Gone Witch

by Nova Nelson

  Eva nodded, and Donovan was more than happy to slide onto the stool the moment I vacated it so he could get Eva’s full attention again.

  I leaned against the bar next to Landon. He looked up slowly. “Oh, hi Nora.”

  “How’s it going, friend?”

  Kelly dropped off Landon’s drink and he slid the bartender a coin. “Been better.”

  “I sure hope so. Everything okay?”

  His shoulders slumped and his blond hair, which was usually styled with precision, stuck out in random directions like he’d been dragging his fingers through it all day. “Not really.”

  I waited patiently, and he got the hint and continued. “One of my coworkers is missing. Has been for a week.”

  Sounded familiar. “Any chance this coworker is named Grace?”

  He perked up, straightening his spine as he turned toward me on the stool. “Yes. You know?”

  “Yeah, The High Priestess Sparrowrain or whatever asked me about it.”

  His mouth fell open. “The High Priestess Springsong spoke with you directly?”

  “Yep. This stays between us, but she and Mayor Esperia made a surprise visit.”

  His eyes grew large. “They both came to you about Grace?”

  “They did. Said they wanted to keep it out of the public eye.”

  “So, is she …” His mouth snapped shut and he took a long sip of his beer before trying again. This time his voice was firmer. “Is she dead?”

  Poor guy. “Not as far as I know. She hasn’t paid me a visit, if that’s what you mean.” The comfort that provided him was minimal, but it was also better than nothing, I supposed. “Any idea how does a young woman go missing for a week without it becoming town gossip?” The question had been niggling at me for days now. If I went missing, I’d like to think it would be only a matter of hours before someone noticed. I think most people would hope the same.

  Landon frowned, turning toward the bar. “She doesn’t have many friends outside of me and, of course, her circle. She’s a bit of a geek.” I decided not to point out how much of a geek she must be if he saw her as one. “And she works at the Catacombs, but much further in than where my office is located. Because everything moves so slowly there and you only ever see about one percent of the people working there on any given day, there’s not much accountability. Heck, I didn’t suspect she was missing for four days. When I realized I hadn’t even seen her in the dining cavern, I walked to her office, and she wasn’t there. None of the people who worked near her had seen her in days. They’d assumed she was on vacation or out sick. I went to check with her manager, and he said he’d gotten no such request and insisted she’d been at work for the last four days.”

  “Great manager,” I said. “Any possibility she actually is on vacation and just forgot to file the paperwork?”

  Landon shook his head. His rosy cheeks were pale with worry. “No. Not Grace. She never forgets to file paperwork. The only hope I had was that she had filed it and her manager simply misplaced it, but now that you say Springsong can’t find her …” He took a long drink.

  “Sorry about dashing your hopes,” I mumbled.

  He looked up at me like he was finally seeing me for the first time that night. “Hey, what about you? You handling the break-up?”

  “How.” It wasn’t a question so much as a demand.

  Landon knew exactly what I meant. “I figured out something had happened with you and Donovan at Franco’s Pizza a month ago when, well, that night I was possessed and tried to kill everyone.” He cringed briefly. “And it was obvious that Tanner didn’t know about it. Then you and Donovan burst in here the other night shouting to speak with Tanner, and now you’re here alone. Sorry, by the way.”

  I waved it off. “Eh, I’m not alone. I’m with you.” I mustered a smile. “Hey, maybe there’s a way we can help each other feel better.”

  His face turned red and his eyes went wide. It was a few seconds of him looking like a were-deer in the headlights before I realized where he thought I was going with this. “No, no, no. I’m not suggesting we—”

  “Of course not.”

  “You’re more like a—”

  “Little brother,” he finished. “Yeah, I got that.”

  “Okay, good.”

  He blinked and shook his head to clear it. “What were you suggesting then?”

  “I help you find Grace. If we find her, it solves your problem. Even if we don’t, at least we’re doing something about it.”

  “And you get a distraction from your emotions.”

