A Drop of Witch (A Cozy Mystery Book): Sweetland Witch

by Zoe Arden

“It means I have four days instead of ten,” I said. “Four days until Polly comes for me.”

  “Unless we stop her first.” Margaret squeezed my hand reassuringly, but it didn’t help. In four days, Polly would try to sacrifice me and steal my soul. And we still had no idea how to stop her.

  * * *

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY

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  I woke up way too early. It was still dark. The first thing I did was check my phone. It was getting to be a habit. I hadn’t heard from Colt since he left for COMHA headquarters. I wasn’t worried, precisely, I just wanted to know that he was okay.

  There was no text from Colt, but there was one from Damon.

  SORRY ABOUT NEW YEAR’S.

  I texted him back.

  ME TOO.

  I hesitated over the screen before adding:

  WE NEED TO TALK.

  I waited to see if he’d send a response, but it was four in the morning, so I didn’t expect much. Snowball was curled up at my feet. She glanced sleepily up at me as I patted her head.

  “Mama up?”

  “No, Mama’s just getting some water. Go back to sleep.” I filled a glass with water in the bathroom and brought it back to my room. I looked out the window. Part of me still hoped I might see Colt out there again, parked in his car, watching over me. Instead, I saw Anastasia Lockwood hurrying down the street.

  I checked the time. It was only four-fifteen. Where was she going at this hour? I watched her until she disappeared. I contemplated going after her but sleep began to overtake me again and I crawled back into bed.

  Hours later, the doorbell rang.

  Trixie’s voice called upstairs. “Margaret’s here!”

  I dressed quickly and hurried downstairs. Last night, I’d filled Trixie and Eleanor in on the book Margaret had shown me. We’d chatted about it between our evening frostings and cakes. I was working on a new extract of peppy powder that I wanted to try out. I was hoping it was close to what Colt got from COMHA, but without the side effects.

  Trixie and Eleanor had both been shocked when I’d told them I only had a few days to live, according to this ritual. When I got downstairs this morning, I saw that they had informed my father.

  “Ava, honey, you’re not going to die in four days,” he said over coffee.

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  “Because.”

  “Because why?”

  “Because I’m your father and I know these things,” he said and helped himself to another brownie as Margaret lingered in the doorway. I hugged him from behind as he chewed on a chocolate cherry jubilation treat. I knew what was going on. He didn’t want to admit anything was wrong because it meant there was a chance he could actually lose me.

  “Okay, Dad. You win. I’m not dying in four days.”

  “Good. Because if you do, you’re definitely grounded.” He took another bite of brownie, and I tried not to laugh.

  Inside, I was terrified. I followed Margaret out of the house and thought about how much had changed between us so quickly. Since the night Colt and I had discovered her at Anastasia’s, she’d become more friend than foe. Something which I would never have thought was possible.

  “Do you really think Dr. Dunne has anything new to tell us?” I asked her as we made our way toward Sweetland Hospital.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know, but we won’t know until we ask.”

  “Sheriff Knoxx is pretty good at his job,” I said. “I don’t think he would’ve missed anything.” I watched Margaret, waiting to see how she’d respond. Everyone in Sweetland knew how she felt about him.

  Her lips tightened but her face remained otherwise neutral.

  “I know the sheriff and I haven’t always gotten along,” she said, “but I am trying to keep a more open mind about things these days.”

  We continued toward Sweetland Hospital in silence.

  “Can I ask you something, Margaret?”

  She nodded.

  “What prompted this change? I mean, it was more than just disliking Sheriff Knoxx. You hated him. You hated me. Why are you helping us now? Is it really just because you want to find Paisley’s killer?”

  “Partly,” Margaret said. “It was true when I told you that Paisley and I were good friends. We had a similar sense of humor. She was a lot of fun.”

  I refrained from commenting on Paisley’s sense of humor. It was that same sense of humor that so many people had found off-putting. That same sense of humor which, in all likelihood, had gotten her killed.

  “Also,” Margaret hesitated before continuing, “I’ve seen a different side of people, lately.”

  “A different side?” I asked. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve been volunteering at Wormwood Work Camp the last month or so.”

  “You’re kidding!” I yelled, much louder than I meant to. I couldn’t hide my shock if I’d tried. “You? Volunteer?”

  Margaret smiled.

  “Is it really so surprising?”

  “Yes.”

  She looked at me, and her eyes were watering. “Everyone in Sweetland hates me. I had to move to the other side of the island to get away from it, but even there I’m not well liked. When I resigned from the Witch’s Council, I decided that I had to take some drastic steps. There are only two towns on this island. I don’t want everyone in Mistmoor to hate me, too.”

  “Oh, Margaret,” I said as the tears spilled from her violet eyes. I wrapped an arm around her shoulder and gave her a hug. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea you felt like this. I didn’t think you cared how the people in Sweetland felt about you.”

  “Well, I do,” she said. “After all, despite what some people may think about me, I’m not a monster.”

  “Of course, you’re not.”

  She wiped her eyes. We started walking again.

