Starstruck Witch

by January Daphne

  “We can’t rule out Roger though,” Blake said. “He’s the person who was the closest to Tom. They were cousins, and Tom was constantly pulling strings to keep Roger out of trouble. Roger Spitz calls himself a photojournalist, but it’s clear what he is—an opportunistic paparazzi who probably racked up a lot of enemies over the course of his career.”

  The corners of Liam’s mouth turned down as he swallowed hard. “But that would mean that the bloke kissed his own cousin!” He looked absolutely revolted by this suggestion. “That would be some weird family drama.”

  “It’s legal to marry your cousin in some states,” Dean pointed out. “Don’t judge. You’re practically in an interspecies relationship yourself. We all know it, even if you refuse to tell Lola about it.”

  The veins in Liam’s neck pulsed as his face reddened. “I’m more human than you’ll ever be,” Liam snarled.

  Angie snapped her fingers. “None of that,” she said. “If you two want to bicker like children, you’re going to have to leave.”

  Liam slumped back in his chair, folding his arms.

  Dean got up, brushing off his jeans. “Well, it sounds like we have some leads—four suspects. I’d say my work is done.”

  “I still think it might be Savannah.” I absently ran my finger around the rim of my coffee mug. “I know Dean says it can’t be her, but I can’t shake the feeling that maybe Savannah did have something to do with the murder. Tom Nelson must have trusted Savannah a lot to willingly walk off into the forest with her. And that kiss in the video did not look like a first kiss. They were definitely lovers at some point. Maybe it was in the past, maybe they were current lovers. Either way, Savannah might have the closest connection to the victim out of these other suspects.”

  Dean zipped up his jacket. “Sounds like someone’s jealous.”

  I shook my head, annoyed that Dean wasn’t taking me seriously. “If Savannah knows about magic and is totally fine with you recreationally drinking her blood, then maybe she figured out some kind of magical loophole to be in two places at once.”

  “So you’re saying Savannah split herself in half, then gave one of her halves the rare ability to shapeshift?” Dean asked. “I don’t think so. By that logic, I’d say you’re just as likely a suspect. You Wilder woman can be downright bloodthirsty if you decide it’s for the ‘greater good’,” Dean said, making air quotes with his fingers.

  “Did you just call Natalie bloodthirsty?” Liam asked. “Have you forgotten you’re a vampire?”

  “Hey, I just call ‘em like I see ‘em,” Dean tugged on the collar of his jacket. “Natalie, how about you go down into your little witch dungeon and summon the spirit of your dear Aunt Martha so she can tell you what she did to the last group of shapeshifters who made the mistake of calling Wolf Mountain home. I’m out of here. Someone text me if anyone else gets murdered.”

  I dropped my head into my palms, running my hands over my tired face. “For a forty-five year old in a twenty-six year old’s body, I’m really confused as to why you act like a twelve year old.”

  Dean grinned. “You don’t have to be mean to me just because I’m the only one in this room who is willing to call you out,” he said.

  Angie got up, too. She slid the notebook into her back pocket and hoisted her sleeping son up higher on her hip. “I think it might also be helpful for you, Natalie, to brush up on your shapeshifter knowledge,” she said. “And I’ll look into Savanna’s alibi and see what I can find. I think we have enough to go on now.” She pushed her chair back under the kitchen table. “We know it’s a shapeshifter, so that gives us a starting point.”

  “A shapeshifter,” I repeated, looking around the kitchen. “So now the killer can look like any of us.” The cabin was quiet, all except for the rhythmic chirping of crickets floating through the screen door from the outside. “Let the mistaken identity begin.”

  6

  The next morning, Benjamin lay on the hardwood floor, sunning himself in the morning light that trickled in from the sliding glass door. His ear twitched in my direction as I entered the kitchen and slammed a stack of dusty old books down on the counter, and one ancient-looking mirror.

  He cracked an eye open. “You look positively terrible this morning.”

