Kiss My Witch

by Amy Boyles

  I made it to the house five minutes later and opened the door to Milly's wooden parrot screeching, "Boil you alive! Boil you alive!"

  "News certainly travels fast," I said, closing the door behind me.

  From her curled position on one of the floral couches, Sera glanced up at me. "What took you so long?"

  "Apparently I needed a bit more instruction than you."

  "In what?"

  "I don't know," I said, plopping onto a chair. "On how to be a good witch, maybe?"

  "Hmmm," she mused. "That can't be all bad."

  I waved her comment away. "I'm sorry I got us into this mess."

  Sera shrugged. "You didn't. It was my fault as much as yours. I wanted to see inanimate objects come to life. Makes things more interesting, don't you think?"

  "Everything where magic's concerned makes life more interesting," I grumbled.

  "You could say that again," Reid said from the corner, nose deep in her phone. I resisted the overwhelming urge to waltz over and snatch it from her hand to see what she was doing. Be a good sister, I told myself. Well, maybe not good; perhaps nice was a better word.

  "Who are you texting?" I asked.

  "Who, me?"

  "No, Polly the Parrot. Yes, you."

  Reid flashed me her most innocent doe-eyed look. Yeah, right. I wasn't buying it, buddy. "No one. I'm just scrolling on Facebook. Oh, look at the time. I'm going to sit on the front porch for a few minutes. Anyone want to join me?"

  "No thanks, it's hot as all get-out," I said. "Enjoy yourself."

  With phone in hand, Reid headed out the front door. A second later the chains attached to the front porch swing squeaked as they rocked back and forth.

  "What's going on with that girl?" I asked.

  "Beats me," Sera said. "Oh, I forgot to tell you. Your boyfriend's in the kitchen."

  "What? I mean, what? I mean, he's not my boyfriend."

  Sera's blue eyes sliced right through me. "Sure. Right. And monkeys don't fly."

  "Not that we've seen," I corrected.

  "Anyway…” She licked her finger and thumbed the page of the fashion magazine she was reading. "He's in there. I'm not sure what they're doing to him. You may need to intervene."

  I sighed and shoved myself out of the chair. Great. Why was he even here? When I entered the kitchen, I knew. Roman sat on a stool while Milly, my grandmother Hazel, and even Nan the elderly bodyguard bustled around him, shoving spoonfuls of strawberry crepes in his mouth.

  "What's going on here?" I asked.

  Everyone stopped. Wide eyes rounded in my direction. Grandma dropped the spoon clasped in her fist. It hit the floor with a clank.

  Roman rose. "Your family was being kind enough to try out a new recipe on me. Apparently your grandmother's inviting some of the witches over for tea tomorrow and she wanted to make sure the food was okay."

  "I kept telling her just to serve chicken salad," Milly said sourly.

  "That salad recipe is nearly half a century old. I needed something new," Grandma countered. "As much as I love your cooking, Nan, one can only eat spaghetti sauce from a jar so many times. No offense."

  "None taken," Nan said as she dried plates with a kitchen towel. "It's not my strong suit. I'm better served kicking butt and taking names." She waddled over to the cupboard and proceeded to put the plates away. Now I'd seen Nan in demonstration mode, doing all kinds of kicks and punches, but I'd yet to see her go full-fledged killer on anyone and try to stop them from hurting Grandma, whom she was supposed to protect.

  Of course, that was when Grandma had been in her frozen state. Since she'd woken up, I didn't technically think she needed Nan anymore, but we all enjoyed having her around, so we kept her. After all, the woman was like family.

  "What's all this about you upsetting the council?" Milly said.

  I sighed. "Listen, a little magic got out of control, that's all. Everything's fine now. Nothing to worry about."

  She caned over to the sink and washed her hands. "I suppose Gladiolas had to wipe some memories clean?"

  "I suppose."

  "Dear, don't worry about that," Grandma said, squeezing my shoulders. "You haven't lived until you've screwed up enough to have someone's memory wiped."

  That made me feel a little better. "Thanks, Grandma."

