To Catch a Witch

by Heather Blake

  Her hands clenched into fists. Saying nothing, she carefully walked out of the bathroom, keeping one hand on the wall for balance. Slowly she made her way to the windows overlooking the village green and opened the shades. Snow had drifted onto the windowsills. Wind rattled the panes. At just over five feet tall, she looked puny against the huge windows. Fragile. Ordinarily, she was anything but. However these last few months had thrown her for a loop, mentally and physically. She loved Marcus, and he’d chosen his family over her.

  I followed her into the living area, the wood floor squeaking underneath my booted feet. Pie eyed me from his spot on the larger of the two sofas that faced each other in the center of the room. He sat on a crocheted blanket Harper had brought home recently from her crochet club, the Crafty Hookers.

  She reveled in telling people the name of that particular club. She had a bit of a mischievous streak, which fortunately hadn’t gone missing these last few months along with her appetite and sense of self-preservation.

  Waiting her out, I found a lighter and lit a scented vanilla candle, hoping it would help cut through the horrid scent in the air. The living room had a library-like feel to it, decorated mostly with shelves of books. Old books, new books, and numerous in-between. Hardback, paperback, and leather-bound. Many of them were about witchcraft. When we had first moved to the village, she hadn’t been too keen on being a witch, but she was slowly coming around to her natural gift. And had become hyper-focused on learning as much as she could about it.

  She wasn’t one to do anything half way.

  After a long moment of staring outside, she turned to face me. “I’ll see Dennis on one condition.”

  I’d been hoping she was too ill to negotiate. No such luck. “What condition?”

  “Once he gives me the all clear, and he will, you will not say another word about my schedule or my health.” She crossed her arms. “I am almost twenty-five years old. I can do what I wish, when I wish, how often I wish to do so. If I don’t want to eat, I won’t. If I want to pull an all-nighter, I will. If I want to sleep all day, I will. If I want to become a groupie and follow the Roving Stones around the country, I will.”

  She wasn’t a big fan of the Roving Stones, a rock and mineral traveling show, so I breathed easy she wouldn’t follow through on that particular threat. “I wish you would sleep all day. You can use the rest.”

  Her jaw jutted. “Deal?”

  “Forever and ever?” My stomach turned. I wasn’t sure it was a promise I could make.

  As if sensing my reservation, she said, “At least until my birthday, then we can renegotiate. And I mean it. Not a single peep.”

  Her birthday was in June, four months from now. It was honestly going to be torture for the mama hen in me.

  But I’d do it. I was worried about Harper enough to agree to her terms. “I promise. You have my word.”

  With a firm nod, she said, “Now tell me what’s going on outside? What’s with all the police cars? And why is Vince out on the sidewalk in a blizzard, staring up here?”

  I went to the window. Sure enough Vince stood in front of the bookstore, his arms wrapped around a backpack that undoubtedly held his drone.

  “He’s waiting for me. We’re going to use his drone to search the woods because Abby Stillwell is missing. But maybe we don’t have to, which is actually why I came up here to see you in the first place. Could you do the lost and found spell on her? The one you used to find the four-leaf clover in my yard last fall?”

  Using the spell had been a breakthrough for Harper. It had been the first time she’d practiced any part of the Craft.

  “Whoa, whoa. You lost Abby? How did that happen? I thought there were course guides and markers…”

  “I didn’t lose her.” I quickly explained what had happened.

  Harper glared at Vince. I imagined she was picturing her long fingers circling his neck. Fortunately for him, I didn’t think she had enough strength in her body to do any serious harm.

  “Can you do the spell?” I asked again. “Are you up to it?”

  “I keep telling you, I’m fine. So yes, I’m up for it. But I’m not sure I can find a person with that spell. Was Abby wearing any jewelry? Carrying her phone?”

  I conjured the memory of Abby a few hours ago, sitting with her head between her knees. I hadn’t seen any jewelry, and I knew she didn’t have her phone on her. “What about clothes?”

