“Starla is why you’ve summoned me, yes?” I asked.
“Is she? I believe you summoned me. Something about an invisibility spell?”
In the chaos of finding Kyle’s body, I’d forgotten I’d asked Archie to contact the Elder about that spell. “Do you know of it? How does it work? Isn’t it against general Craft Law? How did Kyle get away with using it? Did he alter the Vanishing Spell? Is that even possible?”
She tsked. “Such questions when you already hold all the answers. Have you learned nothing, Darcy Merriweather?”
I really hated when she took that tone with me. I let out a frustrated breath. “How do I hold the answ—” I broke off, recalling another conversation I’d had with the Elder months ago.
“I’m waiting,” she said.
“Melina’s diary.”
“You have come a long way for a novice Crafter, Darcy, but you’ve yet to fully learn to think like a Crafter. Your first thought shouldn’t be to seek help from others. But to seek help from within. If that fails, that is when you ask for guidance. Not before.”
Feeling duly chastised, I remained silent. As I always did when I visited the Elder, I couldn’t help but wonder about her true identity. Did she truly live here, in that tree? Or did she have a home in the village? Had I sipped coffee while sitting across from her at the Witch’s Brew? Bumped into her at the Crone’s Cupboard? Who was she? And when would her real identity be revealed to me?
Would it ever be revealed to me?
“Now that we have gotten that out of the way,” she said, “it is my turn to seek your help.”
“Did you already look within?” There was nothing but stone-cold silence in reply to my question. And despite the warmth of the meadow, I felt a chill. “Sorry,” I mumbled.
“Apology accepted. There are many things as Elder that I can do. However, there are some I cannot without revealing my identity. This is when I need help from a trusted few. You, Darcy, are one of the few.”
Now I felt really bad about my sarcastic comment. “What do you need?”
“During the past year several criminal investigations have taken place in the village, most involving the Craft in one form or another.”
I knew. I’d been part of most of them.
“In light of those cases, I have come to the conclusion the Craft needs its own investigative presence. A presence that would work independently of the village police and whose mission is to look into these cases with an eye on the magical details.”
“A presence?”
“More precisely, a snoop. That snoop is you, Darcy.”
“Me?”
“You have proven yourself a worthy sleuth, Darcy, and that is exactly what I need.”
“But . . . why?”
“Why not?” she countered.
“What about Glinda?” She was, as far as I knew, the only full Crafter on the village police force. “She already has access to crime scenes and techniques that I’ll never be able to get.”
“You’ve done quite well on your own so far.”
“I know, but—”
“What is your hesitance? I believe this is nothing you aren’t already doing on your own. Now, however, you’ll be doing it in an unofficially official Craft capacity.”
“Unofficially official?” I asked.
“It is not technically a job. Merely a . . .” She trailed off, clearly looking for the right word.
“Presence?” I provided.
“Precisely.”
What was my hesitance? Because she was right—it was a job I’d been doing since I first moved to the village. Then I realized the reason why I was balking. Or rather, who.
Nick. There was already tension between us related to my snooping. If I were officially snooping, that might cause a real divide.
“Why not Glinda?” I asked again.
There were a few seconds of silence before the Elder said, “Snooping for me might eventually put her in a position to choose between her Craft and her mortal badge. And that would be unfair to her.”
“She’s not going to like this.”
“She doesn’t have to. I will speak to her about my plan of action. If she has cause for concern, she can take it up with me.”
I rubbed my temples. It was a lot to think about. The ramifications, especially.
“Well?” the Elder asked.
Sighing, I quipped, “Does this nonjob come with a 401K plan?”
“No.”
I knew I couldn’t refuse her, even if I wanted to. The Elder didn’t ask favors. She made commands disguised as favors. “I’ll do it.”
“Wonderful. Your first task is to continue to nose around the death of Kyle Chadwick. I do not like the direction it is heading.”
“That makes two of us. Did you know he was living in that tree house?”
“No.”
