The Goodbye Witch

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The Goodbye Witch Page 12

by Heather Blake


  “You’ll get yours!” Pepe cried, still swinging away.

  Mimi said, “Give him to me.” She held out her hands and Godfrey dropped Pepe into them.

  “Ruffian,” Pepe mumbled as he straightened his vest and smoothed his hair back down.

  “Moi?” Godfrey pressed his beefy hands to his chest. “You are the one who attacked me.”

  “Enough!” I said. “My head is aching and you two are making it worse.”

  Godfrey immediately said, “Do you need some aspirin?”

  “No, thanks. I’ve got that covered, thanks to Mrs. Pennywhistle. Speaking of, she’s who I’m referring to. You know, if you’re interested in dating.”

  “Eugenia?” Godfrey said, his eyes growing wide. “I didn’t know she was back on the market.”

  She’d been a widow for a while now and declared herself permanently single. It was a declaration I was ready to test.

  “I’m not sure she knows.” Mimi set Pepe on the sewing table.

  I frowned at her. She shrugged at me.

  Pepe said, “Is she lonely, too?”

  “Well”—I fussed with the fringe on my scarf—“let’s just say she’s been a little blue. I thought a date might cheer her up.”

  “Blue, you say.” Godfrey stroked his beard again. “I cannot foresee a love connection, but a dinner with Eugenia would be lovely.”

  Pepe made a throaty disgusted sound. “Non. Eugenia’s wit and wisdom would be wasted on a toad such as yourself. I shall take Eugenia out to dinner. Or rather, we shall order in.”

  “Darcy asked me,” Godfrey said, thumping his chest.

  “Because she believed me to be preoccupied with my week of discontent. However, now that I’ve cut short my discontentment, I am available to be of service as Eugenia’s companion.”

  “First come, first served!” Godfrey said, drawing his shoulders back.

  Watching their eyes flare with agitation, I sighed and picked up the grocery bags. “Not this again. Come on, Mimi, let’s head back to As You Wish before these two come to blows. You know how I feel about the sight of blood. Good-bye, you two. Pepe, let me know if you learn anything at Wickedly Creative and also what you two decide about Mrs. P.”

  Ignoring me, he seethed to Godfrey, “It was an oversight I plan to rectify!”

  As Mimi and I went back out into the cold, she said, “They both need hobbies.”

  “Or separate houses.”

  “That would work, too.”

  She smiled. “Is it wrong that I think it’s adorable when Pepe gets worked up and starts swinging his little fists?”

  I put an arm around her. “If so, then I’m guilty, too. So cute.”

  With mitten-covered hands, she made little punching motions. “Adorable.”

  With that amusing image in my head, I smiled, glad for a break from the day’s weighty events. It wasn’t until I was pushing through the side gate at As You Wish that I remembered that I never asked about the fancy dress in the sewing room and who it had been for.

  Maybe I didn’t ask because subconsciously I wished it was mine.

  Curse that rule about not granting my own wishes. . . .

  Chapter Thirteen

  We certainly had a very full house, I reflected as I chopped carrots for the stew. Ve stood at the stove browning the meat, and Mrs. P and Mimi sat at the counter making a batch of double fudge brownies.

  Cherise had been here and gone. She’d cast a spell over Mrs. P to prevent dizziness, but warned that the underlying ailment was beyond her scope. Her heart was old and failing—there was nothing a Curecrafter could do to change that. She also prescribed a lot of rest, which Mrs. P had immediately scoffed at. We, however, had promised to do our best to make Mrs. P slow down.

  Cherise had pulled me aside on her way out and shared that Mrs. P was more ill than she let on. Her heart wasn’t just failing—it was failing fast.

  The news had left me stunned, and I didn’t quite know how to deal with it, because curling up in a ball under my covers wouldn’t cut it with all that was going on around here.

  Harper had just taken Twink and Missy for a walk when the back door opened and Starla and Evan came inside.

  “Have mercy! Just look at you,” Ve said, abandoning the stovetop and rushing over to Starla. She wrapped her in a big hug, enveloping her with warmth and understanding and love.

  It was clear from Starla’s puffy eyes that she’d been crying.

