by Tegan Maher
She had a point, but still, it wasn't much to go on. "How many of that crew do you still see around town?"
"Not many," she shrugged. "I hear they come into Brew on my days off, which is hilarious. But from what Angel says, there's never more than four of them. She thinks it's funny because they always ask if I'm working or if you're there before they order coffee and pastries."
A corner of my mouth tipped up and I ventured another bite of the taquito. I could feel my arteries hardening with every bite, but man, was it good.
"Okay," I said after I swallowed. "Who'd be the fourth? We know the three slutateers—Olivia, Angelica, and Katie—but who else would possibly hang out with them? As far as I know, most of that crowd got knocked up straight out of high school and married their third cousins, once removed."
All right—that was a bit of an exaggeration, but not by much.
"I have no idea who the fourth may have been, but I think we need to start by talking to Olivia," she said. "After all, she's the one who saw me. Maybe she saw somebody else, too."
I agreed. "I'm going to look at the building beside Coralee's tomorrow anyway, so I'll stop in." The Clip N Curl was on the corner right beside the courthouse, which is where I figured they got most of their gossip, so I could walk there in less than three minutes.
Olivia bragged about being a Mary Kay Professional and had earned the pink caddie a few years back to prove it, but she worked at the courthouse as a clerk, too. Her office was directly above the sheriff's office suite.
"Okayy," Rae drawled. "Do you think that's a good idea?"
I snorted. "I think I can manage not to punch her out for the ten minutes I'll be there. Besides, it's her place of employment. There are rules of engagement to follow here."
She rolled her eyes. "I can't believe you actually think that's a thing."
I huffed. "Of course it's a thing. It's like the Geneva Convention for arch enemies."
"Yeah, okay."
It was only about noon when we pulled onto the long drive leading to the farm, but it felt like midnight. The emotional rollercoaster had been a doozy. By the time we pulled up in front of the house, the yard was full. Shelby's car was there along with Camille's. Hunter's truck was there, too.
I pulled in front of the barn to keep from blocking people in and Hunter shuffled out the front door toward us, hands in his pockets. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and my anger at him, which I'd managed to keep at a low simmer on the backburner, leapt to a full boil, front and center.
I stalked toward him. "What the hell is wrong with you? You were just gonna leave her there, all because of your stupid pride? Lemme tell you, mister. There ain't room for that kind of ego in this family. Not when it comes to something like this!"
Regret was etched on his face and he opened his mouth to say something, buy I was seeing red. Instead, I pointed toward his truck. "I won't insult you by implying you don't know your way out. Use it."
With that, I turned my back on him and strode toward the house, up the steps, and across the porch without even looking back. I was afraid if I did, I'd either say something I'd regret or forgive him, and I didn't want to do either of those things.
The screen door slapped shut behind me and I kicked my shoes off on my way to the kitchen. It wasn't long before Rae followed me in and handed me a manila envelope I recognized as one Hunter'd been holding.
I looked from her to it. "What's this?" It didn't feel like it had anything in it.
"Just open it," she said, shoving it toward me.
I ran my tongue against the sharp edges of my front teeth, trying to get a handle on my anger, then pulled open the flap and yanked out the contents. It was the deed to the farm. I frowned and glanced at Raeann, not understanding.
Unable to contain herself any longer, Addy floated over and looked over my shoulder. "Oh. It's the deed to the farm. The knucklehead finally came around." She turned to Rae and motioned to me with her chin. "I know this one here's too mad to have talked to him because he was such a nitwit, but you're too polite to leave him standing in the yard. What did he say?"
"He had me sign a paper releasing me on my own recognizance. He said he has no idea what happened, and he only remembers a flash of it after Addy poppin' in. Everything after that is kinda fuzzy until he was lookin' at pictures." She looked down at the floor. "You know, of Katie. He said to tell everybody he's sorry and that he acted like a real jerk."
