The Witch and the Dead

by Heather Blake

  “Why are you here?” Nick asked.

  He shifted from foot to foot. “I just heard about the skeleton . . . and who it might be. Is it really Miles Babbage?”

  Vince sounded like he’d known the man personally, which was impossible.

  Nick eyed him curiously, then nodded. “Dental records confirmed it a couple of hours ago. Why do you ask?”

  Vince bent at the waist and drew in a deep breath. Then he stood upright and looked between Nick and me. “I’ve been looking for him for years. Miles Babbage is . . . was . . . my father. And now that I know of their marriage, I suspect Ve might be my mother.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Nick handed me a glass of water and sat next to me on the sectional. I wished desperately the tumbler was full of wine instead. I needed something to calm my nerves. My mouth was Sahara dry, and any words I might have had were stuck in my parched throat. A fidgety Vince sat in an armchair. His legs jiggled. His fingers thrummed the tops of his thighs. He’d declined anything to drink.

  Nick finally broke the silence. “Honestly, I don’t know where to start.”

  I heard a creak and looked upward in time to see a long shadow dart into the reading nook that was notched into the back wall of the overlook. Mimi was listening in. I was surprised she wasn’t sitting front and center on the balcony, her nose pressed between the turned-iron spindles, her legs dangling.

  “I hate the secrets in this village.” Vince’s lips curled in anger. “If I’d known about Ve’s marriage to Miles, I’d have put this together sooner, that Ve is my mother.”

  His mother. That was quite the leap he’d made.

  “Do you know where she is?” he asked. “Ve? I went to her house, but she’s not there. And her cell is going straight to voice mail. I really need to talk to her.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But Andreus is in town, so they’re probably on a date. Probably a movie, which is why her cell is off.”

  He glanced at his watch, frowned.

  I took a sip of water. “Ve’s not your mother. And I thought you had a mother? I met her at the Midsummer Ball. . . .” Brenda Paxton seemed like a lovely woman.

  Vince stood and paced. I noticed the dogs pressing their faces to the French doors, and I debated letting them back in. Probably not a good idea. “She’s my adoptive mother,” he said. “I didn’t find out I was adopted until my senior year in college. I had a ruptured appendix and had complications. I needed a blood transfusion. Neither of my parents’ blood types matched mine. They confessed at that point I’d been adopted a day after my birth.”

  What a way to find out. I felt for him, but why did he think Miles was his father and Ve his mother?

  “If I’m being honest, I wasn’t completely shocked. I’d always felt a little . . . different. I started asking about my birth parents. That was about seven years ago, right after I graduated college. I was curious. My parents clammed up, refusing to tell me anything.” He glared at me. “How do you know Ve’s not my mother? If she and Miles were married . . .”

  If he was Ve’s son, he’d have inherited Wishcrafter traits and wouldn’t appear as anything but a bright light in photos. I’d seen pictures of him, so I knew it wasn’t possible. I couldn’t very well tell him that, though. I struggled with how to explain when Nick saved me the trouble.

  “The timing is off,” Nick said. “If you were a product of that marriage, you’d be a year younger than you are now. Ve didn’t know Miles until the weekend they eloped. The marriage was a . . . spontaneous decision.”

  Spontaneous. Felonious. Both fit.

  Vince shoved his hands into his hair and started pacing again. It was then, as he turned, that I noticed he shared the same jawline as Miles.

  Was it really possible . . . ?

  Suddenly uncomfortable, I asked, “How do you know Miles is your father?”

  Vince sat. His leg resumed its jiggle. “I first heard Miles’ name shortly after I asked my parents about my birth family. I heard them arguing about it one night. I eavesdropped, desperate for any information, since they wouldn’t give me any. Apparently, my father wanted to tell me everything, because he thought it was right I should know, despite some deal made to never tell. My mother was adamant in her refusal. She said no good whatsoever could come of me knowing that my father was that ‘loser’ Miles Babbage and that my mother was some witch from the Enchanted Village. That I’d never be able to accept the truth. It was the last I’d ever heard out of them on the situation. They agreed I should never know and vowed never to talk of it again. It was then I was determined to figure out the truth on my own.”

