Witch it Real Good

by Dakota Cassidy

  I decided to confide my worst fear. “Maybe it was another spy, Win? Maybe it was the person who paid to have you killed? Maybe she was in cahoots with Miranda and the tattoo guy?”

  Win let out a long, raspy sigh, rubbing his fingers over his temple. “I suppose that’s likely, too. But again, I know of no one with that tattoo, and the woman fits a hundred descriptions of women I’d met along the path of my career as a spy.”

  I turned back to Hal. “When the woman was yelling his name, you said she looked distressed. Can you hear in your visions, Hal?”

  Hal’s head bounced vigorously. “Oh, she was definitely upset. As a matter of fact, her distress still lingers with me now. She was upset—she was horrifyingly upset.” And then she paused before she said, “Something else just occurred to me. Yes, I can sometimes hear things in my visions, and I definitely heard a British accent. She had a British accent!”

  Whoa…

  I glanced at Win, who looked incredibly confused as he ran a hand over his chin.

  I reached past the wooden bowl of pinecones and evergreen and grabbed his hand, giving it a supportive squeeze. “Does another person in the mix that night sound even a little familiar, Win? I mean, if you’ll recall, it took a couple of years for you to remember the hand with the tattoo.”

  His sigh rasped from his lungs as he leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table. “No. I can assure you, I only remember Miranda being there that night, Stephania. I do recall how long it took me to remember that night, and while we mustn’t rule out the possibility, I’d prefer to believe that’s the only memory I’d forgotten. I reiterate, I absolutely do not remember another woman in attendance, other than Miranda, on the night I was murdered.”

  I’d prefer that, too, but it still led me to believe, maybe he’d forgotten some of what happened the night he was killed.

  Yikes. It seemed like an awfully important thing to forget, but who am I to judge? I didn’t know what it was like to die in the way Win had—with so much trauma.

  “And we’re sure the two visions are connected, Hal? The man with the tattoo and the woman mouthing Winterbottom’s name?”

  Hal tapped the table with her index finger, her lips pressed together. “I’m positive.”

  “Maybe it is another Winterbottom in vision?” Arkady joked, trying in his own way to lighten the mood. “How many Wins can a Win-chuck Win, if a Win-chuck could chuck Win?”

  I snickered a little, resting my chin on the palm of my hand. “I’m starting to wonder how many Winterbottoms exist in this world. Can you imagine another one?” I teased, joining his efforts to ease the atmosphere.

  Win popped his lips and grinned, falling right in line with our good-natured teasing. “Maybe you’re not so far off the mark, Stephania. Maybe I’m a cyborg of some kind, replicated over and over by MI6 for my superior skill and sharp brain,” he joked.

  “Hardy-har-har. You joke, but you did die, didn’t you? You did escape the afterlife and find your way to a host body and come back to life, didn’t you? There are forces out there, not to mention technology, that I’m sure we know nothing about.”

  Win barked a laugh and leaned back in his chair, driving his hands into the bib of his overalls. (Yes, he had on a pair of overalls, and somehow, he managed to make them look elegant and classy.)

  “Well, ’tis my hope they’d give me better clothing than what I’m wearing in that picture if that photo truly is of me.”

  I tapped the screen of the laptop with my index finger and fought a shiver. “Listen, Spy Guy, this is a carbon copy of you, and the person asking about this carbon copy of you matched the description Tally gave me of the woman who left this pic with her. So what does this mean? Are you willing to accept that it might be Miranda now?”

  His tone softened almost immediately, as did his eyes when he looked at me. “About that, Dove—”

  “Nope-nope-nope!” I protested with a vehement shake of my head. “No more airing our dirty laundry for all the world to see. Right now, we have one definite attempt at murder and one alleged attempt, and a possible Miranda sighting with a side of a new mystery woman. Let’s stay focused and worry about you doubting my theories later, yes?”

  He brought the back of my hand to his lips and kissed it. “Agreed.”

  I smiled at him to let him know things were okay for the moment, but we’d definitely have to talk about what he’d said later.

