A Witch to Remember

by Heather Blake

  “Have mercy,” Ve murmured, reaching for a fortune cookie.

  In times of stress and strife, dessert was a balm for the women in my family.

  That usually included me as well. But not right now. My stomach was a mess.

  I held Andreus’s gaze.

  Trust him.

  Could I do it?

  After much thought, I nodded. I reminded myself that the times Andreus had lied to or threatened me had only been cases where he benefited. He had nothing to gain from Divinitea burning down or from Leyna’s death. “I’ll trust you on this.”

  His eyebrow went up. “And only this?”

  I managed a smile. “Trust once lost …”

  “You’re a wise, young witch,” he said with a wink that should have been creepy but wasn’t.

  In his debonair persona, he was also quite charming.

  I heard the sound of a rooster crowing, and immediately stood up to let Archie inside. The crowing was his version of ringing the doorbell. Missy barked and ran alongside me.

  In the mudroom, I pulled open the back door, and a blur of red, green, and blue feathers flew past. “Greetings. Darcy!” Archie said with his English accent and deep baritone timbre as he swooped past me, heading toward the kitchen. “I dearly hope you’ve saved me a spring roll.”

  Missy raced after him, yipping her hellos. I winced.

  Perhaps a visit from Cherise to cure this headache of mine wasn’t such a bad idea. But no … it was too risky with all I had going on in my head. Secrets. I sighed, wishing I could be more transparent with those I loved. Like Cherise. And Ve. And even Harper.

  Taking a deep breath, I tucked my secrets into a dark corner of my brain and then returned to the kitchen. I noticed Tilda starting to creep down the steps as I cut up a spring roll for Archie.

  “You’re in a good mood for such a dark day,” Ve said to him.

  He landed on the curved backrest of the counter stool, his black talons gripping the iron scrollwork, his long tail nearly touching the floor. “’Tis a bittersweet day.”

  “We know of the bitter,” I said. “What is the sweet?”

  “Word has spread that Dorothy Hansel Dewitt is in the pokey and shall undoubtedly be locked up for a long time to come. Perhaps life imprisonment,” he said, pressing a wing to his chest. He lifted his beak, and his voice thundered as he added, “It is as though a great black cloud has lifted. Light is shining on this village. The angels are singing. Hallelujer!” He flapped his wings.

  He’d been on a Madea kick lately.

  We all stared. Tilda twined herself around my ankles as she watched the vibration of Archie’s tail. In one quick move, she swatted, pulling out a feather.

  “Yow!” he exclaimed.

  I quickly scooped up the cat and set her in my lap. “Sorry. She must have felt moved by the spirit.”

  Archie glanced around moodily and said, “Your collective silence on the matter of Dorothy is deafening. What am I missing? Besides a few feathers.” He glared angrily at Tilda.

  She swished her tail—somewhat smugly, I thought—as I said, “We don’t think Dorothy could have done it.”

  Archie eyed the wine bottle. “I am going to need something stronger than wine, Velma.”

  Ve shimmied off her stool and reached for the bottle of tequila in the cabinet above the stove.

  Andreus explained how we’d reached the conclusion while I petted Tilda. She was being exceptionally affectionate tonight, for which I was grateful, but I was still on high alert—I’d been on the receiving end of her sharp claws more than once. To say that she had mood swings was putting it mildly. She could turn on me in an instant.

  “Are there any other suspects?” Ve asked me as she set a shot of tequila in front of Archie. He liked his liquor.

  “Feif Highbridge,” I said.

  “Hubba-hubba.” Archie fanned his face. “That’s a bridge I wouldn’t mind crossing.”

  “Hear, hear,” Ve said, raising her glass of wine.

  “Hello,” Andreus said. “I can hear you.”

  It was her turn to pat his hand. “Have you seen Feif?”

  Andreus rolled his eyes, then said, “What business did he have with Leyna?”

  “That’s unclear,” I said. “I need to question him.”

  Ve raised her hand high. “I volunteer to accompany you.”

  “As do I,” Archie said, lifting his wing.

  Andreus refilled his wine glass and swallowed the liquid in one big gulp.