  Some witch. Had she meant “witch” as in Crafter? Or as a euphemism, as Sylar had used earlier referring to me?

  Vince went on. “I went to file a petition to have my adoption records unsealed, only to find I had no adoption records. None. My birth certificate lists only my adoptive parents’ names. They both refused to admit that I had been placed with them via black-market adoption, but it’s the only logical conclusion. I searched and searched for Miles Babbage and found nothing I could follow up on. So I did the only thing I could. I moved here. I ask from time to time about anyone knowing someone named Miles Babbage, but no one seems to know much other than he was some sort of homeless gigolo or something.”

  He obviously hadn’t asked anyone with the Roving Stones, or he’d know about Miles’ artistry as well.

  “I was forced to stop looking for him. Instead, I studied witchcraft and sought out witches to try to find my mother.”

  I knew he’d once been connected with Alexandra Shively, who’d also been a Seeker who believed she was a witch . . . and she had been. Unfortunately, she’d been killed before knowing exactly what kind of Craft ability she possessed.

  “With witchcraft,” Vince said, “I found my calling. It resonates in me. It feels . . . normal.”

  Normal.

  A chill swept down my spine. Growing up, I also had felt different and as though I didn’t fit in. It wasn’t until I learned of my abilities and moved here that I truly felt like I belonged for the first time.

  “It’s because I’m a warlock,” he said. “I’m sure of it.”

  Well, this certainly explained why he was a Seeker. But was he really one of us?

  I had no way of knowing if he was a Crafter. For now I tried to downplay any possible Craft involvement. “Perhaps your mother meant ‘witch’ as a euphemism,” I said. “I was called one today myself.”

  Nick scowled. “By who?”

  “Sylar,” I said. “Long story.”

  Vince narrowed his eyes. “It could be a euphemism, but I don’t think so. I think there are witches in this village. And that I’m one of them.”

  My heart started to race. I recalled what Starla had said this morning, about his sorcery research. “Do you have any magical powers?”

  “It’s not the point, Darcy. The point is, I need to know for sure who my birth parents are.” He turned eager eyes to Nick. “I was hoping Nick could help me get Miles Babbage’s DNA sample from the medical examiner’s office.”

  “You’ll need a court order for a paternity test,” Nick said. “A good lawyer can help.”

  A lawyer like Marcus Debrowski.

  My throat went dry again. If what Dorothy had said about Marcus was true . . . and what Vince suspected was true—at least about Miles being his father . . .

  Vince and Marcus would be half brothers.

  I searched for similarities. Both men were tall and thin. Both had brown hair, though Vince’s was curly like Miles’ had been and Marcus’ was straight, like Penelope’s. Both men wore glasses.

  It was where the resemblances ended. The shapes of their faces were different. Marcus had green eyes; Vince’s were blue. Different noses. Different jawlines.

  Still, it was . . . possible.

 
Nick squeezed my hand, and I looked at him. I had the feeling he’d followed my train of thought.

  It was confirmed when he asked Vince, “Have you thought about contacting Marcus Debrowski?”

  “I have. He turned down the case. I suspect his father told him to.”

  “Oliver?” I asked. “Why?”

  “Once when I searched my parents’ house for any information about my birth, I found Oliver’s business card in a box with a stuffed bear and a blue baby sweater. I contacted him and he knew immediately who I was, but he refused to confirm or deny that he handled my adoption. But I know he did. I know it.”

  As far as circumstantial evidence went, it was pretty damning. I wondered if lawyer-client confidentiality included lawyers and clients involved in black-market adoptions.

  Secrets. Yes, the village was rife with them.