  "Just make sure you don't try to wipe a fairy's memory. Hardheaded little creatures, they are. They resist at every turn. Why, I remember one time I tried to wipe one of those little buggers—he'd peeked on me while I was skinny-dipping under their magical waterfalls—"

  "Thanks, Grandma. I think we all get the picture." I gave Roman an embarrassed smile. His face held its normal, stoic stoniness.

  Grandma's misty-eyed expression of remembrance vanished. She plumped the wiry ends of her silver hair and said, "Anyway, try not to anger Gladiolas and the council. They're a bunch of nincompoops who don't know whether they're coming or coming."

  Before you ask, no, she didn't mean coming or going. She meant exactly what she said. No, it didn't make sense, but most of the time Grandma didn't make any sense.

  None. Zero. Zilch.

  "Just tell that old hag where to shove it and you'll be better off," Milly said.

  Wiser words never spoken, I'm sure. "Milly, your parrot's pooping on the floor. Maybe you could put him on your shoulder or, better yet, take him home?" I suggested.

  She scowled. "It's about time for me to get going, anyway."

  "Roman, can I talk to you for a minute?"

  "Sure," he said.

  I opened the back door. My skin prickled from the sun's heat as I sat at the umbrella-covered table and chairs. Roman joined me.

  "Want to go somewhere else?" he said.

  "Like where?"

  He shrugged. "How about a bar?"

  "Silver Springs is a dry town." For those of y'all uncertain about what a dry town is, it means no alcohol can be served there. Yes, believe it or not, dry towns do exist. Especially in Alabama.

  He placed both fists on the wrought-iron table and leaned over. My bones liquefied as warmth wafted off his skin. "I know it's dry. We won't be staying in Silver Springs. We'll go up the road. Walk into some joint where everyone turns their head when the door opens." His fingers slid down my arm. My prickled skin morphed into giant goose bumps. "You'll walk in and men will slobber all over themselves. Then I'll walk in right behind you and they'll shut their mouths and leave us alone."

  I swallowed.

  "How does that sound?"

  "Awesome," I whispered hoarsely.

  "Then let's go." He took my hand and I rose. "What is it you wanted to tell me?"

  My head swam, giddy and full of the primal scent of him. I ran a palm down my throat, trying to remember what it was I had to tell him. It hit me like a truckload of dumped bricks.

  "Oh. Gladiolas has information for you that she says might save your life."

  He stopped. Rocked back on his heels. Roman exhaled and took a moment to collect himself.

  I reached out and touched the spot between his pecs. Just ’cause, you know, I could. "Are you okay?"

  He nodded. "Let's go get a drink. I'll tell you everything."

  ***

  We slid into a booth at Twist and Shout an hour later. Located on the county line, the honky-tonk bar wasn't my type of place under normal circumstances. But let's face it, there was nothing normal about one witch telling another that a man accused of murder was on his way to being exonerated.

  "Is that all Gladiolas said? That she might have information?" Roman asked, taking a sip from a brown bottle.

  I picked at the label of my own brew. "Yes, that's it."

  He nodded. "She came to me a couple of days ago with a lead and a hope."

  "Really?" I smiled brightly.

  "Gladiolas said someone in jail wanted to strike a bargain. Said they knew who had killed Misty Evers—the woman I was convicted of killing."

  "The murder they were going to hang you for? Before you escaped fro
m the witch police?"

  The flicker in his eyes confirmed it. OMG, this was huge. I knew it sounded sketchy and all, that Roman had escaped prison or witch jail or whatever, but I didn't believe he was guilty of murder. Actually it made me happy that he was an escaped felon. Because if he hadn't been, I never would have met him.

  He cleared his throat. "Yes, the murder they were going to hang me for. I don't know any names, and Gladiolas wouldn't give them to me—she only wanted to know if I was willing to find out the truth, willing to go up against Pearbottom, even if it turned out to be nothing."

  "Willing to go up against Pearbottom?"

  He thumbed the mouth of the bottle. "Opening up the case could bring me out into the open, make me vulnerable. Pearbottom wants me dead. He believes I killed Misty Evers. It'll take a lot for him to digest that someone else actually did the murdering." He paused, glanced around the room. "Misty Evers suffered a brutal death. I can't say I'm not happy she's gone, because that woman killed Sheila."

