Wisteria Wrinkle

by Angela Pepper

  Using a combination of non-magical distractions plus minimal levitation, Margaret and Zinnia successfully got Liza’s necklace off the young woman’s neck. They copied the key using a duplication spell that required two witches to cast, plus several costly ingredients, and then returned the fake key to Liza’s neck without her noticing.

  “Not bad,” Zinnia said, complimenting her partner in crime once the deed was done.

  Margaret beamed. “We should take our show on the road. Vegas is always looking for magicians.”

  “Are they? Really? I mean, aren’t there far more people who’d love to find full-time work as magicians than there are people willing to pay eighty bucks to watch a forty-minute show of prop-based illusions and sleight-of-hand?”

  Margaret thought about it. “Vegas is probably not looking for new magicians, but I still like the idea.”

  “Maybe someday,” Zinnia said with a smile. “Let’s keep the dream alive.”

  At 5:30, after everyone else had gone home for the day, the two witches met in Zinnia’s office. Both sat in silence, solemnly staring at the stolen key.

  Margaret frowned. “Are you sure this is the original? It looks exactly like the duplicate we made.”

  “That’s sort of the whole point of making a duplicate,” Zinnia said.

  Margaret poked at the key. “What is this material, anyway? It’s like something halfway between bone and plastic. It looks exactly like the synthetic compound we used to make the duplicate. And that stuff is only used for duplication spells, as far as I know, so what the heck is this?”

  “It must be otherworldly.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It’s a fancy way of saying I have no idea what that key is made of.”

  “You could have just said you didn’t know.”

  “And you could have cast a spell to find out the material in the same time you’ve taken to badger me.”

  “Good point. Hang on.” Margaret plopped her purse on the desk next to the key and started rummaging around. Her purse was packed full of disguised items. Margaret had four nosy children who didn’t know their mother was a witch, so she didn’t carry nearly as many eyeballs in her purse as Zinnia did. Margaret pulled out a tube of what appeared to be red lipstick—a shade she never wore—twisted it in reverse to open a secret compartment, and then sprinkled powder in a circle around the key. She muttered some words in Witch Tongue, frowned, and reported back, “Composition unknown.”

  “Do you think it’s jinxed? That could hide the nature of the materials.”

  “I’ll check.” She took out a roll of sticky-looking cough candies and popped one in her mouth. She sucked off the outer candy coating and then spat the core of the candy—the magical compound part—onto the table, next to the key.

  She said to Zinnia graciously, “Would you like to do the honors?”

  Zinnia waved a hand equally graciously. “Be my guest.”

  Margaret nodded. “I do believe I’m up to it.”

  “Oh, Margaret. You do believe you’re up to it? Please. You could do a reveal spell with a Popsicle in your mouth and both hands tied behind...” Zinnia’s eye twitched as she trailed off. She didn’t have PTSD, not really, but she did have a problem using everyday expressions that involved hands being tied behind one’s back.

  Margaret didn’t seem to have noticed. She was already whispering the reveal spell in Witch Tongue.

  They waited.

  If the key had any magical enchantments designed to cause harm to the user, the reveal spell would give them a warning. In theory, anyway. The witches who failed to detect harmful spells also failed to report reveal-spell failures, due to being deceased.

  There was no puff of ominous smoke in the shape of a skull, no spooky warning howl, and no glowing red light. The key seemed to be a perfectly ordinary key, albeit one made of an unusual material.

  Finally, Margaret swept up the key in one decisive movement. “To the third floor,” she announced.

  “That’s it? You don’t want to do any more tests?”

  “Oh, I’ll do more tests, all right.” She headed for the door. “I’ll test it in everything on the third floor that looks like a keyhole.”

  The two women hadn’t spent much time on the third floor, other than for the meetings they took in the boardroom. The most exciting part of those meetings was usually the elevator ride. Then they sat around a big table discussing the reports they made about other reports. The only interesting boardroom meeting had been the time Karl Kormac accused an employee of being a witch and then tried to fire them all. In hindsight, his behavior hadn’t been that strange after all, since the woman really had been a witch. Karl had been on good behavior ever since, and thus hadn’t been slapped by anyone.