  Evan hung his coat on the overflowing hooks, kicked off his wet shoes, and came into the kitchen shaking his head.

  I immediately went to the liquor cabinet and pulled down a bottle of whiskey—Ve’s good stuff.

  “You must have been reading my mind,” he said, reaching for a tumbler. “Fill ’er up.”

  Ve still clutched Starla like a long-lost child. Starla pointed at the whiskey and said, “Pour one for me, too.”

  “That bad?” Mrs. P asked.

  Starla finally wiggled out of Ve’s grasp and took off her coat. “I suppose it could have been worse. They could have arrested me.”

  Ve whispered, “Have mercy.”

  I pushed a glass toward Starla. She eyed the amber liquid, chugged it all down, then winced and coughed. I patted her on the back.

  Making a sour face, she said, “I don’t suppose you have any margarita mix, do you? This stuff is way too strong.”

  Ve shook her head.

  “I can run to the store,” I offered. Third time was a charm?

  Mrs. P waved a hand. “No, no, no more running errands. I wish we had a big batch of margaritas, some salt-rimmed glasses, and plenty of limes.”

  Nerves tingling, I held up a hand. “I’ve got this one. Wish I might, wish I may, grant this wish without delay.”

  “Oh, no way the Elder grants that wish,” Mimi said, taking Starla’s coat and hanging it up for her.

  “It is rather indulgent,” Ve murmured.

  “What’s a wish for if not indulgency?” Mrs. P asked.

  Mimi sat back down and stirred the brownie batter. “Is indulgency even a word?”

  I shrugged. “I think so?”

  Evan stared into the bowl in horror. “Is that a boxed brownie mix you’re using?”

  “Sorry,” I said. “You were preoccupied.”

  Suddenly a big pitcher of margaritas appeared on the counter, along with six glasses rimmed in salt and a plate of lime slices.

  “Hot damn!” Mrs. P shouted, whooping like she’d just won the lottery.

  Ve rubbed her hands together. “Eugenia is handy to have around.”

  Starla climbed onto the empty stool next to Mimi and pulled the pitcher toward her. “What will the rest of you drink?” she said, echoing my earlier sentiments about the ice cream.

  Mrs. P laughed, her cackle bouncing off the kitchen’s high ceilings. “Do I need to wish for more?”

  It was so hard to believe she was ill at all.

  “No, no,” Starla smiled wanly. “I’ll share.”

  “And I’ll throw this out,” Evan said, reaching for the brownie batter, “and start fresh.”

  “Hey!” Mimi reached for the bowl. “At least let me lick the spoon.”

  “Fine,” he said, handing it to her, “but if you get salmonella don’t come crying to me.”

  Mrs. P coughed. “Can I get a spoon, too?”

  Evan rolled his baby blues, stuck a spoon into the batter and swirled it around. He pulled it out and handed it over. “The salmonella thing goes for you, too.”

  I glanced around at everyone and despite the dramatic events of the day, suddenly my heart filled with happiness. I’d grown up in a teeny tiny family, in peace and quiet. It hadn’t been an easy life, not hardly, but it hadn’t been bad. Then my father had died and Ve had come to Ohio, told Harper and me of our witchy backgrounds, and bing, bang, boom my whole life had changed in an instant.

  But what had changed most was me.

  I’d never realized the happiness that could be found if I just
opened my heart to it. It was a lesson I’d learned here, in the village. And I also learned that a family could be more than just blood relatives. It could be a best friend. An old woman. A girl on the verge of becoming a teenager. An outraged baker. It was the people who loved me. And I honestly didn’t know what I’d do without any of them.

  Ve walked back to the stovetop to her sizzling pan. “Let’s get this stew going to counterbalance all that hooch,” she said. “Or we’ll all be falling-down drunk in no time.”

  “I’m okay with that.” Starla sipped her drink and let out an “Ahhhhh.”

  Evan rifled through cabinets, pulling out baking chocolate, flour, and sugar. He grabbed eggs from the fridge and snagged a corner of the kitchen to work his magic.

  Mimi gave Starla a sideways glance. “Soooo, how’d it go?”

  Starla laughed and kissed the top of Mimi’s head. “Honestly, it sucked. They want me to take a polygraph.”

