by Zoe Arden
“Right on time,” Colt muttered.
I looked at the clock and realized Colt and I had already been sitting here a whole hour already, talking.
“If it’s not Polly,” I started to say.
“Then it’s still suspicious,” Colt finished for me.
“What do we do now?”
“Let’s go around back. See what we can hear.”
I followed Colt’s lead as he moved around the side of the building. The back window was open and we could hear voices inside, but couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. Finally, Anastasia’s voice pealed through the night.
“Polly!” she yelled.
“That’s it. Let’s get in there,” Colt said. The back door was still unlocked when he tried it. He opened it soundlessly, and we crept into the back room, which was more like a studio apartment than a typical store room. Anastasia held her psychic readings back here.
We moved closer to the front, where the women were still talking.
“You stay here,” he whispered.
He ran forward. I could hear startled screams as he shouted, “Polly Peacock, you’re under...”
His voice trailed off. It was killing me not knowing what was happening. Everyone had suddenly stopped talking. I went out front and saw Margaret Binford staring at Colt. She was standing in front of a display of dark green stones and looked angrier than I’d ever seen her.
“You have no right to be here,” Anastasia shouted.
Colt was stumbling over his words. “I-I thought...”
“I know what you thought,” Anastasia snapped. “I’ve told you and Sheriff Knoxx both that I haven’t heard from Polly. Maybe now you’ll believe me.”
“Margaret,” I asked, “what are you doing here?”
“I came to talk to Anastasia, as if it’s anyone’s business.”
“Talk to her about what?” Colt asked. He’d recovered his composure. “And why wait till midnight?”
“I had a few questions for Anastasia that I didn’t want anyone overhearing.”
“Questions?” I asked.
“Some information came my way regarding Polly that I wanted to cross check with Anastasia.”
“What information?” I asked.
“If you had information about Polly,” Colt said, “why not bring it to me or Sheriff Knoxx? Even Sheriff Maxwell in Mistmoor?”
Margaret snapped, “Because the last time I offered my help, Ava made it abundantly clear that she didn’t’ want it.”
My face flushed with combinations of emotions I could have done without. Anger... embarrassment...
“That’s it! Everybody out! Including you!” Anastasia yelled, pointing to Margaret.
“Me? Why me?”
“Because I don’t like your questions any more than I like theirs.”
“Everyone, just calm down. Ms. Binford, if you have information regarding the whereabouts of Polly Peacock, then—” Colt began.
“Not her whereabouts,” Margaret said, her eyes gleaming. “Her escape. There’s more to it than just her desire to kill Ava.”
Colt’s face darkened.
“What do you mean?” I asked, watching him.
“Polly doesn’t just want to kill you,” Margaret said.
“All right, enough!” Colt barked, pushing me back toward the exit. “Anastasia’s right. We have no business being here.”
“Wait a second,” I said, fighting him as he tried to force me back. “What’s she talking about?”
“It’s irrelevant.”
“Ava,” Margaret said, taking a step toward me as I struggled against Colt. “Polly wants her powers back.”
“What are you talking about? She can’t get her powers back. That’s impossible.”
Colt picked me up and swung me over his shoulder. He carried me outside as I beat against his back with my fists.
“What is the matter with you?” I screamed. “Put me down!” I grabbed his ear and pulled hard.
“Ow!” he yelled and dropped me on my feet.
“What are you trying to hide from me?” I demanded.
“Ava, let me explain—”
The back door creaked open as Margaret stepped out. “Perhaps he doesn’t want you to know the truth.”
“What’s the truth?” I asked.
“Polly wants her powers back, and she’ll do whatever she must to make that happen. Including sacrificing those around her.”
“You don’t mean... like an actual sacrifice?” I asked.
Margaret nodded. “Five people.”
“Five!”
“And you will be her last victim, Ava. She doesn’t just plan to kill you.”
I tried to gulp but my mouth was dry.
“What does she plan to do?” I asked.
“She wants your soul. And she’ll steal it by whatever means necessary.”
* * *
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
.
.
.
* * *
* * *
.
“M -my soul?” I stuttered, trying my best to push back the hysterics threatening to overtake me. My heart was racing. Somewhere overhead thunder sounded in the distance.
“I’m sorry,” Margaret said. “I know this can’t be easy to hear.” She really did look sorry, too.
I turned to Colt.
“And you knew about this?” I demanded, anger gratefully overtaking the panic. “You’ve been here for days and haven’t even thought to mention this to me?”
“Ava, I’m sorry. I wasn’t permitted to tell you.”
“Not permitted?” I screeched.
Anastasia had come outside and was watching us with irritated fascination.
“I was told that everyone involved was on a need-to-know basis. Especially you,” Detective Hudson said.
“And you didn’t think I needed to know that Polly wants to steal my soul?!”
Detective Hudson hesitated. “It wouldn’t have served any purpose to have told you.”
“Not serve a purpose?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“It wasn’t my call to tell you or not tell you,” he said. “I report to the Council on Magic and Human Affairs. I have to do what they tell me to. If you have a problem with that, take it up with Dean Lampton.”
