Witch it Real Good

by Dakota Cassidy

  “My malutka, how are you doing? Maybe you take break for little while. Have late-afternoon snack to replenish?”

  “I’m fine, Arkady. Also, I think I’ve reached my caloric intake for the next ten years, what with all the marshmallows and cocoa I’ve been guzzling. I definitely don’t need a late-afternoon snack.”

  Strike, who during the day, had been quite content spending time in the barn with Hal’s reindeer—the reindeer I still hadn’t gone to take a peek at—pecked at my feet while Belfry clung to his neck and Whiskey lounged by the fire.

  “Arkady’s right, Stephania. You need to take a break,” Win said. “You’ve been going since your feet hit the ground today.”

  I made a face at him. “Is your killer taking a break from trying to kill you, fake James Bond?”

  He ran his finger down along the length of my nose and smiled. “For the moment…”

  “You’re so funny,” I mumbled. Squinting at the laptop screen after checking my phone for the billionth time today, I sighed in frustration.

  Hopeful Horizons Adoption Agency had been a bust so far today, as well. I’d called and left several messages, to no avail—all the while, someone, probably Miranda, was out there watching us, waiting to undo all that we’d accomplished by getting Win back here.

  Win rubbed circles along the middle of my back. “Stephania, please take a breath. I want to find Miranda or whoever’s trying to kill me, too, but I don’t wish to do it at the expense of your well-being. You’re quite obviously exhausted. You’ve been at this for hours.”

  “I can sleep anytime. How often do I get to hunt down a female ex-spy? Never. That’s when. Now let’s go over this one more time. This picture,” I said, pointing to the photocopy we’d gotten from Tally. “This isn’t you, and I’d bet my eyeteeth it isn’t Balthazar. Who the heck is it?”

  “I have no absolutely no idea,” Win said, stifling a yawn.

  I gripped the magnifying glass in my hand and looked at the picture for the umpteenth time, scouring every inch of the photo.

  And then I stopped cold, ice running through my veins.

  When I found my voice, I nudged Win. “Win, look at the hand in his pocket…or more specifically, his wrist.” I handed him the magnifying glass and waited.

  When he hissed, I knew he saw what I saw.

  “The hand with the tattoo,” he muttered.

  I slapped my hand on the table in excitement—finally a decent break. “Yes! You can only see a very tiny bit of the tail end of it, and it’s dark, and even though the picture is black and white, I’d bet it’s a blue snake. I bet all my organs that’s the hand you saw the night you were killed! I can’t believe I didn’t see it before!”

  As I was busy congratulating myself, Arkady broke into my thoughts and put a pin in my euphoric bubble. “Malutka?”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “How can that be picture of who Zero see the night he is murdered if we think is picture of Win he does not remember taking?”

  Oh, yeah. There was that. “Shoot.”

  But Win shook his head. “Because it can’t be a picture of me, old man, and this proves it. I have no tattoo on my hand. You saw me before I entered Balthazar’s body. Did I have a tattoo?”

  “You speak the truth, but how can this not be you? It is exact duplicate.”

  Bel flew into the room, dropping down to the table. “I’m still going with cyborg. The triplet angle’s too easy.”

  “Argh!” I growled through clenched teeth. “Who in all of who is this? The only explanation is that you were a triplet, not a twin. There were three of you running around before you died, and the only way to find out for sure is to find your biological mother and father, or even one of her family members, and we can’t do that if Hopeful Horizons doesn’t get back to us.”

  “How does Miranda not know this is not picture of Zero?” Arkady asked. “She was girlfriend, for petunia’s sake.”

  I’m telling you, I was so confused at this point, I was starting to question everything about Win’s existence. I inhaled deeply, my eyes widening. “Maybe she’s looking for this guy, who I’m going to assume is your triplet, and she’s not looking for you at all, Win?”

  Did that make any sense? No. Nothing made sense anymore. Who was this man who looked exactly like Win, and where was Miranda?

  Out of thin air, Hal appeared, looking harried, her hair tousled, her cheeks red, distracting me from my newest theory. She jolted forward, reaching for the table to steady herself.

