However, the book hadn’t said anything about them spitting acid.
The door to the wine cellar creaked open. Rob walked in, by himself, carrying a tray with a silver dome on top.
“Got you a salad, Moore,” Rob said, grinning. “Spinach with sprouts, and a lentil-based dressing.”
Chet got up from his folding chair and growled at his coworker.
Rob stopped in his tracks. “Easy, boy. I was joking about the salad. It’s a steak, I swear. Medium rare, just how you like it. No need to rip me to pieces.”
Chet swiped the silver-domed tray from Rob. “Thanks,” he said gruffly, and he took the meal over to the folding table with the computer equipment.
Rob came over to sit beside me. He looked at the open wine bottle on the floor by my feet. “Am I missing something? What happened down here?”
“We had an encounter with a gnome.”
“Griebel Gorman?”
“You know him?”
“That guy is the worst,” Rob said. “I hope you both roughed him up good. He deserves payback for what he did to you, Zara.”
“He was just listening at the door. He never touched me. Chet picked him up and held him against the wall, then Griebel spit in his face before he got away.” I fixed him with a questioning look. “What do you mean about payback for what he did to me?”
“For what he did to you with the toaster.”
“Jog my memory,” I said. “I know Griebel did something to the toaster that Tibbits used to kill Winona Vander Zalm, but that was all before I even moved to Wisteria.”
“Sure, but then he modified another one that nearly killed you.”
“He did?” That was news to me. I tried to play it cool, but I couldn’t keep the incredulity out of my voice. “I thought the whole incident with me throwing the toaster into the sink was just Winona’s spirit trying to send me clues.”
Rob turned to his coworker, who was focused on eating his steak. His face was still red and splotchy, but the food would help boost his energy.
Rob said, “Hey, man, you didn’t tell Zara about the failed assassination attempts?”
Chet replied, “We had it under control.”
I said to Rob, “There are a lot of things Chet didn’t tell me when I first moved here. A whole lot of things.” I tilted my head to the side. “You know, we should go out sometime for drinks and compare notes.”
Rob’s sunny smile returned. “Sure! As soon as we get out of this castle. It gives me the creeps, and I think that wyvern is up to something. He’s always skulking around, always watching.”
“Ribbons?”
Rob blinked in surprise. “You’re on a first-name basis with the wyvern? Next thing I know, you’ll be telling me he opened a telepathic link with you.” Rob chuckled. “Then I’ll know the apocalypse is definitely on its way.”
“Uh.” I looked down and scuffed the stone floor with the toe of my shoe, dragging a streak of mud from the puddle of white wine that had formed when I’d rinsed Chet’s eye.
Rob swore under his breath. “Are you for real? Ribbons talked to you?”
“I think so? He sort of talked inside my head.”
“That makes sense,” Rob said. “Wyverns have always been linked to,” he looked at me before finishing in a whisper, “witches.”
“Witch is not a dirty word.”
“Depends on who you’re talking to.”
“You mean Dr. Ankh? I guess witch would be a dirty word to her. She doesn’t like my type at all.”
“Dr. Ankh’s got nothing against witches,” Rob said. “If anything, her people have always had a thing against shifters. Which makes it all the more surprising she agreed to come work with us.”
“Her people? What is she?”
Rob grinned. “You’re not going to believe this, but—”
Chet interrupted. “That’s classified.”
Rob closed his mouth with an audible clicking of his teeth.
I turned to Chet and shot him a pleading look. “Come on. I can keep a secret. And you did promise to get me more clearance.”
Rob laughed. “You? Zara, you’ll never get clearance. I’m sorry, but the DWM does not give intel to civilians. Especially if they’re witches.” He stopped laughing, gave me a serious look, and put his hand on my shoulder. We were both seated, so he looked directly into my eyes. “No offense, buddy. You know we love you, but you’ll never get even basic access.”
“But I already did. I got your Monster Manual book.”