  Vince clasped his hands together. “I hired Glinda Hansel to help find my parents. She’s the one that told me Miles was likely the skeleton in Ve’s garage and that he had been married to her.”

  Because I’d told Glinda. No wonder she’d been acting oddly. If she’d been searching for Miles to fill in those empty family tree branches, she was probably shocked to know he’d been in Ve’s garage.

  I couldn’t blame her for not telling me—when we spoke earlier we hadn’t known for certain the skeleton belonged to Miles. It would have been premature—and unethical—on her part to share Vince’s adoption with me.

  Still, I wished she would have.

  “In addition to trying to trace my family tree, I’ve asked her to collect DNA samples from villagers for comparison to mine. I’m related to someone in this village, and I’m determined to find out who. My mother lived here. Or lives here. I want to find her.”

  “DNA samples? That can’t be legal,” I said, horrified by the thought of it.

  Anger flashed in Vince’s eyes. “It requires participant signatures, which Glinda said might be hard to get. She said she wouldn’t do anything illegal, but she’d try to get people to agree. If she can’t, I’ll collect the DNA on my own and forge the signatures if I have to. What are the people going to do if they find out? Throw me in jail? I’m already living in a prison created by the people who didn’t want me.”

  The bitterness in his voice hurt my heart, but I couldn’t help replaying his words in my head. About his collecting DNA samples from the villagers.

  “Starla,” I suddenly said. “You tried to get her to do the ancestor testing with you.”

  Apparently if Glinda was tasked with comparing samples, he’d had his DNA sample done already. He’d lied to Starla.

  She had believed he wanted her tested because he was trying to find out if she was a witch, but in reality he was trying to find out if they were related.

  Or maybe he was seeking answers to both.

  The thought turned my stomach.

  Vince didn’t even try to deny it. “One more person to rule out.”

  “Why now?” Nick asked. “Why the big push at this point?”

  “I just had another birthday. I want to know who I am. What if I want to start a family of my own one day? There’s too many questions. I need answers.”

  A family of his own . . . Was he planning that potential family with Starla? “Does Starla know about all this? Your adoption?”

  “No,” he said. “Other than Oliver and Glinda, you two are the only ones in the village who know my truth.”

  It was something else he’d kept from Starla. One more nail in the coffin of their relationship. I suddenly realized that she probably knew Miles’ name from seeing it on Vince’s computer. If she’d seen his sorcery searches, she’d probably seen his paternity searches as well but hadn’t known what she was looking at.

  With a sigh, I said, “You need to tell her.”

  Slowly, he nodded. “I will. Tonight.”

  Nick asked, “Why the secrecy? It might have been easier to find out information on Miles or your mother if you’d been more open.”

  “Maybe so,” he admitted, “but I wanted to find out what I could on my own first. This village is known for keeping secrets, and I believed that if I came straight out with my search that whoever was keeping the secret would go out of their way to make sure I never found out.”

  It was a real possibility. Villagers, especially Crafters, were used to nurturing their secrets, tending to them as one would a prized garden.

  Vince’s leg finally stopped wiggling. “Now I don’t care who knows. Miles is dead. My mother is all I have left.”

  I wondered how his adoptive parents felt about that.

  He added, “I need to find her. She holds the key to my magic.”

  Studying him, I wondered if the magic was the root of his mission. He didn’t sound like he cared to know the woman who gave birth to him but wanted only the knowledge she could share with him. If he was a Crafter, it was an unsettling notion. Rogue, power-hungry witches were dangerous.

  I opened my mouth, then closed it. I didn’t know what to say to him.

  “I’ll get a lawyer and request a DNA sample from the medical examiner’s office, just to make things official with Miles,” Vince stated. “I need to get Ve’s DNA to check to see if she’s my mother. Will you help me, Darcy? Talk to her? Smooth the waters, so to speak?”

  “She’s not your mother,” I said once again.

  “You don’t know that,” he insisted.

