“So?”
I look around. “You want a report here? Now?”
He shrugs. “Sure, why not?”
If I make it fast...“OK, but I need something from you, too.”
He wiggles his eyebrows. “Oh, really?” he asks, drawing out the word seductively. Well, sort of seductively.
“Shut up. I need a picture of Rachel.” I almost whisper her name. I swear, I can still feel her watching us.
“Why?” he asks, cocking his head.
“I’m going to banish her.”
“Oh. I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Trinket.”
I plant my hands on my hips. “Then find me another house. And get her out of my hair for good. Otherwise, I’ll have to do it myself. In case you’ve forgotten, she’s killing people, Angelo.”
The problem is that I’m bluffing. I don’t want another house. I want my dream house, and it was given to me, so I should have it. I know in my heart that if I can’t live in Rachel’s cottage, I might as well stay with Bilda.
“You want another house, now?”
“No, but I want to live.”
“You don’t know that she was trying to-.”
I’m sick of this line of reasoning. “You...” I poke him in the chest, “didn’t feel her choking you. You...” poke, “didn’t feel the pure rage pouring out of that woman...ghost... thing...person. Whatever. I did, and it wasn’t a friendly game of ring-around-the-Trinket.” Poke, poke, poke. “It was attempted murder, Angelo. Trust me.”
“Oww.”
I’m on a roll now. “You brought me here, probably under false pretenses. You put me in her sights by-.”
“Wait. How did I do that, exactly?”
I glare at him. “By being sexy and...I don’t know, paying attention to me? By showing me that house? By dating a psycho witch in the first place? You choose, Angelo.” I hate him, I hate him, I hate-.
“You think I’m sexy?”
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t. You just said I’m sexy.”
“Trust me, I can think you’re sexy and hate you anyway. I’m getting good at it.”
“So...you do think I’m sexy, though?”
I stare at him in disbelief and then just turn and start walking, down toward the docks. How can a man be so dumb? There has to be some sort of mutated gene. It’s the only explanation.
“Trinket, wait.” He’s catching up again. I sigh, but keep walking... until I bang my nose on something. It stops me dead.
But there’s nothing there. I put out a tentative hand and feel a glass wall. “Angelo?”
“Sorry. I had to stop you, though. You run away a lot.”
“There’s a reason for that. Take it down.”
“No. Just listen.” He comes up behind me and puts a hand on my shoulder to turn me around. I do - reluctantly - and glare at him. “Trinket, I don’t have a photo. She hated having her picture taken.”
That stops me. “Why?”
“I don’t know. She always got so angry when somebody took her picture, and eventually people stopped trying.”
“Well somebody has to have one somewhere, right?” I ask, but he’s already shaking his head. Crap. Now what?
Then his eyes light up. “Unless...”
I want to poke him again. “Unless what?”
He’s nodding now. “Bradley might have one.”
“Who’s Bradley?”
“Come on,” he says, taking my hand and pulling me back toward town. “Bradley is the editor of Jagged Grove Gazette. He’s always doing a spread on community events, so he might have caught her in one of those photos.”
I’ve seen the newspaper, but never read it, especially after it ran a four-page story about how Rachel destroyed Jagged Grove. I’m still half-certain that Rachel is about to rain down fire and brimstone on me again, but I don’t really have a choice but to follow. Bilda says I need a picture, so I’m trying to get a picture.
I gesture back toward town. “Take me to Bradley.”
The trip takes only a few minutes, but I swear I’m going to have ulcers by the time we get there. I don’t know where Rachel is, but she might as well be breathing down my neck.
Bradley Pierce’s office is cluttered, gloomy, and pale pink. Not just the walls - the carpet, the bookshelves, the curtains. Even the filing cabinet looks pink, although that might just be a reflection of everything else. When Angelo knocks lightly on the open door, a small, broad-shouldered man looks up at us.
He’s around forty, maybe, and his glasses are so thick that his eyes remind me of Bumper’s. The effect is one of surprise, as if he doesn’t get many visitors. When he sees us, his mustache twitches once before he smiles.
