To Catch a Witch

by Heather Blake

My mother, who’d died in a tragic car accident when I was seven years old.

  It had been nearly a year since I learned that after my mother’s death twenty-four years ago, she had taken on a familiar form—she’d chosen a mourning dove—and then soon after had become the Craft’s Elder.

  Like all the Elders before her, her identity was a secret from most in the witch world, to protect her and those she loved. Only the Coven of Seven, her advisory council, and a handful of others knew who she was. It was against Craft law to reveal the Elder’s identity. If a witch knew who the Elder was, it was because she wanted that witch to know. Otherwise, a memory cleanse would be involved. I didn’t know how the Elder chose who was allowed to know the truth, but I trusted her decisions.

  Harper and I hadn’t been told at first because we’d grown up knowing nothing about the witch world since our father had wanted to raise us as mortals. It was only after his death that we even learned we were witches. Above and beyond that was an additional measure in place to protect the Elder: No one, including close relatives, was allowed to know the Elder’s identity unless they had lived in the village for a full year. It had taken nearly that long for me to figure out the truth on my own, and mine and Harper’s reunion with our mother was something I would never, ever forget.

  With all this snow, reaching my mother’s home deep in the Enchanted Woods would be nearly impossible for me, but fortunately, I knew just the bird who could help out.

  Archie.

  Even though he did not live with my mother, he was her assistant, her right-hand bird so to speak, and while he couldn’t travel in this weather, either, he would know another way to reach her, as they had many ways to communicate with each other.

  As Nick gave instructions to those who’d gathered, I called my aunt Ve. Since she was birdsitting Archie for the next week, she was the easiest way to reach him quickly. While familiars like Archie were not beholden to any witch, they often had caretakers. Archie’s usual custodian was Ve’s neighbor (and ex-husband), Terry Goodwin, who was currently on vacation with his girlfriend (and former ex-wife), Cherise Goodwin. That love triangle was as complicated as it sounded, but amazingly they were all close friends.

  I also wanted to tell Ve about what was going on with Abby and ask her help to locate her. As village chairwoman, Ve could send out an alert to witches and mortal villagers alike in no time flat.

  It took three tries to get the call to go through to Ve. My cell was dying from the cold weather, freezing up. Ve’s phone clicked over to voicemail. I left a message then tried her landline, but I couldn’t get the call to go through and my screen turned black. I tucked my phone into the inside pocket of my coat, hoping body heat would warm it up enough to use.

  I walked over to one of the tent windows and peered across the village green to my aunt’s beautiful Victorian. The blowing snow obscured the finer details of the house’s design, but I could see twin pinpoints of light—the front porch lights—glowing through the storm. Ve was an early bird by nature, so I was surprised she wasn’t already out here nosing around among the police cars. I immediately started to worry, being that worrying was the primary marker of my DNA.

  As far as I knew, Ve had intended to be home all day. She’d been experiencing empty-nest syndrome since I moved out and was loving every minute of having Archie’s company. In fact, I knew she and Archie had plans today to watch as many Doris Day movies as they could.

  Since I couldn’t reach her by phone, I’d stop over there as soon as I had the chance.

  “… out for her warm-up,” Nick was saying. “By all accounts, she would have jogged about a half a mile, gone through a series of prerace exercises then returned to the starting line. As we all know, she did not make it back. I can confirm the last sighting of her was in fact at the trailhead. The half-mile marker is just beyond the turnoff for the Aural Gorge Trail.”

  Nick finished his speech and the searchers broke into teams of six and started gearing up for a trek into the woods. Pulling on a warm hat and slipping on a pair of gloves, he walked over to me. His brown eyes softened and again he said, “We’ll find her. She’ll be okay.”

  I wanted to believe him, so I said, “Okay.”

  Only minutes after he and the search teams left the tent, it hit me that Harper might be of help in finding Abby as well. In fact, she could hold the key to pinpointing Abby’s exact location.

  Not long ago, Harper had unearthed a centuries-old spell able to locate lost things. A bubble of excitement rushed through me. I pulled out my phone to call her, but it was still dark.