  “So what does this all mean, Win? That’s what we need to figure out. Why now? Why is someone trying to kill you…or is it Balthazar they’re really looking for? And why would Miranda, of all people, be looking for Balthazar? Do you think she knows he existed? Or could it be someone from your spy past?”

  “Anything is possible, Stephania. I feel as though I’ve said that quite often since meeting you. Surely, it could be someone’s gotten wind of a Winterbottom sighting. Old grudges certainly exist in the spy world. I imagine if someone found me alive, they’d want to capture me and bring me to their own brand of justice—or simply prove I’m not truly dead. If we’re bringing people I’ve tangled with as a spy into the mix, we could be in for a laundry list of suspects, but whomever shot that rifle was no spy. Their skill level was novice at best.”

  Hal reached her arms over her head and was in mid-stretch—when she quite suddenly stopped and gazed off into the distance again, leading me to believe maybe she was having another vision.

  I pushed my chair back to offer my help, but Atticus buzzed toward her, hovering by her face. “Halliday, what are you seeing, child? Tell me, and we shall talk this through.”

  Her eyes didn’t cloud over the way they had earlier today, but she had a glazed look that was certainly close enough. “Two emeralds,” she muttered.

  “Halliday, answer me, please,” Atticus said with impressive calm. “Tell me about the two emeralds.”

  Hal blinked and gave her head a shake as though to rid her brain of cobwebs. “Sorry, Atticus. That wasn’t a vision. Just a memory from the vision I had. The beautiful woman I saw wore two emeralds on a gold chain around her neck, and they were in the shape of hearts.”

  Win shifted in his chair, almost as if he were uncomfortable. “Emeralds, did you say?”

  Hal squeezed her eyes shut and popped them back open. “Yes. They were definitely emeralds. I don’t know if they were real, but that’s what they looked like.”

  Win sat silent, which suggested this information meant something to him. “Win? Does this have some kind of meaning for you?”

  Now his stare was distant, and his lips thinned. “It could be nothing, I suppose.”

  Goose bumps skittered along my arms and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. “But?”

  “But…I was born in May. And emeralds are my birthstone, Stephania.”

  We all went silent then until I finally asked, “And you say she had two shaped like hearts around her neck, Hal?”

  Hal gulped and softly said, “Yes. On a gold chain.”

  I nibbled on the tip of my nail. “How accurate are your visions, Hal? I don’t want for you to think I doubt, because believe me when I tell you, I see ghosts, and I used to be able to hear them, but that doesn’t mean everyone has a glitch-free experience the way they show them on TV. They’re not always crystal clear and sometimes they’re incredibly misleading. And by accurate, I mean, is what you’re seeing typically exactly as it happened, or when you discover what the vision is about, does the meaning have something very different?”

  Atticus buzzed toward me, his tiny eyes flashing, his wings flapping frantically, the tiny Santa’s hat he wore tonight cocking to the side of his head.

  “I’ll have you know, Halliday is almost one hundred percent accurate,” he said with clear disdain.

  Hal scooped him up right out of the air. “Atticus, she’s only asking so she can understand. Don’t behave like one of those momagers who thinks her kid can do no wrong. Sheesh, little old man. Relax.” Then she turned to me and said, “Usually, t
hey’re pretty accurate, Stevie. They’re only a small piece of a puzzle, that’s true, but there’s typically no misinterpreting them. When I find out what the full story is behind the vision, it’s a lot like having seen a chunk of the story in Technicolor.”

  That made me pause while I tried to formulate a theory that was just on the tip of my tongue.

  Emeralds…Win’s birthstone…a British accent. Hmmm.

  That was when it hit me all at once. If this woman in the vision had two emeralds, and emeralds were Win’s birthstone, which would also make them Balthazar’s, maybe…

  “Stephania?” Win asked, his voice alarmed.

  Now I stared off into the distance, seeing nothing when I distractedly asked, “Win, are you sure you don’t know who your biological mother is? What she looks like, where she came from? No clue at all?”

  He didn’t look offended, but he did look perplexed. “I’m quite positive.”

