The Witch and the Dead

by Heather Blake

  That’s that.

  It was the same phrase Dorothy had used.

  There were a lot of stubborn witches in this village.

  While the investigator in me wanted Ve to use the spell so I could get more information on Miles and what might have happened to him, the niece in me didn’t want her aunt to suffer any more pain. As I couldn’t guarantee that the memories she’d recall would be pleasant ones, I let it go. I’d just have to figure out what happened that weekend on my own.

  His tone serious, Andreus said, “Darcy, let me see your bird.”

  “Bird?” I asked. Surely he wasn’t asking about my mother in such a roundabout way. He knew who she was—he’d been there when she was sworn in as Elder twenty-four years ago.

  “The one from earlier. On the green . . .”

  He was being obtuse on purpose, so Ve didn’t learn about the altercation with Dorothy. There wasn’t enough cookie dough in the world to deal with that right now.

  “Oh!” I rushed to my coat in the mudroom and finally found the bird at the bottom of the stash of acorns in the pocket of my now dry and clean-smelling coat.

  He hovered the magnifying glass over the bird.

  “What are you looking for?” Mimi asked.

  He said, “I wasn’t sure until I looked at the bird as well, but now I’m fairly positive. . . .”

  “What?” Ve looked at the bird oddly.

  Godfrey and I both leaned in to get a better look at it ourselves.

  Andreus said, “It was Steve Winstead who made this amulet. Not Miles. Steve’s clay is unique. It has striations that cannot be covered with glaze. I see the same faint lines in Miles’ amulet. Examining it in person would provide even more confirmation.” He glanced at me. “Do you think Nick would allow us to see it?”

  “I’m not sure he has it,” I said. “I think everything that was on the skeleton went to the medical examiner’s office.”

  “Perhaps, then,” Andreus said, “Nick could arrange a field trip.”

  “Oh! Oh! Can I go?” Mimi exclaimed.

  No doubt Harper would be champing at the bit to attend as well. I said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Steve?” Ve asked. “That makes no sense, either. He’s not a Charmcrafter.”

  Godfrey was shaking his head. “That piece was made by Miles. Do not question my impeccable eye for detail. The gear shape is his design.”

  Andreus set his hands on his hips. “The clay does not lie.”

  I stared at the bird and remembered what Steve had told me earlier about Miles trying to raid his secret clay source. . . . It had probably taken some time for Steve to cast the protection spell on the creek and memory-cleanse Miles, time in which Miles could have returned to the hiding spot.

  “Actually,” I said to the two men, “you both might be right.”

  “How?” Mimi asked. “How can they both be right?”

  “Magical clay,” I told her. “Stolen magical clay . . .”

  * * *

  “You’re dawdling,” Ve said an hour later as we cleaned up the kitchen together. “Go home, Darcy. It’s where you belong.”

  I was dawdling. I didn’t want to leave. “There are still a few boxes left to move. . . .”

  I’d been wiping down the counters for the past ten minutes. They were beyond clean. Godfrey had gone back to the boutique half an hour ago, Mimi had headed off to work her shift at the bookshop, and Andreus was upstairs taking a shower.

  He’d been very intrigued by the magical clay, and I hoped I hadn’t told him something I shouldn’t have. Even though Andreus’ specialty was rocks and minerals, specifically black opals, I rather hoped Steve still had the protection spell cast over that creek. I made a mental note to ask him.

  “Get the boxes tomorrow. Come by anytime. I’ll be here.” Ve smiled at me, cupped my cheek. “I’ll always be here.”

  Tears welled instantly. “But—”

  “No, no!” She shook her head. “Stop that right now. If I start crying today I won’t stop. You moving out is . . . bittersweet, but it’s still sweet. We’re not to be sad about it, do you hear me?”

  Sweet . . . and bitter, I wanted to add but held my tongue. I’d had so many great memories in this house. In just over a year it had been more of a home to me than I’d ever had before. And that had been because of Ve. And her love for me.

