To Catch a Witch

by Heather Blake

“Desperate times.” I smiled wide, ushered him inside, and closed the door.

  Harper was still seething from her spot on the couch.

  Dennis took one look at her and said, “I see why you called.”

  If he had been able to cure a broken heart, I would have called him to check on her months ago, but I knew he couldn’t. Only medical ailments.

  “Oh, come on,” Harper said. “I don’t look that bad. I had a stomach bug. For the love!”

  Dennis turned to me. “Has she had an eye exam recently?”

  “Doubtful since Sylar Dewitt is the only optician in town, and we tend to avoid him since, well, Dorothy.” She worked as his assistant.

  He took off his coat. “I’ll give you a name of a friend in downtown Salem.”

  “My eyes are fine,” Harper said in a staccato burst. “Can we just get this over with? I’d like to put in at least half a day at work.”

  Dennis tugged off a stocking cap, making his brown hair stand on end. He patted it down, and said, “You’ll be taking the whole day off. If you need to make a call to set up the arrangements, I’ll wait.”

  Harper opened her mouth, clearly ready to argue, but she must have seen something in his features that made her snap her lips together. After a moment, she said, “It can wait.”

  “Good.” He handed me his coat. “You’re going to lie down the rest of the day, drink plenty of fluids, eat some soup, and get what appears to be some much-needed sleep.”

  I wanted to give her a smug “I told you so,” but Dennis was making my anxiety have anxiety. He hadn’t even laid a hand on her yet—a Curecrafter’s method to diagnose—and he could already tell there was something terribly wrong.

  “Sit here,” he said to Harper, motioning to a wing chair that had been reupholstered with a fabric printed with replicas of old-fashioned library catalogue cards.

  She sat and threw me a look chock full of daggers. Extra sharp deadly ones.

  I hung up Dennis’s coat on the rack near the door and tried not to feel guilty for subjecting Harper to Dennis’s lack of a bedside manner. It was for her own good, I reminded myself.

  “Are you staying?” Dennis asked me.

  “I was planning to.”

  “Harper?” he asked.

  “Darcy can stay. The sooner she finds out I’m fine, the better. I’m an adult and you’re both acting like I’m a child.”

  Again feeling guilty, I sat on the couch, trying to blend in with the colorful afghan.

  Dennis rubbed his hands together, warming them. “If you don’t want to be treated like a child, do not behave as one.”

  Her jaw dropped. “How dare—”

  He cut her off. “Save the indignation. It is clear you’ve neglected your health. I can tell by looking at you that you’ve not been eating properly. You’ve not been sleeping. You’re dehydrated. I have little tolerance for people who don’t treasure their health.”

  “You don’t know what I’ve been—”

  “I don’t particularly care. There is no excuse for this long-term neglect. What’s it been?” He looked her over, peering closely into her eyes. “Three months? Four?”

  Her jaw jutted. “I don’t particularly like you.”

  He smiled, a true smile. “Fair enough. The truth hurts.”

  Harper faced me. “He’s dreadful.”

  I said, “His bedside manner could use a bit of work.”

  “A bit?” she scoffed. “That’s like saying there’s a bit of sand at the beach.”

  Dennis glanced my way, and I swear there was a sparkle in his eyes. Clearly, he liked his whole Dr. Dreadful persona.

  “Let’s see how deep this neglect has run.” He slid a thumb across her forehead, then back again and frowned. “Stick out your tongue.”

  She did. He tsked at whatever it was he saw.

  Her fists clenched and her back stiffened.

  “I’ll need you to undo your robe. I’m going to place my hand above your heart.”

  “Just get it over with.” She slid her robe from her shoulders. She had on a long-sleeve formfitting tee beneath that did nothing to hide the way her shoulder bones protruded.

  I had thought she’d lost five or ten pounds. Now I guessed it was closer to fifteen. I felt queasy.

  Dennis set his hand gently beneath the point where Harper’s collarbones met and closed his eyes.

