Sunlight streamed through the open door and onto the oak landing at the top of the steps, spotlighting years of wear and tear. I followed Glinda into the apartment, fully expecting to see Stef sitting on the couch, but Vince was alone. He stood in the kitchen, wiping his hands on a tea towel. A dish rack next to the sink held one bowl, one glass. He’d eaten breakfast alone.
He said, “I have fifteen minutes before I have to be downstairs to open the shop. You’re on the clock.”
Vince was in his early thirties, but he had a boyish look about him that made him look years younger. With longish brown hair that could only be described as floppy and big blue puppy-dog eyes blinking out from behind a pair of glasses, he gave off an air of innocence that was misleading.
Truth be told, he was one of the most dangerous witches in this village, thanks to his dabbling with the dark arts, which focused on malevolence and could be performed by anyone—not only witches. The practice was the complete opposite of the Craft and everything it stood for. Darkness versus light. I hadn’t witnessed or heard about any incidents involving his use of sorcery lately—and hoped it stayed that way.
As I looked around, I tried not to dwell too long on how badly off the mark my hunch about Stef had been. Before I could ask about her, however, Glinda launched right in with a question of her own.
“Why aren’t you answering our calls?” Glinda narrowed her gaze on him.
“Did you call my cell?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “Called and texted.”
“I only texted,” I added, jumping into the conversation.
His apartment was bright and surprisingly clean. It had elements of a stereotypical bachelor pad—mismatched, worn living room furniture, no curtains, no kitchen table, no artwork. But there were a few homey touches, such as the vase of wisteria, the scented pillar candle nestled in a glass container full of colorful rocks, and a snapshot of Vince and Noelle pinned to the fridge door with a magnet.
“Then that’s the issue,” he said. “My cell is somewhere in Divinitea. Probably melted beyond all recognition at this point. It fell out of my pocket in the rush out of the cottage. It’s been kind of liberating not having it, to tell you the truth.”
“Where did you find a lawyer for Dorothy?” Glinda asked him. “I could barely get any of the ones I called to call me back.”
“I know people,” he said with a grin.
“Is he a mortal lawyer?” Glinda asked.
“Is she a mortal, you mean? Don’t be so sexist, Glinda.” He walked over to his open laptop on the coffee table, powered it down, and closed the lid.
“Don’t make me push you out a window,” she threatened.
He looked at me. “Glinda gets her charm from Dorothy.”
I couldn’t help smiling. “Clearly.”
Glinda rolled her eyes as she sat in a ratty wing chair that looked like it might collapse under her weight. “Seriously, though. Where’d you find the lawyer?”
“I saw the name on the side of a passing bus.” He pulled sneakers out from beneath the couch and slipped his feet into them.
“Vince,” she said. “I wasn’t kidding about the window.”
“Calm yourself,” he said, motioning for me to sit. “The lawyer is a mortal who does a lot of work for Noelle. She’s doing me a favor.”
“Noelle or the lawyer?” I asked, bypassing a rickety-looking chair next to Glinda to sit down on a threadbare love seat that was surprisingly comfortable. My gaze darted around the room. It seemed like every flat surface had a stack of books on it. Everything from the latest bestseller to Mark Twain’s Life on the Mississippi.
Vince sat on the sofa, his long legs bumping against the coffee table. “Both,” he said with a grin, and then threw me a wry glance and reached over and closed the album.
“Is that …” Glinda motioned to the photo album. “It is! Hand it over.”
Vince didn’t look like he was going to, so I reached over and picked it up.
“Did Dorothy give you this?” she asked him.
He pretended to pick something off his khaki chinos. “I may have borrowed it one of the times I dropped her drunken self off at home.”
Glinda opened the album, and her gaze skimmed the photos. “I should have thought to make copies for you. Sorry.”
“It’s not a big deal,” he said.
“Yeah, no big deal. You only stole the photo album because you’re a closeted klepto. Good to know.”
He crossed his arms. “We all have our hobbies.”
She gave him a smile.
He added, “I really just wanted to see what you looked like with buck teeth and glasses.”
I leaned forward. “Really?”
She rolled her eyes. “No. That’s Zoey. She went through an awkward phase in her teens, but she was the cutest baby.”
I risked life and limb by switching seats. I sat in the wobbly chair next to Glinda and leaned over the armrest for a better look.
Her finger hovered over a newborn baby photo—Zoey, I presumed. She was adorable, with a shock of the whitest blonde hair that stuck straight up like a troll’s hairdo. She was asleep in the photo, looking as peaceful as peaceful could be.
I hoped she was—because I knew that later in life she’d carried around a tortured soul.
Vince said, “I don’t have time for this walk down memory lane, ladies.”
Glinda shut the album with a thump. “I’ll be sure to get you copies of all the pictures I can find. And, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like copies of yours from growing up, too.”
“To throw darts at?” he asked.
“Of course,” she said.
He hid a smile behind a cough, and I couldn’t help feeling like I wanted to hug him. I resisted.