  I threw my arms around her. “I love you, Aunt Ve.”

  “I love you, too, my darling Darcy.” She hugged me back, holding me close for a long minute. Then she pushed back, rubbed her hands together, and said, “Okay. What do we need to send you off right and proper . . . ?” She started rummaging through cabinets. “Salt!”

  She set a container of salt on the counter.

  “Salt?” I asked.

  Ve took a small plastic tumbler and lid from her cup cabinet and filled it from the tap. “Water!”

  “Water?” I repeated, watching her make sure no water leaked from the secured lid.

  She then rushed across the kitchen and lifted the lid on the bread box. It was empty. “Shoot.”

  I wasn’t sure what she was doing. “Ve?”

  She snapped her fingers. “The cookies. They’ll work. They’re homemade, which is better anyway.”

  “I’m so confused.”

  “Salt, water, bread. It’s tradition when witches move houses to bring these items with them from the old house to the new one.”

  “Why?”

  “Some say the bread and water are for a life of abundance and the salt is for luck; others say it’s to carry good spirits from one home to another. I don’t know for certain. It’s tradition. We go with it.” She packed the items in a paper sack. “And there’s one more thing. Come with me.”

  She bustled off down the hallway toward the front parlor, and I followed along, wondering what she had in mind.

  With Ve, one never knew.

  In the parlor, she veered off to the fireplace. I stopped short as she reached up for the painting that hung above the mantel.

  “Oh no, I can’t take that,” I said. “Ve . . .”

  It was a watercolor painting of a magic wand. With its whimsical swirls and blend of golden colors, it was a visual and visceral reminder of the magic that lived in this home. I’d loved it since the moment I laid eyes on it.

  She carried the large painting over to me. “It doesn’t belong to me. It belongs with As You Wish. It belongs with you.”

  By her tone of voice, I knew it was pointless to argue.

  And inwardly, I didn’t want to. I loved that painting and knew just where it needed to be hung.

  Emotion clogged my throat and I nodded. “Thank you,” I managed to say.

  She looked pleased with herself as she steepled her fingers beneath her chin. “Now, go home, Darcy,” she said with a broad smile. “Out, out, shoo!”

  I smiled back at her, grabbed the painting and wrapped it in a plastic trash bag, gathered the brown sack, Annie, and Missy . . .

  And went home.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “This wasn’t exactly what I expected to be doing tonight in front of the fire.” Nick slid me a smile as he opened another manila file folder, gave it a cursory glance, then closed it again.

  It was just after nine, and it had been a long, long day.

  Laughing, I sipped from my mug of hot chocolate, which had only moments ago been piled high with whipped cream that had now melted into a foamy cloud. “Me neither. But there’s still time. And a fireplace in the bedroom . . . We just need to finish these files first.”

  Nick and Mimi were spending the night here with me, and I couldn’t have been happier about that. It was as it should be, since really it was their house, too. I wished they were staying put forever, but we’d decided not to move in together until we were married.
<
br />   It was a decision I had regretted quickly. While I was usually quite a patient person, in this matter, I was more than ready to start our lives together.

  He grabbed another file. “I approve of your workplace motivation.”

  “Shh,” I teased. “I’ll get a reputation.”

  Flames jumped in the family room fireplace as I sat next to Nick on the shaggy area rug. The mantel begged for knickknacks, for framed photos and artwork. Right now it had only two small items upon it, barely visible against the rich tones of the stacked stone. One was a lovely little white ceramic bird, the other a perfect brown acorn.

  I’d kept an acorn in my coat pocket just in case I ran into Dorothy again, then distributed some of the stash I’d harvested this morning around the house in various windowsills and above doorframes. Three of the assortment were now residing with a damp mixture of peat mix and sawdust in a plastic bag in the fridge, hibernating. They’d stay there for a couple of months at least. It was the first step in growing my own oak trees, which was a special kind of magic all in itself, one that had nothing to do with the Craft and everything to do with the magic of nature.

