The shoreline was much farther away than I'd expected. Zoey, barely recognizable, waved at me and shouted something. I couldn't hear the words over the distance and the slurpy sounds of the water lapping. Judging by her body language, one arm waving wildly, she wanted me to come back in. I acknowledged with a wide wave of my own, and began swimming back toward her, this time sticking to a breaststroke at the surface so she could see me. Traveling this way was much slower, and way less fun.
I was human again, but my skin was still as strong and resilient as neoprene, and my legs were not tiring.
Halfway back, I noticed a rowboat coming my way. The boat was hard to miss, being as bright and yellow as a ripe banana. I tilted upright, treading water, and waved at the boat's occupants. The rower was a man from my neighborhood, Arden, accompanied by his friendly brown labradoodle, Doodles. Arden and I had spoken a few times, usually while he was walking the dog and I was setting the garbage can out on the curb.
Arden returned my wave, and paddled nearer. The sky was darkening, night closing in around us. He frowned, straining to see me in the water, the effort making his expression seem angry. Whenever we'd chatted on Beacon Street, Arden had been pleasant. He had friendly gray eyes, receding hair, and fluffy white-gray eyebrows. The dog had equally fluffy eyebrows, though his were brown.
“Oh, it's you,” he said. “Zara Riddle.” He stopped paddling and sat upright with the paddle resting across the boat. “I thought you were someone else. There was another young lady who used to swim in this area, but... I should have known better.”
“Hi, Arden. Hello, Doodles.” I bobbed over to the edge of his yellow boat and steadied myself with my hands on the edge. The sun's rays were fading quickly, the night turning the yellow boat gray.
Doodles, who wore a red life preserver perfectly made for a dog his size, greeted me with a face lick. I leaned back and waved to Zoey on shore to let her know I was fine. She gave me an impatient wave. I held up two fingers. She crossed her arms and paced the shoreline.
Doodles had licked most of the seawater from my face. I thanked him and gently pushed him away. Dog saliva was no improvement over seawater, but I could wait a moment to wash it off.
“I hope you're heading back to shore now,” Arden said.
“Pretty much,” I said. “This other young lady who used to swim around here, did she have blond hair?”
“Uh...” Arden's fluffy eyebrows raised and lowered. The dog turned away from me and watched his master, resting his brown, curly-furred chin on Arden's knee.
I didn't have the dog's patience. I prodded the man with another question. “Was her name Chessa?”
Arden nodded slowly. He looked down at me in the water, the angle making his fluffy eyebrows completely shadow his eyes. “So, you've heard,” he said gravely. “Such a sad story.”
“I hear she's been in a coma for a year now.”
“Has it been that long?” He gave the dog a pat on the head. “Time sure flies. Hey, that reminds me of a joke. Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.”
“Good one,” I said, laughing softly.
He played with the dog's long ears. “Whenever we bumped into Chessa out here, I'd tell her a joke. She had the strangest laugh, like a sea lion barking. Doodles here must have thought she was a sea lion, because he stopped barking at them after the first time he met her.”
I looked right at the brown dog and asked, “Is it true, Doodles? Was she a sea lion, or some other sea creature?”
The dog's gaze darted between me and its master.
“She was such a cheerful young lady,” Arden said. “That's why it was so shocking when she... you know.”
“Arden, I don't know. What happened to her? What put her into a coma?”
He glanced around the open water. “I hate to say it, but from what I heard, she cut herself up real bad and threw herself into the water, not far from here. I heard she washed up on the shore, right over there.” He glanced over at Zoey and gave her a wave.
“She cut her wrists and then tried to drown herself?”
“I heard it was more than just her wrists.” His face wrinkled and contorted as he seemed to struggle, processing the idea. “The papers didn't report so much as a peep about it, but that's because they tend not to publicize suicides. Talking about it has a way of pushing other people over the edge.”
I gripped the edge of the yellow boat.
Suicide.
Now, that was a key point that Chet or Chloe could have kindly mentioned.
