A horrible grin worked its way across his face. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘You’re ready, Aisling Smith. It’s time I killed another two birds.’
19. Witchy See, Witchy Do
By now, you probably know that I’m an outspoken kind of lady. There haven’t been many times in my life when I’ve kept my thoughts or feelings to myself. In fact, I can only think of two major occasions.
The first was when my favourite foster-mother disappeared in a flash of blinding light. To this day I’m in no doubt about what I saw, but I did not tell my social worker. By then, I knew that the social worker in question considered me one step away from the funny farm. So when she asked me where my foster-mother had gone, I shrugged my shoulders and said I didn’t know.
The second occasion that springs to mind was when my third boyfriend cooked dinner for me. I told him that his steak tartare tasted divine, when what I really felt was that it tasted exactly like the raw, ground-up meat that it actually was, and that I could foresee myself spending the next week with my head close to the toilet bowl. But in that situation, I wasn’t keeping the truth to myself because I was afraid of the outcome. I was keeping the truth to myself because, while his food might be horrendous, the boyfriend in question was delicious.
But keeping quiet, even when the situation called for it, had not been easy. Those two instances still rankle, even now. So I’m sure you can understand why, when I sat in Dean Danger’s mini-van, I felt like I was fit to explode. I wanted so much to tell Dean everything I thought about him. I wanted to tell him that his music was crap. I wanted to tell him that matching a spotted scarf with his leather jacket made him look like a comic-book villain.
And more than any of that, I wanted to tell him to shut the heck up, because while I sat there with no control over my actions, he talked, and talked, and talked …
‘I’m on fire today, Aisling,’ he said as he started the engine. ‘Totally on the ball, y’know what I’m saying? And it’s all because I listened to my instincts. Y’know, when I saw you in choir this evening, I just wanted to get to it. Get the ball rolling. Y’know what I’m saying? I wanted to get on and do this thing.’
Good goddess, the man used even more clichéd phrases than I did.
‘But I thought … let’s take some time here. Let’s take this slow. Y’know what I’m saying? This woman, I thought, this woman is a little bit different than the others. Maybe she’s some sort of super witch. My hunter senses were tingling, y’know what I’m saying? And boy oh boy, I was right! I’m glad I listened to myself and took some time alone with you. I wanted to rush right over there so much! But that would have been a big mistake. Because I wouldn’t have been prepared for you. I wouldn’t have known just how much stronger than the others you really were.’
He looked at me with a slit-eyed smile. ‘I paid attention to my instincts. I took some extra time to get a handle on your quirks. To adjust my strategy so I could properly train you, and now … now you’re under my control one hundred percent. Y’know what I’m saying?’
I really didn’t. I didn’t know what he was saying. I didn’t know what precise form of delusion he was suffering from. But worse than that, I didn’t know where we were going. He said he wanted to kill two birds again – which meant, no doubt, that he was going to use me to kill someone, the way he made Margaret kill Rachel. But who would it be? He’d mistaken three human women for witches already. Who was he going to be wrong about now?
He kept yammering on (y’know what I’m saying?) while I desperately tried to fight my way out of his control. As soon as I did, the first thing I was going to do was take that Dean Danger and the Danger Boys album out of the car stereo and shove it down his throat. I might not be able to sing, but you can bet that if I could then I wouldn’t be singing along to that crap.
But right now, I couldn’t even turn my head to the side. I just had to sit there staring straight ahead the way he ordered me to. He drove at a casual pace back into town. But he didn’t stop at any of the cottages there. Nor at the shop. He just kept right on going, out past the Vander Inn, and on, and on and on. He kept right on going until the only building I could see was … the lighthouse?
Terror licked through my insides. He shouldn’t be able to go to the lighthouse.
When I first moved to town, Dylan told me that his home acted as a border between Riddler’s Edge and Riddler’s Cove. Its purpose was to make sure that no non-supernaturals crossed over into the witch enclave beyond. As soon as a human neared the lighthouse, their technology was supposed to fail. Torches and mobile phones and cars … none of it was supposed to work this close to the border. Everything about Dylan’s house was supposed to make humans want to run the other way.
