It Takes a Witch: A Wishcraft Mystery

by Heather Blake

  “Phone,” I mouthed. There was one sitting on the desk inside the office.

  Nodding, he motioned me to go in, but he kept moving toward the front of the shop.

  I took a step into the office. Moonbeams streamed in through a high window, lighting a space that was small and tidy with a desk, a filing cabinet, and some shelves. There wasn’t much personality that I could see. No pictures, no knickknacks, no clutter. I removed the phone from its base and punched in 911. I left it off the hook, knowing that the operator would trace the number while I darted back into the hallway. To borrow one of Harper’s phrases, I was feeling some seriously bad juju.

  The musky scent of herbs mixed with sweet perfumy undertones filled the air as I caught up with Nick at the end of the hallway. He held a finger to his lips. Missy, normally a yapper, was quiet as could be, as if she could sense the danger.

  The shop’s layout was a smaller version of the bookstore’s: Narrow floor-to-ceiling shelving lined one whole wall, and the shelves were filled with glass bottles tiny, large, thin, and wide. There were three rows of shelves directly in front of us, neatly stocked with bottles of lotions, bath scrubs, and beauty supplies. To our right was the cash register area, a horseshoe-shaped counter that had a large chest of drawers behind it. This was where the burglar was rummaging, bent over, back to us. It was hard to tell whether the person was a man or a woman. All I could see was that the person wore a long flowing black satin cape, hood up. The counter concealed the burglar’s lower half.

  The person obviously hadn’t heard us come in, as he or she continued to rummage through the chest of drawers. Stacks of papers sat on its top, tossed aside after a quick scanning. The burglar was apparently looking for something specific.

  A beautiful wooden box sat on the counter next to the cash register, and atop that, the pink pointy hat Mimi admired. I wanted to snatch it for her, and wondered if Nick would care.

  He looked at me over his shoulder and nodded downward—telling me with his eyes to stay right where I was. I was already thinking ahead, to if the burglar somehow got away from Nick and came my way. Being hidden had its advantages. All I’d have to do was stick out my foot, and the thief would go sprawling face-first.

  Keeping low, and out of sight beneath the countertop, Nick crept closer to the intruder. Closer and closer. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel my pulse beating near my ear. Missy’s heart, too, was working overtime. I could feel it thumping against my palm.

  In the distance, I could hear the faint bleat of an approaching siren. Nick had reached the opening leading behind the counter. There was really no escape for the burglar unless the person scaled the counter—and I was ready if that happened. Nick slowly rose from his crouch.

  Missy barked.

  The intruder jerked upward, and suddenly there was a puff of sparkling bright light.

  Nick lunged forward and grabbed…nothing at all.

  The intruder had vanished.

  Just. Like. That.

  Chapter Eleven

  The next morning, I propped one foot on the bench beneath the birch tree in a pose I’d seen other runners strike and fought back a yawn as I waited for Starla Sullivan. It was early, just after six. The green was quiet, eerily still, with an early-morning haze that would be sure to burn off as the sun rose higher in the sky.

  Across the green, I studied Lotions and Potions. There was nothing out of place, no reminder of what had happened last night.

  Maybe because what had happened wasn’t clear.

  By the time the police arrived, Nick and I had agreed to lie and say the intruder had evaded both of us and escaped out the back door. Our statements were taken and we had been sent on our way.

  Neither of us had really talked about what had happened, what we’d seen.

  He’d been stunned. I’d been left wondering what kind of Crafter had been at work. I didn’t know of a Craft family that could make themselves disappear. I hadn’t known what to say, or how to explain. All I could do was act as baffled as he was—which wasn’t much of a stretch.

  If it was indeed a Crafter in the shop, what was he or she looking for? Had Alex really known something about the Craft, as she had intimated at the bookshop the night she died? Was it possible she had been a Crafter?

  I glanced over at As You Wish, looking spectral in the spooky light. I’d been eager to talk to Ve this morning, but I had been quite surprised to find her room empty. Missy and her leash were gone, too, so I figured they were out on a morning walk, but I hadn’t seen them on the green.

