She reached the stairs, ran up them, and took her daughter from Jenna, who seemed willing enough to let Mia go. As Gabi held her daughter close, protecting her child as best she could, and ran back down the steps, more birds came. They didn’t bother her, or Mia, or Jenna, but focused on Blake. They pecked at his face, his hands, low on his legs. He couldn’t fight them off, and if he had a magical way of protecting himself, he didn’t use it.
Gabi had almost reached Silas when Jenna sprinted past her. “Stop it!” she ordered. “You’re going to kill him!”
Silas didn’t seem at all concerned. The bird attack didn’t let up.
Gabi held Mia’s head to her shoulder as she caught Silas’s eye and said, “He’s deathly afraid of spiders.”
Jenna gave her a glare, and Gabi couldn’t help but wonder if that glare alone held any power that could hurt her.
“He’s an evil man,” Gabi said, in way of a warning.
The blonde rolled her eyes. “I know that, you idiot. But he’s a useful evil man.”
A split second later, Blake screamed and ran off the porch. He brushed frantically at his arms and his legs. Most of the spiders were small, but there were a couple of big ones. The B&B was an old house and looked to be deserted, so there was no telling where those spiders had come from.
“Help me,” he said, crying. Blake fell to the ground and closed his eyes tight. He protected those eyes with his hands, as the birds’ attack came closer and closer to them. His face was bloody. So were his hands. His clothing was tattered. Blake sobbed again, and then the birds were gone. At Silas’s direction, she had no doubt.
When Blake opened his eyes again and allowed his arms to fall to his side, he found himself staring into Judge’s condemning eyes.
At that moment, Jenna sighed and changed sides. “He still needs his hands to do anything.”
Silas stepped on one wrist; Travis put a boot on the other.
Blake looked at one man and then the other, and then his gaze shifted to Judge, who answered with a low growl. Only then did he look at Gabi.
“Gabi is mine,” he wailed. “You have no right to keep her from me.”
She could run and leave Blake to the men of Mystic Springs. But damn it all, she was tired of running. This was her fight. “I’m not yours. I was never yours.”
Her ex looked pathetic, pinned to the ground tattered and torn, bleeding and scared. “I love you, Gabi. Help me. Help me.”
“You don’t even know what love is,” she said.
As she turned to walk away he called out, “Mia is my child! You can’t keep her from me!”
“Try me,” Gabi said beneath her breath.
“She looks like me,” Blake yelled. “She has my eyes, and one day she’ll have my power. She’ll be just like me!” And then he laughed, all words of love gone.
Gabi turned just in time to see Silas lean down, increasing the pressure on Blake’s wrist. “Mia might have your eyes, and yes, one day she will be powerful. But lucky for us all, she has her mother’s heart.”
Silas looked at her then, and in that moment Gabi began to believe in love again.
Blake Pierce didn’t care much for the Mystic Springs jail cell where he’d been housed for the past three days. He’d tried multiple times to use his newfound powers to free himself, or to hurt those beyond the bars, but the spell that had been cast on this space held strong and he remained powerless.
Jenna should be in the cell beside him, but as they’d taken Pierce into custody, she’d somehow blended into the crowd and disappeared. With any luck, she was already well away from Mystic Springs. Her spell had no chance of success with direct opposition. Her only hope had been to catch them all by surprise.
If Silas hadn’t come to his senses, she might’ve succeeded.
It was election day in Mystic Springs. Since the voting population was a small one it wouldn’t take long to count their paper ballots. By early evening either Clint Maxwell or Harry Milhouse would be the new mayor. From everything Silas had heard, Clint would win in a landslide.
Even Gabi was going to vote. She’d been busy the past couple of days, not cutting and coloring hair but getting a driver’s license and a new car tag. She’d registered to vote.
She had a new cell phone.
Now that she was no longer on the run, it seemed a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She smiled more. She hugged more completely.
Would she stay in Mystic Springs? She hadn’t said. He hadn’t asked.
Nothing was holding her here. She could go anywhere in the world she wanted to go, without ever again needing to look over her shoulder.
He’d like to think that maybe she’d stay for him, but they were too new for him to be sure. If she’d stay a while and give him a chance, give them a chance, maybe they could make something of whatever this was.
Silas ran the dogs through town, on this mild March day. Their polling place was at the school, which was a couple of blocks off Main Street, so there wasn’t much activity downtown today. A couple of people at Eve’s. Someone at the boutique on the west side of the street.
And Gabi, standing at the window of her shop. Judge was at her side. Mia slept in a stroller, her face turned away from the sun.
Gabi had a tool of some kind in her hand, and she was busy scraping the painted Beauty Shop off the window.
Did she hate it here that much? Was she going to erase something of her home before she left town? She did seem to take some glee in removing the words.
She heard him coming and turned her head. She smiled, and it was such a real and happy smile he broke stride. It was a miracle he didn’t fall face first into the street.
As he neared her she said, “I bought it!”
“You bought what?”
She waved one hand at the window, which now read Beauty Sh. Part of the h had already been scraped away. “It’s in the works, anyway. I still haven’t decided what to name the place, but I always hated these chipped words. We’ll think of something.”