And yet here we were, about a hundred metres away from his driveway.
‘I suspected the detective the second I came to town,’ said Dean. ‘It’s not often I meet male witches, but there was just something off about him. Y’know what I’m saying? And when I tried to drive out here one evening to talk to him, I knew for sure. The first car I tried cut out. And the second, and the third … I tried walking here four times and found myself looping back to town without even realising I’d turned around. His house has some kind of spell on it, something that’s meant to turn trustworthy souls like me away.’
He paused and gave me another of his slit-eyed smiles. ‘But luckily, I know just how to handle situations like this. I have an adapter-kit that makes any vehicle capable of travelling past these sorts of demonic wards.’
He slowed for a moment, just shy of the turn into the detective’s driveway. ‘So what is he? The leader of your coven? Your demon king? I’ve always believed that witch covens must have men in charge of things. I mean, a bunch of women could hardly organise themselves, now could they?’
My eyes rounded, but I still couldn’t speak. The cheek of him! If he was representative of the average witch hunter, then they needed some serious re-education. Grace had told me that witch society was mainly matriarchal, and that almost every single coven was led by a woman. Only a few of the larger covens were run by men. And I’m no man hater or anything, but it’s a little bit strange that the male-led covens seem to be the ones who are most prone to carrying out acts of evil. Just an observation.
But once again, I had no choice but to keep my observations to myself. All I could do was sit there and stew while he turned into Dylan’s drive.
He parked the mini-van behind Dylan’s car, and then he picked up his flute again and played that same ugly tune. As he removed the flute from his mouth, the music did just as it had done before and carried on playing without him.
‘As long as you follow my rules to the letter, you can speak again,’ he said. ‘It will still hurt, but it won’t feel like your throat is bleeding. Oh, and you can only say what I tell you to say. Our game of Witchy See, Witchy Do is going to come to an earth-shattering conclusion very soon. From here on, you’ll follow my every move and my every order. Nod your head if you understand.’
Whilst I would have much preferred to use my noggin to head-butt him, I did exactly as he said.
‘Good.’ He smirked. ‘Now, get out of the mini-van and follow me to the door.’
Gritting my teeth, I followed his orders. When we reached the door, he said, ‘Knock.’
It shouldn’t have surprised me to feel the tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. I might be irritated with Dylan right now, but I would never dream of hurting him, let alone killing him. And that was surely what I was going to be asked to do once we were inside. Kill Dylan, and then either kill myself or get myself sent to jail.
Now that I was going through this, I wondered what would happen afterwards. He must have made Margaret forget his involvement, because she had no idea she had been forced to kill her friend. So would he do the same to me? Make me recall killing Dylan in my nightmares? Find a way to make me believe that I’d wanted to kill him?
A well of anger was forming in my stomach, churning an
d rising. I would not spend the rest of my life believing I’d been responsible for killing Dylan Quinn. Because I could never kill him in the first place. Even though every cell in my body was trying to obey his command and knock at the door, I balled my hands up, ignoring the screeching pain.
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Witchy See, Witchy Do,’ he hissed. He lifted his hand and mimed rapping against the door.
Criminy! Against every ounce of willpower I’d managed to call upon, I mimicked his motion, and knocked at the door.
It only took a second for Dylan to answer. He was dressed in the same clothes he’d been wearing earlier, and he had shrugged off his jacket so that I could see his pistol holstered next to his shirt. There was a little lift in my chest when I saw that gun. Firepower must beat an evil witch hunter using a magic wand. Right?
‘Aisling.’ He glanced at Dean, and frowned. ‘And … the choirmaster? What are the two of you doing here?’
Dean looked at the detective. ‘We’re here because we have something important to tell you. Tell him to let us in, Aisling.’
My eyes were screaming no, but I found myself saying, ‘We’re here because we have something important to tell you. Please let us in.’
Dylan’s eyes found mine. ‘Are you all right, Ash?’
Again, my eyes were screaming, and I battled against saying anything more. Next to me, Dean raised his wand and waved it in Dylan’s face. ‘You’re concerned about her. You’re going to let us in so you can hear what we have to say.’