  I rubbed at the dark circles under my eyes. “Normally, I would say something rude back to you for a comment like that, but I’m in a good mood today.” I shuffled over to the coffee maker.

  “Am I mistaken, or was there a violent murder than happened on your property last night?” Benjamin got to his feet and gave himself a full-body shake, his collar jingling.

  “Obviously, the murder was a bad thing. That’s not why I’m in a good mood.” I hit the button on the coffeemaker and breathed in the delicious scent of freshly brewed coffee.

  “Glad we’re in agreement on that.” The Rottweiler stretched, piking his behind in the air before leaning forward into an up-dog stretch. The morning light glittered on his shiny black coat.

  “Of course, we are. Someone died. That was horrible—the good news is that Aunt Martha had tons of books on shapeshifters. I think if I study all of this, we can solve the murder quickly and make sure no one else gets hurt.”

  “And what’s with the mirror?”

  I picked it up, turning the tarnished brass handle in my hands. “I don’t know, but it kept falling off a shelf when I was gathering books. I feel like that’s important.”

  “It’s nice to see you taking such an interest in your magical studies.” Benjamin hopped into his usual chair at the kitchen table and started sniffing for crumbs on the tabletop.

  I poured two mugs of coffee, adding cream to both and sugar to one. I sat down at the table with my mug and slid the other cup across the table to Benjamin.

  “Here’s what I’ve learned so far. Shapeshifters aren’t like vampires or werewolves who become supernatural after being bitten or drained of blood or anything like that,” I said. “They are born with that ability, but according to these books, it’s very, very rare. Because of this, many shapeshifter children are abandoned by their human families. It’s kind of awful what happens to some of them. Apparently, it’s common for shapeshifter children to transform into other kids when they’re getting used to their powers, and if that happens in a crowd and that kid gets separated from their human parents, the family will assume the child has been kidnapped.”

  “Correct,” Benjamin said, lapping up his coffee. “Many shapeshifter children will grow up on the streets or in foster care. Because of that, shapeshifters tend to be untrusting, resourceful, and incredibly capable con artists. They’ve learned to survive by impersonating other people to get the things they need like food, clothing and money. Shapeshifters are also excellent at reading other people. They have an uncanny ability to spot when a person is lying and to know just what to say to get a person to confide in them. They typically have photographic memories, which is partly why they are so good at fooling others into thinking they are their loved ones.”

  I stretched my legs out in my chair, crossing my ankles. “They have to remember things about the person in order to be convincing because their shapeshifting power only transforms the outside. It’s like my muffins. That shapeshifting spell only changed the appearance of the muffins. It didn’t make the inside taste any less burned.” I lifted my mug to emphasize my point. “So that’s a huge advantage for us. All of our suspects are not local. They’ve only been here a month or so to work on Blake’s movie. If this shapeshifter tries to impersonate any of us, we’ll be able to catch them by asking something that an imposter couldn’t possibly know.”

  “Yes, but you need to understand that shapeshifters are exceptionally good at what they do. You’d be surprised by the things they know about someone just by watching them. This shapeshifter has probably been studying us all month. I don’t think it’s wise for you to underestimate them.”

  I fished a dog hair out of my coffee, and wiped it on a napkin. “I have an idea
to narrow down our suspect list, but I don’t think you’d go for it.”

  The dog lifted his head, his long tongue licking the drops of coffee off his nose and jowls. “Let’s hear it.”

  “I could throw a party.”

  Benjamin stopped licking and blinked at me. “You… want to throw a party?”

  I took a sip and smiled. “That’s right—a big, wild house party with everyone from Blake’s movie.”

  “Did you hit your head?”

  I winced. “I’m not sure now is the right time to joke about hitting your head considering what happened to the producer last night.”

  Benjamin eyed me carefully. “One might argue that now is not the time to host a party for that very same reason.”

  “Two words—Martha’s wards.” I jabbed my thumb over my shoulder in the direction of the front door. “We have our very own monster-detector right here in our home. Anyone supernatural needs permission from me to get in.” I paused. “I mean, other than Dean and you.”

