There was absolutely no way of telling. Which was starting to drive me a little crazy.
Something else she said stood out. I tried to recall what the paper had said. “That was about ten years ago that she died, right? Was she in an accident?”
I was fishing. If she died suspiciously, it might paint Sylar in a different light.
“An aneurysm.” Her jaw set. “The police are barking up the wrong tree. If you ask me, they should be talking to that hairstylist, Ramona Todd. Chief Leighton ignored me when I suggested it.”
“Ramona?” I said, shocked.
Harmony nodded. “The day Alexandra died, I saw her and Ramona in a heated argument in the alley behind Lotions and Potions. I thought they were going to come to blows, and that I was going to have to separate them.”
“You didn’t have to?”
“Ramona backed off and left, but I think the fight is fairly incriminating, don’t you?”
Ramona seemed so even-keeled. I couldn’t imagine her raising her voice in anger. “The police didn’t think so?”
“Obviously not if they arrested Sylar.” She shrugged. “I’ve not been impressed with the police chief’s investigation. Seems premature to make an arrest this early, especially when there are clearly other suspects out there.”
That seemed to be a general consensus.
But what had Ramona and Alex been arguing about? I thought about that appointment I was going to make with Ramona and decided I’d try to get in as soon as possible. I checked my watch. Time was flying by today. I still wanted to stop by Bewitching Boutique to look for new sneakers and inquire about a certain satin cape before heading back home to pick up the wombat.
“You may want to call Marcus Debrowski and talk to him. He’s representing Sylar. Maybe if he has your information, it will help him build a case of reasonable doubt.”
She perked up. “I will. I’m not sure why I didn’t think of that.” The phone rang, and she said, “If you’ll excuse me?”
I’d almost forgotten why I was here. “Is Mrs. P around?”
She reached for the phone. “I actually haven’t seen her this morning. You can check her room. Down the hall on the right. Number four. Hello, Pixie Cottage, Harmony speaking.”
I thanked her and headed down the hallway. I knocked gently on the door, and I was surprised when it swung open, having been left slightly ajar. Worried, I peeked inside. A gorgeous, fantastical canopy bed made of twigs sat in the center of the room, and two 1940s-style mirrored nightstands flanked its sides. The bed was made; the room was neat, tidy, and empty.
I turned to go when a framed photo on the wall caught my attention. It was a young version of Mrs. P.holding the hand of a little girl in a plain knee-length dress and a big bonnet. Mrs. P wore a tight-fitting skirt suit and a wide smile. I had to laugh—some things change over time, and other things stay the same. In the photo, Mrs. P’s hair stuck out in every which direction, looking a lot like Cruella De Vil’s hairdo. It hadn’t changed a bit over the decades.
I closed the door, said good-bye to Harmony, and headed toward Bewitching Boutique. I was halfway there when what Harmony had said earlier struck me.
The day Alexandra died, I saw them in a heated argument in the alley behind Lotions and Potions.
But why, exactly, had Harmony been in the alley behind the shops?
“As I live and breathe!” a voice boomed. “The Darcy Merriweather has finally come inside the shop.” A dapper man, dressed to the nines, rushed forward, took my hand, and kissed it.
I glanced around, as if I might spot some hidden cameras nearby.
“Godfrey Baleaux, Cloakcrafter extraordinaire, at your service.” He bowed. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
All I could do was stare at him. He was impeccably dressed in a white suit and vest, with a yellow silk tie and matching pocket square. A gold pocket-watch chain swung as he continued to hold my hand. Older, maybe late fifties, early sixties, he was short, squat, and balding. He reminded me a bit of a hoity-toity Humpty Dumpty.
“Come in, come in.” He pulled me farther into the shop, to a small grouping of sumptuously covered chairs in front of a dressing room, fancily decorated with silk drapes and elaborate tiebacks. “I have your dress ready for you. I think you’ll find everything in order.”
“My dress?” I squeaked. “I—I came in for sneakers. Running shoes. Do you carry them?” It was a stupid question. This shop was clearly not one that would deign to sell mere Asics or Nikes.