As much as I wished he wouldn’t, the detective drew his door open. ‘You’d better come in,’ he said. ‘I’m concerned about you, Ash. I want to hear what you have to say.’
Evil thought alert: it kind of made me happy to see the detective so compliant. I mean, it made me annoyed as hell, mostly – because if he weren’t so compliant and idiotic then he’d realise something was seriously wrong and start waving his gun around. But honestly? Just a little part of me wished I could wave a wand and make Dylan be less … himself. If I could control him, then I wouldn’t do anything nefarious with that power. Maybe just have him make me some coffee and listen to my opinion instead of shoving me out of his office and sending me on my way.
We followed him inside, where we all sat on his curved couches. As soon as we were seated, Dean Danger waved his wand again. ‘First of all, I want you to hand me your mobile phone.’
Without argument, Dylan handed him his phone. Dean placed it on the floor and stamped on it the same way he had stamped on mine, and then threw it into the bin.
‘Now that that’s sorted,’ he said, wiping his hands, ‘are there any more telephones in the house?’
The detective shook his head.
‘Good,’ said Dean. ‘Now I want you to do something else for me, Detective Quinn. Tell Aisling what you really are.’
Dylan blinked. ‘Aisling already knows what I am.’
‘Well, I don’t. Tell her,’ the choirmaster insisted. ‘Tell us both. Out loud.’
Dylan blinked, and I could see the battle and confusion raging behind his eyes, but nevertheless he did as he was instructed. ‘I’m an unempowered witch and a dayturning vampire.’
Clearly, that wasn’t what Dean Danger expected to hear. He let out some air and gaped at the detective. ‘Come again?’
‘I’m an unempowered witch and a dayturning vampire,’ repeated Dylan.
‘Well blow me over with a feather!’ Dean smacked his wand against his thigh. ‘An unempowered witch and a dayturning vampire!’ He waved his wand again. ‘Tell me, Detective Quinn, what’s that when it’s at home?’
Dylan’s eyes stayed on mine, fear and puzzlement shining out of him. I could see that he was trying just as hard as I was, but the wand was still working its spell. ‘An unempowered witch is a person who is born to a witch parent, but who has no innate power of their own,’ he said in monotone. ‘A dayturning vampire is a vampire for whom the darkness is unbearable.’
Dean slapped his thigh again. ‘I never! This is a real turn-up for the books, let me tell you. In all my years as a witch hunter, I’ve never heard either of those terms.’
Oh gee, why didn’t that surprise me? It was no wonder that almost every woman convicted of witchcraft had been about as supernatural as a plate of mashed potato. These witch hunters knew nothing. They just blew into towns, suspecting and punishing all the wrong people. And even if they did manage to nab some supernaturals, like in the case of me and Dylan? It was hardly an excuse. Dylan was obnoxious and confusing, but he was not a bad person. He didn’t deserve to die.
‘No matter,’ he went on. ‘You’re the devil’s work, both of you, and that’s all I need to know.’ He looked from me to the detective, a strange smile on his face. ‘I thought about a lot of ways to do this, you know,’ he said. ‘At first I was going to make Aisling kill herself the way I did with Heather. It’s a tried and trusted witch hunter technique, after all. But as I hung about the town, and I saw the two of you bickering together, a better plan came to mind. Because I can see what everyone else sees. All that arguing you do – it’s just pent-up sexual frustration, isn’t it? You fancy the pants off each other.’
Oh, my stars. My face was growing hot. I could move my head a little bit, enough to look down at the floor, anyway. Even though it hurt like hell to do anything Dean hadn’t expressly instructed, anything was better than looking at Dylan right now.
‘Look at the detective, Aisling.’
Well, criminy! I had to look at him, didn’t I? Stupid witch hunter with his stupid magic wand.
‘Tell him how you feel, Aisling.’
My cheeks were blazing now. I could feel the sweat forming on my forehead, and my hands began to shake.
Dean raised his flute to his lips and played a few notes. ‘Tell him. And look him in the eye when you do.’
