The Witch and the Dead

by Heather Blake

  I glanced over at Penelope and frowned. After seeing her paintings at the bunkhouse this morning, I’d given her the job of creating the mountain scene. It was a challenging piece, and though she’d tried to resist taking on such a big responsibility, I’d insisted.

  Now I wished I hadn’t.

  Her mountains looked like lumpy clouds. I set down my paintbrush and told Mimi I’d be right back.

  Pop, pop, pop.

  My shoulders stiffened at the noise. It was getting on my last nerve.

  Penelope saw me coming and said, “I’m having trouble with the canvas.”

  An understatement if I’d ever heard one. “It can be tricky,” I reassured her, though I was lying though my teeth. Any advanced painter should have had no trouble with the material.

  She certainly looked the role of an artist. Her hair was pulled up in a loose bun; paint flecks dotted her cheeks. She wore an old pair of paint-splattered jeans and a loose sweatshirt, its collar cut out. I liked this version of her much better than the one I had met in the bookshop yesterday.

  I asked, “Do you want me to create some guidelines?”

  She nodded and handed over a paintbrush. “Thank you. It was probably a mistake to come here today. My mind is preoccupied. I can’t focus on my work.”

  I set about outlining mountain shapes in the background and a hilly expanse in the forefront, taking extra care to get the perspective of the scene just right. It was a good time to speak to her, to see what she would tell me about Miles Babbage. “I saw some of your paintings this morning. They’re lovely.”

  “My paintings?” She tipped her head. “Where did you see them?”

  “At Wickedly Creative. They were in one of the bunkhouses. The one Miles used when he stayed in the village.”

  She glanced over her shoulder, searching the room. She was looking for Oliver, I realized, but he wasn’t to be seen. He’d probably stepped out to use the restroom.

  “One was of the village entrance, the other of a bird in a cage. The third wasn’t completed.”

  I hadn’t needed to tell her it was the nude. Her fast blush told me she knew well enough.

  “When was the last time you saw Miles?” I asked. “Do you remember?”

  Again, she looked around. “This isn’t a good time to be talking about this.”

  “Penelope, it’s never going to be a good time.”

  “You should let it be.”

  “You know I can’t do that.” I dipped the paintbrush. “Did you see him after he and Steve had that fight in front of Third Eye?”

  Resigned, she sighed. “No. The last I saw him was the night before that. We had plans to run off to elope the next day. Then Miles and Steve had that fight, my parents found out, and I was sent off to stay with an aunt down the Cape.” Her eyes moistened, but no tears formed. She glanced away. “I never saw Miles again.”

  Steve must have noticed Oliver’s absence as well, because he bustled over. “Penelope,” he began.

  She rubbed her temples. “Not now, Steve.”

  “We need to talk,” he said, reaching for her hands.

  She folded them across her chest. “I’m busy.” She picked up a spare paintbrush, dipped it in green paint, and attempted to create a line of pine trees dividing the mountains from the grassy area of the picture.

  The strokes were wrong. Too broad. And she’d used too much paint. They weren’t Bob Ross happy little trees but rather gelatinous green blobs with no discernible definition.

  Oliver’s voice came from behind us. He said, “You heard her plain and clear, Steve. She’s busy. Back off.”

  Steve pulled his shoulders back. “Stay out of this, Oliver. It’s between me and Penelope.”

  Oliver stepped closer. “I don’t think so.”

  “She needs to know the truth.”

  I looked around. Everyone else had stopped working.

  It was definitely a soap opera in here.

  “What truth is that?” Oliver asked. “She chose me over you. The end.”

  “No,” Steve said, his tone cold and hard. “She chose Miles over me. Then her parents made her marry you. And she wouldn’t have chosen Miles except he’d been controlling her with an amulet.”

  “What amulet?” Vince asked.

  Oh jeez. We were going to have to memory-cleanse him before this day was through.

  “Stay out of this,” Oliver said to him.

