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

by Zoe Arden

  “How do bloodstones kill, exactly? I mean, there are no signs of a struggle. There haven’t been with any of the deaths. Doesn’t someone have to... I don’t know... physically be here to cast a spell?”

  “I’m not positive, but I think the spell is cast on the bloodstone itself. Once it comes into contact with the person it’s been cast upon, that person acts as a sort of catalyst. The spell just sort of comes together.”

  “Let’s go upstairs,” I said, finding nothing in the basement of much use. Margaret was relieved when we were far away from Anastasia and the bloodstone.

  “Shouldn’t Sheriff Knoxx be here by now?” Margaret asked.

  “I’m sure he’s just grabbing Otis.” It occurred to me that he might also be struggling against Eleanor, who probably wanted to come with him. I was sure he wouldn’t want her anywhere near a bloodstone.

  “Something about all this doesn’t make sense,” I said.

  Margaret lifted an eyebrow. “I think there’s a lot of things about this that don’t make sense. Like how Polly could escape from Wormwood, to begin with. And now Slater? I thought Swords and Stones was a fortress.”

  “Yes, but more than that.” I stopped pacing the floor and looked around the room as if there was some key clue right in front of me that I just couldn’t see. “Why would Polly kill her own mother? I know she and Anastasia had their problems, but I just don’t think that even Polly would stoop so low.”

  “It must have been Polly though. Who else could it be?”

  “I just don’t think that Polly would kill her mom,” I snapped. “It doesn’t make sense. Polly loved her mother.”

  “Not everyone is as good a person as you are, Ava,” Margaret snapped back. “Just because Polly loves her mom doesn’t mean she wouldn’t kill her to get her powers back.”

  I bit my lip and had to admit Margaret had a point.

  “Sorry if I got short with you, “I told her.

  “Me, too. I guess it’s normal in a situation like this. Tempers are bound to flair.”

  There was a squeal of tires out front, and Sheriff Knoxx came running through the front door. Otis Winken was just behind him. He was carrying a small, brown satchel over his shoulder. It had a mesh screen on one side and was open at the top. A small, furry, black and white head popped out of it and looked around. Sheriff Knoxx shot an irritated glance in its direction. He reached out one hand and pushed its head gently back into Otis’s bag.

  Otis looked down at his furry friend nervously.

  “Tadpole doesn’t like it when other people touch him,” Otis said.

  “If that familiar of yours lets loose inside this store, you’re going to be sorry,” Sheriff Knoxx warned.

  I tried to suppress a laugh. I couldn’t believe that Sheriff Knoxx had allowed Tadpole within ten feet of him, let alone a crime scene.

  Otis looked at me apologetically. “Tadpole wanted to come,” he explained. “He has a real knack for solving crimes.”

  Margaret wrinkled her nose.

  “Hi, Miss Margaret. It’s me. Otis. Otis Winken.”

  “Hello, Otis. Nice to see you.”

  Sheriff Knoxx rolled his eyes.

  There was a squeak from inside his bag, and Otis held the satchel up to his ear. Tadpole’s nose popped out and nudged against Otis’s earlobe. I waited for the smell to follow, but nothing happened except that Otis nodded his head. He lowered the satchel and looked at Sheriff Knoxx.

  “Tadpole says something smells weird in here.”

  Sheriff Knoxx rolled his eyes. “I should think so.”

  Otis’s cheeks colored. “I think he means that he smells danger.”

  There was an affirmative squeak from inside the bag.

  “Amazing,” Sheriff Knoxx said sarcastically. “Your skunk smells danger at a crime scene.” He held up a hand as Otis opened his mouth. “Are you two okay?” he asked me and Margaret.

  “Fine,” I told him.

  He looked at Margaret and gritted his teeth. “What are you doing here?” I could tell it was taking all of his willpower not to begin shouting at her.

