by Kate Krake
“Tell me more about your brother, the curse,” Henry said. I wondered if he was trying to change the subject, but I went with it. I was ready to tell.
“Quentin swore he didn’t know the curse would kill the guy, but he did know it was intended to hurt him. I think the guilt broke him. Jackfort believes Quentin stole whatever it was he was sent to get from the victim and ran off with it. I haven’t seen or heard from my brother in over a year. Jackfort still thinks I’m lying about it. But I honestly don’t know. And deep down, I don’t want to know.” I did nothing to wipe away my tears. “I’ve been trying to hide, hide from it all. Hide from what my brother did, from Jackfort, from my powers, but it seems as soon as I got here, everything just opened up and intensified.”
“Welcome to Blackthorn Springs,” Henry chuckled.
I smiled, but it was a short-lived humor. “I just don’t know what to do anymore, Henry. I don’t know who I am. I’ve never known who I am or where I belong, if I belong anywhere. I never had a real family, but I so desperately miss belonging to someone. I miss my brother.”
“You belong here, Belinda. With us. If that’s where you want to be. You’re not alone. You have friends here who understand what you’re going through. Your community is your family if you need us to be.”
20
It was late when Henry and I said our goodbyes, sharing a brief hug.
“There’s enough darkness in the world without seeking it out,” he said. “You’re going to be alright, Belinda. We’re a very special little group here, and now you’re one of us. Trust us to take care of you, as we all take care of each other.”
I closed the door and went to run myself a steaming, deep bath.
While the tub was filling, I sat at the kitchen table, Hemlock perched on the seat opposite like we were having a meeting.
I took the poppet from my bag, turning the doll over and over in my hands. Whatever magic had been channeled through the thing was long dried up, but there was still a spirit about it. Those little stitched black eyes, the way its crumpled shirt didn’t fit right across its shoulders, the firm slit of the mouth that had been drawn on with marker. The thing’s arms were misshapen, the stuffing bulging in its wonky hands. It looked like a child’s craft project, half-finished, and yet there was something so unmistakably Kenny about it. I shivered and set the thing down on the table. Hemlock’s tail twitched as he stared at it.
Sinking into the bath was like slipping into a warm embrace. I was alone, and I was safe, the doors locked tight to the outside world of murders and curses and wizard priests—Jackfort and Conri O’Farrell, both of whom, I hoped, I would never see again. It would be worth the drive to Whitford to see another vet if Hemlock needed it. There was no reason for me to be anywhere near Conri. I would simply ignore him. I’d ignore all of it.
Henry had been right. I had no business investigating a murder, getting that close to dark magic by choice. I’d known it myself all along. I had gone too far. It was getting dangerous. I had to back off now before anyone, including me, got really hurt.
Hemlock padded into the bathroom, careful to step around the splashes on the floor. He leaped to the edge of the tub. It had to be dire if he was risking sitting so close to a full bathtub to be near me. What did he have to say?
“Maybe it’s time we moved on,” I said. “Even if Jackfort didn’t kill Kenny, he’s still a threat. And now Bloodfire knows where we are. Plus I get the feeling there’s a lot in this place I don’t want to get any more mixed up with.”
Hemlock didn’t move, not even a blink or a twitch of the whisker.
“Do you want to go somewhere else, darling? Find a new place to live?”
He closed his eyes in one long slow blink, a sign that usually meant he was peaceful. Was he content living in Blackthorn Springs? Or was he saying he was happy with my suggestion that we should pack up and leave?
It had been easy enough to leave Loreton in the first place. A few boxes, a cheap truck and driver from Craigslist. Though I’d bought a lot of furniture when I moved into the apartment, thinking I was settling in for the long term.
And then there was everything I would be leaving behind, my little shop I really did adore even if it was making me broke, the woods, and the few friends I had made—the first real friends I’d ever had.
