“Takes one to know one,” Zinnia said.
Margaret barreled on. “There's no way you can bring Zara into the,” she lowered her voice, even though they were talking within the relative privacy of Zinnia's new office, “book club.” She winked three times.
“Margaret, it's not much of a secret code if you say book club and then wink three times.”
“But you know what I mean. You can't bring your niece into our secret book club.” Two more winks. “Not until she's been prepared. Maisy would eat her alive.”
Zinnia chuckled. Margaret was right. Their fellow witch, Maisy Nix, didn't mean to be brutal, but she did have a special knack for making novice witches cry. Maisy was the one who'd developed the spell that felt to its victim like a vicious animal bite on the buttocks.
Margaret's expression turned serious. “It's bad enough poor Zara is Spirit Cursed. You can't bring her into the group unprepared.”
“Spirit Charmed,” Zinnia corrected. “And I don't know for certain yet. I certainly haven't told her my theory, anyway. When I get a chance, I'll have her consult one of my books. For the moment, I'm letting her enjoy the experience. She's absolutely delighted about having powers. Can you imagine that?”
Margaret tilted her head thoughtfully. “Learning you're a witch turns your whole world sideways, but it is kind of a blast.”
“Whether she's Spirit Charmed or not, when you do meet her, please promise you won't say anything negative about that specialty.”
Margaret frowned and leaned back in her chair. “But isn't that the same specialty the girl's mother had? Isn't that why she poisoned herself?”
Zinnia crossed her arms and frowned. “Yet another detail you need to keep to yourself.”
“But does Zara even know about her father? Or her—”
They were interrupted by a knock at the door.
Zinnia called out, “Come in!” She was glad they were getting interrupted. She and Margaret had been talking about Zinnia's niece and great-niece for the last half hour, and Zinnia was starting to feel guilty about taking so much personal time when she was supposed to be working.
The door opened. One of the department's new hires, Liza Gilbert, stood in the doorway. Liza had her blonde hair up in a sporty ponytail. Next to the twenty-one-year-old was a much older woman who bore a strong family resemblance. She was shorter than Liza by two inches, and her hair was as snowy white as Liza's was blonde, but both had the same brown eyes.
Liza looked from Zinnia to Margaret and back again. “Are you two having another one of your secret parties in here? Who do I have to kill to get an invite?” She cracked one of her usual smiles.
Liza wasn't the hardest worker, and she frequently got in trouble with Karl for filing her reports late, but she was an energetic, outgoing young woman. It was hard not to like Liza Gilbert, unless you were her desk mate, Margaret Mills. Margaret was not a fan.
“We aren't having a party,” Margaret replied without a shred of humor in her voice. “We don't get paid to have parties, Liza.” Margaret got up from the visitor's chair and said to Zinnia with formality, “Thank you for clearing up that important WPD business for me.”
Margaret squeezed past Liza and the older woman, and returned to her desk.
Liza said in a loud whisper to Zinnia, “I can see why you took the promotion to get your own desk. Margaret's kind of a stickler for the rules.”
“When it suits her,” Zinnia said. She rose from her chair, walked over to the doorway, and extended her hand toward the visitor. “Hello.” She watched for a spark of familiarity in the older Gilbert woman's eyes, and when it didn't come, she said, “I'm Zinnia Riddle.”
The woman smiled sweetly and pressed her hand into Zinnia's. Her handshake was weak, like shaking an empty glove.
“Queenie,” the woman replied. She gave her head a little shake. “It's actually Beth Gilbert, but I never liked the name Beth, so everyone calls me Queenie.” She withdrew her hand from Zinnia's and patted Liza on the shoulder. “Even my granddaughter calls me Queenie.”
“It's true,” Liza said. She beamed at her grandmother before turning to Zinnia. “Queenie's treating me to lunch. She's a bit early, and I have to finish something that Margaret's waiting for. Do you think anyone would mind if I set Queenie loose in the direction of the cafeteria?”
