The Witch and the Dead

by Heather Blake

  “We’ve been fighting constantly, and not just about the witch stuff. It’s wearing on me.”

  Starla added a little bit of sugar to her tea and dunked her tea bag mercilessly. “His Seeking isn’t necessarily a secret, but I highly suspect he believes I’m a witch and is looking for confirmation.”

  Suddenly chilled, I held my mug between my hands for warmth. I didn’t know what to say.

  “And not only that,” she added. “I’m now questioning whether he’s always suspected it. Is it why he pursued me so relentlessly? Was I so desperate to be loved again that I was blind to his true motives?”

  “No,” I said firmly. “Don’t even think that. There’s no question that Vince is a complicated person, but if there’s one thing I know for certain about him, it’s how much he cares for you—whether you’re a witch or not.”

  She sighed. “I don’t think I can be in a relationship where I’m going to have to be constantly on guard. Is he going to try to get my DNA some other way? Is he going to pluck a hair or test my toothbrush?”

  If he was on a quest, I wouldn’t put it past him. Seekers tended to have one-track minds.

  With a spoon she scooped up the tea bag, then wrapped the string around both, effectively wringing out the bag. She placed the spoon on a napkin and looked at me, her sky blue eyes filled with confusion. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “If you take his Seeking out of it, how do you feel about him? Do you still love him?”

  She slid her mug from side to side between her hands. “I’ll probably always feel something for him, but . . .”

  “What?”

  “I’m just not in love with him anymore. In fact, I’ve been thinking about it, and I don’t even like him very much these days. I don’t think I can be with him anymore and keep the secret that I’m a witch. And if I have to choose between the two, I choose being a witch.” She held my gaze. “And I think that tells me all I need to know about the relationship, because if I truly loved him, heart-and-soul loved him, like I did with Kyle, then there wouldn’t be a moment’s hesitation to tell him the truth about the Craft.”

  Kyle Chadwick, who’d died last winter, had been Starla’s ex-husband. Theirs was a tragic relationship that had nearly destroyed Starla . . . twice. The fact that she had been willing to open her heart to Vince in the first place told me how much she cared for him, but caring and loving were two very different things.

  She took a sip of her tea and stared out the windows that looked into the backyard. “As much as I know what I need to do, I don’t want to hurt Vince by doing it. I need to figure out how to break up with him in the least painful way possible. It’s not going to be easy.”

  I had the feeling she’d been wrestling with how to do that for a while. I’d seen the signs over the past few months, the distance.

  “It never is. I’m sorry,” I said.

  She sighed. “It was really good for a while.”

  It had been. She’d been happy, and Vince had been good to her. I wondered what had changed. Wondered if we’d ever know. I had to remind myself that sometimes relationships simply didn’t work out.

  “I don’t regret being with Vince,” she said, “but I’m kind of relieved to move forward without having to watch my every word. It’s been a bigger burden than I ever imagined. The sooner I break it off, the better.” She took a deep breath. “Tonight. I’ll do it tonight.”

  Once Starla set her mind to something, it was done. I just hoped Vince would handle the breakup well. He had his faults, but I didn’t want to see him hurt, either.

  Starla glanced around. “Now, do you need any more help with moving in here? My afternoon schedule is flexible.”

  “Not really. Most of my stuff was in Ve’s garage. It has to stay there until the crime techs are done. I just have a couple of little boxes left to move from my room at Ve’s, which I should leave there if I’m staying the night.”

  “I’ve been thinking about her memory or, more accurately, her lack of memories. Do you know if she’s tried the memory spell to recover those missing days with Miles?”

  That spell had worked wonders on me when I was trying to recall memories of my mother, but I’d wanted to remember. I wasn’t sure Ve did. “I’ll ask her. It’s worth a try.”

  Starla set her mug in the farmer’s sink. “I should probably get back to work. But first, I think I’m going to send a note to the Elder. She should know about the sorcery stuff—don’t you think?”