“But I do like it here,” I said, half to Hemlock, half to myself. I closed my eyes, sinking until the water level sat below my nose.
I had protected myself from Jackfort with a power I hadn’t known I had. If he came back, and I was sure he would, I could do it again. I could take my life back if I wanted it. Make everything right.
That’s what I had to focus on. Protecting myself, my cat and the people around me. My new family.
I had to let go of this ridiculous pursuit of a killer that, according to Henry, authorities were investigating anyway. But it still didn’t make any sense, and the injustice and illogic clawed at my brain. If someone official was investigating, why was the sheriff’s department being so cagey with me? Why was everyone still saying Kenny Langdel had died of natural causes?
“This isn’t your business anymore, Belinda,” I said aloud, trying to convince both myself and Hemlock if he was bothering to listen. “Let it go.”
That was it.
The official decision made. I was done.
After my bath, I would turn on the most brainless TV show I could find, sit down with a cup of chamomile tea—no, screw that, a bottle of wine—and then go to bed. When I woke up, my old life would be there, waiting for me to step back into like an old familiar sweatshirt.
I sank beneath the water, my eyes closed, searching for peace. I was very far from okay, but it would come. I would be alright, eventually.
My eyes flew open. I sat up, gasping, splashing water over the bathroom and soaking a now-very-peeved cat.
The fabric of the doll’s shirt.
Blue checkered cotton. With diamonds. I knew that material.
* * *
Even with the giddy thrill of a key piece of the mystery falling perfectly into place, I had somehow managed to sleep well and had woken refreshed and raring to go half an hour before my alarm was due to go off.
I stood outside the craft shop waiting for Elsie Norton to open up, hopping from one foot to the other both as a ward against the morning chill and an effect of my agitated nerves.
So much for giving up on the investigation.
Despite all the self-convincing I had tried to do last night, it seemed my subconscious had other ideas. I was now so close to the end, I simply had to see it through.
“Belinda, good morning,” Elsie said as she opened the door right at nine o’clock. I held the door open for Elsie as she hefted the street stand filled with its selection of off-cut fabrics and other bits and bobs out onto the sidewalk. The checkered cloth I had seen a few days before while I was waiting for Lila to buy her yarn was no longer in there.
As Elsie busied herself, straightening up the display and making inane small talk, I performed the trace spell behind her back. She was clear of magic. As I’d expected. It was a shame I couldn’t link the curse to the Nortons; it would give me better justification for disliking them as much as I did.
“My husband has been talking a lot about you lately. It seems you’re holding up the proceedings for the maze event. He told me you were quite rude to him at the diner.”
“Ah, yeah. I guess I was. I’m sorry. That’s why I’m here. Can you pass my further apologies onto him?”
Elsie looked at me quizzically, her mouth twitching, not knowing whether to smile or sneer.
“Also, I was looking for a piece of fabric, blue checks with diamonds,” I continued. “I saw it here the other day. I’m working on a patchwork throw for my niece, and it would look lovely in it.”
“I didn’t know you did needlecraft.”
I smiled politely. I didn’t have a niece, and I’d never sewn a stitch in my life. “I guess we’ve all got unexpecte
d sides.”
“I know the fabric you’re talking about, but I’m afraid it’s all gone. We had a few swatches. Helen Jenkins bought most of it. She’s doing a patchwork project too. Perhaps you two could exchange ideas?”
“Perhaps,” I said. “That’s okay. Thanks anyway. I’ll just have to make do with what I’ve got.”
Indeed, I would have to make do with what I had, and it was hopefully enough to identify exactly who had laid the curse on Kenny.
I stepped out of the craft shop in such a state that I didn’t see Adela until I bumped right into her.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Adela,” I said, flustered. I bent down to pick up the Naarin’s book I had knocked clean out her hands.
“It’s my fault,” Adela said. “That’ll teach me to read and walk at the same time. I’m always going on about people using their phones as they walk along, and I guess I’m just as bad with books. I’m glad I ran into you actually, even though I wasn’t meaning to do it quite so literally.”