“I'm sure that would be fine,” Zinnia said. The City Hall cafeteria wasn't open to the public, but thanks to their limited menu, it had never been an issue.
“There you go,” Liza said to the white-haired woman. “Don't wander off and get yourself lost.”
Queenie, still smiling sweetly, said to her granddaughter, “I told you, Liza, I know my way around here better than most people. I was here when they built the building. I know all its secrets.” She waved goodbye to Zinnia. “Lovely meeting you.”
“Same to you,” Zinnia said politely. Zinnia had met Queenie Gilbert before, on a number of occasions over the years, but hadn't mentioned it. She didn't want to embarrass the older woman, plus it didn't matter. Zinnia's coworker, Gavin, wouldn't have let that type of fact go unmentioned, but Zinnia didn't share Gavin's compulsion for correcting others.
Zinnia got back to work on her computer.
Her mind wandered, and soon she was thinking about her niece's situation, and all the secrets between them. Zinnia hadn't yet confessed to Zara about the reference letter she'd given to Kathy Carmichael at the library. Now Zinnia had a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach that she should have said something straight away.
For the past week, Zinnia had been playing dumb about so many things that she couldn't remember what she had or hadn't told her niece. It was very difficult to be a witch and know about other people's secret abilities and not be able to share everything she knew with the town's newest witch, but she had her rules. People with supernatural powers don't “out” each other.
Margaret knew almost everything Zinnia did, but that was different. Margaret had helped herself to most of Zinnia's secrets, thanks to her psychic abilities, limited though they were: Margaret could only pick up on Zinnia's thoughts when she wasn't trying.
Zinnia stared at the wall behind her computer monitor. She wondered how her niece was getting along with her coworkers at the library.
Thirty minutes passed. Zinnia had made zero progress on her computer work. It was past time for lunch, and the space outside her office door was quieter now. Everyone had gone to the cafeteria or the break room for lunch. Everyone except...
There was a clomping sound as Margaret returned to Zinnia's office. Margaret had the nonmagical ability to clomp her shoes on carpet.
Without any lead-in, Margaret paused in Zinnia's doorway and asked, “What's their deal, anyway?”
Zinnia rotated her chair and threw her hands in the air. “You'll have to give me a hint, Margaret. I'm not sitting here all day trying to read your mind just in case you want to come in and ask me questions.”
Margaret's gray eyes widened. “You can read my mind?”
“No. That's your thing. Remember?”
Margaret waved one hand dismissively. “Oh, that? It's about as useful as a pogo stick in quicksand. I don't even know when I'm doing it.”
Zinnia rubbed her temples and thought, very clearly, Margaret, you want to buy me lunch.
“Of course I'll buy you lunch,” Margaret said, completely oblivious to the fact she'd just read Zinnia's mind perfectly. “It's my turn, isn't it?”
They got to the cafeteria, ordered their food, and took a seat at their usual table.
That was when Margaret asked Zinnia, once again, “What's their deal, anyway?”
This time, however, Margaret was looking directly at the two Gilbert women when she asked, so Zinnia did understand to whom her witch coworker was referring.
Zinnia glanced over at Liza and her grandmother, Queenie. The two were laughing and enjoying green salads. They looked like a stock photo that might be used in an advertisement to sell salads to women
of any age.
So, what was their deal? Were the Gilberts descendants of supernatural creatures? The majority of the people working in the Wisteria Permits Department had special abilities, so why not Liza Gilbert?
After a moment of thought, Zinnia said to Margaret, “Your guess is as good as mine. But I do suspect they have a few secrets in that family tree. Queenie was good friends with Winona Vander Zalm, and Winona always hinted that her friends had some very interesting stories to tell.”
Margaret nodded and ate a fistful of crinkle-cut french fries without taking her eyes off Liza Gilbert and her grandmother. Margaret smacked her mouth noisily, affording Zinnia a full view of Margaret's half-chewed food.
“They eat funny,” Margaret said of the Gilberts, who were still enjoying their green salads.
“If by funny, you mean they chew their food with their mouths closed, and refrain from talking while they do so, then I suppose the Gilberts do eat funny.”