I was seething. I could tell that Detective Hudson had begun to grow angry himself, though what right he had to be angry I couldn’t have said.
“What about Polly having to kill five people? Not just me, but five people,” I repeated. “After Paisley was murdered, didn’t that seem like need-to-know information?”
His eyes flickered. “I wasn’t certain it was Polly who’d killed her.”
I waved my hands through the air, flapping them like a wild bird attacking its prey. I didn’t care if I looked foolish. I was too mad to care about anything other than being mad.
“So, that was just a coincidence?” I yelled. “Paisley dies right after Polly escapes but you’re not sure it’s related?”
The calmer I tried to make myself, the louder I got. I dismissed the tiny voice inside my head that tried to point out I had also questioned whether Polly was Paisley’s killer. That no longer mattered, not with this new information.
“Listen for a minute, would you?” Detective Hudson said, his voice thick with frustration. He took me by the shoulders. “I wanted to tell you. I did.”
I pushed him away.
“I trusted you, but you’re the same self-important liar you were the first time you came here.” I turned from him and went up to Margaret.
“How did you find all this out?” I asked her.
“Yeah,” Detective Hudson said from behind me. “How did you find this out? It’s classified information.”
“I was head of the Witch’s Council for a decade,” Margaret said, holding her head high. “Do you honestly think that the Witch’s Council and COMHA don’t talk? I have friends in higher places than you can imagine.”
Detective Hudson seemed stunned by this revelation. He had finally stopped yelling at Margaret and was looking at her with a fresh perspective. So was I. She was the only one here telling me the truth.
“You said there’s supposed to be five victims,” I said, trying to keep my head clear.
“That’s right. Paisley must have been the first,” Margaret answered.
“Who are the other four?”
“Well, there’s you,” Margaret said, counting off on her fingers. “But you’ll be the last one.”
“Why the last?” I asked.
“She merely has to kill the other victims. In very specific ways, I believe, but she’s not after their souls.”
Every time she used the word “soul,” my heart flopped in my chest.
“What does she plan to do with... my soul?”
“The soul is very powerful,” Anastasia said. “I’d say it’s the most powerful thing each of us has inside ourselves.” I’d almost forgotten she was here. She’d been quietly listening to us the whole time. “If you get the right soul, it can restore health, even life. It can make the incomplete complete again.”
“Even magical powers?” I asked.
Anastasia nodded.
“How does it do that?” I asked.
“Polly would have to feed off your energy in some way,” Margaret said. “My sources told me there’s an old, forgotten ritual she’s discovered that will allow her to do just that.”
“F-feed off my soul? Not literally.”
“Perhaps,” Anastasia chimed in. I thought I was going to be sick. I pictured a glowing, golden soul lying on a platter as Polly stood over it with a knife and fork.
“What about the other victims?” Detective Hudson asked. “Do you know who else Polly intends to kill?”
“No,” Margaret said. “But I’m working on finding out.”
It occurred to me that I had made a huge mistake not accepting Margaret’s help when she’d offered it. Clearly, she was more knowledgeable than I’d given her credit for. The sky overhead thundered again as if to emphasize my error.
“Anastasia,” I said, turning my eyes to her, “have you had any visions?”
“Yes,” she said.
I waited for her to go on, but she stood there staring at me. “Well?” I finally asked. “What have you seen?”
Anastasia had always been a little nutty, but her predictions were spot on. She had the gift of sight. My aunts had told me it was the pixie in her. Apparently, pixies were all gifted seers, though I had yet to encounter any actual pixies here in my time on the island.
“I’ve seen death,” Anastasia hissed.
“Whose death?” I asked.
“Yours.”
I gulped. Detective Hudson tried to put a comforting hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged it off.
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“Do you know how long I have to live?” I asked her.
She hesitated before answering. “It’s a bit fuzzy, but I believe it’s until the end of the Wolf Moon.”
Margaret’s eyes widened. “The Wolf Moon?”
Detective Hudson seemed to have gone a shade paler himself.
“What’s the Wolf Moon?” I asked.
“The first moon of the new year,” Margaret replied.
“You mean in January? This January?” The air around me grew heavy as I breathed it in. Margaret and Anastasia nodded. “When in January?”
“It begins January seventh and lasts for three days,” Anastasia said.
“So, I have until January tenth?” I muttered. “Today is December twenty-eighth.”
“Twenty-ninth,” Margaret corrected. “It’s after midnight.”
“So, I have less than two weeks to live?” I asked, baffled.
Anastasia nodded solemnly.
“Ava, I won’t let that happen.” Detective Hudson took my elbow, but I yanked it away from him and started walking. I’d learned everything I needed to know. Now, I just wanted some time to myself.
“Ava, wait!” Detective Hudson called after me as I speed-walked down the street.
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’ve been saying that a lot tonight.”
The night was warm, and I began to sweat as I picked up my pace. Why was he following me, anyway? He was a fool if he thought I was going to listen to anything he had to say now.