  “There is one main issue with your plan, other than it being in extremely poor taste to throw a party after a murder,” Benjamin said.

  I leaned back in the chair and combed my fingers through my messy hair. “We can call it a wake, if that makes you feel better.”

  Benjamin shook his head. “Do you know what would happen to someone who entered this cabin without you inviting them in?”

  “What?”

  “They’ll burn.”

  I set down my mug. “What do you mean, they’ll burn? Like a sunburn?”

  “No,” Benjamin said. “Not like a sunburn. They’ll feel excruciating pain throughout their entire body while they are in the warded areas of the cabin without your permission.”

  “Does it kill them?”

  “It will feel like it, but no. It’s all just a physical sensation. Their body will remain unharmed.”

  I steepled my fingers. “If they’re not physically harmed, it is really that bad?”

  “Would you like to give it a try yourself and see how it feels?” Benjamin asked.

  “No.” I swallowed. “I guess you’re right. It’s not the most humane way to solve this murder. Couldn’t Aunt Martha have just, like, set her wards make a beeping sound or something?”

  “Of course she could have, but she probably didn’t plan on her niece using her wards as anything other than a last defense against intruders.”

  “If all that’s true, why didn’t Frank Honeycutt feel the burning sensation when he was sneaking into the cabin to read the grimoire last year?”

  “You have to remember that Frank Honeycutt was not actually supernatural. He was only made supernatural temporarily because he drank werewolf blood once he was inside the cabin. My guess is that he got far enough away from the entrance before he ingested the blood. He wasn’t in the areas that were most strongly warded. However, he would likely have felt a mild burn as he exited the cabin unless he waited around until the effects of the werewolf blood had worn off.”

  “That was lucky,” I said.

  “Perhaps, or perhaps he had studied enough about magic to know how to find the loophole,” Benjamin said. “Let’s hope for your sake that no one else has caught on to that weakness in Martha’s security system.”

  “Is this the part where you tell me I need to spend more time studying magic?”

  “Or you can count on being lucky,” he said.

  The truth was, I had been lucky so far. Benjamin and I both had been in some tight spots over the last several months, but we’d made it out alive. How? Probably luck. I was humble enough to admit that.

  I heard my phone vibrate on the kitchen counter. I got up to check who was calling.

  Sheriff Dempsey’s name lit up the screen.

  With a sinking feeling, I answered the phone. A phone call from Angie this early in the morning was definitely not good news.

  “Natalie? I need you to come down to the movie set right now.”

  “What happened?” I asked, shooting Benjamin a worried look.

  “It’s Savannah Silver. She believes she was just attacked by the Shapeshifter responsible from Tom Nelson’s murder.”

  7

  Dark gray clouds contrasted with the bright green of the leaves that blanketed the tree-covered mountainside. The sunshine of the morning was quickly fading. It looked like we were in for more rain. I usually enjoyed a good thunderstorm, but with everything going on, the low-hanging clouds felt ominous rather than cozy.

  I steered the old company pickup truck down the winding gravel road. Benjamin hung his head out the window, tongue lolling, floppy black ears blown back like superman’s cape.

  The mournful country song on the gravelly truck radio ended and the radio host began to speak. “A rural North Carolina community made the headlines today when a prominent movie producer, Tom Nelson was involved in a fatal accident while attending the town’s Spring Equinox festival. Local law enforcement released a statement this morning confirming that the death was accidental. Sheriff Dempsey of the Wolf Mountain Police Department was quoted saying that ‘Tom Nelson’s death was a terrible tragedy, but not unusual for the terrain.’. Dempsey will be working closely with the park service to educate hikers on proper safety protocol to prevent future accidents.”

  Benjamin pulled his head back into the window, his ears twitching as he listened to the broadcast.

  “It’s fine,” I said, more for my own benefit than for Benjamin’s. “The story was going to break at some point. At least we got in front of it so we had some control over the narrative.”

