Witching Your Life Away

by Constance Barker

  “I know,” Chloe said. “But she may be right.”

  “About?”

  “About this being everyone’s fight,” Chloe said. “Once this is all over… if it is, I mean… we’ll talk.”

  “About what?” Bailey asked, distracted as Piper vanished behind Mr. Dove’s door.

  “About the Throne of Medea,” Chloe said. “About who your father is.”

  Chapter 21

  Piper steeled herself for a second time, her hand resting on the doorknob of Mr. Dove’s shop.

  You can do this, she thought, bolstering her confidence as best she could. Do it for Riley, and William, and Gavin, and your friends. For everyone in Coven Grove.

  She held her breath as she turned the knob, and went inside.

  Mr. Dove was there, at the other end of the shop, lounging behind the counter. He smiled when she walked in, an almost feral expression of large white teeth. How had she ever thought he had a genuine, inviting smile before? Now, he looked very much like a predator. Did he know?

  “Mrs. Spencer,” he said, bright and cheerful as he had been before, “what a delight to see you again so soon! And without your babes in tow—I do hope they’re well?”

  “Gavin’s mother has them for the day,” Piper said. Her heart was beating quickly. She realized she hadn’t come up with a reason to be here. “I… thought I might come and find something for Gavin. Our anniversary is coming up. Maybe for his mother, too. A peace offering sort of thing.”

  “A tense relationship with the in-laws, is it?” Mr. Dove asked. “Such is the price of a good marriage, no?”

  “That’s one way to put it,” Piper sighed. That, at least, she didn’t have to fake. “Of course this time I insist you let me pay you for your wares.”

  “If you insist,” Mr. Dove said, and came around the counter, his movements too fluid, too graceful, to even be human. Now that she could see him clearly, there were so many little things that seemed off about him. “So, what did you have in mind?”

  “I was hoping you could help me decide,” Piper said. She almost crossed her arms over her chest, but stopped the gesture midway and covered it by idly scratching her shoulder.

  Mr. Dove raised an eyebrow. “I see you’re not wearing the bracelet we found for you the other day,” he said. “I do hope it suits you?”

  Piper froze, but only for a heartbeat. “Oh, yes,” she said, “I love it. I… left it at home, on accident. It’s been eating me up since I came downtown.” She’d been obsessed with it before, hadn’t she? She rubbed her wrist where he’d first put it on her, trying to make it an absent sort of affect.

  If Mr. Dove was fooled or not, he didn’t give an indication either way. Instead, he spread his arms to wave at everything in the cramped little shop. “Well, how about we find something for the esteemed Mr. Spencer first. Tell me, if you know—what is Mr. Spencer’s favorite song?”

  It was so unexpected a question that she had to think hard about it until she recalled that she wasn’t actually here to buy him something. “Uh… Desperado,” she said. “He has to stop and listen to the whole song every time it comes on. I think he fancies himself a cowboy, deep down.”

  “Just so,” Mr. Dove said, and watched her for a moment before he began searching his shelves.

  Piper licked her lips, and followed him, though not too closely. “So… have you always been in Coven Grove, Mr. Dove? I realize I never have taken enough of an interest in you, even though I’ve known you all this time. I feel I’ve been rude not to know more about you.”

  He flashed her his icy eyes that once had seemed perpetually amused and now seemed… merely cold. “I assure you, I have not been offended. My interest is simply to serve my community.”

  “How kind,” Piper said. “Were you born here?”

  “I was not,” Mr. Dove answered, and moved to another shelf. “Mr. Spencer’s favorite scent?”

  “Cedar,” Piper answered. “His father used to take him camping when he was little; they’d always burn cedar logs for the camp fire. So… what brought you to Coven Grove?”

  “Work, originally,” Mr. Dove said easily. “Do you by chance know Mr. Spencer’s favorite word? One he uses often.”

  “Er… I can’t say that I do,” Piper admitted.

  “We’ll go with your first name,” Mr. Dove told her, “it is often the favorite word of men who are deeply in love.”

