A Witch Before Dying: A Wishcraft Mystery

by Heather Blake

  Both shook their heads.

  “If he did,” Mrs. P said, “he’s had plenty of time to act on it before now. I believe he thinks of her as just a good friend.”

  “So don’t tell Ve?” I asked.

  “Wait a day or two,” Mrs. P advised. “You might be surprised that the situation works itself out. Ve and Sylar will be married on Sunday, as planned.”

  Evan squinted at me. “You don’t look happy about that.”

  “It’s just—” I hefted the box to place it atop a growing pile. My cell phone rang, cutting me off. It was Ve, speak of the devil.

  “Darling girl,” she said. “Sylar just called. He found a bag with an agate ball behind his shop and thinks it might belong to you. I think he might be right.”

  I winced. I must have accidentally left my Upala bag behind the trash cans. Had Sylar figured out I’d been spying? “I hadn’t even realized I left it behind. I’m almost done here at Patrice’s for today. I’ll pack up and head over to pick it up and will be home soon.”

  “I’ll be here,” Ve said loftily as if she hadn’t a care in the world. How much vodka had she drunk?

  I hung up and said, “I think we should wrap up for the day.” The mess on the lawn had been cleared, transferred now inside the house, where it blended in with the rest of the clutter. Elodie had given me free rein to come and go as I pleased. Even after all that had happened, she still wanted the house cleared out as soon as possible. I shoved some boxes aside. “I have to go pick up my agate sphere I accidentally left behind Sylar’s shop. Apparently, he found it.”

  “You’re going back there?” Evan asked.

  “I have to. I need the sphere for Ve’s protection spell.”

  “From the Peeper Creeper?” Mrs. P asked.

  I had told them what happened this morning.

  “Well,” Evan said with a smile. “You might want to let Dorothy borrow that agate.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because,” he said, raising an amused eyebrow, “when Ve finds out what Dorothy has done, she’s going to need all the protection she can get.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  I wasn’t looking forward to seeing Sylar.

  Especially if he suspected that I’d seen what had happened between him and Dorothy behind his shop earlier.

  As I hurried along the Enchanted Trail toward the Third Eye Optometry Office, I tried to process all I’d learned in the last two days, starting with finding Patrice’s body and ending with Roger attacking Jonathan Wilkens.

  Really, what it all boiled down to was that I was no closer to figuring out who had killed Patrice. Or why.

  As I turned onto the wooded path leading to the back door of Third Eye, I thought I heard footsteps behind me. I turned to look back at the trail, but I couldn’t see anyone coming in either direction.

  Paranoid.

  Intuition?

  I glanced back again, but there was still no sign of anyone.

  Strange.

  At least the footsteps hadn’t come with that heebie-jeebie feeling I’d been experiencing lately.

  I circled around to the front of Sylar’s shop and was surprised when I saw the CLOSED sign on the front door. I shaded my eyes against the glass, but even though there was a faint light coming from the rear of the store, I didn’t see anyone inside. I rapped on the glass and waited, but no one answered.

  I backtracked to the rear door, in case Sylar was in the back storeroom and couldn’t hear my knocking out front. As I neared the door, I heard a scurrying behind me and whipped around. “Who’s there?”

  No one answered.

  Of course not. That would be too easy. “Vince?” I called out. For some reason, I had the feeling he was following me around. I just didn’t know why.

  There was no reply. No Vince. No bogeymen. No big bad wolves.

  I was really beginning to question my sanity as I knocked on Sylar’s back door.

  A second later, the door swung open and Dorothy peered out. “Who’re you?” she asked with a tone of voice that clearly conveyed a high level of crankiness.

  I wasn’t exactly comfortable talking to her. “I’m Darcy Merriweather. I think Sylar is expecting me? I left—”

  “Oh. You’re Darcy.”

  I didn’t care for the dulcet tone of her voice. It was way too sweet to be sincere.

  She leaned against the doorframe, a hip cocked, her arms folded across her ample chest. “You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?”

  “Um, thank you. Is Sylar here?”

  “No.”

