The Midsummer Murders

by Jill Nojack

  As Marcus’s voice went silent behind her, waiting for a response, she remembered she’d asked him a question, but she hadn’t listened to the answer. She peered closely at her wrinkled old face that wasn’t going to be made any more appealing by another application of lipstick, wondering why she was so anxious now that she had finally made the decision. She turned and smiled.

  “I’m sorry. I was distracted by my own thoughts. What did you say you got her?” she asked, fumbling with the ruby stick pin she’d pronounced clean of magic only that morning. It turned in her hand as she stuck it through the dress’s lapel, surprising her.

  “I got her that perfume bottle she wanted—”

  The unexpected movement of the pin caused it to prick her thumb as it emerged on the other side. She looked at it, annoyed. One small, bright, bead of red glistened there. She’d live.

  —“the one she asked for an advance for.”

  Her heart dropped into her shoes as her knees collapsed under her.

  Marcus moved swiftly to prop her up, his eyes wide.

  “Gram? What’s wrong?”

  “Call William!”

  “Let me get you over to the couch.”

  “Put me down now and call William!” Her voice, which should have sounded commanding instead sounded frantic and weak as the sting of dark magic moved swiftly with the flow of blood through her body. It had been concealed in the stickpin, warded against detection, waiting for its victim. And despite the strength of her own magic, she hadn’t had a clue.

  Marcus eased her to the floor, then snatched his phone to the side of his head, his voice rising in sharp notes of panic when William answered.

  23

  The magic burned through her. Her bones felt like they would shatter with the slightest touch. She fought back with everything she had, sending her own magic against the marauding force, but it wouldn’t be long before it overpowered her.

  How had she been so stupid? She closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see the wide-eyed terror in Marcus’s as she expired in an undignified heap in the entry hall. What a terrible thing to happen to him.

  It wasn’t her death that would harm him—he’d weather that one. Especially now that his mother would be able to provide what he needed again. She’d already left instructions with Gillian for the pill spell in case anything happened to her.

  But Twink’s death? No. Not when he discovered that he’d delivered the fatal stroke with his birthday gift.

  She had to pick herself up off the floor and get moving. She had to get there and stop the girl from being taken.

  But her bones were glass. And her heart was ash. And her body would not obey.

  And great generous goddess, it hurt when powerful arms moved around her and a hand cradled her head. She groaned with the effort it took to open her eyes. But she had to see him one last time.

  And there he was, sweet William, his mouth tight with anxiety, his eyes damp. Looking so handsome in his uniform.

  She leaned into him and whispered, “I’ll marry you. But you have to do exactly as I say now, no questions, no fighting me, or there will be no joy in it for anyone—”

  The rest of it rushed out in terse sentences, then he lay her down gently and kissed her on the lips before the pop that signaled his exit.

  She held on to the memory of his kiss, hoping it wouldn’t be their last.

  ***

  William was confronted by eight pairs of eyes, some surprised, some curious, some merely welcoming, as heads turned toward the sound the air made as it parted to make room for him. The woods were still, and the black of the robes some witches had already donned made no contrast against the shadows behind them where the woods met the clearing for their ritual circle. They were still socializing in small groups while they waited for the full coven to assemble.

  One of the robed figures stepped forward, turning down her hood. Gillian.

  “Isn’t Nat with you?” she asked, her voice ringing with merriment. “It’s still a little early, but we don’t want her to miss the witching hour if she plans to be here! We’re already several witches down due to the festival—even Robert was too tired to make it after such a busy day.”

  “She, I...” His voice shook as it hit him—he was in away in Corey Woods while the only woman he’d ever loved lay dying alone. But he’d promised her. He took a quick, deep breath and said, “Clasp hands. You’re needed. A witch is in danger. Twink has the bottle.”

  Gillian gasped and hurriedly ushered them into a loose circle. William completed it when he stepped between Gillian and Cassie, grasping their hands tightly. They were away in a heartbeat.

  ***

  Crow’s senses slapped him awake. He knew this pulse.

  His mistress was still silent, sleeping, unaware of the danger.

  His neck bobbed and wove, darting his head back and forth, scanning for the source as his black eyes peered here, then there.

  A sliver of light from the streetlight outside the windows stole in to glint off the sides of the old bottle as the top popped off and mist began to rise.

  He cawed sharply as he spread his wings to their full width and sailed toward the table, his claws outstretched to grab the bottle and fly it far away. His mistress’s eyes opened at his squawk.

  But it was too late to save her. An explosive rush of air from the bottle’s depths blasted him backward into the wall. Something in one wing cracked before his head slammed against hard plaster, rattling the brain inside his fragile skull as he slid like a rag to the floor.

  ***

  Daria’s heart did a back-flip when an entire coven of witches appeared in a circle around the parlor couch where she sprawled. She leapt to her feet and a dark red stain from her spilled wineglass moved across the floor, soaking into the antique oriental carpet as it went. Before she had time to breathe, the space where William had been standing directly in front of her was filled with empty air again.