Wagging a finger, he said, “Ah-ah-ah! Do not practice to deceive with me, young lady.”
I snapped my gaping mouth closed. Who was this man?
“I know, young Miss Darcy, that you’ve come in for that special blue dress you’ve been eyeing in the window. It is your dress, as if I made it, stitch by stitch, just for you. After all, any niece of Velma’s is a nie—” He cut himself off, tapped his chin. “Perhaps not a niece of mine. Suffice it to say that any relative of Velma’s is a relative of mine. Come, now, tell Godfrey the truth.”
I couldn’t help but smile as he tipped his head, waiting patiently. He oozed charming personality, and I found I liked him immediately.
Suddenly, a silky smooth man’s voice with a pronounced French accent said, “You made that dress? Stitch by stitch? How dare”—he dragged the word out at least three seconds—“you? I made that dress.”
I glanced around but didn’t see anyone.
The voice continued, saying, “And if you’d kindly tell your relative to get off my tail, I’d appreciate it. Move it or lose it, ma chère.”
I looked down and saw the tiny face of a mouse looking up at me behind the tiniest pair of glasses I’d ever seen. The mouse’s thin whiskers had been braided together and curved upward at the ends to resemble a Dali mustache. He wore a tiny vest with three minuscule buttons.
“Eee!” I jumped onto the chair.
“That’s better,” the mouse said, shaking its tail.
Looking downward, Godfrey put his hands on his hips. “Must you always be so dramatic? You’ve scared the poor child half to death. Come down from there, Darcy. You’ve nothing to fear from Pepe here. He’s simply a cranky old familiar.”
“Perhaps, not she has something to fear,” Pepe said, “but you.” Pepe walked over to Godfrey, bared his teeth, and chomped Godfrey’s ankle.
Godfrey jumped around on one foot, swearing a blue streak. Cautiously, I stepped down off the chair and hoped Godfrey wasn’t bleeding. The sight of blood usually made me pass out—and I didn’t want to miss a second of this little talking mouse.
“Ma chère, I am Pepe. You must forgive my lout of a friend. He loves to take credit where none is due.” He held out his hand.
I crouched down and took it.
“An honor,” he said as he kissed my knuckles. “The dress was indeed made for you. The moment I saw you, I knew it had to be.” He made a sweeping motion toward the dressing room, where the blue dress I’d seen earlier in the window now hung.
“But I don’t need a dress,” I said.
Godfrey had sat in one of the chairs and was dabbing his forehead with his pocket square. “Of course you do. For the Midsummer Dance.”
“But I don’t think I’m even going to the dance.”
Pepe said, “You are going, ma chère, and you will look magnifique in the dress.” He kissed his fingertips. “I am currently working on a piece for your aunt. Stunning, if I do say so myself.”
I didn’t dare argue that I wasn’t going to the dance for fear he’d chomp my ankle, too. “You know Ve well?” I asked, looking between the two of them. She could have warned me that there were talking mice in the village.
Pepe peered up at Godfrey, whose cheeks had colored a mottled red. “You could say so. We were, at one point…married.”
“Married?” I choked out.
“I believe”—he dabbed his forehead again—“I was her third husband.”
“Mr. Rat Toad?” I said before I could sto
p myself.
His cheeks were now in full flush. His eyebrows rose into bristly white peaks. “I believe you forgot to add ‘bottom dweller.’ Ve’s favorite endearment of all.”
“Rat toad?” Pepe said, his dark little eyes brightening. He started laughing. Great, gusty gales of laughter. He fell on his back and started rolling back and forth. “Rat toad! Bottom dweller,” he gasped, still rolling around, holding his chubby little tummy in glee.
Godfrey lifted him by the tail. “That is quite enough.”
“Put me down!” Pepe swung tiny fists.
Godfrey set him on the table at the center of the four chairs. “I can’t believe you bit me.”
“It is but a tiny scratch. This time,” Pepe warned, shaking his fist again.
Godfrey leaned down and poked Pepe’s round belly. “You should watch it, or perhaps I’ll decide a nice black cat would add to our store image and be good for business.”