  I was trying my best to ignore the little knot of worry in the pit of my stomach. I really needed to talk to Ve about the Goodwins. And how I could bring them home.

  Harper had been sleeping when I left, but she had plans to work in the bookshop today. I was curious to see what she would learn about the latest incident at Lotions and Potions, Alex’s life, and Griffin Huntley after another day on the job.

  I had my own sleuthing to do—namely, get Evan’s alibi and find out what was bothering Mrs. Pennywhistle. Whatever it was had to be related to Alex Shively.

  I switched legs, stretching my muscles. Hearing footsteps, I turned to find Starla jogging toward me, a bright spot in the murky morning. She wore a bright blue T-shirt, matching shorts, and neon green sneakers. Her blond ponytail swung wildly as she bounded up and jogged in place. Beads of sweat pearled along her hairline, and I noticed she was huffing and puffing just a bit.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Fine! Great! I love running! Ready?”

  I was as ready as I’d ever be. I hadn’t had a chance to get new running shoes yesterday, and I wasn’t nearly as color-coordinated as Starla. I wore an old pair of black gym shorts, a vintage Tom and Jerry T-shirt, and my old sneakers. My hair was pulled high atop my head and coiled into a sloppy bun. My face had been scrubbed clean of any glitter.

  We started at a slow pace along the path that wound around the green. “How’s Evan?” I probed. “Is his face any better?”

  “I haven’t seen him this morning, but he looked terrible last night.” She breathed hard. “We’re not sure what to do.”

  I reached up and rubbed the spot on my forehead where Dennis Goodwin’s hands had cured my headache the night before. Would he—or Cherise—be able to help Evan?

  Carefully watching my words, I said, “I’ve heard of a local doctor, Dennis Goodwin, who comes highly recommended. Maybe Evan should try and see him.”

  Starla gave me a sideways look, one full of curiosity. “You’ve heard of Dr. Goodwin?”

  I left out the part about how I made his wife and daughter disappear, and tried to sound casual. “Aunt Ve mentioned something about him. Apparently, he’s popular around here?”

  We had slowed to the pace of a fast walk. Starla’s fair skin had flushed a bright pink. “Very popular, and therefore booked up for the foreseeable future. Evan tried to get an appointment, but because he’s a new patient, it will be three months.”

  “Even for an emergency?”

  Starla rolled her eyes. “The receptionist said if it was an emergency to go to the emergency room.”

  My heart was starting to beat harder. I successfully veered around a foraging squirrel. “That might not be a bad idea.”

  “Trust me, I’ve suggested it. Boston has some of the best doctors in the world. But Evan is being stubborn—he keeps hoping his skin will clear on its own. Maybe he’ll listen to you. Are you still coming by today to see him?”

  I nodded, although I felt guilty that I also needed to see if he had an alibi for the time of Alex’s death.

  “Good. I really hope you can talk some sense into him and get him to a doctor.” Huff, puff. “I hate to see him suffering.”

  Maybe I could ask Cherise for a favor. After all, I knew she was a Curecrafter and I figured she owed me, using me the way she did to get her wishes granted.

  There were no Craft laws against what Cherise had done other than ethical ones. Craf
ters were very aware that they shouldn’t take advantage of one another or their powers. I could only figure that Cherise was really desperate to piece her family back together to abuse my powers like she had.

  Starla and I jog-walked in silence for a little bit before passing in front of Lotions and Potions. Starla craned her neck as we went by. “Did you hear about the break-in last night?” She glanced my way. “Evan and I were watching a movie, and heard all the hubbub.”

  A cramp was starting somewhere near my liver. I pressed my hand into it and forced a wry smile. “A little bit. I was there.”

  She came to a sudden stop, and her jaw dropped. “Details!”

  I explained what had happened and hoped she didn’t notice the gaping holes in my story.

  It didn’t escape my notice that she had specifically mentioned that she and Evan had been watching a movie when the burglar hit. Had mentioning it just been her being her normal friendly self? Or had it been because she wanted to give herself and Evan an alibi?