  Dozens of manila folders tucked into numerous file boxes were stacked in front of Nick and me. They were the As You Wish client files. As scatterbrained as Ve was for most office tasks, she was meticulous about client records. She said she couldn’t locate a file for Miles’ visit that day thirty years ago, but I was certain she’d created one. I just hoped it had been misfiled or mislabeled and not destroyed for whatever reason. If it was here, Nick or I would find it eventually.

  Atop a fleece blanket on the sectional sofa behind us, Higgins snored sonorously, snuffling every few moments, sucking ever-present drool back into his mouth. From Annie’s spot in front of the fireplace, she shot the Saint Bernard an occasional horrified glance as she stretched languidly, enjoying the heat.

  Higgins’ drool was rather horrifying.

  Missy was upstairs with Mimi, who had decided to move a few things into her room to make it feel homier for when she spent nights here, like tonight. Last time I’d checked, her iPod was playing Queen and she was singing “Bohemian Rhapsody” at the top of her lungs. Clothes were strewn about the room, books teetered on the desk, and she’d hung up a The Princess Bride movie poster and one of a colorful hipster owl as well. Her beloved pink witch hat sat on the window bench that overlooked the village square. She seemed to be settling in well for someone who didn’t quite live here yet.

  Nick took a second to check his phone. The preliminary findings from the ME’s office were due anytime now, and he was also waiting to hear back about getting a look at Miles’ necklace.

  Nick had caught a lucky break earlier—Miles had in fact been treated by the local dentist’s office, the only one in this area. It took some digging on their part because the records had been in storage, but the office had provided X-rays that proved the skeleton was in fact Miles Babbage.

  We just didn’t know how—or why—he’d died just yet.

  Or why he’d been in Ve’s garage.

  As with Ve’s legal case, Nick was in a limbo of his own until he knew of Miles’ cause of death. We presumed that he’d been murdered—but so far there was no evidence that a crime had been committed, and Nick couldn’t investigate at full capacity until he knew.

  But there was no denying that an abundance of people seemed to want the man dead.

  “Are you sure there’s a file?” Nick frowned at his phone, then set it on the floor.

  “No.” We were through the letter L. “But I have to look. If we know why Miles hired Ve, then it might open a new door in the investigation.”

  “You have to consider hiring Ve was a ruse. If Miles was looking for a sugar mama and Penelope was spirited away by her parents to the Cape . . .”

  A sugar mama. It did seem that was Miles’ type. Like father, like son. “It’s possible. Probable, even. And rather despicable. I’m hoping the Chadwicks will have more information on him.”

  Nick’s investigators had discovered some background on Miles. His dad had died years ago, and he had no known living relatives. He’d also had a police record, having been arrested several times during his vagabond life. Shoplifting charges mostly, and one charge of trespassing.

  I had called Glinda Hansel earlier this evening, and she’d agreed to accompany me to Wickedly Creative tomorrow morning. Nick was going as well. More fact gathering, as Marcus had said. It was the best we could do right now.

  I had told Nick what Dorothy had said about Marcus and he agreed to keep the information under wraps for now. Until we knew if it was true or not. If Marcus was Miles’ son, then it was an important factor in the case, but if he wasn’t, then any rumors were bound to be hurtful.

  Nick opened another file, scanned it, smiled. “Did you know Ve once had to provide an elephant for a bride to ride on to her wedding?”

  Laughing, I said, “No, I didn’t know. I’m kind of sad for the elephant, though.”

  Nick leaned over and kissed my temple.

  “What was that for?”

  “Your big heart. I’m surprised you have room enough in there for Mimi and me.”

  I closed the file I’d been looking at and glanced at him. “Are you kidding? You and Mimi are my heart.”