  She looked at the stain, then glared at Cassie, who her brain told her shouldn’t be standing there even though she was. “There’s no way I’m paying for the carpet cleaning, Ms. Landlord. I mean, I know we’re friends, but...” She started toward the kitchen for water and a towel.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Cassie said, rushing to her and grabbing her arm. “Where’s Twink?”

  “Upstairs? Why? What’s she done now?”

  A high-pitched squawk sounded above their heads, followed by a loud thump and then a quieter one.

  “Omigoddess...”

  Daria’s heart went for a triple-twist dismount. “What’s happening?”

  “She’s in danger, yes. But that didn’t sound like a girl to me,” Gillian said gently. “It was the crow. Be calm. And come with me, all of you. In perfect love and perfect trust. The life of one of our own may depend on it.”

  She walked swiftly to the stairs with Cassie the next in line, the rest of the witches falling in behind them. Daria took up the rear, but when Gillian turned to look back when she’d reached the first landing, she told her, “Not you, Daria. It’s too dangerous, dear. Stay here.”

  “I’ll call the police, then. Get help.”

  “There’s nothing Karl Denton or any other non-witch can do. Just stay put. It’s safer.”

  In the part of her brain that her mother would always own, Daria could hear Mama gloating, could hear her practically shouting, that Twink’s wicked ways had finally brought her to ruin.

  ***

  William materialized in a broom closet at the hospital after only seconds spent in Daria’s parlor.

  He frowned as he looked around. There wasn’t going to be anything in here that would help him. It was just brooms, carts, cleaning supplies. But he didn’t know much about the hospital layout, and he’d thought the closet he’d never been inside might house medical supplies. He walked into the hall and looked toward the nurse’s station. A blonde nurse stood at the counter, eyes on her computer screen, intent on what she saw there.

 
He didn’t take the time to walk to her.

  He disappeared and reappeared beside her, startling her. She recovered quickly and said, “I’m sorry officer, I didn’t see you. Is there something I can help with?”

  He’d been reaching for her arm to push her to cooperate, and he was glad that he wouldn’t have to.

  “I need a few medical supplies. There’s an emergency situation in town, but it’s not safe for paramedics. Here’s what I need—”

  24

  When Marcus moved aside for William, the boy’s face was streaked with tears.

  No! Was he too late? Natalie’s still face had relaxed and gone pale, no longer tight with pain.

  No. No. No. That wasn’t going to happen. He hadn’t come back from the dead to let his only reason for living slip away.

  He uncurled the plastic tube that was already taped into the crook of his elbow and filled with his blood—the nurse had been more than willing to show him exactly what he needed to do. Then he tied the big rubber band off around her thin upper arm, hoping a vein would raise where he could easily stick in the other end of the tube with its sharp needle.

  There. Blood was still flowing. A vein rose weakly as the blood flow constricted. There was still time. He shoved the needle in, not caring if he hurt her—there might be so little time left—guiding it in like the nurse had shown him. Then he released the rubber band with a snap.

  He’d gotten it right, he thought. He stood, waiting for gravity to do its job and transfer his immortal blood into her mortal veins. It had to work. It had to.

  Marcus stood, too, nothing else to do but watch as Wiliam’s bright blood flowed downward. There were no words between them. The room was so still.

  No one breathed.

  And then Natalie’s eyelids flickered as her chest rose with a shuddering breath that her two watchers echoed.

  Her body convulsed, shaking itself apart as she screamed.

  William reached down to remove the IV needle, but her other hand flew out to grasp his in a grip of steel. He looked to her face, and her eyes were open, her mouth ceasing its screams, contorting with the effort, and she wore a twisted smile as her body still shook, slamming itself against the floor with each spasm.

  But healing. She was healing.

  Her color was better, and her grip would have been too much for him if he’d still been only a man.

  He held his arm out above her, letting the flow of blood downward do its work.

  He and Marcus both giggled like little girls when she managed to say, “Took you long enough.”

  ***

  “Twink, are you okay?” Gillian entered the second floor landing first and rushed to the bedroom door. A sound like rustling wheat was the only response from the other side.

  She turned the knob and opened it, but the door slammed shut violently before she’d stepped across the jam.

  She was lucky. A second later, and her foot would have been trapped and broken.

  Cassie was next to her then. They exchanged troubled glances. Gillian reached for the lock and blue magic leapt from her fingertips, coating the old metal doorknob in its glow.

  Gillian’s face squeezed tight in concentration, then she took her hand away, the blue sparks fizzling out. “Nothing,” she said. “I’m not getting through that. Any ideas?”

  “No, but we can’t just wait for Nat. Twink’s in there with whatever that thing is. There has to be a way.”

  Gillian’s hand moved to cover her mouth and chin, her kind, chubby face knotted with concentration now.

  “I have something,” she said after what felt like hours. “It could work. We need a few things.”

  “Well, what?” Cassie blurted out, when Gillian didn’t immediately continue. “What do we need?”

  “Don’t rush me. I have to think it through. Get it right. We can’t afford to make mistakes.”