“Come in, come in. What can I do for you?” he asks, sitting up straighter in his chair. His voice is an octave higher than I would have guessed. He sounds almost squeaky.
Then he sees me, and I would swear he cringes just a little. “I’ve been meaning to come find you, actually...uh, Trinket?”
I nod.
“You’re our new healer, and folks seem to like you well enough, considering...” The mustache twitches again, and he looks down at his desk, where it looks like he’s working on the newspaper layout. Bits and pieces of paper with scribbled notes cover the surface.
“It wasn’t my fault,” I say. For the millionth time.
He nods, but then looks from me to Angelo and back again. “Of course. I know that. Rachel was a fine healer, but she could be a little spitfire, too. Couldn’t she, Angelo?” he asks him, but he’s still looking at me.
“That she could.” Angelo taps the top of the desk to get his attention, then asks, “About Rachel - do you think you have any pictures of her in the archives?”
Bradley cringes again, and the mustache twitches twice this time. “Maybe...”
He turns his full gaze on me. “You aren’t going to cause more trouble with her, are you?”
“It’s not my fau-.”
“Because it would be devastating to have to rebuild the docks. Again, I mean.” Twitch, twitch.
I want to reach down and rip the hair off his face. Instead I lean on the desk and speak slowly, “It was not my fault. If you need to blame someone, blame him. Or Rachel herself. Not me - I don’t even want to be here.”
Angelo clears his throat right as Bradley’s round eyes light up. “You don’t? Really?” He pauses, and I can see that he’s calculating something in his head. “Would it be OK if I come do an interview with you soon?”
Angelo groans. “No, Bradley.”
Bradley’s face falls. “Why not?”
“Because people here need to trust their healer, and one as...” he falters.
“Truculent?” I supply. He shoots me a look.
“...Truculent as her doesn’t need to be ruined by an expose before she even gets started.”
“Expose?” Bradley looks at me. “Do you have deep dark secrets?”
Angelo groans again, but I laugh. “No - I’m willing to tell anyone and everyone I meet that I was kidnapped and brought here against my will. And that his girlfriend is trying to kill me.” I point to Angelo. “There’s your expose. He’s a criminal. Go get him.”
Bradley’s mustache twitches four or five times while he considers this, then he looks down at the desk and shakes his head sadly. “I can’t. Too many people like Angelo. I’ll get letters. I hate letters.”
I turn to Angelo. “Can we just get the photo and get out of here now? I have spellcasting to do.”
Bradley’s head comes up again. “Is that why you want the photo?”
“Yep.” I’m staring hard at Angelo.
“What kind of spell?”
“None of your-,” Angelo starts. At the same time I say, “Banishing.”
They both stare at me now. “Really?” Bradley asks, then scribbles something on one of the bits of paper.
“Stop that,” Angelo barks.
Bradley just grins and tucks the piece of paper into his top desk
drawer.
Angelo grumbles something under his breath about nosy reporters.
“Call me,” I say to Bradley. “I’ll fill you in. Right now, though, I need that picture.”
He jumps up so fast that he bangs the front of his thighs and rocks the pink desk a little. “Of course, if I can find one.”
He turns to look in one of the filing cabinets that flank the small window behind him. Opening a drawer, he fumbles with a stack of papers before shaking his head and dropping them back inside, only to move down to another drawer. I watch, impatient but still amused.
He has to check three drawers before he says, “Aha!” and pulls out a news clipping. Turning back to us, he holds it close to his chest. “You promise me that when you’re done banishing her, you’ll give me the exclusive story?” he asks.
I frown, trying to figure out what he means.
“Yes, Bradley.” Angelo sounds exasperated. “You’re the only newspaper in town. What’s she going to do, call the Washington Post?”
I look down at my hands. “I wish.”
Bradley shrugs. “Just making sure.”
Then he turns to me. “Is Angelo going to help you?” he asks. “He’s a powerful man, you know.”
