been the youngest witch in the family, even though she wasn’t due to be born until after the Renewal. At the upcoming ceremony, the Eldership’s reign would have been renewed for another twenty-five years. And when that unborn child turned twenty-five years old, she would be the one faced with taking the promissory vow.

  But it was not meant to be.

  And while I, too, had held such high hopes that Harper was carrying a little girl, my heart was already overfilled with love for her little boy. I could barely wait until he was born, to stare into his beautiful eyes and hold his tiny hand. He was going to bring nothing but joy to our family.

  He already had.

  Unfortunately, Dorothy had pretty much danced a jig around the village when she learned the results of Harper’s ultrasound. The news that Harper was pregnant with a boy made the success of Dorothy’s coup attempt more likely.

  Oddly, however, in the month since Dorothy had learned the news, her bliss had all but vanished. I glanced at Ve. “Does it make sense to you that Dorothy’s gone off the rails lately? Apparently, she’s been drinking a lot.”

  Sunlight filtered through the branches and glinted off the golden flecks in Ve’s blue eyes as she said, “Dorothy could be cracking under the pressure. Setting this fire isn’t the sign of a sane mind.”

  Dorothy was already cracked, if you’d asked me. She’d left sane behind a long time ago. “She is so close to getting everything she ever wanted when it comes to the Craft. Why would she risk setting this fire? It doesn’t make sense.”

  Ve shrugged. “Dorothy rarely makes sense. It’s no secret how livid she’s been with Amanda and Leyna. Nothing motivates Dorothy more than rage, and we all know she holds a grudge. If Dorothy set this fire, it’s likely she believes she won’t be caught. She’s never been punished for setting fires before now. Why would she think that would change?”

  For one thing, because before now no one had died in one of Dorothy’s anger-fueled blazes.

  Movement near the white tent caught my attention, and I sat straighter as I spotted Nick step outside with one of his detectives. They spoke for a moment, then broke apart, the detective heading toward his car and Nick toward us.

  His dark, wavy hair was cut shorter than normal in what he called his “summer cut.” The length accented his high cheekbones, long nose, and strong jaw, which was covered in stubble. He wasn’t dressed in his usual uniform of khakis and a polo shirt, but rather black jeans and a t-shirt that showed off his muscular arms. His badge hung around his neck, and his gun was at his waist.

  He walked with confidence as his gaze swept the area. He stopped to talk with one of the officers manning the police tape.

  Ve said, “If I was but ten years younger, I’d try to steal him from you. Have mercy. Maybe five years, even.”

  I smiled and said, “I don’t blame you one little bit.”

  The thing of it was, what made Nick most attractive to me wasn’t even on the outside. It was his big heart and selfless nature, which sounds all kinds of hokey but was the honest truth. The outside was just icing on the cake.

  Delicious icing.

  “I still might try,” Ve said, with a sly smile and a wink to let me know she was teasing.

  “What would Andreus say about that?”

  Ve and Andreus Woodshall, the director of the Roving Stones, a traveling rock-and-mineral show, had been dating for more than a year now. Both were notorious commitment-phobes, so that they’d lasted this long had amazed everyone. We all surmised that the reason behind their success was because they spent so much time apart. His schedule had him out of the village three-quarters of the year. For them, absence truly did make the heart grow fonder.

  She laughed. “He’s probably ready for a break from me anyway.”

  Andreus had arrived back in the village the day before. Nick and I had plans to have dinner with the two of them tonight. “Has he said so?”

  “Well, no.”

  “Are you ready for a break from him?”

  “No,” she said. “Not yet.”

  “Are you blushing, Aunt Ve?”

  “Oh, stop.” She gave me a gentle shove. “Don’t make more out of it than it is.”

  I started humming the wedding march.

  Ve had been married four times, and I was starting to think Andreus might become husband number five if he wasn’t careful.

  “Stop that humming this instant,” Ve insisted. “Here comes Nick.”

  All humor vanished as Nick approached. The grim look on his face had me immediately on edge. Frown lines creased his forehead, and his lips were pressed together tightly. His neck muscles were tight and his hands were clenched.

  “What’s happened?” Ve asked straightaway. “Was it arson?”

  Nick sat next to me, and I caught the scent of sawdust—he probably hadn’t had time to shower before rushing here from his workshop.

  “Yes,” he said. “The fire was started in the office closet and climbed a wall into the attic space, where it caught some of the thatching and took off, because there weren’t sprinklers in those areas.” He set his forearms on bent knees. “But it wasn’t just arson.”

  “What was it?” I asked, a pit forming in my stomach.

  His brown eyes, so dark they were almost black, locked on mine as he said, “It was murder.”

