Kiss My Witch (Bless Your Witch Book 2)

by Amy Boyles

  Em sighed. "That was a good minute of my life I ain't never gettin' back."

  "Well, excuse me for wasting your life, Miss I'm Ninety Eight and a Half Years Old," I said. It felt delicious to give Em a good dig, even though her only response was to narrow her eyes into slitty wedges of anger.

  She really was ninety-eight and a half, something Em had told me and my sisters when we first met.

  I rose. I was done with dinner. "My bed and a nice cup of hot tea are calling. I'm going upstairs unless anyone other than Em needs something from me."

  My family shook their heads in unison. "Great. See y'all in the morning. Em," I said, a tight smile stretching my face, "it was anything but a pleasure."

  The beginnings of a headache throbbed behind my eyes. I cut through the dining room, squinting as I reached the back hall, where I could take the rear staircase up to my room. I had lifted my foot for the first riser when a hand shot out and pulled me into darkness.

  FOURTEEN

  I started to scream, but a hand clamped over my mouth.

  "I won't hurt you."

  The voice was familiar. I tried to mumble that I wouldn't scream, but it came out as a series of grunts and rumbles.

  "What?" the person asked, removing her palm from my mouth.

  "I won't scream," I said.

  I twisted around to see Margaret Duncan standing in the dim alcove with me. Dark half-moons circled the underbelly of her eyes. Her hair was washed and combed, and her glasses sat righted on her nose. Other than the fact that she was worrying her hands raw, she looked much more lucid than she had earlier this afternoon.

  "I'm sorry if I scared you, but I couldn't let anyone see us talking."

  "What's so secretive?"

  "Things, Dylan. Things." She chewed the knuckles of one hand. Her eyes darted back and forth as if they were gearing up to shoot out of their sockets.

  "What things?"

  "That man talked to me, but I couldn't say anything. I can't say anything. There's too much to be said, or not enough."

  I placed a hand on each of Margaret's shoulders. "Margaret, what's going on?"

  "Hard, it's so hard to hear. So hard to think. Difficult to speak. Guilt. So much guilt." Margaret covered her face with trembling hands. "Your parents were such nice people; they were. Your parents."

  Why did she keep bringing up my parents? She sobbed into her palms. Great. Now I had to play nice person when it was the last thing I felt like doing. "There, there. It'll be okay." I hoped it sounded sincere. If only I was a better witch, I probably could have pulled a tissue out of my pocket.

  Luckily Margaret had her own. She blew her nose until the end became Rudolph red. She sighed and sank against the wall.

  "Margaret, is there something you want to tell me?" I asked.

  "No talking," she muttered. Her gaze danced around, resting on me and then flitting about to settle elsewhere. "No talking. Shhh. The walls have ears."

  I scratched the back of my neck in frustration. "Okay, then. What do you want?"

  Margaret rose. She grasped my hand. "Meet me at dawn in the garden. No ears there. No ears."

  She scurried off like a rat in the darkness.

  I left the alcove, unsure of what had happened. Tension knotted my spine. Tomorrow morning at the crack of dawn I would meet her. Then what? Whose guilt had she been talking about? Her own? Was she the killer? Or did she know who it was? Would she babble on and on about nonsensical things? If she had killed Loretta and confessed to it, then all the witches could leave and my life would get back to normal.

  Well, all the witches would leave.

  I climbed up the stairs, ready to collapse from fatigue. I opened the door to Reid, sitting on a bed, working on what appeared to be homework.

  "What are you doing here?" I asked.

  She shrugged. "Apparently someone wanted me back instead of at home."

  I grimaced. "Guilty." I grinned enthusiastically. She frowned. "I'm guessing you're not too happy about it."

  "Whatever," she said.

  "How'd you get back?"

  "Grandma or somebody transported me here."

  "Oh," I said pleasantly. "Wha'cha doing?"

  "Nothing."

  "Doesn't look like nothing."

  I tried to peek over her shoulder. Reid folded the papers away from me. "It's none of your business."