  Other than the route to the boardroom, the witches didn’t know their way around the third floor, but navigating the departments was simple enough. All the employees had gone home for the day, so the two partners in crime had their run of the place. Most of the doors were locked, but that wasn’t a problem. To a witch, there was no such thing as a locked door. They used Liza’s key everywhere they could, and when it failed to open a door, they opened it the witch way.

  They breezed in and out of every division, trying the key not just in every door, but also in every desk drawer, filing cabinet, and storage closet. It seemed unlikely that Liza and Xavier had been meeting for makeout sessions inside the storage closet belonging to Property Taxes Arrears Collection Services, but Margaret was determined to leave no keyhole untested.

  By the time they had exhausted all of their options, it was hours past supper time.

  Margaret handed the bone-white key back to Zinnia.

  “So much for our mission,” Margaret said glumly. “We didn’t find anything useful.”

  “You’ve got to look on the bright side,” Zinnia said, replaying the role of cheerleader, just like she’d done two days earlier after their meeting with Queenie. “We did find out that none of the keyholes on the third floor lead to a magical other world.”

  Margaret gave one of her laughter snorts. “You make it sound like we’re hunting for unicorns and leprechauns.”

  “Honestly, I don’t know what we’re looking for, but I am reminded of a certain Sherlock Holmes quote. Something about how when you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains must be the solution.” Zinnia rubbed her chin. “If only my niece were here. Zara would know the exact quote, I’m sure of it.”

  In a sing-song voice, Margaret quipped, “Zara would know just what to say. Zara’s so smart, and she has such a good memory. Zara would make some lucky man a very fine wife.”

  Zinnia stared at her friend. “And if she were here right now, Zara would tell you to stop feeling sorry for yourself. My niece has a wonderful gift for telling people what they ought to hear, whether they appreciate it or not.”

  Margaret crossed her arms. “Stupid key,” she said. “Are you absolutely sure we got the right one? Are you one hundred percent sure we didn’t double-swap it back and give ourselves the copy?”

  They both looked down at the key.

  “I am starting to have my doubts,” Zinnia said. “Everything happened so fast. I was so worried about Xavier coming back and catching us.”

  “Maybe you should call your dear friends at the Division of Wacky Monsters and see if they can do some high-tech analysis on this key.”

  “No,” Zinnia said vehemently. “They’re busy right now, and besides...” She was reluctant to admit her true feelings.

  Margaret jabbed a finger at Zinnia. “Hah! You don’t trust them, either! I knew it. You always say I’m the crazy conspiracy nut, but now that you’ve gotten to know more about how they operate, you don’t trust them, either.”

  Zinnia said nothing. She regretted telling Margaret about everything that had happened at the DWM’s underground facilities over the weekend. Especially about what their esteemed doctor had really been up to.

  Margaret gloated while
performing a victory dance. “You don’t trust them, either,” she chanted. “You don’t trust them at all!”

  “They haven’t exactly earned my trust.” Zinnia glanced around the hallway between the third-floor offices. “And they’ve got all that high-tech stuff at their disposal. They’ve probably tagged us all with tracking devices.”

  Margaret stopped dancing and pointed a finger in the air. “That’s it! We can put a tracker on Liza.”

  “A tracker? Do you mean a magic one? I’ve never heard of a spell to do that.”

  “I’ve got one.” Margaret looked down at the floor. “It’s not a spell, though. It’s a high-tech hybrid device. I got it from Griebel Gorman.”

  “Griebel? You’ve seen him? I thought that little gnome was supposed to be keeping a low profile.”

  “He owed me a favor.”

  Zinnia narrowed her eyes. “Why would you happen to have a high-tech hybrid tracker device?”

