by Amy Boyles
Anathema nodded to us. "How do you do?"
"They're here about the murders," Titus said.
Technically we were here because my grandmother likes to play God in my life. But hey, there's no reason to be all tomato/tomahto-y about it.
Anathema sighed. "My sister was the most recent one to die."
"What happened?" Roman asked. He was interested in this? Would wonders never cease?
"We found her without her skin."
Ew. Then the reasoning behind that struck me. "So the murderer stole her magic?"
Anathema nodded. "They took it, yes."
Titus's booming voice interjected. "For years we've encountered the occasional murder of our kind. We've been to your witch council. They investigate, but not once has a killer been named. They don't care about us."
"I care about this," Roman said. "Tell me everything. Every last detail, from where she was found to the last time anyone saw her alive."
***
A dry patch of grass on an otherwise lush hillside marked where the dead unicorn had been found a few weeks earlier.
"She was discovered at dawn," Anathema said. "We couldn't find the tracks of any humans nearby, and the killer's scent had been wiped clean."
"Magic," Titus said. "They used magic to lure her, and then magic to erase their very presence on our land."
"Have you been posting guards?" Roman said.
"Yes. I've even surrounded our glen with powerful web spells to keep intruders out, but somehow the humans are getting through."
Roman swiped a finger over his chin. "These are powerful witches we're dealing with. They won't have power that's at a normal level—their gifts will be enhanced. They'll be able to sneak past your spells or even disable them."
"So you believe it's more than one?" Anathema said.
Roman frowned. "It's many more than one. These witches run an expansive network. Tell me what I can do. I'll help any way that I can."
Titus nodded. "We need support. We're not receiving any from your witch council."
"Have you put the fairies on high alert as well?" Roman asked.
"There was no other choice." Titus's ancient voice rumbled in his throat. "We're all on the defensive, not knowing when another murder will happen."
Roman crossed to Anathema and placed a hand on her shoulder. "I promise to do my best to track down whoever did this to your sister."
"Thank you," Anathema said.
"Now," Titus said, "if there's nothing else, I think it's time for you to be heading back to your own world. The fairies can't be kept at bay for forever."
"Wait," I said. "They still want to harm us?"
"Oh yes," Titus said. "The murders have put them on edge. If you're human, they don't want you here."
"There's one last thing I wanted to see before we left."
"Yes?" he asked.
"A trollop flower. I'd like to see one if I may."
Titus nodded. Light glinted on the tip of his horn, and a moment later a blue flower hovered in the air before me. It resembled a calla lily except the thick meaty petals were the color of a cornflower. The delicate stamen stood erect in the center, the smallest bit of pressure ready to snap it off. The flower was beautiful, fragile and, most of all, deadly.
"So this is it," I whispered. "The flower that kills."
Roman nodded. "That's it."
Having seen what I wanted, I indicated to Titus that he could vanish the flower. "I guess we should be going." I looked at Titus, waiting for him to transport us back to Alabama.
He gave me that patient stare of his. "You may leave whenever you're ready."
I shrugged. "I'm ready."
Roman leaned over. "I think he expects you to work the magic."
"Me? Why me?"
"Because you're a witch," Roman reminded me.
Oh that. Ha-ha. Well, I had one-upped the unicorn king. Little did he know, I wasn't a very good witch. "Thing is, I can't get us back home."
I swear I saw Anathema give Titus a look that said really? "Magic is easy," Titus said. "You want to go back home. Imagine yourself there and that's where you'll be."
"You mean like Dorothy and the slippers?" I asked.
"I don't know a Dorothy."
"Never mind. Inside joke." I wrung my hands. "So what am I supposed to do here?"
"Do what you would normally do if you wanted to transport somewhere," Anathema said.
"Maybe we can walk. Is there a train station or bus nearby?" I asked.
Roman placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "You can do this. You've worked magic before. Concentrate and take us back."
"Easy as cake."
Not at all.