  “If you can remember a specific item, it’s possible.”

  “She’s wearing a red Balefire beanie. I have the same one in pink.”

  “I can picture it. That should work, but I’ll need a strand of Abby’s hair.”

  “I’ll get one.” There had to be one on her backpack, which was in the registration tent. If that failed, I’d go to her house. Since her roommate Quinn was a mortal, I’d have to come up with some viable reason to borrow Abby’s hairbrush, but I’d cross that bridge later.

  I went into the kitchen and filled a large tumbler with water and grabbed a sleeve of crackers from the cupboard. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Until then…” I handed her the cup and crackers.

  She immediately set them on her coffee table and jutted her jaw again.

  I let the defiance go. I’d chosen my battle earlier and won. I’d call Dennis as soon as I could.

  I gave Pie a quick head scratch, picked up my coat from the floor, and then walked toward the door.

  “Hey, Darcy?”

  I turned. “Yeah?”

  “Should we be worried that Vince has a drone?”

  I took a deep breath. “Probably.”

  It was something else to worry about later. Right now, I had a strand of hair to track down, a woman to find, and a man’s neck to save.

  Then I scratched that last one off my to-do list.

  Vince and his neck were on their own.

  Chapter Four

  “Everything okay with Harper?” Vince asked as I pushed through the bookshop’s front doors and went out into the cold. “You were gone awhile.”

  Snow blew sideways, and I lifted my hood for extra protection. “She had a piece of that chocolate cake last night.”

  He fell in step beside me as we practically jogged toward the event tent. “So she wants to kill me.”

  “Pretty much. She’s in the frame of mind to do it, too, so be careful.”

  Snowflakes froze on his glasses. “‘The grief that does not speak whispers the o’erfraught heart and bids it break.’”

  It took me a second to realize Vince was quoting Shakespeare, which was a favorite pastime of many in the village. Quite frankly, I was surprised Harper hadn’t joined the local Shakespeare society, run by the Chadwick family. It was probably only a matter of time at this rate.

  As Vince’s actual words sunk in, it was obvious he recognized Harper’s current frame of mind stemmed from her sorrow. Which made sense. He’d experienced that grief and sorrow himself. I long suspected his ignoble nature was born from his not feeling loved—by anyone. I’d known him for almost two years now, and I still wasn’t sure if that theory was true. Or if he simply did not know how to truly love or accept love. It was easy to speculate his confusion on the matter had driven his egregious behavior as he searched outwardly for something that could only be found within himself.

  I wasn’t sure I’d ever know the truth. He wasn’t exactly an open book.

  His breakup with my best friend Starla had been an extremely painful experience for both. Months later, the two had made great strides to overcome their suffering to try to salvage a friendship. It wasn’t easy, and the progress they’d made was tenuous at best. For example, Starla could now say Vince’s name without visibly wincing—most of the time. Vince still winced—every time.

  The inside of the tent was chilly, and I realized the portable heaters had already been packed up by the rental company. “The broken heart club is probably the only club Harper would like to quit right about now.”

  He said quietly, “Has
she considered therapy?”

  He seemed genuinely concerned for her, which reminded me of the good within him. “No. Have you?”

  Too quickly, he said, “I’m not the one falling apart at the seams because of a broken heart.”

  I lifted an eyebrow and stared at him.

  Swiftly, he looked away and opened his backpack. “If we can get a lull in the storm, that’s our best opportunity to send out the drone.”

  I let his lie go. It wouldn’t do me any good to argue the truth. I crouched under the table. “I’m not sure we need the drone after all. Harper might be able to pinpoint Abby’s location.”

  “How?”

  I glanced around. The staff from the Stove was gone but a few Mad Dashers remained behind.

  Dropping my voice, I said, “A lost and found spell.”

  He rolled his eyes.

  I pretended I didn’t see as I carefully looked over Abby’s backpack. Sure enough, several strands of her long, dark hair were stuck to the shoulder straps.