  The longer he stood there with his palm pressed to her chest and his eyes closed, the more the rebellion faded from Harper’s expression. She wouldn’t look my way, but I could see fear starting to creep into her eyes.

  “Hold still,” he instructed as he pulled his hand away. He rubbed his palms together again, whispered something under his breath, and then gently touched his fingertips to her temples. His left eye blinked twice—a sign he was using his Craft.

  The color improved in Harper’s cheeks almost immediately and her eyes looked brighter, but there was no denying she still looked ill.

  He sat on the edge of the coffee table and faced her. “A little better?”

  “A little,” she admitted, slipping her robe back onto her shoulders.

  “I used a calming spell because your anxiety is off the charts, and I did what I could for your nausea. I cannot cure what ails you, however, as it is a chronic condition that has gone on much too long.”

  He maintained eye contact with her the whole time he spoke. I noticed his tone had softened.

  “What’s wrong?” she finally asked.

  Thank goodness she did, because I’d been biting my tongue to keep from asking the question myself.

  “You have pernicious anemia, an autoimmune disorder. You’ve probably had low vitamin B12 levels most of your life, but your poor diet and other health changes over the past few months have caused it to bottom out. It explains a lot of what you’ve experiencing. Fatigue, weight loss, headaches, and pale skin. It most likely contributed to your depression. You need to start B12 injections immediately. Today. I’m going to go to my office, get some supplies, and come back here. I’ll give you your first injection today. You’ll need another tomorrow.”

  Harper was an information nut, so I knew she had been listening to him carefully. “What happens if I don’t get the shots?”

  “The progression of pernicious anemia is ultimately fatal if not treated. You’re lucky Darcy called me.”

  Fatal. My god. My stomach was flip-flopping, and my palms had started sweating.

  “I recommend reevaluating your depression once you’ve had several months of B12 injections.” Dennis stood, studied her. “I understand you don’t necessarily have the will to live right now. Your body and mind are tired, and you don’t know if you have the energy to fight for yourself any longer.”

  A tear slid out of the corner of her eye.

  Tears filled my eyes. I knew she’d been suffering but I hadn’t quite known how much. She’d hid a lot, and I’d foolishly believed she was simply dealing with a breakup.

  Dennis went on. “And all those feelings are reasonable given the way you’re currently feeling. Since you have me fighting for you now, your burden in dealing with those ailments will be much lighter. But I have to ask how hard you’re willing to fight for the child you’re carrying. Because it’s going to be a battle. One you might not win.”

  His words slowly registered through the thick haze of emotion clouding the room.

  My jaw hit the floor, and Harper’s mouth fell open.

  Had I heard correctly? Was he joking?

  “The what?” Harper and I said at the same time.

  “The child,” he said as if we were both thick in the head. “It’s rather a miracle you were able to achieve pregnancy, never mind carry this long. Low B12 is a notorious cause of infertility and miscarriage. And that’s what you’re facing now. The possibility of a miscarriage. It’s a very real possibility. This is all assuming you want to keep the pregnancy?”

  “Of course I do!” she cried, then held up a hand and started ticking off fin
gers.

  Dennis sighed. “You’re six weeks, three days along.”

  “Child?” I repeated, utterly flabbergasted. “Six weeks?”

  Harper dropped her head into her hands. “Oh. My. God.”

  “Child?” I said loudly, standing up, then sitting down again.

  Dennis put on his coat. “I’ll be back soon. I’m going to give you the B12 injection, then I’m going to order you to bed rest for at least a week, and I do not want a single argument, understood?”

  Harper stared at him blankly.

  “Good,” he said, then walked out, closing the door gently behind him.

  She turned her dazed stare on me.

  “Child?” I said again, unable to find any other words in my vocabulary.

  Shaking her head, she stammered, “I—Marcus.” She let out a long breath. “He came by one night, right after his father died … One thing led to another. It didn’t change anything … It was just … One of those things.”

  Seemed to me it had changed quite a lot.

  A child.

  A baby.

  Harper’s baby.

  Harper caught my eye. “Are you mad?” she asked softly. “About the baby?”