  “I do so. Look, Vince. If I thought there was even a chance Ve was your mother, I’d help you in a heartbeat. I don’t think it’s right that you don’t know who your parents are, but she’s not your mother. She’s just not.” I would call her as soon as possible to let her know of Vince’s suspicions, even if I had to leave the news on a voice mail. As Glinda had said, forewarned was forearmed.

  Vince looked on the verge of tears. “Then who, Darcy? Who is?”

  “I don’t know,” I said as gently as I could.

  I thought about Dorothy’s affair with Miles and wondered if it was possible she was Vince’s mother, but the timing wasn’t quite right. She would have been out of the country on her second honeymoon when Vince was born. If he was adopted the day after he was born, it seemed likely his mother had been right here in the village, not halfway around the world.

  Then I thought about what Dorothy had mentioned to me this afternoon, about Marcus. And then of another tidbit I’d heard today. About how Penelope had dated Miles once before they’d nearly run off together. Right around the time Vince would have been conceived . . .

  Had that tryst produced a possible son as well?

  The more I thought about it, and how Oliver had handled Vince’s adoption, the more I believed in the likelihood that Marcus and Vince weren’t just half brothers.

  But full brothers.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Saturday dawned bright and sunny.

  I’d slept well. Remarkably well considering it was a new house and a new bed and my mind was full of troubling thoughts.

  Having Nick next to me all night helped. We’d agreed that he and Mimi would move in immediately, and Mimi had been over the moon with excitement. During the coming week, Nick would put his house on the market, and we’d officially move all their belongings here next Sunday, since the housewarming was already scheduled for Saturday.

  From the doorway, a patient Higgins watched my every move as I made the bed. I’d had to remove Annie from beneath the blankets three times before accomplishing the task.

  Mimi was still asleep, Nick had already headed off to work, and I’d already gone for my morning jog. Usually Starla joined me, but she’d texted that she had a headache and would catch up with me later today at the playhouse.

  I wondered what had happened between her and Vince last night. The headache wasn’t a good sign. She’d been planning to break up with him, and before he’
d left last night, he’d promised to tell her all about his adoption. I wanted to text her and beg for details but decided it was a conversation best to have in person.

  The bedroom was one of my favorite places in the house. As part of the addition, it was all brand-new and held none of the memories of the murder that had taken place in the old master bedroom when the house was for sale. Where that room had once stood was now open air, part of the vaulted family room.

  At the far end of the master, at the back of the house, were the bathroom and walk-in closet, which had built-in shelves and drawers. At the front of the room was an upholstered bench below a set of double windows that overlooked the village. It matched exactly the one in Mimi’s room. In the middle of the long space was an area rug, atop which was the king-sized bed, flanked by wooden nightstands. On Nick’s nightstand were a lamp, his phone charger, a woodworking magazine, and a framed sketch I’d done of Mimi. On mine were a lamp, a clock, and a small vase full of fresh daisies. Most of my knickknacks were still at Ve’s. I’d swing by her house later, as she had suggested I pick up the rest of my boxes then.

  Higgins’ and Missy’s dog beds were at the foot of the bed, though last night Higgins had ended up in bed with Nick, Annie, and me while Missy had slept with Mimi. I was thinking that soon enough Missy’s bed would reside in the room down the hall. The two had a strong bond.

  My cell phone rang, a loud hound-dog arr-ooo that had Higgins’ ears perking up in confusion.

  Higgins often seemed confused.

  I patted his head and answered before the phone rang again, knowing immediately who was calling: The ringtone was one I had assigned to Harper.

  “Did you know that Miles is Vince’s father?” she said in a high-pitched voice as soon as I answered. “And that Vince thinks he’s a warlock? A warlock of all things?”

  The news had made the rounds quickly. “He mentioned it to me last night. Where’d you hear the news?”

  “Angela just called me. She heard it at the Witch’s Brew this morning from Vince himself. And he also thinks Ve is his mother? Has he gone crazy? He’s lost his mind,” she added, answering her own question.