“You are?”
“I was wondering how you were getting on after our work together,” she said. “That was a significant spell, enough to take it out of anyone. I wanted to make sure you were feeling okay.”
“I’m great,” I said. “Thanks for asking. I don’t think I’ve properly thanked you for your help. Mirroring the spell, loaning me the book—you’ve really changed my life.”
She smiled. “You’re most welcome,” she said. “Like I’ve already told you, Belinda, you have a real power. It surprises me you’ve never worked with a mentor or a coven.”
I shook my head, surprised to find I was slightly embarrassed by something I had never, until a week ago, really been bothered about. Well, if I’m honest, maybe not something I admitted I had been bothered about. “Just never known the right people, I guess.”
“Have you thought about joining an online coven?” Adela said. “There are many groups—”
“No,” I said forcefully. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I’ve got a bit of a bad experience with the online magic community.”
“I see,” Adela said, nodding. “That’s understandable. There are many people in this world who are all too good at being something other than what they first appear, and I’m afraid the internet, empowering as the technology can be, has made that even easier to get sucked into.”
“True,” I said.
“If it’s guidance you’re after, the Blackthorn area is home to a few different covens. I could introduce you to some people.”
I was touched by the offer. I had already gained so much from the Naarin. Just a few spells in an old book that had unlocked a potential I hadn’t even known I had. Quentin had always talked about potential, and it was the ravenous pursuit of his own that had led him down the first road he found, which also happened to be the darkest path. I was more discerning, I had to be, but I knew I could trust Adela’s judgment.
“I would really love that,” I said. “And I mean it honestly.”
She smiled with the warmth of a midsummer sunrise. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you better, Belinda. Yours is the most interesting aura I’ve seen in a very long time.”
“I bet you say that to all the witches,” I said.
The Naarin laughed. “I’ll come see you in a few days, okay?”
We parted, and I was left with a heady buzz of excitement. I was going to join a coven. I was finally going to be a real witch. I was going to belong.
But there was work to finish first.
* * *
Lila was waiting for me out in front of the bookstore. She didn’t have any coffee as she usually did, or chocolates, regrettably, but instead she held a sprig of greenery. She held on to it like it was about to snap around and bite her on the wrist.
“I know who the killer is,” Lila said, holding out the small branch as if it explained everything.
21
“Helen Jenkins does floral arranging in her spare time,” Lila explained. “I found out because I was asking about the flowers in the vase on the counter at Tom’s. Tom said they were Siberian tulips.”
“That’s what he ordered from Edie.”
“Yep, and another thing he ordered,” she said, holding up the sprig of plant. “This is the leaf of the ivory glasswood. I stole it from the arrangement when he was busy.”
“The seed pods,” I said.
The fabric, the seed pods—that was two pieces of concrete evidence pointing to either Tom or Helen Jenkins. I was convinced, and that was enough to at least start looking for the final clues that would clinch this for good.
“What do we do now?” Lila asked.
I didn’t get a chance to answer. The doorbell chimed and Conri stepped into my shop holding a small bouquet of drooping wildflowers.
“Can we talk?” he said. He shoved the flowers toward me awkwardly.
Even though Conri probably wasn’t a murder suspect anymore, it didn’t stop him from being suspicious in general, not to mention a jerk. “Don’t worry, guaranteed to be completely harmless to cats,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said, taking the sad little bunch. I was touched by the gesture, but not enough to trust him.
“Do you want to go to the diner?” Conri said.
“No,” I said, too quickly. His eyebrows rose. “I mean, I’ll talk to you, but I don’t want to go to Tom’s. It’s a long story.”
“What about we go to Bar Armadillo or the Tea Rooms?”
“I’m not particularly hungry or thirsty,” I said. “Whatever you’ve got to say, you can tell me here.”