“Why not? He was here in the forest, how could you have not known?”
“I am not omniscient, Darcy. He violated no Craft Laws.”
The “Do no harm” motto of our magic pertained only to magic. Not attempted murders. I wasn’t sure I believed her about the omniscient part, though. She seemed to be able to read my mind often enough.
“Do you know if he was murdered or committed suicide?” I asked.
“No.”
“You’re not a big help,” I said.
“That’s why I hired you.”
“Unofficially.”
“Yes. Now, good-bye, Darcy. You’ll be hearing from me again soon.”
With that, the sunshine faded to darkness, the flowers disappeared, and the Elder’s tree shriveled into dormancy. I stood up and the tree-stump stool turned into sparkling glittery snowflakes that fluttered elegantly to the ground. I suddenly found myself knee-high in snow and chilled to the bone as the winter wind whistled through the meadow.
With a lot on my mind, I pulled my cloak tightly around me and headed for the trail. The mourning dove’s soulful coo kept me company the whole way home.
Chapter Fourteen
“So, you’re what? The Craft snooper?” Harper asked.
Aunt Ve’s eyes twinkled. “Is that anything like a court jester?”
“Or the class clown?” Starla giggled.
Flames danced in the family room’s fireplace as I looked at each of them. “I’m not finding this amusing.”
“Well, you should be,” Harper said, adjusting the blanket we shared on the sofa. “Did you at least hold out for a retirement plan and good benefits?”
I flipped a page in Melina’s diary. “Not funny,” I sang, keeping it to myself that I’d joked to the Elder about a 401K, too. Sometimes, Harper and I were more alike than I realized.
Starla was snuggled on the love seat, her laptop balanced on her lap. She was fighting off yawns every couple of seconds.
Evan, Mimi, Missy, and Twink were walking Mrs. Pennywhistle back to the Pixie Cottage, a local B and B, where Mrs. Pennywhistle, as the former owner of the place, was a permanent guest with her own suite. It was a deal she’d worked out with Harmony Atchison, the cottage’s current proprietor and the village’s resident Dumpster diver. Even though I still wasn’t sure if Harmony was mortal or Crafter, I considered her—and her life partner, Angela—friends.
“What do you think Nick will say about this new job?” Harper asked, watching me closely.
I skimmed and flipped another page. Melina’s handwriting was small and cramped, and so many words were crammed onto a page that it was turning into a painstaking process to find the invisibility spell. “I’m not sure.”
“You’ll tell him?” Ve asked, her thin eyebrows lifting in surprise.
“I have to,” I said. “I don’t want that kind of secret between us.”
Ve sat in an armchair with her slippered feet up on an ottoman. She whistled low. “Sometimes things are better off left unsaid.”
Said the witch who’d been married four times.
“Not in this case,” I said.
“Maybe he won’t care,” Harper said in a whisper.
I glanced at her to see why she’d dropped her voice and she motioned toward Starla. Asleep, with her head lilted back, her breathing was slow and steady, and finally, after a couple of days of turmoil, she looked at peace.
Ve crept over and lifted Starla’s laptop and drew a blanket up to her chin. Starla shifted a little, then settled back into a deep sleep. Ve tsked as she looked at the computer screen. “She’s been Googling him again.” She turned the laptop toward us, and images of Kyle’s paintings appeared.
“Can I see that?” I asked, reaching out.
Ve handed it over, then dropped back into her chair. “What do you think she’s looking for?”
Harper said, “An explanation.”
Sadly, that was probably true. The Internet page Starla had opened belonged to a Boston gallery that featured Kyle’s artwork.
“The prices on those paintings are going to skyrocket,” Harper said, leaning over my shoulder.
Undoubtedly. It happened often—an artist becoming more famous after death. And a fugitive artist at that? The sky was the limit.
I glanced at the thumbnail images. As with the paintings of Starla in the tree house, the ones on the Web site could be divided into two categories. Realism and surrealism. “Why do you think he changed his painting technique?” I asked, keeping my voice low.
