Ribbing and Runes

by Nancy Warren

  Okay, I bathed in the compliment for a bit, the way I’d roll around in a scented, warm bubble bath. Then I took in what he was really saying. “But if she had killed me, she had to know that Sylvia would come after her.”

  “She may not know exactly what Sylvia is capable of. In fact, she may not know that Sylvia is undead.”

  It was true enough. We hadn’t exactly advertised the fact, and we’d done the tea mug switching thing. Still, there was something about Sylvia that screamed, “Do not cross me.”

  But maybe the Wicked Witch of Wallingford was so confident of her own powers that she believed she could take Sylvia. Maybe she’d assumed Sylvia would taste the elixir, not knowing that Sylvia didn’t need it.

  One way or another, it was showdown time.

  As we grew nearer, I spotted a car coming towards us in the other lane. I didn’t know why I looked at it. I’m not one of those people who loves cars so much they like to pick out makes and models as they drive by. It was an inborn instinct. That power that people kept telling me I had and that I was working to try and control.

  The car drove by, and as I looked into it, I saw Margaret Twigg. Her face looked peculiar. Set and hard and angry. Well, that part wasn’t peculiar, except that normally she only looked like that when she was looking at me.

  “That’s Margaret Twigg,” I said aloud.

  “Not that surprising. This is the main road back to Oxford.”

  “Huh, I wonder what she was doing out here.”

  I directed Rafe to Karmen’s house, and as we pulled up, he looked around. “I remember this pub. I used to frequent it back when Sylvia was still making films.”

  It was always weird when he gave me glimpses of his past, something he was doing more and more now that we were committed to each other.

  I said, “It belongs to a witch now.”

  He nodded. “It did then, too. But the beer was excellent.”

  The lights were on in the old pub but not in the house. I said, “Let’s take a trip down memory lane. You can see what the old place looks like now. No doubt Karmen is mixing up more of her magic potion for skin creams.”

  He said, “Question her carefully. Remember, we want to know why she tried to kill you.”

  Now that we were here, I didn’t even want to go inside. I felt like a coward. All I wanted to do was get rid of that poison and forget the whole incident had ever happened. But I knew I couldn’t do that. I had to stop this woman from trying to kill other witches. It was bad enough when she’d made both Violet and Felicity Stevens so sick, but what was in that box would have killed me. Not cool.

  Rafe obviously sensed my hesitation. “Do you want me to go in alone?” His voice sounded calm, but I saw the way his fingers tightened. I worried that his love for me might make him more revengeful and less cool than he thought he could remain. That made me brave enough to get out of the car.

  “Let’s do this thing. We have to make a pact. Just because she tried to hurt me doesn’t mean that we hurt her. Two wrongs don’t make a right.”

  “You may need to remind me of that again. The thought of her hurting you makes my blood boil.” He turned to stare at me. “And I’m relatively cold-blooded.”

  I took his hand, and we walked forward. I knocked on the door, but there was no answer. I could see Rafe was about to break it open, but I stopped him.

  “I have an unlocking spell.” I was always so pleased when I had spells at the ready that I had memorized and knew worked.

  I closed my eyes, whispered the words that would unlock the door and heard the quiet click of the lock. I turned the handle and opened the door. The lights were on, and Tilda was working away over a couple of steaming pots on the big gas stove. I smelled those familiar scents, the licorice, the lavender and rose, and that musky something else that I still hadn’t put my finger on. Soft harp music was playing. But of Karmen there was no sign.

  We both walked in, and then I said, loud enough that she could hear me but hopefully not loud enough that I scared the woman to death, “Tilda?”

  She started and turned to look at me. Her face was slightly flushed from the steam, and tendrils of her gray hair were curling around her face. Once again, I thought how very different this naturally aging older woman looked from her glamorous employer. She blinked at me. “I’m sorry. I’ve forgotten your name.”

  “It’s Lucy. And this is my fiancé Rafe. We’re looking for Karmen.”