“No,” I answer.
“Yes,” Angelo says, snatching the clipping from Bradley’s hand.
The mustache twitches in amusement this time. I smile sickly at it, then Angelo is pulling me out of the pink room, through the lobby and back onto the street. I blink at the sunlight. “That was rude.”
“He’ll keep you talking all day, if you let him.”
“Oh. Why is his office so pink?”
“It was his mother’s. He took over after she died, and just never changed it.”
An idea occurs. “Do you think I should offer to decorate for him? I’m good at that kind of magic.”
He just shrugs and starts walking toward Bilda’s house. I suddenly feel sick about his involvement in my banishing spell, but I know I’ll never get rid of him now, so I follow.
And try to keep from staring at his butt.
When we get there, Bilda looks surprised to see him. “He wouldn’t leave me alone,” I explain, “But he helped me get a picture of Rachel.”
She nods, as if considering this. “Good,” she answers finally. “He can help.”
“How?”
She shakes her head like I’ve said something ridiculous. “Do you want to go into that house if you can help it?”
“No...”
“So we can send him.” She nods in Angelo’s direction.
He shifts nervously, but returns her nod. “I can do that.”
“I thought I had to do it?” I’m confused now.
“You have to help banish her from you. He can banish her from the house.”
“A two-part spell?” I look closely at Bilda to see if she’s lost her mind while I was gone.
“Three, actually. We need to do a protection spell for the town.”
“Not necessary. We have those already in place,” Angelo says, plopping down into a chair.
Bilda smirks at him. “And those are functioning so well...”
“A small glitch of some sort. We’re working on it,” he says patiently. “She broke something, and we just need to fix it.”
“Good,” Bilda says. “I can help.”
Angelo’s expression remains neutral, but I can see the corner of his mouth contract. “No, you can’t. We have it under control.”
It seems that at least she’s quit drooling over him, and hopefully quit trying to set me up with him, too. Something else is bothering me, though. “Bilda, I don’t mean to sound harsh, but you don’t exactly have the best track record with magic. Maybe we should-.”
Without a word, she turns and leaves the room.
I look at Angelo. He looks at me. “I think I pissed her off,” I say.
“Go fix it.”
I take a step to follow, but then hesitate. “I don’t want to. She’s probably mad.”
“Stop being such a chicken, Trinket. She’s your mother. She’s trying to help you. She’s not as terrible as you think.”
I know this. Since we’ve been in Jagged Grove we’ve grown a lot closer, and our relationship has been better than ever, especially since she’s been working with me at the office. I might have just screwed that up.
I head for the kitchen and find her using magic to chop carrots for the stew I can smell on the stove. “Bilda?” I say.
She doesn’t look at me. “Stop it, dear. You’re right - I shouldn’t be helping you do something so important.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Yes it is.”
“I’m sorry. I just...” What do I say? “I need your help, but I also need you to be careful.The sharks were kind of a big deal, Bilda.”
“It was one mistake. A small one.”
“Not so small, and not the only one...”
We are both quiet for a minute, until she scoops up the sliced carrots and tosses them into the pot. “You’re favorite,” she says. “Dinner is at six.”
I watch her turn and leave the room, knowing that I need her, but unable to take back what I said.
I go back to Angelo in the living room and shake my head. “Want me to talk to her?” he asks.
“No. She’s embarrassed, I think.” Then I have an idea, but I don’t share it with Angelo. Instead I say, “Just head on home, and we’ll try again later.”
“Can I come for dinner?”
“Can you leave your ghost girlfriend at home?”
He doesn’t answer. He just leaves.
I give him time to get out of sight, then I head for Jones’s house. If anyone can woo my mother back to her good spirits, it’s him.
He’s not outside when I get there, which is unusual. I knock on the door. “Jones?” I call.
No answer. Maybe he’s around back, where I know he’s got a small workshop, even though I’m always afraid to ask what he’s doing in there. The door is open. “Jones?” I call again.