  Uncomfortable, I shifted. I wished I’d thought to ask Mrs. P to tag along.

  Pointedly, she asked, “Is it true you’re dating Nick Sawyer?”

  Again, I heard a rustle behind me. I tossed a look over my shoulder. Not only to see if anyone was there (there wasn’t), but to see if I could spot any hidden cameras. Surely, someone was playing a joke on me. Dorothy wasn’t really quizzing me on my love life, was she?

  “I left a bag here earlier…,” I said, trying to distract her from whatever mission she was on.

  “He’s a handsome man, that Nick.” She examined one of her long, painted nails. “Marriage material.”

  “It’s a brown bag.” I held my hands apart a foot. “About this big?”

  One of her eyebrows rose as she studied me closely. Then she abruptly turned around and picked up the Upala bag. She dangled it in front of me. “This bag?”

  Relief flowed. “Yes.” I reached for it and she yanked it back.

  I’d never been in a catfight in my whole life, but I was seriously considering it at this point. I was pretty sure I could take her. After all, I was a good twenty years younger, but she had a meanness in her eyes that I couldn’t discount. She would fight dirty—I was sure of it.

  “I really should be going. Very busy,” I said, trying to hold my temper in check.

  “So I’ve heard. Busy, busy, busy,” she sang.

  She actually had a nice voice. I kind of hated that about her, since I couldn’t sing my way out of a paper bag. Speaking of which, she had stepped closer to me, invading my personal space. Which I tolerated only because now she was near enough for me to snatch the Upala bag. I grabbed it out of her hands and clutched it to my chest.

  She smiled. Apparently, I was amusing.

  I, however, found no humor in this situation whatsoever.

  “You’re just a busy little bee. Busy with the wedding coming up. Busy helping Elodie Keaton. Busy”—she shimmied her hips—“getting busy with the chief of police?”

  What was it with her fascination with Nick?

  Her eyebrows snapped together. “And busy spying on me and Sylar?”

  I felt a guilty flush sweep over my neck.

  With a determined look in her eye, she took another step closer, tottering on impossibly high heels. When she reached out to jab me, she suddenly let out a cry and pulled her hand back. She cradled her hand.

  I wasn’t sure what had just happened, but was more than a little relieved that I wasn’t going to have to break out the self-defense skills Nick had taught me. Though, I had to admit, I kind of wanted to rip the hair right off her head and wondered, absently, if that made me a bad person.

  She hissed like a wounded feral cat as she eyed the bag. “You may be protected right now, Darcy Merriweather, but let me tell you this: If you don’t keep that pert little nose of yours out of my business, then there’s not enough protection in the world that will keep you safe. Stay out of my way, little girl. Keep your mouth shut about Sylar; quit the job at the Keaton house so the police can do their jobs; and back off of Nick Sawyer. Do you understand me?”

  Had the agate protected me by somehow zapping Dorothy? If so, there was no way I was going to let her borrow the agate as Evan had suggested. I kind of wanted Ve to wallop this trollop.

  When I didn’t answer, Dorothy jabbed a finger in my direction. “You’ve been warned.” She stomped away in her high heels and slammed the bac
k door behind her.

  Behind me, I again heard the rustling. I’d had enough. “Really, Vince, if that’s you, just come out already.”

  I spun around to find a tall man standing at the trailhead. Slashes of sunlight spilled across his handsome features.

  He wasn’t Vince.

  This man was older, mid-to-late forties, I guessed, with black eyes, olive skin tone, the barest hint of silver in his black hair. He had an aristocratic nose, high cheek bones, and a friendly smile. He wore a dark suit with a white shirt and black tie—and he wore it well.

  “Who—who are you?” I asked.

  He bowed. “Andreus Woodshall, and you are quite welcome.”

  My first thought was that he didn’t look like Dracula at all. Well, maybe a handsome Dracula, but certainly not a creepy one.

  I tipped my head. “Welcome for what?”

  He nodded to the bag.

  I held it up. “The agate ball?”

  “More specifically, the protection spell I placed upon it when I realized that the woman was going to accost you. The ball itself doesn’t have that level of power without the help of other elements.”