Margaret continued talking around her half-chewed crinkle-cut french fries. “We really don't know much about people outside our little circle, do we? I bet the older one has probably forgotten more magic than we'll ever know.”
“Don't say that. We're both still learning.”
Margaret tore her gaze off the Gilberts and met Zinnia's eyes. “Are we? Are we really? What have you learned lately?”
Zinnia was pleasantly surprised to find that she had an answer. “I'm learning more about spirits, thanks to my niece.”
“But you aren't interested in ghosts. You hate them even more than you hate microwaves.”
Zinnia wrinkled her nose. “Cursed things.”
“Exactly. You aren't actually learning anything new that you want to learn.”
Zinnia shrugged. “I'm learning a lot about special buildings permits.”
“But don't you crave more? Don't you wonder what else is out there?”
Zinnia blinked at her coworker. “Are you having a mid-life crisis? You're only forty-two. It's too soon. I haven't even had mine yet, and I'm six years older than you.”
Margaret let out a good-natured snort. “Good one. You could actually be funny if you tried, Zinnia.” She stared into Zinnia's eyes as she grabbed another french fry and lifted it to her lips. “You know, I was really funny once, before I had kids. I did improv in college. Our troupe was called the MacGuffins. Did I ever tell you ab—”
Margaret stopped talking abruptly when Zinnia grabbed her by the wrist.
Speaking calmly, so as not to cause alarm, Zinnia said, “Don't act erratically, Margaret, but that's not a french fry in your hand.”
Margaret slowly rolled her eyes down. When she saw what she'd nearly put in her mouth, her face went through a dozen emotions before settling on quiet horror.
“Easy now,” Zinnia said.
Margaret held absolutely still, like a gorgon's statue.
Zinnia had her purse at her side. She reached in for an empty jar and calmly held it under Margaret's fingers. “Okay. Nice and easy. Drop it in here.”
Through clenched teeth, Margaret asked, “Is that what I think it is?”
“I've never seen one that size, but I do believe it is a brainweevil.”
Margaret dropped the long insect, which was the size and coloring of a stubby, overcooked crinkle-cut french fry, into the jar.
Zinnia quickly twisted on the lid. She didn't need to poke any breathing holes in the container. Brainweevils could live without oxygen for several hours.
Margaret asked, “Is that lid on tight?”
“Yes.”
Margaret kept staring straight ahead into Zinnia's eyes. “Are there any more on my plate?”
“No. You ate them all.”
Margaret made a retching sound.
Zinnia hurriedly said, “You ate all the fries. I'm sure that was the only one that wasn't a fry. They typically travel alone until they find a suitable victim, then they send out their pheromone flares to attract the others to feed on...” She didn't say the word brains because she didn't have to. Every person with supernatural powers knew about the dangers of brainweevils.
Margaret cursed under her breath, then asked, “What if it had crawled in my ear?”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Zinnia smirked. “They only eat brains, Margaret. It would have starved to death.”
Margaret reached for her glass of water and gulped it down.
Zinnia asked, “Did you do something, Margaret? Did you conjure that thing?”
Margaret looked aghast. “That's not funny.”
“Well, you were talking about wanting to know more about book-club related things.”
“It's against the rules.”
“You do plenty of things that are against the rules.”
“Even so, I would never want to see or touch, much less eat, something like that.” Her face scrunched as she stared at the wriggling thing inside the jar.
“If you say so.”
Zinnia took another look at the creature in the jar before tucking it away in her purse. She hadn't yet looked around the cafeteria to see if anyone was looking their way. Looking around to see if you were being watched was a sure way to get unwanted attention. It was best to assume most people were oblivious to the comings and goings of others.
This time, however, two people were looking at the witches. The Gilberts. Liza and Queenie.
Zinnia waved at them, smiled, and then picked up her fork and resumed eating her meal. After finding a rare, brain-eating insect on her cafeteria table, eating a chicken pot pie was the last thing Zinnia wanted to do, but she had to avoid arousing suspicion.
