Wisteria Witches Mysteries Box Set 2

by Angela Pepper

  Zoey squealed as though she was five.

  I rolled my eyes for the benefit of no one. They were both too busy with the tickling and laughing to notice if I’d suddenly caught on fire.

  I opened the foil takeout containers and began piling food onto my plate, banging the serving spoon loudly. Rhys and Zoey eventually got control over themselves and started piling up food as well.

  I noted that neither of them thanked me for getting the food. And then I noted that I didn’t want to be the sort of person who notes all the times they aren’t thanked, much less comments on it. Nobody signs up for parenthood expecting to get thanked. I sighed inwardly, like a good martyr, and started eating.

  Zoey kept gazing over at her grandfather with childlike wonder.

  “Pawpaw, will you turn into a fox for us after dinner?”

  Rhys paused with his food-laden fork midair and looked at me as though requesting permission.

  “Suit yourself,” I said with a casual air. “You can turn into a rutabaga for all I care.”

  He sniffed. “Isn’t that a vegetable?”

  “It’s a Swedish turnip,” Zoey said.

  He gave me a hurt look. “I won’t be turning into a fox or a rutabaga or anything else for a while,” he said. “Not until this nasty cut on my side has healed.”

  I wagged my finger at him. “No licking, or you get the Cone of Shame around your neck.”

  “Will you put it on me using witchcraft?”

  I stabbed my fork into my food. “Witchcraft? Honestly, Rhys. You have quite the imagination.”

  He turned to Zoey. “Your mother’s witch powers are very strong. She forced me to shift my form. I couldn’t have done it on my own. Not while grievously injured.” He glanced over at me, something akin to respect in his gold-green eyes. “Your mother is very powerful, indeed. She’s grown into quite the witch.”

  I only twitched my mouth from side to side while I chewed my fried noodles. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of admitting to being a witch.

  He wasn’t letting up easily, though. He asked me, “Are you enjoying your powers?” He watched me intently, his gold-green eyes still foxlike in my mind. “Don’t be shy. Do a spell for your old man. Make him proud.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said in what sounded like my aunt’s snippy tone.

  “My darling daughter, I have excellent hearing, especially in fox form. I heard you utter the Witch Tongue.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. Humans weren’t supposed to hear our spells, but I didn’t know the rules for shifters. He might have heard my spell, but it seemed more likely he was bluffing.

  Zoey asked him, “Was Grandma Zirconia also a witch?”

  I levitated her fork out of sight of my father and poked her on the side of the forearm. She swatted the fork away and continued ignoring me.

  Rhys looked directly at me, his bushy rust-colored eyebrows raised comically high. “Should I answer? I don’t want to share anything you wouldn’t want your impressionable young daughter to know.” His eyes twinkled.

  He was enjoying this, enjoying my discomfort. And he knew I was dying to know more about my mother’s abilities. He had to know.

  “Go ahead,” I said casually. “Was my mother a witch? Aunt Zinnia says she wasn’t.”

  His mouth made an O shape, and he let out a Santa-like ho-ho-ho chuckle. “That sounds like Zinnia, all right.” He raised his chin and sniffed the air. “How was your meeting with your aunt tonight?” He sniffed again, deeper. “I’m surprised she hugged you. I never pegged her as the hugging type.”

  “Wow,” Zoey said, her hazel eyes wide with amazement. “You know about them meeting and hugging just from smelling her?”

  He tapped the side of his nose. “A fox knows all with his fox nose.” He winked. “A little play on words.”

  I didn’t want to take the bait, but I had to know. “So, my mother was a witch?”

  “For a while,” Rhys said. “But she didn’t practice.” He looked down at the table, and his expression softened. “She didn’t want to be a witch, and when she had the opportunity to get rid of her powers, she took it.”

  I turned away and let this revelation settle. What he was saying felt true enough. My mother had been such a restrained person. She sought the approval of her clique of friends by trying to out-perfect them. If her best friend, Sandra, got new wallpaper in her powder room, my mother would get new fixtures plus new lighting and wallpaper in hers.

