When I’d spoken to Ve last night, she’d been stunned silent by the news, which was quite the feat. By the time I hung up, she’d been grabbing her cape to pay a midnight visit to my mother. She wasn’t so concerned that Vince thought she was his mother, but rather that he was talking about witchcraft so openly. A plan for damage control was desperately needed.
“The part about Miles being his father might be true. . . .” I explained last night’s visit, including Vince’s insistence that he was a witch.
She said, “I guess, I mean, at least his Seeking makes sense now. No wonder he was obsessive about it. Did you check with Mom yet to see if he really is a Crafter?”
“On my to-do list.”
Light flooded the room from the many windows, two of which flanked the fireplace opposite the bed. Tall and arched, the windows overlooked the backyard. I drew back one of the thin curtains and peeked out. Behind the back fence loomed a stand of trees. Beyond them, I glimpsed part of the Enchanted Trail, the paved path that looped around the village. It acted as a divider between the village and the Enchanted Woods.
Deep in that forest was the Elder’s meadow, where my mother lived. I planned to go see her, to see if she knew if Vince was a Crafter. As the Elder, she would know. It was just a matter of whether she’d share the knowledge with me.
“Does Starla know all this about Vince?” Harper asked.
“He said he’d tell her. I don’t know if he did. She canceled our morning run.”
I wondered if the news had changed her mind about breaking up with him. At least the timing of it. Somehow, I doubted it. She’d made up her mind before knowing he’d been keeping lots more secrets.
Harper said, “Well, that’s not the only big news today.”
“Oh?”
“Marcus is going to drop Ve’s case.”
My heart sank. “He is?”
“Well, he admitted he’s thinking about it. That’s as good as dropping it.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. Marcus was the best lawyer around, hands down. I wanted him on Ve’s side if she needed legal help. “No, it’s not. He just needs time to process his mother’s involvement.”
I debated whether to say anything to her about Miles potentially being Marcus’ father as well as Vince’s. Harper was already freaked-out, so I let it be. For now.
“That’s not the problem,” she said. “The problem is that Marcus’ parents have a strong hold over him. He’s influenced by their opinions.”
Ah. I suddenly realized that this was perhaps the heart of why Harper didn’t care for the pair and why they had rattled her so. She was scared of their opinion of her and whether they would use it to suggest Marcus break up with her.
I had to admit, I’d be scared, too. “Marcus loves you. That is a powerful influencer in itself. . . .”
Background noises suggested Harper was making breakfast. I heard the buzzing of her coffeemaker, the telltale sound of cereal being poured into a bowl. I could easily picture her moving about her kitchen, a tiny tornado.
“But is it enough?” she asked. “Will it be enough when it comes down to making a choice between me and them? Because it will come down to it. Eventually.”
“You don’t know that.”
“We’ll see, won’t we?”
I didn’t like how confident she sounded on the matter. It made me worry on her behalf.
She added, “The only good thing that’s come out of this new development is that dinner tonight has been canceled. That’s a silver lining if I ever saw one.”
“I for one am glad you didn’t have to go the scurvy route to get out of it.”
She laughed and the microwave dinged in the background. “Me, too. I have to go. Call me if you hear anything else about the case. Or Vince.”
I promised I would, then hung up, wondering if Penelope would also cancel on Evan and not show up this afternoon at the playhouse. I’d planned to ask her a few questions after we wrapped up. . . .
Higgins followed behind me as I tiptoed along the overlook hallway, past the reading nook, the staircase, and the back bedroom I was using as my art studio, to peek on Mimi before heading downstairs. Her door was ajar. She was sound asleep, one of her legs stuck out from beneath the covers and her head buried under her pillow. Missy immediately hopped off the bed to greet me and wagged her tail when I asked if she needed to go out, then wagged harder when I asked if she was hungry. Higgins greeted her with droplets of drool, and she looked up at me with dismay.
“Sorry,” I whispered to her as I grabbed a towel from the linen closet to wipe her off.
Downstairs, I let the dogs out. They raced from one side of the yard to the other, making me smile at their size difference. Annie watched me patiently as I filled food bowls, then pounced on hers. I made coffee, then walked into the As You Wish office and immediately grinned. On the mantel above the office’s fireplace—which was original to the house—sat the framed magic wand painting. Ve was right. It did belong here.
In front of the fireplace was a seating area with a couch and two chairs with a low table in between. It was where I’d meet with clients.
My desk area was a good three feet behind the couch. I picked up the phone and checked voice mails, making notes to return calls as soon as I reopened for business. Behind my desk were wall-to-wall custom cabinets and shelving. Several of the cabinets had been doctored to hold files until I could get the existing files computerized. Nick and I hadn’t finished sorting through the boxes last night, as Vince’s visit had thrown us for a loop.
Vince.
I let out a breath and looked at the clock.
Although I was due to meet Glinda soon at Wickedly Creative, if I hurried, I could make a quick trip into the woods. . . .
