Hyraceum Roach. Amber’s mother? Spithilda’s sister? Why didn’t we know about her?
I wondered what had happened to her. She certainly didn’t seem to be involved in Amber’s life. I looked back at the picture. The youngest, a fair-haired pixie of a girl, was full of life and charm. I could hardly believe my eyes. It was Spithilda! There was nothing of the twisted, bitter crone who dwelled in the dismal, dim recesses of The Humps.
“This photo,” Druida suggested, “is quite possibly the last known picture of the entire Roach family in one place.”
“Why so?” I pressed.
“Well, a long time ago, way before you were even born, Spithilda got involved with a boy.”
“Rad Silverback,” I offered. Druida looked a little surprised.
“You know the story?” she asked curiously. I waved a hand.
“Bits and pieces,” I recalled our conversation with Portia Fearwyn. “But, please. Go on.”
“Well, the Silverbacks owned a stretch of heavily shaded woodland in The Vale. Archibald Roach was very interested in purchasing the land. The woods were filled with Wild Goldenseal. You still run Chimera’s apothecary, right?”
“I do, indeed.”
“Then you must know how incredibly rare — not to mention, valuable— Wild Goldenseal is.”
I nodded. “Grammy Chimera used to fuss all the time about how much she had to fork over to suppliers for the herb. And that was when she could even get it!”
Druida shrugged. “Law of supply and demand. And, you know as well as I do that Wild Goldenseal has powerful blood purifying properties. It counteracts poisons beautifully. Now, imagine if all the people who were singled out as witches during The Burning Times had had some Wild Goldenseal? They would have been able to neutralize the ill effects of the infamous Tituba’s ‘witch cake’ and escaped their death warrants! Does it surprise you that so many of us would like to keep some on hand now?”
“No,” I admitted.
“Right. But, people went a little overboard. They hoarded the stuff, harvesting willy-nilly. And the Unawakened didn’t help, what with the rapid deforestation of Wild Goldenseal’s habitats. And, for the Unawakened’s burgeoning interest in all things natural. Goldenseal can only grow in a shady forest, so its reach is sparse, to say the least.”
“And, that’s why it’s on the list of endangered flora and fauna. It’s insanely regulated by Talisman.” I offered, thoughtfully.
“And wildly profitable. Only one supplier is ever allowed to harvest each year. If you are that provider?”
“You’d be rolling in gold,” I answered her implied question.
“Or, in this case, Goldenseal.”
“No wonder Archibald Roach wanted the property so badly. Did the Silverbacks sell?”
“Not at first. No matter how much money Archibald offered, Heinrich Silverback wouldn’t budge. But, Archie was a shrewd businessman. He knew. Everybody has a price. He kept pushing and finally discovered something that Heinrich Silverback loved more than money.”
“And what was that?” I asked.
Druida leaned in conspiratorially.
“Power. And he was ravenous for it. Heinrich had been in talks with Atropa Belladonna to join the two families through a marriage between Portia Fearwyn and Rad Silverback. Heinrich wanted the power and prestige of becoming part of family with ties to the magical Congress. Atropa wanted a piece of the Silverback wealth.”
“So, how does Spithilda fit into all of this?” I asked.
“Well, do you know that Rad and Spithilda were seeing each other?”
I nodded.
“Well, that little hiccup was derailing the plans of two of the most powerful magic families in all of the Coven Isles. It was easy for Heinrich to control Rad. He just threatened to cut him off. And we all know how much Rad likes living the high life. The wild card was Spithilda. Heinrich told Archie if he kept Spithilda away from Rad, he would give him the parcel of land he wanted, and, so, a deal was struck. Rad broke off the relationship with Spithilda. And when Archibald forbade Spithilda from seeing Rad? You can imagine how that went over. And all for the love of money and power.”
“And that’s when Spithilda put the were-curse on Rad?”
“Oh! So you know about Rad’s secret?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’d make a decent historian yourself, Hattie. Well, after that, the Fearwyns wanted nothing to do with the Silverbacks. Apparently, Atropa Belladonna did not believe in mixed marriages. But, Spithilda did not leave it at that.”
“Oh?”