  I looped Abby’s backpack over my shoulder. “Come on, we have to get this hair back to Harper.”

  “Is she going to let me into her apartment?”

  It was a good question. “Probably, since you’re helping find Abby.” Maybe. There was a good chance she might push him down the stairs, too. But I didn’t mention that to him. The snow was still falling, but it felt as though the wind had lessened. “By the way, did Stef know you hexed the cake?”

  “Stef? Nah. I don’t go around telling mortals about my magic, and so far she hasn’t really noticed that I’m not exactly normal.”

  “Not normal? Get out,” I teased. His dark magic had no rules about anything, so I was surprised he hadn’t tried to show it off to impress her.

  He made a face at me. “I know, right? She’s a sweet girl, though a bit dim.”

  “Yet, you’re obviously a couple.”

  “Maybe I like dim.”

  “Then maybe you’re the dim one.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “She’s easy on the eyes, doesn’t want a commitment, and Dorothy hates her. All positives in my book.”

  Snow crunched beneath my boots. “Is it wrong that Dorothy hating her makes me like Stef?”

  “A little.”

  I could accept that. “I thought you and Dorothy were getting along.”

  “We are, but I don’t need or want her input on my love life.”

  “Why doesn’t Dorothy like her?”

  “Who knows? She doesn’t like many people.”

  That was the truth.

  I wanted to ask more about his integration into his new family, but couldn’t bring myself to pry. Maybe I’d ask Glinda Hansel, Vince’s biological half sister. My relationship with her had started off rocky, had become even rockier, but was now on solid ground. We’d had slowly become good friends over the past six months. We walked our dogs together a couple of times a week and often went for coffee afterward, chatting about anything and everything.

  As if reading my mind, Vince said, “Have you talked to Glinda lately?”

  “Not in the past couple of days. Why?”

  “No reason.”

  I skirted along the back of a police car parked at the curb. “Said just like there was a reason.”

  His lips were sealed as we stopped in front of the bookshop. With a wary gaze, he looked upward at Harper’s apartment.

  I said, “Well, you can stay out here and wait for me again or take your chances with Harper.”

  He adjusted his glasses then blew into his hands. “I think I’ll take my chances. I want to see this lame spell with my own eyes.”

  “Maybe you’ll finally see our magic isn’t as useless as you think.”

  “Don’t hold your breath.”

  I was glad he was coming along. There was an old idiom about being able to lead a horse to water but not being able to make it drink. So help me, I saw Vince as a wild horse, and I was bound and determined to make him drink up our magic. One way or another.

  A quick minute later, we were in Harper’s living room.

  Vince said, “You look terrible, Harper.”

  I thought, perhaps, that wasn’t the best opener.

  “No thanks to you,” she snapped.

  He looked at me. “Have you called a doctor? Her illness is not just from the cake…”

  “It’s on my to-do list,” I said.

  “It was the cake, and I’ll be fine,” Harper said sharply. “The worst is over. A couple of aspirin, and I’ll be good to go.”

  She was still ghostly pale, but I was happy to see she wasn’t as shaky as the last time I saw her. The vanilla candle had worked wonders replacing the smell of sickness in the air, but I could still detect it if I breathed deeply.

  Harper’s big eyes narrowed on Vince. “I should curse you. Give you a bad case of warts, or eternal halitosis and body odor. Boils, maybe. Oozing boils.”

  I shuddered.

  He didn’t look fazed by her threats. “But you can’t use magic for harm. Such a pity.”

  “I can’t use the Craft for harm,” she said, “but I think Andreus might have a black magic charm or amulet I can use. Seeing as how he’s practically family now, I think he’d indulge me.”

  Andreus Woodshall was the director of the Roving Stones, and the quality of his character was constantly in question, despite him being my aunt Ve’s current boyfriend. Their relationship had lasted a lot longer than anyone predicted. Maybe because they spent a lot of time apart.

