Witchful Thinking

by Kristen Painter

  She tried the back door, but it was locked. She knocked, wondering if she should dig her key out or wait for Millie to answer, all while trying to maintain a positive, helpful attitude. The library could definitely use the grant money, but honestly, this had better not take long. Not when she could be snuggling or something with Walker. And hello, it was a Friday night. Maybe Millie didn’t have a life, but Charlotte did. Sure, her social calendar had only recently filled up, but that was beside the point.

  She thought about that a second. It was Friday night. Which meant the inspection was happening on a Saturday. That seemed…odd. Even for this grant situation. What was Millie up to?

  She was about to get her key out of her purse when something hard poked her in the side.

  “Aren’t you the dutiful employee?” a voice snarled.

  She turned. And sucked in a breath at the sight of the gun in her ribs. And who was holding it. “What are you doing? Is this some kind of joke?”

  “No joke. What does it look like I’m doing?” Judge Turnbury growled. “Move. Back in the car. We’ll have to take yours since you blocked the old biddy’s in.”

  Charlotte took a few halting steps toward the vehicle and stopped. Was Judge Turnbury having some kind of dementia episode? He’d been a tough judge, but this was…nothing like she’d ever seen from him before. “I don’t understand.”

  “You don’t need to. Time’s running out.” He poked her with the barrel of the gun again. “Just keep moving.”

  She started walking, still unable to get her head around the fact that this was sweet old Judge Turnbury in front of her. With a gun. And an attitude. “This isn’t you. You’re such a nice man. And not usually this…mobile.”

  He snorted. “And you’re gullible. You believed exactly what I wanted you to believe.”

  Maybe she was gullible, but the judge’s old-man act had been pretty convincing.

  He gestured toward the car with the gun. “Get in. Try anything funny and you’ll regret it.”

  She already regretted coming here. She opened the door and slid behind the wheel. “Where are we going?”

  “My house.” He kept the gun trained on her as he walked around the front of her old Explorer and got into the passenger’s seat.

  “I don’t know where you live.” It was a stall tactic and a lie, but the only thing she could think of. How was she going to get out of this? Where was Millie? If the judge thought Charlotte was going down without a fight, he was wrong.

  “You know where I live, everyone knows where I live. Big white house on Elderberry Lane.”

  “Oh right.” She dropped her keys. On purpose. Maybe if she stalled long enough, Walker would come looking for her. But how long was long enough? An hour? Two? She bent down to fish for them and prayed she could think of something else to buy time. Maybe she could magically give the car a flat tire. Or engine trouble. But she didn’t have any idea what kind of spell would do that.

  The judge grabbed her by the hair and yanked her upright.

  “Ow!”

  “Stop playing games. Drop the keys again and I’ll break one of your fingers. Or worse. Understand?”

  Nothing about him looked like he was kidding. She nodded and started the car. She was a few minutes on the road before she found her voice again. “Are you going to kill me?”

  He laughed. “No. Not yet anyway.”

  “What do you want me for?”

  He smiled. She’d never noticed how evil the judge’s smile could be. It was more of a sneer, really. She wanted to punch him right in the dentures. “You’re going to help me read that book.”

  “What book?”

  “You know what book. Middian’s.”

  With a gasp, she glanced at him. “You stole it? You?”

  “Didn’t think I was capable, did you?”

  “Not even remotely. But it’s not just that. For one thing, you’re a very respected man in this town. You were a judge, for crying out loud. You’re supposed to be all about upholding the law, not breaking it. For another, why would you want a book like that when you can’t even use it? And how do you know about it?”

  He waggled the gun at her. “There’s a key for every lock. And you’re the key for that book. I don’t need to be able to use it, I just need to make you do it for me.”

  She noticed he hadn’t answered her other question. “What’s your end goal, then? What is it you think you can get the book to do for you?”

  “None of your business.” He sat back a little, but the gun stayed aimed at her.

  She tried to ignore that in favor of thinking through his motives. What could he want? But the answer to that eluded her, and her thoughts drifted to Millie. What had the judge done with her? Because that seemed like the obvious explanation as to why she hadn’t been at the library.

  Unless she had been at the library and Charlotte just hadn’t seen her. Maybe Millie was inside right now wondering where Charlotte was. Maybe she’d call the sheriff when Charlotte didn’t show. Hope sprang to life in Charlotte’s soul. Good old, by-the-book Millie. There was no way she’d let Charlotte’s failure to show slide by.

  Unless she was hurt. She glanced at the gun again. There was no telling what the judge had done to her. And to think Charlotte had lit a love candle for Millie with the judge as the target. Egads.

  “Slow down, you’re going to miss it. And I’d hate to shoot you over a silly thing like that.”

  That snapped Charlotte out of her thoughts. She slowed down in time to pull into the judge’s driveway.

  “Park in the back.”

  Where the car couldn’t be seen. She pulled around. And saw the garage door was up.

  “Straight in.”

  She did as he said, then parked. Her hope of being rescued dimmed. No one would have a clue what had happened to her. “Have you been coming to the library all these years because you were trying to find the book?”

  He ignored her question. “Out and into the house.”