“She swore she would take her father, Archibald, for every dime he was worth. And she stayed true to her word as she proved to be a craftier business mind than he. Archibald Roach died, a penniless old man. Spithilda even acquired the goldenseal parcel.”
“Wow. No wonder she was so twisted and bitter.”
“Her sister Hyraceum finally moved away to the Isle of Mag Mell where she met and married one of the Fae. It’s said she’s even mastered some of the Fair Folk’s magic over the years. But, here’s where it gets fascinating. Spithilda wasn’t satisfied that Archibald died without a cent to his name. She didn’t want anyone from the family to take anything that belonged to her again. That included her sister, Hyraceum, and subsequently her niece, Amber, her only two remaining living relatives.”
“What did she do?” I asked with bated breath.
“She invoked the Mortis Haereditatem hex. No descendant of the Roach family line can ever inherit a single cent of her estate.”
“Why not? What are the consequences of the curse?”
“Death.”
A death curse. Spithilda’s final kiss-off.
Goldensealed with a kiss-off.
11
Escape Claws
“A death curse?” Fraidy exclaimed. “That’s paws-itively terrifying!”
“I’ll just be hiding in the socks if anyone wants me.” He jumped into the full basket of clean socks and buried himself deep.
I was back at The Angel Apothecary doing laundry. Pairing socks and separating the whites was probably the most mundane and decidedly least magical portion of my life. And I was okay with that. I was also making a new face moisturizing oil. After seeing Druida’s peachy complexion, I couldn’t help but feel I needed to raise the stakes in my own beauty regime. Bring on the oils!
Face of Silk Potion
What you’ll need:
90 ml amber or cobalt glass bottle with pump dispenser.
Extra Virgin Olive Oil (or untested virgin sesame oil)
Rosehip Oil
Argan Oil
Sweet Almond Oil
Essential oils of Lavender True (spike will also do) and Frankincense. 10 drops of each.
Pour olive oil (or whichever base oil you’re using) into the bottle until about the half way mark.
Fill the rest of the way with a combination of the remaining oils, in which ever proportions you prefer. Be aware, that rosehip oil is slightly red in color, so the more you add, the redder the potion.
10 drops of lavender and 12 drops of frankincense. Shake well.
Can be used as a night oil, so you don’t go out into the day greased up. I use it for mornings too. The oil sinks in pretty well, and it’s just so gosh darn nutritive and moisturizing. The very best way to apply this oil is to smooth it on warm, damp skin. It soaks in so much easier this way, and you can be confident that it’s penetrating the epidermis.
Going back to Druida. My talk with her had been enlightening, but also incredibly disappointing. I don’t know what I had expected to discover. Some cleverly concealed fact that would point to a definitive suspect in Spithilda’s murder? I mentally ran through the list of suspects that the Chief and I had gathered over the course of our investigation. I was determined to review each one in turn and look at their motive, means, and opportunity.
“This is terrible! I’m going to die!” The sudden, worrisome prophecy temporarily interrupted my m
ental detecting. Generally, I’d have expected such a morbid avowal to come from Fraidy, but this time it came from my normally hot-to-trot kitty. But, ever since Millie’s special du jour, Carbon had been groaning and belly-aching around the shop.
“Oh, give it a rest, will ya? You’re not going to die. You can’t. You’re immortal,” I quipped back. “But, if you don’t get a grip on that internal boiler of yours, you are going to need to find a new place to live soon. I don’t have enough money in the store budget to replace another set of curtains.”
The poor puss had, true to Onyx’s word, been burping fireballs randomly and with some frequency. Usually with absolutely no warning whatsoever. The parlor curtains upstairs had been first to go, but the front shop window panels and then the storeroom drapes had quickly followed suit. I’m pretty sure he even caught the back hem of Millie’s dress unless a reverse hi-lo hem was the new fashion and I somehow missed the memo. I leaned from the laundry room for a peek.
Yup. Charred as charcoal. He’d gotten her.