Pepe’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would,” Godfrey countered.
Pepe glared for a moment, then bowed to me. “A pleasure, ma chère. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” He slid down the table leg, hit the floor, and adjusted his vest. His tail shot in the air, and there was a definite swagger in his step as he strode toward a small arched wooden door in the baseboard next to the dressing room. He opened the door, strode in, and slammed the door behind him.
“You wouldn’t really get a cat, would you?” I asked Godfrey.
“I might. Perhaps. Do not frown, Miss Darcy. Pepe would be in no danger. It is very difficult to kill a familiar. However, he is not immune from being chased around. And caught.”
I sat down opposite him. “Are there many familiars in the village?”
“A few,” he said evasively.
My mind was reeling with questions. “How does one become a familiar, exactly?”
“There are a few ways. The most popular is dying.”
“Dying?”
“Familiars, after all, are spirits inside an animal’s body. Most commonly, a spell is cast when a person dies, and their spirit is brought back in the form of an animal.”
“And anyone can cast this spell?”
“Any Crafter who knows it. But the person who dies must want to come back.”
“And they’re here forever? A pet that doesn’t die?” It sounded a bit creepy to me.
“Not always. They can decide, at any time, to go back to being a free spirit and go to the place spirits dwell.”
I glanced at Pepe’s door. “Pepe? How old is he?”
Godfrey tipped his head side to side. “He died in 1798 and has been with my family ever since.”
I was struggling to take it all in, to absorb the information. “Does the spirit get to choose its animal body?”
“Usually,” Godfrey said. “It depends on the spell and who’s casting it. A form must be available.”
“What’s that mean? A familiar doesn’t come back as a newborn animal? It can be an animal that’s years old?”
“Certainly.”
This was all very confusing.
“The spirit has a choice,” he said.
I chewed my lip, trying to make sense of what Godfrey was telling me. “So, for example,” I said, racking my brain for one, “Higgins.”
Godfrey laughed. “Gayle Chastain’s Saint Bernard?”
I nodded. “He’s a few years old, but Russ died only last year. If he was a Crafter, and knew the familiar spell, could he have taken over Higgins’ body?”
“Indeed!” Godfrey exclaimed as though I was a star student. “Though to my knowledge Higgins is simply a big drooling buffoon of a dog. Not a familiar.”
“Interesting. Can a familiar change bodies at will?”
“Once a form is chosen, it is usually permanent. There are rare exceptions.”
“Like what?”
“If the form suffers an injury, a broken paw or some such. Or if the form is relocated unwillingly.”
“Dognapped?”
“Exactly.” He smiled. “And sometimes, if the spirit has a valid reason for switching forms, the Elder has the ability to grant the requested change.”
“She does?”
“Indeed. Her powers are boundless.”
I was taking in so much information, it was hard to process. Before I could ask anything about the Elder (I had so many questions), Godfrey said, “There are downsides to consider when becoming a familiar.”
“Like what?”
“The familiar retains his spirit, but also inherits the natural traits of the form. Pepe, for example, craves cheese. A cat familiar would respond, even perhaps against her will, to scratching and start purring. A bee would search for pollen.” His gaze softened. “You’ve much to learn, Darcy Merriweather. Velma has been remiss.”
“She’s been a little busy,” I defended.
“Ah yes, this murder business. Terrible.” He gave me a conspiratorial smile. “Between us, I am not so sad to see that tacky Sylar Dewitt behind bars.”
Tacky? I thought he dressed quite a bit like Godfrey, though I thought better about saying so. “Even if he’s innocent?”
In a serious tone, he said, “The man is not who he appears to be. That will soon come to light, I should think.”
“What do you mean?” What did he know?
He waved a hand. “Nothing certain. Only a feeling. An instinct.”
I bit my cheek. I believed greatly in trusting instincts. What he said motivated me to learn as much about Sylar as I could.
“Now, Miss Darcy, are you ready to admit you came in to finally try on your dress?”
I smiled. “Honestly, Godfrey?”
