by Amy Boyles
Axel thought for a moment and then dropped his head back. “Why didn’t I remember? Why didn’t any of us remember? Garrick must’ve been too busy and he forgot to mention it, too.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
Axel scraped his fingers down his face. “It’s not.”
“What is it?”
He ground his teeth. “There are two nights of the year when the magical shields that keep regular people from entering our town are down.”
My heart sank. “Let me guess—tonight is one of those nights.”
Axel nodded. “Tonight, Sylvia Spirits has to perform maintenance on that spell. Because of that, anyone can enter Magnolia Cove.”
I gripped Axel’s arm tightly. “Even Johnny Utah?”
He nodded solemnly. “Even Johnny Utah.”
That meant Donovan was dead meat, and quite possibly me too.
FIVE
“Why didn’t anyone think of that?” I said as the Mustang raced down the dirt path back toward town.
Axel ran a finger over his lip. “With all the hubbub about Donovan, I’m sure we forgot.”
I realized that when I’d seen Garrick with the officers earlier in the day, right after Donovan appeared, that the men were probably working on that very issue.
I tried rubbing the worry from my temples. It didn’t work. “What usually happens on those nights?”
“The only other night it occurs is Halloween. We usually all dress up as witches and invite the public, so it’s not that big a deal. People expect pranks and spooky things.”
My face fell in shock. “You invite the public? People?”
He nodded. “Yeah. It’s a lot of fun.”
“But what about after? When they can’t get back in?”
Axel’s jaw twitched. “There’s a spell that makes them forget about us until the very next year.”
I held up a hand for him to stop. “Okay. So we’ll deal with that at Halloween. What about tonight?”
“Sylvia Spirits often has to do maintenance on the spell that protects us from outsiders. That means one other night she has to blow off some steam, and when that happens, the spell relaxes. Like tonight.”
I twisted a hunk of my hair until it was so tight it wouldn’t coil anymore. “And it just so happens that Donovan returned to Magnolia Cove today of all days, when there’s a supposed witch hunter after him as well as a werewolf clan.” I exhaled, trying to calm my jittering nerves. “Could this day get any worse?”
Axel’s brow furrowed. “Are you really asking that?”
I cringed. “I guess that was stupid. The answer is—of course things could get worse. This is Magnolia Cove, the most magical place on earth.”
The van slap full of the singing family had a good start on us. By the time we reached Bubbling Cauldron Road, we’d lost sight of them thanks to the pack of party-goers. Folks spilled out onto the road and covered the grassy areas like fleas on a hound’s rear end.
“There wasn’t a crowd like this during the Cotton and Cobwebs Festival,” I said.
Axel smirked. “Seems like whatever spell was cast on Donovan is a doozy.”
I shot him a questioning look.
He sighed. “By your look I can only figure you’re wondering about my use of the word ‘doozy.’”
“That would be correct.”
“I will not be chained to the confines of only masculine word usage. I can and will use such terms as ‘doozy’ when I see fit.”
I bit back a laugh.
“And that is why you like me so much,” he said proudly.
“That is true.”
The going was slow. The car slogged along as folks milled in the street.
“Forget this,” Axel growled. He pulled the car off onto the side of the road and killed the engine. “We’ll get there faster walking.”
We stepped outside and watched as the town spilled onto the grassy meadow that covered a portion of downtown. A stage had been set up, and a band was playing some sort of country funk.
“What’s that?” I said.
“Witch-a-billy.”
“What?”
He rolled his eyes. “It’s like rockabilly, except we call it witch-a-billy.”
“Why does nothing surprise me anymore?”
He took my arm. “Come on. Let’s find Donovan.”
“Where?”
“Betty’s house first. If he’s not there, then we come back here.”
We raced through the crowd, dodging right and left. A couple of times I got swept away from him, but Axel wasted no time in locating my arm and pulling me through the bodies to him.
I have to admit, y’all, I felt safer than safe with him by my side, even if he did have an arm in a sling.
When we reached Betty’s house, we barged in, shouting their names.
“Donovan! Betty,” I called.
Stillness greeted us until one baby dragon bounded down the stairs and jumped into my arms.
“Hugo,” I said, pulling him into a hug.
Axel’s fingers twitched at his sides. “They’re not here. Come on. Let’s see if they’re at the festival.”
I wrapped Hugo around my neck, and we headed out. As we say in the South, or at least in Alabama, there were so many people in town, Magnolia Cove was covered up.
“Do you have any way to contact Betty?” Axel said to me.
I gave him a double take. “You’re asking me? This is a freakin’ magical town. Shouldn’t we be able to reach people using methods that are more advanced than Star Trek?”
He shot me a dark look.
I shrugged. “I’m just saying. We are witches.”
“We’re not that advanced. This is still the South, after all. Folks like things a certain way.”
“I know,” I said. “No comment.”
Which meant that as advanced as certain things are in the South, there’s still a need to cling to what makes the South distinctly Southern. Don’t get me wrong, I love where I live, but sometimes I want folks to jump into the right century.
“That’s something you and I should work on,” I said. “Having a better central communication system for witches who don’t want to carry cell phones with them.”