“Millie? Do we have any Cronewort left? ” Good old Artemesia Vulgaris was a herb on the list of digestive aids. Grammy Chimera used to give it to me after I’d been a little too over-indulgent with her snickerdoodles. I thought it might help Carbon’s upset stomach as well. I knew we didn’t have Goldenseal in supply right now, but Cronewort should do the trick. Well, that and it might help save the living room curtains while I still had some. And Millie’s wardrobe.
“I think so, Hattie. Lemme run downstairs and check.” I could hear the rapid patter of her feet down the stairs as she went to check the store’s inventory. Carbon padded after her, eager to get some relief. A few minutes passed as I filled the old tea kettle with cold water from the kitchen sink and put it on the back burner of the stove. I gave the gas knob a clever twist and a brilliant orange and blue flame erupted under the kettle.
“YEOW!” Millie’s startled voice echoed all the way back up the stairs. I winced. Oh dear. I’m guessing the stove wasn’t the only thing that had just flamed.
Sure enough, Millie came back to the laundry room, Mason jar in hand, and now sporting a smoking mini-skirt. She stiff-armed the jar in my direction.
“This had better work, otherwise the Chief’s gonna cite me for indecent exposure.”
I tried very hard to suppress a chuckle. “Go in my closet, Millie. I’m sure I have something you can borrow.”
I measured out a few teaspoons of the dried Cronewort into a tea ball and grabbed a mug from the kitchen cabinet. Millie plodded off toward my bedroom to try and find a replacement for her singed skirt.
While I waited for the kettle to give its shrill little whistle, I let my mind drift back to the case and our list of suspects.
First, there was Violet, owner of the Glessie’s Glamour Emporium. The self-professed coiffeuse readily admitted there was no love lost between her and Spithilda. Spithilda held the deed to Violet’s business and had recently threatened to close Violet’s shop. So, Violet certainly had motive. Next question. Did she have the means?
Well, nothing Chief Trew and I had uncovered thus far indicated whether she did or she didn’t. Maude’s autopsy revealed that Spithilda had succumbed to toxins that were found in the pokeberry plant. Although Violet had mentioned she was very proud that all the products in her salon were derived from natural products and were 100% cruelty-free, it was unlikely that she’d include pokeberry on her list of “natural” ingredients given its toxicity level. So, jury was still out on means. I rifled through the basket and pinched a fuzzy, blue sock between my fingers.
So, did she have opportunity then? Even if she didn’t carry pokeberry products in her shop, I supposed Violet could have acquired pokeberry through some other venue. If so, then had she had the opportunity to dispense the lethal dose? Her alibi was shaky at best. Rad Silverback had only been with her part of the night Spithilda was found dead. Not to mention, she easily could have poisoned Spithilda earlier in the day. The cold, unforgiving temps out in The Humps had muddled Maude’s time of death window.
I paused to paw through the basket, desperately searching for the other blue sock. No dice.
Grr. What the?
I tried matching a standard white one. My brain kept spinning.
I ran through the interview the Chief and I held with Violet outside her shop. What was it she had said? Oh, yes. She had traveled out to The Humps to try and deliver Remulus to Spithilda after he had been groomed for The Mutley Crew Gala. That’s when Spithilda had gotten so incensed about the pink bows Violet had put on the dog. That was certainly an opportunity. What I needed to do there was determine if Violet had gained access to pokeberries recently. I made a mental note.
The next person, er, wolf -person (Gless Isle was still a little fuzzy on politically correct terminology) on the suspect list was Rad Silverback. He definitely had reason to despise Spithilda, if not to want her permanently wiped out. Until Spithilda’s curse, Rad had led a relatively carefree life, enjoying the luxuries his father’s wealth afforded him. Even after he had broken up with Spithilda, he had looked forward to continuing a life of affluence and influence by marrying into the indomitable Fearwyn family.
When Spithilda’s little magical hissy fit had rendered him hairier than your average beau, Rad had been rejected by the Fearwyn’s as a suitable suitor for their daughter, and he had been shunned by his own family, forced to live a solitary life as a lone wolf. He had been compelled to turn into a conniving Casanova, preying on wealthy, single women who were oblivious to his curse, and bleed them for their money. When the funds dried up, he moved on to the next.