I glanced into Roman's smiling face. All sorts of butterflies and moths and flittering hummingbirds fluttered in my chest. I could do this. Sure I could. After all, I didn't want to look like a failure in front of Roman.
Not that I cared what he thought or anything.
He took my hand and squeezed. I closed my eyes and focused on getting us back home. I tugged on the energy I felt at my fingertips and pinpointed my focus. I waited for the rush of power, the surge of magic to let me know I'd harnessed what I needed, but nothing came. I opened my eyes. Everyone—well, Roman and two unicorns—stared at me as if waiting for sunshine to blow out of my behind.
"I guess I'm not very good at this whole spelling thing," I said.
Titus plodded over to me and said, "Hold out your hand."
I did as he said. The unicorn king lowered the tip of his ivory horn into my palm. A zing of energy pulsed up my arm. A bright light sparked. When it receded, an oval opal rested in the cup of my hand. It looked similar to the starburst that Anathema wore.
"It's beautiful," I said.
"It will help you," Titus said. "Use it to focus your power, and your gift will come more easily."
I skimmed my fingers over the smooth surface. Dazzling blues, pinks and yellows caught the sunlight. The stone shimmered. I clutched it to my chest. I was overcome by the kindness of the unicorn king, especially since my kind weren't liked, and for good reason.
"But be careful," Titus warned. "When you wield your magic with the opal, you must never, ever touch it to another stone of its kind."
I glanced up at him. "Why not?"
"Their magic will repel each other and cause a catastrophe."
I gulped. Okay, don't cross the opal streams. Got it.
Roman crimped his palm over mine. I gave him a shy smile and pressed the stone to my heart. I focused one more time. Images of Silver Springs flashed before me. This time a whirlwind of power surged around me.
The ground dropped out from under my feet. A rush of air encircled me, and in less than the time it took for my brain to register that I was standing in midair, I collapsed to the ground. Panting, I brushed a strand of hair from my forehead and opened my eyes.
I sat on my living room floor. Roman lay on his side beside me. He rose, brushed off his pants and extended his hand. I slid mine into his, and he pulled me to standing. I tumbled onto his marble chest. Roman rocked back on his heels, gently circled his hands around my arms and steadied me.
"Well, that's one way to do it," he said.
My face warmed. "You could say that again."
He inched closer. "I'm sorry about all the miscommunication between us."
I swallowed the egg in my throat. "That. Yeah. Well, sometimes those things happen."
He removed his shades, revealing sea-green eyes that morphed my knees to jelly. "I’d rather it hadn't. I'd like to forget that anything bad happened between us."
Okay, done. What's my name again? "I'm not sure what you're saying."
He hooked a finger under my chin and tilted my face toward his. "I'm saying I'd like to see you once more with your hair down," he growled.
"What?"
He smirked. "I'd like to kiss you again."
"I'm confused about my hair."
"It was a joke. Well, not really, but I'
d like to kiss you more than see your hair out of that darned ponytail."
I frowned. "I'm just kinda confused what that has to do with anything."
"It doesn't have anything to do with anything. I was only saying it." He glanced at the ceiling and shook his head. "For God's sake. Can't you just let me kiss you?"
Sounded reasonable enough. "Okay." Because in all reality, it was what I wanted. I closed my eyes and tipped my face toward his, waiting to feel Roman's silky mouth against mine.
Brrrrng! Brrrrng! His pocket vibrated against my waist. I shot back.
He scowled and yanked the phone from his pants. "Bane here." I have to say, for as irritated as he looked, Roman answered cooler than a cucumber on a sweltering Alabama day. "Okay, I'll be right there." He killed the call with the touch of a button. "I have to get back to Balmore."
Images of Pearbottom arresting Roman invaded my mind. "Why? Is it Pearbottom?"
He unfolded his sunglasses and slid them onto his face. Darn. I really liked looking at his eyes. They were so much prettier than my poo-brown ones. "No, he's gone. There's a problem with the witches."