  Chapter Four

  “This is a nightmare,” Amanda Goodwin said, pacing the le
ngth of Terry and Cherise Goodwin’s living room.

  Murder.

  Leyna Noble had been strangled.

  Since Leyna was a witch, I, as the sole Craft investigator, was on the job. Nick, as chief of police, and I had a case to investigate, a crime to solve. Beyond that, I wanted to know who had committed this terrible crime. The Goodwins were practically family. I hated seeing Amanda suffering so.

  “Amanda, please sit down.” Curecrafter Dr. Dennis Goodwin, known fondly by Harper and me as Dr. Dreadful, gestured to the empty chair next to his.

  He wore a black tee, black designer jeans, and shiny dress shoes. His dark hair had been cut recently, short on the sides, longer on top. He often came off as a complete jerk, but I knew there was a big heart under all the arrogance.

  “Please,” he added.

  “I can’t sit still.” Amanda wore a long flowy skirt that brushed the tops of her sandaled feet and a boat-neck T-shirt, both of which were covered in dark, ashy grime. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a low knot at the nape of her neck. Loose strands curled around her face. “My mind is going a million miles a minute, and if I don’t move around, I’m afraid it’s going to explode.” She pointed a finger at her husband. “And don’t you dare tell me that’s physically impossible. This is not the time, Dennis.”

  He snapped his mouth shut, then said, “Dorothy needs to be locked up. She should have been locked up months ago, when the intimidation began.” His hard gaze settled on Nick.

  Nick didn’t bat an eye at the veiled accusation. “You know as well as I do that there wasn’t enough evidence to charge Dorothy.”

  There was never enough evidence. Dorothy possessed an astonishing ability to get away with her misdeeds. It might actually have been her greatest talent.

  But was she truly guilty of today’s crimes?

  The fire, sure. I could see that easily.

  But I struggled with the idea that she had planned to kill Leyna. Yes, Dorothy hated her, but premediated murder? It was a stretch. But then, I realized, it was possible she hadn’t planned the death at all. If Leyna had walked in on Dorothy lighting up the place, I could imagine Dorothy going after her to keep her quiet.

  If.

  There were some aspects of investigation that we couldn’t control, like autopsies. It would be days before Leyna’s preliminary report came in. We wouldn’t know until then whether she had been killed before or after the fire had been set.

  The early hours and days of investigating often frustrated me. I wanted answers right away to all these questions.

  But first things first.

  The sooner Nick and I could figure out the motive behind Leyna’s murder, the better.

  Motive always led to the killer.

  Cherise Goodwin bustled about the kitchen. “We don’t know Dorothy was involved with what happened today.”

  After rekindling their romance, Cherise had moved in with her ex-husband Terry a few months ago, and the changes she’d made to the house were quite evident. The shades were open instead of drawn; dark upholstery had been replaced with pale greens and blues. The carpet had been torn up and hardwood floors had been put down. A wall between the kitchen and living room had been knocked out, opening up the space. Despite the beautiful changes that had taken place, I thought Cherise might need to use a little magic to remove the campfire smell once we left.

  There was no way around it—we all stunk to high heaven of smoke.

  Terry Goodwin wasn’t home, which was strange, as he was a bit of a homebody due to his uncanny resemblance to Elvis—a well-aged Elvis, but him nonetheless. Unless Terry wore a disguise, he couldn’t leave the house without being mobbed by people entranced with his looks. People who believed he could possibly be the real Elvis, and that all those conspiracy theories about him being alive were true.

  “How couldn’t she be involved?” Dennis said. “Fire is Dorothy’s hallmark.”

  “But murder isn’t.” Cherise came into the living room carrying a tray of drinks. She set the tray on the coffee table, then tucked a strand of her silver-blonde bob behind her ear. “Poor, dear Leyna. What do we know for certain, Nick?”

  I noticed that Archie wasn’t around either. Not here in the house, or in his elaborate ornamental cage in the side yard. Although Craft familiars weren’t beholden to any witch, they often had caretakers. Terry was Archie’s guardian—they’d lived together for decades. No doubt my feathered friend was reporting the day’s events to his boss, the Elder.

  Nick said, “The fire started in the office closet. It appears there was an accelerant used—lamp oil.”

  Amanda stopped pacing. “There was a big container of lamp oil in the office. We were using it to fill the hand-blown glass oil candles on the dining tables.” She pressed her fingers against her temples and moaned. “Dorothy used our own oil against us?”

  Dennis immediately jumped up and guided Amanda to a chair. He said, “I wish you’d let me give you a calming spell.”

  “Not yet,” she said. “I need to concentrate.”