  I said, “But what I don’t understand is if Dorothy wasn’t involved with what happened to Leyna, why did she have Leyna’s hairpin?”

  Aunt Ve dunked her spoon into a bowl of egg drop soup. “It might be time to consider that Dorothy had a partner in crime. Since she knew she could not go near Divinitea, she sent someone in her stead. That person must have given Dorothy the pin after the hit job was complete.”

  Someone like her son, Vince? The thought didn’t sit well.

  “In my experience,” Andreus said, “Dorothy is not one to delegate. If she was set on destroying Divinitea, it would be done by her own hand.”

  That was my experience with Dorothy as well, but people changed.

  And by all accounts, Dorothy had changed a lot in these past few months.

  “There is another theory,” Archie said. He cleared his throat, a sure sign he was about to test me with our movie-quote game. “ ‘This whole thing’s a setup, a scam, a—’ ”

  “ ‘Frame job,’ ” I said excitedly, cutting him off to complete the quote. “And it’s Who Framed Roger Rabbit.”

  Archie huffed. “Spoilsport.”

  “Framed?” Ve echoed. “Someone is framing Dorothy?”

  “Now that makes sense,” Andreus said.

  It did. There wasn’t a person in this village who was unaware of Dorothy’s hatred for Divinitea, Amanda, and Leyna—or her proclivity for fire.

  “But by whom?” Archie asked. “By someone who hated Leyna? Or Dorothy?”

  “Or both?” Ve added.

  I wasn’t sure—and I wasn’t ready to let go of the partner angle quite yet either, but I felt a bead of excitement that told me we were on the right track.

  One way or another, I was going to figure out who had killed Leyna Noble. And why.

  As I thought about where to go from here in investigating this case, I instinctively knew I needed help—a cover. And I knew just the witch to ask for help.

  Chapter Eight

  I woke up the next morning feeling stiff and out of sorts. I rolled over and squinted at the bedside clock. Fuzzy red numbers informed me I’d slept in—it was twenty of eight. The house was eerily silent. Nick’s side of the bed was cold, and our cat, Annie, a beautiful black RagaMuffin, was curled up on Nick’s pillow, watching me with her big amber eyes.

  Sunlight filtered into the room through sheer curtains as I scratched Annie’s ears, enjoying the commencing purrs. The headache I’d been fighting was much better, but I could feel its remnants lying in wait behind my left eye, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice. Staying in bed all day suddenly sounded like a wonderful idea. Even though I’d had a full night’s sleep, I was still tired.

  If only I didn’t have eight thousand and three things to do today, that number being only a slight exaggeration. The first thing on my to-do list was figuring out where Nick had gone. Was he off to work already? It wasn’t like him to leave without saying goodbye. Then I realized Higgins wasn’t in his doggy bed by the door and figured the two were together.

  Throwing back the covers, I reached for my glasses. I yawned my way into the bathroom, where I brushed my hair and teeth, took two acetaminophen tablets to help fight off the lingering headache, and skipped putting in my contacts until after my shower later on. I slipped into my robe and took a moment to open my sock drawer. I pulled out a pair of hiking socks. From between the folds of the thick wool, I retrieved a small velvet pouch. From that pouch, I shook loose a small green seed.

 
I stared at the seed, willing it to whisper its secrets. Why had it been given to me? What was it for?

  Hildie’s voice went through my head. Keep it safe until you need it. You’ll know when the time is right.

  The seed grew warm in my palm as I held it, but it rudely revealed nothing.

  I tucked it back into the pouch and decided that the sock drawer was not a safe enough hiding place. Gripping the pouch, I whispered a spell I knew by heart and threw the pouch into the air—where it disappeared.

  It would reappear when I called for it. But how I was supposed to know when I needed it was beyond me.

  I was beginning to question the whole concept of faith as I walked down the hallway. I peeked down over the catwalk’s railing, my gaze sweeping across the family room, dining room, and what was visible of the kitchen.

  The scent of coffee wafted upward, beckoning.