  I leaned forward, whispering, “There are a lot of them.” He nodded sympathetically. “And yes, I get a distraction from the inevitable consequences of my bad decisions. Win-win.”

  “Unless Grace is dead and Tanner never takes you back.”

  I pressed my lips together, glaring at him.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “Does that sound like a good plan?”

  He nodded. “When do we start?”

  I flagged down Kelly and wagged my finger between the two tankards, mouthing “another,” before I answered Landon’s question. “Tomorrow. I have an idea who we should speak with first, but it’s too late to get started on it. So, tonight we drink, maybe play a few rounds of scuffleboard with Ted, try not to blow anything up with our wands—that rule’s more for me than you—and see if we can forget about everything else. That work for you?”

  Instead of answering, Landon raised his beer to his lips and finished off the rest of it. He slammed the empty tankard on the bar, grimacing slightly, then said, “I bet we can beat Ted and Malavic at scuffleboard doubles.”

  “Wow, you must already be trashed. But sure.” I slapped him on the back. “Let’s give it a try.”

  Chapter Seven

  Landon and I didn’t earn ourselves any bragging rights by challenging Ted and Malavic at scuffleboard doubles. What we did earn that night was a debt to be paid the next morning and into the late afternoon, one that, for my part, involved a splitting headache and an inability to keep food down, coupled with an insatiable craving to eat greasy food.

  In the end, though, the flowing alcohol at Sheehan’s had done what I’d wanted it to do: distract me from the break-up.

  Unfortunately, it also distracted me from remembering people’s orders and how to speak coherent sentences throughout my entire shift the next day. Even Hyacinth Bouquet had the good sense not to attempt to engage me in the town’s gossip. Or rather, she had the good sense to listen to her husband, James, when he shushed her and whispered “hangover.” When I brought him his check, I also gave him a slice of pie on the house for his thoughtful mercy.

  Through a back-and-forth of owls, Landon and I decided to change our meeting spot that afternoon from Fulcrum Park to the Pixie Mixie. It turned out to be one of my better calls in the last twenty-four hours.

  As we left the apothecary, both of us having thrown back a shot of whatever bitterness Kayleigh had concocted for our self-imposed malady, and were starting to feel much more ourselves, we set out to where we had scheduled with Grace’s circle to grab some coffee.

  I’d allowed them to pick the location because it would tell me something about who they were. Grace hadn’t spoken about them much, so Landon was nearly as in-the-dark on that front as I was.

  When Hunter, the head of the circle with whom we’d corresponded, picked Necro Coffee, I tried not to prejudge too much.

  Necro Coffee, in the wealthy end of Eastwind, was vastly overpriced. I also wasn’t a fan of its tagline of “Coffee so good, it’ll raise the dead.” I thought it made light of a serious issue. But there was also no reason why folks in Eastwind would bother being sensitive to Fifth Winds, since, until seven months ago, Ruby was the only one in town, and she almost never left the house.

  I also wasn’t a fan of Necro because it reminded me too much of the coffee shops I used to spend time in back in Austin, pretentious little places with work from local “artists” covering the
wall that, more often than not, looked a bit like someone had butchered a pig right next to the canvas. In fact, I’d bought one such piece and hung it in my condo’s living room because I was too busy to decorate the place thoughtfully.

  Good golem, you couldn’t pay me to go back to that lifestyle.

  “Annabel was in the same class as Grace and me at Mancer Academy,” Landon said, filling me in on the circle as we made our way up the hill toward the coffee shop. “Jackie is two years older, and Hunter is fifteen years older.”

  “Fifteen years? That’s a bit creepy isn’t it? Some thirty-something man being in a circle with three young, starry-eyed female witches.”

  Landon nodded. “It’s even creepier than you think. He used to be our collaborative magic teacher. That’s how he met all of them. Once Grace graduated, he proposed forming the circle. I guess he was just waiting on a North Wind who would be up for it.” Landon shook his head. “I think she was flattered to be included, and who wouldn’t be? Your teacher, the keeper of knowledge and dispenser of academic accolades, thinks you’re good enough to be in his circle.”