“That old thing? The one by Jorg Ebola, that old crank?” Rob looked incredulous. “Half the information in there is wrong or outdated.”
I’d suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed ignited my fury. The adrenaline from the encounter with Griebel was still running through my veins, making me feel like kicking or punching someone, and not in a playful pretend way.
I turned to Chet, who was chewing the last bit of gristle from his steak’s T-bone. “You’re a real prize, Chet Moore,” I spat angrily at him. “Is that how you repay someone for risking her life to get your fiancée back from the brink of death? With a worthless piece of fiction?”
He frowned as he set down the bone. “There’s some good information in that book. It’s not worthless. And besides, there’s no way I could possibly repay you for your help.”
“No, there isn’t,” I said. I got up from my chair and used my magic to open the door so I could make a speedy yet dramatic exit.
“What’s going on?” Rob asked.
“Nothing, because I’m outta here,” I said as I walked through the door.
“Zara, we still need your help with something,” Rob called after me.
“I don’t work for the department,” I called back. “Find some other dummy to bait your traps!”
“Wait,” he called out.
It wasn’t fair for me to be angry with Rob, but I was. He worked for the DWM, and I was sick and tired of everything they stood for. The secrecy and the meddling and the layers of lies.
I continued down the hallway, then up the stairs and out of earshot.
Chapter 27
“Zed is on the warpath. I repeat, Zed is on the warpath. Everyone, take shelter. There’s a firecracker on the loose.”
I looked up from my haze to see my old friend Nash. The skinny musician with the boyish grin and the adult hairline was perusing the wire rack of postcards by the entrance of the castle’s gift shop.
“Nash,” I said, wincing because I’d forgotten he was there at the castle, let alone my promise to have a drink and catch up with him.
“Am I in danger? Am I standing directly in your warpath?”
“I’m not on the warpath,” I said defensively.
He waved a hand, indicating my body and the air around it. “Then explain all of this. You’re clomping around, clenching your fists, frowning, and on top of all that, muttering to yourself.”
“I was just deep in thought, feeling betrayed, and… planning my next countermove.”
“Exactly,” Nash said. “You’re on the warpath. What’s his name?”
Chet Moore, I thought but didn’t say. With a side of Archer Caine. Instead, I unclenched my jaw and asked, “What makes you think it’s a guy?”
Nash pulled a postcard off the rack and gave it a casual looking over. “That’s true. It might not be a guy at all. You are here with your mother. So, what’s the older firecracker done to get you so riled up?”
“Hmm. Where to start?” Not that I could tell him the truth, even if he invited me to.
He tossed the postcard back onto the rack. “Sounds like you need to get out of here,” he said. “Let’s bolt and find somewhere we can talk. Somewhere far away, like Kansas.”
“Nash, you promised me you wouldn’t leave.”
He hunched up his shoulders and mimed being electrocuted or tortured in some way. “Zed, I’m a creative person! I can’t have my spirit caged up like this. I can’t take another day!”
�
�But it hasn’t even been one day. The announcement was yesterday afternoon, which wasn’t even twenty-four hours ago.” A lot had happened since then, but it was still just Monday.
“I know, I know,” he said heavily. “But ever since the wine…” He trailed off and glanced around guiltily.
“What wine?”
“Good idea! Let’s have that drink you promised.”
“Booze is the last thing I need in my life right now.” The smell of the white wine mixing with the acidic gnome saliva I washed off Chet’s face had temporarily soured me on the concept of wine.
“Then we’ll grab a couple of nonadult beverages and go for a walk.” He nodded for me to follow him into the gift shop, where he looked over the selection of fancy low-sugar sodas available in the cooler. “Name your poison.”
I coughed.
He turned to give me a questioning look. “Something wrong?”
Name your poison? Had he not heard that Jo Pressman had been killed by poison? Or had he simply not realized what he’d said?
“Zed?” He reached for the cooler’s door handle.
“Anything cold and fizzy is fine,” I said.