  I snapped out of my fugue. “Why on earth would I be mad? I’m scared but not mad.”

  She swallowed hard, as though choking down emotion. “Because I know you’ve wanted to be a mom for a long time now. And here I am, not even knowing I was pregnant. This baby should be yours. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry about everything. I’ve been so…” She shook her head. “I’ve been so lost.”

  “Stop, stop right now.” I knelt before her, taking her trembling hands in mine. “I’m happy about the baby. Worried but happy. You’re going to be a great mom, Harper. Nick and I have always planned to have babies—we’re just waiting until after the wedding. My time to be a mom will come. Don’t worry another second about that, okay? Okay?” I repeated.

  She backhanded tears away from her eyes. “Okay.” She sniffled. “Darcy?”

  “Yeah?”

  Harper smiled and it brightened her whole face, and for a moment I forgot about how sick she was.

  She said, “I think I’ll have those crackers now.”

  I jumped up, more than eager to start plying her with food.

  “And Darcy?”

  Grabbing a bowl, I dumped a whole sleeve of crackers into it. “Yeah?”

  “I, um … Bed rest.” Her jaw jutted out, then shifted back. “Do you think … do you think I could possibly move in with you for the week?”

  Harper valued her independence, so I knew what it had cost her to ask. I handed her the bowl. “Of course you can. You can stay as long as you want.”

  Staring at the crackers, she blinked furiously, then glanced up at me. Tears had pooled, blurring her beautiful golden-brown eyes. “Darcy?” Her voice cracked on my name.

  I once again knelt down next to her. “Yeah?”

  “Marcus is moving.” The tears spilled over. “He’s leaving town. He’s leaving for good.”

  I swallowed over the lump in my throat. “I’m so sorry, Harper.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Harper doesn’t want Marcus to know about the pregnancy,” I said to Starla as we sat cross-legged on my office floor. I had chicken stew cooking in the Crock-Pot and the scent of sage and thyme filled the air. “Not yet.”

  Her bright blue eyes filled with confusion. She set the mug of hot chocolate she’d been holding onto a coaster on the table. “But if he knows about the baby, it might make him stay. Isn’t that what she wants? For him to stay?”

  A laptop was set up on the coffee table in front of us, and I scanned the image on the screen. It had been taken at the starting line of the race this morning. Starla had done a great job capturing the determination in the faces of the Mad Dashers. I zeroed in on Ben’s face. He wasn’t standing in front but rather behind the first line of runners, and he wasn’t facing straight ahead like the others and didn’t share the same look of resoluteness. Instead, his body was angled to the right, and he looked angry, his focus on the area in front of the bookshop. Shoulders pulled back, eyebrows drawn low, eyes narrowed, and a scowl slanting his lips.

  Unfortunately, I couldn’t see what had caught his attention. Whatever it had been hadn’t affected Lucinda, who stood next to Ben in the photo.

  I kept scrolling through the pictures, hoping Starla had caught a different view of the same scene, and wondering what had triggered Ben’s reaction. “Which is exactly Harper’s reasoning for not telling Marcus. She wants him to stay because he wants to stay. Not because he has to stay.”

  It had been hours since I crammed as many of Harper’s belongings as I could into a duffel bag, managed to get Pie into his carrier, and moved them here. Dennis had been his usual gruff self when I called and asked him to meet us at my house instead of Harper’s, but had sounded relieved she was staying with me for a while. He’d come and gone, delivering Harper’s first B12 injection and also a sleeping spell, which was why Harper was sound asleep in the guest room upstairs, Pie and Annie flanking her like furry guardian bookends.

  I clicked on another picture, scanned it, and closed it. None of the photos had confirmed Quinn’s timeline. Nor had they discredited it either. I could check with Angela at Spellbound about Quinn using the restroom—and what time that would have been—but it wasn’t looking like I could confirm Ben’s whereabouts at the time Abby had gone missing.

  The gas fireplace crackled as it filled the office with warmth, the delicate sound an accompaniment to Higgins’ booming snores. It was quite the symphony. He slept on the love seat behind Starla and me, his body covering both cushions, then some. Missy was still at Ve’s.