If I were to offer myself up as a medium for a wandering ghost, I'd appreciate a heads-up that the spirit in question might be suicidal. Shifting into a sea creature was a pleasant-enough surprise, but getting the urge to harm myself would not be good at all. Not at all.
Chapter 10
Tuesday morning, I jumped out of bed and did ten jumping jacks to start my day. No way was I going to let Chessa's roaming spirit make me sad or suicidal. No way! I was going to be ten times happier than usual, if that was what it took to keep the black dog of depression at bay.
The old wood floorboards under my bare feet squeaked like applause. So I did ten more jumping jacks as an encore.
Zoey came stumbling into my bedroom, wide eyed. “I thought we were having an earthquake,” she said. “I came to rescue you.”
“My hero! Your jeans are on backward.”
She looked down at her backward jeans, the butt of which was puffed out from the bottom of her nightshirt. “This is the style now,” she said. “The front butt balances out the back butt.”
I touched my toes and shifted gracefully into a plank pose. “Join me,” I said. “Get both of your butts over here. There's no happier way to start your day than with joyful movement to get the blood pumping.”
“Mom, that's what coffee is for.” She left my room, mumbling about my sanity.
I called after her, “Pour my coffee in a to-go mug, because I'm going to see Frank this morning.”
She grunted to acknowledge my request.
It was my fault she was tired and sleepy. Whether it's magic or not, there's a finite amount of Morning Person energy available in our two-person family. Whenever one of us wakes up extra perky, the other compensates by taking the extra-grumpy end of the teeter-totter.
While she corrected her number of butts and then clattered around in the kitchen downstairs, I started getting dressed for my breakfast with Frank Wonder.
I stared at my closet for two full minutes of indecision. Why was choosing the right outfit for the day so tricky? I hadn't looked inside Chessa's closet, but based on the decor of her house, I had a feeling it was full of tasteful shades of pastel, white, and sandy brown. She almost certainly had an impeccable wardrobe, full of high-quality textiles and flattering cuts.
My wardrobe, on the other hand, could be described as eclectic, or eccentric, or a very good start for someone attending Clown College.
But now was not the time to feel regret. No. I was going to be bright and colorful and happy all day, even if it meant closing my eyes and grabbing something at random.
And what I grabbed was a pink blouse. Normally, I stay away from the color pink, as it attracts too many well-meaning comments from older ladies advising me that redheads should never wear that shade. But I do love pink just as much as any other color, plus it seemed like a fun way to honor Frank's new beginning as a flamingo shifter. And I had the perfect skirt to pair it with. If my outfit didn't scream Ten Times the Fun, I didn't know what would.
I pranced down the stairs to greet my daughter.
When Zoey saw me enter the kitchen, she dropped her spoon with a clatter.
“You must be possessed,” she said.
“You think?”
I twirled, spinning out my vintage black skirt with the pink poodle embroidery. The poodle skirt was one I'd purchased from a props department sale run by a community theater group in our former hometown. The skirt had been worn during a performance of Grease, an
d it was the perfect pairing for my bright-pink blouse.
“Definitely possessed,” Zoey said.
“I'm not possessed at the moment by anything other than the joy of theater and dance!” I twirled again.
“We need a stun gun,” she said. “Or those darts they shoot at zoo animals.”
“Zoey, I'm still me.” I opened my eyes wide and stared at her. “And that's our new code for when I'm not possessed—I'm still me—because it's something a spirit wouldn't think to say. Plus I'll stare at you, like this.” I made my eyes so wide, they began to water.
She watched me closely as she poured steaming coffee into a travel mug for me. “Are you planning to go swimming again later today?”
“If I do, I'll give you some warning.” I gathered my hair into a high ponytail to complete my vintage 1950s look. “I'm sorry I gave you a scare last night.”
She sniffed and looked away. She would deny it, but she'd been frightened when I'd waded into the ocean and disappeared under the water. She'd called my aunt on her cell phone before I'd even resurfaced.