I let the dogs back inside and left a note for Mimi telling her where I was off to and asked her to text when she woke up. I left it on the kitchen island, where she’d find it easily. She was thirteen and more than capable of staying home alone, but I was glad for the extra security measures of Higgins’ drool, Missy’s barking, and the alarm system Nick had had installed. Plus, there were the acorns. Truly, no one in the village was safer than Mimi Sawyer this morning.
I grabbed my cape, set the alarm, locked the doors behind me, and headed out to see if my mother would tell me what was going on with Vince . . . and whether he was a witch or not.
Chapter Sixteen
As soon as I was through the back gate, I followed the Enchanted Trail path for a bit before veering off into the woods.
Under the thick canopy of red oaks, hemlocks, and sugar maples, I slipped my cape over my shoulders and drew the hood over my head. By doing so, I was now invisible to all mortals. It was a precautionary measure to keep the location of the Elder’s meadow a secret.
Breathing in the rich forest scents, I followed a path I’d come to know well. Pine was the predominant smell, followed by the earthy aroma of the dirt, moss, and decaying leaves that littered the ground.
Mindful of the time, I walked quickly, almost jogging. I hoped my mother was home and that this trip hadn’t been a waste of my time. When I reached a rock in the shape of a piece of cake, I turned right, and the Elder’s meadow soon came into sight.
I drew my cape tight around me as I stepped cautiously into the grassy open and glanced around. Surrounded by forest, the meadow seemed out of place; an oasis. In the middle of the area stood a single tree, its weeping branches hanging low, its silvery green leaves glistening in the early-morning sunshine.
I smiled broadly as those branches suddenly lifted. In a blink the grassy meadow turned into a field of vibrant wildflowers. The cool wind turned warm, inviting. A bird flew out from the top of the tree, swooping my way.
My mother was home.
A beautiful mourning dove with bright blue rims around its eyes landed before me. A moment later, it dis
appeared into a glittery cloud, from which my mother floated, dressed all in white and barefoot as usual.
I smiled as I always did when I saw her. I didn’t know if I’d ever get used to the idea that she was back in my life. All I knew was I’d never take it for granted. “I was hoping you’d be here.”
She smiled, then kissed my cheek. “I usually am. Are you here about Vince?”
Nodding, I followed her as she motioned me toward the tree.
Normally when I visited with her, a tree stump seat typically arose from the ground for me to sit on, but not today. With a wave of her hand, a swinging bench that matched one that hung at my house appeared on a branch of her tree.
The magic in this village never ceased to amaze me.
“Coffee?” she asked. “I know I could use a cup. It’s been some kind of morning already. I’ve been inundated with messages about Vince telling everyone he comes across in the village that he’s a warlock.”
“I’d love some,” I said, letting down my hood. I was safe here in her presence. “Harper’s already called me about Vince. Angela Curtis called her after she ran into Vince at the Witch’s Brew. I’m sure Ve explained everything to you last night, about how he’s . . . on a mission to figure out his parentage and prove he’s a witch.”
“She did.” With another wave, two mugs filled with coffee appeared in her hands.
She handed one to me, and I sipped. It was perfect, with just a bit of cream and sugar. Hers, I saw, was as black as night. Just the way she liked it.
I marveled at how spirits and familiars still could enjoy earthly pleasures, such as coffee. One of Pepe’s favorites was cheesecake from Evan’s bakery. And Archie delighted in anything consisting of carbs.
I sat next to her on the bench swing. “Is Vince really a Crafter?”
Drawing in a deep breath, she gazed into her mug as though looking to it for advice. So much of the Craft was secretive, and the only one privy to all was the Elder. Until I knew the Elder was my mother, I never realized the burden of her power.
Her gaze came up and curiosity filled her golden brown eyes. “What do you think?”
She was always challenging me this way. Making me dig deep, looking for answers that I didn’t know I possessed. Was there really a way for me to tell if Vince was a Crafter?
Silvery leaves rustled around me as I thought about it, and the sweet scent of the wildflowers filled the air.
“Don’t think too hard, Darcy,” Mom said as she sipped her coffee. “Do you think Vince is a Crafter?”
“Yes,” I said, surprising myself.
She smiled over the rim of her mug. “Why?”
Why? Why? I didn’t know why. I searched for an explanation. “I’m not sure. It’s just . . . a feeling. Last night Vince talked about how witchcraft made him finally feel normal. It was something I related to. Growing up, I always felt different. Out of place. I thought it was because you were gone and Dad was lost in his grief, but it wasn’t until I moved here . . . and started practicing my Craft that I, too, felt normal. Whole.” I wrinkled my nose. “Does that make sense?”
Her long fingers had wrapped around the mug, her fingertips touching on the opposite side. “Perfect sense. Magic dwells within every Crafter. Some feel it more acutely than others. It is common for a Crafter who doesn’t know of their powers to feel peculiar. Or as an outsider.”
I let what she said sink in.
Crafters who didn’t know of their powers.
Like me. Like Harper.
Like Vince.
Like Seekers.
“Are all Seekers simply Crafters who feel the magic but don’t know they’re witches?”
Warmth filled her eyes, which in turn filled me with warmth. With it came a contentment I never knew I’d been missing until she came back into my life. There was something about a mother’s love that was irreplaceable.