  I hoped I wasn’t being too obvious when I asked, “Which movie were you watching? Anything good?”

  She stumbled a bit, tripping over a crack in the sidewalk, then righted herself. Her blond eyebrows rose, and a bead of sweat slid down the side of her face. “Something with Denzel Washington. Evan has a crush.”

  “Don’t we all?”

  She laughed. “Guns, running, shouting.” She shrugged as she trotted along. “I get all the titles mixed up.”

  It sounded plausible, especially since I couldn’t keep those movies straight, either. Even still, something wasn’t sitting right. I didn’t quite trust what she was saying.

  Had Evan been the intruder? I supposed it was possible. Though neither Nick nor I saw a face, the burglar had been on the small side, and thin. It could have been Evan. If I were in his shoes, I might have broken into the shop, too.

  Which also made me think about the way the intruder had disappeared in a dazzling cloud of smoke. If it was Evan, did that mean he was a Crafter? Was it possible? And if he was a Crafter, was Starla?

  I glanced at her. Her pink cheeks had turned red with exertion. She didn’t appear to be trying to pull one over on me.

  “So you didn’t see who it was?” Starla asked.

  “It was too dark, and the intruder was wearing a hooded cape.”

  “A cape? How dramatic.”

  Dramatic. The word reminded me of Evan’s mention that he was involved in theater. He might have access to a cape from the wardrobe department.

  “Very.” I’d try to get more out of Evan today instead of pushing Starla. The cramp in my side was subsiding as we passed a crowded Witch’s Brew. A nice scone sounded good right about now, but I figured Starla might notice if I suddenly steered off course and headed straight for the baked goods. My flaccid arms might notice, too.

  Most of the haze had burned off as we rounded a curve. Birds chirped happily, the green grass glistened with dew, and the sun warmed my face. “It’s bound to be another busy day here,” I said, my words coming out in staccato bursts. My chest was burning, tight with the strain of exercise, a foreign concept to my body. Summer weekends were the village’s busiest time. Tourists came in droves to soak in the enchantment.

  “I hope so,” Starla puffed. “The green cleared out pretty fast yesterday after those police reports were filed.”

  I slowed to a stop. “Police reports?”

  Starla bent at the waist and tried to take in gulping lungfuls of air. “You didn’t hear?”

  I shook my head. “What happened?”

  “The pickpocket struck again.” She sank into a crouch.

  I sank down next to her and we both plopped to the ground, sitting on the grass, off the pathway. “How many times?”

  “Five, to the tune of about two hundred dollars each, give or take.”

  A thousand dollars. I could feel my eyes widen.

  “Yeah,” Starla said. “It’s a little shocking.”

  “I hadn’t heard a thing.”

  “It happened during the late-afternoon, early-evening hours. The green was a ghost town by eight.”

  I’d been too wrapped up with Aunt Ve and then the Goodwins to notice.

  “It’s not going to be too long before the media catches wind and descends full force—they’re already sniffing around Alexandra’s death. This could be disastrous for the upcoming dance—and the village itself. I’m not sure this is a job Nick Sawyer can handle on his own.” Her eyes brightened. “Maybe we should help him. Form a task force or something.” She gestured with excitement. “I’m on the green most of the day with my camera, anyway. I can be a lookout or something.”

  What was with the people in my life willingly jumping into the thick of things? Wasn’t anyone content with minding their own business anymore?

  Then a little stab of guilt pricked my conscience. Hadn’t I thought about going into Lotions and Potions alone last night? And been more than willing to when Nick arrived? That wasn’t exactly minding my own business.

  So why was a cringe my first reaction to Starla’s plan?

  Nick, I realized.

  Somehow in the past two days, he’d been shoehorned into my life. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Or him. He stirred things in me that I’d rather leave covered in emotional dust.

  I had to be careful around him. Not just to guard my feelings, but to protect my heritage as well. He was bound to question what he’d seen last night, and because I’d seen it, too, it seemed reasonable that he’d come to me with questions and theories.