With that she returned to her work.
“Need some help?” Silas asked. “I can scrape, or Trudy Tucker can take care of it in a snap.”
“No, thanks. I’m kind of enjoying this.”
The dogs were getting restless, shuffling this way and that. With a nod of his head and a push, Silas put Judge in charge of the pack and sent them on their way, down to The Egg and back again.
Judge loved being in charge.
Silas peeked in on Mia, who slept on. “How about dinner tonight?” he asked. “We can go to Eve’s.”
“I’ll cook,” Gabi said. “I have a hankering for shrimp and grits.”
“Sounds good to me.” Should he ask Damian to stay with the dogs tonight or not? Maybe he’d ask, just in case.
He’d tell Gabi he loved her here and now, but he understood how she’d come to distrust those words, thanks to her ex. He’d move slowly from here on out, if that’s what it took. He’d give her time to get to know all of him, to heal, to accept that the bad part of her life was over.
If she’d allow it, he’d protect her from now until the end of time.
“I’ll bring dessert,” he said.
“Deal.”
Silas saw Judge and the pack returning. He’d have to take over for the bloodhound and herd the dogs the rest of the way home.
Gabi looked up at him and smiled. “Bring a change of clothes and a toothbrush, too, if you’d like. I cleaned out a drawer for you.”
He didn’t know what to say.
“You don’t have to use it, if you don’t want to,” she said. “I don’t normally move so fast, but I have a lot of time to make up for.”
Judge stopped beside Mia’s stroller; the rest of the pack kept going. Silas was out of time, so he just nodded and left with nothing more than a quick, “See you later.”
But as he ran toward home he smiled.
I cleaned out a drawer for you.
Blake reclined on the uncomfortable co
t and tried, not for the first time, to use his newfound powers in some way. He’d felt them come to life before he’d met Jenna, and then she’d taught him so much. But at the moment, he couldn’t even call up a spark or a breeze. In fact, he felt exactly as he had before he’d come to this town.
Incomplete. Angry. Now he knew what had been missing all these years. He’d tasted power, and now it was gone.
The cells themselves were cursed. He’d have to be patient. They couldn’t hold him here forever!
Cursed and utilitarian. There was a sink and toilet. The cot. He was literally behind bars. There was a slight opening in the bottom, there to one side, which the chief used three times a day to pass his prisoner food and water. It wasn’t even good food; it was mostly sandwiches and bagged chips, and the water wasn’t cold.
Blake could see part of the desk where the police chief sat, and now and then he saw the chief himself. He could hear everything that was said, which was normally not at all interesting. He only cared when they were talking about him.
Today their talk was all about the election. Local politics. Was there anything more boring?
It was past time for lunch when the front door opened and closed, and a frantic woman Blake couldn’t see called for the chief to come to the polling place immediately. When she tried to explain why, she mumbled her words and cried out in distress, until the chief sighed, looked in on Blake, and left.
They never left him alone for long. He wasn’t sure why, since he couldn’t go anywhere or do anything, but someone was always in the front room. Again, Blake tried to call up the magic he’d found and lost. Nothing. Nothing!
The front door opened and closed again. Blake peeked around the corner, wondering if the chief had already returned. Instead of the man he expected to see, an elderly woman with jet black hair approached. She placed a tall cake on the end of the desk and called out, “Yoohoo, Chief Benedict?”
As if there were many places in this building to hide.
“He’s not here!” Blake called.
The woman walked toward him, smiling a wrinkly, false-toothed grin. “Oh, you must be Blake Pierce.”
“I am.” It was a small town. He imagined everyone knew who he was and what he’d been accused of.
“I knew your mother,” the crone said. “Haven’t seen her for years.”
“Small world.”
“Not really,” she said, shaking her head.
Blake shifted his head and looked at the cake sitting on the chief’s desk. After three days of bologna, water, and white bread, he was dying for something tasty. “What kind of cake is that?”
“Caramel,” she said.
His favorite. His mother wasn’t much of a cook, but she’d been a decent enough baker. She’d made caramel cake for every holiday. “You could sneak me a piece,” he said with a smile.
She smiled coyly. “Oh, should I? It doesn’t seem right.” Her head cocked to one side. “But you know, your mother gave me that recipe, not long before she left town. Maybe it would be okay if I let you try it out.”
She walked back to the outer room, was out of sight for a moment, then returned with a paper plate and plastic fork. She cut the cake with a long knife she’d brought with her. If he could get his hands on that knife…
With the plate balanced carefully in fragile, veiny hands she returned to him. It was difficult for her to lean down far enough to make use of the opening in the bottom of the cell, but she managed.
Blake didn’t stop thinking of ways to get hold of her knife, but those thoughts took a back seat to his desire for that cake.
The old woman walked back into the outer room, as Blake took the cake and sat on the edge of his cot. He smelled it. Touched the icing with his tongue and almost melted in pleasure. Finally, something with flavor!
The old woman pulled a chair around and placed it where she could sit and watch him eat. Unfortunately she was too far away from him to grab, but he’d worry about that after he ate.