  Margaret waved a hand. “You’re missing the point, Zinnia. I have one, and when we swap Liza’s key back tomorrow morning, we can slap it on her and find out exactly where she goes.”

  Zinnia didn’t like the sound of that. They’d already stolen and copied Liza’s key. The operation had felt like madcap, zany witch fun earlier that day, but now the guilt was setting in. This was exactly why Zinnia had her rule about not casting spells on coworkers.

  “We have to finish the mission,” Margaret said, dead serious.

  “But putting a tracker on her? I don’t know. We could try following her.”

  “Oh? Are you going to disguise yourself as a bush?” Margaret snorted. “I’m sure Liza won’t notice when a weird-looking shrub gets in the elevator with her.”

  “I could use my old-man glamour.”

  Margaret wrinkled her nose. “You are always way too eager to use your old-man glamour. I don’t like him. He gives me the creeps. You can’t do that. Liza is a sensitive girl. She’d know something is up, and she’d panic and destroy the key!”

  Zinnia put her hands on her hips. “You’re just looking for an excuse to use your tracker.”

  Margaret pressed her palms together in a prayer gesture. “Please can I use the tracker? Pretty please?”

  “Sure. Fine. We’ll use your tracker.” Zinnia hadn’t liked the idea of following her coworker anyway. Not that putting a tracker on Liza was much better, but at least it would make Margaret happy.

  Margaret clapped her hands. “This is totally going to work,” she said. “You won’t regret it.”

  Zinnia felt her stomach fall. There was nothing quite like someone telling you that you wouldn’t regret a decision to instantly make you regret it.

  The two witches carefully checked that they’d locked all the doors on the third floor and left everything how they’d found it. Then they took the elevator down to the main floor, walked out to the parking lot, which was now dark, and spent a few minutes in a sound bubble planning the next morning’s cloak and dagger activities.

  Chapter 14

  When Zinnia arrived at work on Tuesday morning, she entered via the staff entrance at the side as usual.

  Once inside the building, she heard the nearby din of several agitated people talking at once. She circled around to the front lobby and found a group of people in jeans and T-shirts gathered in a clump. The group was comprised of close to thirty people, the entire crew who maintained the premises. She recognized a few of them as the cleaning crew who’d arrived at the Permits Department two weeks earlier. They had efficiently cleaned up the dust and broken ceiling tiles after Agent Rob had captured the goopy, dark thing that had been living in the ceiling.

  Zinnia scanned the crowd until someone met her eyes. It was a diminutive woman of about sixty, with dyed black hair and deep-set eyes ringed with dark circles. She’d been one of the cleaners who’d attended to Agent Rob’s mess.

  Zinnia introduced herself to the woman as the manager of Special Buildings Permits, and then asked, “What’s going on?”

  The woman, whose name was Ruth, looked up at her with small, dark, rat-like eyes. “We’re not supposed to talk to management,” she said.

  Zinnia listened to the rumbling voices around them. The cleaners were talking in different languages, all at once, but one word did stand out: strike. They were threatening to go on strike. No wonder Ruth didn’t want to speak to management on her own.

  Zinnia smiled warmly at the small woman. “I’m not really management,” she said. “My entire department is only one person, which is me.”

  Ruth frowned up at her. “That’s nice for you, but I still can’t talk about it. And not just because we’re all waiting to get to talk to the mayor. If I told you what happened, what really happened, you wouldn’t believe me.”

  “Oh, you’d be surprised. I’ve seen a lot of things.”

  Ruth shook her head, turned on her heel, and walked away.

  Zinnia silently bid her a better day and walked toward the Permits Department. She clenched and unclenched her fists as she walked. It bothered her that she didn’t know the housekeeping staff well enough to be trusted by them. She also wanted to know what had happened. She’d sensed that Ruth had good information. If Zinnia had simply used a bluffing spell on the woman at the start of their conversation, she could have easily compelled the woman into telling her what happened, and now she would be in the know instead of wondering.