  Ignoring the siren call for now, I looked out the huge two-story windows in the family room, into the backyard. Except for a few finches flying around, all was quiet. The garage at the rear of the yard was closed tight, the lights off, so I knew Nick wasn’t in his workshop.

  I glanced out the front windows and smiled when I spotted Higgins taking Nick for a walk on the village green. Dragging him, really. I took a moment just to watch their antics, then moved on down the hallway. Mimi’s bedroom door was open, her bed still made from the day before, as she’d spent the night with Harper.

  There was a framed sketch of her mom, Melina Sawyer, on her desk. It was one of my sketches, done solely from Mimi’s memories. We’d worked long and hard on making sure the drawing lived up to the beautiful woman it featured. The oval face, the lips that always tended to curl upward at the corners. Her shoulder-length, straight dark hair. Her expressive dark eyes. Melina had died of cancer long before I moved to the village, yet I felt as though I knew her.

  I hoped she somehow knew how much I loved her daughter.

  Unfortunately, Mimi had no other pictures to remember her mother by. Until recently, Wishcrafters had been unable to be photographed or videotaped. On film, we showed up as bright starbursts. A little over a year ago, a special spell had been commissioned for Wishcrafters, enabling us to finally be shown on film. It had changed our lives. No more fake IDs, driver’s licenses, or passports. We could now document important milestones in our lives. Harper would have baby pictures of her little boy. I’d have wedding photos. It was a gift we’d never take for granted.

  In the room directly across the hall, I pushed open the door and looked inside. I’d been using the room as my art studio, but in the past month it had also become a storage area for wedding supplies. One day, it would be a nursery. I already imagined the mural I wanted to paint—the night sky with a bright moon and silver stars bursting with warmth and love.

  I stood in the doorway a long time, before finally giving in to the alluring coffee scent.

  In the kitchen, I poured cream into the bottom of the mug, then added coffee and stirred. I took a sip and frowned. I’d been trying to cut back on my copious caffeine intake and had created a custom “Merriweather” blend of half decaf, half full-caff.

  I missed the caffeine.

  A lot.

  And I had no doubt my lingering headache had to do with the loss of what I considered an essential nutrient.

  I questioned just how bad too much caffeine was for a person. I figured it couldn’t possibly be worse than what I was drinking.

  I set my mug on the counter and walked to the freezer, where I pulled out a silver-wrapped peppermint patty. These little circles of cool chocolate-mint goodness were my favorite go-to stress relievers.

  I let the chocolate melt in my mouth as I opened the back door to let in the cool morning air. Glancing upward, I hoped to see a mourning dove coming in for a landing, but I saw only fluttering finches and a brilliant deep-blue sky.

  I’d become accustomed to my mother dropping in for coffee most mornings, but she’d been a no-show for several days now. And I couldn’t go see her, either. This week the Elder’s meadow, deep in the Enchanted Woods, was off-limits due to emergency Coven of Seven meetings ahead of the Renewal.

  Leaving the door open to let in sweet rose-scented air, I grabbed my mug and went into my office, sat in my desk chair, and pulled out my phone. I sent Vince Paxton a text message.

  COFFEE LATER ON?

  Vince had always possessed a closed-book, evasive persona, but I’d come to know him fairly well. If I asked him flat-out, I’d be able to tell if he’d had anything to do with the fire and Leyna’s murder.

  Or at least I hoped I’d be able to tell.

  Maybe I’d be able to tell.

  I wasn’t sure at all.

  Sighing, I held the phone, waiting for response bubbles, but none appeared. Hmm.

  I then texted Glinda.

  COFFEE LATER?

  Immediately the bubbles appeared.

  Glinda: TEN @ WITCH’S BREW?

  Me: GINGERBREAD SHACK? NEED CHOCOLATE THERAPY.

  Glinda: GOOD IDEA. SEE YOU THERE.

  I set the phone aside for now and glanced at my day planner. My gaze skimmed across the to-dos for the week, of which there were many. I had my final wedding dress fitting tomorrow afternoon and Harper’s birthday party that night. On Tuesday, I had a phone conference in the afternoon, and then there was Harper’s actual birthday and the renewal ceremony. I had a meeting on Thursday at the Stove to finalize the reception menu and an appointment on Friday with the Black Thorn florist shop.