"Well, he's right about that," I said, but there wasn't much heat left behind the words. I looked from face to face in the kitchen; there was a mixed bag of emotions. My own stubborn temper reflected back at me from Aunt Beth and Shelby, Camille looked a little guilty, which was weird, and finally, Rae and Addy looked concerned.
"All right, fine," I said. "I'll call and talk to him."
My aunt and my bestie smiled, but Shelby was appalled. To her, the world was still sort of black and white. "You'll not. Not until you figure out what's going on here. I'm sorry, but from what Addy said, if he isn't willing to stand by family when the goin' gets tough and one of us needs the rest of us, then he ain't the man I thought he was and he's not suited to be part of us."
I held my hand out. "We may have extenuating circumstances that are updumpin' the apple cart right now."
I'd already run the idea past Rae in the truck, and she agreed with me that all the weird goings-on were best explained, at least in the context of this cluster, by magic.
So I sat down and began to outline it for everybody else.
"Let me get this straight," Addy said. "You think somehow magic is causing all of this? How? What's the point? We have a reformed drunk, a snobby socialite, a preacher, and a kid. They have zero in common and neither do their particular behaviors."
"Don't forget the sheriff," I added.
"Oh yeah, him too," Addy said. "Though he's a little sensitive anyway. I probly shouldn't have pushed him."
"That's neither here nor there. Addy's right," Aunt Beth said. "Usually when witches get involved, there's a reason. And as bad as I hate to say it, it's generally greed."
Aunt Beth was the youngest of them by four years, but the resemblance between her and Addy was striking. They shared the red hair and green eyes typical of Flynn women and both had a little extra padding. They main difference was that Beth's face had a softness to it, whereas Addy's was sharper. Not so much physically—it was more the way they carried themselves. And Aunt Beth looked ... broken, I guess would be the best word. She’d been involved in some kind of battle with another witch right after Shelby was born—we never got anything but bare-bones information—and barely came away with her life.
"But remember, Addy, “Beth added, “greed comes in many forms. We may just not be able to see the whole game board yet.”
At that, Camille sighed and several expressions flitted across her face at once: indecision, fear, resignation, then finally resolve. "I think I have something to add."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Five faces pivoted toward her. "The last assignment I was on—"
"You mean where you were gone for almost three months and we hardly ever heard from you? The assignment that scared us all about witless for you?" I asked. "That assignment?"
Addy swatted at me and I grimaced and shivered as her hand passed through my shoulder.
"Mind your manners and let her talk," she snapped. "She already knows we were worried about her."
"Yes, Noelle, that assignment," Camille said, looking heavenward. "Anyway, it was local. Not here, but in a couple communities to the west of us. Eagle Gap, mostly."
"You were that close and never came home?" I asked, confused.
"There was no way I was comin' here and leading them to my family if there was the slimmest chance they didn't already know me," she said. "We still haven't figured out how or why, but they were compelling people. At first, it was stupid stuff—stealing mostly. Petty theft, shopliftin', that sort of thing. Some of the property was stolen from private
homes; witches homes to be exact. And there was some odd behavior, too, though we couldn't link those to the thefts because there wasn't anything tangible."
She swirled her spoon in her coffee cup, thinking, then continued. "Then they upped the ante and switched their focus. Fourteen witches were attacked in all. We thought they were trying to steal power, but that's not possible. It's like stealing somebody's blue eyes. Magic is part of a witch's DNA, and we all know that. Thankfully, people over there are as clannish and paranoid as in most small towns. The witch community circled the wagons and beefed up their wards, so nobody was seriously injured, but the attacks continued."
"So you caught them, right?" Beth asked, casting a worried glance at Raeann. She tended to be overprotective on her best day, let alone when her daughter's future was hanging in the balance.
Camille shook her head. "A witch came forward and confessed, but she says she doesn't remember doing it."
"Then why did she confess?" That made no sense to me.
"Because she found some of the stolen property in a box under her bed."
Shelby snorted. "That's just stupid. So she finds stolen property under her bed and thinks, oh, well silly me—I don't remember doing any of this, but since I found stuff that doesn't belong to me, I must have stolen it? She rolled her eyes. "What kind of gullible dunce is she?"