  “I can take Missy for more walks than normal,” I said, pushing Nick out of my thoughts, “and also ask Harper to keep an eye out for anyone suspicious, even couples and families.”

  Starla’s color was slowly returning to normal. “You don’t think the pickpocket is working alone?”

  I picked at some grass. “It seems like someone working alone would stand out around here. But if there’s a pair, or even someone using kids as a distraction, then they might be easy to overlook.”

  Starla was nodding as she stood up, dusting herself off. “I’m still not convinced that whoever is stealing from the tourists didn’t kill Alex, too. That watch was worth a fortune.”

  True, which made me think just the opposite—the pickpocket would be long gone if he was sitting on a fifty-thousand-dollar watch.

  “I’m not sure how much Nick would like us helping him out,” I said. In fact, I was pretty sure he’d hate it. “So maybe we shouldn’t tell him just yet?”

  Starla nodded. “Good point. We’ll keep it on the down low for now. I need to head off and check on the bakery—Evan’s going to miss another day of work. I’ll see you later?”

  “Noontime sound okay?” It would give me enough time to paint the wombat piñata this morning.

  “Perfect,” she said. “I might be a little late, but don’t leave without seeing me.” Her tone shifted, turning serious. “There’s something I want to show you.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “You’ll see. Something illuminating.” She waved and ran off, heading toward the Gingerbread Shack.

  Something illuminating.

  It didn’t sound bad, but for some reason my stomach was now full of dread.

  ChapterTwelve

  After scooping up the wombat from the back porch, I made my way into the kitchen, where I found Aunt Ve at the stove, scrambling eggs and frying bacon. I set the wombat on the counter. It wobbled, then steadied. The scent of coffee hung alluringly in the air, and though I was sorely tempted, I went straight for the fridge and a cup of filtered water.

  Ve eyed the wombat. “What’s that?”

  “The wombat piñata.”

  A thin eyebrow slowly rose. “It’s very…artsy.”

  She was trying to be nice. Behind the rim of my glass, I smiled. “It’s not done yet.”

  “Oh, thank God.”

  I didn’t take any offense. Right now it looked rather unfortunate, a newspapery
blob. But in my mind’s eye, I could see the outcome and it was going to be wonderful.

  Missy snoozed in her bed by the door, and Tilda watched us with feigned disinterest from the top of the steps. I could hear Harper upstairs, singing.

  Singing.

  At seven in the morning.

  Something was wrong. Very wrong.

  I frowned.

  Ve said, “She’s been like that since she woke up. I think she likes that new job of hers.”

  Undoubtedly, but I think she also liked her new boss. I kept that bit to myself and took a good look at my aunt. She looked none the worse for wear after all those gin and tonics—for all she’d been through, for that matter. Her coppery hair was pulled back in a tidy twist; her makeup was flawless.

  “Some breakfast?” Ve asked.

  “Sure. You’re chipper this morning. Considering all that’s happened.”

  She shook a spatula at me. “I’m a woman on a mission.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’ve decided to be proactive about Sylar’s predicament.” The red rising in her cheeks matched the vibrant scarlet tunic she wore, paired with pristine white capri pants. “I’m going to offer a reward for Alexandra Shively’s watch. Whoever has that watch holds the key to this whole case. If I know one thing for certain, it’s that Sylar is not a killer. The police need a little more proof, however.”

  It wasn’t a bad plan. I pulled a mug from the cabinet and filled it with coffee. “How much of a reward?”

  “Ten thousand dollars.”

  I almost dropped the mug. “Do you have that kind of money?” I really didn’t know. Though we always knew we had an aunt—she sent us birthday and Christmas cards every year—before she had come to visit Harper and me, I had met her only once before. At my mother’s funeral. My father had done his best to keep Harper and me separated from this part of our family tree. Aunt Ve had honored his wishes to raise us as mortals and promised to keep her distance from us until the time was right. It was a decision, on both their parts, that I wasn’t sure I agreed with. Harper and I should have had a say, made the choice ourselves.