I wish I could come up with better words to describe how this felt, really I do. But how do you describe what it feels like to have someone reach into your head and pull your eyeballs in an unwelcome direction?
The music kept playing long after he took the flute from his lips, just as before. And it was getting inside me, grabbing onto my body and bending it to its will. I stared at Dylan – nay, I went further! I gazed at him. Gazed smack bang into his gorgeous dark eyes, and said, ‘I feel like you’re the most annoying man I’ve ever met. I feel like you’re a stubborn, contrary son of a witch. I feel like you’re a complete moron sometimes, because you never listen to sense. I feel like you’ve got a real chip on your shoulder about contracting the dayturner virus, and that you should just get over yourself and get on with things as best you can. I feel like you should stop blowing hot and cold with me – because what’s with that, anyway? For the past while you’ve been all right. Ish. But then today you had to go and ruin it all by returning to type. And I feel … I feel … I feel … I bloody love your lighthouse, okay? And your feet are kind of bearable-looking, as feet go. And you … ugh!’
I shuddered, wishing so much I could fight this. ‘You … argh! You’re gorgeous! Okay? Are you satisfied? You’re the best-looking man I’ve ever laid eyes on. But I feel like you might get a big head now that I’ve told you that. So I also feel like you should be aware that looks are not everything. Just because I love your lighthouse and sometimes want to grab you and kiss you does not mean I ever will. Because no matter how attracted I am to you physically, your personality will probably always be in the way.’
Dean Danger shook his head and whistled. ‘Well that was entertaining.’ He reached out and patted my shoulder. ‘It’ll be a shame to see you go, Aisling Smith. Because as evil servants of the devil go, you’re not too bad.’ He turned his eyes to Dylan, and waved his wand. ‘Your turn, Detective Quinn. Tell Aisling how you feel about her. Oh – and I want you both to continue staring into one another’s eyes while the detective talks.’
Oh boy. I think it might be time to admit that I was mistaken about Dean Danger. Spotted scarf and leather jacket aside,
he really was good at this whole villain thing. Because who but the most fiendish villain in the world could have thought of a worse form of torture than this?
With our eyes locked together, the detective began to speak.
‘I … I feel like you … I feel like you … I feel like you and I were destined to meet. I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life for someone as stubborn and irritating as you to spur me on. I feel like you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, and sometimes I just want to bury myself in your hair. I feel … oh, dear goddess! I feel like, even though I sometimes want to scream at you, I mostly want to shove my tongue down your throat. I feel like …’ He shook his head, wrung his wrists and gritted his teeth. ‘I feel … I feel like I’ve made a really bad impression on you, and I wish I could explain why I was such an arse today. I feel like I really want to explain why I made you leave my office, but I’m afraid of what will happen to you if I do. I feel like you can do much better than Jared Montague, and not just because he slept with my ex-fiancée, but also because … because you deserve the best.’
I wanted to take a moment to be shocked. I mean, did you see that coming? Because I sure didn’t. Jared slept with Darina. Jared. My Jared. Had slept with Darina. Dylan’s Darina. The Jared who I knew was a ladies’ man had done exactly the sort of thing that one would expect a ladies’ man to do. Well, blow me down with a feather.
Sarcasm aside, though? I really was shocked to my core.
Despite the turmoil inside me, I was still bound by Dean Danger’s spell. Dylan was, too. And he wasn’t finished. Not by a long shot.
‘I’m not saying I could be better to you than Jared,’ he went on. ‘Because you’re right – I have a bucket-load of issues. I do need to get over myself. I accepted that weeks ago. Around about the first time you told me to get over myself.’ He let out a soft laugh. ‘Remember? We were on our way to speak with Donald Brookes? Because you knew he’d killed his wife, even though I refused to believe it. And you were right about that, and so much more.’ He swallowed. ‘But as much as I’m attracted to you, I’m never going to be with you. Because even if I actually believed that Darina would let me go … what if you got the virus? It’s changing all the time, getting stronger. I could never risk doing that to you, Ash. Never.’
Witchy See, Witchy Do Page 13