  Despite the circumstances, Piper found that she smiled a little bit. Faerie or not, Mr. Dove did have a way with words. “That’s a very sweet sentiment,” she said. “You’re something of a poetic heart, aren’t you, Mr. Dove?”

  “Among my compatriots,” Mr. Dove said, “I’m known to be something of a bard.”

  “Are those people here, in Coven Grove?” Piper asked.

  Mr. Dove regarded her briefly with another of those predatory smiles, chasing away any moment of admiration she might have had for him. “They’re here and there, far and wide. I’ve traveled quite a bit, you see. I believe the last question… what is your husband’s highest ambition in life?”

  Piper hesitated, stricken, suddenly not with the realization that she didn’t know—but that she’d always known and for some reason seemed to have forgotten it for a time. She’d said awful things to Gavin in the last few days. Maybe things that couldn’t be taken back. Her chest ached as she answered. “That’s easy. To provide for his family. To make sure that we’re happy. It’s his only ambition.”

  Mr. Dove nodded slowly, knowingly. “I haven’t a doubt in the world it is so. I believe I have just the thing.”

  He went to a shelf with what looked like several musical instruments in varying states of repair. The one he picked out, though, was in pristine condition. “Silver pipes,” he said. “Quite rare, and quite old. They were made in a place rather far from here, though perhaps not so far as it used to be.”

  “That’s… a funny way to put it,” Piper said. “I’m sure they’ll do just fine. How much?”

  “Oh, I’ll give them to you for a steal,” Mr. Dove assured her. “Allow me to play for you; they are quite beautiful to hear.”

  “Oh, there’s no need to go to the trouble,” Piper said. “I’m sure Gavin will love them… he used to play the saxophone in high school. Maybe these will, ah, give him something to do as a hobby again. I should get back to him—”

  “I insist,” Mr. Dove said. “You really can’t know just how remarkable they can be until you’ve heard them yourself.”

  Though Piper began to argue again, Mr. Dove pressed the pipes to his lower lip and played.

  The song was haunting, and seemed to be louder than it was possible given that Mr. Dove barely blew over them, coming not just from the pipes themselves but from all around and even somehow from inside her own head. His eyes sparkled at her, mischievous and maybe even… diabolical.

  Piper swallowed hard, and her hand drifted toward her back pocket.

  This had been a terrible mistake.

  “Heading out, hon?” Darla asked as Seamus approached the front desk to log out for the day.

  “I am,” Seamus sighed. “Long night, long morning. Looking forward to my forty-eight off. Seen the Sheriff? I had a thought earlier and haven’t been able to find him. It’s about the two and a half murders.”

  “I think he went home to get a nap,” Darla said, and pulled out the roster book, opened it to today’s date and set it up on the counter where Seamus could sign out.

  He put his name and badge number down, checked the time, and penned it in as well, and then handed the pen back to Darla.

  Darla didn’t take it. She was glazed over, staring past him.

  Seamus turned, a nervous feeling in his gut. “What?” he asked.

  Darla didn’t answer, but she wasn’t the only one. Two people in the waiting area had turned to look in the same direction—right at the wall.

  He looked around at the sudden quiet in the building. It wasn’t just Darla and these folks. It was everyone i
n the Sheriff’s department. All of them had stopped what they were doing, and they stared at the far end of the building, glassy eyed.

  And then they began to move.

  “Where’s everyone going?” Seamus asked. “Darla? Ben. Charlie! Are ya’ll deaf? What’s going on?”

  No one paid him the least bit of attention. They all headed toward the door and began to wander out.

  It made Seamus’ skin crawl, and then, somehow, it made his ears hurt. No—that was something else. A horrible, screeching noise that seemed to be getting louder and louder, until he could barely see straight. He covered his ears, but the sound wasn’t dampened at all.

  It was the last thing he heard before it got to be too loud, and dizziness dropped him like a stone and dragged him under.

  Chapter 22

  Avery paced the room behind Bailey, his footsteps creaking over the floorboards. “Do any of you hear that?”