  I thought it odd she’d chosen to enter the room this way, but if this was the way she used her witch magic, good for her. “Hey, how was the trip to the factory?” I asked, grateful to look away from the computer.

  Hal gave me a sheepish glance, her fingers twisting together. “So, I did a thing. And I want you to hear me out before you get mad about the thing I did, okay?”

  Out of nowhere, Atticus buzzed into the room, his wings whirring a mile a minute. “Halliday Valentine, where have you been?”

  We all looked at each other in surprise at the tone Atticus had taken with Hal. His normally deep voice took on an almost high-pitched squeal.

  I rose slowly from my chair, my legs stiff from sitting so long. “Hal? What happened? What thing did you do?”

  She looked down at the floor before she gazed at us, her eyes riddled with clear guilt, her cheeks turning redder. “I went to Hopeful Horizons Adoption Agency…”

  “In England?” I squealed.

  Hal nodded, the silky cascade of her hair falling over her face. “Pip-pip-cheerio!”

  “Halliday, whatever shall I do with you, young lady? How could you use your magic for such a thing?”

  But Hal rolled her eyes. “Oh, hush. I didn’t do it so I could drink a pint and see the queen. I did it because it needed to be done. Someone wants Win dead. I don’t want Win dead. Do you want Win dead?”

  “Oh, bollocks, no,” he buzzed, his voice booming into the room. “Don’t you dare turn this around on me. You know better than to use your magic this way.”

  Hal frowned at the angry little hummingbird. “Oh, baloney, Atticus! I didn’t use it to gain anything for myself. I used it to help someone. You use your magic to help me all the time, or are the meals you conjure up every day gaining me something other than good nutrition?”

  “Don’t you sass me, miss. Do you have any idea what could have happened to you had you been caught—in my motherland? Conjuring food is in no way dangerous, young lady!”

  She gave him a facetious grin. “Your queen would have had me locked up and I would have zapped my way out of there. That’s what would have happened. Now, do you want to hear what I found or don’t you?”

  “Bah, Halliday. You’re incorrigible! You never listen!” Atticus groused on a huff, buzzing back toward the kitchen. “Now, if you’ll all be so kind as to excuse me, I’m going to go conjure that food for you to support your good nutrition.”

  She burst out laughing and slapped her thighs. “He’s such a stick in the mud.” Then she pulled out a chair and sat down. “Okay, so I went to Hopeful Horizons because I knew you wouldn’t dream of asking me to, but I’m so sick with worry about you and Win, I couldn’t help myself.”

  Win cleared his throat. “First, Hal, before you say anything else, thank you. I didn’t even dream it possible you could go do something like that. I guess I forget sometimes what you’re capable of as a witch, but I thank you just the same.”

  But she poo-pooed him. “It was nothing, really. I’m not going to let someone kill you and sit on my hands. That’s just not going to happen. I did what I had to do, and I’d do it again no matter what Atticus says. So, are you ready to hear what I have to say, Win?”

  He nodded, but it was somber and stoic. “I am.”

  “Now, I swear, all I did was pop into their computers and pop back out. I was there maybe five minutes tops. No fuss, no muss. So let me start by saying, I don’t know how to hack things or do anything fancy tech-wise,
but I do know how to make myself look like I belong just long enough for someone to leave their desk and their computer. So I pretended to be a temp.”

  I held my breath as my heart pumped in my chest and my throat felt like it might close up. I reached over and grabbed Win’s hand, but I wasn’t sure if it was for his benefit or mine.

  “And?”

  “And I typed in his date of birth and the name of his adoptive parent, which Belfry ever so kindly gave me this morning, and there were only five babies Hopeful Horizons placed for adoption born on that day. Three girls and two boys.”

  Bel coughed—loudly. “Well, there goes the triplet theory, huh, coconuts?”

  But I was too distracted to fire back a retort. “And I’m assuming the two boys were twins, right?”

  “Yep, both born to the same woman,” Hal confirmed. “The three girls were each born to three different women.”

  Win sat silently, and honestly, I couldn’t blame him. He’d been through so much, but now to have to find his birth mother, almost against his will, made my heart ache for him.