  I gulped. Sheila had been Roman's girlfriend. He'd been working on a case when Misty Evers found and killed her. Because he hadn't been able to save Sheila, Roman blamed himself for her death. That murder, as well as the one against his family, had both been committed by witches, so it wasn't surprising that Roman had little love for my kind in his heart.

  "So you think Gladiolas got a confession out of the killer?" I asked.

  He shrugged. "Not sure. I'll have to carve out some time to meet with her to know for certain." He smiled. Smiled. I mean, the stoic cop actually allowed his lips to curl upward. And oh, was it so sexy, because the corners of his eyes crinkled too, and grrrrr, I was a kitten in the lap of a lion. A really hot one.

  "So does this mean you're off the hook? The witch police won't be hunting you anymore?"

  He tipped his bottle and took a swig. "Let's hope. Life on the run hasn't been fun, especially since this murder. It's hard to keep you safe and try to evade Pearbottom at the same time."

  I scoffed. "It's not my fault you're wanted. Besides, I never asked you to protect me."

  "Not in so many words."

  "Not in any words."

  "So you'd rather I allowed an incompetent police force, one that knows nothing about dealing with”—he dropped his voice to a wisp—"your kind, to be in control? I don't think so."

  "So that's why you took the job as detective? Because the police were incompetent?"

  He smirked. "Let's just say if I hadn't, Silver Springs would probably have a lot more murders on its hands than just two."

  "Oh?" I arched a brow. "And who else would be on that list?"

  "You, obviously," he said. "But luckily I'm here, ready and willing to make sure you stay safe."

  Yes. Good thing that I had a big, husky police officer around. One that I hadn't seen in several weeks. Before the conference at Balmore, Roman had practically been AWOL. "Lots of guarding you've been doing," I said. "It's not as if you've been staking out the house and making sure I'm safe."

  "Right," he said. "It's not like I've been doing that or anything." He didn't look at me when he said it.

  "Have you been staking out my house?" I nearly yelled.

  "Sometimes. Let's face it, Dylan. It wasn't hurting anything for me to do it. Be as angry as you want, but it's not going to change anything."

  "It might change my attitude toward you."

  "From what? Tepid to lukewarm?"

  "Very funny." He was right. I wouldn't have cozied up to him any faster knowing that he'd suffered through a few sleepless nights watching the house to make sure I was protected.

  He squinted at me. "Hey, want to go lay on a blanket and look at the stars?"

  "Do you have a blanket?"

  "Not sure. But I've got the hood of a car and that seems about as fine a place as any."

  I stared at him. His lips tipped into a lopsided grin that thawed my icy heart. "Okay."

  I have to say, though I don't think Roman planned for us to be stargazing per se, he did happen to have a blanket in his SUV that he quickly shrouded the hood with.

  I climbed up on top and wedged my back into the grooves of the vehicle. I stared up at the inky sky, stars winking down on me. I exhaled.

  Roman nestled beside me. The humid night wrapped us in frog croaks. He raised his arm. "There's a shooting star. See it?"

  I searched the sky and did indeed see the faint trail of starlight zipping through the night. "So beautiful."

  "It is," he said, turning his head toward me. I gave him a sidelong glance. I did not, I repeat, did not want to look at him. Romance peppered the air like dime-store perfume on an old lady. If I looked at him, he'd kiss me, and I wasn't sure if I was ready for that step. My loins yearned for it, obviously, but my brain blared a giant warning signal that putting myself on the line meant I might get hurt.

  Big no-no in my world.

  "I had a dream about the unicorn king," I said.

  "You did."

  "Mmm hmmm. He was disappointed that I wasn't trying harder to find the killer."

  Roman scooped up my hand. "Dylan, I know you want to help with that case, but it would be better if you left it all alone."

  "But the unicorn king asked me to help. Asked me. I'm supposed to figure out who did this. Of course, I have no idea how to do that, but I need to at least try. I mean, what if it's all connected? Loretta was supposedly stealing magic. What if the unicorn deaths and Loretta’s and Margaret's deaths are connected?"