It was a hateful existence, to be sure. To add insult to injury, Spithilda, had, up until now, continued to hold sway over Rad, having provided him with the monthly elixir he needed to get through his dangerous lunar cycles. I’d call that a check in the motive column.
Means was another story. As with Violet, our investigations had remained unclear on whether or not Rad had access to pokeberry. Even if he hadn’t procured it from a typical source, I suppose he could have come across it as he wandered the Glessie Isle countryside. It wasn’t like the GIPPD micro chipped all the were-beasts who roamed the Isle. Werewolves might not have been in the upper echelons of supernatural society, but we certainly didn’t treat them like dogs.
I thought of the Fearwyn’s and their blatant prejudice against The Children of the Moon.
Okay. Not all of us treated them like dogs. Means was still a big, fat question mark then.
“Dang it!” I slapped my hands in my lap ineffectually. “Where in the world are all my socks?” I hadn’t yet managed to match one pair. It looked like I would be venturing out tonight as Druida version 2.0. Bohemian was very ‘in’ right now, at least.
Gloom meandered into the room toward the back door mat where she promptly flopped herself down. “That’s easy. Everybody knows there’s a black hole in your dryer that sucks one of each pair into it. Kind of like the black hole of life. Just sucks all the joy out.”
I wasn’t sure, but I thought I heard a hissy snicker emanating from the onion bin. I shook my head. That doesn’t even make sense. Before I could investigate, the kettle whistled its readiness. I set the basket of impossible socks to the side and walked to the stove. I turned off the flame and poured the boiling water over the tea ball of Cronewort. A strong, herbal scent wafted up from the steaming cup, a pungent, almost sage-like scent that I knew was going to linger for hours.
Artemisia vulgaris, if you didn’t catch the reference in its Latin name, was a herb of the Goddess Artemis. Some also knew it as Mugwort, and it had a wide variety of applications besides a digestive aid. The herb linked to the Queen of the Wild also had strong protective properties against such Gloomy Magic like The Evil Eye. Good to remember, I thought if I ever came up against a Romany witch. Its oil could also be applied in premonitory magic – for use with crystal balls, prophetic dreams, and scrying mirrors.
“Try this, Carbon. It should
help. I’d suggest you let it cool off a little before you try to drink it, but I know you like things hot.” I added six drops of deep sea Norwegian fish oil, just to make it a little more palatable for my furry guardian. Carbon moaned. “That might be true, humant, but things have been a little too warm, even for me, lately. Thanks.”
The 1956 Peggy Lee track, “Fever,” dropped on my mental turntable. I picked up the socks again, this time with a green and white striped in one hand, and a plum colored fuzzy one in the other.
“Sun lights up the daytime,” I hummed. “Moon lights up the night.”
The moon. Yeah. Back to Rad.
Motive? Absolutely.
Means? Questionable?
Opportunity?
Well, that was a whole other ball of wax. By his own admission, Rad stated that he had been at Spithilda’s on the eve of her death. He claimed that he had discovered her in her vardo, already dead. But, we only had his word for that. I think we could safely say that Mr. Silverback had had the opportunity to gain access to poison Spithilda.
But, if Rad had a motive to dispatch Spithilda for ruining his life, certainly the imposing Portia Fearwyn could lay claim to the same motive. Even though I had great respect for Portia and her magical abilities, she was not a looker by any stretch of the imagination. The betrothal that had been arranged by Atropa and Heinrich may very well have been Portia’s only chance at lifelong companionship, if not true love. And, Spithilda had dissolved that opportunity for the solitary resident of the Gaunt Manor. I wondered if Rad and Portia had any contact at all these days. Unlikely, after all the painful history, but, still …
I could sympathize with Portia on losing a prized person. Not a single day went by that I didn’t miss my parents and the comforting presence they had in my life. And, I longed to tell Chief Trew – David – how I truly felt about him, but could only pine for him from a distance, terrified as I was to lose another person I cared about so deeply. Even Millie I kept at arm’s length. I often caught myself thinking of my cherubic assistant like a little sister and quickly would admonish myself for the same thought.
The Violet Countercharm: A Paranormal Cozy Mystery (Hattie Jenkins & The Infiniti Chronicles Book 2) Page 11