Using the plastic fork, he dug in. God, it was a good cake. Just like his mother’s. He took one bite and then another, and then another, and as he ate he forgot all about escape. For now.
When he looked up, he was surprised to see that the old woman’s smile was gone. “I don’t bake much anymore,” she said. “My oven is always broken, and no one wants me to bake. For today, Ginger made an exception and allowed me to use her oven. I thought it was quite nice of her.”
“This is fantastic,” he said. “Just like my mother’s.”
The woman pursed her lips. “You killed her, didn’t you?”
The accusation came out of nowhere; he hadn’t been expecting it. His initial response was a grunt.
“You can tell me,” she said. “My mind isn’t what it used to be, and I know I won’t live out the year. Who’s going to believe me, even if I tell? I can’t say I blame you. Wanda Bolton could be a bitch.”
“Her death was a tragic accident.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
Blake shrugged his shoulders, then licked the crumbs that were left on his plate. “She shouldn’t have nagged me so much.”
“Yes, it’s surely all her own fault.” His visitor leaned forward. “You didn’t even ask my name.”
What difference did it make? Again, he shrugged his shoulders.
“I’m Frannie Smith. For several years I was mayor, but then as I said my mind began to fail me and I thought it best to resign. Lucky for me, this has been a good day. It’s one I want to remember.” Then she smiled again and said, “Why don’t you slide that paper plate out to me so I can dispose of it. We wouldn’t want Chief Benedict to know that I’ve been feeding you unapproved food.”
He did as she asked, hoping she’d move close enough to the bars that he could reach out and snag her thin, fragile arm. Unfortunately, she used the toe of her foot to snag the edge of the plate and slide it closer.
When that was done she took a garbage bag from her purse, dropped the plate and fork inside, and then she walked into the outer room, grabbed the entire cake from the chief’s desk and dropped it into the garbage bag, too.
Then she looked at him. “Your mother called it Death Cake, but I always preferred Funeral Cake. My name focuses on the rituals we use to say goodbye to loved ones, even though those who deserve the cake rarely have true loved ones. But the result is the same.”
The truth hit him. Blake’s mouth went dry. “Have you poisoned me? You bitch, you old, wrinkled bitch!”
She smiled at his insults. “Anyone can use poison. How pedestrian! I use a spell to call death upon anyone who eats my cake. It’s my gift, and one I haven’t needed to call on often in my lifetime. Death might come for you today. It might come in a couple of days. You might die of a heart attack, choking, a car accident. Why one time, long before I took over the job of baking the Funeral Cakes, a man tried to run and a tree fell on him. You can’t run from death.”
It sounded ridiculous, but then, he’d seen a lot of ridiculous since coming to Mystic Springs.
“The bars block magic, right?” he asked, trying not to sound hysterical. And failing.
“True, these cells block a Springer’s magic. But this cake was made well beyond these bars, and I think you’ll find it’s not affected.” She sounded far too sure of herself.
He should’ve let Gabi go. He knew that now. Too late.
Maybe Jenna could save him. Magic was a threat; only magic could save him.
“Do me one favor,” he said frantically, grasping the bars in two worthless hands. “My friend Jenna. I really have come to care for her. Can you find her for me? Tell her I need to see her before… before I die?”
Frannie Smith laughed at him. “Oh, honey, Jenna isn’t going to be able to do you any good. She’s run, like she always runs when things don’t go her way. Last Ginger saw Jenna was in Florida, making her way to your house. Her magic will continue to be active for a few more days, perhaps a week, so…” She shrugged. “There’s no telling
what she’ll do.”
Blake returned to his cot. He knew exactly what Jenna would do. She’d wear his face into the bank and clean out his accounts. Maybe she’d live in his house for a while before she moved on. She’d have enough money to go wherever she wanted.
He started to laugh, and couldn’t stop.
He was dead four minutes after Frannie Smith exited the police station with the remnants of her last Funeral Cake in a white trash bag.
Chapter 19
Clint sat at an impressive desk in an unimpressive room. He growled, not for the first time on his first day as mayor.
“This was supposed to be an easy job,” he grumbled.
“It will be,” Travis said. “Eventually. It’s not every day that we have a dead serial killer on our hands.”
Silas was only present because the dead man had once been married to his girlfriend. He didn’t quite understand it, but Clint had asked him to be here so he was. “Serial killer?” he asked.
Travis looked his way. “Apparently so. According to Ginger he not only killed his mother, he murdered a handful of women over the years. He chose victims who wouldn’t be missed, so he’s been getting away with it.”
If Pierce had gotten his hands on Gabi, she’d be dead now. A shiver walked down Silas’s spine. He couldn’t lose her.
“Anyway,” Travis continued, “I made a few calls this morning. Pierce was wanted for questioning in his mother’s death. He tried to make it look like an accident, but he did a poor job. I’m going to poke around town and see if anyone can come up with anything that might point the authorities to his previous victims. If I do, I’ll get that information into the right hands. The local police do want Pierce’s body, probably to make sure he’s really dead. It’ll be transported out this afternoon.”
Not a moment too soon.
“If they do an autopsy, which I expect they will, what are they going to find?”
Beauty and the Beastmaster (Mystic Springs Book 3) Page 17