  For her part, Margaret spoke without anger or sarcasm. “I’m helping Ava find Paisley’s killer,” she said simply and left it at that.

  “Sheriff, you said on the phone that Slater escaped?” I asked. The idea that Slater was free scared me. Last time I’d seen him, his main goal in life had been to get rid of witches altogether.

  “Yes, but don’t worry. I’ve spoken with Dean Lampton, and he’s already got people tracking them.”

  “Them?”

  “Slater and Polly. He could never have escaped without her. The prison has them both on video surveillance. Now, Ava, where’s the body?”

  I showed Sheriff Knoxx where Anastasia was. His face was grim as he looked her over. Otis looked like he was going to be sick. I didn’t blame him. Her normally milky skin was tinted a light shade of blue that was growing darker by the second.

  “I can’t believe Polly would do this to her own mother,” Sheriff Knoxx muttered.

  “That’s just my problem, Sheriff,” I said. “I don’t think she did.”

  Sheriff Knoxx looked at me. “What do you mean? Of course, she did.”

  “How could she?”

  “How could she not?” Margaret interjected.

  “When did Slater escape?” I asked.

  “A few hours ago. Unlike Wormwood, Swords and Bones immediately notified the Council on Magic and Human Affairs. Given that the last time Slater was free he started killing humans, I think that was probably a smart move.”

  “Yes, but don’t you see?” I asked.

  Margaret, Sheriff Knoxx, and Otis all looked at me with blank expressions.

  “I saw Anastasia alive early this morning.”

  “When?” Sheriff Knoxx asked.

  “Around four.”

  “So?” Margaret asked. “She was killed sometime between four a.m. and now.”

  “But if Polly was breaking Slater out of Swords and Bones a few hours ago...”

  “Then she couldn’t be the killer,” Sheriff Knoxx finished for me.

  Margaret’s eyes lit up. “Oh, my roses,” she said. “You mean...”

  “Either Polly isn’t the murderer at all... or she’s not working alone.”

  * * *

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-THREE

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  T he next day was gray and grim. January fifth. Two days. I only had two days left before the start of the Wolf Moon.

  I’d spent the night pouring through my books on Sara Sweetland and Patrick Mistmoor. I researched everything I could about them, then turned to my book on the archetypes. There were twelve main archetypes. The Jester, which had been Paisley. The Ruler, which had obviously been Mayor Singer. Now Anastasia.

  I opened the book again and turned to the chapter that had struck me most: The Caregiver.

  The Caregiver is also known as the saint, supporter, and parent. Their goal is to help those they love.

  Even though I’d never refer to Anastasia as a saint, she was definitely a parent. As for helping others... it was strange to think of her like that, given the antagonistic relationship we’d shared, but the truth was she had helped others.

  Anastasia had been a gifted seer. She gave readings to people in the back of her store—she’d even given me readings before—and almost never charged for them. At least not officially. I knew that most people slipped her some money, which she always took willingly enough, but still... money never seemed to be her main motivation. She offered insight and advice to anyone who came seeking it. She wanted to help them.

  There was a soft knock on my door. “Honey? You awake?” It was my father.

  “Come in.”

  My door popped open, and my dad’s head poked into the room. “Morning,” he said, smiling.

  “What’s good about it?” I asked.r />
  “You should get dressed. I think there’s someone downstairs you’re gonna want to see.”

  “If it’s Margaret, tell her thanks, but I’m taking the day off. I have forty-eight hours to live, and I’ve decided to spend it in my room eating ice cream and watching old movies.”

  “You’re not going to die,” my dad said, frowning.

  “We have no idea who Polly’s working with. We’re back to square one.”

  “Just get dressed and come downstairs,” he said and paused before closing the door. “That’s an order.”

  I let out a breath and got dressed. I figured I might as well humor him before I was gone. On my way down the stairs, I heard a man’s voice. It was smooth and deep and sent a shiver up my spine.

