Good Witch Hunting

by Dakota Cassidy

  Coop sighed, leaning forward and cupping her chin to look at me thoughtfully. “I don’t understand human expressions. Why don’t humans just say what they mean?”

  Why didn’t they indeed? “Because we’re all too afraid to say what we mean. So we hide behind innuendo and mixed metaphors. That’s why. But I’m not afraid to say we’re stewed if we don’t find something soon. Trixie, what did you find online about Hank?”

  I’d tasked her with looking up and bookmarking every piece of information she could find on Hank. Where he was born, where he went to school, if he had siblings.

  “Well, as you know, Abe was his stepfather. His biological father died at the age of sixty-two back in 2004 of pancreatic cancer. His name was John Morrison. And you mentioned you’d met Hank’s mother, Francie Morrison Levigne, once or twice, right?”

  A picture of Francie Levigne flashed through my mind. A sturdy woman with thick arms and legs and hair dyed so black, it almost looked blue in the sunlight.

  I tapped the table with my finger. “Yep. Met her at bingo not long before Abe passed. Very pleasant, if not super chatty. Not nearly as scary as her imposing image would make her seem. But I’ve only seen her once or twice since then.”

  Trixie pointed to the screen and cocked her head. “As sort of an aside, this article from 1987 says in her heyday, Francie was an ax-throwing champion. How unusual.”

  “Very unusual. I didn’t even know that was a thing. I bet Hank thought twice about cutting up with a mother who had those kinds of skills, huh?” I said with a giggle I couldn’t help.

  “And then there’s Hank,” Trixie continued, her index finger skirting the screen of my laptop to keep her place. “He never married and has no children that anyone is aware of. All that’s left is Hank’s sister, Pricilla. She’s his older sister by three years, at forty-six. She lives here in Eb Falls with her husband and her two teenage girls. She works at the high school in the cafeteria. Hardly looks murderous.” She swung the laptop toward me so I could see her picture.

  Pricilla looked nothing like Hank. She was a tall, fair-skinned blonde with a wide smile and overly made-up eyes.

  “I didn’t even know Hank had a sister…” I said, surprised by that revelation. “But then, I didn’t really mingle much with him. Did he have any hobbies or tickets or anything that might lead us to a suspect? Any suspect at all?”

  “He liked to golf,” Trixie responded, showing me an article from the Eb Falls newspaper. “He’s in this picture here—right there in the crowd. But mostly he liked to buy and sell real estate.”

  I squeezed my temples and watched the snow continue to fall over the Sound. At this rate, I think we could classify this snow as a potential blizzard. My hope was, the terrible weather would continue long enough to keep the police at bay. Eb Falls wasn’t equipped for snow like this. We didn’t have a large number of plows the way the northern states do. If the roads stayed messy enough, we might catch a break. At least for a little while. I could always find somewhere for Coop and Trixie to go to keep them from the police, but it wouldn’t matter if I didn’t find something—some kind of evidence that proved Coop wasn’t a killer.

  Pinching my temples, I asked, “What about a Facebook page? Did he have one? Twitter, maybe?”

  “That was my next search.” Trixie’s fingers clacked on the keyboard while I pondered Hank.

  He’d certainly inherited a lot of real estate after Abe passed, and he wasn’t exactly making friends if he was raising rents left and right. We needed to look into whether he’d pulled the same fast one on someone else the way he had Trixie and Coop.

  “Jackpot!” Trixie yelped, rising to sit up straight in the chair and reposition herself. “Hank didn’t just own our building. He owned the yoga studio, the flower shop, and the beauty salon among several other buildings—and some of those renters were very angry with Hank for raising their rent, too. Look at some of these posts on his business page on Facebook!”

  She swung the laptop in my direction once more and pointed to a post about how he’d just acquired another property, and saying he’d post more once the deal was sealed.

  As I read the comments, several in particular caught my eye, but one by Burt Freely made me sit up and pay attention, and it had nothing to do with the poor grammar.

  Your a cheap no good SOB Hank Morrison. Abe is rolled around in his grave for the way your treating us! You better watch your back!