Aunt Ve whispered, “The change began shortly after Kyle married Starla. Gossip around the village was that marriage wasn’t agreeing with him, and he was taking it out on the canvas.”
“So the pretty pictures are from before he married Starla?” Harper asked.
Ve nodded. “And the ugly ones came after.”
I glanced at her.
“What?” she said. “I’m just saying what we were all thinking.”
“You’re not wrong, Aunt Ve,” Harper said, pushing back the blanket. “They’re hideous. Anyone want some tea?”
Ve and I both nodded.
“Art is subjective,” I said to both of them, though silently I agreed with their assessment. The “after” paintings were horrid with a strong leaning toward macabre, especially with all the red that looked like blood.
“Well, in my subjective opinion, Kyle was seriously disturbed when he did those later paintings.” Harper headed off to the kitchen.
Before and after. Had marriage really been the thing that flipped the creative switch in Kyle’s head?
“Did you know Starla well back then?” I asked my aunt in a whisper. “Were they having trouble adjusting to the new marriage?” It had been a whirlwind courtship after all. Maybe they realized they’d made a mistake in rushing to the altar and took it out on each other.
“Not as well as I do now,” Aunt Ve said. “But we were friends. We Wishcrafters tend to stick together.” Her eyes glazed a bit as she looked out the window, as if remembering a specific moment in time. “I have never seen Starla happier than when she was with Kyle, at least in the beginning and right on up through about three months of marriage. Then things started changing.”
I glanced at Starla, who still slept peacefully. “Did she say why they were changing?”
“She never said anything was wrong at all. But I could see it. The strain in her smile. The bags under her eyes. She denied anything was wrong. If only I’d pushed for answers . . .”
If only . . .
I took another look at Kyle’s paintings. The befores. The afters. The fair. The foul. “Unfortunately, we can’t change what happened in the past.”
“Sadly, no,” Ve said. “But I’ll be damned if I’ll let her get hurt again.”
That made two of us.
Slowly, I lowered the laptop screen and a blinking light flashed, catching my attention, but when I opened the screen again, the light had disappeared. Strange.
Teacups clattered in the kitchen as I set the laptop on the coffee table and went back to looking at Melina’s journal.
Ve nodded toward the leather-bound book. “Are you sure the Elder said the answer was in there?”
“Not in so many words, but, yes. Does she make everyone figure things out for themselves or is it just me?” I asked.
The teakettle whistled as Ve smiled. “You and Harper are not precisely the norm around these parts. You came into the Craft later in life, so there is a bigger learning curve. It’s important to learn things on your own.”
Flickering flames cast dancing shadows on her face as I studied her. “Sometimes it’s easier to be taught by others.”
“But it’s not always as rewarding,” Ve said.
I frowned and Ve chuckled.
As I turned another page in the diary, I noticed something I hadn’t before. A page was missing—neatly cut from the binding, leaving a few centimeters of margin near the spine. Odd. Had it always been this way and I simply hadn’t noticed the doctoring? Or was this excision new?
But most important . . . what spell had been removed from the diary? And why?
Harper brought in a tray laden down with a teapot and cups. Muted laughter carried in from outside just before the back door swung open. Mimi was still giggling when she came inside, Evan behind her. Twink and Missy’s nails clattered on the wooden floor as they raced into the family room to greet us.
Sleepily, Starla sat up, rubbed her eyes, and yawned. She glanced around. “How long was I asleep?”
“Not long,” I said.
“Tea?” Harper asked, already pouring.
Starla nodded and stretched.
Mimi came into the family room, all smiles. “Did you find anything?” she asked, pointing to the journal.
“Not yet.”
She let out a sigh as she sat on the arm of the couch. “Mom could have organized that thing better. An index or something.”
I opened my mouth to ask Mimi about the missing page when suddenly Missy barked sharply, then hopped up on the couch next to me and shook her fur. Bits of moisture flew everywhere—snow drops.