  Instead of wasting my time fighting with my phone, I decided to simply go see her. But as I walked toward the tent flaps I was stopped by the sight of Lucinda pacing with little Aine. Anxiety was splashed across Lucinda’s face in her furrowed brow and downturned lips, but she held the sleeping baby’s hand so very gently. I veered toward them.

  When Lucinda glanced up at me, her blue-gray eyes widened, and I realized she thought I might have news. I gave a soft shake of my head and searched for the right words of comfort. I couldn’t find any. All I could manage was to echo Nick’s promise. “They’ll find her.”

  She nodded but said nothing. Just kept holding the baby’s hand—making me want to hold it too. Aine was just so sweet and innocent, and I craved that, even if only for a moment.

  I gave a weak smile and turned to go. I’d made it about two steps out of the tent when Vince stepped in front of me.

  “Not now, Vince,” I said, trying to sidestep. Snow had been stomped down outside the tent but had drifted into banks two feet tall in some places. The searchers had their work cut out for them.

  “Darcy, wait.”

  “Why?” I asked, marching away. Snowflakes stung my face, tiny icy knives.

  Vince dogged my heels. “I want to help.”

  I spun to face him. “Help? Like with the banner this morning? The race clock? The portable bathrooms? Oh, and let’s not forget the chocolate cake.”

  Snow blanketed his wavy brown hair as a grin lifted the corner of his mouth. “Oh come on. No self-respecting athlete would eat cake the night before a race. Serves them right. Besides, no harm, no foul. The hex expired at seven this morning. Everyone who ate the cake is fine now.”

  I fisted my hands and shoved them in my pockets. “There is so much wrong with what you’ve said, like how it wasn’t only athletes who ate the cake, but I don’t have time to get into it with you.”

  I spun around, my eye on the bookshop. It had opened at eight, and at the door I could see Angela Curtis, the shop’s manager, looking out into the snow. No sign of Harper.

  “I have a drone,” Vince called after me. “It can traverse the woods much faster than anyone on foot.”

  I stopped then turned slowly around.

  His glasses were fogging, so he pulled them off. I saw earnestness in his blue puppy-dog eyes as he said, “I want to help find Abby. She’s a friend. Not a close one, but one nonetheless.”

  It was times like this that confirmed there was good inside him. Deep inside, maybe, but it was there. “A drone? You can use one in this weather?”

  “I have my ways.”

  Ah yes. I knew of his chosen ways. “Your ways don’t help. They cause harm.”

  It was the nature of dark magic. To hurt, to harm, to damage. There was nothing remotely benevolent within it. Nothing at all.

  “Right. Like your magic is doing so much good right now. Maybe you could wish Abby back. Oh, that’s right. You can’t. Your magic is useless.”

  I clenched my jaw—he knew how to push every single one of my buttons.

  “Besides, I didn’t say I’d use sorcery, Darcy.” He tsked. “Don’t jump to conclusions.”

  I wanted to turn him down flat just for the principle of it all, but this wasn’t about me. It was about Abby. “Fine. Get your drone and meet me back here in five minutes.”

  “As you wish,” he said with a mock bow, jogging off toward his apartment above
Lotions and Potions.

  I couldn’t help letting out a small growl of frustration as I pressed on toward the bookshop, scooting around a line of village police cars. Each was a MINI Cooper, painted nonthreatening colors like green and pink. I saw Nick’s car—I called it the Bumblebeemobile because of its black and yellow coloring—parked across the square in front of our house, and wished more than anything that this morning had never happened. That the two of us were still in bed, enjoying a lazy Saturday.

  But I couldn’t grant my own wishes. And I couldn’t change the fact that Abby was missing. I could, however, help find her.

  To reach Harper’s apartment, cutting through the bookshop was much faster than walking around to the entrance in the back alley.

  Angela Curtis saw me coming and held open the door. “Quite a morning!”

  “An understatement,” I said, stomping my boots on the winter mat.

  “Any word about Abby Stillwell?” Angela tugged down the sleeves of her Goodnight Moon sweatshirt to cover her fingers.

  I blew into my hands, trying to warm them. “Not yet. Has Harper ventured down here this morning?”