  “Win? Would you rather I hear what’s next and handle this part of it on my own?”

  “Nay, Dove,” he said in his husky-deep tone. “I’m quite prepared to hear whatever it is I’m about to hear.”

  Hal looked to him, sympathy clearly in her eyes, when she said, “I only have her name, her date of birth, and the name of the woman you were placed with, Win. There wasn’t much to be had anyway, but I didn’t snoop any further. I didn’t want to intrude or invade your privacy for something so personal, but I don’t want you dead, either. If we know the name of your biological mother, maybe we can at least find her on social media, and I can see her picture to tell you if she’s who I saw in my vision. It’s only to rule her out as a suspect.”

  “Of course, Hal. I realize this is a measure we have no choice but to take.”

  She patted Win’s hand. “Good. So all I have is her name. And besides, that maneater Nancy was coming back from break—that’s what she is, according to the woman in the cubicle behind hers—and I didn’t want to get caught sneaking into her computer. So I didn’t linger.”

  Win laughed, but it wasn’t genuine. I knew his laugh and this was what he called giving good face. “Please, Hal, tell me her name. Then we can begin searching for her to see if she’s who was present the night I was murdered.”

  Hal inhaled deeply and pulled out her phone, scrolling to wherever she’d stored the name of Win’s biological mother. “Her name is Anwen Thistle, and she was from Wales. She was twenty-two when she had you and Balthazar.”

  We all sat quietly then, until Win said, “Anwen… Do you know what that means, Dove? It’s Welsh, and it means beautiful…”

  “It’s a very pretty name, Win. I bet she was lovely,” I whispered, my gut still stinging for him.

  I didn’t understand how, if the woman Hal saw in her vision was, in fact, Win’s mother, Anwen fit into this. Why would she choose that particular night to show up—the night of her son’s murder?

  What was I missing? I was missing something very important. I had to be. Oh, universe, please let me be missing something that links Win’s mother in any other way than his murder.

  Win looked to Hal, his eyes inquisitive and maybe even a little sad. “Tell me, Hal, was the name of my biological father listed?”

  She shook her head, her eyes soft and warm. “No, because he was listed as deceased, which definitely could explain why your mother might put twins up for adoption. One baby is a lot. Two is a lot more.”

  “Alone and raising two babies would definitely be overwhelming,” he muttered, his words hushed.

  I swallowed hard, fighting tears. I’d never really considered his biological father a suspect, simply because the man in the picture looked too young, but I was almost grateful he was gone, too.

  It was one thing to know you were adopted, but I imagine it was quite another to be forced to find out the name of your biological mother—and have to do so in order to rule her out as a suspect in your murder. But to add in your biological father to the mix, too? Yikes.

  “This is all very bittersweet, is it not, Dove?”

  I slid from my chair and wrapped my arms around him from behind, giving him a squeeze as I rested my cheek on top of his head. “It is, and I’m sorry we had to go about it this way.”

  He gripped my fingers before he took my hand and brought me back around to face him. “It’s fine, Dove. Now, let’s look up Anwen Thistle and see what we can see, eh? We need a win.”

  I tried not to let him see my fear, but we did need a win.

  Boy did we ever.

  Chapter 15

  “Atticus, that was delicious!” I complimented him as I sat back in my chair and wiped my mouth.

  We’d just finished up an amazing meal of the creamiest lobster bisque I’d ever had, with grilled brie and gouda cheese sandwiches on sourdough.

  “It was just a little something I conjured up, Love Child,” he said sarcastically as he buzzed past Hal’s ear.

  She stuck her tongue out at him and grinned. “Knock it off, Stuffy Stan. And thank you, it was delicious. I’ll help clean up.”

  We’d spent some time looking up the name Anwen Thistle, but we didn’t find anyone who matched her age—not even close. There were three on Facebook, all too old or too young, and very few came up with a Google search, but with much the same results.

  So we’d broke for dinner and decided we’d try another method of searching after we ate.

  I went to help clear the table and bring some dishes into the kitchen. I had to do something to take my mind off the missing pieces of this puzzle.