  She blinked at me as though not sure what to say. “Karmen doesn’t see customers unless you have an appointment.”

  “I’m not here to buy anything,” I said, cool and steely. Or as close to cool and steely as I could get. “Do you know where she is?”

  “No. She was at home earlier, but she may have gone out again. I don’t keep track.”

  “Thanks.”

  We closed the door and went back outside. The Bentley pulled up behind the Tesla, and Sylvia got out. Alfred was once again her driver, and I had a feeling that he’d also come along to make sure she didn’t tear anybody’s throat out.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be guarding those men?” I asked him.

  “Christopher Weaver took my place. Thought you might need me.”

  “Where is she?” Sylvia asked in a voice that made my blood run cold.

  “She’s not in there,” I said.

  “She must be in the house then.”

  “But there are no lights on in the cottage. Her assistant, Tilda, said she might be out somewhere.”

  Then Sylvia threw back her head and sniffed like a bloodhound. It was easy to forget that behind the elegant façade was a creature extremely good at scenting blood. Rafe and Alfred hadn’t been around Karmen, but Sylvia had.

  Alfred set his long nose to quivering and then said, “There’s an O blood type in the pub over there.” He wrinkled his nose. “So common.”

  He was a connoisseur of blood types.

  Sylvia shook her head. “That’s not her. That’s the assistant.”

  She stepped closer to the house and drew in a deep breath. “She’s inside.”

  I wondered why Karmen had the lights off. The day was cloudy, and her cottage hadn’t been big on windows anyway. Maybe she’d seen us coming and plunged the house into darkness, hoping we’d go away. That’s what I’d do if Sylvia was after me on the warpath.

  I made to do my unlocking trick again, but Sylvia pushed the front door and it opened wide. It wasn’t locked.

  Sylvia might be good at smelling out blood, but I sensed energy. I’d felt that hint of cold darkness in the air when we’d come before. This time I felt something darker and muddier.

  “Karmen?” I called.

  We all walked in. “Split up,” Rafe said. I nodded. He said, “Lucy with me. Alfred and Sylvia together.”

  I’d thought he’d meant to split up into singles, but then I realized he didn’t want Sylvia coming across that witch by herself. He wanted Alfred with her, and even more, he wanted us to find the witch first.

  Okay, I couldn’t lock onto someone based on the blood pumping through their veins, but I had my witch intuition. In the same way I’d been able to sense Margaret Twigg on a highway, I should be able to find Karmen in her own house. I closed my eyes for a second and then headed towards the living room.

  And found her there.

  She lay on the rug, one arm stretched out. The evening was growing dim, so I switched on a light and then cried out in horror.

  “That’s not Karmen,” I said. There was an old woman lying there. Wrinkled and hag-like. Her legs and arms were spindly, the gray flesh sagging from them, her hair gray and thin and matted. And then I noticed the pointed finger. It was twisted and knobby with arthritis, but the fingernail was oval and painted pale pink. I ran forward. Dropped to my knees beside her. “Karmen?”

  She wasn’t dead, but it was close. I could feel her life force seeping away and the darkness of death pressing down on her.

  I touched her shoulder. Her eyes flick
ered open, and she gave a great gasping breath. She looked past me to Rafe. “The book,” she said.

  “Book? What book? Karmen, what happened?” I asked her.

  But there was no answer. Karmen’s life force was faint, and I saw the moment it ended.

  “She’s dead,” I said, as though that weren’t obvious.

  Rafe nodded.

  “Gran was right. This must be the same Karmen she’d known. She was young and beautiful a few days ago, but when she was dying, the elixir must have stopped working.” She definitely looked her age.

  Her last words had been, “the book.” I looked around. There was a small bookcase in a corner. “What book do you think she was talking about?”

  He shook his head. “No idea.”

  Sylvia and Alfred walked in then. Sylvia looked down at the dead witch and said, “Is that old crone Karmen?”

  I nodded. Sylvia sniffed the air. “Her blood wasn’t spilled.”