"What's that?"
He gazed at me for a long moment before saying, "They're rioting."
ELEVEN
We arrived back at Balmore a few minutes later. I used the magical opal again and felt a gazillion times more confident in my natural witchy abilities. We landed, for lack of a better word, in the woods where we'd been running earlier.
Em met us on the lawn. "I don't know where the two of you got off to, but those witches are a mess."
Roman's jaw twitched. "I'll handle it."
"I hope so."
"Is Pearbottom gone?" I asked.
Em nodded. "Yeah. He left a little while ago." She brushed a cloud of curls out of her face. Honestly, Em had the most delicate features—a button nose, porcelain skin, a heart-shaped mouth. I stood in awe of her beauty, and at the same time I was jealous as heck of it.
Em burped. She tapped her chest with a fist. "Excuse me. That Coke came up wrong."
Seems I was only jealous of her looks.
We rushed up the rise. As we crested the hill, I saw them. Thirty witches blocked the entrance to the house. They shouted; they screeched; they even held signs. Two or three of them waved poster boards on sticks that read SET US FREE and WE'RE NOT GUILTY. I rolled my eyes. Didn't they realize this was a murder investigation?
Roman, without flinching even for an instant at this small militia of women, strode up to the tangle of bodies, put his fingers in his mouth, and released a whistle that I'm sure was heard two and a half counties away.
The witches quieted.
He glared at them. I mean, I think he glared at them. He still wore his shades, after all. But it was what I would have done. I would have stared those ingrates down so hard the ends of their hair frizzed up in the humidity.
"Who would like to tell me exactly what's going on here?" he said.
Sumi Umi broke free from the cluster of witches and stomped forward. She raised a petite fist high in the air. "You have your murderer. Why are you holding us?"
Roman rested his hands on his hips. "As far as I'm concerned, this is still an active investigation. I have a suspect, but she hasn't been named a murderer yet."
"You can't keep us here. This violates our rights," another witch yelled.
Roman shifted his weight. "What rights do you have, exactly, when someone's been poisoned?"
Sumi trolled the line of witches. "You don't understand. I can't stay here. Not now." She collapsed to the ground. A sob escaped her throat. Sumi glanced up. "I must take my sister's body and bury it. I haven't been given the chance to properly grieve here. Instead you've forced me to spend the worst days of my life in the same house as the…" Her voice trembled, and her hands shook. "You've forced me to share my time of mourning with the…with the murderer…" Racking sobs overtook her.
A swarm of witches surrounded her. They pulled Sumi to her feet. Tears streamed down her face, and I had to admit, sorrow tugged at my own heartstrings as I saw the broken woman before me.
I crossed to Roman and placed a tender hand on his arm. "Maybe you should let her go home."
He remained silent. How could he be stony when a woman so clearly destroyed stood before him? Perhaps more iron encased his heart than I knew.
"One more day," Roman said. "Give me one more day and you can all go home."
Sumi sniffed. She lifted her head and said, "One day."
Roman nodded. "Will that do for the rest of you? Is one more day torture enough for those of you who didn't commit the murder but are anxious to leave? Can you stand helping us solve this case for that long?"
Eyes darted to the ground in embarrassment. Well, they should have been. Roman wasn't keeping them here for his own purposes. For goodness’ sake, there had been a murder. A murder. They needed to remember that.
The women bristled, but they didn't do anything other than murmur and mumble as they dispersed back to their rooms or the pool—wherever they'd come from. As soon as they were gone, Sera found me.
"Where've you been?" she asked.
I rubbed the tips of my fingers against my forehead. "It's a long story."
Her full lips split into a smile. "I'm pretty sure I have time."
"I'll tell you about it when Milly and Grandma are here, too. They upstairs?"
"Yeah. I think they're discussing the finer points of having winged monkeys around."
I rolled my eyes. "Sounds awesome." I paused. "Hey, did you know Reid's been hanging around Jenny Butts?"