  “You can’t tell me what to do,” Vince said. “You’re not my father.”

  Pop, pop, pop.

  I said loudly, “Maybe we ought to take a break.”

  Everyone ignored me.

  Steve kept trying to reason with Penelope. There was a plea in his voice as he said, “Don’t you see, Penelope? It all would have been different if not for that amulet. You would still be with me.”

  She closed her eyes, sighed. “I knew about the amulet, Steve.”

  “You did?” I asked.

  “What amulet?” Vince asked again.

  No one answered him.

  “Miles told me after I agreed to leave town with him,” Penelope said. “It didn’t matter. I still wanted to be with him. It turned out, however, that he hadn’t wanted to wait for me.” She faced Steve. “Now, please . . . It’s been thirty years. Please let it go.”

  She turned her back on him and started attacking the canvas with green blobs again.

  The whole thing was going to need to be repainted.

  “I can’t let it go,” Steve said. “I love you.”

  Gasps rippled through the room. Mimi’s eyes were as wide as saucers.

  Tears filled Penelope’s eyes. “I love Oliver. Please, please, Steve, let it go.”

  “Fine,” he said stubbornly. “I’ll let it go for now.”

  “Let it go forever,” she said. “It’s over. It’s been over for a long time. I never wanted to hurt you. . . . Please,” she begged. “Just go.”

  He glanced around, saw the sympathetic glances everyone was giving him, then turned and left.

  Penelope watched him leave with tears in her eyes.

  “We should go, too,” Oliver said to Penelope. His color was high, and he looked about to come undone. “It’s ridiculous that we came in the first place.”

  “It is not,” she said, sighing. “You know how I feel about the arts.”

  It sounded like an argument they’d had a time or two.

  He dragged a hand down his beard. “Be that as it may, we have no business being here. You can’t even p—” He broke off as her face drained of all color. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly.

  Tears spilled from her eyes as she set down her paintbrush, pivoted, and said, “I need some air.” She walked out.

  I glanced at Oliver, at the painting, then back at Oliver. . . .

  “You can’t even p—”

  Paint.

  He’d been about to say “paint.”

  As realization hit, I lowered my voice. “She’s lost her abilities, hasn’t she?”

  He didn’t answer as he turned to follow his wife out of the room.

  Fortunately for me, he’d said all I’d needed to hear.

  There were several ways to lose your abilities, but the most common was to tell a mortal of your gift. Suddenly and instinctively I knew she’d told Miles.

  I watched Oliver go, and as he flew out of the doorway, he nearly knocked over Glinda as she came inside.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said to the room, then hotfooted it over to me. “What’d I just miss?”

  I closed the paints Penelope had been using. “Long story.”

  She eyed the canvas. “Are those green sheep?”

  I cracked a smile. They did look like green sheep. “Also a long story. Are you all right? I tried calling. . . .”

  She
didn’t look all right. Her eyes were rimmed in red as though she’d been crying.

  “Family emergency,” she said, her voice sounding funny. “I had to talk to my mother.”

  I put my hand on her arm. “You’re worrying me.”

  “Glinda!” Mimi rushed over to us. “We were worried about you.”

  Glinda smiled and said to me, “She’s becoming your mini-me.”

  It might have been the best compliment I’d ever received.

  She put her arm around Mimi. “I’m okay.”

  “Really?” Mimi asked, concern etching her gaze. “Because you don’t look okay. You look like you’ve been crying. Did you have a fight with Liam? Oh no! Did you break up with him like Starla broke up with Vince? You were so happy with him.”

  “Mimi,” Glinda said, smiling. “Take a breath!”

  Mimi sucked in some air.

  “Liam and I are fine. I am happy with him. It wasn’t that. Starla and Vince broke up?” Glinda looked to me for explanation.

  Yet again I said, “Long story.”

  Mimi said, “Then what happened? Is it Clarence? Did he run away again?”