  The Midsummer Ball, a huge event in the village, was to take place this weekend, and next weekend … I was getting married.

  I looked again at Tuesday’s calendar block, to the ink circle around the afternoon hour penciled inside the square, the time scheduled for the phone conference. I stared so hard at that circle that it started to blur.

  Then I realized it was blurring because of the tears in my eyes.

  Secrets.

  I was keeping a big one that, at its heart, had nothing to do with the witch world … but could change it forever.

  Don’t think about it.

  I looked away, turning my attention to the painting of a magic wand above the fireplace. The blue and silver colors soothed, while the swirl of the wand reminded me of the magic in my life.

  With a heavy sigh, I turned my attention to the binder on my desk that housed all the wedding particulars. I needed to call the rental company to confirm the chairs I’d ordered for the ceremony, which was going to be held in the backyard.

  Nick and I had gone back and forth many times on where we should marry, but it all came down to one deciding factor for me: my mother. I wanted my mother to be there, in her human form, preferably. But that would depend on the outcome of the Renewal, of course.

  The wedding date had been set before we knew about the Renewal and its possible consequences. Once we’d found out, we’d debated changing the date of the wedding, but it had been my mother who’d insisted we didn’t.

  We needed something joyous on the calendar to look forward to, she’d said.

  I suspected she also wanted me distracted with wedding planning to keep me from worrying about the Renewal.

  She’d clearly forgotten that I was a great multitasker.

  No matter what happened at the Renewal, she would be at my wedding, and for that I was grateful. Her presence, however, meant severely limiting the guest list to witches—and beyond that, to witches who knew the truth about my mother being the Elder. Which was why there would be fewer than twenty people at the ceremony.

  An electronic ding from the alarm system let me know Nick was home before I heard the mudroom door close. I smiled at the sound of a loud metallic drumbeat—Higgins’s tail hitting the dryer repeatedly. He was like a one-dog marching band.

  I quickly closed the binder, grabbed my phone and coffee cup, and shut the office doors behind me. I had the cup safely on the island before Higgins noticed me and started galloping through the kitchen at
full speed.

  “Sit!” I said as he charged forward. I held my hands just so, like the dog-obedience instructor had taught me.

  Higgins slowed but didn’t stop and drop. Drool flew as he raced toward me.

  As I plastered myself to the island and braced for impact, I was thinking we should ask for our money back from those doggy lessons.

  “Cookie!” Nick yelled.

  Higgins abruptly applied the brakes, his feet skidding on the wood floor like something you’d see in a cartoon. He executed a perfect one-eighty, spotted Nick’s hand gesture for sit, and immediately dropped into a sitting position. His tail flew back and forth, sweeping the floor.

  Nick handed him a doggy biscuit and he slurped it down, crunching and slobbering.

  “Good save,” I said, wiping drool from my glasses. “Cookie bribery usually works with me, too.”

  “Duly noted,” he said with a smile as he came around the island and kissed me. “How’re—”

  I held a finger to his lips. “Uh-uhn.”

  “But—”

  “We made a deal.” Secrets.

  His thick eyebrows dipped into a dark V shape. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

  I lifted an eyebrow and stared him down.

  His grin crept back. “Deals are meant to be broken?”

  “Nope.”

  “Not even for a cookie?”

  I brought his head down and kissed him again. “Not even for a cookie.”

  “Two cookies? I’m sure Higgins would share.”

  At hearing his name, Higgins’s tail went from swishing to thumping. He licked the floor clean of crumbs, then galloped out the open back door to chase the birds.

  “Tempting. But no.”

  “So much for cookie bribery.”

  “Next time, try something other than dog treats.”

  “Duly noted,” he said again, this time with a laugh.

  He was wearing his uniform, minus the gun. “What time do you have to leave?”

  “Ten minutes. I’m glad you’re up—I didn’t want to wake you to say goodbye.” His gaze shifted to the back door. “Did your mother stop by?”