“Trinket! Need something?”
I whirl and see Feena standing on the covered back porch. She looks great, and there is a rosy glow to her skin. I smile. “I was looking for your brother. I need his help.”
She shakes her head. “Sorry. I think you hurt his feelings. He says to send you away.”
I look past her. “So he’s in there?”
She shrugs.
“How did I hurt his feelings?” I ask, wracking my brain to figure it out. The last time we spoke, he teased me about being the love of his life and then refused to ask Angelo for a photo of Rachel.
“I don’t know. He won’t talk about it.”
And I’m afraid to guess. “Well, if you don’t mind, tell him that Bilda is upset and not talking to me, so I thought maybe he could cheer her up or something.”
She cocks her head and looks at me. “Is today your day to make everybody mad, or what?”
“Apparently.”
I walk back to Bilda’s house, checking to make sure that the pond still has koi in it as I go. It does, big fat ones that look almost as menacing as the original sharks. On impulse, I sit down on the sloping bank to think.
I want Rachel out of my house and away from me as soon as possible. I want Bilda to stop being mad, and I want Angelo to leave me alone.
Wait - do I want that last one?
If I’m honest, no. I like Angelo, even if he is a bully and a creep and bull-headed. It’s been good to talk to him today, after a full month of avoidance, and I hope I haven’t made him mad, too.
I pick at a blade of grass and wonder if everyone in town really is mad at me. I don’t seem to fit here, and I’m pretty sure I’m not wanted. I’ve made and lost more friends in the last month that I did my whole life back home, and I’m not sure why, or how to fix it.
“Hey, you.”
I look up, shading my eyes from the sun, and smile. I do have one friend left.
�
��Hey, Imala.”
“Why so grumpy looking? You’re going to make yourself sick if you don’t lighten up.” She sits down beside me and stares into the pond for a moment. “Koi are ugly.”
I nod, then change the subject. “Imala, can I ask you something?”
She turns her beautiful dark gaze on me. “Uh-oh. This sounds serious. I don’t answer serious questions after lunch.”
“So I should ask in the morning?”
“Nope. I don’t answer them in the morning either.”
I shake my head and smile. “How do I manage to make everybody hate me on a regular basis?”
“Who hates you?”
I tick them off on my fingers. “I hurt Bilda’s feelings. I’ve somehow made Jones upset with me. Portia isn’t fond of me, and neither is Wisp. Rachel isn’t even alive and she’s trying to kill me. I think I even got Lilly killed, and I’ve only spoken to her twice, ever.”
Alarm lights her eyes. “Lilly? Lilly Crabtree?”
“Is that her name? I guess. She owns - owned - that little voodoo shop downtown.”
“Oh, Trinket. You say she was mad at you?”
“Well, maybe not, but she’s not exactly my best buddy. I hired her to get rid of Rachel for me, and she said she could do it in a week. But now she’s dead, and I don’t like the idea of another angry ghost haunting me. One is enough.”
“Oh, honey.” Imala puts a hand on my arm. “I wish you had mentioned it to me first.”
“Why? I mean, I saw that she didn’t exactly practice clean magic, but she offered and I thought it might do the trick.”
Imala is shaking her head. “No. No, no, nope.”
“What?”
“She’s a little bit like your mom, except that she’s willing to experiment without scruples.”
“What does that even mean, Imala?” I’m fighting to keep the frustration out of my voice. Evidently I’ve screwed up again. “Bilda’s magic is rusty, but she doesn’t really do any harm.”
“Because she’s trying to help. Even if she gets things wrong sometimes—which she’s doing less and less, if you haven’t noticed - she means well, and her intentions keep her from hurting anyone.”
“Okaaay...”
She sighs and speaks to me carefully, like I’m a small child. “Lilly didn’t mean well. Lilly didn’t care about the consequences, and she didn’t care if someone in the way of her magic got hurt.”
Conflicted Witch (Jagged Grove Book 2) Page 9