Camille raised a brow. "One who's three hundred years old and had placed so many wards on the box that nobody else could have possibly gotten into it."
"Oh," Shelby said, suddenly examining her fingers like they were the most important things in the world.
"Yeah, oh," Camille said. "But it didn't jive with us, either. Witches that old—and as powerful as she is—aren't exactly easy to manipulate. We'd been working with a local witch named Nora. She left a garbled message saying she had an idea and would give us a ring when she worked it out, but we never heard from her. She mentioned something about cats, too, which made no sense. We went as soon as we could, but by the time we got there, she was dead. Her death wasn't suspicious, just untimely, though there was evidence she'd done some sort of spellwork before she died."
"I know both of them," Addy said. "That don't sound like something Suzette would do. I met her grandmother a couple of times at our summer solstice shindigs. Her mind was going." She glanced at Camille. "So what made you decide to wrap it up if you never caught ’em and didn’t think Suzette did it?"
Camille shrugged. "We ran out of leads. Things stopped happening. We tested Suzette—the witch who confessed—and found evidence of tampering, but it was just wisps. We considered binding her, but chose instead to put her under the direction of the Magical Oversight Committee. She has an exemplary history and has to care for her grandmother, and she's an earth witch. Without her magic, she wouldn't be able to make the potions that are her livelihood."
"Speaking of personal talents," Beth said to Camille, "if you don't mind me asking, what are yours? Nobody's ever told me." She blushed a bit because that was sort of the witchy equivalent of asking a woman how much she weighs; not exactly taboo, but rude.
Camille waved a hand. "It's fine. My specialty is spellwork, though like you all, I can perform standard magic, too. I can also detect curses and the like. It's why they stuck me on the MOC; plus I have a sort of built-in lie detector. If a person's fallen off the rails magically, I can sense it, and they can't deny it." She raised one corner of her mouth in dry humor. "Well, they can, but it won't do them any good."
"Dang," Shelby said. "No wonder Emma and I can't slip anything past you."
"And you'll do well to remember that, young lady!” she said. “And by the way, I know about the pimple potion y'all made yesterday."
My little sister had the good grace to blush, and I laughed. "Pimple potion? Seriously?"
"There's this group of mean girls," she grumbled.
"And what if one of them is allergic to one of the ingredients?" Camille asked.
"Right?" I said. "And why mess with a potion for something like that when you can just—"
Camille cleared her throat and arched a brow at me.
"be the bigger person and ignore them?" I finished. What? Prove that wasn't what I was going to say.
"Speakin' of testing," Addy said, "when are you gonna take a peek inside Shelby's gourd and see what you can see, once and for all? It's been a few months since her accident, and she seems to be all systems go now. Is it still necessary?"
My little sister hadn’t grown into her gifts like a normal witch. They’d always been sporadic—and dangerous because Flynn witches tend to be powerful—but when she’d fallen off a ladder and hit her head, it was like a dam had burst.
"I'd still like to examine her," Camille said. "If for no other reason than to make sure there aren't any other booby traps floatin' around in there."
"Well then, there's no time like the present," Shelby said, scooting her chair closer to Camille.
"You mean, right now?" Camille asked.
Shelby had closed her eyes and slouched over in her seat to get comfortable. "Yup," she said, "right now. I'm tired of wondering, too."
Camille glanced at each of us like we were asking her to perform circus tricks, then shook her head and shrugged. "Okay, then. If there are no objections."
"Oh, we object," Beth said, "but we also want to make sure she's okay, and open up a path to get her off the MOC radar. No offense."
"Then let's do it." Camille reached out and took Shelby's head between her hands and shut her eyes. Shelby winced at first and Camille told her to relax. She did, taking a deep breath and visibly slouching down into her chair again. They sat silently for a couple of minutes. It was kinda freaky, because Camille's eyes moved underneath her lids like she was literally looking at something.