  “Like magic?” I asked. I’d forgotten he was a Charmcrafter, and I hadn’t realized that Dorothy was a Crafter—she had to be if she knew she’d been blocked by a protection spell.

  He nodded in acquiescence.

  “Well, then yes, thank you. I really didn’t want to kick her ass.”

  His eyes flared; then his head tipped back and he laughed.

  I blushed. “Sorry. I’m out of sorts right now.”

  “Quite all right, considering what just happened.”

  “You saw it all?”

  He nodded.

  “Have you been following me?”

  He tipped his head. “No. Why would you think so?”

  I didn’t have even the slightest bit of apprehension around him. No goose bumps. No hair rising on the back of my neck. Nothing. “No reason.”

  As he studied me, it felt like his gaze was going right through me, burning with its intensity. It was as if he was trying to see what was at the very core of my being, what kind of person I was, with one look. Yet I still felt no malice. It was a strange sensation. One I wasn’t entirely comfortable with.

  Again, I shifted. “How did your son know my name earlier?”

  Smiling wanly, he said, “You were hired to work at the Keatons’ house. I’m very interested with anything—with anyone,” he stressed, “going in and out of that home. And therefore, so is Lazarus.”

  “Walk with me?” I asked. I wanted to get away from Third Eye.

  His arm swept out with a flourish. “After you.”

  Limping only slightly, I headed up the small path leading to the trail. “Why are you so interested in the Keaton house?”

  His voice rumbled behind me. “The Anicula, of course.”

  I was surprised he confessed so freely. Glancing back at him, I let out a small cry. Here, in the shade, his features had changed. Long gone was handsome, replaced with sinister. Beady eyes, hollow cheeks, sharp little piranha teeth.

  A chill swept down my spine, and I picked up my pace.

  “Darcy?”

  We emerged from the path into the sunshine. I spared a glance. He was handsome again. I shuddered, not sure what had just happened. “I’m okay. Uh, stubbed my toe.”

  He walked stiffly beside me, like a ramrod undertaker, and I wondered how far he’d take his honesty. “Did you steal those opals this morning from Patrice Keaton’s lawn?”

  “Would I do such a thing?” he asked, nodding his head in the affirmative. “I felt as though there was no other option. I couldn’t believe my luck when I saw the opals on the ground. For years, I’ve tried to get into that house to look for the Anicula, and to have the stones laid out as such…It was too good to be true. I acted quickly, but alas, none were what I was seeking. I will return the merchandise to Elodie at once.”

  I latched on to something he said. He’d tried to get into the house. “You’ve never been in the Keatons’ house?”

  “Not once.”

  “You haven’t been breaking in every time the Roving Stones are in town?”

  His eyes widened. “No.”

  I stared at him.

  Holding his hands up in surrender, he said, “Do not be misled. I would have broken in—if I could. I cannot.”

  “Why?” Someone had been breaking in.

  “There is a spell cast upon the house that prohibits my entrance.”

  I stumbled a bit and he grabbed on to my elbow to steady me. “A spell cast by whom?”

  “Geer Keaton.” There was venom in his voice.

  “I don’t understand,” I said. There was a lot of that going on today. I wasn’t liking it one bit.

  “The Anicula belongs to my family,” Andreus said.

  We were walking under a shady stretch of the path, so I made sure to keep my gaze averted. However, a jogger happening by must have taken a look at him because she let out a yip when he bade her a “good afternoon” and she sprinted at an Olympic pace past us.

  I knew just how she felt.

  Andreus seemed to take no notice.

  “The Anicula’s enchantment was a wedding gift from my great-great-great-grandfather to his bride,” he said. “It has been in my family for generations. That is, until Geer Keaton, the grave robber, stole it.”

  “Really?” It seemed too outrageous to be true. We had stepped into the sun again, so I felt safe looking at him.

  “Really. I have been trying to recover it since.”

  “Geer dug up a grave? Literally?”

  Humoring me, he smiled. “Literally. We were friends you see. Best friends. Years and years ago. A lifetime, it seems. In high school, right here in the village.”