  Only Mimi could get away with peppering her with these kinds of questions. But I was glad she was asking, because I was curious as well.

  Pop, pop, pop.

  Glinda’s gaze whipped to Vince and that nail gun. She swallowed hard. “Clarence is fine. Everything’s fine. I just got some surprising news in the mail.”

  Vince picked up a length of pine, eyed it, made a cut with a jigsaw, then set it in place on the frame he was working on.

  Pop, pop, pop.

  “Who knew Vince was so good at building things?” Mimi said. “I’m glad you’re here now.” She gave Glinda another hug and went back to her painting.

  She was right about Vince. Who knew? I’d never known him to build a single thing. He’d especially taken right to that nail gun. Men and power tools. It was like it was natural instinct.

  Some women had natural instincts for it, too. I was reminded of Glinda and what she’d told me yesterday, of how she was “really handy with power tools.”

  Of course the Broomcrafting helped.

  The Broomcrafting . . .

  My head snapped up. Wait.

  I looked between her and Vince, Vince and her.

  “I need to talk to you,” Glinda said, grabbing my arm. “It’s important.”

  My jaw practically hit the floor. They had the same eyes! That same brilliant blue. Oh. My. God.

  “H-how?” was all I could stammer as she tugged me along. Dorothy had been out of the country when Vince was born. . . . This didn’t make sense.

  “Long story,” she said drolly.

  Penelope and Oliver came back inside, cutting us off.

  “I’m sorry, Darcy,” Penelope said, “but I think it’s best we left. I just need to get my things; then I’ll get out of your hair.”

  “I understand,” I said, mentally shooing them out the door. I wanted to hear what Glinda had to say.

  “A family emergency,” she’d said.

  It was putting it lightly.

  I glanced over at Vince. He’d abandoned the nail gun.

  Thank God.

  Unfortunately, he was headed this way.

  He sauntered over and stared at Penelope. “You said earlier you were going to run off with Miles Babbage. You had a relationship with him?”

  Her eyes narrowed in confusion. “I’m not sure how that’s any concern of yours.”

  Oliver stepped in close to his wife. “Leave her alone, Vince.”

  “No,” Vince returned as he folded his arms across his chest. “If she had a relationship with Miles, then I have a right to know.” He faced her head-on. “Are you my mother?”

  Her eyes flew open wide. “What? Your mother?”

  Oliver sighed.

  “Is Miles your father?” She gasped. “Oh my God. You have his chin.”

  “Are you my mother?” Vince asked Penelope again.

  She kept staring at him as though seeing him in an all-new light. Tears brimmed in her eyes, pooling along the lashes. “How didn’t I see it before?”

  “She’s not your mother,” Oliver said to Vince in a firm voice.

  Vince jabbed Oliver in the chest. “You expect me to believe you? I want a DNA test.”

  Oliver jabbed back. “Keep your hands to yourself, son.”

  “Don’t call me ‘son,’” Vince said, taking a swing at him. It connected with Oliver’s jaw and sent him reeling backward.

  Penelope screamed.

  Oliver rubbed his jaw, then lurched forward. The two men fell into each other, punching and grunting and shoving as they yelled nonsense at each other.

  I recalled how Oliver had said he’d never had a fight in his life and felt sorry for the man as I backed up to protect Mimi. Hank hurdled a sawhorse to break up the pair as Evan came sprinting into the room, Archie on his shoulder.

  “What’s going on?” Evan cried.

  “They’re going to kill each other,” Mimi said, poking her head out from behind me.

  Glinda joined in the fray, trying to get a grip on Vince, while Hank tugged on Oliver. I glanced at Starla across the room. Tears streamed down her face. She shook her head, turned, and ran out of the room.

  I’d grabbed Mimi’s arm to follow Starla out when Archie let out an earsplitting whistle and Evan bellowed, “Enough!”

  It was enough to startle Oliver and Vince so they could be separated. Glinda pushed Vince behind her, and Hank held his arms wide, corralling Oliver.