Mimi ducked for cover as I let out a cry and jumped up to grab a towel from the laundry room.
I spotted Evan at the back door, peering out. “What’re you doing, Evan?”
“He’s spying,” Mimi said.
“On what?” Harper asked.
“Dad and Glinda are out there,” Mimi said. “They ran into us on the way back from Mrs. P’s.”
I brought the towel back to the couch and grabbed Missy just as she was about to run off. Gently, I rubbed her paws, drying them off. “Did you and Evan get Mrs. Pennywhistle settled?”
Mimi nodded. “Harmony said she’d check on her throughout the night.”
“Evan, are you overhearing anything good?” Ve asked. “Are they talking about the case?”
“They’re talking to Archie right now,” Evan said. “I can’t hear much. They’re too far way. Oh! They’re coming in!” He dashed away from the door, sprinting into the family room.
He dove onto the love seat next to Starla and reached for a teacup, trying to appear as though he hadn’t been doing anything suspicious.
Missy barked as Nick and Glinda came inside the house. She danced around Glinda’s feet nipping and growling.
“Missy!” Mimi said, picking her up. “That’s enough of that!”
Not nearly enough, I thought.
Glinda laughed, a pretty tinkly sound, and patted Missy on the head. “She’s not bothering me.” Glinda looked around. “Full house.” Her gaze settled on Starla; then she abruptly looked away.
“Starla and Evan are staying with us for a little while. Tea, Glinda?” Ve offered.
“No, thanks, Ms. Devaney,” she said. “I’m actually just waiting for Archie. Nick suggested I wait inside to keep warm. I hope you don’t mind.”
Missy growled low in her throat.
I agreed with the dog.
“Of course we don’t mind,” Ve said without the slightest hitch in her voice that would indicate otherwise.
She was a good actress.
&n
bsp; “Sit down, sit down, Glinda.” Ve leaned forward. “Why are you waiting for Archie?”
Leave it to Aunt Ve to get right to the heart of the matter.
Glinda walked toward a chair, and I noticed she limped a little. “Did Missy get a piece of you?” I asked, nodding to her leg. Mentally, I praised the little dog, but if she had really bitten Glinda, it could be a problem.
“No, no,” she said. “I twisted my ankle in the woods yesterday. Tripped on a tree root.”
“Oh my,” Ve said. “Have you seen Cherise? She can probably fix that right up.”
As she shook her head, Glinda’s blond hair glistened in the firelight like spun gold. I reached for the teapot, gripping its handle a little too tightly.
“It’s no big deal,” she said. “Just aches a bit.”
Ve nodded, took a sip of her tea. “Those trails in the forest can be quite treacherous.”
Almost as much as the fugitives hiding in there.
“Now what’s this about Archie?” Ve asked.
“He said it’s something to do with the Elder. He asked me to wait for him while he consults with her.”
“You don’t say,” Ve said.
Nick sat on the sofa arm and gave me a warm smile. I was glad to see him—and couldn’t wait to quiz him about what he’d learned today about Kyle’s death. We were supposed to have our dinner date tonight, but I was still full from a late lunch of stew and brownies. The date would be postponed again. Nick would understand.
“Maybe it has something to do with your newest case?” Ve added innocuously.
Glinda stiffened and slid a glance toward Starla. “I doubt that.”
Starla rolled her eyes and reached for the towel to dry off Twink. In a matter of seconds, he looked like a puffy white cotton ball.
Evan gripped his teacup as though he was imagining his fingers around Glinda’s neck.
“Why doubt it?” Harper asked. “If there’s a chance the Craft is involved . . .”
Glinda looked between all of us, shrugged, and said, “I just do. We’ll see.” She glanced around at each of us, then blinked innocently. “I wish I had brought my Crafter cloak. I wasn’t planning an impromptu trip to see the Elder.”
All of us were obligated by Wishcraft Law to grant the wish, even though doing a favor for Glinda grated my last nerve.
The Goodbye Witch Page 13