  “Are you working for the Collective?”

  A flash of something passed through his gaze, but his only answer was a stern, “Out.”

  She got out of the car, looking around the garage for something she could use as a weapon while the judge exited on his side. There was lots of yard stuff. A shovel. Hedge trimmers. A hoe. The garage door started going down. Maybe she could levitate the trimmers into her hand. She reached out toward them.

  “Don’t even think about it,” the judge said, shoving the gun into her back again. “Into the house, then into the basement.”

  “Isn’t that kind of a cliché? I mean, the basement’s so expected.” Apparently fear made her chatty. “The front porch, now that would be—”

  “Move.” He jabbed her.

  She moved. Up the steps, then into the house. His home was beautifully finished with wide moldings and expensive trims, even in the mudroom. But then she supposed judges made good money. So why would he want the book? Or be working for the Collective?

  “That door,” he indicated.

  She opened the polished wood panel door and peered down. It was dark. And the stairs didn’t exactly inspire confidence. Or match the fine detail of the rest of the house. “How about a light? Unless you want me to trip and break my neck. Can’t really help you if I’m dead, now can I?”

  “Switch is on the side of the wall.”

  She found it and turned the lights on. The cellar had a dirt floor, she could tell that much. And there were cobwebs. Which made her shudder.

  “What was that?”

  “What was what?”

  “That. What you just did. Don’t try anything witchy. Won’t work on me.”

  She doubted that. She turned a little to see him. “I shuddered because there are cobwebs down there and I hate spiders. If you have a problem with that, tough. I can’t do anything about my involuntary reactions.”

  “All right, relax.” He held his hands up to emphasize his words. Which meant for once, the gun wasn�
��t pointed at her.

  She took the opening. She shot her fingers toward him and sent a bolt of magical electricity through him.

  It bounced off him and hit her, knocking her into the door and sending her to the floor in a heap. The magic zipped through her, a million hot little wasps stinging relentlessly, then it was gone. She tried to catch her breath. So that’s what that felt like.

  “I told you not to try anything.” He leaned over her. “I’m about to have you use one of the most powerful grimoires on the planet. Did you really think I wouldn’t have some kind of protection against magic?”

  She swallowed, but her mouth was so dry that her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She peeled it free so she could answer. “Apparently, I did.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The library was dark, which was exactly what Walker had expected to find but everything he’d hoped against. At least with a light on inside, there might be a chance they were actually in there working. He parked the truck at the curb and ran to the front door to peer in. Dark. Not even lights in the back where the office was.

  He smacked his fist on the glass and let out a curse. He stood there for just a second, letting his anger get the best of him, letting the reflection of his glowing eyes stare back at him. But only for a second, because Charlotte needed him.

  Then it was time to do what he’d been trained to do. A little witch hunt. Namely for the one responsible for Charlotte’s disappearance. He didn’t know who that was yet, but he would find her, because there was no way on earth he wasn’t going to rescue the one he really cared about.

  Tracking wasn’t something he did well in this form, though. He needed his leopard form. Instinct made him look around for watching eyes even though he knew he was alone. With that confirmed, he was about to shift when he realized he was letting his emotions get in the way of his thinking. He’d been trained better than that. And Charlotte needed him at his best.

  He hadn’t done a perimeter check yet. Millie parked behind the library.

  He got in his truck and raced around to the back. There was a car parked there. Not Charlotte’s old Ford Explorer, but he recognized the car all the same.

  It was Millie’s Kia sedan. But she wasn’t in it and there had been no sign of her in the library. A new alarm went off in his head. Had both women been taken?

  He left the truck behind her car and jumped out to inspect the Kia. It was an older vehicle but in great shape. Probably because Millie took care of it so that it would last and she wouldn’t be saddled with the expense of a new one. He walked around the car like he had once before, looking inside for any clue that might tell him what had happened. He used the flashlight on his phone to get a better look, but his shifter eyes didn’t need much light.

  He stared into the car. Something was off. He just wasn’t sure what. He stared harder, willing himself to understand what had changed.

  It came to him a second later. The seat. Millie was a tall woman. A good head taller than Charlotte, but not quite as tall as he was. The seat was pulled up too close. Her knees would have been pressed into the steering column. No way would she have driven like that.

  He was looking for someone short. Someone Charlotte’s size. An uncomfortable thought began to form in his mind. A thought he really didn’t want to have. Was Charlotte involved in this after all? Where was her car?

  He’d never checked her bag to see if the book had actually been stolen. For all he knew, she’d had the book the whole time and had made up the story about it being taken to throw him off.

  No, he refused to believe that the Charlotte he knew would do that. It was a dark path he didn’t want to go down. Not about her. Not about the woman he’d come to care for.

  But she was a witch. And if the FOL had taught him anything, it was that witches were not to be trusted.

  A new anger curled up his spine. If Charlotte was involved, if she had lied to him, he’d have no problem turning her over to the FOL.

  But he couldn’t bring himself to believe that was possible and the anger died a quick death. Charlotte was the victim here. He was certain of that. He rubbed a hand across his face and the now familiar scent of Edgar Allan filled his nose. He looked at the cuff of his shirt. A few orange strands of fur were stuck to his sleeve.