She took a deep breath and released it, then opened her eyes and dropped her hands from Shelby's head. Shelby peeped one eye open, and when she saw Camille studying her, she opened them both. "So? What did you find? It felt weird—almost tickly."
"There was definitely a residue left from where somebody had built some barriers in there," she said, smiling at the tickly comment, "but you're wide open now, at least as far as I can see. I can feel a low hum of energy, too. That's a little odd, but maybe it's just because you're nervous."
Camille looked around the table, speculating.
Addy snorted. "Don't go lookin' at us like that. I realize it may seem we're the only ones who coulda done it, but we didn't. And I'd bet my bottom dollar Rebecca"—our mother—"didn't do it, either."
"There's not much reason now for useless speculation, then," Camille said, standing up and brushing off her hands. "If we don't know who, then we don't know why. And I know it was none of you; I've seen you all do magic. Well, except for you, Addy. But I know it wasn't you, either. Like I said, magic's genetic. Every family has their own code, so to speak. Magic is just like other shared family traits—similarities are there if you know what to look for." She tipped her head toward Shelby. "And that's not Flynn magic."
"Well then that's clear as mud," Rae declared. "We're no closer than we were."
"Hold up, now," Beth said. "Now we know there's nothing else in there and that her magic isn't restricted. That's no small thing. So we are ahead. Thank you, Camille."
"My pleasure." She stood and went to the fridge, where she pulled out the tea pitcher and refilled her glass.
"So I been thinkin'," Shelby said.
"Don't hurt yourself," Addy said, smiling.
"Haha," Shelby said, shooting her the don't be a smart aleck look. "Seriously, though. Camille, did the crimes in Eagle Gap have the same things in common these do?"
Camille drew her brows together, confused. "What do you mean things in common?"
"You know," she said as if it were obvious, "like, the preacher probably doesn't get to feel a lot of booty even though he's a dude and has dude needs, since he's single and this is BFE Georgia where he's a bug under a microscope. He may as well have a chastit
y belt on for all the freedom he has to move around the dating scene. Lord help him if he fell off the Jesus wagon and picked up somebody at a bar."
I was starting to see where she was going. "And Gene Spencer controls his fighting because he stopped drinking. It's not a matter of not wanting to punch somebody; it's a matter of keeping it in check. And Kirsten obviously wanted to eat whatever she wanted."
"And maybe Roberta only donated because she didn't want to look bad or because she wanted something to brag about," Addy said. "She didn't do it because she cared about the causes; take away the limelight and she'da locked that cash so tight in her bank account, she'da ripped a dollar making a withdrawal."
Rae nudged me with her elbow. "And Hunter has a little bit of a hang-up about how people perceive how he does his job, between his screw-up in Indy and havin' to clean up the sheriff's office’s image after Hank smudged it all up with his greasy fingers for so many years."
"So it doesn't necessarily control them; it just takes away their thin layer of civility or self-control so they can do what they really want to do."
Shelby chugged the last of her tea and pushed to her feet. "Seems so to me. I gotta go. Emma was takin' a trig test and couldn't leave school, so I'm meetin' her at the diner for cheese fries."
Beth had been silent but her forehead was creased in thought. She held out her hand to stop Shelby. "This all makes sense, but there's one very important somethin' missing from the picture." She paused for a second, giving us a chance to think of it ourselves, a trait that used to make Rae and me crazy when we asked for "help" with our homework.
She put on her best duh face. "A connection. Like Addy said, we’ve got a reformed drunk—does he have a job?—a preacher, a cop, and a busybody with too much money on her hands. Oh, and a skinny kid with a bully-induced fat complex."
"Gene's a mailman," Shelby replied. "He brings Frito into the clinic, and sometimes he's wearing his uniform."
Addy scrunched her face up. "What in tarnation is a Frito?"
"Umm ... a corn chip?" Shelby said. "He brings all of us at the animal clinic in a single Frito. We share it." She rolled her eyes. "Frito is his shiatzu dog."