He nodded. “Let’s get right on that after we do this.”
I wasn’t sure if that was sarcasm or not, but there was no time to ask him or to think about it too hard.
The throng of people thickened to the point that Axel lifted a finger and snapped. People parted like he was Moses and they were the Red Sea. I don’t even think they noticed. Yet one moment folks stood in a thick clot and the next, they’d been separated.
Lights flared to life onstage. The witch-a-billy band stopped playing. The lead singer drifted over to the microphone. He looked very rock and roll with silver chains hanging from his clothing and tattoos inking his arms. He gripped the microphone and said, “And now, it’s time to welcome our guest of honor, Donovan Craple!”
I watched as Donovan crossed the stage as if embarrassed. He was a meek man who didn’t appear as if he enjoyed too much attention.
Welcome back, I thought.
He tapped the microphone, cleared his throat and said, “Thank you. It’s great to be here. Umm. Well, that’s all I can think of to say.”
I rubbed my face in disbelief. The entire town was watching, and Donovan was only going to spend about three seconds onstage?
You know what? The town deserved it. They basically forced my uncle to appear, and whatever they got, they didn’t have a right to be choosy about it.
Beggars can’t be, after all.
Donovan gave a quick, hesitant wave and disappeared to the back. Garrick and about twenty police officers lined the front of the stage. They kept a close eye on the crowd, warning folks not to get too close.
Axel grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the rear. We pushed through sweating bodies until we found Donovan with my grandmother.
“Donovan,” I yelled.
Th
ey turned toward us. I picked up the pace and was out of breath by the time I reached my uncle.
“Out of shape…sorry…Uncle…”
He glanced from me to Axel, who wasn’t winded in the least. Donovan shot him a questioning look. “What’s up?”
“We saw the Sensational Singers entering town in their van.”
Donovan’s face twisted in confusion. “What?”
I grabbed his arm. “In all the hubbub everyone forgot that tonight anyone can enter Magnolia Cove. Anyone.”
“Well put a fork in me and call me stupid,” Betty said. “It slipped my mind.”
“And you run this town,” I said sharply. Which is something Betty always says—she runs this town.
She grimaced. “I’m getting old. Forgetful.”
Wow. That was the first time I’d ever known Betty to show weakness. To her weakness was a disease she didn’t want to catch. Oh, and she was immune from disease as well. At least according to her.
Axel stepped forward. “Donovan, we’ve got to get you to safety. There’s no telling who could be here right now.”
Just then, the lead singer from the witch-a-billy band walked up. “Donovan,” he said, holding out his hand, “it’s great to meet you. I don’t know what it is, but it’s like I’m compelled to tell you hello. Must be something in the water.”
“You got that right,” Betty said.
Donovan shook his hand. “Thank you for coming and doing all this. How’d you manage to get down here on such short notice?”
The lead singer sipped from a bottle of water in his hand. He took several large gulps and smacked his lips. “We performed in Birmingham last night so we were close by when my employer told me to come here. You might know him—name’s Johnny Utah.”
The hair on my arms rose to attention. The tension in the air swelled so fast and thick it wouldn’t have surprised me if a lightning bolt ripped through the mess of us.
“What did you say?” Donovan said.
“He said Johnny Utah sent him, same as me.”
We turned toward the new voice. Standing opposite us was the man who’d come into the store earlier in the day. He wasn’t wearing regular clothes anymore. Now he wore a black shirt and pants along with a utility belt filled with all sorts of funny looking objects—metal circles and triangles.
“Hunter,” Betty spat. “You don’t have a right to be here.”
To the right, a knot of people slammed into our group. They were all ages, from a middle-aged man and woman down to a young girl. Dear Lord, let me guess—the Sensational Singers.
“Howdie, y’all,” said the mom, who wore long braids wrapped around her ears. “We’re here to see Donovan. Oh, there you are! Hey, Donovan! It’s great to see you again.”
Donovan gave a weak wave. “Hello.”
The witch hunter took a step forward. His golden eyes glittered. I had a feeling not much was going to stop him from taking Donovan’s life.
“What a great party you got going on here. I’m just kinda ticked that nobody thought to invite me.”
A man who sounded like John Travolta from Saturday Night Fever and who happened to be dressed like him, too, stepped into our midst.
“Johnny,” Donovan said. “Let me explain.”
Holy crapola on a stick.
Johnny Utah was flanked on both sides by large brute-looking types. They kept their mouths shut, but their beady eyes focused on Donovan.
The witch hunter scoffed. “What’s going on? This is supposed to be my mark, Johnny. You promised me.”
Johnny shrugged. “Sometimes I change my mind, Carl.”
The hunter shook his head. “Dammit, no names. You’re never supposed to reveal my name. Good grief, what’s wrong with you Mafioso types? Is it the werewolf in you that makes you so stupid?”
One of the Sensational Singers gasped. “Carl?”
All our heads swiveled toward the father of the group. He was tall with strong arms and hands that were now closed into tight fists like he wanted to punch someone. “Is that you, Carl? You cheat. Wait till I get my hands on you.”