As I went back to the spot on the love seat, I noticed the stack of books under his laptop. Witchcraft books. I’d seen them before, actually. They’d come from Harper’s old collection—the one she’d had before giving up the Craft. “Where did you get those?”
He followed my gaze. “Where do you think? Harper.”
Harper probably didn’t quite think of Vince as the pesky brother I did, but only because she had dated him briefly when we first moved to the village. Very briefly. After overcoming a few personal obstacles, they’d formed a solid friendship.
“I thought Harper is off the Craft,” Glinda said.
Vince had recently learned all about the Renewal, the coup attempts, and my family’s role in the Craft. My mother had told him everything in hopes that he too would become a secret agent for the Craft. She had believed that taking him into her confidence would help sway him toward the side of good, not evil. He, however, had declined her offer, choosing to stay neutral on the situation. Like I said, Vince was a wild card. While I felt there was good within him, I didn’t know if it was enough to make him shy away from the darkness. Or put his relationship with his mother in jeopardy, even if it was the right thing to do.
“She is,” he said. “But it’s not stopping her from trying to get me on board with it. A bit hypocritical of her, don’t you think?”
A thread of hope went through me. Maybe Harper wasn’t as off the Craft as she’d have liked us to believe. I noticed that many of the books had sticky notes marking certain pages. Harper might have led Vince to the water, as it were, but he seemed to be drinking it of his own free will.
I wanted to do a happy dance.
I resisted that urge as well.
“So, you and Noelle?” I asked, steering the conversation away from Harper. “You’re still dating?”
He looked at me oddly. Almost … panicked. “Have you heard otherwise?”
“No, it’s just that you were with Stef yesterday at Divinitea.”
His shoulders relaxed. “We weren’t together, together. Stef was doing me a favor by going with me. You do know a man and woman can dine together without it being romantic, don’t you?”
I smiled, realizing he liked Noelle. A lot.
“Oh, nothing.”
“Well, knock it off right this minute.” He shook his head and said, “Noelle and I had reservations at Divinitea for lunch, but she got a call from a client and had to bow out at the last minute. That’s right around the time Stef called me about Dorothy being drunk at the Stove … again. By the time I arrived, I found Stef trying to corral Dorothy outside—apparently she thought she would drive herself home … in someone else’s car.”
Good heavens.
“After Stef helped me get Dorothy home, I invited her to join me at Divinitea so I didn’t have to cancel the reservation. I had to twist Stef’s arm. She actually doesn’t like tea.”
“Why didn’t you want to cancel the reservation?” I asked.
He said, “You’re nosy.”
I shrugged. “I’ve been called worse. By you, in fact.”
“That’s very true,” he said.
“You said you took Dorothy home. To her house or here, to yours?” I asked.
“Hers. I made some coffee, put on a Bogart movie, and told her I’d check in with her later. Stef and I went straight to Divinitea from there. We’d barely been there five minutes when the fire alarm went off.”
“Is there any chance Dorothy followed you there?” I asked.
“No way,” he said emphatically. “She was too out of it.”
“Yet she eventually wound up in the woods behind Third Eye,” Glinda said. “Any ideas how she ended up over there?”
“Let me clarify,” he said. “She was too out of it to sneak into Divinitea unnoticed, strangle someone without anyone seeing anything, and light a fire to cover her tracks. She was not, however, too drunk to stumble over to Third Eye to spy on Sylar and pass out. She’s been spying on him for months now, looking for ways to blackmail him.”
That bit of information should have been more surprising than it actually was.
He bent to tie a shoe, and I pressed on. “You never did say why you didn’t want to cancel your reservation.”
He pushed his glasses up his nose. “You’d think you’d take the hint.”
I glanced at Glinda. “Why do I like him?”
She shrugged. “You have issues?”
“Clearly,” Vince said, smiling at us. A genuine smile.
It faded when I asked, “Were you at Divinitea because my bridal luncheon was being held there? It’s rather coincidental you were going to be there at the same time.”
“You, you, you,” he said in a high-pitched voice. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe I like tea and ridiculously small sandwiches and that particular time was when the tea cottage had a reservation open?”
“No,” I said sarcastically.
“Did Dorothy ask you to spy on Harper and Darcy?” Glinda asked.
“No,” he said, echoing the tone of my sarcasm.
I wasn’t sure what to make of that. Had he or hadn’t he been planning to spy on us? With the Renewal coming up, I wouldn’t have put it past Dorothy to spy on us right up until the very last minute.
“Did you notice anything strange while you were there?” Glinda asked. “Anyone out of place?”
“I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. It all seemed like a perfectly normal afternoon until all hell broke loose.” He stood up. “I think we’re done here. I need to get to work. Come on, up with you both.”
Vince herded Glinda and me to the door and said, “If you need me, don’t call. I’m not sure when I’m getting another phone. Stop by. Or use smoke signals. Or something.”
As I passed by a bookcase, I noticed several shelves stuffed full of books on black magic and the dark arts. Dozens more than he had on the Craft. The spines were worn, the pages dog-eared. It was obvious they’d been read many times.
Which made me wonder why he was reading about the Craft at all.
Was he studying our ways to learn them?
Or to use them against us?