  Even as she admonished herself for not acting more quickly to cast a bluffing spell, she also congratulated herself for not whipping out magic at every whim. Just because she had powers didn’t mean she was justified in using them whenever she felt like it. Cops couldn’t just search any premises as they pleased. They had to get a search warrant from a judge. There were rules. Procedures.

  Unfortunately, witches didn’t have the equivalent of a judge they could consult for a search warrant, let alone a warrant to search around inside a person’s mind. All witches and supernaturals had were each other, and their own judgment.

  Instead of walking into the office, Zinnia detoured to the ladies’ washroom on the ground floor to buy some time to think before facing Margaret.

  The washroom smelled strongly of an odd fragrance, the smell that emanated from the hand dryers. It had smelled that way for so long that Zinnia scarcely noticed the blend of cinnamon, flowers, and something unidentifiable. A cactus fruit, perhaps?

  The ladies’ room was empty. However, the large mirror over the sinks was flecked with a full day’s worth of water droplets. The garbage receptacles were full of crumpled brown paper towels. The cleaning staff must have been spooked or upset before they’d completed their overnight cleaning. What had it been? More raccoon-sized rats? More moth-like insects that covered the lights? A red wyvern, or the goopy thing it fed on?

  Zinnia rested her palms on the soap-spattered counter. The marble was cool under her hot hands. She stared at herself in the mirror. Well, hello there, Zinnia, she thought. What can I do for you, Zinnia? You look like someone in need of a mentor.

  That was exactly how she felt. She considered calling her niece, but this wasn’t really Zara’s department, since the situation didn’t appear to involve a ghost.

  Zinnia set her purse on the counter and went about reapplying her makeup. She kept glancing down at the hidden purse compartment that concealed the counterfeit key. No. It was the genuine key. Liza had the counterfeit, and the witches needed to swap the real one back this morning, so they could follow Liza using Margaret’s tracker. Zinnia shook her head. Life got so confusing when you started stealing people’s things and duplicating them, prying into their private business.

  Then again the key wasn’t Liza Gilbert’s private business. Not entirely. If she was doing something with the key that allowed monsters from some other world to infiltrate Wisteria, the town’s supernaturals had a right to investigate.

  Zinnia’s actions had consequences, like the ripples in a pond spreading from drops of rain. But, by the same reasoning, her inaction
also had consequences.

  Zinnia’s thoughts turned back to the cleaner, Ruth. That woman hadn’t been up to anything nefarious. She was a victim in everything that was happening. If Zinnia were to use one small spell to charm Ruth into sharing information, it would be for the woman’s own benefit, as well as for the benefit of her whole crew. By threatening to go on strike, all of those cleaners had put their livelihoods in jeopardy. If they lost their jobs, or even a few days’ pay, it would affect their families. What about the workers’ innocent children, who needed to be fed and clothed? If Zinnia didn’t cast her spell and get the information out of Ruth, she’d practically be taking food from the mouths of all those children!

  If she Zinnia didn’t find out what was happening at City Hall, who would? The DWM was busy with their scandal. And even if they weren’t, what guarantee did she have they were even interested in stopping the phenomenon? More monsters meant more emergency phone calls and more work for the agents. In fact, the existence of monsters was their only job security. Zinnia didn’t like to think such a thing, especially after meeting Agents Knox and Rob and finding them to be so personable, but she had to consider all the possibilities.

  She removed and reapplied her lipstick for the third time.

  Was she succumbing to conspiracy-theory paranoia? Was it insane to suspect the DWM was summoning monsters just so they could swoop in and save the day, thereby justifying their existence? She frowned at her reflection. It wasn’t a very pleasant idea. Fire fighters didn’t go around setting fires—except for a few sick individuals.

  Even so, she had to wonder. Was this power surge phenomenon the work of one sick individual who worked within the shadowy organization? Something bitter roiled in Zinnia’s stomach. It had been less than twenty-four hours since she’d spoken to Chloe and learned of the twisted atrocities committed by one of their own, one of their most trusted.