Witch on Second: A Jinx Hamilton Mystery Book 5 (The Jinx Hamilton Novels)

by Juliette Harper

  “Why?” Barnaby asked, looking up at him. “Do you doubt the ability of the Mother Tree to deal with our errant witch?”

  “No, of course not,” Chase said. “I just think I should be keeping a closer eye on Jinx’s movements in case . . . anything happens.”

  Barnaby was silent for a moment. “Of course,” he said at last, “we would never stand in the way of your responsibilities. Fare you well, Chase McGregor.”

  “And you, Lord High Mayor,” Chase said formally, “and you, Alchemist.”

  As they watched him stride rapidly away into the darkening night, Moira said, “He’s keeping something from us.”

  “Indeed,” Barnaby said. “And I suspect it involves Anton Ionescu.”

  Moira set her book aside and moved to join him, studying the side of the chessboard Chase abandoned before making a move. “The Oak will have to tell Jinx of her true origins,” she said.

  “I know,” Barnaby replied, answering Moira’s move. “Your queen is in danger.”

  “My queen can take care of herself,” Moira replied. “I fear for my opponent, good king that he is.”

  Smiling, Barnaby reached over and took her hand. “I am not a ruler, dear one.”

  “Perhaps not,” she said, “but I do not want Jinx to think anything of her grandfather but that you are a good man.”

  “Great-grandfather many times over,” he laughed. “Tonight the Mother Tree will instruct her in the order of our world, and when Jinx is ready, I will explain why this has all been kept from her.”

  “Very well,” Moira said, “and checkmate.”

  Chase reached the square in Shevington just as Jinx took her leave of the Mother Tree. From the expression on her face, the Oak must have shared a great deal of information with her. On instinct, Chase made a move to go to Jinx and then stopped abruptly and moved back into the shadows.

  Lucas Grayson, with Rube in tow, met Jinx halfway across the street. They spoke for a few minutes, and as Chase watched, Lucas reached out and put a comforting hand on Jinx’s arm. A surge of jealousy rolled through Chase with such intensity he looked down at his hands and was shocked to see they had partially transformed to paws with claws extended. He hadn’t shifted against his will since he was a gangly teenager.

  Breathing deeply, Chase found the mountain lion in his mind and spoke soothingly to it until the big cat lay down and slept again. This time, when Chase looked at his hands, they were normal.

  Across the square, Jinx and Grayson walked off toward the main gate, while Rube dove into the nearest sewer and disappeared. Chase headed toward the gate after them, taking pains not to be seen. He needn’t have worried. Jinx and Grayson were lost in animated conversation.

  At the entrance to the city, they stopped, and Chase managed to get within earshot of them.

  “You don’t need to walk me to the portal, Mr. Grayson,” Jinx said. “I’ll be fine from here.”

  “My friends call me Lucas,” he said, taking her hand in a way that made Chase’s blood boil.

  “Fair enough, Lucas,” she said. “Since we’re going to be seeing more of each other, friends it is.”

  Seeing more of each other?

  That could only mean one thing. Jinx knew about the Grid, and Lucas Grayson was getting ready to become a major pain in Chase’s backside.

  14

  Anyone looking to buy orange or black crepe paper in the state of North Carolina that Saturday would have been out of luck. Supplies of fake spider webs, foam board tombstones, plastic skeletons, hanging moss, and pumpkins must have dipped statewide as well.

  The visual blitz Irma and the decorating committee pulled off with their meager budget will go down in the books as one of the great mysteries of all time.

  Vendors spent the morning erecting their booths on the courthouse lawn. The fire department obligingly drove over to fill the dunking booth with the hose from the big pumper trunk, while local churches emptied their fellowship halls of folding chairs and tables to provide curbside seating on the street set aside for dancing.

  By noon, the barricades went up, and Skeeter Morgan backed his semi and flatbed trailer across the far end of the street to serve as a stage for the musicians. Knots of festival goers began to stake out prime spots on the lawn by mid-afternoon, leading some of the kids’ games to open early.