  Dennis glanced over her head and pinned me with a stare. It was as if he’d known what she was going to say—which was why he’d made the wish in the first place.

  I sighed and under my breath said, “Wish I might, wish I may, grant this wish without delay.” I blinked my left eye twice. My spell was cast.

  Whether the wish would be granted wasn’t up to me. In the past, too many witches had abused our powers, so shortly after I’d moved to the village, an amendment had been added to Wishcraft laws that prohibited the immediate granting of a wish made by a Crafter—only mortal wishes, made pure of heart, were granted immediately. All Crafter wishes went straight to the Elder in some sort of supernatural communication system to be judged on their sincerity.

  I suspected Dennis’s wish, though manipulative, was pure of heart. He had his idiosyncrasies, namely his lack of any bedside manner, but deep down he had a kind soul. I’d been the recipient of his calming spells a few times, and I highly recommended them for those who were stressed out.

  I wouldn’t have minded one of them now, truthfully.

  The couch dipped as Cherise sat down next to me. “Had anyone seen Dorothy lurking around Divinitea today?”

  “I didn’t see her.” Amanda continued to rub her temples, and her voice shook with rage as she added, “She shouldn’t have been able to get inside. Not with the spell we had on the cottage. Where’s Andreus? He has some explaining to do. Isn’t he friends with Dorothy?”

  Ve and Andreus had taken Amanda and Dennis’s seven-year-old daughter, Laurel Grace, out for ice cream to get her out of earshot of this conversation—and out of eyeshot of me.

  Thanks to an old As You Wish assignment of mine, Laurel Grace believed I was the tooth fairy, and no one wanted to shatter that illusion anytime soon.

  “Andreus is Glinda’s godfather,” I said with a wince, knowing the information wasn’t going to go over well.

  “Dear lord. Her godfather? No wonder that spell didn’t work. Why did I trust him?” Amanda glanced at Dennis. “You know, I think I will take that calming spell.”

  Ah, so my mother had approved the wish.

  Dennis gave me a grateful nod as he rubbed his hands together, then placed his fingers at his wife’s temples. He mumbled a spell, then blinked his left eye twice. “Better?”

  Amanda nodded. Her shoulders instantly relaxed, and she settled back in the chair. The intense strain in her features softened, but didn’t vanish completely. A hint of anxiety remained in light-brown eyebrows pulled low and lips pressed together.

  I said, “Even with Andreus’s link to the Hansel family, I don’t think he would set you up to fail.” Andreus was a complicated man, but at his core, he was a dedicated Crafter. “If he purposely gave you a fake spell, he’d be putting his Crafting powers at risk of revocation. I don’t think that’s something he’d toy with.”

  Cherise said, “I agree. He doesn’t play games when it comes to the Craft. I’
d trust his protections with my life.”

  Amanda’s cheeks reddened. “Leyna and I trusted him with ours, and look where that’s gotten us.”

  Nick was watching all of us intently. “What kind of spell did Andreus give you for Divinitea, Amanda? Was it for fire specifically?”

  “No, it was all-purpose protection against Dorothy, though fire was included in that. When Leyna and I went to Andreus for help when the vandalism didn’t seem like it was going to stop, he told us that to fully protect the cottage from her, we needed a custom spell, using a strand of Dorothy’s hair.”

  Hair was commonly used in spells, but getting it from Dorothy must have taken some doing. Just the idea of getting that close to her gave me the cold shivers.

  “How did you get the hair?” Nick asked.

  Amanda said, “Leyna bribed one of the stylists at the Magic Wand Salon to get us a few hairs when Dorothy went in for her monthly appointment. She actually got us more than we needed—I kept the extras in case we needed more spells.” She glanced at Dennis. “We should see about protecting our house. Who knows where Dorothy will stop?”

  “She stops now,” Dennis said, his tone firm. “She’ll be in jail by nightfall, mark my words.”

  Nick said, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. As Cherise mentioned before, we don’t know Dorothy was involved. We need to keep open minds. Could Andreus’s spell have expired?”

  If Dorothy had set this fire and killed Leyna, she had to have known she’d be a suspect. I thought it would be only a matter of time before she presented us with a faux airtight alibi. Another unprovable misdeed. We needed to stay one step ahead of her, or at the very least, not so far behind her that she scurried out of our sights.

  “It wasn’t supposed to expire,” Amanda said. “It was an infinity spell.”

  Nick took that in, then said, “Okay, any way it could have been nullified?”

  I said, “There’s the Recantation Spell.” It could reverse a spell if cast within an hour of the original spell. “Did anyone know you were going to see Andreus?”

  Amanda shook her head. “Just Leyna and me. It was the way Andreus wanted it. I didn’t even tell Dennis until after the fact.”