“Pomegranate it is,” he said, selecting two cans with foil tops. “And then we’ll find somewhere private where we can catch up.”
He walked the cans over to the cashier, who was a bored-looking young man with chin-length brown hair and a name tag reading Kevin 2. Nash asked him jokingly, “Hey, what happened to Kevin 1?”
Kevin 2 looked down at his name tag and said flatly, “He quit.”
“Shouldn’t that bump you up to Kevin 1?”
The cashier looked at Nash as though he was the stupidest person he’d had to endure that day, and the bar was quite high. “Ten seventy-five,” he said.
“For two cans of pop?” Nash gave me a look, shook his head, and paid the man. “For that much money, I expect some concierge service. Where would you recommend we take these overpriced sugar waters? I hear the view from the bell tower at sunset is spectacular, but sunset’s not for a long while, so what do you say?”
Kevin 2 leaned to the side as though he might topple over from sheer boredom. Mechanically, he said, “You could take a tour of our lovely naturally forested trails. Please stick to the marked paths and refrain from smoking except in designated areas.”
Nash looked at me.
I shrugged. “I haven’t seen the grounds at all.” Other than the rose bushes I fell into last night.
“There’s a waterfall,” Nash said. “It was Jo’s favorite spot. She said it was the only place she could think clearly.”
“Perfect. Let’s go there. It might jog her memories.” I made a tongue-tied oops expression. “I mean, it would be a nice way to honor her memory.”
Nash tilted his head and gave me a suspicious, sidelong look. “Uh, sure.” He handed me one of the cold cans and tapped the box of cigarettes in his shirt pocket. “I could use some fresh air anyway.”
I snorted. Nash was one of those people who ironically referred to smoking as “getting fresh air.” I don’t know why it made me laugh, but it always did.
Kevin 2 called out behind us, “Have a pleasant afternoon. Come visit the gift shop again.”
* * *
The trail from the castle to the waterfall took us past lush scenery, through a cathedral of old-growth Douglas fir and red cedar. The ground-level greenery was mostly ferns and moss. As we got deeper, it became quite dark for a summer day, and the ocean sea breeze scent changed to an earthier, woodsy decay.
Nash and I stopped to read all the cultural designation placards, and he respected the signs for no smoking except in designated areas. He kept bolting ahead of me, his long, skinny legs covering ground quickly, thanks to the extra inches of heel from his cowboy boots. Then he’d stop to pull brambles and burrs from the frayed fabric of his jeans, and I’d zip ahead of him. Racing but pretending not to. Just like when we were kids.
When we finally reached the waterfall, we were both breathing hard from the hike.
“We’re not as young as we used to be,” Nash said.
“Speak for yourself, old man,” I teased.
“Zed, I wouldn’t be so cocky if I were you. You’re totally catching up to me. A four-year age difference is nothing once you’re in your thirties.” He grimaced, flaring the tendons at the sides of his sinewy neck. “You know what word I hate? Thirty-something. What does that even mean?”
“It means you’re thirty-nine but trying to trick people into believing you’re thirty-one. But nobody who’s thirty-one says they’re thirty-something. I haven’t been in my twenties for a good while, but I’m still years away from saying thirty-something.” I made a gagging sound and face. “Ew. It does have a terrible ring to it.”
“Probably not as bad as forty.”
I continued the gagging, the childishness of it plus the proximity to Nash making me feel like a teenager again.
He continued, “Or forty-something.”
“Yuck.” I laughed. “Let’s promise we’ll never be a decade-something. We’ll just say our actual age, no matter how scary it is. I’m Zara Riddle and I’m thirty-two.” And I’m a witch! Oh, Nash, you’d laugh so hard if you only knew. I wish I could tell you everything. I wish we could hang out again, like old times, and laugh until the muscles behind our ears ached. I wish I could be close to someone who wasn’t a family member or a secret agent willing to use me for their own purposes. I wish I’d appreciated those times we’d had, and I hadn’t wasted so much energy wishing to be older, to be somewhere else. I wish we could go back.