“Ava, I never meant to hurt you. It’s part of my job. Don’t you see?”
“It’s part of your job to hurt me?”
He winced.
“That’s not what I meant.”
A drop of rain hit my nose and rolled off. I looked up at the night sky and saw black clouds gathering overhead. Detective Hudson was staring up at them, too. He’d followed me all the way to my house and would have to walk back to The Alchemic Stone in the rain if he wanted to get his car.
“In the morning, I’ll talk to Dean Lampton. I’ll see if he has any new information I can share with you.”
“What if he does have new information?” I asked him, standing on the stoop to my house. “What if he tells you not to share it with me? Will you?”
His look was answer enough.
“That’s what I thought.” I fished my keys from my pocket and unlocked the door. The cool air hit me at once. Someone had started the air conditioner. That was good. Despite the rain, the night was hot. The humidity was making it impossible to breathe, let alone move.
“Ava—”
“I have nothing more to say to you.” I turned back to face him one last time. “And by the way, it’s Ms. Fortune to you.”
I slammed the door on his face as the rain began to fall.
* * *
CHAPTER
TWELVE
.
.
.
* * *
* * *
.
“Damon, I’m so sorry. Please call me when you get this.”
I hung up the phone and looked at the clock again. It was straight up noon. How in the witching world could I possibly have slept until noon?
Because you didn’t get home till two, in bed till three, and fall asleep till four.
“Ugh!” I yelled and slammed my fist into my pillow. “Of all the days to oversleep!”
The one thing Damon had specifically asked me to do for him was to be at the ferry with him to greet his mother. And I’d screwed it up.
“Mama?” a tiny voice asked. I looked down to see Snowball staring up at me from the floor.
“Hi, Snowy.”
“Mama okay? Snowball heard shouting.”
“Mama’s okay. I’m just an idiot is all.” I lay back on my bed and let out a loud groan.
In the fifteen minutes I’d been awake, I’d sent Damon a dozen texts and called him four times. He hadn’t responded to any of them.
Snowball jumped onto my bed and rubbed her head against my chin. “Snowball does not think Mama is an idiot. Snowball loves Mama.”
I scratched her head as she purred away. A moment later, an orange blur leaped onto the bed with us. Tootsie was holding something in her mouth.
“What have you got there?” I asked, taking it from her. It was a note from Eleanor.
Going to the Cove. Damon called. He sounded mad.
—Aunt E.
Great.
“Tootsie senses Ava is in trouble.” I stroked Tootsie’s long orange fur as Snowball continued to purr beside my ear.
“Snowball senses the same,” Snowy said, rubbing her nose against my elbow.
“Trouble doesn’t quite cut it, I think,” I told them. Although Tootsie was Trixie’s familiar, he had been my mom’s before she died. Because of that, we shared a special bond. Luckily, Snowball had never been jealous.
“I better get up,” I told my fuzzy feline companions and pushed the blanket back. “Somewhere out there is music for me to face. I better get ready for it.”
Tootsie an
d Snowball hopped off the bed and disappeared downstairs. I got dressed and looked out the window. Detective Hudson was pacing the sidewalk. I didn’t see his car. It was either still outside The Alchemic Stone or he’d moved it somewhere to keep up the illusion that he wasn’t stalking me.
Downstairs, the sink was full of dishes. I looked around for leftovers from Eleanor and Trixie’s breakfast but saw nothing. I ate a store-bought bagel and drank some stale coffee, wondering if the quality of my breakfast was any indication of how the rest of my day would go. I checked my phone one last time for a message from Damon and shoved it into my back pocket when I saw there was nothing there.
I stepped outside and Detective Hudson immediately sprang up. I could tell he wanted to come talk to me, but he wisely kept his distance. I was still mad. Last night’s rain had stopped but it had left giant puddles over the ground and the sky remained a dark, threatening gray.
I walked along the sidewalk, heading toward The Mystic Cupcake, before I remembered it was still closed. They were at Coffee Cove. That was fine by me. I could get some real coffee. I altered my path and headed there instead. Detective Hudson stayed across the street, matching me step for step on the sidewalk opposite mine.
I had walked a quarter of a mile before I finally stopped and turned to face him, keeping the road between us. Tourists drove down the blacktop, looking for parking spaces. They never realized that they could just park their car at the hotel and walk everywhere on the island. They didn’t need their cars. Locals rode bicycles or jogged by.
“Stop following me!” I yelled to Colt. I mean, Detective Hudson. A few passersby looked strangely at me.
Detective Hudson leaned toward me, held his hand to his ear, and shrugged his shoulders. As if I was supposed to believe he didn’t know what I was saying.
“Stop following me!” I yelled again.
Again, he shrugged his shoulders and held his hand to his ear. This time, he also mouthed the word, “What?”
I sighed and took a step closer.
“Stop—” A bicyclist almost crashed into me. I jumped out of the way just in time and looked up to see Detective Hudson attempting to suppress a laugh. “Oh, this is ridiculous,” I mumbled. I walked across the street and joined him.