  A cold chill went down my spine. “Definitely. Sorcery is not something we want here in the village. That kind of evil is scary. Speaking of, that reminds me I need to go see Dorothy Hansel Dewitt about Miles Babbage.”

  Starla laughed as she headed for the front door. “Scary is right. Good luck with that.”

  She gave me a hug, and I squeezed her tight.

  “Thanks for listening,” she said.

  “Anytime.”

  I leaned against the doorjamb and watched her head down the sidewalk toward Terry’s house and Archie’s cage. As the Elder’s messenger, Archie would see to it that my mother received Starla’s note.

  As I headed back inside, I could only hope that Vince wasn’t in over his head with this sorcery nonsense.

  But I had a bad feeling about it.

  A very bad feeling indeed.

  Chapter Six

  Half an hour later, I checked to see if Ve had come home yet (nope) and also called Nick for an update on the case (he didn’t answer). I had washed and put away my and Starla’s mugs, unpacked the box I’d carried over from Ve’s, and now had no other choice than to go talk to Dorothy Hansel Dewitt.

  It was probably best to get it over with.

  The sun hid behind low clouds as I headed out, and with the shade had come a steep drop in temperature. I looped a dandelion-printed cotton scarf around my neck and buttoned my short pea coat to ward off the chill.

  Only one emergency vehicle remained parked in front of Ve’s house. It looked to be a crime scene van. A few people still gathered on the green, trying to see what they could see. I couldn’t blame them. It was human nature to be curious about such things.

  I turned left at my front gate, heading away from the bad memories of the morning. A stiff breeze sent leaves tumbling along the sidewalk as I walked along, heading into the heart of the village’s business district.

  Tourists huddled against the sudden cold as they hurried along from one shop to the next. I took a second to watch four kittens romp around the window display of the Furry Toadstool and waved to the pet shop’s new owner, Vivienne Lucas, who stood behind the counter.

  There was a certain scent that permeated the village this time of year. It was crisp and earthy and reminded me of endings and beginnings and the magic all around me. I bent and picked up a perfectly formed acorn that had fallen from a tall oak tree near the playhouse. Some would see the nut as yard waste and rake it up and throw it away. I saw it as a treasure. Acorns were prized by the Craft, mostly as protection charms. On a whim, I gathered a few more and tucked them into my pocket.

  “I hope you aren’t hoarding those as protection from me,” a faraway voice said, the humorous undertones clear despite the distance.

  I turned and saw Glinda Hansel and Clarence headed my way. Instead of galloping ahead of her, tugging her along as he usually did, Clarence trotted beside her like a perfect gentleman.

  “Do I need to?” I asked with a raised eyebrow as they reached my side.

  Glinda had angelic looks with her ash blond hair, clear blue eyes, and fair skin. She was just a hair taller than I was, and I assumed her height had come from her father, since her mother was just a bit taller than Harper.

  Glinda carried herself like the cop she once was, with her shoulders drawn back, her head held high. She exuded confidence, but when I looked deep into her eyes, the confidence vanished
, replaced with a hint of insecurity. In the past nine months, she’d changed a lot. The old Glinda had been arrogant and self-righteous. That self-doubt I saw in her eyes was the biggest sign there was that her recent personality changes were real and not for show.

  I hoped and wished that the changes were permanent. I liked her much better this way.

  She said, “No, but maybe from Clarence. He’s vicious.”

  I bent down and gave him a good neck rub. He slurped my face, and his tail swept the sidewalk clear of any remaining acorns. “Such a brute,” I said with a laugh. “His obedience classes are clearly paying off.”

  “Bribing with c-o-o-k-i-e-s helps.”

  “I mean, come on. That works with me, too. Cupcakes are even better.”

  Glinda smiled, but it faded quickly. “I heard about what happened at Ve’s. Do you know who the man is?”

  “Not officially. We think it’s Miles Babbage, Ve’s second husband.”

  With a shocked tone, she said, “Miles Babbage?”

