The Good, the Bad, and the Witchy: A Wishcraft Mystery

by Heather Blake

  “Well, what’re you waiting for? Bertie and Ophelia are inside Boo Manor. They’re in danger.”

  Suddenly a shot sounded, and a bloodcurdling scream split the air. Glinda shoved me out of the way and went running inside. Everyone around me didn’t know how to react. Was this part of the show? Should they be concerned?

  I was too shocked to give them guidance, to clear the area. Suddenly, someone tugged on me. Harper had come close enough to the haunted house to grab the edge of my scarf and pull me back.

  We huddled as people came running out of Boo Manor, screaming. All the other fairgoers took note and started screaming, too. Within a minute, it was complete bedlam and remained that way until patrol cars started showing up.

  Harper and I kept watch on the haunted house. We were keeping track of those who went in. And those who didn’t come out. So far, there was no sign of Hammond, Ophelia, little Jacob, or Bertie having exited.

  Harper whispered, “I only heard one shot. What did you hear?”

  “One shot,” I confirmed. My teeth chattered.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nick arrive. He sprinted for Boo Manor, his hand on his gun.

  Officers began clearing the area, sending people home. And as soon as the word “shooting” hit the crowd, people ran for their cars.

  Harper and I were allowed to linger, probably because everyone on the force knew that Nick and I were in a relationship. We huddled close to the bonfire, trying to keep warm.

  At the village’s entrance, a line of brake lights headed out, while an ambulance sped toward the green, its siren screaming. It parked in the middle of the street near the bookshop, and two EMTs jumped out.

  We watched in silence as they rushed a stretcher toward the haunted house, while in the distance, another siren shrieked the arrival of a second ambulance. My pulse pounded in my ears.

  As soon as the EMTs went in, Nick came outside, looked around, and headed our way.

  “What the hell happened?” Harper spurted as soon as he was close enough to hear.

  Patience really wasn’t one of her strongest traits.

  Nick dragged a hand down his face and glanced over his shoulder. A stretcher carrying Bertie came out of the haunted house. She looked pale and lifeless.

  I gulped. “Is she alive?”

  “Hanging on,” Nick said. “She was shot in the chest.”

  The other stretcher came out, carrying Ophelia. Her head was wrapped in gauze, which was already soaked through with blood.

  I clutched Harper’s arm and looked away, feeling woozy. Blood did that to me. Hammond hurried behind the EMTs, Jacob in his arms. The boy’s head was buried in his stepfather’s collarbone, and I couldn’t even imagine the kind of trauma he’d witnessed.

  “But there was only one shot . . . ,” Harper said, her eyes wide as she took in the scene.

  “Ophelia was clubbed with a stick.” Nick shoved his hands in his pockets. “She’s awake and lucid, but she’s going to need a lot of stitches, and she probably has a concussion.”

  I didn’t poke, prod, or bait him about sharing information with us. I was just glad he was. “What about the shooter?”

  “And the clubber?” Harper added.

  “Same person, as far as we can tell. Shot Bertie first, then turned the gun on Ophelia, who somehow managed to knock the gun from the shooter’s hand. The assailant hit her over the head with a stick, then picked up the gun again and took aim just as Glinda managed to grab the shooter from behind. There was a struggle, and in the ensuing chaos, the shooter escaped.”

  A stick? My mind flashed back to the wizard in line behind the Wickeds. “Was the shooter dressed like a wizard?”

  Nick straightened. “You saw the wizard? Can you give me a description? Man or woman? How tall? Facial features?”

  “I—I don’t know. Now that you ask specifics, I realize the shooter chose a good costume as a disguise. The wizard was hunched, so I’m not sure how tall. And the face was obscured by a hood and a fake beard, so I’m not even sure whether it was a man or woman. The outfit was beautiful. A cape with beading . . .”

  “We found the cape,” Nick said. “The shooter shed it on the way out.”

  Trying to recapture the images of people fleeing from the haunted house, I realized I had been so focused on looking for Ophelia and Bertie that I hadn’t taken much note of anyone else. The same thing had apparently happened to Harper.