  As soon as the women from the historical association began to unload massive foil platters of barbecue, interest picked up. Trust me, if you want to gather a crowd in these parts, set out meat. There is nothing we southerners love better than clogging our arteries during a good party.

  The store did a brisk business all day. We catered to the Starbucks refugees who had bravely ventured into what they thought would be the Sahara Desert of espresso for the weekend. Our place must have looked like a caffeinated oasis given the number of shots Tori pulled before noon.

  Both moms proved to be adept saleswomen, sending visitors back out the door with newly acquired T-shirts, visors, caps, and mugs. I hadn’t paid a lot of attention to what Tori ordered in advance of the festivities. Several weeks earlier we discussed getting some festival-specific promotional items, and I left it to her to sort out the specifics.

  That may or may not have been one of my better ideas. I was ringing up a purchase for a couple of young men who enthusiastically informed me they were representatives of some organization dedicated to hunting Bigfoot when I discovered Tori’s creative genius at work.

  “Mind if we put the t-shirts on?” one of the guys asked.

  “No problem,” I said. “Go right ahead.”

  As I watched, he peeled off his green polo emblazoned with a giant footprint over the left breast and shrugged into his purchase. That’s when I saw the artwork.

  The guy must have thought I was checking out his non-existent abs from the wolfish grin he shot my way. I was actually staring at the ghostly profile of a Confederate soldier over a drawing of the courthouse. The accompanying caption started over the roof and ended on the front lawn.

  “Visit Briar Hollow, North Carolina . . . if you dare.” Red stenciled letters dripping blood looked as if they’d been stamped over the center of the image declaring “SpookCon1 - 2015.”

  When the customers left, giving me a little “call me” wave from the front door, I caught Tori’s eye and gestured for her to come over to the register now. Leaving Mom in charge of the line at the espresso bar, Tori bobbed over, declaring happily as she landed beside me, “Hey Jinksy,” she said, “what did I tell you? We are raking in the dough.”

  “Let’s talk T-shirts,” I said levelly.

  A guarded look came into her eyes. “You told me I could get whatever I wanted,” she began, instantly on the defensive.

  “‘Visit Briar Hollow, North Carolina if you dare?’” I quoted. “‘SpookCon1?’ Irma is going to have a conniption.”

  “Please,” Tori scoffed dismissively. “When isn’t Irma having a conniption? As long as she sells out of her haunted Twinkie stash, she’s not going to be upset about my T-shirts.”

  “Does all the stuff you ordered say the same thing?” I asked, already afraid to know the answer.

  “Like I would be that boring?” Tori said brightly. “Wait until you see our cups. I think we’re going to sell out.”

  With that, she plucked a black mug off a display table and held it out to me. The cup was emblazoned with a picture of Glory on her broom, Rodney perched behind her giving the viewer a thumbs up. The typography made it look like they were flying through the words “The Witch’s Brew Espresso Bar.”

  I was starting to realize I hadn’t been paying nearly enough attention to what was going on right under my nose in recent weeks, and my bill was coming due.

  “We have a name?” I asked weakly.

  “And a sign,” Tori grinned. “Come see.”

  We stepped out the front door and I looked up to see the same image of Glory and Rodney cut out atop a sign designed to mimic cracked, weathered boards complete with ru
sty nails. Massive iron hinges fit for a dungeon affixed the placard to the front of the building.

  The Witch’s Brew Espresso Bar

  J. Hamilton and T. Andrews

  Practitioners in Residence

  My face must have gone as green as Glory’s because Tori, with a crestfallen expression, “Uh-oh. You don’t like it.”

  Lowering my voice to a hoarse whisper, I said, “Didn’t you just out us to the whole world?”

  “But that’s the beauty, Jinksy,” she said. “It’s all about hiding in plain sight. If we go with the whole witchy vibe and embrace the metaphysical, we don’t have to worry about customers seeing any weird stuff going on in the shop. They’ll just figure it’s special effects. You know, coffee with a side of mojo. You’re not mad at me, are you?”

  After mulling it over for a minute, I shook my head. “No,” I said. “I’ve been saying all along the store needed a theme. It just never occurred to me to go with the obvious.”