  Rafe answered her. “No. I’m not sure how she died. Blunt force trauma or poison, I’d guess.”

  I didn’t want to hazard a guess, but Karmen could have died of old age.

  “You believe she was murdered?” Sylvia asked.

  “Seems most likely,” Rafe said.

  “I suggest we get out of here before the authorities arrive,” Sylvia said.

  Before we left, I perused the bookshelf, but the titles were so safe they could have been props. There were coffee-table books on gardening and history. The kind of novels that book clubs tended to read or judging panels gave awards to. I was not seeing anything here that would cause a witch to be killed. There were no books on witchcraft, nothing but bland titles suitable for a public library, and there were no missing spots where a missing book had been.

  I turned around. Karmen hadn’t been very nice and had presumably sent me a box containing poison, but still I didn’t want to just leave her here. I said to Rafe, “We should call the police.”

  Sylvia made a rude noise. “Well, I won’t be here. Anyway, it’s quite obvious. Her employee must have done it. She’s the only other one here.”

  I turned to stare at her. “Why would Tilda murder her boss? She just did herself out of a job. Anyway, if she was behind this, would she really have stayed behind in the pub making cold cream?”

  Sylvia shrugged her elegant shoulders. “Daywalkers never cease to surprise me with their stupidity.” Then she crooked a finger at Alfred. “Come along. These two can do whatever they like, but I suggest you and I get on the road back to Oxford.”

  Alfred seemed perfectly happy to comply, only pausing long enough to say, “Will you two be all right?”

  “We will,” Rafe said.

  After Alfred and Sylvia left, Rafe stood and took a quick look around the living room. He said, “I rarely agree with Sylvia, but she might be right, you know. Perhaps we should leave.”

  I shook my head. “Even if we wanted to, Tilda knows we were here.” The last thing I needed was to get involved with the police again. It was one thing to report a crime, quite another to have the police chase you up because you’d been on the scene where a murder was committed and then left. However, I knew that Rafe liked to keep a low profile in Oxfordshire for obvious reasons. I said, “Why don’t you go. I can call it in.” Listen to me, sounding like a bad cop show.

  He looked at me as though he were disappointed. “You know I’m not going to leave you.” Of course I did.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. I was, too. I hated dragging him into danger or even just awkward social situations. Between the wedding and me being a witch and not a vampire, I seemed to be forever dragging him into a limelight he would have preferred to avoid.

  Still, he didn’t have to marry me, did he? It was his idea.

  I rubbed my thumb along the top of my engagement ring, as I tended to do when I needed reassurance. Or a reminder that we were really getting married. “I’ll call them now.”

  I made the call and agreed that I would stay where I was until the authorities arrived.

  “There’s no point standing here with a dead witch. I’d better go and tell poor Tilda.”

  He looked at me with a frown between his eyes. “Sylvia isn’t always tactful, but she might be right. Be very careful around Tilda. And you’re not going to talk to her alone.”

  I shook my head. I stuck to my opinion that a woman who’d killed her boss would hardly hang around, still working. Still, I knew he was right and I should be careful.

  It was a relief to go back outside and leave the heavy darkness, not only of death but of the negative witch energy that Karmen had put out. My shoes crunched across the gravel as I headed to the former pub. Rafe shut the door softly and was only a step behind me.

  I walked in and found the scene very much as it had been when we arrived. Tilda was still at work at a pot on the stove. Harp music still played. It was very peaceful and smelled of herbs and flowers. I hated to intrude on her with such terrible news, but I thought it was better coming from me than the police. Between the music and the bubbling mixture, she didn’t hear the door, so I called out, “Tilda?”

  She jumped a little bit, as I’d obviously surprised her, and then she turned around. “Oh, it’s you, Lucy. I forgot to lock the door. Did you find Karmen?” She looked at me, all innocent. Oh, I hated to be the one to tell her.

  I said, “Why don’t you come out of the kitchen for a minute and sit down. I need to talk to you.”

  She glanced at her mixture and then turned off the burner. Good plan.