  “Colt!” I yelled, darting down the rest of the way down. In the kitchen, he spun toward the sound of my footfalls. I ran to him and threw my arms around him, hugging him until he couldn’t breathe.

  “Well, thanks,” he said, blushing. “It’s good to see you, too.”

  I was grinning like a fool but didn’t care. I had a million questions for him and a million more things to tell him.

  “What happened? When did you get back? Did they fire you?”

  “Ava,” Eleanor called from the stove where she was preparing breakfast, “give him time to breathe.”

  “It’s okay,” Colt said, grinning back at me. He seemed genuinely happy to be back. “To start with your last question, no. I wasn’t fired.”

  “Good. They’d have been crazy to do that to you.”

  My father was watching me carefully. I knew what he was thinking—I’d done a complete 180 since I’d first met Colt. In less than two weeks, I’d gone from hating him to... well... to enjoying his company. But I’d gotten to know him in that time. He’d shared intimate details of his life with me. His father’s death. His desire to live up to his dad’s memory. Even the thing about the saxophone. It almost felt like in the short time we’d spent together, I knew Colt better than I knew Damon.

  “It wasn’t quite that easy,” Colt said, scowling slightly. “I had to convince them to give me some more time. Of course, when Slater escaped, they had no choice but to send me back. I wasn’t even on the case at that point, so they could hardly blame me for that one.”

  “Well, either way, I’m glad you’re here.”

  Eleanor and Trixie exchanged a look and suddenly I wanted to get out of here. Colt must have caught on and asked if I wanted to join him for an interview.

  “Interview... or interrogation?” I gave him a sly smile.

  “Depends on the person,” he said, smiling back.

  “Who are we interviewing?” I asked as we left the house.

  “Renee Tellinger.”

  I paused with my hand on the car door.

  “Damon’s mom?” My face flushed.

  “That’s right. Remember when I asked you to contact Damon after Mayor Singer’s death so we could to talk to his mother?”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t.”

  “Yes, I know. That’s why we’re just showing up.”

  Damon and I had agreed to get together after his mom left and “talk” about our relationship. I wasn’t sure that I wanted to see him before then. Things had gotten so awkward between us lately. One minute, he was kissing me, the next, he was acting like I was some crazy witch he couldn’t even talk to, let alone trust.

  “You don’t have to go,” Colt said when he saw my hesitation. “I just thought you might want to. You can stay here.”

  “You mean you’re not gonna lock me up inside the house if I’m not with you?”

  Colt laughed. “No. I have enough video bumpers around the house to watch you from any room, at any time.”

  “Even the bathroom?” I teased.

  “Especially the bathroom.” Colt opened his car door and slid inside.

  “Wait. What? That was a joke, right?” I got into the car next to him. “Colt, you were joking, right? You don’t really have spy equipment in our bathroom, do you?”

  Colt winked at me and started the car.

  I didn’t know whether to be mad at him or laugh out loud. I was pretty sure he was kidding.

  Note to self: check the bathroom for spyware before taking a shower.

  * * *

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-FOUR

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  We pulled up to Damon’s place a few minutes later. I shot Margaret a quick text to let her know Colt was back. We were supposed to meet up again later today, but I told her this might take a while and we changed our plans to tomorrow.

  “We should have walked,” I told Colt. “It’s turning into a nice day.”

  Colt shrugged. “I’m used to driving. Old habits die hard, I guess.”

  We climbed a flight of stairs to Damon’s floor.

  “You first,” Colt said.

  I bit my bottom lip and knocked. A second later, I was looking at Damon’s sparkling blue eyes. Except they weren’t sparkling.

  “Hi,” I said, offering a friendly smile. He didn’t look happy I was there. When he saw Colt, he looked even less thrilled.

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  “I was hoping we could talk to you and your mom a minute,” I said.

  “Or just your mom,” Colt interjected.

  I shot him a look. Damon was protective of his mother. If he thought we were interrogating her, he’d flip out. Better he thought we were there to interrogate both of them.