  It was hard to believe that a potential killer had probably glided right past without our realizing it.

  “What happened to the gun?” Harper asked.

  “Shooter took it.” Nick glanced around at the officers securing the area. His eyes were always moving, taking in everything.

  “And the stick?” she pressed.

  “Dropped it,” he said.

  “So,” she said, excitement bubbling in every word she spoke, “you can probably get DNA from the cape, hair probably, and possibly prints from the stick?”

  Nick smiled. “Hopefully. And if we do, then let’s also hope there’s already a match in the system.”

  Harper’s face was cast in a slightly orange glow from the bonfire. “If you want, I can go around and pluck hairs from everyone in the village for comparison. I don’t mind.”

  The scary thing was, she really didn’t.

  Nick said, “I’ll keep that in mind, Harper.”

  And he said it with a straight face, too. I was seriously impressed.

  Flames flickered and sparks spit as Glinda came out of Boo Manor and walked over to us. A dark bruise had started to form around her eye.

  I winced.

  “As bad as that?” she said.

  Harper nodded. “Though it does make your blue eyes look even bluer. Prettier.”

  Glinda tipped her head, as if gauging how to take the comment. “Uh, thanks?”

  Harper nodded.

  Glinda’s lips set in a firm line, and the tension between us grew uncomfortable. Finally, she looked at me and said, “If you hadn’t sent me in there, Ophelia may have been shot, too. I just, uh, wanted to let you know that you probably saved her life.” She spun and walked away.

  As I watched her go, I tried to imagine how hard that must have been for her to say, especially in front of Nick.

  Nick rocked on his heels. “How did you know something was going to happen, Darcy?”

  “It wasn’t me. Not really. It was Harper.”

  He glanced at her.

  She shrugged. “I have a sixth sense for bad juju, what can I say?”

  Nick’s lip twitched, almost curling into a smile. Almost. “You two should go home. I’m going to head to the hospital. I’ll let you know how Bertie and Ophelia are doing.”

  Home sounded wonderful right about now. I nodded. “What about Mimi? I can go and pick her up. . . .”

  He shook his head. “It’s okay. I don’t plan on being out all night, and I hired Colleen to stay with her until I get back. Right now they’re doing some kind of pumpkin facial.” He made a sour face.

  I shuddered. The thought of pumpkin guts on my face made me squirm. “All right then. Call me if the plans change.”

  “I will.”

  Great. Even though Glinda had left, the tension remained.

  I gave him a little wave, then turned, dragging Harper along with me. I had a feeling she could have stood there all night, watching the comings and goings of the crime-scene techs.

  We’d taken only a couple of steps when I heard Nick’s voice.

  “Darcy?”

  I stopped and looked over my shoulder.

  He was still standing by the fire, his hands in his pockets, his heart in his eyes. “I haven’t forgotten about the caramel apple.”

  Swallowing a sudden lump in my throat, I gave him a smile. “Me, either.”

  “I’ll call you later,” he said softly, kissing my cheek.

  “I’ll wait up.”

  I watched him walk away.

  Harper tugged on my arm. “It�
��ll work out, Darcy,” she said softly. “I think it’s meant to be between you two.”

  I glanced at her. “Another sixth sense?”

  “No, I’m just getting soft in my old age. Starting to think that true love might exist.” She shuddered.

  I nudged her. “Does that have anything to do with Marcus?”

  She rolled her eyes but didn’t answer.

  “By the way, did you ever get anything out of him about Harriette’s will?”

  “Not yet,” she said with a gleam in her eye. “But I’m working on it.”

  I didn’t even want to know.

  We had taken only a few more steps before she said, “Is it wrong that I kind of like Glinda?”

  It was a tough question. Glinda was turning out to be a hard witch to figure out. “I don’t know.” It was the truth. She was complex; that was for sure.

  Harper nodded as if she understood me perfectly. Again, she linked her elbow through mine. We’d just about made it to the back gate before she said, “Can I say I told you so about that haunted house?”