  She wiped her hands on her apron and came out looking puzzled. “What’s the matter?”

  I said, “Please, sit down.” I sat down too at the scarred table that they used for packaging things.

  “Tilda, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Karmen’s dead.”

  Chapter 11

  Her eyes opened slowly wider and wider, and then she blinked once. “Karmen’s dead?” she asked as though she couldn’t believe it.

  I reached for her hand. It was warm and slightly damp from where she’d been stirring the mixture. “I am so sorry. I found her in her house. She’d collapsed.”

  Tilda put her other hand to her heart as though to check that she was still alive. “But I just saw her earlier. She seemed—” And then her face creased in a worried frown. “She was complaining of a headache and chest pains. I thought she’d been overdoing it. That’s why she left me here to finish up this batch.”

  And yet she hadn’t said that to us when we’d arrived. She’d only said that she didn’t know where her boss was.

  “How long had she been complaining of headaches and chest pain?” I asked. I’d been involved in enough suspicious deaths that it had become second nature to me to ask probing questions. Not that the police ever appreciated my interference.

  Tilda looked as though she was having trouble taking in what I was saying. “I can’t believe it. You’re certain? She doesn’t need a doctor?”

  I shook my head again. “She’s beyond a doctor. I’m so sorry. I’ve called the police. They’ll be here soon.”

  Beneath my hands, hers jerked. “Police. Oh dear, oh dear. Poor Karmen.”

  No doubt they’d be asking Tilda to identify her boss, so I felt I should at least prepare her for what she might be about to see. “She looks very old.”

  She looked confused again. “Who does?”

  “Karmen. She doesn’t look the same as she did. She looks like a very old woman.”

  “But that’s ridiculous. She can’t be more than forty-five at the most.”

  “I’m just telling you what I saw. I don’t want you to be shocked.”

  She scrunched up her face as though faced with a difficult math problem. Gently, I said, “You must have known she was a witch.”

  Now she pulled her hand away from mine. “It’s not nice to speak ill of the dead.”

  Hey, I was a witch. Since when was that an insult? I merely said, “I have every respect for the craft. But I think
she may have been older than she looked.”

  She waved a hand around the shelves filled with the distinctive dark blue bottles. “It was her cosmetics. The cream is wonderful. That’s all.”

  Again, I didn’t want to be insulting, but I said, “Do you use the creams?”

  “Of course, I do. I get an excellent discount. I use them faithfully, day and night.”

  “And yet you don’t look forty.” Sixty, at a guess.

  She looked at me as though I’d hit her. I was not doing well in the winning friends and influencing people department. “I do the best I can. I admit, Karmen cared more about her appearance than I did. I’m sure she wasn’t above helping nature along, if you know what I mean.”

  I didn’t entirely. “Are you suggesting she used surgery and facelifts and so on to stay young? Or do you mean she used witchcraft?”

  She let out a huge sigh. “I never inquired too deeply. She stayed remarkably young looking. And, of course, it helped the business enormously. I always got a nice bonus every year.” She looked around again, now forlorn. “I suppose that’s all over.”

  I thought, not only was that woman not going to get any more bonuses, but she was most likely out of a job.

  “Do you know anything about Karmen’s family?”

  She shook her head. “She didn’t have any. Friends, of course, and everyone in Wallingford knew her.”

  “I wonder what will happen to her estate?”

  Tilda suddenly pulled herself together and looked offended. “That’s hardly your business.”

  I could see she was overcoming her shock and probably becoming protective of the woman who had employed her.

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. Her death has thrown me, too.”

  She stood up and said, “Why don’t you head on home now. I can take care of the police. I should make sure she’s comfortable.” And then her face crumpled and she began to cry.

  Obviously, Rafe and I couldn’t let her go into the house. If it was a murder scene, the last thing the police would want was more people blundering around in there, obscuring any clues.

  However, Tilda wasn’t thinking straight, and I’d promised the police I wouldn’t leave the scene.