  “Okay, hear me out. I know this is going to sound crazy, but it’s not like you haven’t called me crazy before. So here goes… What if…what if it was your biological mother Hal saw in her vision?”

  Chapter 12

  Win’s eyes widened, and I could tell he definitely hoped I was reaching, but he kept a tight leash on his doubts, at least verbally.

  Also, I imagine, processing something like his biological mother being at the scene of his murder had to be a lot to swallow.

  “Repeat that, please?” he said without blinking.

  I saw the reservation in his eyes and watched the wheels turn in his head, so I held up a hand.

  “Hear me out. Hal said there were two emeralds around the neck of the woman in the vision, both in the shape of hearts, right? You and Balthazar were born in May. She also said the woman had a British accent. What if your biological mother was at the scene of your death?”

  Win blinked. I even heard Arkady clear his throat, but no one spoke.

  So I decided to hammer my point home while the hammering was good. “The woman in Hal’s vision was possibly in her sixties, right? That’s certainly the right age to have had a child your age. Maybe even just young enough not to have had her feet under her yet, right? Maybe the right age not to be financially or emotionally prepared to have a child, let alone two or three if we’re still thinking the photo we have isn’t you but maybe a triplet. So, maybe she found you. Maybe she followed you to the house that night.”

  Still, no one said anything, and the silence was beginning to make me uncomfortable.

  Until Belfry, who’d been dozing tucked into a plaid napkin, unrolled himself and spoiled the silence with common sense. “I love ya, Boss. But that’s kinda far-fetched. What you’re saying is, the lady who gave Win and Balthazar and maybe a third kid up for adoption found Win, followed him to what is now our house, and watched or maybe even helped kill him? Like, on the exact day everything goes kaplooey for him, when she’s never reached out to him in his entire life? Does that feel a little convenient? Not to mention, if Win were a part of triplets, why wouldn’t she have three heart-shaped emeralds around her neck? Next theory, please. Because that’s coconuts, lady.”

  I clucked my tongue. When he said it out loud, I suddenly felt really dumb. But I wasn’t willing to let it go yet.

  “I’m not suggesting she helped kill Win, Bel. Hal said she was distressed. Maybe she was distressed at seeing him killed. But my real point is, she had two emeralds around her neck, in the shape of hearts. I can’t account for why she wouldn’t have three if Win and Balthazar were triplets, but I still think it maybe means something. Like, maybe they represent one for Balthazar and one for Win?”

  Bel snorted, his response dry. “It maybe means she likes emeralds in the shape of hearts, Boss.”

  I sucked in my cheeks, still not quite ready to let it go. “Then what was she doing there? What’s the explanation?”

  Bel flew to my shoulder and nuzzled my ear. “I don’t know, Banan-o-rama. I just know I hope it’s not that one, because I’d hate that for you, Winterbutt. I’d downright hate it.”

  Win blinked again but he finally spoke, and I prepared myself to be shot down. However, he surprised me by siding with me.

  “It’s not so outlandish, good man. Again I say, anything is possible.”

  “Exactly!” I shouted, partially rising from my chair in my excitement. “So you know what you need to do, International Man of Mystery? You need to hit up your contacts and start asking questions about your birth origin. Whether it was your biological mother in that vision or not, it’s a lead. Are you comfortable with possibly finding out some information about yourself? I know you adored your adoptive mother, but we can’t ask her what she knows because she’s passed.”

  Win toyed with the edge of his napkin and lifted his chin. “I suppose I’ve never given it the thought it deserves since we found out I was adopted. Though, MI6 certainly would have known when they first recruited me. Surely, if anyone could have found anything out, it would be them. They vetted us to within an inch of our lives. If she exists, I wonder why they didn’t tell me about her then—when they hired me?”

  Yeah, I wondered, too. Maybe she wasn’t worth mentioning, or maybe she was someone they considered suspicious and getting to her through Win was the end game?