  “Why? Was he . . . murdered?” Mrs. P asked.

  It was a question we all wanted an answer to, but to hear it spoken aloud felt like a kick in the gut.

  “They don’t know yet,” Starla said. “The police wanted Evan’s and my alibis for last night between eight and midnight. Nick vouched for us between eight and ten, and when we told them we were sleeping after that, that’s when a polygraph was suggested.”

  Eight and midnight—the ME must have narrowed Kyle’s time of death.

  “Did you take it?” Mimi asked, as she licked every speck of chocolate from her spoon.

  “No. Marcus said not to. Not yet.” She looked around. “Where’s Harper? I wanted to thank her for sending Marcus over so quickly.”

  “Out walking the dogs,” Ve said, “and probably meeting up with Marcus to get the lowdown.”

  Why hadn’t I thought of that? She had been gone a long time. It was probably exactly what she was doing.

  “Unfortunately,” Evan said as he cracked eggs into his mixture, “neither of us can prove we were sleeping. Glinda Hansel hinted that one of us may have slipped out without the other noticing, especially since I’m a heavy sleeper and Starla was under the influence of a sleeping ‘pill.’” He used air quotes on the pill part.

  Setting aside the chopped carrots, I moved on to peeling potatoes. I bit my lip from saying something snide about Glinda in front of Mimi. I bit it so hard that I could taste the coppery hint of blood in my mouth. Grabbing my margarita, I took a sip, letting the limey flavor sit for a moment before swallowing.

  “By the way,” Starla said, “when Glinda says ‘one of us’ she means me. She was ready to arrest me this afternoon, but Nick overruled her.”

  I bit my lip again. More blood. More margarita.

  Starla pushed her glass back and forth between her hands. “I’m not sure I’d pass a polygraph.”

  We all turned and stared at her.

  Her shoulders lifted as she shrugged. “I don’t remember. I have zero memories of last night at all. I mean, I can’t even recall what happened with Kyle visiting me upstairs. I did threaten to kill him, or so I’m told. So . . .”

  “So nothing,” I snapped. “You did not leave this house.”

  “You don’t know that, Darcy,” she said softly.

  “I do know that.” I waved the potato peeler as I spoke. “Because you’re not someone who goes around killing people.”

  Her eyes were awash in tears. “People, no. Kyle, possibly.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “No, no, no.”

  “I agree with Darcy,” Mrs. P said.

  “Me, too,” Ve echoed.

  “Me three,” Mimi said.

  Evan waved a chocolate-covered spoon. “Me four.”

  “So enough,” I said, using my sternest voice. “No more about that, okay?”

  Her watery gaze met mine. And though she nodded, I could see the doubt in her eyes. That was fine—for now. I’d have faith enough for us both until I could prove she had nothing to do with what happened to Kyle.

  After a short stretch of tense silence, Mrs. P said, “Evan, my spoon is empty.”

  “Mine, too.” Mimi held hers out as well.

  Evan shook his head and singsonged, “Salmonella.”

  “Spoilsport,” Mrs. P muttered.

  “Yeah,” Mimi said.

  A rooster crowed at the back door and I said, “Mimi, can you let Archie in?” as I walked over to Evan’s batter and dunked two spoons.

  “Hey!” he said.

  “You didn’t see anything.” For crying out loud, if Mrs. P was dying, then she could damn well have whatever salmonella-laced treat she wanted. I handed one spoon to her and waited for Mimi to return to give her the other. In a flash Archie stood at the end of the counter, eyeing the lot of us.

  He didn’t crack any jokes about the margaritas or the brownies or my cooking, which made me instantly suspicious that he wasn’t here on a social visit.

  Puffing out his chest, he said, “You’ve been summoned, Darcy. The Elder will see you now. Right now. Go quickly, go alone, and do not dillydally.”

  I wanted to tease him about using the word “dillydally” but by the look on his face, I could tell the reason I was being summoned was quite a serious one.

  Glancing at Starla, I had a feeling I knew what this meeting was about.

  * * *

  Bold blue and deep orange hues colored the sky as dusk settled over the woods. A biting cold wind nipped at my cheeks as I made my way through the Enchanted Forest to see the Elder. Drawing the hood of my cloak tighter, I forged ahead, trying to ignore just how cold I was.