  Her thick brown eyebrows dipped low. “She left me a message that she was sick and would be late today. Is she okay? It must be bad if she’s not out there, snooping around in police business.”

  Truly, there was nothing Harper enjoyed more. “Food poisoning. I thought she’d be feeling better by now though.” After all, Vince said the hex wore off at seven. Hours ago. It was disconcerting that Harper wasn’t down here, peppering me with a zillion questions.

  Angela grimaced. “I had food poisoning once, and I was down and out for nearly a week. Anything I can do?”

  “I’ll let you know,” I said. “For now, just hold down the fort here.”

  “Will do.”

  I zipped through the bookshop, barely noticing the fantastical décor. The store was done up in a Starry Night theme, with bright yellows and bold blues. There were bookshelves created with logs and twigs, iron shelving made to look like trees, and the most impressive children’s forest I’d ever seen. And I wasn’t just saying that because I’d painted the murals for the area. I hadn’t had a lot of time for my art lately, and I made a mental note to get back to it soon.

  I hurried down the back hallway toward the private staircase that led up to Harper’s apartment. Light shone beneath her door at the top of the steps, but when I knocked there was no answer. I tried the knob. The door was locked. “Harper?”

  When I didn’t get a response, I pulled out my keys, found the one for Harper’s door, and let myself in. The apartment was small. One bed, one bath, with an open layout. The scent of illness permeated the air, and I automatically winced at the smell. I heard bath water running.

  “Harper,” I called out more loudly, so she could hear me over the running water.

  She didn’t answer.

  Pie, Harper’s orange tabby, stared woefully at me from his spot by the bathroom door. Which was ajar.

  Panic snaked its way up my spine as I stuck my head into the steamy bathroom. The bathtub faucet was on, the water running down the open drain.

  And Harper was unconscious on the floor.

  Chapter Three

  Letting out a horrified cry, I dropped to my knees next to my baby sister. I patted her face, and winced at the clamminess of her skin. “Harper!”

  Clad in a fluffy terry cloth robe, she let out a soft moan and blinked. “Darcy? What happened?”

  Tears sprang. I’d never been so relieved in all my life. I thought she was … I shook my head. I wouldn’t go there. Couldn’t.

  I fumbled in my coat for my phone to call for help but realized quickly the screen was still black. Fighting the urge to hurl it against the wall, I shoved it back into my pocket. Harper didn’t have a landline, but her cell had to be around here somewhere. “Harper, I need to find your phone to call for help.” I pushed off the cold, gray tile floor. “I’ll be right back.”

  Pie, who’d been watching from the doorway, let out a loud reow and bolted away, a fuzzy orange blur.

  “No, no. No need to call anyone.” She weakly grabbed my arm and sat up, leaning against the wall with a small groan. “I’m fine.”

  Stepping over her stretched out legs, I shut off the bath faucet and thanked the heavens the tub hadn’t been plugged. I didn’t even want to think of what kind of damage a flood would have caused to the bookshop downstairs. Sweat beaded on my forehead from the saunalike temperatures, and I wiggled out of my coat and threw it out the doorway, into the living room. It landed on the arm of the couch then slid to the floor. Pie didn’t look impressed with my aim from his perch on top of the sofa.

  “Fine?” I sat next to Harper. “Oh yes, I can see that.”

  She had been aiming for serenity when she’d chosen the color palette for the bathroom. Pale periwinkle walls, white trim, and light gray accents. But at the moment, there wasn’t a speck of serenity to be found within these four walls.

  It had been obliterated by the lingering scent of sickness and a feeling of foreboding.

  Cinching her bathrobe, she rolled her bloodshot eyes. “I was going to take a bath and got dizzy. That’s all. No big deal.”

  While she wasn’t a girly girl by any means, she loved taking baths as a way to relax—usually at the end of her long workday. One of the first renovations she’d commissioned on the apartment after she moved in had been to replace the old, shallow tub with a deeper one. Candles of varying heights dotted the tub’s ledge, along with a jar of lavender-scented Epsom salt, and a stack of books. One of which appeared to have taken a bath with Harper at some point, if its wrinkled pages were any indication.