  So I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe because it wasn’t necessary or vital to working for them? I don’t get the impression MI6 is squishy with feelings. So if it didn’t hinder you in any way, if your biological parents weren’t mastermind criminals, and they couldn’t use you as a carrot to dangle in their faces, maybe they didn’t think it was important.”

  Win rolled his tongue on the inside of his cheek. “Certainly, if it didn’t interfere with my training, they must not have felt it necessary. Still, since we found out about my adoption, I haven’t given it much thought, if any.”

  Win often talked about his adoptive mother with warmth and deep love. I could understand him being totally fulfilled with the parent he grew up with. I once had a friend in high school who was adopted, and she wasn’t interested in finding her biological parents either.

  But if my theory panned out…

  “Either way, it’s a place to start in identifying this woman, right? I mean, if you’re comfortable learning potentially sensitive information about yourself…your biological mother might be able to tell us what happened.”

  Win popped his lips, his eyes blazing hot. “I’m comfortable with trying to find out who shot at us last night. You were with me. Whoever it is can surely be labeled a poor shot, but when he takes aim at me and almost hits you, that won’t do. However, I can hardly contact MI6 for help, Stephania. They think me quite dead, Dove. I can assure you, if they realize I’m alive, that’s a Pandora’s box I don’t wish to open—even in Balthazar’s body—which would be a difficult, if not outlandish tale to relay, don’t you agree?”

  I hated to push, but… “But don’t you have other connections to help you? Someone who’d keep your snooping on the down low?”

  His jaw tightened and he shifted positions in his chair. “It’s not as easy as you’d think, Stephania.”

  “Can’t you call them on your secret decoder ring or shine your bat light to the west and call for help?”

  Win chuckled and shook a finger. “Funny Mini-Spy is funny.”

  “Well, you know what I mean. Like this Mandrake guy, for instance? He believes you’re you, even in Balthazar’s body, right?”

  “He doesn’t know I’m in Balthazar’s body, Stephania,” Win said, and I sensed he said it with great reluctance. “Due to his incarceration, any information Mandrake receives is slow for the receiving—even with his connections. He simply thinks I’m looking to leave MI6—run away, if you will. He doesn’t know all that’s happened, nor, I suspect, does he care. What he cares about is commissary money for cigarettes and Ramen Noodles, which I shall provide in the way of great sums of untraceable cash.”

  Oh.

  I puffed my chest out
and tapped the table with an authoritative finger. “In other words, shut up, Stephania, and stop asking so many intrusive questions, right?” I asked in his uppity British accent, but I did it with a smile on my face.

  “In this case, yes, Dove. The less you know about him, the better, and there are some things in my past that should remain as such. I do hope this is something you can come to terms with. It’s for your own protection, of course.”

  Such is the life of a woman who falls in love with a former MI6 spy, I suppose. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. You don’t have to say it twice.”

  He grinned, kissing the back of my hand again. “Then I shall pursue this line of thinking and get back to you.”

  “You do that. I know you think it’s nuts, but I’d bet if someone had told you before all this happened that you’d die, end up in the afterlife as a ghost, find me, make contact with me, plane jump and hop into the body of your brother, you would have said they were bloomin’ bonkers.”

  “I would have said it was bonkers, and I know magic exists,” Hal joked as she rose from the table, running her hands down the front of her thighs. “Listen, why don’t we all take a break here? We’ve been at this for hours, and you all look exhausted. Let’s have some dinner, and then head to the Ice Carnival for a little downtime and perspective, yeah? They have an ice carving competition and games and all sorts of goodies and delicious baked goods, and, of course, cocoa with homemade marshmallows. Maybe the cold air and a big, fat, gooey cinnamon bun will help clear our heads?”

  I rose from my chair, too, and smiled in agreement. “You say cinnamon bun, I say, yes, please. I think that sounds amazing, Hal.

  “Stephania, as tempting as cinnamon rolls are, surely we’re sitting ducks out in the open,” Win warned.

  But Hal held up a hand, her eyes glowing. “I can take care of that. There’s nothing like a little cloaking spell to disguise you when you’re being chased by a killer who couldn’t shoot the side of a barn.”