  "Really? Well, I wasn't interested anyway."

  "Good," she said snidely. "Because it's for me to know and you to find out."

  "Very mature."

  She fluffed her burgundy curls. "I'm only eighteen. You can't expect too much out of me."

  "So I see," I mumbled. I changed my clothes, washed my face and curled up under the downy comforter, ready for a night of sleep.

  My nerves jumped in anticipation of meeting Margaret in the morning. I set my phone alarm, tucked it under my pillow and closed my eyes. I was so tired it didn't bother me one bit that Reid had a light on. All I cared about was rest.

  ***

  I dreamed of unicorns. I lay on the ground, covered in sticky mud. It oozed through the gaps between my fingers, sank into the wedges of my toes. Thick goo caked the ends of my hair. Now, I knew that mayonnaise was supposed to be good for hair, but mud? That was a new one on me.

  But I digress.

  Titus towered above me, his horn pointed at me as if he would pierce my heart with it.

  "You disappoint me," he said.

  "What did I do?"

  "It's what you haven't done. My people. Remember my people before it's too late."

  He drove the horn toward my chest. Before it penetrated, I jerked awake. After gulping down several shaking breaths, I wiped a sweat mustache off my lip and crumpled onto my pillow, hoping I'd be able to fall back asleep.

  The next thing I knew, my alarm sounded with an annoying bleep bleep bleep. Morning had come too soon. I silenced it before it woke up Reid and Sera, and got dressed as best I could in the dark, which meant I'm pretty sure I put my bra on inside out, and I hoped to God those were my sweatpants I found and not Reid's, who wore one size smaller than me. I also prayed I hadn't put on my shirt backward, but I wasn't placing too much stock in that.

  Anyhoo, I had managed to check what time dawn was going to be, and set my alarm for ten minutes prior to that, so at least I'd done one thing right.

  I slipped from the room and headed downstairs.

  As I pushed off the last step of the staircase I heard, "What are you doing up this early?"

  I glanced back and saw Roman striding toward me. He wore a black T-shirt and jeans, though thank goodness he'd left the sunglasses somewhere—preferably his room.

  "Nothing," I said.

  "Doesn't look like nothing."

  "Just going for a morning walk."

  "The sun's not even up yet."

  Minor detail. "Um. Yeah. I don't mind bumping into things."

  He reached the staircase and stopped. Roman leaned his hand against the railing. Rivers of veins popped down his arm. He was so manly, so primal. I wanted to do some sort of she-purr to show my appreciation for his testosterone.

  "Dylan." He growled the word like my dad used to when I was little and did something dumb like crayoned the walls.

  "Yes?" I said, batting my eyelashes.

  "What are you up to?"

  "Nothing. Not one thing."

  "Why is it I don't believe you?"

  "Mmm. Must be your own guilty conscience."

  "Pretty sure that's not right."

  "Are you?" I squinted at him. "Are you?"

  "Yes."

  Okay. Well then. "I'm going outside. I'll be back in a minute."

  "I'm going with you."

  "No!" Way to be subtle, Dylan. "I mean. Please, stay here."

  "Now my mind's made up. I'm definitely coming with you."

  I huffed. "Fine. But you can't come all the way."

  "Why?"

  I whispered, "Because if she sees you, she won't tell me."

>   "What are you talking about?"

  I strode over to the front door and yanked it open. "Just come on. But stop when I tell you to stop."

  "I don't know if I can do that."

  I whirled around and gave him a blazing look. "You will listen to me, Mr. Roman Bane. For once you will do as I ask without any questions."

  The corners of his mouth curled in amusement. "And if I don't?"

  "Then you'll never know what you don't know."

  He cocked his head. "What?"

  "Forget it. Come on."

  We walked down the front steps and swung a right. As we approached the small arbor entrance, I said, "This is where we must part. You can stay here but remain hidden."

  He frowned but didn't argue.

  Satisfied that I'd one-upped the ex-assassin, I brushed my hands together and entered the garden. Margaret sat on a bench, waiting for me.