  He curved an arm around me, and I set my head into the crook of his neck. I could feel his heartbeat pulse reassuringly against my cheek.

  “I want you to stay,” I said.

  “Stay?”

  I leaned back to look at him. “Here.”

  “I am here,” he said, tipping his head to the side in confusion.

  “Not just tonight. Always. I don’t want to wait until we . . . well, until . . . You know.”

  Slowly, he nodded.

  “It’s just, it seems silly,” I went on. “Mimi’s moving stuff in upstairs. You’ll both be here more often than not. So why not? Why wait?”

  He took a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking about this, too, and I agree. I don’t want to wait, either. I like it here with you.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. One condition, though.”

  I groaned. “So close.”

  “I don’t want to wait on the wedding, either. No two-year engagements . . . or anything like that. And yes, I know we should first get engaged.”

  I smiled. “Who’s been talking to you?”

  He ran a hand through his dark hair, lifting tufts. “Who hasn’t been?”

  “They love us; that’s all.”

  “I know. It’s a good thing. Just a bit . . . much.”

  It was.

  “So, what do you think about a short engagement?” he asked.

  “How short?” I asked. Because even though I could elope tonight and be perfectly happy, Harper would never stand for that. Never mind Mimi, Starla, Evan, Ve, Godfrey . . . There’d be a witch-hunt for sure.

  He must have known what I was thinking, because he said, “We can play it by ear.”

  “Sounds like we have a plan . . . on one condition.”

  “So close,” he echoed. “What’s the condition?”

  “No elephants.”

  He laughed. “It’s a deal. But maybe it’s time we take care of that one technicality in all this. . . .”

  “Technicality?”

  “The engagement . . .”

  “Oh?” I asked coyly, unable to stop a goofy grin from forming.

  He took my hands in his. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to do this right, but I realized there might not be a right w—”

  He was cut off by the doorbell.

  Higgins lifted his head and blinked his big dark eyes in bewilderment, clearly wondering what had woken him up. Suddenly, his ears perked and he lumbered to his feet. He let out a loud bark, and Annie’s fur rose at the sound. She took off
for higher ground—which she found atop the fridge.

  Missy’s sharp bark echoed along the upstairs open hallway that overlooked part of the vaulted kitchen and the family room. That particular stretch of hall separated the master bedroom from the rest of the bedrooms, and while the architect who’d drawn the plans for the renovations had proclaimed it an “interior balcony,” we’d taken to calling it the “overlook.” As I glanced upward, I could just barely see a ball of fur sprinting toward the staircase. A moment later, she was at the front door. Higgins ran off to join her, his booming woofs joining her staccato barks, creating a bone-jarring harmony.

  I fell against Nick, laughing.

  The doorbell rang again, sending the dogs into a fresh frenzy.

  Nick kissed my head and stood up. “I’ll get it.”

  I glanced at the clock on my phone. It was just after nine, and I was curious who’d be stopping by. If it had been family or a close friend, they most likely would have come to the side door. . . .

  Nick said, “Down! Down! Pzzt!”

  I started laughing all over again. He didn’t have Harper’s talents as far as pzzting was concerned. I helped corral the dogs and managed to get them out the rear door and into the fenced backyard with promises of bacon-flavored treats. Neither could resist that particular temptation.

  When I returned, I was surprised to see that it was Vince who’d rung the bell. He stood in the entranceway with Nick. I asked, “Is this about Starla?”

  “Starla?” Vince repeated. “What about her?”

  I took my foot out of my mouth and tried to cover for my slip of the tongue. “Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine,” he said, not looking like it was true. In fact, he appeared a little rough around the edges. Bloodshot, wild eyes. Messy hair. “I didn’t come here to talk about her.”

  Even his voice had a rough, serrated edge to it. His words were said quickly, cutting. I hadn’t seen this side of him since I’d first moved to the village.

  I didn’t like the reminder of the man he’d been back then.