  But the announcer wasn’t finished yet. “In a bizarre twist, sources close to the victim have come forward saying that the producer’s death was not accidental at all. Some claim that Tom Nelson was murdered and that there is a video floating around out there that proves it. The video has not yet been released to the public and there is some speculation that the whole thing is a publicity stunt to garner more attention for the horror movie, Devil’s Charade II, the sequel to the 2011 horror blockbuster. Stay tuned because we’ll be bringing you updates as this story develops.”

  I dug my fingernails into the steering wheel. “We’re in so much trouble,” I said. “Who leaked the video? Ace promised me. I don’t care what Dean thinks. Ace Harris wouldn’t try to sell footage of someone’s murder.”

  Benjamin itched at a spot behind his ear. “Even if the video goes public, it’s not the end of the world.”

  “Of course it is,” I said. “That video is proof of the supernatural. What are we going to do? Sprinkle memory dust over the entire planet?”

  “Don’t be dramatic,” Benjamin said, stretching out on worn vinyl on the front seat. “People will always find a way to disprove things they don’t want to believe. They’ll say the video was edited to look like the murderer changed into someone else. It would take a lot more than one shaky cell phone video to prove that shapeshifters are real.”

  I forced myself to take a deep breath. “Maybe you’re right.” I hung a left to pull into the lodge parking lot. The only other cars in the lot belonged to the cast and crew of Devil’s Charade II because the movie studio had paid to rent out the entire property and the lodge for the duration of filming.

  I supposed if things really got out of control with this shapeshifter business, we could look into relocating the movie people from the lodge to a hotel in Asheville. At least this time we weren’t snowed in with a murderous vampire.

  “Everything’s fine,” I murmured to myself as I flung open the truck door. “This was an isolated incident, and no one else is going to get hurt.” I hooked my purse strap over my shoulder.

  “Natalie, are you having a psychotic break? It’s not even lunchtime.” Benjamin hopped down from the truck and primly marched down the gravel path that led around to the movie trailers.

  “No, I’m just talking to myself,” I said, hurrying to catch up with him. “To keep myself from having a psychotic break.”

  “I’m not
sure it works that way,” Benjamin said, throwing a glance behind him. “I appreciate your optimism, but do remember that shapeshifter crimes are rarely isolated incidents. Once they infiltrate a community, they enjoy causing as much havoc as possible.”

  “Not helping, Benjamin.”

  We rounded the corner and saw the big white rectangular trailers scattered around the back of the lodge at the base of the unused ski slopes. I realized then that I didn’t actually know which trailer was Savannah Silver’s.

  I spotted Liam sitting awkwardly in a folding chair near a trailer while a makeup woman fluttered around him dabbing powder on his cheekbones and forehead.

  I waited a beat until the woman jogged back up the steps of the trailer. I recognized her as Tina Price, one of our prime suspects.

  “Liam!” I called out to him. “I’m looking for Savannah’s trailer. Do you know which one it is?”

  “It’s the biggest one,” Liam said. “Behind craft services.”

  In the natural light filtering through the clouds, I had to admit that Liam looked even more Liam-y than usual. The movie makeup somehow made his tanned complexion look as smooth and perfect as a plastic action figure. His aqua eyes look as vibrant as a fresh bottle of glossy nail polish.

  Liam must have felt me staring because he said, “Save your remarks, please. When I agreed to be in Blake’s dumb movie, I had no idea that mean I had to endure layer after layer of flesh-colored gunk being rubbed on my face for all the world to see.”

  “It’s called makeup, and, like, don’t take this the wrong way, but you look hot. You’re like a life-sized Ken doll.”

  “Is that supposed to be a compliment? I look like a doll?” He dropped his head into his palms and groaned.

  Tina poked her head out of the trailer door and banged the palm of her hand on the metal door frame to get our attention. “Liam, don’t you go touching your face now, or I’m going to have to do the whole thing over.”

  Liam jerked his head up, eyes wide with terror. “I didn’t touch my face!”