  I smiled. “I’ll never doubt you again.”

  Dashing up the back steps, she said, “I’m writing this day down. I might make it a holiday and everything. Undoubting Darcy Day.”

  I sighed.

  As she went into the house, I lingered, looking back at the deserted festival.

  I could no longer feel the magic in the air.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  “When the clock strikes the midnight hour, there is revealed the Witching flower.”

  I pried my eyes open, rubbed the sleep out of them, and squinted at the glowing red numbers on the clock. I rubbed my eyes again, thinking the fuzzy numbers I’d seen had to be a mistake.

  Looking again, I sat straight up. It was almost nine in the morning, hours past my usual wakeup time.

  When the clock strikes the midnight hour, there is revealed the Witching flower.

  Missy yawned, her little pink tongue sticking out. I rubbed her ears.

  I slipped on my glasses and glanced around, looking for the voice that had spoken to me.

  Whump, whump.

  “Are you sure you can’t talk, Michael?”

  Two flickers. No.

  “You’re not sure, or you can’t speak?”

  No response.

  “Let me rephrase. Can you speak?”

  No.

  “Did you see who spoke to me?”

  Yes.

  “Was it the Elder?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer.

  “I’m not going to get you to answer me in any way, shape, form, am I?”

  No.

  “I figured,” I mumbled.

  Missy crawled into my lap, and I voiced the words that had been whispered to me the last two mornings.

  “A stem blooms devoid of light,

  At the darkest time of night,

  When the clock strikes the midnight hour,

  There revealed is the Witching flower.”

  Whump-whump-whump-whump.

  “Is that the Witching Hour spell?” I asked softly.

  Yes.

  “The whole spell?” Was I going to get another visit tomorrow morning?

  Yes.

  “Do you know why it was told to me?”

  No.

  Even though Michael hadn’t confirmed it was the Elder in my room this morning, I knew it had to be. Only she and Michael knew the Witching Hour rose spell.

  Well, and the killer, but I didn’t think it likely that the killer had broken in.

  And now I knew the spell, too.

  The Elder must have entrusted me with the spell for a reason, but I didn’t know why she couldn’t have just given it to me in the meadow last night. Sneaking into my room and whispering it to me while I slept was a little creepy.

  “You must have to go out,” I said to Missy as I fought a yawn.

  Her stubby tail waggled.

  “Come on, then.”

  I grabbed my robe from the foot of the bed. I’d finally gone to sleep around two in the morning—leaving Harper downstairs tapping away on my laptop. She’d been obsessed with hacking into Hot Rod’s Web site but hadn’t had any luck by the time I gave in to my drowsiness. She had insisted she wouldn’t stop until she figured it out.

  I hadn’t heard her leave.

  I brushed my teeth, put in my contacts, made a face at myself in the mirror, and pulled my hair into a sloppy topknot.

  There were voices in the kitchen as I headed for the back staircase, and I caught the scent of cinnamon rolls in the air. My stomach rumbled as Missy dashed for the stairs, eager to see who our visitors were.

  “Well, if it isn’t Sleeping Beauty,” Harper said as I came down the steps. Missy barked and turned in circles until Harper bent down to give her attention.

  Marcus glanced up from my computer screen. “Good morning, Darcy.”

  Marcus Debrowski was adorably rumpled, with his dark brown hair sticking up all over the place, and his green eyes focused behind a pair of dark-rimmed glasses.

  “Morning, Marcus,” I said, making sure the doggy door was open so Missy could go out at will. “I’m a little surprised to see you here.” Harper, I noticed, was still wearing the same outfit as yesterday and couldn’t stop fidgeting.

  Missy ran outside, and Harper bounced back onto the stool. Her fingers drummed the counter, and her leg jiggled. I caught her eye. “Have you been here all night?”

  Nodding, she held up a mug. “Eighth cup of coffee.”

  Marcus pried the mug from her hand. “And it’s time to cut her off.”

  She didn’t let go.

  They eyed each other over the rim of the cup.