  “Do you know of him?”

  “I heard the name recently,” she said vaguely.

  Overhead, leaves rustled noisily in the wind. I fussed with my scarf. “From your mother? Apparently, she knew him. . . .”

  “Maybe so,” she said noncommittally. “Are you waiting on dental records or DNA for confirmation?”

  It was times like this that I questioned whether she had truly changed, because I could tell she knew more than she was letting on.

  “We’re hoping dental. It’s a long shot. Apparently he was a vagabond, but there’s some hope he had work done on his teeth since he was often here in the village with the Roving Stones.”

  “The Stones? Really? Was he a Crafter?”

  “Mortal, but he was an expert potter and traveled with the show.” If she didn’t know her mom had had an affair with Miles, I didn’t want to be the one to tell her. “I was just on my way to Third Eye to ask your mom some questions about him.”

  With a push of a button, she retracted Clarence’s leash a little, stopping him from climbing the stairs of the playhouse. He went back to sniffing along the grass edge of the sidewalk. “You’re working the case, then?”

  Glinda knew all about my job investigating for the Elder, but she didn’t know the Elder was my mother. “Yes. I’m hoping Dorothy will talk to me without it being a major ordeal.”

  Glinda let out a slow hiss of breath. “I wouldn’t count on it. It’s a good thing you have those acorns.”

  I wasn’t sure they protected against someone who was simply mean and liked to cause trouble. Because as much as I disliked Dorothy, I didn’t think she was truly evil.

  Well, maybe she was a little evil.

  Okay, all right. I was glad to have the acorns in my pocket. It certainly couldn’t hurt to have them on me when questioning Dorothy. “Maybe I’ll pick up a couple more just to be safe.”

  Her light eyebrows dipped as she nodded. “Good idea.”

  Clarence licked my hand. I patted his head. “I saw Starla a little while ago. I heard about your apology.”

  “It was long overdue. I know the apology can’t change what happened, but it needed to be done. I know Starla said she already forgave me, but I came to realize that I also needed to forgive myself. The apology was the first step in that. I’m working on the rest of it.”

  “Change is hard,” I said gently.

  “You have no idea. Especially when my mother . . .” She shook her head. “It’s just been hard.”

  She and Dorothy had a strained relationship at best. At worst, I suspected Glinda wanted to wish her mother to Siberia. It would have been a wish I’d have been happy to grant.

  I said, “Starla also mentioned you’re working for Vince.”

  Clarence tried eating an acorn, and Glinda pried the now-soggy nut out of his mouth. “No,” she said to him sternly. “These aren’t for dogs.”

  Glumly, he stared at her.

  I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to say no to his woebegone eyes.

  Glinda looked back at me. “Vince is . . . persuasive. I thought it best I take the case rather than someone else.”

  “Like a mortal?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Have you tried talking him out his ideas that he’s a warlock?”

  She rolled her eyes at the word. “I’ve tried my best to tone him down. I’m working on filling out his family tree, hoping that’ll be enough to appease him. . . .”

  Again, her words were oddly stilted. “Have you found anything interesting?”

  “Not . . . particularly. I’m still looking.”

  Yep. She was definitely keeping something from me. I supposed as a PI, she was sworn to keep Vince’s confidences unless ordered by a court of law, but I rather hoped she’d share details if they were important to my case . . . and to the Craft.

  She added, “There are some empty branches I need to fill in and not really any way to find that information. At least that I’ve uncovered so far.”

  Empty branches? I lowered my voice. “Is it possible he is a witch?”

  “If we know anything about this village, it’s that anything’s possible around here,” she said. “I’ll keep trying to steer him away from the possibility that he’s a witch, but I have the feeling he’s not going to let this go anytime soon.”

  Seekers were often relentless. Obsessive. I should have known he couldn’t keep that side of him tucked away forever. But I’d been hopeful for Starla’s sake. So hopeful.

  Clarence started tugging his leash. Glinda said, “I should go before he reverts back to old habits and drags me across the green.”