  “Wow, yeah, I didn’t expect this to be so creepy, but that definitely adds a new layer to this. And did she get along with her circle?”

  “She didn’t talk about them much, but I got the feeling she had her issues with Annabel and Jackie. But Hunter kept them in line.”

  “And a necessary follow-up question: is this man still allowed to teach?”

  Landon nodded. “Yeah. He’s the associate dean of the academy.”

  Great. Hunter held a little power in witch society. I couldn’t see that making any of this situation less complicated. However, it did help make sense of why Esperia and Springsong addressed it personally. He probably had the ear of one or both of the women.

  When we entered Necro, I was able to spot our new friends easily among the crowd: two young (and beautiful) women about Landon’s age, and one creepy dude a few years older than me.

  If I didn’t already know the predatory origin story of the circle, I probably wouldn’t have thought Hunter creepy. On the whole, his appearance was put together. He wore a navy blue sport coat, rather than opting for the more traditional witch garb, and his thick, black mustache and goatee were shapely and well maintained. At the edge of his large, aquiline nose rested tiny, wire-rimmed glasses through which he stared intensely and silently at a thick book, while beside him the two women chatted idly and sipped from espresso cups.

  Each witch wore the color corresponding with their wind. Annabel, a West Wind, wore a lime-green satin blouse with a dark brown cardigan and emerald green slacks. Jackie, a South Wind, wore a sunshine-yellow sleeveless dress with a burnt orange shawl draped around her shoulders. And underneath Hunter’s navy sport coat was a collared powder-blue button-down that he matched with khaki slacks.

  I wondered if they always dressed this way or if this was some sort of power display they were putting on for me.

  “Hunter?” I asked, as we arrived at their table. He held up a finger to silence me, got to a stopping point in his book, and then carefully grabbed a turquoise ribbon from the table and laid it against the open spine of the book to mark his place before shutting the large tome and acknowledging me fully. “Nora. Pleasure to meet you.” He stood, and when Annabel and Jackie hesitated, he shot them a glare that, had I not already known, would have tipped me off to him being a teacher.

  They stood quickly, and we shook hands.

  Hunter offered his hand to Landon. “Good to see you again!” Hunter said in that congenial we’re-in-this-together-bro way men do.

  “Same to you, Mr. Hardy. Or—”

  Hunter beamed. “It’s okay, Landon. You can call me Hunter now.”

  “Sorry.”

  I gestured toward the barista. “We’re going to grab something to drink first. Need anything?”

  Annabel said, “I could use—” before Hunter cut her off.

  “We’re fine. Thanks, Nora. So thoughtful of you.”

  As Landon and I approached the counter, I tried to act casual as I said, “Mr. Hardy?”

  “Sorry, sorry,” Landon said. “I can get a little nervous around authority figures. Especially when they’re academics.”

  “How about I take the lead on this then, huh?” He nodded, and when we returned to the table with two coffees, I did just that. What’s more, I decided to play the authority card with them via shameless name dropping.

  “Mayor Esperia and the High Priestess Springsong tell me your circle is short a North Wind.”

  “Yes,” said Jackie, the South Wind’s long strawberry-blonde curls bobbing along with her head. “It’s been a week. We were worried, so we, well, Hunter, spoke with the high priestess about it.”

  Annabel sighed impatiently. “Lot of good that did. All she did was send us you.”

  “Annabel!” Hunter scolded. “That’s no way to talk to anyone, especially someone who can help us find our beloved Grace.”

  Annabel rolled her eyes but didn’t reply, turning her attention to the large front window of the cafe.

  “Any theories on where she might have gone?”

  Jackie piped up again. “You say that like you think she ran away. She would never do that! She loved us too much.”

  What wasn’t there to love? A creepy and overbearing East Wind, a rude and snobbish West Wind, and a spoiled and immature South Wind. Color me baffled why anyone would want to ditch that the first chance they got. “Then what do you think happened?”