By the time I finished my chat with Arden in his yellow boat and got back to shore, Aunt Zinnia had been brought up to speed on the whole Chessa-gorgon situation. Zoey told me as much as she patted the side of my head dry with the sleeve of her sweatshirt before handing me her phone.
My aunt's voice came from the tiny speaker. “Zara, did you shift into another creature? Zoey said you were underwater for a long time. Longer than five minutes.”
“Something happened, but I couldn't have shifted.” I looked down at my wet body. “I'm still wearing my underwear.” I was also wearing Chessa's bracelet, the sea glass glinting in the disappearing light.
“Your underwear?”
Zoey hadn't told her everything after all. “I mean I'm still wearing my bathing suit,” I lied. “It would have fallen off if I'd turned into, say, a sea lion.”
“Zara, shifting is not an organic change, like a caterpillar turning into a butterfly. It's magic, and magic has a mind of its own. The clothes can shift with you, and then back again.”
“Are you sure about that?” The one time I'd seen Chet shift, he'd been naked when he changed back. That was an image I couldn't shake from my memory. His clothes hadn't shifted. But then again, when Frank had changed into his flamingo form in the staff lounge, he didn't leave any clothes behind. There was still so much I had to learn about magic and shifters.
“The only thing we can be certain of with magic is that it's uncertain.”
“Maybe I did shift,” I said. “Do you think it's permanent? Like, I'm a shifter now? Witch plus shifter. I'd be a double threat.”
“We ought to conduct some controlled experiments,” Zinnia said.
“It's not totally dark yet. I could go dive back in.”
“No! Don't!”
“Okay. I'll wait.”
“Zara, you must resist your impulsive urges to dash madly into the face of danger. Safety should be your top priority.”
“Absolutely,” I said while giving Zoey a slight eye roll and stuck out my tongue to let her know I was getting a lecture.
“Stop making fun of me,” Aunt Zinnia said.
“Can you see me?” I looked around the protected beach cove. Zoey and I were still alone.
Zinnia sighed. “Were you even listening?”
“Yes. You were saying it would be a disaster if I accidentally cast two conflicting spells on myself and got killed, like that time you killed me.”
She paused before finally saying, “I know you're attempting to give me a hard time, but I'm afraid that particular incident only underscores my point about safety.”
“Safety first,” I agreed. “Hey, thanks for comforting Zoey today when I went underwater, and thanks for being our mentor. Let's meet up soon, okay?”
“What's that sound? Are your teeth chattering?”
“No,” I said, but my teeth chattered even louder. “Yes,” I admitted. “It gets chilly after the sun goes down and your skin turns back to regular human skin.”
She told me to go and get myself warm at home, and ended the call abruptly.
Zoey helped me get my clothes back on, both of us mystified by how difficult it is to get clothes over damp skin.
“You're so sticky,” Zoey said. “Are you sweating glue?”
“I don't think so. This is just a taste of how difficult life would be if nobody had invented towels.”
“Towels are pretty magical,” Zoey said with reverence.
“They truly are.” I wrestled the sleeve of my blouse over my damp arm then paused for a moment to appreciate the everyday magic of towels.
Zoey took one last look out at the dark sky and ocean. “What was it like?”
“Beautiful,” I said. “Like being inside one of those underwater documentaries shot by scuba divers.”
“Maybe I should take up scuba diving,” Zoey said. “That way I can keep up with you whenever you turn into a mermaid.”
I squealed. “You saw me turn into a mermaid?”
“Maybe I saw something green glinting, just under the water, but I can't be sure.”
“We should watch The Little Mermaid tonight, for research.”
She laughed. “And we have to sing all the songs, too. For research.”
We walked home by the same route, the shortcut feeling sinister in the dark.
Back at the house, we huddled on the couch together, watching the Disney movie. We hadn't seen it in years, and while we didn't learn anything new about being a mermaid, we did laugh as we sang along with the songs.