  He released a heavy sigh.

  "Too big of a leap, huh?" I thought about it all for a moment. "We need to find that box."

  He knitted his brows. "What box?"

  "Oh. I haven't told anyone about it. I meant to tell you, I did, but things have just been kind of crazy, in case you haven't noticed."

  "Pretty sure I have," he said.

  I glanced over at him. "Yeah, well, I kind of put it out of my mind. On purpose."

  Roman quirked an interested brow. "All right. Spill it."

  So I mentioned how I happened to stumble on the box in Stormy's room. I also remarked how I never would have found it if she hadn't left her door wide open in an apparent attempt to get some fresh air, or something like that.

  "Did you open the box?"

  I cringed. "Yes."

  He tapped a finger on the hood. "What was in it?"

  "You don't want to know."

  "Yes, I do."

  I took a gulp of air and gripped the hood. "A heart. There was a heart inside the box."

  He tilted his chin back toward the sky. "Do you know where it is now?"

  "No. Someone stole it."

  "What?"

  "Yeah, while I was in her room, someone else entered."

  "Who?"

  "I don't know. I hid in the closet."

  "This gets better and better."

  I squeezed his hand. An electric jolt snaked up my arm. "You sure you don't think any of this is connected?"

  "I think you need to stay out of it."

  "That's why we need to find that box. Why would it be in Stormy's room under the bed as if someone had hidden it there, and then why would someone have stolen it? And whose heart was inside?"

  Roman sat up. "I don't know. Want to find out?"

  I frowned. "How are we going to do that?"

  He dropped to the ground with a grunt. "Because I have it."

  EIGHTEEN

  "What?" I tumbled off the car hood and landed in a sprawling and totally unladylike position in Roman's Herculean arms.

  "Well, if I'd known I'd receive that response, I would have told you sooner."

  My breath hitched as I gazed into his eyes. What was I going to say? The box! "Can I see it?"

  He rocked me back until I stood solidly on the ground. Then Roman crossed to the passenger door and opened it. "Get in and tell no one."

  I made a turning-key gesture on one corner of my mouth. "Promise."

  I hopped in and waited. It took a million years for him to grab
the blanket, store it in the back and climb in. He opened the glove box. Wedged atop a pile of take-out napkins sat the same carved box I'd seen in Stormy's room.

  "That's it," I said. I reached for it and stopped. Bringing my fingers to my mouth, I chewed on the edges of the nails. For some odd reason—and I mean that quite sarcastically—I didn't feel like opening the darned box and seeing that revolting heart again.

  Call me crazy.

  "How'd you get it?" I asked.

  Roman nosed us out of the spot and back into town. "It showed up outside my door earlier today."

  "Have you opened it?"

  "I can't. It's been worked with magic."

  "Oh. I opened it the other day. I had to nudge it a little bit, but it opened."

  He smirked. "Its latch might be spelled so that it only releases for a witch. Em had some business to take care of, so I couldn't get her to open it for me."

  "Why didn't you have my grandmothers do it earlier? You know, when they were shoving crepes in your mouth."

  His eyes lit with amusement. "Jealous?"

  I crossed my arms. "No."

  "I was going to, but then they started in on the taste test and after that you came home." He nodded toward the compartment. "Want to open it?"

  My stomach churned. When it came right down to it, I wanted to know everything about the box. So I yanked it out and shut the glove-box door. After taking a deep breath, I thumbed the latch.

  It didn't budge. I pressed harder, but it still wouldn't give. "I can't get it, either. I could before, but I can't now."

  "It's been spelled." He flashed a devilish smile that made my spine shudder. "Want to take it to someone who can open it?"

  "You know it."

  "Then that's where we're headed."

  ***

  By the time we pulled down Milly's street, it was getting late. "Do you think she'll still be up?" I said.

  "If not, we'll wake her."

  My eyes pulsed wide. "Do you know what you're saying? She's not exactly friendly when she's in a good mood, let alone at any other time."

  He shifted the gear into park and killed the ignition. "Come on, let's see if she's up."