“Not many are so insightful to make that connection. Yes, it’s true that most Seekers are Crafters who do not know of their heritage for one reason or another. It is why we don’t run all the Seekers straight out of the village.”
“Why don’t we just tell the Seekers who are witches that they are witches?” It seemed to me that it would solve a lot of problems that Seekers caused.
“As Elder, it’s not my place to interfere in what’s been decided for that particular Crafter,” she said, tucking one leg beneath her as we swayed. “I must abide by what the fates have set in motion. I must respect the choices others have made. I can only offer guidance from afar.”
“Why not interfere? It seems to me that of anyone, it is our place. If Ve hadn’t told Harper and me about our magic, we’d probably still be floundering in Ohio.”
“That’s just it, Darcy. Your fate had already been set in motion. Your daddy and I had a deal, a deal that was seen through when he”—she swallowed hard—“passed on.”
The grief in her voice nearly tore me open. I hadn’t thought about what it had been like for her to see the man she’d loved live his life without her. And die without her as well.
I blinked back tears, wondering what life would have been like had that accident not taken my mother away so long ago. . . .
Fate. Sometimes I hated it.
“Vince’s fate,” she said, “is already in motion. It is my job to guide him, whether or not he uncovers the truth of his heritage. Even though he knows nothing of me, I know of him, and I’ll look after him the best I can.”
Vince was a Crafter. I could hardly believe it. All his rantings and ravings had been valid. Justified. “But what about him going around talking about witchcraft? Isn’t he violating our laws?”
“No, but only because he doesn’t know he’s a Crafter.”
That was a pretty big loophole, in my opinion.
“Now that I know he’s a witch, I could tell him, right?”
Her eyes darkened. “You could, but you should not. You know only because I have confirmed it. You would be interfering with his journey, altering his destiny.”
I was beginning to dislike the word “interfere.” “It doesn’t seem fair he doesn’t know.”
“No,” she agreed. “It doesn’t. But it is the way it is.”
Taking a sip from my mug, I said softly, “Maybe we need to change those ways.”
She smiled. “I’ll take that suggestion under advisement and bring it up at the next Coven gathering.”
I’d only recently learned of the Coven of Seven’s existence. They were my mother’s form of a village council and she needed their unanimous approval to make any big changes to the Craft. Their identities were a mystery to me, and I figured they always would be.
I asked, “What about his dabbling in sorcery? What do we do about that?”
Over her shoulder, I spotted the hollow in the tree where Crafters could leave her notes if they wanted to trek into the woods. The much quicker route was using Archie as a messenger. By now, my mother had undoubtedly received Starla’s message from the loquacious bird.
“It’s troublesome and something to keep an eye on. He doesn’t realize the power that comes with the dark arts.”
I thought perhaps he did. And that’s why he’d been looking into it.
“We will intervene if we have to. Hopefully it will not come to that, as it will put our identities at risk.”
By the haggard tone of her voice, it sounded as though intervening was the last thing she wanted to do. To me, it seemed we had a better shot at getting him to listen to reason if we had his family on our side.
As casually as I could, I asked, “Who is Vince’s mother?”
She gave me that look. The one that told me she couldn’t tell me. I was beginning to dislike it as well.
“Would you tell me if I guessed?”
“No.”
I pressed. “Not even if it was a fac
tor in Miles’ death?”
“What are you thinking, Darcy?”
I told her my theory about Penelope, Miles, Marcus, and Vince. “It seems coincidental, doesn’t it, that Vince’s birthday is right around the time Miles returned to the village? What if he returned for his son’s first birthday?”
“Do you have any proof Vince’s paternity is a factor in Miles’ death?”
“Not yet, but it would be easier if I knew for sure that Penelope was his mother.”
“I cannot tell you who his mother is.” She pressed her lips together and made a zipping motion across them.
“Does his mother know who he is? That he’s her child?” After all, he’d been given up for adoption as an infant. Had his mother kept tabs on him?
“Not for me to say.”
Really dislike it.
I let out a breath and tapped my fingertips on the arm of the swing. “Is Marcus Debrowski’s birthday really in August?”
“What a curious question.”
I explained about Dorothy.
One of her eyebrows rose, and a corner of her mouth twitched as she nodded. “His birthday is in August. He is not Miles’ son.”
Which meant that he and Vince were not full brothers, after all.
And that Dorothy had purposely misled me.
I was beginning to hate her, too.
It was still entirely possible that Marcus and Vince were half brothers. Penelope did have a relationship with Miles around the time Vince would have been conceived. I just didn’t know how to confirm—or rule out—the possibility. I had the feeling Penelope would not consent to a DNA test.
And I still didn’t know whether any of this paternity information factored into why Miles was dead.
It was something I was going to have to keep pursuing. I did, however, wonder why Dorothy had lied to me about something that was so easily refutable; she had to have known I’d ask my mother.
“Should I be worried about Dorothy?” I asked, honestly curious. Her firebug tendencies had always bothered me, but especially more now that I owned a house.
The Witch and the Dead Page 15