Chapter Twelve
My phone chimed as Glinda and I made our way down the alleyway toward Pixie Cottage. I slowed to a stop behind the Black Thorn flower shop and fished the phone from my bag.
“Nick?” Glinda asked.
“Yeah. He says Dorothy’s lawyer arrived, and they’re talking privately before he formally questions Dorothy. He’ll update us when he can.”
I kind of wished Dorothy would find herself in lockup for another night. It was rather freeing knowing she wasn’t roaming the village, scheming against my family.
Well, she was probably still scheming. But the whole not-roaming part was reassuring.
Glinda and I exited the alley on a side street, about half a block from the Pixie Cottage. The scent of honeysuckle from a nearby vine floated around us, strong enough to cover the smell of fried dough that seemed to permeate the air.
Sun shining on Glinda’s hair made it look as if she had a halo as she said, “That was interesting news about Harper and the books she gave Vince, no?”
“I wonder why she’s never said anything to me about giving them to him.”
“I don’t know,” Glinda said, “but I think it’s a hopeful sign, don’t you?”
“I think so, too, it’s just …”
“What?” she prompted.
“Is it too little, too late? Harper’s not going to appreciate being ambushed on her birthday and forced to make a life-changing decision on the spot. While she can act rashly at times, it’s usually on her terms. Even if she’s easing her way back into the Craft by helping Vince, someone else telling her to decide right that minute if she wants to govern all witches? That’s only going to set her on edge, raise her hackles, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she cusses out the Coven. I wish there was some way we could warn her.”
“You know I don’t have the abilities to grant that wish.”
“I wish you did.”
She laughed.
“The worst of it is, I think if Harper knew what was at stake and had time to think it through, she’d make the right decision.”
Glinda slowed to a stop. “The right decision for who, though?”
“What do you mean? For everyone.”
“For Harper?” she questioned.
I studied Glinda’s face, looking for signs of subterfuge and found none. “You don’t think Harper would be a good Elder?”
“I’m sure she would be. But is it what she wants? Or is it what everyone else wants … because of what’s at stake?” she said, tossing my own words back at me.
What was at stake. My mother dethroned, a family legacy forced to end, and Mom having to turn into a familiar forever.
And with that thought, I knew Glinda was right. I wasn’t looking at this situation objectively. I was reacting because I was scared. I absently looked both ways before crossing the street. “I see what you’re saying.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said, jogging to catch up with me. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I kick myself for not standing up for Zoey more, for what she wanted in our family. Needed from our family. I think things might have been so different if someone had just listened to what she was trying to tell us. I could have protected her more from Dorothy’s mental abuse … I should have.”
I put an arm around her. “You were a kid who was also dealing with Dorothy’s abuse.”
She squeezed my hand and gave me a sad, placating smile. “We can’t change the past, right? We can only learn from our mistakes to change the future.”
And she was sharing her so-called mistake with me so I could learn from it as well. “That sounds easier said than done.”
“It sucks, honestly. It’s painful.”
I could understand why.
Because if I listened to Harper, truly listened to what she wanted and what was going to make her happy, then I was going to have to come to terms with the fact that the Craft might soon have a new Elder.
* * *
Colleen Curtis was manning the reg
istration desk at the Pixie Cottage and smiled when she saw us come in.
“Are you here about your reservation block for next weekend, Darcy? I was just pulling that information together for Harper. We were able to set aside five rooms for your guests.”
In her early twenties, Colleen was one of the hardest-working people I knew. She was due to graduate college next year and worked part-time at the local library, at the bookshop—her mom, Angela, managed Spellbound—and here at the Pixie Cottage, where she’d pretty much grown up. Her mom and Pixie Cottage’s owner, Harmony Atchison, had been a couple for more than ten years.
“Five, really? I’m surprised, what with this being your busy season.”
Nick and I didn’t have many out-of-town guests coming to our reception—mostly old friends and distant relatives of Nick’s—but enough that we wanted a nice place for them to stay. There wasn’t anywhere nicer than the Pixie Cottage, with its charming decor and extensive gardens. Not to mention it also had Cookie, the Nigerian dwarf goat, and Scalawag, the mini donkey, who pretty much had become village mascots over the past year.
Colleen tucked recently dyed purple hair behind her ear. “A few people may have been bumped.” She leaned in and whispered, “You didn’t hear that from me.”
“Hear what?” I asked Glinda.
Glinda shrugged. “I didn’t hear anything.”
Colleen grinned.
“Well, thank you for the rooms,” I said. “Nick and I appreciate it. I didn’t actually come here to check on the reservations, but we’re hoping you can help us on another matter.”
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Glinda and I are looking into the Leyna Noble case,” I said.
Colleen knew us well enough that I didn’t need to bother explaining why we were snooping. In fact, her mom and Harmony had helped me solve a case or two in the past, and everyone in the village knew Glinda’s colorful history as a former cop turned PI as well.
“I heard Dorothy’s in custody,” Colleen said. “The whole village is talking about it. There’s a betting pool going around on whether or not she’ll shank someone in prison. No, uh, offense, Glinda.”
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