  Note to self: be nicer to Margaret.

  “We’re here,” Margaret announced a few minutes later. I looked up, surprised by how fast we’d arrived at the hospital.

  “Thanks for helping, Margaret. I really appreciate it.”

  She smiled as we walked inside in search of Dr. Dunne. We found him in his office, sipping an energy drink and eating a cookie from The Mystic Cupcake.

  “Sorry to barge in on you,” Margaret said, shaking his hand.

  “Not at all,” Dr. Dunne said, half rising from his chair. “What can I do for you?”

  We took the seats opposite him.

  “We were wondering if you could tell us something more about Paisley’s murder,” I said, getting to the point.

  “I’m afraid I’ve already told Sheriff Knoxx everything I know. A blood spell was used to kill her. I thought as much shortly after examining her body when I got it back to the hospital, but because of the seriousness of the crime, I wanted to make absolutely certain before delivering my verdict.”

  “That makes perfect sense,” Margaret said, jumping in. “You’ve done an excellent, thorough job.”

  “Thank you,” Dr. Dunne said. I could tell her compliment had paid off. He was glowing. “Thoroughness is a big part of my work. It’s the little details that other doctors might miss that set me apart. I never miss anything.”

  “What were some of the little details you learned about Paisley?” I asked.

  “Well, for starters, her body was completely drained of blood when I examined her.”

  I winced at the image of a bloodless corpse.

  “She didn’t look... er... decomposed when I saw her at the shop. Wouldn’t losing all her blood like that... I don’t know, flatten her out or something?”

  “Normally, yes. That’s how I was able to rule out vampirism as the source of death.”

  I thought of Vlasic and wondered if he was like Melbourne, who had given up human blood a century ago, or more like the darker sects of vampires I’d heard about, who drank human blood on a nightly basi
s. I didn’t think Melbourne would hang around with someone like that, but you could never be sure.

  “So how did you finally settle on a blood spell?” Margaret asked. She seemed very interested.

  “This is how.” Dr. Dunne opened a drawer and removed a bloodstone similar to the one Dr. Wallace had found on Mayor Singer. It was smooth and oval, a dark so green that it was almost black. It had a dozen blood red veins running through it and an inscription on the side.

  “The meaning is obvious.”

  I looked at the carving on the side of the stone. Something about the stone itself looked familiar.

  “Where did you find it?” Margaret asked.

  “In Paisley Mudget’s pocket.”

  “That’s where they found Mayor Singer’s,” she replied. “In his pocket.”

  “Someone could have slipped it into her pocket at the party, and she might never have known,” I said.

  “That’s true,” Margaret replied.

  “What does the inscription mean?” I asked

  “Death through blood,” Dr. Dunne told me. “It’s part of the ritual. The blood is said to flow through the rock and to the person who’s cast the spell.”

  “Oh, my roses,” I said.

  “What?” Margaret asked.

  “Thank you for your time, Doctor,” I said, rising quickly from the chair. I hurried toward the door.

  “What is it?” Margaret asked when we were out of earshot.

  “I realized where I’ve seen these stones before.”

  “Where?”

  “The Alchemic Stone.”

  “Anastasia?” Margaret asked.

  I nodded.

  “Polly is back,” I told her. “She must have gotten these stones from her mother.”

  “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-ONE

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  “A re you sure it was the same stone?” Margaret asked.

  “Positive.”

  We hurried quickly down the road. The Alchemic Stone was only a mile from the hospital. By the time we got there, Margaret and I were out of breath.

  “Front or back?” Margaret asked as she tried to catch her breath. My own lungs were pumping way too fast. My heart joined them.

  “Front,” I said. “The store should still be open. I don’t want to scare her by going around back and sneaking in.”

  “Good point. Last time we were here, things didn’t go so well.”

  “You could say that again.”

  The Alchemic Stone was a brick-front building without any windows. It was meant to keep tourists out. The things Anastasia sold here were of a very particular nature. Magical gems and stones, plants, and herbs. Not all of them were safe. If a human ever got hold of boxie quill, for example, there was no telling what would happen.

  Not long ago, a tourist had accidentally been given a Wildebeest mushroom instead of a button mushroom in their salad at a restaurant in town. The next thing Sweetland knew, a giant Wildebeest was running loose through town, eating up all the daisies. The newspaper had written it up the next day as a warning to be extra careful when serving humans anything, whether it was for consumption or not. As for the man’s dining companions, they’d all been told it was a bad case of indigestion and were comped a night at their hotel.

  A rough breeze blew against my face as I stepped into The Alchemic Stone. It was the last line of defense against humans. Unless you had permission to enter, your mind would go blank, you’d forget why you came in, and you’d go right back out through the door you had just come through. It was a brilliant bit of magic, designed by Anastasia herself.

  “Anastasia?” I called.

  There was no answer.

  “Think she’s here?” Margaret asked.

  “She must be. It’s still early. Besides, the door was open.”

  We started looking around.