  Witchcraft wouldn’t have appealed to my mother at all. Magic is messy and wild and secret. Of course my mother would have rejected magic, just like she rejected me and all of my mess.

  “There’s the look,” Rhys said softly, staring at me intensely. “Zara, I see it all over your face.”

  I frowned and leaned back in my chair.

  He was smiling, but it was a genuine smile born of happiness, not his rubbery salesman grin.

  “You’re such a bluffer,” I said sullenly. “You don’t see anything.”

  “I saw it shift across your face, Zara. Now you understand your mother much better than you ever did when she was...”

  “Alive,” I finished. “But it’s a bit late now for understanding, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, it’s never too late to—”

  “Don’t,” I said, interrupting him. “Don’t waste your breath. I’m a full-grown woman, and I know who I am. I know what matters.” I pushed my chair back and stood. “I guess I’m not that hungry after all.”

  I left the dining room, left them to their reunion.

  Zoey called out after me. Her voice was drowned out by the sound of the doorbell ringing.

  “Doorbell,” I yelled as a reflex.

  My daughter’s chair scraped as she got up to answer the door. Answering the doorbell was one of her official house duties, and we usually had fun with it, but not tonight.

  “I got this one,” I called back. “You stay back there with Pawpaw and finish at least half of that food.”

  I ran to the door and swung it open, happy for a distraction.

  Chet Moore stood in the doorway with a brown-paper-wrapped package the size of a fiction hardcover in his hands.

  “Hi there,” I chirped, happy to see someone I wasn’t related to. “Rough day?” I looked over the dark shadow on his chin. “I swear your stubble has become a full beard since I saw you this afternoon.”

  “Could be better,” he said, his voice as croaky as it had been earlier. “I’m here to see about your stray animal. Just me. Corvin’s out with Grampa Don, and Chessa’s busy tonight.” He peered around me. “You have company?”

  “That’s the fox,” I said. “He’s my father, as it turns out. Mystery solved.”

  Chet rubbed the dark stubble on his chin and twitched with discomfort.

  “Your father is a shifter,” he said.

  “A red fox. Yes.”

  Chet’s shoulders rose up with tension. He could pour on the charm when he wanted, but his default state was to look like he didn’t understand how he’d gotten to wherever he currently was. His eyes often flicked around as though his top concern in any situation was identifying the exits. And I loved him for it. Or at least Chessa did, and so the part of me caked with her spiritual residue loved him for it, even though I was trying very hard not to love him.

  “Then I’ll leave you to your reunion.” He turned to walk away, the package still in his hands.

  I had the urge to reach out and grab onto his arm like a drowning person to a life raft, but I steadied myself. Flirting with Chessa’s fiancé was bad. Grabbing him was worse.

  “Unless...” He stopped walking. With his free hand, he rubbed his throat as he turned to look back at me. “Would you be interested in going for a drive to get some ice cream?”

  Ice cream? It wasn’t as bad as flirting or grabbing, but it wasn’t great.

  I tried to say no, but my tongue slipped, and it came out as, “Sure!”

  Cha
pter 8

  Wisteria has more than its fair share of places to get ice cream, but Chet wanted to go for a drive up the coast to the next town.

  I climbed into the passenger seat of his civilian vehicle and quipped, “Chet Moore, going out for food the next town over is something married men do with their mistresses.”

  He looked even more uncomfortable. “How would you know?” His voice cracked twice.

  “I read a lot of books.”

  He coughed into his fist. “Westwyrd is barely a different town from Wisteria,” he said. “I swear it’s worth the drive. There’s this little seaside place, and it looks like a tourist trap, but they have the best ice cream you’ve ever tasted.” He looked out his side window at our houses. “But we could go somewhere closer if your family will miss you if you’re gone too long.”

  “Odds are they won’t notice.” I fastened my seat belt. I was thankful to be in Chet’s civilian vehicle, with no rumbling monster behind us. I still peeked over my shoulder to check, just in case. “Let’s hit the road and keep going,” I said.

  Chet started driving.