  Cassie knew she was right. But the waiting was too much. Every second that ticked by could turn Twink into a pile of dust in the middle of her bed. She had to do something.

  She sent a blast of magic toward the door that nearly sent her tumbling down the stairs when it rebounded, the strength gone out of it, which was the only thing that saved her. Blasting at things with her magic was her only weapon, and it had abandoned her now, so she abandoned it right back as she regained her balance and went at it old skool, beating on the door with her fists.

  “Hey, hey you in there! There’s a bunch of nice juicy witches right out here in the hallway. You don’t need tiny little Twink. She’s barely a snack, right? There’s a whole feast out here. Just open the door.”

  She could hear Gillian giving instructions behind her. It better work, because her plan to get the thing to open the door sure wasn’t working. Plus, if it had, it might not be the best thing. It’s not like she knew if they were ready for it. She made a silent plea, Goddess, please let us be ready for it.

  The sound of many footsteps traveling down the stairs told her the witches were on the move as she beat on the door again, ignoring the pain, ignoring everything except the horrific image of Twink’s life being sucked away.

  Gillian appeared again and grabbed her hands to stop the pounding. Cassie fought her briefly before she yielded, fighting the urge toward tears. She had to keep it together.

  By the time Gillian let go of her wrists, the rustling had lessened.

  Was that whispering behind the door now?

  Go on your way, witch. I do not have business with you yet.

  It was Cassie who needed to grab someone’s hand now. She found Gillian’s and held it tight.

  “You did some good? See? You distracted it. But your poor hands—”

  They were red and sore and she knew bruises would come up soon where she’d battered her fists against the heavy wood.

  “—I gave Prudence the key to the shop. In a minute we’ll have everything we need to blow through that door no matter what’s holding it.”

  And to prove her right, footfalls moved swiftly up the stairs. Prudence was rushing up them with one hand on the banister and her other arm cradling what had to be half of the shop’s candle display. Every color. Whatever Gillian had in mind, they were covered.

  The other coven members reappeared in short order, all of them carrying supplies from the shop shelves.

  Sarah reported to Gillian, “I sent the cousin outside. She’s a mess. But I made it clear she should stay back from the house.”

  “Why does she have to stay back? It—” Cassie started, and Gillian interrupted.

  “There’s a chance that the spell could go pear-shaped. A small one. And if the circle shatters with the joined energies of this coven blown outward with it, well—it won’t be safe for those who are near it.” She turned to the other witches then. “Anyone who needs to go, everyone else will understand, you know that.” She squeezed Cassie’s hand and turned to her. “You too. It’s not just you who you have to keep safe now.” Facing her sisters and brothers on the stairs again, she said, “But we’re stronger together. We’ll have a better chance.”

  Every face, young and old, dark and pale, male and female, met hers with conviction. Nobody moved.

  “Thank you. We have little time. We need a candle on every stair riser in this order...”

  ***

  The parlor was dark when William landed with Natalie cradled in his arms, but a trail of candles lit the way up the stairs. The scent of pine and wormwood told Natalie that the coven was already at work.

  “You can put me down now,” Natalie said, her voice beginning to regain its usual tone of command. “I’m getting stronger by the minute.”

  He set her down, and she found her footing. She was still wobbly, and this wasn’t the time to bluff her way through it. She leaned on William’s shoulder and let him support her toward the stairs.

  “How can you stop it?”

  “If this killer is what I think it is, a skinwalker, I have a plan. Perhaps not a good one. If it’s not—”


  They had to dodge around the coven members who were sitting on every other step as they made their way upward. The others were chanting, oblivious, focused on their casting. If they were still at it, it had to mean that Twink remained safe.

  Just as they neared the top, the bedroom door burst open with a whoosh of air, and all the candles on the stairs went out as one, leaving them in total darkness.

  “We’re in!” a voice announced triumphantly. Cassie.

  “Don’t stop chanting, we need to keep the door open until we’re all inside.” Gillian.

  “No,” Natalie commanded. “It’s only the three of us: the Maid, the Mother, the Crone. The rest of you, make yourselves scarce as soon as we’re beyond the threshold. You can stay in the parlor, but get no closer.”

  A flurry of voices wove a protest through the darkness.

  “But that thing is...”

  “We’re here for the girl...”

  “It’s too strong without us...”

  “You just got here, you don’t...”

  “The Maid. The Mother. The Crone.” Natalie pushed the words out forcefully despite her weakened state. “Is that understood?”

  There were no sounds of agreement as she lifted another foot in the dark and continued upward, but the silence was as good as a yes. She turned her hand palm upward and formed a ball of light to help her on her way. It flared gently, lighting the faces of the coven beneath their cowls as she moved by them, quicker now, the healing power of William’s blood strengthening her by the second.

  When she reached the top of the stairs, she moved William’s hand from around her waist.

  “I’m nearly up to full speed now. Leave with the witches.”

  “But there’s no danger here for me, you know that. The worst that can happen is I end up out in the statue.”