  Geer, Patrice, Yvonne, and Roger…and now Andreus. All had gone to school together. Were all bound by the Anicula in some way?

  “Our families were close. Geocrafters and Charmcrafters practically go hand in hand. Geer had heard the legend of the Anicula. He knew it had been buried with my grandmother. When her mausoleum was broken into, it didn’t take much deduction to figure out that it had been Geer behind the crime.”

  A squirrel darted across the path. Two more joggers went by and a young woman with a baby carriage. It was just another day in the village to most. To me, I couldn’t help feeling that my life was about to take a turn. Whether for good or bad remained to be seen.

  “Especially,” he added, “when Patrice suddenly broke up with Roger and started dating Geer. Patrice and Roger had been due to get married after graduation. They were madly in love. Soul mates.”

  I stopped walking and looked at him full-on (thank goodness we were in a sunny spot). “You’re saying that Geer used the Anicula to steal Patrice from Roger? That he wished it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wow.”

  He started walking again, and I followed.

  This explanation revealed to me Roger’s infatuation with Patrice and also Yvonne’s dislike of her.

  “Immediately after the theft, Geer had a spell commissioned that kept me from entering his home. He made sure to never bring the Anicula out of the house. I have a feeling it’s still inside.”

  “You don’t think it was stolen, as Patrice claimed?”

  He shook his head. “I doubt it.”

  “But you don’t know for certain?”

  “No, I don’t know, but I will do just about anything to return the Anicula to where it belongs.”

  “With your grandmother?” I asked. “Or with your family, in general?”

  I really wanted to know. Because I could feel myself falling for his woe-is-me story of injustice. If it was true, it was horrible what Geer had done. But if Andreus wanted the Anicula back so he could use its power…

  “With my grandmother. She wanted the power to be buried with her, never to harm anyone else. She was a wise woman.”

  I wanted to believe him, I real
ly did. But I didn’t quite.

  “Why are you telling me all this?” I asked, though I had a feeling I already knew the answer.

  “I would like your help in convincing Elodie to return the Anicula to my family if she has it.”

  I didn’t think that would be a problem after her proclamation earlier. We’d reached the turnoff path to As You Wish. “There’s one problem with that.”

  “Which is?”

  “Elodie doesn’t know where the Anicula is, either. She says she hasn’t seen it since she was a little girl, maybe four or five, and she believes it was stolen, as her mother claimed.”

  “Four or five?” His lips pressed into a thin line. “Is that so?”

  “It’s what she said. Why? You don’t think so?”

  “What I think, Darcy, is that she is lying to you.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Godfrey Baleaux, Cloakcrafter extraordinaire and owner of the Bewitching Boutique, was in the process of pinning my maid of honor dress and had already poked me three times. “Ow!” Make that four.

  It was only four o’clock and I felt as though this day was never going to end. I’d already dropped off the agate ball with Ve, who looked slightly better, asked Archie to keep an eye on her, and then hightailed it to Bewitching Boutique.

  “Sorry, sorry,” he said, his white hair tickling the back of my neck as he worked on my sleeve. “My nerves. They’re shot. So tell me again. Andreus didn’t elaborate as to why he thought Elodie was lying?”

  We’d been through this three times already. Coincidentally, each time was accompanied by a pinprick. I checked for blood on my shoulder near the sleeve he was working on and said, “He told me to ask Elodie.”

  Only a tiny pinprick of blood, thank goodness. Anything more and I was sure to faint dead away. He handed me a handkerchief and I pressed it to the spot.

  Harper caught my reflection in the dressing room mirror and said, “If Elodie already told you she hadn’t seen the Anicula in years, I doubt she’s going to fess up to making any recent wishes.”

  Pepe, working on Harper’s hem, made a tsking sound. His whiskers twitched. “Quite true.”

  “I’ve been trying to think of why she would lie.” Our dresses were really quite lovely. Amethyst in color, cocktail length, and fitted (or would be soon) in all the right places. Mine had cap sleeves while Harper’s was strapless.