  “I’ll see you and Liam at the housewarming?” I asked.

  With apprehension in her eyes, she glanced in the direction of my house. “Are you sure you want us there?”

  “I’m sure. Clarence can even come along if he wants.” He gave me another kiss.

  He was a sweetheart, that dog.

  “But—,” she started to say.

  I cut her off. “No buts. Two o’clock next Saturday.”

  A bright, beaming smile spread across her face, and she suddenly looked like she was a beatific subject in a Renaissance portrait. I fully expected cherubs to start dropping out of the clouds any second now.

  “We’ll be there,” she said. “But you’ll see me before that. I’ll be at the auditions tomorrow. Liam’s trying out.”

  “I thought he was more into Shakespeare.” His whole family was nutty for old William.

  “When The Sound of Music is the only play in town, you do what you have to do. I’m actually glad I ran into you. I wanted to ask if you needed extra help with the scenery. If Liam’s going to be at the playhouse, I might as well be, too.” She grinned. “I’m really handy with power tools.”

  As a Broomcrafter, she could turn wood into magic. “We’d love to have you. But, fair warning, Starla will be there. If that bothers you . . .”

  “Will it bother her?”

  “Only one way to know.”

  She took a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s give it a try. If I sense she’s not happy I’m there, then I’ll back out.”

  “Sounds fair enough. We’re meeting tomorrow at two o’clock. In the scenery shop at the playhouse.”

  “I’ll be there. And just a fair warning for you, Darcy . . .”

  I didn’t like the warning in her tone. “What?”

  “You might want to save a few of those acorns for tomorrow, because my mother will be there, too. She’s auditioning as well, hoping to get the role of Maria.”

  Shock rippled through me on many counts. One, that Dorothy was trying out. Two, that I was destined to spend a significant amount of time with her. And three, that she was trying out for a role that should go to a woman much younger than she was. “Thanks for the tip.”<
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  “Forewarned is forearmed.” She waved good-bye and wandered off, letting Clarence lead the way.

  Wind whipped my dark hair around my face, and I grabbed hold of the wayward locks and tucked them into my coat. The clouds had begun to darken, and I could now smell rain in the air. The village green, which in a few weeks would host the Harvest Festival, was nearly empty. Its paths stood bare except for racing leaves, its benches and picnic areas empty. The day, so full of promise, had taken a sudden turn for the worse, and it seemed everyone had felt the shift in the atmosphere and sought shelter.

  Across the empty space, I spied the Gingerbread Shack, Evan Sullivan’s bakery. One of his miniature devil’s food cupcakes sounded like heaven right about now. I made a mental note to stop there on my way back to Ve’s. It was a good time to see if he’d help me out where Archie was concerned as well.

  But first I had to see a witch about a weasel.

  I hurried along, hoping the rain would hold off while I ran my errands. I could see my first destination ahead, a small brick-faced shop with a vibrant red awning shading its window front and door. Third Eye Optometry.

  I paused to admire the display window, which was decorated with three stuffed witch dolls, primitive in design, that sat at a small wooden table adorned with a tea set. All three witches had their own broomsticks and wore long black capes, plain dresses, pointed black hats, and brightly colored glasses. Even the black cat under the table wore glasses. It was adorable, and I recognized the dolls as ones made by the owner of the Spinning Wheel, a witch herself.

  Through the glass, I saw Sylar Dewitt tapping away at a computer behind a glass counter display and the hind side of Dorothy as she hurried into a back room. Her blindingly blond hair and exaggerated butt swish were unmistakable.

  She’d worked here at Third Eye for years and years, long before I’d moved to the village, long before she married Sylar last year, long before she’d wooed him while he’d been engaged to Aunt Ve. As far as I knew, Dorothy truly loved Sylar, a mortal, but she hadn’t told him that she was a Broomcrafter, and I doubted she ever would. She wasn’t one to give up any kind of power, magical or not.