  “All right.” She unfolded her legs, kicked them out straight beneath the coffee table, and picked up her mug again. “I get that, but it doesn’t seem fair to Marcus.”

  I tended to agree. “Nothing about any of this seems fair, but Harper’s adamant. She doesn’t want to tell him until she knows the pregnancy is out of the danger zone. Dennis said if the baby makes it to twelve weeks and if Harper’s B12 numbers rise to safer levels, then there’s a good chance she’ll carry to term. Until that twelve-week mark, Harper insists only close friends and family know what’s going on.”

  I clicked another picture. This one was a broader image of the starting line. I zoomed in on Ben, noted he was still staring toward his right, then zoomed out again. The area where he stared was crowded with onlookers who were there to cheer on the runners. I immediately picked out Madison and Aine among the faces. Madison was staring off in the distance, oblivious to Ben’s glare.

  Had Madison been the one who sparked his anger? It didn’t seem likely, simply because I couldn’t think of a reason why, but I didn’t rule it out, either. I hit the print button and my printer purred to life.

  A strand of Starla’s golden hair slipped out of her top knot as she shook her head. She tucked the hair behind her ear as she said, “And at twelve weeks, Harper is going to call up Marcus and say what? Oh, by the way, I know you sold your house, closed your law office, and moved a thousand miles away recently, but you might want to move back if you want to get to know your child? It’s not right, Darcy.”

  Eyebrow raised, I glanced at her. It wasn’t the norm for Starla to be so vehement.

  She laughed at my expression, and her blue eyes sparkled. “I’m sorry. I’m getting carried away. It’s just that … they belong together, and I’m not just saying so because I’m a dopey romantic sap, because you know I’m off romance right now. It’s about what’s right and what’s wrong. What’s right is that those two belong together,” she said again. “If there’s ever a time Harper should fight for that relationship, it’s now. Not just for her, but for the baby too.”

  After her split from Vince, Starla had considered starting a relationship with a local contractor who’d been wooing her, but ultimately she’d decided to take some time for herself. Time to heal. To grow. To di
scover herself. She was so dedicated to the notion that she decided to take a year off to travel. Instead of closing up her business, Hocus-Pocus, she had hired a manager and a few part-time employees to cover the shop here in the village, and she was taking her camera and hitting the road. She had launched a website and everything, and was due to leave on her first excursion—a four week trip to the UK, France, and Italy next week.

  “I agree.” I picked a piece of fuzz off the area rug and tried to ignore the ache in my chest. “At first, she thought he shouldn’t have walked away from their relationship. That they were partners, and he shouldn’t have excluded her from his struggles.”

  “She’d be right.”

  I absently clicked through a few more pictures, not really seeing them. “But he did exclude her. Instead of kicking up a fuss right when it happened, she let him have his time away from her, thinking he’d eventually come back. That he would realize what he had given up. That he would ultimately fight for what they had.”

  “Makes sense to me.”

  “But he didn’t. So she gathered up the pieces of her broken heart and went on without him. Kind of. But there comes a time when you can’t think too hard about who should have done what. It becomes about what you want. And how far you’ll go to fight for it. That might mean having to set your pride aside or opening yourself up to more pain. It’s all or nothing. Right now, Harper’s choosing nothing.”

  “To avoid more pain.”

  I realized I wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to the computer screen and picked up my coffee mug. “Exactly. And now I think she’s more terrified than ever to go all in. Because what if she does tell Marcus about the baby? And he still decides to move? Imagine if he walked away from her and their child.”

  Starla whistled low. “That would be utterly devastating.”

  My gaze went to the painting above the fireplace. It was of a magic wand caught in midswirl. Done in cool silvers and blues, it was my one of my favorites. “Harper’s playing a complex mental game to protect herself from more pain. But…”

  “What?”

  “I think she’s unwittingly creating a scenario that will cause her only more pain in the long run. Honestly, they just need to talk it out. But neither can see the light from inside the stupid hole they’ve dug for themselves.”