Nash took a relaxed seat at one of the picnic tables in the clearing. We were the only people there. He moved the designated ashtray—a tin can that had previously held mushroom soup—in front of him, and lit up using a scratched and dented silver lighter. “Zed’s thirty-two,” he said on the exhale. “Our little Zed is all grown up. And she’s got a Mini Zed.” He took another drag. “Where is Mini Zed, anyway?”
I walked over to a rock and used it to stretch my calf muscles. “She was lucky enough to get out of the castle before the lockdown.”
“Lucky girl.” He chuckled, and then the smile fell off his face. He stared down at a long, twisted burn mark on the scarred picnic table. “Is this really happening? Is Jo really dead? Like, forever?”
I walked around the picnic table, sat next to him, and looked at the waterfall. It wasn’t much of a waterfall, more of a river coming down a hill. The sound was more impressive than the visual. If I closed my eyes, the whoosh rose up around me and blotted out the rest of the world. It was like being at the bottom of the ocean, except with the occasional bird call cutting through the white noise.
“She’s gone,” Nash said. “Jo is gone.” He took in a raspy breath. “And the worst part is, I feel nothing.”
I leaned toward him and put my arm around his shoulder. He was even bonier than he looked, his scapula sharp under the thin concert T-shirt.
“That’s just shock,” I said. “The grief will set in eventually.” I patted his bony shoulder. “Nash, I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“What loss?” He turned to me, his cheeks dry and his eyes bright. He didn’t look the least bit upset.
I slowly took my arm back. “Nash, are you feeling okay?”
He grinned. “That’s my line. I’m supposed to ask if you’re feeling okay. Like I used to do when we were kids, and I’d make girls cry just by showing them a bit of concern.”
“Making teenaged girls cry is like shooting fish in a barrel.”
“Zed, are you okay?”
“I’m a little upset over Josephine Pressman’s death. Aren’t you?”
“That’s the funny thing,” he said. “I’m not upset. I was more upset about paying ten seventy-five for those cans of soda.” He smacked his lips. “And now I’m upset we already drank them on the first leg of the trail. The sound of that waterfall is making me thirsty.”
“I don’t understand. I though
t you were in love with Jo. A person doesn’t travel across the country and pay for an expensive suite at a luxury resort to see a woman he doesn’t care about.”
“I don’t understand it either, but ever since we had the wine, things were different.”
“How?” I waved my hands. “I mean when? When did you have wine with her?”
“The day before yesterday. We went for a walk to talk things over, and that was when I realized I wasn’t in love with her.”
“You mean that you were just friends?”
“Not even.” He stared at the waterfall, which continued its relaxing whooshing. “More like the total neutrality you’d have for a stranger. I didn’t feel love or hate or passion or even friendship.” He turned to look me in the eyes. “I know I told you Jo and I were still friends, and that’s what I said to the detective, but to be honest with you, Zed, I didn’t even feel friendship toward her. We sat right here, and we talked, and then I felt nothing. After I heard she was dead, I was sad, but only about as sad as you’d get finding out some random person you don’t know died.” He looked down at the scarred picnic table again. “You know how some people believe in love potions?”
“Uh, sure.” Where was he going with this?
“Don’t call the cuckoo police to come lock me up or anything, but we brought a bottle of wine here when we came to talk.” He frowned as he picked at the burn marks on the wooden table. “I think Jo put some kind of anti-love potion in my wine.”
I didn’t have to pretend I was taking his theory seriously. If magic was real, that meant love potions and even anti-love potions might be real.
“She drugged you? Did you see her put something in your drink?”
“No, but I know that wine. I know the taste of it. That’s my favorite wine, which is why I bought it that night.”
“Didn’t you buy two bottles?”
He flicked his gaze up to meet mine. “How’d you know I bought two bottles?”
Wisteria Witches Mysteries Box Set 2 Page 51