  Cat hair. He stared at it for a second as something new jogged loose in his brain. But what did cat hair have to do with anything? He closed his eyes and thought. Why was cat hair important? There was something about it just at the edge of his memory. Something he needed to remember. Was it about the hair Edgar Allan had left on the sofa? No, that wasn’t it.

  Think.

  Cat hair somewhere else? He opened his eyes. Cat hair on someone else. Orange cat hair. Edgar Allan’s to be exact.

  Walker let out a low curse at the idea forming in his head. He took a deep inhale just to be sure. Liniment. It was faint, but it was in the air.

  That confirmed Walker’s suspicions.

  Judge Turnbury was about a foot shorter than Millie, and he’d been late to the library the morning of the break-in. Charlotte had pointed that out. And when he had arrived, he’d had orange cat hair on his sleeves too. As if he’d picked up a cat and carried it somewhere. Like a bathroom for safe keeping.

  Maybe the judge had a long-haired orange cat just like Edgar Allan. Or maybe he’d been in Charlotte’s apartment. What were the odds that the feeble old man wasn’t so feeble? Hell, he might not even be an old man. Walker’s ire went up thinking about how quickly they’d dismissed the judge as a possible suspect.

  Walker didn’t have time to wait for Stillwell to find out if the man had a cat or where the man lived or what his health was like. Finding Turnbury wasn’t as important as finding Charlotte and he could do that on his own. He took a few seconds to send Stillwell a text: It’s happening. It’s the judge.

  Stillwell was smart enough to figure that out. Then Walker locked his truck and shifted into his leopard form, his clothing transforming into his animal skin with the magic of his true self. He stood still for the brief moment it took the change to settle over him, letting the crystalline night air ruffle his fur. He loved being in this form. But he could go for a nice long run later.

  Right now, he had work to do. He lifted his muzzle into the breeze and inhaled, searching for Charlotte’s unique scent and any faint traces of liniment.

  He found both pretty quickly. He focused on hers. The warm, sort of lemony smell made him think of summer days. He took off, following that fragrance. There was a third scent in the mix. One he couldn’t immediately separate into distinct notes. Millie’s maybe. But it was also a little sour, and that part he knew. The smell of dark magic. Whoever that smell belonged to, they’d been doused in it.

  Didn’t mean that person was part of what was going on. They could also be a victim of dark magic. It could have been used to restrain or immobilize the women.

  Either way, it was a sign that he was on the right track.

  He put his head down and kept going.

  * * *

  Charlotte went down the stairs as slowly as she could, but that earned her a few more pokes with the gun barrel. She was going to have a nasty bruise on her ribs. If she lived through this.

  She really hoped she would. Who would take care of Edgar Allan if she didn’t?

  “Hurry up.” The judge was not a patient man. She added that to his list of failings, which was getting pretty long.

  “Yeah, yeah.” That was as snappy a response as she could come up with while faced with the thought of orphaning her sweet fur baby. Would the judge actually shoot her? She tended to think he would. At least she’d gotten to kiss Walker. Maybe she’d focus on that right before the judge pulled the trigger. Then she could die with a smile on her face. Hmm. Maybe Walker would be so despondent with grief that he’d adopt Edgar Allan just to keep her memory alive.

  She might be getting a little melodramatic, but how nice would it be for her fur baby to be raised by someone who co
uld actually turn into a cat?

  They got to the bottom of the stairs and the judge flipped another light switch. It turned on a single bulb in a grungy porcelain socket in the middle of a low ceiling.

  “Millie,” Charlotte gasped.

  Millie Merriweather was duct-taped to an old wooden chair and seemed to be passed out, based on the slump of her head and body and her general non-responsiveness. There was a second wooden chair beside her, but it had been knocked over. Maybe she’d done that.

  Racks built from two by fours and plywood lined the back and side walls. A few dusty canned goods with faded labels sat on the shelves, along with some random cardboard boxes and old coffee cans filled with junk. A rickety toboggan leaned against one of the racks, a couple of ski poles next to it. And there were cobwebs everywhere. Typical New England basement. Except for the unconscious, restrained woman.

  Charlotte shook her head in disgust. “You’re an awful man, Gilbert.” He didn’t deserve the title judge. Or the respect that came with it. “What did you do to Millie?”

  “Nothing, just knocked her out. She’ll be fine.” He nudged Charlotte forward. “Go over to the first rack on the right and zip tie one wrist to it. Zip ties are in the Folgers can.”

  Seeing Millie so helpless like that had really gotten Charlotte’s anger up. “And if I refuse?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “I’ll shoot Millie.”

  “You wouldn’t.” But he probably would. Charlotte hated him even more. She walked over and did as he commanded, taking a black zip tie out of the can and putting it around her wrist. She dropped it on the first try without meaning to.

  Then she dropped it again on purpose. If he wanted her zip tied, he was going to have to do it himself, which meant getting him close. He might have only been pretending to be frail earlier, but he still wasn’t a spring chicken. And while she wasn’t trained in any kind of self-defense, she bet a knee to the groin would do wonders. “I can’t do this one-handed.”