  “There they are!” I yelled, pointing at the display of stones I’d seen when Colt and I were here. “Or rather, there they should be.”

  “Where have they gone?” Margaret asked, walking to the display case. It was empty. Only a sign announcing their presence remained.

  “They’re gone. She must have moved them after Mayor Singer’s death. Why is Anastasia selling bloodstones anyway?” I asked. “That can’t be legal. And considering that it links her to the murders, it doesn’t make much sense.”

  “From my understanding of it,” Margaret said, “bloodstones are legal to sell if you market them as novelty items. See here?”

  She pointed to a cut out of a star that was attached to the sign. It read: BLOODSTONES: FOR ENTERTAINMENT ONLY!

  “If that’s all it takes to sell items of dark magic, then I think the Council on Magic and Human Affairs needs to rethink some of its rules.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more. When I was head of the Witch’s Council, I contacted Dean Lampton about that very thing.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Nothing. I could never prove it, but I’m fairly certain that Dean Lampton gets kickbacks from certain dark magic items sold in Heavenly Haven.”

  “Who would buy something like this? I’d be terrified of getting caught with it. Or of it backfiring somehow and... infecting me.” I remembered what Felicity had said about it spreading.

  “To most humans, bloodstones are nothing more than pretty, polished rocks. They buy them and put them on their shelves. Witches know better, but still... sometimes the lure of dark magic is overpowering.”

  I frowned. “Where is she? Anastasia?” I called again.

  “Let’s look in back.”

  We pushed open the door that went into her back room. It was empty.

  “Is she outside?” I asked.

  We peeked out the window. Nothing.

  “Where could she be?” Margaret asked, her hands on her hips. “The store is still open, for goodness sake. Anyone could walk in here and rob her blind.”

  I realized we were forgetting something. During the draugr affair, Anastasia had stored the draugr she’d caught down in her basement. I pushed open the last door leading downstairs. “She could be down here,” I said.

  “I know!” Margaret snapped her fingers. “The bathroom. I’ll check there. You check downstairs.” She hurried to the customer restroom out front while I descended the stairs. A bad feeling was creeping up my spine.

  “Anastasia?” I called.

  No answer.

  At the bottom stair, I pulled open the only door that led inside a storage room.

  “Anast—”

  My voice fell away as I took in the sight before me. Anastasia lay with her arm bent at an unhealthy angle, and her face smashed into the floor. She wasn’t breathing.

  “Margaret!” I yelled.

  Margaret came rushing down the stairs. She took one look and pulled me back up.

  “Call Sheriff Knoxx,” she said. “Now.”

  I pulled my phone out and realized I’d missed about twenty phone calls from Sheriff Knoxx. Another thirty from Treena and Eleanor. My stomach dropped.

  I dialed the sheriff. “Hello?” I said when I heard him answer.

  “Ava! Thank the wizards you’re all right. Where are you?”

  “I’m at The Alchemic Stone with Margaret,” I said. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Don’t move. Stay right where you are.”

  I could hear Eleanor and my father in the background. She was trying to calm him down about something. She kept saying, “It’s okay, Eli. She’s safe. Ava’s safe.”

  Margaret nudged my elbows and mouthed the words, “Tell him.” I nodded.

  “Sheriff Knoxx, there’s something I have to tell you.”

  “Tell me when I get there.”

  “You don’t understand. Anastasia’s dead.”

  There was a deafening pause from the other line.

  “Dead?�
�

  “Yes. Margaret and I just found her.”

  “Ava, get out of there. Go outside. Hurry.”

  “What are you talking about? You just said not to move.”

  I heard Eleanor whisper something to him.

  Sheriff Knoxx took a breath.

  “Ava, Slater Winston has just escaped from prison. He’s with Polly. Now get out of the store and wait for me where people can see you.”

  He slammed the phone down. I stood staring at Margaret, shaking.

  “What?” she asked, alarmed. “Ava?”

  “Outside,” I told her. “Now.”

  * * *

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-TWO

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  “M aybe we should leave her alone,” Margaret said nervously as I turned Polly over. Her face was blue.

  “You can go back outside if you want,” I told her. “I understand.” We’d waited out there for all of three minutes before curiosity finally got the better of me.

  Polly’s body was just like the others. Perfectly preserved. If I hadn’t have known better, I might have thought she was simply sleeping. There was no sign of physical trauma. It was as if she had come down to the basement and simply fallen over.

  “Are you sure it’s safe to be touching her?” Margaret asked, wringing her hands together.

  I paused and looked at Polly’s face. Her eyes were still open. She looked surprised. I closed them before reaching my hand into her pocket.

  “There it is!” I yelled excitedly.

  I covered Anastasia with a blanket that was sitting on a nearby chair and held up the bloodstone I’d just found in her pocket. It was a perfect, rounded green stone. The dark red lines that swam throughout it only made it look that much prettier.

  “Ava, I think you should put that down.” Margaret’s voice was unsteady.

  “Maybe you’re right,” I agreed. I set it on a table and began looking around the room. I couldn’t find any sign that there had been a struggle.