He nodded.
“I really came in to see if you’ve ever made a cloak for a Vaporcrafter.”
His face fell. “Really?”
“Really.”
He looked so sad that I added, “But I’ll try on the dress as well. I do love it.”
Perking right up, he said, “I knew it! Now, what’s this about a Vaporcrafter?”
I explained what had happened in Lotions and Potions.
“Velma’s correct,” he said. “There hasn’t been a Vaporcrafter in the village in decades.” He clapped twice, two short bursts. A leather-bound book appeared in his hands.
I drew in a breath.
His teeth glistened as he smiled wide. “A little razzle-dazzle meant to impress. Did it work?”
Nodding, I said, “I’m definitely impressed.”
“Good, good.”
Pepe’s voice came from behind the door in the baseboard. “Show-off.”
“He’s just jealous,” Godfrey said, dismissing Pepe’s comment with a wave of his hand. “Now, let’s see about that Vaporcrafter.” He flipped pages through the old book filled with names and dates, written with meticulous penmanship. “Vaporcrafter, Vaporcrafter…” His finger slid down a page. “Interesting,” he finally said.
“What?” I leaned in, trying to read upside down.
“In my family’s history, we’ve made only one cloak for a Vaporcrafter.” As an aside he said, “They don’t really need them with the way they can dissolve into thin air and such. It was back in 1959 to Isaiah Clemson. As far as I know, there are no remaining Clemsons. The Elder would know for certain.”
A half hour later, I left the shop with a lot more information than I’d hoped for, a gauzy blue dress, and a pit in my stomach.
Because if I wanted to help Sylar, I was going to have to contact the Elder.
Chapter Sixteen
I rushed home to find the dog door open. I groaned, thinking Missy had once again escaped. But no sooner was the sound out of my mouth than she came barreling into the room, full force. She yapped and barked happily. I grabbed her up, rubbing her ears. I slipped her collar back over her head. “No more losing it, okay?”
Tilda sat on the kitchen counter. I noticed a leaf caught on her fur and plucked it off. It wasn’t often she ventured outs
ide through the dog door, but when she did, she never strayed far—mostly because she liked to stare at the macaw next door, who was often in his outdoor cage. I had a feeling she was trying to figure out how to set the bird free so she could “play” with him.
I scratched her ears, too, and looked into her blue eyes. After meeting Pepe, I couldn’t help but wonder.…
Tilda stared back at me.
“Are you a familiar?” I asked her. I had to ask. Because on my way home I’d finally realized where I’d heard the term before. It was the day after Alex had been killed. I’d heard Ve upstairs talking to a mystery woman and they’d talked about a familiar. Ve had explained the voice away as talking to herself, but after learning about familiars, I doubted that was true. “Are you?” I asked Tilda again.
She commenced taking a bath.
I looked down at Missy. “Are you?”
She tried to wiggle out of my arms to help Tilda with her bath. Tilda rreowed and took off. “I guess that means no,” I said as I set Missy on the floor.
After I looked around for little doors in the baseboards (there were none), I noticed that Aunt Ve had left a note on the counter.
Darcy dear,
I had to run out to meet with Marcus. Can you drop this off at All That Glitters for me? Shea is expecting you.
Love,
Auntie Ve
Ve’s locket sat next to the note.
I glanced at the clock. I had just enough time to stuff the wombat with candy, drop off the locket, and pick up Evan. I needed to change, too. The shorts and T-shirt I was wearing weren’t professional enough for Jake Carey’s party.
I made sure Tilda and Missy had plenty of water, and took Missy for a quick walk before I left. On my way out, I slid the panel down over the dog door to make sure they both stayed in the house.
All That Glitters was just a half block down the road, so I loaded the wombat into the car, and decided I’d walk to the shop. As I passed the house next door, I slowed to a stop. Now that I knew one of Ve’s exes lived there, I was curious. As I stood surveying the cottage, the macaw, Archie, started yelling, “Stelllaaaaaa! Stellllaaaaa!”
It Takes a Witch: A Wishcraft Mystery Page 14