Carl the Witch Hunter backed up. “Whoa, there. Listen, can we discuss this later? Right now,” he said, taking one of the silver circles from his utility belt, “I’ve got a mark to kill.”
“Not until I say so,” Johnny said, throwing out his barrel chest. “Nobody dies until I give the order, and I’m not giving any orders.”
Carl sneered. “You promised me my money.” He turned to Donovan and raised the circle. “You’re mine.”
A lightning bolt snaked across the sky. The light flashed brightly, illuminating everyone surrounding Donovan. A torrent of rain fell, soaking me to the skin in a matter of seconds. The sheet dropped so thick I could barely see. The rain made the darkness of night appear even that much blacker.
Then all heck broke loose.
I was shoved right and slipped. I felt Axel’s arm around my waist, keeping me steady. A loud pop sounded, but I couldn’t locate where it had originated. Someone screamed, and then then storm settled.
As if it happened with the snapping of fingers, the rain ceased. The lights returned to normal, and we all stood in the circle, facing each other.
All of us except one person—Carl the Witch Hunter. He lay on the ground facedown, his neck twisted at a sickening angle.
Axel placed two fingers to Carl’s neck. “It’s broken and there’s no pulse. Everyone stay where you are. Someone in this circle committed murder.”
SIX
“So the witch hunter wound up dead?” Amelia asked.
It was late, close to midnight. I was in my pajamas in Amelia’s room. Cordelia had joined us as well, and we were piled up on the bed, like all good cousins who called themselves the sweet tea witches.
No, we weren’t drinking sweet tea, but we did have serious mud masks on our faces. Mine was green to really clean out those pores, while Amelia and Cordelia did the clear kind that peeled off. Oh, I loved peeling things—like sunburnt skin off my shoulders.
Am I weird, or what?
Anyway, they hadn’t been backstage, so they hadn’t seen what had happened.
I dug a spoon into my favorite witchy-flavored ice cream that my cousin Carmen made—it was called Brewed Eye of Newt and was chocolate with a caramel ribbon and chunks of cookie dough scattered throughout. Trust me, it was da bomb and heaven all in one delicious bite.
I moaned after a mouthful slid down my throat. “Yeah, a huge lightning bolt cracked, and then all this crazy rain started pouring. Next thing I knew, the hunter, Carl, was dead and several folks were standing around him—all of whom wanted him gone.”
“Like Uncle Donovan,” Amelia said.
I grimaced. “Yeah, including him, but have you met our uncle? The last thing he strikes me as is a killer. I bet he wouldn’t even swat a fly.”
“Oh, I’ve seen him do that,” Amelia said, digging into my ice cream. “He says they can’t be familiars so it’s okay.”
I licked chocolate from my lip. “Good to know.”
Cordelia picked at the edge of her mask. “And Johnny Utah had called off the hit?”
“Mmm hmm,” I said, “but apparently this Carl wasn’t taking the hint. He still wanted to kill Uncle Donovan.”
“That’s weird,” Amelia said. “I mean, why would he still want the job if Johnny told him it was off?”
“Money, for one,” Cordelia said. “Maybe the sheer pleasure of killing? There are psychopaths in the world.”
I scooped out a ball of cookie dough and chewed it for a moment. Never underestimate good bonding time over a tub of ice cream with the girls, or women in our case. “But there’s something weird about that, because everyone knew Carl was there to do the job, so why do it? Because if he’d killed Uncle Donovan, then he would’ve been charged with murder.”
Amelia tapped a spoon on her palm. “If Carl had a reason to want our uncle dead, then he might not care who knew because then Carl would vanish right
after.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. The whole thing’s strange.”
Cordelia fell back onto the pillow. “I agree. Something’s not right about this.”
“I know,” I said. “He made such a big deal about killing Uncle Donovan, and then he’s the one who ended up being murdered.”
The three of us stared at each other.
“Did you see if he drove a car? When he came to your shop?” Cordelia said to me.
“Yeah, it was a silver-looking sports car. You couldn’t miss it. It was very expensive and very foreign.”
“Do you think you could find it?” she said.
My lips slowly curled. “What are you thinking?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. We find the guy’s car, break in, see if we can discover some clues as to why he was really in town?”
I shook my head. “You know your boyfriend would have your head about that.”
Cordelia smiled innocently. “Mine? ‘Why, Officer Garrick Young, I’m only trying to help you solve a murder. I don’t know how I ended up tripping and falling into this car and discovering all this evidence.’”
Amelia and I burst into laughter.
My gaze shifted from one cousin to the other. “Are the two of y’all game?”
Amelia clapped her hands with glee. “I am if you are.”
“But we don’t know where to start looking,” I said.
Cordelia smiled. “Leave that to me.”
“Really?” I said, quirking a brow.
She tied back her long blonde hair. “It’s not like I’m any sort of bloodhound or anything, but this town is only so big and I know the best parking spots.”
“Oh,” I said, “I thought you were going to work some really cool magic that would help us find the car easier.”
“No.”
“Sometimes Cordelia likes to say things that make her sound smart,” Amelia said.
Cordelia yanked the spoon from Amelia’s hand. “And sometimes you like to say things that make you seem like you know what you’re talking about.”