  Tori broke out in a happy grin. “Stick with me, kid,” she said, waggling her eyebrows comically, “I’ll learn ya.”

  That’s my girl. She can always make me laugh.

  “Okay,” I said, as we went back inside, “just to prevent any little spontaneous heart attacks, are there any other inventory surprises I need to know about?”

  “Not really,” Tori said. “I ordered extra on the essential oils and soaps and threw in a few crystals to up the flavor of the place. Mom helped me make the labels more interesting.”

  Uh-oh.

  “Can I see an example, please?” I asked in as neutral a tone as I could manage.

  “Sure,” Tori said, plucking an amethyst necklace off a table and handing it to me.

  I squinted at the tag, which was printed with a tiny logo version of Glory and Rodney. Under that, in red, the tag said, “SpookCon1 Special Price. Blessed amethyst amulet. Balance chakras / cure nightmares / access healing energy.”

  “You wouldn’t know a chakra from Count Chocula,” I said accusingly.

  “Of course, I would,” Tori said. “One is chocolate and the other isn’t.”

  Well, that was true enough, and when in doubt, go for the chocolate.

  “How much did you spend on all of this?” I asked.

  “Not a dime.”

  “Not a . . . .” I started to say, and then my brain kicked in. “Darby?” I asked.

  Tori nodded. “Who the heck needs a 3D printer when you’ve got a brownie in residence?” she said. “He’ll be updating our Instagram account all during the festival.”

  “We have an Instagram account?” I asked.

  “We do,” Tori said, “and Darby is taking the pictures.” Then, seeing the look of horror on my face, she added, “He’s doing it incognito. Invisible photographers get the best shots.”

  No doubt.

  Between Tori’s retail insanity and the growing numbers of people on the square, I managed to forget about the complicated things in our lives for a few hours and just enjoy the day. We planned to keep the store open through the evening, rotating shifts so everyone could have a chance to walk over, eat some barbecue, and enjoy the carnival and dance.

  I was so preoccupied, in fact, that when I saw Mom slip out the back door a little before 6 o’clock, I didn’t even have time to wonder where she was going. Unfortunately, we were all going to find out soon enough, and the news wasn’t good.

  Kelly felt an insistent buzzing in her pocket. She finished ringing up the sale of a pumpkin spice latte and pulled the phone out to look at the screen. It was a text from Jeff. “Meet me in the alley. Don’t tell Gemma.”

  The message touched off alarms in her head. Things didn’t go well with Scrap.

  Gemma came in from wiping down tables and said, “Hey, you mind if I go over and see if the ladies will sell me some brisket? I skipped lunch, and I’m starving.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Kelly said, trying to sound natural. “Why don’t you get enough for me, too, and some sauce. We’ll make sandwiches when you get back. Darby baked bread this morning when he did all the pastries.”

  “Perfect,” Gemma said. “I’ll be right back.”

  As soon as she was out the door, Kelly motioned Tori over.

  “Hey, hon,” Kelly said, “I need to get something out of my car. Can you watch the counter for a sec?”

  “Sure thing,” Tori said. “Take your time.”

  Kelly stepped out in the alley and glanced around. Jeff was standing at the corner of the building farthest away from Tori’s add-on apartment.

  After they had exchanged a kiss in greeting, Kelly said, “It’s not good news, is it?”

  “I’m sorry, honey,” Jeff said. “We talked all night, but I couldn’t get Scrap to come with me.”

  “What in the world is his problem!” Kelly said hotly. “Can’t the fool see Gemma was just protecting us all?”

  Jeff shook his head sadly. “That’s the worst part,” he said. “I think Scrap can see just that, but he can’t get past the lying. He says he can’t trust Gemma anymore.”

  Kelly let out with an uncharacteristic burst of profanity that sent her husband’s eyebrows arching up. “Kelly!” he said. “That’s not like you.”

  “Well, hell,” she said hotly. “I’m mad. There’s not a more honest person on the face of this planet than Gemma. If she hadn’t handled things the way she did and kept up with her magic, we’d both be dead. Scrap is being an idiot.”