  Marcus gave up.

  Smart man.

  “I finally called in some help,” Harper said. “I was starting to see double. Maybe triple.” She stared at her mug. “This actually might be my tenth cup.”

  I snatched the mug out of her hand. “Let’s switch you to water.”

  Marcus mouthed an exaggerated “Thank you” as I set the mug in the sink.

  Harper elbowed him, and he threw his head back and laughed; then she giggled, too, caught up in his laughter.

  I ignored her maniacal overcaffeinated tone and simply enjoyed that she seemed happy. “Where’s Ve?” I asked, snagging a cinnamon roll from a tray on the counter.

  “Ran to the grocery store,” Harper said, still fidgeting.

  I figured after ten cups of coffee, the jitters might wear off by next year. “Any luck with the Web site?”

  “Hot Rod has so many bells and whistles on this site, it makes me wonder if he’s in the witness protection program or something,” she said. “I barely dented the security.”

  “It is above and beyond,” Marcus said, tapping away. “He’s gone to great lengths to secure his site.”

  “Is that so unusual in this day of identity theft?” I asked.

  “To this degree, yes,” Marcus said. “It’s going to take me a while to get through his firewalls.”

  “Want some coffee?” Harper asked him, heading for the coffeepot.

  I spun her around and pointed her back at the stool. “Don’t even think about it. Save some for the rest of us.” I poured myself a cup. “Marcus?”

  He shook his head.

  Harper folded her arms on the countertop, then rested her head on them and closed her eyes. Even though she looked exhausted, her body still moved, little twitches of caffeine running freely through her system.

  I leaned against the counter and licked sugary glaze from my fingers. “Do you think he’s hiding something?”

  “Probably,” Marcus said.

  “Mmm-hmm,” Harper murmured, without opening her eyes. “Witness protection.”

  Marcus reached over and rubbed his hand over her back. It was an unconscious movement, done without even thinking too much about it. It was familiar. Tender.

  I smiled behind the rim of my cup, feeling a bit smug since I’d had a ha
nd in setting the two of them up.

  “Hiding what?” I asked.

  “Probably his identity,” Marcus said. “I can’t imagine Hot Rod Stiffington is his real name.”

  I laughed. “Imagine filling that in on your SATs?”

  “Maybe he’s a preacher or something,” Harper mumbled.

  “Do you think you can break through and get me an address?” I asked.

  “Definitely,” Marcus answered. “It might take me a while, though.”

  Missy came bounding back inside. I filled her bowl with kibble and refilled her water dish. “How long’s a while? This is Tilda we’re talking about.”

  “A couple hours at most. Hopefully sooner,” he said.

  “Not that Tilda cares,” Harper mumbled.

  It was true. She’d looked happy as a clam in my vision.

  A knock sounded from the back door; I shuffled into the mudroom and peeked out the window.

  Starla had her face pressed to the glass.

  I laughed and let her in. She didn’t come alone. In one arm was a big jack-o’-lantern, in the other, Twink, her bichon frise. “Lookie!” she squealed, holding out the pumpkin.

  “Another one?” I asked, taking it from her.

  She set Twink on the floor. He hopped around, sniffing all around the kitchen. He looked more like a baby bunny than a full-grown dog.

  “It was on the front stoop this morning when I woke up,” she said, coming into the kitchen. She frowned when she saw Harper, then brushed some hair out of Harper’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “Ugh,” Harper moaned.

  “Caffeine overdose,” I said, setting the pumpkin on the counter. I filled a glass of water for my sister and pushed it in front of her. “She pulled an all-nighter with the help of ten cups of coffee.”

  Harper lifted her head. “It might have been twelve.”

  “‘Ugh’ is right,” Starla said in sympathy.

  “Was there another note?” I asked, taking the top off the jack-o’-lantern’s stem and peeking inside.

  Starla bounced up and down. “There was! And a little bag of organic dog biscuits from the Furry Toadstool for Twink.”

  Ah. This guy knew the way to Starla’s heart was through her dog’s stomach.