  I clicked on Burt’s profile to find he was part owner of the men’s barbershop on Main. Hank owned that building too, according to Google. As I perused his page, I noted Burt didn’t look anything like a killer. He was more teddy bear than cold-blooded murderer, but he sure was big enough to have been the person who knocked me down last night.

  I bookmarked Burt’s page as a person of interest to question then read more comments.

  One from Enid Gunkle in response to Hank’s new property read, And the rich get richer while the rest of us slugs live paycheck to paycheck! Hell awaits your arrival!

  Now we might be getting somewhere. “Hank had a lot of people angry with him, didn’t he?” I mused. “He must have pulled the same fast one on all these people that he pulled on you two.”

  “Hank Morrison was a bad man. He told lies,” Coop said, her jaw clenched.

  I pushed away from the table and stretched my arms again while rolling my head from side to side. “Yes. He sure wasn’t a nice one, Coop. But please don’t let anyone hear you say that. It only strengthens the case against you.”

  “Okay, that’s enough, Stevie. It’s off to bed with you,” Trixie insisted. “You’ve sacrificed your sleep and your time. You need rest. We’ll clean up. Just tell us where we’re sleeping and we’ll take care of the rest.”

  Normally, I’m not so easily put off, and I know I’ve been missing a good mystery to pass the time. But this one had, in the mere hours since it had cropped up, become very important to me. Sure, it’s always important to me to bring justice to the dead, but I’d become emotionally involved with these women now, and it was crucial I had my head about me when I sought out some of these potential suspects.

  So I gave in. Unwrapping the scarf from my head, I gave both women a hug. “I just need a couple of hours of sleep and I’ll be good to go. Your bedrooms are up the stairs and to the right. There are fresh towels and soaps and all sorts of toiletries on each of your beds. If you need anything at all, just holler. Please don’t hesitate. And Coop? Tomorrow we go over your new identity. Win says his friend’s created a really solid background for you, but you’ll need to memorize it, okay?”

  “I’ll do as you say,” she assured, moving to clean the table free of the pictures we’d spread out.

  “Stevie? We can’t thank you enough,” Trixie added as I meandered toward the stairs with Strike trailing at my feet and Whiskey leading the way.

  “Not necessary,” I called back with a wide yawn as I made my way to my bedroom, never more grateful in my life than I was today to see my warm, comfortable bed.

  I crawled into it, not even bothering to change into my pajamas. “I’m beat, Spy Guy.”

  “Then rest well, Mini-Spy,” Win crooned. “Tomorrow’s a new day, Dove. We shall persevere!”

  “Sleep tight, malutka. Do not let the bugs bite,” Arkady whispered.

  Whiskey hopped up and pressed his big body against my back, burrowing his nose in the comforter. And as I closed my heavy eyelids, I said a small prayer that we’d find who killed Hank so I didn’t have to drive Trixie and Coop to the border.

  * * * *

  “Stevie…” someone whispered.

  I was dreaming, I suppose. I had to be dreaming because I didn’t recognize the gravelly voice at all.

  But then the voice called me again—a deep, menacing voice. “Stevie… Wake up. I want to play with you. We can’t play if you’re asleep…” the voice singsonged, going from menacing to teasing and light.

  My brow furrowed as I tried to open my eyes. Using my
thumb, I wiped a bit of drool from the corner of my mouth. I always drool when I’m overtired and sleep heavily. Which is what I was doing, thank you very much, and this voice was no longer letting me.

  “Steeevie,” the voice whispered. “Wake up, Stevie.”

  “Go away,” I muttered, wrapping an arm around Whiskey and tucking back under my comforter. “I just need a couple more minutes.”

  “Stevie!” the voice hissed in my ear, so close the sound echoed. “Wake up!”

  Suddenly, the bed shifted violently with the weight of something—or someone—and before I knew it, I was forcibly rolled on my back with a hand to my throat, and found I was staring up at…

  No. No frackin’ way.

  As my eyes adjusted and focused on the image on top of me, they widened because indeed, yes. Yes frackin’ way.

  I was staring up at a wild, red-eyed version of Trixie.

  Chapter 12

  Trixie—who looked like Trixie but wasn’t Trixie, because she sure didn’t sound like Mary Poppins anymore—screamed at me, the veins in her neck visible even in my darkened bedroom. “I said, wake up, Steeeviiie!” she bellowed, holding Coop’s sword high over her head and preparing to bring it directly down toward mine.