  Andreus would have absolutely indulged Harper, family or not. Charms didn’t fall under Craft law, so Harper could buy a malevolent charm or amulet from him to suit her needs, and he’d undoubtedly know exactly which one would be to Vince’s utmost detriment.

  “You wouldn’t dare,” Vince said. “Unlike me, you’re too nice a person.”

  Still in her fluffy bathrobe, she crossed her arms over her chest and glared. “Am I?”

  Although she looked about as threatening as a newborn goose, I saw caution flash in Vince’s gaze.

  “Now, now,” I said, stepping between the two. “Let’s focus on the task at hand. The lost and found spell.”

  It had been less than half an hour since the search teams had headed out, but it felt as though we were running out of time. The sooner we found Abby, the better. I handed Harper the backpack. “Several of Abby’s hairs are caught in the straps.”

  Taking the pack, Harper went to the kitchen and grabbed a small colorful ceramic bowl that I recognized came from the Trimmed Wick. It was undoubtedly charmed. As she went about gathering supplies, Vince and I sat down on opposite couches. I noticed the crackers on the coffee table had been left uneaten but was glad to see the water level in the tumbler had decreased.

  Harper came back with a teapot and set it on a trivet on the tabletop. Steam rose from the spout along with a pungent, unappetizing aroma.

  “Tea?” Vince said. “You’re using tea?”

  “Shush,” Harper told him as she added the tea mixture to the ceramic pot along with some herbs and a strand of Abby’s hair.

  Pie stretched his way, one paw at a time, over to where Vince sat and climbed onto his lap. Vince awkwardly reached out to pat Pie’s head. The orange tabby purred loudly.

  Harper murmured the lost and found spell under her breath and waved her hands above the pot.

  A vivid white plume rose up like a cloud. In it was an image of an empty living room.

  “I don’t see Abby,” Vince said, sliding his glasses farther up his nose.

  Harper glowered at him and moved her hands together, almost like she was practicing some strange form of tai chi. The image in the cloud narrowed, focusing on a wig laying on a table.

  “The hair I used wasn’t human,” Harper said. “Is that Abby’s living room?”

  I squinted. “Yeah, I think so. I’ve only been there twice, but I think that’s her sofa.”

  “Does she wear a wig?” Vince asked.

  “
Not that I know of,” I said. But there was no arguing the wig looked just like Abby’s hair, long and dark.

  Harper drummed her fingertips on the coffee table. “The spell found the wig, because I used a strand of the wig hair. That’s an interesting twist to this spell.”

  I could practically see her taking notes in her head.

  “We need Abby’s hair to find her hat,” she said.

  I searched the straps of the backpack and found another hair. “Here, try this one.”

  Harper repeated the steps of the spell, and Vince and I watched in awe as the white cloud plumed once again.

  “Lame, huh?” I said to him.

  He shrugged indifferently, but I saw the interest in his eyes.

  This time inside the cloud a red dot appeared in the distance. I leaned in but still couldn’t see much.

  Harper continued to move her hands, back and forth, up and down. The cloud grew with her manipulations, revealing more and more landscape.

  “That’s the Aural Gorge footbridge,” Vince said. He’d relocated Pie and knelt down next to Harper, intently studying the scene in the cloud. He pointed. “It’s hard to tell because of the snow, but that’s the bridge’s double arch.”

  Harper nodded. “It looks like the hat is partly buried in the snow below the bridge.”

  “Can you zoom in on the hat?” I asked, trying to ignore the growing pit in my stomach.

  She brought her hands close together. The cloud narrowed in on the hat. We all leaned forward, looking for the one thing that was clearly still missing.

  Abby.

  “She’s not wearing the hat any longer,” Harper said, unnecessarily. The red hat was lying in such a way that the top half was buried, but the brim was exposed.

  She panned around but the flying snow made it difficult to decipher what was what.

  “How far is the gorge from here?” Vince asked.