  The cloak I wore was truly special, designed for Crafters to use when visiting the Elder. With the hood up, the cloak made Crafters invisible to mortals, which came in quite handy when a witch was traipsing through a magical forest.

  A witch like me.

  And the forest was magical, not only because it housed the Elder’s meadow, but as I glanced behind me I noticed that my footsteps in the snow disappeared almost as quickly as they formed. I left no trail as I trudged to the Elder’s secret domain. No path that might lead others—mortals—to one of the most cherished places in the entire village.

  With the sun going down the woods appeared dark and ominous. The wind howled through the bare trees, and my footsteps echoed loudly on the snow. I clicked on the flashlight I’d brought with me and swept it side to side, up and down.

  I knew this path well from the many times I’d been called before the Elder. I’d had more than a few infractions of the Wishcraft Law while learning the ins and outs of my Craft. Fortunately, the Elder had been patient with me, knowing I was a novice to my new culture.

  In the distance, a mourning dove cooed, that soulful heartbreaking call that seemed to match my mood right now so well. The look in Starla’s eyes before I’d left the house was haunting me.

  She truly believed she may have killed Kyle.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about the way I’d found him. Whether suicide or murder, his death had been premeditated. That was obvious by the way he’d been lain out on Starla’s couch with the duct tape over his mouth. Someone had taken the time to craft his reposing scene. And that’s what it felt like. A scene from a play.

  Foul is fair.

  If Harper’s supposition was true, the message was meant to convey that Kyle had been unjustly seen as foul but was really fair. That he was good and not evil.

  Who’d want that message to get across most? The answer was obvious to me: Kyle and his family. Even though his family never denied he attacked Starla, they stood behind him. They were willing to overlook Starla’s bruises, her pain. They were stalwart in their belief that Kyle had made a mistake. That he was still a good person who had had a bad moment.

  Foul is fair.

  Ha! I didn’t think so. Not for a moment. Maybe that was stubborn of me, and if so, then so be it.

  Shivering, I huddled deeper into my cloak and really wished that the mourning dove would go coo somewhere else—like New Hampsh
ire. Its melancholy song was starting to wear on me.

  The farther into the forest I wandered, the darker it became. The orange tint to the sky had faded, replaced now with a blend of navy blue and deep purple. I picked up my pace, hoping to reach the Elder’s meadow before the sun completely disappeared.

  Before I knew it, I was practically jogging. I had never been a graceful runner to begin with, but in the heavy cape and high snow, I was positively comedic. Flailing and stumbling, I bore right at a familiar landmark and bent to catch my breath and soak in the wondrous scene that appeared before my eyes.

  Sunshine beamed down, setting a desolate meadow aglow. Before my eyes, snow melted, green grass grew, and wildflowers bloomed. In an instant, the expanse was transformed from a winter wonderland to a summer oasis. At the heart of it all rose a weeping tree—I didn’t know what variety other than magical. It stood majestically, its branches bare and heavy with snow, so considerable the limbs almost touched the ground. The Elder’s tree. In a blink, the snowy limbs perked up, shed their winter coat, and small green buds unfolded into beautiful leaflets.

  “Come in, come in, Darcy,” a female voice said.

  Warmth cast over me as I approached the glen, and I tugged off my gloves and turned off the flashlight. I lifted my face to the sunshine, allowing the heat to chase away the chill in my cheeks, my bones.

  “Have a seat,” the Elder said, and as I’d become accustomed to, a tree stump appeared behind me.

  I sat, soaking in the warmth, the beauty, the magic of this moment. “I need to visit you more often during the winter. Wait. No, I’m just kidding.” Seeing the Elder more often? Had I lost my mind? “But this place is a little slice of heaven right now. It’s already been a long winter.”

  There was a hint of humor in her voice as she said, “Ah yes, it may well be the winter of all our discontent. There seems to be a lot of that happening recently. Pepe, you, Starla . . .”

  I didn’t even ask aloud how she knew of my internal discontent, the tinge of depression that accompanied my birthday. The Elder just knew these things. It was more than a little disconcerting.

 

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