  Who was the man with the tattoo, and why did he look so much like Win they could be twins—except they weren’t. I couldn’t believe my theory about him being a triplet was wrong, but Hal had seen for herself he was one of only two babies born that day to Anwen.

  The man in the photo could certainly be a relative who was close in age, though. The only idea I had left was that he was a cousin, but then why would Miranda be looking for Win’s cousin? Unless, of course, she thought the picture was of Win, and that brought me back to the idea, she should be pretty freaked out by the idea he was alive after she’d been the one to kill him.

  Ugh. I just kept going around in circles and it was beginning to make me feel a little batty.

  “Halliday,” Atticus buzzed in his deep voice. “Please take the recyclables out to the bin. It’s the least you can do after being such a cocky nonce.”

  “I’ll get them, Atticus,” I offered. I could use some fresh air to clear my head and rid me of some of my frustration. “Where’s the bin?”

  “Ah, thank you ever so, Love Child. It’s right outside the mudroom door. Not far to go at all. But before you go, might I speak freely?”

  Tilting my head, I smiled at him. “Of course.”

  He fluttered his wings before landing on the edge of a bowl from dinner, his ruby throat especially colorful under the soft Christmas lights.

  “I realize I was quite rude to you and yours when you first arrived, but it isn’t without good reason. My job as Halliday’s familiar is to protect her. Often, that beautiful, brainy, sometimes impulsive child leads with her heart instead of her head. Ironically, much like you, if the stories I’ve heard are true. I didn’t want her to get hurt with yet another one of her impulsive actions. I was afraid you’d reject her, and I couldn’t bear that.”

  “I understand completely. No need to apologize, Atticus,” I said softly.

  “She isn’t only my job. She’s my life. However, seeing how happy she is when she’s with you, seeing her smile unfettered by her recent grief has been a joy for me, and that’s all because of you. I rather like knowing Halliday isn’t alone in this world with only me to lean on, and I like that it’s you she can lean on if I’m not about.”

  I grinned at him, my heart clenching. “You should give us love children more credit, and as a
by the by, I really like Hal, too. I hope we can spend more time together very soon. Oh, and you’re not nearly as awful as I first thought, either.”

  Atticus’s laughter rumbled deep. “I deserved that.”

  “Yep,” I agreed. “You sure did.” Then I clapped my hands. “Okay, good talk, Atticus. Now on to recyclables.”

  I grabbed the bag by the kitchen island while everyone else chatted and headed to the mudroom, grateful for the conversation with Atticus and now, some silence.

  I was feeling overwhelmed with the discovery of Win’s mother’s name. She’d always been this unknown, shadowy figure in his life we didn’t discuss. Now, she was a beautiful name who may have been present at his murder.

  His murder.

  If that were true, how did you live with that? How did you wake up every day knowing your mother wanted you dead?

  And who in the blinkety-blink was the man with the tattoo in the picture?

  And why couldn’t I figure this out?

  I trudged my way to the mudroom, closing the door that led to the kitchen to silence everyone’s chatter, and grabbed my jacket from the hall tree’s bench, pulling it on.

  I popped the back door open to spy the recycling bin but a few feet away from the side of the house. Thankfully, the snow appeared to have stopped, and someone had shoveled the area in the driveway and the path leading to the barn.

  Speaking of barns, I desperately wanted to see the reindeer Hal had. Maybe I could do that now, when I most needed time to think.

  As I threw the bag into the bin, I shook my head. No. I absolutely shouldn’t go see the reindeer, because I’d be alone and there was someone out there taking potshots at us.

  Where better to take me out than as I walked to the barn? It wasn’t that far, but anything could happen in a few hundred feet. I wasn’t going to be the fool in the horror movie who went into the basement alone.

  Feeling quite proud of myself for resisting temptation, I turned around to head back into the house.

  Now, look. In my defense, I was lost in my head and patting myself on the back about how smart I was not to go to the barn alone, allowing temptation to be my guide. Add in the mystery of Win’s mother and the man with the tattoo, and I was a little distracted.