After the movie, Zoey went to her room to read, and I took a hot bath in the claw-foot tub. I kept having to add more hot water. There was a chill in my bones that couldn't be banished. After my underwater swim, I couldn't deny that I was changing, under the influence of something or someone.
If I had Chessa's abilities, I might also have her emotions. And not just her tender feelings toward Chet, but all of her emotions.
Had she really tried to kill herself? Whatever drove her to cut her arms and throw herself into the ocean could become my fate as well. In trying to save Chessa, I could lose myself.
Despite my efforts to exercise and be cheerful the next morning, the weight of dread pooled inside me, dark and inky.
No, I told myself. No inky pools of dread. Not today.
I forced a smile, kissed my daughter on the cheek, and got ready to leave the house, snapping the lid on my travel mug of coffee.
“Have fun at school,” I told Zoey.
“Have fun at work,” she said. “Say hello to Frank for me.”
“I will.” At the mention of Frank, I checked on the three pink feathers in my purse. They were still solid and pink, unchanged. There was so much for me to learn about magic and shifting, and I was excited. Not depressed or suicidal at all. Just excited, with a side dish of anxious.
I called a taxi to take me to Frank's place.
Chapter 11
The taxi driver knew the address for the Candy Factory. He dropped me off at a tall redbrick building that evidently was a former factory turned into modern lofts.
Frank was getting his mail from the communal brass boxes when I walked up to the glass doors. He looked rested and ready to vault off a springboard into a triple twist. He'd been an Olympic hopeful in his youth, and even at fifty-five, he moved with a flexible ease on his skinny legs, which were currently clad in a pair of orange paisley trousers.
Frank saw me approaching the door, and flashed me a bright smile of teeth so white, they were blue. He opened the door and greeted me with a hug. His dyed-pink hair seemed eerily prophetic, now that I knew about his flamingo side.
“Good morning to you, foxy redhead,” he said.
“You've been underselling your apartment building,” I said, gesturing up to the avant-garde chandelier at the peak of the lofty entry. “The way you talk about your low-maintenance place, I pictured something more modest. This place isn't ostent
atious, but you have to admit it's fabulous.” I ran my hands over the exposed bricks of the interior wall. “And it was a candy factory?” I licked my lips. “Just imagine all the delicious caramel and sugar treats that were made inside here. If these walls could talk, they would say, 'Here, have a candied apple.'”
Frank snickered and nodded for me to follow him into the stairwell.
“I'm glad that's what you hear the walls saying,” he said. “Because 'Have a candied apple' is much better than 'Die, die, die!'” He gave me a knowing look and paused for drama before continuing up the stairwell. “This old building did house a business that made candy, at some point, but it was also the base of operations for a pest control company for nearly two decades. You could say the poison of choice was actual poison. It was owned by the Wick family during that time. And before that, well, let's just say the developer who converted it into lofts was smart to downplay that particular period of Wisteria history.”
I stopped caressing the exposed brick walls. “Was it a leper colony?” I shook my head. “No, it's too grand a building, and there are plenty of small islands off the coast that would have served better for a leprosarium.”
“You're getting warmer.”
“And you're really going to make me guess, aren't you?” I touched the wall again, and experienced a sensation of loneliness and gloom, along with a feeling of claustrophobia. I suddenly wanted out, and feared I'd never escape. Underneath that, I feared what I would do if I did escape. “It was a prison,” I said coldly. “A prison for the criminally insane.”
“Correct.” We'd reached the door of Frank's place, on the third floor. He gave me a look of admiration as he ushered me in.
Once he'd closed the dark wooden door behind us, he said, “That was wonderful, Zara. It must be so exciting to be a witch, and such a powerful one. I don't throw many parties, but I've had a few visitors over the years, and not one of them has inferred the building's original purpose without a plethora of hints.”
3-Book Series Bundle: Wisteria Witches, Wicked Wisteria, Wisteria Wonders - Cozy Witch Mysteries Page 53