  Here it was. My big moment. I approached her from behind and very quietly said, "I'm here."

  She didn't answer. Afraid she'd fallen asleep, I clapped a hand on her shoulder. "Margaret, I'm here."

  She slumped forward. I jerked to catch her and didn't do a very good job. The older woman crashed to the ground, her body buckling like a jackknife.

  Oh no. This was awful. I grabbed her by the arms and heaved and hawed until I sat Margaret on her rump. The black handle of a knife protruded from her chest. Cold eyes stared at me.

  Margaret Duncan was dead.

  FIFTEEN

  So the day started with police cars, medics and the like. You name it, they were there. It took a couple of hours for all the extra folks to get cleared out, and once they did, the witches descended on Roman.

  "There's a killer on the loose!"

  "You can't keep us here."

  "Who will be next?"

  We stood in the ballroom, Roman holding an impromptu private press conference with the guests, I'm sure in an attempt to figure out what step he needed to take next. From the way they glared at him, I didn't think he'd be taking many more steps at all if he didn't get out of their way.

  "Ladies, ladies, please. I know these are strange circumstances."

  "They're not strange. They're deadly!"

  "Here, here!"

  He patted the air with his hands, trying to calm the roomful of Medusas. "Tell you what. Since this is an ongoing investigation and you were all supposed to leave today anyway, how about this: you can leave the premises and visit the town. That should give me time to do another round of questioning. You're not caged up here, but you can't leave until I'm done. That way you get a little legroom and I get the time I need. How does that sound?"

  "You said we could go home today."

  His jaw twitched. "That was before there was a second murder."

  The crowd mumbled, but not with much vitriol. They understood the truth.

  Roman clapped his hands together. "How does that sound?"

  A few murmurs of agreement trickled throughout the room.

  He smiled. "Great. We'll start transporting you into town. I still expect you to sleep here at night, though you're free during the day unless I call you in for questioning."

  The crowd dispersed, and before I knew it, I found myself practically alone in the room with Roman. How had that happened?

  "So," I said.

  "So," he replied, "have something you want to confess?"

  I grimaced. "I didn't kill Margaret, if that's what you mean."

  He shook his head. "No, of course not. I just want to know what you were doing there this morning."

  "Oh," I said, twisting my fingers. "I guess I might have been meeting her."

  Roman's expression darkened. "What do you mean, meeting her?"

  "Well," I squeaked. "She pulled me aside last night and told me to meet her this morning."

  "About what?"

  I shrugged. "I really don't know. It was mostly nonsense that came out of her mouth. What about when you interviewed her? What happened?"

  He sighed. "I shouldn't tell you."

  "But you want to," I said, grinning.

  He raked a hand through that awesome beach hair of his. "It was gibberish. I had Em look at her. Couldn't find a trace that it was a magically induced state, so we have to assume she cracked from the stress of losing her niece."

  "Who was she rooming with?"

  "Originally with Judy Waldrop, but after Loretta died, she got a private room."

  "Well, that's one family that's certainly being picked off, huh?"

  He nodded.

  I swiped a finger over my bottom lip. "And you're letting all the witches go into town."

  "We'll be watching."

  "We?" I asked, confused.

  "We," he said without bothering to elaborate.

  "I guess I'll be going into town. I have to check on the shop anyway, make sure there isn't anything I need to do before opening tomorrow."

  He nodded. Roman flinched as if he wanted to move forward and, I don't know, sweep me into his arms and plant a few smooches on my mouth. Instead he remained still. Darn it.

  I gave an awkward wave and turned to go.

  "Dylan," he said.

  I stopped, pivoted on my heel. "Yes?"

  "Be careful."

  "Will do."

  ***

  I dropped my family off at the house and rode into town on my own. Sera said she'd stop by her own store, Sinless Confections, later. The trip from our cottage to town took less than five minutes. By the time I rolled onto Main Street, the sweltering block was buzzing with bodies.