Lila moved past Conri, her bag over her shoulder. “I just have to go out for a second,” she said. I knew she was leaving us to our privacy and wished she wouldn’t. Maybe I should’ve agreed to go someplace public with him.
“Okay, but be careful, and don’t go anywhere near you know who.”
“I won’t, Mom,” Lila said.
The door closed with a tinkle of the chime, and Conri and I were alone together.
“What was that all about? Who does she need to be careful of?” He said.
“It’s nothing,” I said. It annoyed me that he was being so casual, as much as it annoyed me that I once again noticed how good he smelled. He obviously wasn’t there to fight. He had already proven he had the social skills of a newt—an antisocial newt at that. Maybe I could give him a teeny bit of leeway simply to hear what he had to say. But I wasn’t going to be nice about it. “What do you want to talk to me about?”
Conri shifted his weight from foot to foot. He cleared his throat and glanced around the room.
“I’m here to confess,” he said, barely audible.
“Why? Did you kill someone?” I said. It was a half joke.
“That doll thing Russet brought in—I swear, you have to believe me, I had nothing to do with it. There’s a common strip behind my house. Russet gets in there all the time and brings home all kinds of junk he digs up. Mostly it’s old bones and sometimes a can or two. He’s a treasure hunter.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I believe you. About that.”
“But the other stuff, the hex work, what you saw in the woods that night, that’s something I need to tell you about.”
“I’m listening,” I said. And I was, though while I was eager to hear what he was about to say, I was also reluctant to hear it in case I didn’t like what I heard.
“I’m not a witch or anything like… like…”
“Like me?”
“Yeah, but I don’t mean it like a bad thing. I actually like that you’re a witch.”
“Go on,” I said, trying to stay hard and ignore the little warm, melty emotions stirring at his words.
“I’m actually—well, it’s difficult for me to say. I’ve been using magic to help me deal with something. Something hard and personal. Something I want to change about myself.”
“Like what?”
“Like… I’m a…”
He was obviously having a tr
emendous amount of trouble spitting the words out. It was almost sweet. He was trying to disarm himself, let me in, and that’s never easy for anyone.
“Remember when I told you I was off doing a kind of meditation retreat?”
I couldn’t forget. It was the first thing that had cleared him, almost, of being a murder suspect. I nodded.
“Well, there’s a coven up on Grey Mountain that helps people, with magic.”
“Like rehab? Are you a drug addict?”
“What? Oh, God, no. Nothing like that.”
“What is it, then? Spit it out.”
“Okay, okay. Well, you know when you saw me in the woods…”
Another thing I wouldn’t forget in a hurry, for reasons that mostly involved the lines of his body and muscles that looked like they’d been carved out of rock.
“It was a full moon.”
“Yes.”
“And I was a man.”
“So I saw,” I said.
“It was the magic… I’m not usually…” Every word was painful for him to say. He had told me he liked being straight with people, but this kind of private talking looked like it was the least natural thing in the world for him to be doing.
“On the night you saw me, on the full moon, the magic was keeping me a man. But usually on a full moon, I’m a…”
The puzzle fell together in my head in a second.
“You’re a werewolf?” I said. I took an involuntary step backward. Hurt registered in his eyes.
Conri nodded. “I am a werewolf,” he said, exhaling. “I am a werewolf,” he repeated.
“But how?”
I had never met a werewolf. I had known of their existence and heard a few urban legends about packs in Loreton, but I’d never given it a lot of thought, and I certainly hadn’t expected to meet a werewolf in Blackthorn Springs, especially one that was working as a vet and was, apparently, trying to date me.
“I’m using the magic to try to help me not be a werewolf. My pendant is the main part of that, but there’s also the herbs and stuff I got from Edie. Caileigh, the high witch of the Grey Mountain coven, kind of specializes in magic jewelry. It’s working. You saw me—it was a full moon, and I hadn’t changed.”