Sera frowned. "No. Why would she be doing that? Jenny's not good for anything other than gossip."
"I know, right? But that's who came to pick her up a while ago."
Sera slid an index finger over her upper lip. "Maybe we should make her come back."
"Not a bad idea. I hate to think of what Jenny's getting her up to."
My sister shrugged. "Probably nothing more than a gossip party disguised as a night of euchre."
I laughed. "Does anyone even play that anymore?"
"Beats me."
I saw Roman talking to Em. I wanted to discuss what Titus had told us before I went in. "Listen, go on ahead. I'll catch up to you in a minute. There's something I need to do first."
"Okay, but don't let that hunk Roman steal you for too long. I want to know everything."
I smiled. "Cross my heart."
"Please don't hope to die. That's so medieval."
"And not hoping to die," I finished.
Sera walked past the sprinkle of witches that remained on the lawn. I glanced at Roman, who still looked in deep discussion with Em. Not wanting to barge in, I meandered around to the side of the house to stretch my legs and kill some time.
I found Margaret Duncan all alone in a small brick nook. Her graying air hung loose about her face, the stringy tendrils covering her crooked bifocals. I didn't know who had taken her to the ugly shop to get fixed up, but this was a completely different looking woman than the one I had seen last night and at breakfast this morning.
She gestured wildly, mumbling, "Hard to kill. Not to kill."
I paused. As I watched the matron of the gossip paper, she paced back and forth, wringing her hands as if they were a wet towel she was trying to dry. "Had to do it. To kill. No killing."
Was she saying what I thought she was saying?
Margaret raised her hands to the sky. "Die, dead, death."
I stared at her. As if she could hear the static fuzz that filled my brain, she pivoted toward me.
Crap. What do I do?
"Hi," I said. "Beautiful day for a walk." Her face reddened. "La-de-da. Nice seeing you back here." For some totally awkward reason, I saluted Margaret and said, "Yep. I guess I'll be going now."
As fast as my legs could carry me, I shuffled back to Roman. I grabbed him by the T-shirt. "Excuse us, Em," I said, dragging him away.
"Whoa. I know we've got some animal attractio
n, but slow down there," he said.
Parts of my body long neglected tingled, but I dutifully ignored them. "Don't be smart. I've got something to tell you."
"I'm guessing by the way you're clutching my chest that it can't wait."
"You got it."
He took hold of my hands. Scorching heat blazed up my arms. "What is it?"
"Margaret Duncan's out back jabbering on about something."
"What's that?" he asked.
My mouth trembled. I crimped my lips together, exhaled and said, "Death."
TWELVE
Roman listened without flinching. I sat on a chair in his room and told him and Em everything I'd heard. When I finished, they glanced at each other.
"Well?" I said. "What do you think?"
"It sounds like someone's brain is broken," Em said.
"Yeah, it was weird," I admitted. "She was completely different this morning."
Roman drummed his fingers on a table. "Probably the stress getting to her. She did just lose her niece."
"There's something else," I said.
"Well, aren't you full of information today?" Em snipped.
I shot her a dark look. "Do you want to hear or not?"
She shrugged.
I rolled my eyes. "I've already told Roman this, but maybe you can explain it. Margaret knows who he is."
Em sucked in her cheeks. "She does?"
I nodded. "Told me at breakfast. How can she know that?"
Roman glanced at Em. "This is yours to answer."
Em adjusted her bangles. "Had you ever met Margaret before all this?" she asked him.
"No."
Em paused. "Could be that she knows who you are. She does run a gossip paper, after all. If she was aware of you before comin' here, the spell wouldn't work on her as well. In fact, it might not work at all. That's how chickadee here”—she pointed at me—"and her family haven't forgotten you."
Roman scrubbed a hand over his jaw. "Sounds like we need to straighten some things out with Margaret."
"Good idea," I said. "When should we talk to her?"
He scowled. "There's no we in this, Dylan. I'm investigating. You're a civilian."