Margaret picked up on Zinnia's cue—or she found her appetite again—and moved on to her cheeseburger.
They ate in somber silence. Despite Zinnia's joke about the brainweevil starving inside Margaret's head, the situation was alarming. The first protective ward any witch cast on her residence was to keep brainweevils out, and this was in spite of their rumored extinction. Last week, Zinnia had arranged for Vincent Wick to put the appropriate protective wards on Zara and Zoey's house. It had seemed like an overreaction at the time, but after this afternoon's harrowing encounter, Zinnia was glad she had done so.
As Margaret finished her cheeseburger, she asked, “Do you think the Gilberts saw everything?”
“So what if they did? They're a good twenty-five feet away. Perhaps they saw me put a single one of your french fries into a specimen jar. What of it? If Liza asks, I'll tell her I liked the color and I'm thinking of painting the wainscoting in one of my rooms that exact shade.”
Margaret wiped her face with a napkin while Zinnia finished every bite of her chicken pot pie.
They left the cafeteria and went outside for a walk. Margaret cast the rolling sound bubble so they could be sure of privacy.
As they walked, Margaret kept looking down at Zinnia's purse with a grim expression, as though she expected a nest of brainweevils to suddenly pour out of the zippered opening.
“Stop staring,” Zinnia said. “The jar lid is screwed on tight.”
“What are you going to do with that thing?”
Zinnia patted her purse protectively. “As much as I'd love to dry and crush this little guy to use in some experimental potions, the right thing to do is report it to the authorities.”
“Fung's replacement?”
Zinnia snorted. “No, not Detective Bentley. I haven't met him yet, but I'm sure he doesn't have a clue about what he's gotten himself into.” She shook her head. “No. I'll contact the DWM and tell them to deal with it. That's what they get paid for.”
“Good. Someone has to sweep the whole building in case there are more.”
“I'll pass that along, but I'm sure this won't be their first rodeo,” Zinnia said.
Margaret shuddered and rubbed her arms. “Where do you think it came from? I thought brainweevils were completely extinct, except for a few in captivity.”
“They're supposed to be.”
A
van pulled up alongside them and continued to roll at walking speed. The passenger-side window rolled down, and Charlize Wakeful leaned out of the window.
The gorgon said hello and asked, “Have either of you seen or heard or felt anything unusual?” Her voice was muffled by the sound barrier spell around the two witches, but her words were easily heard.
Margaret broke the sound bubble spell and replied, “Why? What sort of unusual thing do you think we saw?”
“There was a flicker,” Charlize said. “A power surge. We detected it emanating from this area about thirty-five minutes ago.”
Margaret asked, “What kind of power surge?”
Zinnia elbowed Margaret and walked up to the van. In a hushed tone, she relayed what had happened in the cafeteria and then handed over the jar containing the captured brainweevil.
Charlize let out a low whistle as she looked through the jar. “That's a brainweevil, all right. It must have slid through during the surge.”
Zinnia asked, “Slid through from where?”
The man in the driver's seat said, “Ma'am, that's none of your concern.”
Zinnia stepped back from the van, hands raised. “Very well, then. You're right. It's not my concern at all. It's yours.” She leaned forward briefly, as though bowing, and said, “Thank you for your service.”
The van was already driving away.
Margaret said, “You could have bartered for a little more information. You had something they needed.”
“Why?” Zinnia brushed imaginary dust off her hands. “So we could get drawn into some sort of dangerous mystery involving power surges and horrible creatures that slide through from the other side? No, thank you. Between my new job, plus being a mentor to a young witch, I'm busy enough. I'm sure the DWM has things under control.”
“If you say so,” Margaret said. “If you say so.”
The witches returned to City Hall.
A month passed, and they'd nearly forgotten about the brainweevils when another one showed up.
The story continues in WISTERIA WRINKLE, featuring Zinnia Riddle and her friends at City Hall.
If you haven't read about Zinnia's niece, Zara Riddle, look for WISTERIA WITCHES to find out the other side of the story!
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