  Just as I was getting my bearings, I heard Coop’s rebel yell, “Trixie Lavender, no!” seconds before she leapt on the bed and knocked Trixie and the sword to the floor with one swipe of her hand.

  Coop pounced on her friend, grabbing Trixie’s wrists and holding them above her head while Trixie fought her as though she were possessed, making Whiskey bark furiously.

  “Get off me, you stupid half-breed! You just don’t want me to tell her that Trixie killed him!” Trixie cried in a voice I never, ever want to hear again. It was like something straight out of The Exorcist—raw, and black, and hateful. Her face was red, matching her eyes—eyes that bulged from their sockets while spit flew everywhere.

  She fought Coop with everything she had, all the while letting eerie, high-pitched wails emit from her throat.

  My shock gave way to panic as I watched her really give Coop a run for her money. I mean, this was Coop, for gravy’s sake. Coop could take on a football team, and Trixie was trying to knock her off her hips as though she were tissue paper.

  Realizing I was rendered immobile by my shock, I scrambled to the edge of the bed, still tangled in my comforter, and fell to the floor with a thunk—and that’s when I saw Trixie’s nails.

  Neatly trimmed and unpolished when we met, now they looked like black, razor-sharp claws.

  Terror made my heart crash so loud, I was sure Win and Arkady could hear it, but I grabbed Coop by the shoulders to make her stop as Trixie flailed beneath her. I was afraid she’d kill her friend with such brute force.

  “What the heck’s goin’ on?” Belfry screeched above the howling, buzzing about the ceiling.

  I grabbed again for Coop, but she shrugged me off with an angry growl. “No, Stevie! Don’t interfere. We have to stop her before she hurts someone! Let me handle this!”

  Okay. Now I was terrified. I’d never seen anything like this. I’d seen possession, but this? This howling, sweating, spitting, clawing kind of possession? Um, nope.

  “Trixie Lavender, listen to me!” Coop demanded, letting one of Trixie’s arm go in favor of grabbing her under the chin and forcing her to look her in the eye by squeezing her jaw ’til I thought it might crack. “Listen to my voice, Trixie! You must fight the evil—fight it with all your might!”

  Trixie twisted her body with howls and grunts, heaving her hips upward to rid herself of Coop, but the demon held on and gritted her perfect teeth. She leaned in close and soothed, “Listen to the sound of my voice, Trixie. You are good. You are kind. You will not let this evil have you. Listen. Just listen. This is your body, Trixie Lavender. You will not let it have your body!”

  I had to bite my knuckle to keep from screaming at the top of my lungs as I reached for Whiskey’s collar and pulled him close to me. Poor Strike sat frozen in his bed, his feathers quivering, but I couldn’t get to him to comfort him without disturbing whatever was happening.

  And then Bel did something I’ll never forget for as long as I live.

  He zoomed down to land at Trixie’s ear and nestled in her perspiration-soaked hair. “Shhh, now, Trixie. Easy does it. We’re here. Coop is here. Stevie is here. Come back, Trixie. Come back. Don’t fight. Shhh, shhh, shhh,” he whispered, and then he began to hum “So This Is Love” in her ear, a tune he’d hummed to me all my life whenever I was stressed or sad.

  Little by little, as Coop and Bel crooned to her, quiet, shy, nurturing Trixie-gone-rabid began to settle down until she expelled a long, shuddering breath. Literally, it was as though someone had sucked whatever had been lodged inside her right out.

  Instantly, her pretty eyes cleared and she stopped struggling.

  Coop cupped Trixie’s cheek, pushing her hair out of her mouth. “It’s okay now, Trixie.”

  But then Trixie’s eyes went wide with horror and fear as she looked to each one of us. She gripped Coop’s forearms, her spine going rigid, and whispered, “No, Coop! Oh, God. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” She began to sob, her shoulders shaking.

  Coop lifted off her and patted Trixie on the shoulder in her awkward way. “Everyone is okay. No one was hurt. I promised I wouldn’t let you hurt anyone and I kept my promise.”