  “What about?” Damon asked suspiciously.

  “The night Mayor Singer was killed.”

  “I don’t think we want to talk to you,” Damon said. “Either of you.”

  I knew he was purposely trying to be hurtful, and it was working. It felt like he was stabbing me in the heart with a dagger.

  “Let them in,” his mom called from the living room.

  “Why?”

  “Because otherwise they’ll just keep coming back.”

  Damon’s eyes narrowed with irritation but he opened the door for us.

  Colt and I stepped inside.

  “Hello, Mrs. Tellinger,” Colt said, shaking her hand. “I’m not sure we’ve officially met. I’m Detective Colt Hudson, Council on Magic and Human Affairs.”

  “I know who you are,” she said, her voice low and threatening.

  “I just wanted to ask you a few questions about the murder of Mayor Singer.”

  “What can my mom tell you?” Damon demanded. “We weren’t even there when it happened.”

  “That’s right,” Colt said. “As I understand it, you both left just before it occurred.”

  Damon’s face reddened. “Are you implying we had something to do with it?”

  “No, I’m simply stating a fact.”

  Damon and his mom fumed as I stood behind Colt, not sure what to do. Maybe I should have stayed home after all.

  “Where did you go after you left?” Colt asked.

  “Home,” Damon and his mom said at once.

  “You didn’t make any stops along the way?”

  “No,” Renee said. Colt jotted something down into his notebook as Damon scowled at him.

  “Did you see anyone or anything unusual as you were leaving?” Colt asked.

  “No,” Damon said.

  “I think your mom can speak for herself. Can’t you, Mrs. Tellinger?”

  “Of course, I can. We saw nothing out of the ordinary.”

  Damon came up beside me, taking hold of my arm and gently ushering me away from Colt and his mom. Colt stiffened but he didn’t make a move toward us. He kept writing in his notebook and watched us out of the corner of his eye.

  “What is it that you think you’re doing?” Damon demanded when we were out of earshot. His teeth were tight and even and way too close to my face.

  “Anastasia Peacock was murdered yesterday,” I told him.

  “I know.
It’s all over town.”

  “It couldn’t have been Polly who did it. She wasn’t here. She was with Slater.”

  “Slater?” Damon asked. “You mean she was at Swords and Bones?”

  “I mean she was breaking him out of Swords and Bones.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I guess you haven’t heard everything then, have you?” I asked, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in my voice. “Slater escaped.”

  Damon’s face went white.

  “Why didn’t anyone tell me? I thought family was first on the list to call if something like that happened.” I’d almost forgotten that Slater was Damon’s cousin.

  “Oh,” I stammered. “I don’t know. They should have.”

  Damon strode quickly back toward his mother. “Mom, don’t say another word.”

  “Why? What’s wrong?” She looked at me with hard, dark eyes. “What did you do to my son?” If looks could have killed, I’d have been on the floor with my head caved in.

  “Slater escaped,” Damon told her.

  Renee’s face turned as pale as her son’s. She turned to Colt.

  “Are you here questioning us because you think we helped Slater escape?”

  “No,” I interjected, realizing now how it probably looked. “Polly helped him. We know that.”

  “Then what are all these questions about?” Damon demanded.

  “We’re just trying to figure things out,” I yelled back at him. Damon’s fist was clenched and shaking in the air. My phone buzzed in my pocket but I ignored it.

  “Put your hand down,” Colt said to Damon, his face darkening.

  “What are you gonna do about it if I don’t? Slap me with another set of antlers? Maybe this time I won’t let Ava talk me out of writing to your boss and filing a complaint.”

  Colt shot me a surprised look.

  “This is my son’s home. Leave here now or I’ll file a complaint myself. And no one will talk me out of it,” Renee yelled.

  I could see the tension in Colt’s shoulders. I put a hand on his arm and steered him toward the door.