  I didn’t argue her “no big deal” comment, though I wanted to. Fighting with her right now wasn’t going to help anything. But I couldn’t stop a tear from sliding down my cheek now that the rush of adrenaline was wearing off. “You’re probably dehydrated.”

  Harper saw the tear and moisture instantly filled her eyes. She sniffled. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

  Seeing her tear up broke my heart. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well.”

  Her lower lip trembled, and I pulled her in for a tight hug. “I’m going to have it out with Vince for hexing that chocolate cake. No harm, no foul he told me. Just wait until I get my hands—”

  Harper cut me off. “Vince?”

  I pulled back. “Yeah, he thought the runners deserved to be hexed if they chose to eat cake before a race.”

  She struggled to stand up. “Let me at him.” She went ghostly white and sat back down. Weakly, she added, “Later. I’m going to wring his scrawny neck later.”

  Now that my heart rate had calmed down a bit, I studied her, my emotions warring. Relief versus worry. Sadness versus irritation. Because I knew, deep down, there was more to Harper’s illness than a hexed cake. “The thing is,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral, “Vince’s hex wore off earlier this morning, so you should be doing better by now. The runners who ate the cake were still able to participate in the Mad Dash.”

  “Don’t start, Darcy,” she warned, not falling for my detached tone in the least.

  I took a deep breath and started. “The racers are fit, healthy. They could bounce back easily.”

  “Darcy.”

  “For months, you’ve been working yourself to the bone, and you are always on the go, go, go. You’ve joined every group and club in the village. Hula-Hooping. Yoga. Dominoes. Weather chasers. Needlepoint.”

  Wriggling out of my grasp, she stood. Wobbled. Reaching out, she grabbed the towel bar to keep her balance. She’d always been small and thin, but in the past four months, she’d lost weight. At least five pounds, maybe ten. It was weight she didn’t have to spare. She was starting to look skeletal, and it was terrifying.

  At the sink, she splashed water on her gaunt face. She used a hand towel to pat her face dry, then sop up wayward droplets on the granite countertop. Tossing the towel into the wi
cker hamper next to the sink, she glanced at her reflection in the mirror then looked quickly away as if unable to stand the sight of herself. “I like staying busy.”

  Wind rattled the eaves, shaking them angrily as I said, “There’s busy, and then there’s worn out. You’re not sleeping. You’re not eating.”

  We’d had this conversation before. About a hundred times. After her breakup with village lawyer, Marcus Debrowski, last October, Harper had done everything in her power to take her mind off the pain.

  Everything but deal with it.

  During those months, I had pushed her as much as I dared, but now I questioned whether I should have been more adamant. More forceful. Made her seek help.

  I loathed hindsight.

  Her short pixie haircut stuck out in tawny unruly tufts. Darkness circled her big golden brown eyes and exhaustion hollowed her cheeks. Her tiny body bowed as if bearing a weight too heavy to carry. My heart ached for her, and I wished more than anything that I could take this pain away from her.

  But I couldn’t.

  “I eat. I even had cake last night. Look where that landed me.” She gestured to the floor in front of the toilet.

  Although she had a good point about the cake, I didn’t let it deter me. “Since Cherise is out of town, I’m going to call Dennis Goodwin.” I had wanted to call him this morning when I thought she simply suffered from food poisoning so he could give her a quick fix with his Curecrafting ways. But now … It was crystal clear something other than a stomach bug ailed Harper. Something I wasn’t convinced could be cured with a spell. “I want him to look you over, just to make sure everything’s okay.”

  “No.”

  Fighting back angry tears, I said, “No? Okay. Then brace yourself, because I am not going to stop nagging you about your health and wellness until you do agree. I will move in here, to keep an eye on you. In case you pass out again, which I know you think is no big deal, but guess what? It is a big deal. Colossal.” There was nothing Harper prized more than her independence, so I was fighting dirty, hitting her where it hurt most. “I will ask you at least thirty times a day if you’re hungry or thirsty or want to take a nap. I will follow you to work. Offer to turn the pages of the books you read. Turn down your bed at night. Tuck you in.” Winded, I sucked in a deep breath. “I’m dead serious, Harper. It’s either one visit from Dennis … or dealing with me constantly for the foreseeable future. Your choice.”