  I kept looking at the brown-paper-wrapped book on his lap.

  He saw me looking and handed me the package.

  “Go ahead and rip your way in,” he said. “Don’t pretend to be polite and restrained on my account.” He shot me a knowing look. “I know better.”

  I snorted and immediately ripped off the paper.

  It was, as I’d expected, the DWM book of magical creatures that I’d been promised. Or was it? The codex was titled Second Year Intermediate Economics. But that was just the cover wrapper, surely. How clever to disguise a magical tome as a second-year college textbook. I opened it. There was no crack of the spine. This wasn’t a new copy. I could live with that, but the contents were disappointing. The inside matched the cover. Chet had given me an economics textbook. Or had he?

  “There must be some trick to this,” I said. “A special light bulb? A decoder ring? Don’t tell me I need a bookwyrm. My last one died a hero before I could even give him a name.”

  Chet glanced over. His green eyes were growing livelier by the minute.

  “Try holding it the other way around,” he said with just a trace of gravel to his voice.

  I rotated the open book and turned it away from myself. “Like this?”

  He guffawed. “With the pages facing you but upside down.”

  “That’s not what you said,” I teased.

  We shared a laugh, and the tension caused by my fear of his fiancée lifted. My upper body softened. I wasn’t holding in my breath anymore. Why, oh why, couldn’t I enjoy Chet’s company like this every day? I would love having him all to myself. Why had I worked so hard to pull his fiancée back from the brink of death? Just because I was a good person? Bah.

  I looked at the book again, following his instructions. The text shifted, blurring, and then revealed something new. The real text. Excitement fluttered in my chest. Secrets revealed are trouble unsealed. Sure, but how bad can it be when it’s the book of secrets you’ve been waiting for?

  For the rest of the drive to Westwyrd, I did the simple yet magical thing that had always come naturally to me; I lost myself in the book.

  Chet had to poke me on the arm to get my attention. “We’re here.” He gestured to the seaside patio next to where we’d parked. “You can bring the book in with you, but people might notice something strange about the beautiful woman reading an economics textbook upside down.”

  I replied, “Good point. I’ll leave the book behind.” My cheeks felt hot. He’d referred to me as a beautiful woman. Smarten up, Zara. This is the same man who did nothing but lie and manipulate your entire family until you turned the tables with a spell. Don’t fall for his charms or his green eyes or his lips. Those lips sure can lie.

  We stepped out of the vehicle and stopped to take in the view. A long, sandy, gently scalloped beach lay before us. The wooden boardwalk was dotted with just the right amount of people, walking and riding bikes. The ocean beyond was flat and smooth, like a blue satin sheet. Above us, the sky was turning purple, with the promise of a spectacular crimson sunset.

  Chet was suddenly beside me, his elbow touching mine.

  “I already knew about your father,” he said.

  I whipped my head around just as an ocean breeze caught my hair and tossed it around like dark-red fire.

  “You did?” Of course you did, you liar! I growled, “Mr. Moore, is there anything in my life you aren’t meddling with?”

  He took a step back, hands up in surrender. “Easy now. I only found out today. Corvin was in his bedroom, and he heard the loud construction noises next door. He was worried about Zoey. He was watching when he saw you and the fox show up. He saw the fox turn into Zoey’s grandfather. He told me everything.” Chet still had his hands up in surrender as he added, “Don’t bite my head off.”

  I said nothing.

  Chet relaxed his hands and rubbed his neck. “I nearly had my head bitten off once already today, and that’s more than enough.”

  “You can’t blame me for jumping to conclusions,” I said. “Given our history.”

  He nodded toward the brown wood-sided building connected to a patio five times its size. “Let’s put a bookmark in our history file for now. Come on. I’ll buy you some ice cream.”

  I nodded, dialed down my paranoia, and walked into the building.

  The Northern Stargazer Cafe offered the usual food you’d expect to find at a beachside hut—corn dogs, french fries, chicken strips, and a variety of national-brand frozen dairy treats. But the real spectacle was a cooler full of extravagant-looking ice cream in two dozen flavors, all made fresh on site. I ordered a double scoop of cherries jubilee. Chet ordered the most expensive thing on the menu, a legendary sundae called the Kraken, because it was big enough to sink a ship.