  “She was murdered!” Jackie said breathlessly.

  “Jackie,” Hunter warned. “We’re in a public place. Inside voices.” Then he turned to me. “But yes, we believe there may be some foul play involved. Grace is nothing if not responsible. She wouldn’t take off without a word, would she, Landon?”

  Landon was caught off guard by the transition from observer to participant. “No, I don’t think she would.”

  “Any suspects then?” I asked. “Anyone you think might want to harm her?”

  Annabel and Jackie exchanged a glance I couldn’t quite decipher, and Hunter nodded. “The same person who would want to harm any witch.”

  “And that is?”

  He shrugged a single shoulder. “A werewolf, of course.”

  I laughed before I could catch myself and looked to Landon, who was also holding back a smile. “Any particular werewolf?” I asked.

  Rather than answering directly, he said, “Correct me if I’m wrong, Nora, but didn’t you and Donovan Stringfellow make a narrow escape from Sheehan’s Pub not two months ago when two werewolves shifted in public?”

  “Yes, but to be fair, Donovan had just blasted Seamus across the room.” I decided not to mention that it was because I was about to kiss the leprechaun for information, a decision that seemed less and less logical as time went on.

  “Doesn’t matter. Shifting in public or without permission in a privately owned business, with the intent to harm, is a serious crime. That werewolves feel comfortable doing it for something as silly as a bar fight is a perfect example of the entitlement and unrest that has been growing in that community.”

  “Which community exactly?” I said, trying to suppress my rising temper. “The scum community? Because I can assure you that one isn’t made up entirely of werewolves. And there are plenty of werewolves I see on a daily basis who have no sense of entitlement and would hate to be grouped with Lucent and Slash.”

  “Ah yes,” he conceded with a nod before pushing his glasses further up his long nose. “To be sure, there are outliers, ones who, over time, have grown to understand why society must be structured the way it is, who have stopped using the war, which was fought generations before they were born, and the witches who won as scapegoats for all their problems. It’s not outside the realm of possibility for werewolves to take personal responsibility, assimilate to civilized society, and work hard to earn something for themselves, but, unfortunately, it’s becoming less and less common these days
.”

  I said, “I don’t know about that,” which was my go-to phrase when someone said something incredibly ignorant and I didn’t want to set them off but was most definitely not going to agree with them.

  “You wouldn’t,” he said. “You’re new in town. You haven’t seen the progression. But it’s gotten much worse. Truly, it was only a matter of time before one of those savage wolves picked up a copy of the Eastwind Watch and actually read it. I assume word about the Werewolf Protection Act has been spreading through the were community the last couple weeks and they’re none too happy about it.”

  I glanced over at Landon, who looked like he was going to be sick as he glared at his former teacher but said nothing.

  “Back up. Considering two werewolves were murdered within the first two months of me being here, wouldn’t they want an act aimed at protecting them?”

  Annabel and Jackie giggled, and I did the very adult thing of not hitting them upside the head for being obnoxious.

  “Ladies,” warned Hunter before returning his attention to me. He did a poor job of hiding his own amusement at my, apparently, naive question.

  “The Werewolf Protection Act was written to protect the people of Eastwind from werewolves.”

  Ah. Okay. I saw what was happening here. I’d heard this sort of thing before, and I wasn’t down with it.

  Luckily, Hunter’s utter nonsense wasn’t hard to poke holes in. Fear mongering usually isn’t. “So it does protect werewolves. Because they are technically ‘people of Eastwind.’ ”

  He half-cringed, his head wobbling in a slow figure eight. “And argument could be made for that, yes.”

  “A very good argument. But hey, since I’m a newbie and you’re exceptionally intelligent, maybe you can help me with some legal questions.”

  He took the compliment without noticing the sarcasm. “Happily.”

  “Is it illegal for someone to physically and intentionally cause bodily harm to someone else?”

  “Of course. The charges could range from assault to murder.”