  “What?” Bailey asked, turning to look at him briefly. Her concentration slipped. Piper was nervous. More than that, she was quickly becoming terrified; but Bailey couldn’t tell much more than that and given the circumstances didn’t know whether or not it meant she’d been made.

  “A kind of electric whine,” Chloe said quietly. “I hear it, too.”

  “I thought it was just lights,” Ryan said, glancing up. “Like a mosquito in my ear.”

  Aria, Frances, and Aiden all confirmed it as well.

  “I don’t,” Bailey said.

  A quiet settled back over them.

  “You’re the only one here who’s been affected by Riley’s… gift,” Chloe said.

  Bailey turned back to the window, suddenly tense. “Something’s wrong. I should go and help.”

  “Maybe that would be best,” Chloe said.

  “I’ll go with you,” Aiden told her.

  Bailey turned and put a hand on his chest. “No. I’m sorry, but… you’re still compromised. I can’t trust you.”

  Aiden looked like she’d slapped him across the face.

  “I trust you,” Bailey said quickly, “in general, I mean; just…”

  “I understand,” Aiden said. “And… perhaps you’re right.”

  Bailey hugged him, and then kissed him in front of everyone.

  “Be safe,” Aiden told her. “Please.”

  “None of us are safe,” Bailey sighed. “But I’ll try.”

  She left the Bakery. Outside, it was eerily calm, and quiet. Some distance away, a few people were walking quietly, not speaking. There were others in the opposite direction. It was disconcerting, but she jogged across the street to Mr. Dove’s shop.

  She called to mind the few spells she knew that required only words and magic—none of them were particularly offensive, or even really defensive; but they had utility, at least, if only for distraction. She calmed her mind and touched her magic to have it at hand, and turned the doorknob.

  It didn’t budge. It didn’t even jiggle like a locked door—it simply wouldn’t turn.

  Piper!

  Bailey pounded on the door. “Piper? Piper!”

  Piper turned, and bolted for the door like a panicked animal. It wouldn’t open, though. She pulled at it has hard as she could, and then kicked it—nothing.

  When the instinct to flee failed her, she realized with cold terror that she was separated from her children; trapped. That knowledge flipped whatever instinctive switch handled such things, from flight to fight. She turned, reached for the nearest object in sight, and hurled it at Mr. Dove.

  With catlike ease, Mr. Dove avoided the old rotary phone. It didn’t even interrupt his playing, but after a signed baseball that careened into a stand of figurines, a vase that shattered against the far wall, and an old garden hoe that clanged uselessly to the ground, he did pause.

  “So,” Mr. Dove said, his voice velvet and clear ice, “the little sprite picked a thing or two up, did he? I told Thomas to be more circumspect. How difficult it is, I believe the saying goes, to find competent assistance in these times?”

  “Let me out!” Piper shrieked. In a flash she recalled the iron rod in her pocket. She reached back and snatched it out, and then brandished it like a sword or a torch.

  Mr. Dove eyed the rod with contemptuous worry. “So it is,” he muttered. “Not just you, then, but one of the others. How annoyingly clever of you all. You think a bit of iron will make the difference, though? How foolish. You may be immune to my tune for now—but the rest of this cozy little hamlet is not. And they will not be so easily warded off by a bit of metal.” His smile widened, and his features changed slightly—his pale skin took on a opalescent luster, and his teeth became somewhat longer, with prominent, almost vampire-like fangs; animalistic and wild. He took a step toward her, and there was a gust of wind.

  And then Mr. Dove was gone.

  The door burst open, and Piper turned quickly, waving the iron rod at her attacker.

  It was Bailey, who grabbed her by the arms, eyes wide. “Where is he?” She asked.

  “Gone,” Piper said, “he just… vanished. He said everyone else in Coven Grove wasn’t immune to his music. I think he—”

  Bailey’s face fell into a horrified expression, and she left Piper to look back outside. “Oh no,” she breathed. She grabbed Piper’s wrist and practically dragged her outside and back across the street.

  From both directions, people were approaching. None of them spoke. Some of them had things in their hands, though.