  We found a seat on the open-air patio. Waves lapped on the nearby rocks. The sun felt warm, and the ocean breeze felt cool. It was, I noted, perfect. Or it would be, if I weren’t there with a man who belonged to a scary sea goddess.

  I picked up a cocktails menu from our table and perused it to distract myself. The back of the menu had an unsettling photo of the Northern Stargazer, which was an actual creature that the cafe was named after. The fish, with the unappetizing name of Astroscopus guttatus, had bulging eyes and a toothy smile that resembled a broken zipper. According to the write-up, the Northern Stargazer buries itself in the ocean floor, waits for something tasty to float by, and then uses jolts of electricity to jolt the prey before unzipping its hideous maw and gobbling the small fish or crustacean whole.

  As disgusted as I was by the creature’s unphotogenic face, I felt some bit of connection. I could also zap creatures with my electricity. I rarely gobbled crustaceans whole, though.

  Chet leaned forward. “Whatcha looking at?”

  I snorted, and a childhood taunt came out of my mouth. “Your girlfriend.” I turned the menu card so he could see the bug-eyed creature.

  As he looked at the sea monster, I studied his face, seeing it clearly in a way I never could when his green eyes were fixed on mine. His face looked extra wolfish tonight with the dark stubble along his jaw. His hint of a beard glinted red in the evening’s sun. If he grew a beard, it would certainly be redder than his dark mahogany hair. His long face, prominent cheekbones, and hollowed-out cheeks could make him appear fierce at times, but he was as close to relaxed now as I’d ever seen him. The two and a half wrinkles on his forehead were barely visible.

  “Yes,” he said of the Northern Stargazer. “I do see the resemblance.”

  “It was just a dumb joke. I didn’t mean Chessa.”

  He raised one dark eyebrow. “You didn’t?”

  I looked around for a change of subject and clapped my hands. “Ice cream time!”

  The waitress set the Kraken Sundae between us with two spoons and then handed me the double-scoop cone I’d ordered. Did she really think I was going t
o eat my ice cream and then Chet’s? I definitely would, if given the opportunity. But how could she have known? Had word of the Riddle Girls’ amazing powers of ingestion traveled this far up the coast already?

  Chet pulled his dish close and began eating.

  I watched with fascination as he dug into the Kraken Sundae, which was a mass of ice cream on a bed of brownies, angel food cake, and sliced bananas, topped with salty peanuts and chocolate-covered pretzels.

  With his permission, I cast the sound bubble spell so we could talk freely. He politely prompted me for more information about my father. I filled in the blanks as best I could.

  “What does this make me?” I asked when I’d finished telling him about my day. “Am I a witch or a shifter?” I licked the sweet ice cream from my lips and added, “A shifter like you?”

  He cast his green eyes up and down me while he rubbed his scruffy chin. “Have you ever turned into a furry creature with four paws and a big, bushy tail?”

  “No.”

  “Then you’re a witch. It’s usually the dominant gene, so to speak.” He rotated the Kraken Sundae to attack it from a fresh angle. The monstrosity was speckled with shelled pistachios and gummy bears on the side I hadn’t seen yet.

  “Someone should have informed me,” I said bitterly.

  “Zara, go easy on the guy. It’s hard being a shifter. And it’s hard being a dad.”

  I nodded and said icily, “Good to know whose side you’re on.”

  Chet abruptly jumped up and went to help a woman with a walker get her chattering teacup and saucer over to her table. She thanked him, and he chatted with her amiably. She was a tourist who wanted to know if it was true that the area was full of strange creatures.

  “No, ma’am,” he answered. “I understand that Agents Mulder and Scully from The X-Files did a thorough sweep of this region, and you’ll be quite safe.”

  She laughed, got him to take a picture of her in front of the sunset, and then finally sent him back over to our table. She gave me a sly smile and a wink, as if to say I was a lucky lady.