  Now, there are very few stores open in Silver Springs on a Sunday since it's, well, Sunday and all, but for some odd reason everything was open. Gus's, home of the deep-fried burger, had a line out the door. Across the street, Java Joe's had a steady stream of folks walking in. Even the children's clothing store, Butterfly Days, which was barely open during the regular week, had its lights on.

  What was going on?

  I parked in front of my store, Perfect Fit, and got out. Deciding that I'd rather be inside debating on this strange existential crisis than outside where I could possibly melt onto the pavement, I unlocked the door and let cool, electric air wash over me.

  Since I had the CLOSED sign facing out, I didn't bother locking the door behind me. As I started to turn away from the mysteriously bustling Main Street, I noticed a gathering of women outside Jenny Butt's store, Rustic Touch and Travel. I noticed Jenny herself talking to the group as if she were holding court or something. Next thing I knew, the knot of them marched inside. Jenny went in last. She poked her head out the door, swiveled it from side to side as if to make sure no one else wanted to come in, and then closed it.

  How odd. What was that about?

  The bell above my door tinkled.

  "Hey, y'all, I'm not open today," I said as chipper as I could.

  "That's okay; we just want to look around."

  Wait. Did they hear what I said?

  Five witches, mouths gaping, teetered at the entrance. Their eyes shimmered with delight as they took in the racks of clothing. I didn't know any of their names, but I recognized them from Balmore.

  "Really, I'm not open. I was only coming in to catch up on some work."

  One of the women crossed to me and patted my arm. Tall with square shoulders and short medium-brown hair, she was perhaps early fifties. I remembered her as one of the Friday night speakers before Loretta had been murdered—the one who wore the gloves.

  "We won't bother you, I promise, but we've all heard so much about your clothes we just had to see them. As you can imagine, after being trapped in that place for the past couple of days, we were dying to get out. And oh my, aren't your things lovely? Of course we all heard what happened to you a few weeks ago. Tragic and heartbreaking, but I know we're all elated that the killer didn't get you, Dylan Apel, for my goodness these clothes are absolutely stunning." She took a breath.

  I jumped in. "Thank you. That's very kind, Ms.…"


  "Judy Waldrop. I didn't get a chance to introduce myself earlier. But listen, you continue doing what you were doing, and we won't be a bit of trouble."

  Judy Waldrop! What a coincidence. Margaret's roommate. Boy, did I want to talk to her, but this certainly wasn't the best time.

  "Oooh," cooed one of the women. "Y'all have got to see what I found!"

  The gaggle rushed over to the other side of the shop to inspect whatever dress the woman had discovered. Exhausted from the whirlwind of conversation with Judy, I sank into the chair behind my desk and started going through some bills.

  Fun times. That's called snark, if you're not familiar, but I'm pretty sure you are.

  The women clustered in the back, oohing and ahhing over my clothing, which was pretty nice, I had to admit. Fabric rustled and hangers clicked on metal rods as they perused the goods. A couple of seconds later all five of them rushed up to me with a swoosh.

  Eyes gleamed, teeth clamped bottom lips tight as the circle of expectant faces stared at me.

  "Yes?"

  "You tell her," one said.

  "No, you," replied another.

  "Why not me?" asked a third.

  Judy cleared her throat. They instantly quieted. "Dylan, we love your clothes. They're everything we've heard and read about. I think I speak for all of us when I say we'd like to have a fashion show."

  Say what? "I'm pretty sure the town is busy with two murders."

  "Exactly why we need some cheer."

  Mmm. What was I supposed to say? Insert epic reply here.

  "It'll introduce all the witches to your clothes," Judy prodded. "You'll definitely gain some new fans."

  In that case… "Sure." I smiled widely. "Tell me what you're thinking."

  An hour and two pots of coffee later, we had a fashion show planned out to the finest of details. I had to say, the witches impressed me. They were nice, funny and even charming. Not at all the backstabbing biznitches I expected. They left the store in a cloud of laughter, and my heart felt lighter, almost as if there hadn't been any murders and I hadn't found a body only that morning.

  I guess you can't ask for miracles.