  “I’m pressing charges!” Oliver huffed. Blood seeped from a cut above his eye, and I went instantly woozy.

  I had to look away.

  “Do it!” Vince prodded, and after he adjusted his glasses, he pushed against Glinda as though he wanted to continue the fight with Oliver. “I’ll be glad to tell them all about my adoption.”

  I continued to edge my way out of the room with Mimi.

  “What is he talking about, Oliver?” Penelope asked.

  “Stay out of this,” he told his wife.

  “Let me at him.” Vince tried to bob and weave around Glinda, but her police training had prepared her well.

  “Settle down,” she told him, keeping him contained.

  “Enough!” Evan said again, coming to stand in between the warring parties. “What is going on?”

  If anyone thought it odd that Archie was perched on his shoulder, they didn’t say.

  Archie was practically rubbing his wings together, delighting in this drama. For him, seeing this might be even better than helping with the auditions.

  “I’m just trying to find out who my mother is.” Vince’s left eye was quickly blooming black and blue. “No one will tell me. I have a right to know!”

  “Well, it’s certainly not me!” Penelope cried.

  “No,” a voice said from the doorway. “It’s not.”

  Mimi and I froze as Dorothy click-clacked into the room.

  “Then who is it?” Vince demanded of her.

  Dorothy walked past me with nary a sideways glance. She stepped up to Vince, looked him straight in the eye, and said, “It’s me.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “‘Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen; nobody knows my sorrow.’”

  It was a line from a song in The Lion King. Archie had perfected the despondence of the lyric in his mournful delivery. His imitation of Zazu, the red-billed hornbill in the movie, was spot-on. No wonder. They were very much birds of a feather.

  I patted his head. “The auditions will be rescheduled.”

  Evan had postponed tonight’s auditions in light of the fight and the revelation that Dorothy was Vince’s mother. Everyone had been in such a tizzy that it wouldn’t have been fair
to the actors trying out for the play. No one would have been paying much attention.

  “If I’d known building sets would be so exciting, I would have signed up,” Harper said glumly.

  We were sitting at my kitchen island, pints of ice cream dispersed among us. Archie sat on the edge of the counter, his long tail hanging down. Higgins and his drool were patiently waiting for his share of dessert.

  “It wasn’t exciting. It was dreadful,” Starla moaned from the sofa. Her headache had turned into a migraine. She was lying on the couch with a wet cloth on her head. Annie was curled on her chest. “Vince was . . . out of his mind. Now that I know he’s Dorothy’s son, it kind of makes sense. Like mother, like son? She’s always been loony tunes. No offense, Glinda.”

  Glinda jammed a spoon into a pint of rocky road. “None taken.”

  Mimi sat with Missy on her lap. The little dog kept trying to lick her spoon. She said, “Starla, do you think you’ll get back together with Vince now? I mean, he’s a witch, right? You wouldn’t have to keep any more secrets. Wait. Is Dorothy going to tell him he’s a witch?”

  Glinda sighed. “That’s her plan.”

  “You don’t think he should know?” I asked.

  “It’s not that,” she said. “It’s . . . complicated. And it’s going to be weird.”

  “Totally weird,” Mimi agreed. “Especially when he finds out you were a witch all along, Starla.”

  Starla sat up and groaned. “Don’t remind me.” The washcloth fell into her lap. Annie wiggled out from beneath the damp rag and hopped onto the floor. “And I don’t know what I’m going to do about Vince. I just don’t know. It’s a lot to think about and my head hurts.”

  “Should I call Cherise?” I asked.

  “Maybe,” she said, closing her eyes and putting her head back down. She replaced the cloth on her head and said, “Why didn’t he tell me he was adopted?”

  I didn’t think she was looking for an actual answer. She was talking out loud, trying to make sense out of something that didn’t.

  Mimi spooned a helping of cherry vanilla ice cream and looked at Glinda. “You really didn’t know Vince was your brother?”