  “You won’t get any argument from me,” Jeff said, “but . . . ”

  When he stopped talking abruptly, Kelly turned around to find Tori standing behind them with tears streaming down her face.

  “Oh, honey,” Kelly said, drawing her into a tight hug. “We didn’t mean for you to hear about your Daddy like this.”

  “It’s okay,” Tori snuffled against her shoulder. “I knew he was gonna be like that. Daddy doesn’t like to admit when he’s wrong, and he is wrong. Mama had to do what she did and well . . . I think . . . I think . . . she’s . . . awesome.”

  At those last words, Tori dissolved into broken sobs. Jeff stepped forward and put his hand on her back, rubbing comforting circles. “She is awesome, sugar,” he said. “We’ll figure out a way to talk some sense into your daddy, I promise. But until then, you’ve got us.” He looked at his wife. “Should I go get Jinx?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Kelly said, “and then we’re going to have to tell Gemma.”

  Tori pulled away from Kelly, wiping at her face. “She’s gonna be so hurt,” she hiccuped. “I could just wring Daddy’s neck.”

  Kelly set her mouth in a firm line. “You’ll have to get behind me, sugar,” she said. “I’ve got first dibs on strangling that man.”

  15

  When Gemma came back with the barbecue, she took one look at my father and at Tori’s red-rimmed eyes and knew the fishing trip/intervention failed. She looked at Mom and said, “Well, I guess that’s it then.”

  “Mom!” Tori whispered hoarsely, trying to keep her voice low since there were customers in the store. “What do you mean ‘that’s it?!’”

  Tori had been alternating between vows to rip into her father and bouts of flowing, silent tears ever since I put my arms around her in the alley and she fell completely apart. I looked over at my parents and signaled them with a nod of my head to go inside.

  Once we were alone in the alley, I let Tori cry for a minute or two before standing back and putting my hands on either side of her face. With my thumbs, I wiped the tears away and then smiled. “Your nose is running,” I said, “and you look worse than you did the night you broke up with that guy who drove the red truck.”

  “Possum,” Tori sniffed.

  “You cannot possibly have dated a grown man who wanted to be called Possum,” I said.

  “Grown is a relative term,” Tori answered, using the flap of the apron she wore when she worked behind the counter in the espresso bar to do a better job of drying her face. “And I didn’t love him. I lov
e my daddy.”

  I tightened my hands that were now resting on her arms. “I know you do,” I said. “Scrap just needs time. You need to get over to that lumberyard and get up in his face.”

  Tori nodded. “I will,” she said. “Tomorrow.”

  “Go now if you want to,” I said. “We can handle things here.”

  She shook her head. “No, I need to stay with you all and with Mom. If I went over there now, I’d either just yell at him or I wouldn’t be able to talk at all for crying.”

  “Fair enough,” I said. “You ready to go inside now?”

  Tori nodded numbly and followed me back into the store, temporarily disappearing into her micro apartment to wash her face and put on fresh makeup. When she emerged again, she looked better and offered a weak thumbs up in response to my silent question, “Are you okay?”

  That’s the thing with Tori and me. We can carry out whole conversations across a crowded room just by looking at each other. Our birthdays, which were coming up in December, are just three days apart. The moms brought us home from the hospital, plopped us down in a playpen together, and it’s been Tori and me ever since. But honestly, we’d have been best friends anyway.

  Sometimes in life, you’re lucky enough to find your people. Tori heads the tribe of the People of Jinx. She knows me better than anyone, and I know her just as well. Cold water and mascara might hide the most obvious evidence of her distress, but I understood completely what the estrangement between her parents was doing to her.

  So I also understood when my mom looked at her best friend, Gemma, and said, “Let’s me and you go talk, sweetie.”

  At the same time that Gemma Andrews is a pillar of strength, she’s also a proud woman. Falling apart in front of witnesses? Not something she would allow herself to do.

  Gemma hesitated for a second, and I saw mom’s eyebrows go up. That’s Kelly code for “don’t you dare argue with me.”

  “Jinx, honey,” Gemma said, handing me the covered container in her hands. “Would you and Tori fix us all some sandwiches? I got enough brisket for everyone.”