  “Go, go, go,” Bailey urged in a harsh whisper as they dashed to the Bakery door, barged through it, and then slammed it behind.

  Bailey locked it behind them.

  “What happened?” Everyone asked, in some form or another.

  “They’re coming for us,” Bailey said.

  “Mr. Dove, he’s got some power over everyone in town,” Piper said. “He was afraid of the iron, though, so… that means he’s a faerie, doesn’t it?”

  “Or a faerie creature,” Aiden agreed, though his eyes almost immediately glazed over, just for a split second, before he blinked it away. “Did he actually come into contact with the iron, or did you just assume he looked worried over it?”

  Piper rolled her eyes and turned to Bailey. “They’re next to useless. What do we do?”

  “I don’t know,” Bailey muttered. “Maybe… we stick with the original plan. Go the caves, and try to ward off the shadows. They were helping before. So maybe they’re helping now; maybe Mr. Dove can’t do it himself, or maybe… maybe he can’t keep it up for long. His power can’t be limitless.”

  “The shadows,” Aiden said, “right. If we can get to the Caves, and solve at least one part of our problems—”

  “No,” Frances said. “We should stay here. We’ll be safe, there are wards on the bakery we can switch on.”

  “And do what?” Bailey asked. “Wait for Mr. Dove to break the caves? Or us?”

  Piper began to grow more and more agitated, the helplessness eating at her.

  “We can’t fight off a mob,” Frances barked. “Not without harming some of them.”

  “If we’re careful—” Aria started in.

  “Everyone quiet,” Piper shouted. They fell silent, to her surprise, and what she was about to say slipped away from her long enough to make it awkward. She recovered in a second. “Why aren’t the rest of you caught up in Mr. Dove’s enchantment like the people outside seem to be?”

  Six sets of eyes glossed.

  Bailey groaned, and then grabbed Piper’s arm. “Of course… there are wards around the bakery. It must be dampening whatever he’s doing…”

  “So if they all go outside…?”

  “That could change,” Bailey said, and cast a wary glance at the others present. “They can’t leave.”

  “So we’d be on our own?” Piper asked, wide eyed.

  “If we could even get there and do anything,” Bailey groaned. “I need time to think.”

  Outside, people were beginning to mill around the bakery. “I don�
��t know that we have time,” Piper said. “We’ll be trapped if there are too many of them here.”

  “Is there any way to create some sort of temporary protection?” Bailey asked. “Just long enough to get to the Caves?”

  “I can keep two people’s heads clear,” Chloe said, “if you can keep mine clear.”

  What followed was a conversation that took too long and didn’t make the least bit of sense to Piper but in the end it was agreed that Chloe, Aiden, and Frances would go. Aiden refused to stay, and Frances refused to let two wizards go and not enough witches.

  By the time the argument was settled, they were trapped, and Piper pointed that out to them with more bitterness than was probably constructive, but she couldn’t help it. Fear for her kids was overriding politeness quickly.

  “I can make us some space,” Frances said. “We’ll have to stay close.”

  “We should bring Riley,” Aiden said.

  “The hell we should,” Piper snapped.

  “Hear me out,” Aiden said. “He has some kind of… immunity to whatever is going on. He appears to have granted it to the two of you. If we can adapt his particular gift into the protections of the caves—”

  “And is that going to be safe for my two-year old son?” Piper asked, almost snarling the question.

  Aiden held up his hands. “He doesn’t need to contribute,” he said slowly, “he only needs to be present. I can work a dweomer—a… kind of assessment on him.”

  “You can do it here,” Piper said, “I’m not taking him into that.” She jabbed a finger at the still growing mob outside. They were no longer just glassy eyed, either; they were getting active, and some of them had baseball bats, branches, and other things suitable to deliver blunt force trauma.

  “I can’t,” Aiden said. “It won’t be useful here and I don’t have time to explain why, Piper—you must trust me.” His eyes flickered to Bailey.

  Piper turned to Bailey, “You can’t ask me to take him into danger.”