  And then Trixie saw me, eyes as wide as saucers as she visibly fought a violent tremble. “Stevie! Did I hurt you? Oh, Stevie! I’m sorry. Please forgive me!” she cried, pushing Coop off her to stand up.

  I think I was still in shock because I could only manage to shake my head and mutter, “No… I’m…I’m not hurt.”

  She wobbled a bit, and I suppose I’d wobble, too, if I’d just thrashed about the floor like a dying fish out of water. But she righted herself and grabbed my hand in her sweaty palm, her eyes watery, her cheeks beet red. “We’ll leave right away, Stevie. We can’t stay here anymore. Someone will end up hurt. I couldn’t bear it if someone got hurt.”

  But I gripped her fingers and stopped her from leaving the bedroom. “Stop. Don’t move. Just give me a second to catch my breath and then we’ll talk.”

  I let her go then and began to right the things she’d knocked over in her fit of histrionics, and then I sat next to Strike, who trembled and cooed softly in his bed. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I cradled him until he stopped shaking.

  Then I rose, pushing my hair from my face to get a clear view of Coop and Trixie. I wanted to run out of the room, down the stairs and to the nearest border to get as far away from what I’d just seen as I could, but I didn’t. Yes, I’ve seen some scary things in my time—even from Adam Westfield when he’d come after me once—but it would never compare to seeing someone you genuinely liked being full-on possessed.

  I gulped back my fear and kept my voice calm. “Explain, please. What just happened?”

  Coop wasted no time when she stood in front of her friend and said, “Sister Trixie Lavender is occasionally possessed by an evil spirit who escaped from Hell.”

  * * * *

  “Dove! Oh, Dove! How fare thee now?”

  “Thee fares pretty freaked out. But I’m okay. It’s all going to be okay.”

  That was a lie. Nothing would ever be okay again. I can’t explain why I was so freaked out. I’d seen some pretty crazy stuff, but we were talking Hell here. Hell and true evil. Demon evil. It just felt so much darker than what I’ve faced in the past.

  Win clucked his tongue. “I wasn’t there for you. I’m woefully sorry, Stephania. But once we bid each other adieu for the evening—”

  “You go off and hunt chicks. I know, I know,” I retorted, fighting to keep the sarcasm out of my words.

  “I do no such thing. I reflect. Sometimes I read. I ponder the state of the world, but I most certainly do not hunt chicks.”

  We had an agreement we’d stuck to since the beginning of our crazy relationship. When I go
to bed, Win no longer has access to my bedroom. We maintain a strict code of privacy, and except for the other night, when he woke me by accident with his tattoo revelation, he’s never broken the code.

  I always figured while I slept, he went off and did what sexy British spies do on their downtime. Chase exotic women with a dirty martini in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Win says that’s not true, and Arkady backs him up.

  But if allowed to dwell, my jealousy gets the better of me and I’m convinced he’s chasing women. Which is entirely his right whether I like it or not and certainly ridiculous. But jealousy and my overactive imagination are strange bedfellows and can convince me of almost anything if I allow it.

  Clenching my eyes shut, I popped them back open and looked out the kitchen windows at the snow that was still falling while I waited for Coop and Trixie to clean up. There was no way I was going back to sleep now anyway. Not after that hellish display.

  “Right. Whatever. It doesn’t matter, Win. What does matter is, I just watched someone I really like and could probably be friends with flail around on the floor, spit, scream obscenities, and threaten death until she was red in the face as her friend held her down on the ground and Bel sang her evil away.” I stoked Bel’s head and tucked the cloth napkin he’d curled up in tighter around him. “By the way, you were aces tonight, buddy. I don’t know if I can ever properly thank you. I love you, Belfry. I just thought you should know.”

  “No sweat,” he mumbled sleepily. “And I love you, too, Boss. Now let me get some sleep. At least one of us has to be aware.”

  “What in heaven’s name happened, Dove?” Win asked, his voice laced with worry.

  As I explained to him the events that had just passed, I fought more tears. That it was five in the morning and I’d only had an hour’s worth of sleep wasn’t helping, but if I tried to close my eyes now, I’d only relive Trixie’s suffering, and I couldn’t bear that.

  “My sweet relish pickle, I wish I was with you right now, if only to give you great big hug like bear,” Arkady said, his words gentle and sympathetic.