Witch it Real Good

by Dakota Cassidy

  That said, this was, after all, a spy, and I am, after all, a mere former witch with very limited skills and certainly not years of spy training.

  Anyway, when I turned around, I came face to face with that highly trained spy—holding a gun aimed at my head.

  What do you think was my first inclination?

  To mentally stick my tongue out at Belfry.

  Not panic. Not terror. Not holy baloney, she has a big, shiny gun.

  No. I’d been right and Bel had been wrong.

  Neener, neener, neener.

  She didn’t say a word. Rather, she held her long, graceful finger up to her mouth to indicate I should be quiet, and then she smiled, and even with a gun pointed at me, I couldn’t help but think how beautiful she was, standing here in the snow, a backdrop to her beautiful red hair and classically pear-shaped body.

  Instantly, I raised my arms in the air and she motioned me forward, toward the barn.

  We trudged along the cleared path, passing a split-rail fence draped with lights, and I noted, ironically, I wasn’t feeling nearly as panicked as you’d think.

  When we reached the double doors, she said, “In you go, darling,” in a cultured British accent.

  She gave me a little nudge between my shoulder blades to push me between the two doors. As I stumbled into the barn, the scent of hay and other unmentionables reached my nose, but I made sure to be aware of my surroundings. There was only the one stall, and some bales of hay piled to the left. I also made note of a hoe and a steel rake, but that was pretty much that.

  Certainly nothing that would hold up against a gun.

  It was mostly dark but for the light from the Christmas decorations that gleamed outside from two windows on the right. There was a heat lamp parked next to none other than the reindeer that earlier I’d so wanted to see.

  The reindeer—Karen was her name, if I remembered what Hal told me correctly—stirred a bit from her nap, rearing her head up, her eyes startled and wide.

  “Shh-shh. It’s okay,” I whispered to her, hoping to soothe her back to sleep. “Settle down. It’s fine.”

  I didn’t know if my captor was much of an animal lover, but I wasn’t going to take a chance she’d shoot Hal’s reindeer to keep her quiet. It was enough she’d probably find me dead in her barn; over my dead body was I going to let her find her pet dead, too.

  Oh, wait. Poor choice of words…

  Karen settled back down and appeared to doze off just as my captor sounded out her first order.

  “Turn around, please,” the woman cooed, her voice gentle and seductive.

  I did as I was told, and still, I wasn’t all that afraid. I’m not sure why. Maybe because I knew this day would come. It definitely wasn’t because I thought I could in any way take her down. It was merely a relief to have some answers. To know I was right and I wasn’t crazy at all.

  “Shall I begin, or will you?” she drawled, her skin soft and creamy in the dim light.

  Okay, maybe I was a little nervous now that I was staring right at her. She was as close to perfection as it got. Still, I offered to begin.

  “I can if you want.”

  She waved a hand at me, one auburn eyebrow raised, her crimson lips amused. “By all means, please do.”

  “So, it was you I saw that day on the sidewalk in town,” I finally murmured…and as I did, I became a little angry.

  Gosh dang it all, I knew it was Miranda I saw, but had anyone listened to me?

  Nooo. They were all like, silly Stevie and her crazy theories. And now look. Look where we were. Right here, in a freezing-cold barn in the middle of the night with none other than Miranda.

  Miranda the lying, cheating, greedy ex-lover of a spy.

  Oh, I could just spit from all the doubt the men in my life had spewed at me!

  She raised the gun higher, her glorious red hair falling around her shoulders as she aimed it at my face. “It was, and I guess you’re wondering why I’m holding you at gunpoint?”

  Her words surprised me. In fact, if I had a free hand, I’d scratch my head. “Not really. I figured you’d come sooner or later. I’d have preferred later, and maybe after a little more preparation for our meeting, but sometimes fate intervenes, and we just have to roll.”

  Miranda frowned at me, her breaths coming in small puffs of condensation, her nostrils flaring. “So you really do know who I am, then?”

  Now I frowned. “Duh. Of course I do. I just said I did, didn’t I? You’re Miranda With No Last Name. What is your last name, anyway?”

  She approached me with a casual strut. Yes. It was definitely a strut. Sort of like a supermodel, strutting down the catwalk. She walked over the dirt and hay to get to me as though it were a smooth path, a true testament to her flawlessness and training.

  Then Miranda cocked her head and gave me an impish look, ignoring my question. “And you’re Stevie, right? Short for Stephania,” she drawled, her accent so much like Win’s it was hard to believe she’d ever do anything as uncivilized as kill someone.

  I rolled my eyes, praying my voice was steady. If I was going to die tonight—which was probably likely—in front of Win’s ex-supermodel girlfriend, I wanted to do it with some courage, some dignity.

  Thus, I shored up my down-covered spine, rocked back on my practical boots, and looked her directly in her gorgeous green eyes.

  “Let’s not kid each other. You know exactly what my name is. My age, my height, probably even my weight.”

  “One fifty-two.”

  “What?”

  “You’re weight. It’s one fifty-two.”

  I rolled my head on my neck. “Nuh-uh. Shows what you know. I’m one fifty since I last stepped on the scale. You know, taking into consideration bloating and all.”

  Miranda sighed a ragged breath, making Karen stir behind me from her nap. “Dear God, do shut up, or I’ll shoot you now and be done with this whole mess.”

  She scoffed, narrowing her green gaze at me, her hands ever steady on the gun as she drew even closer.

  And you know what else?

  She had the gall, the sheer audacity, to wear heels while she did it. And I’m not talking conservative one or two inchers, I’m talking five-inch heels. Five. Easy.

  As with all supermodel spies, she wore a long, oyster-white trench coat that flapped around her long legs and ultra-curvy hips as though there were a large fan following her every move in Beyoncé-music-video fashion.

  Beneath her coat was a pleated pair of black trousers, a white-and-black striped silky shirt that sort of fell over her breasts in a casually perfect homage to breasts everywhere.

  The jewelry she wore was minimal, but she made it count. A simple gold chain around her neck, one gold bangle bracelet and one serpentine ring on her index finger.

  Ugh.

  She was a real-life British Charlie’s Angel.

  And I hated her.

  But when she spoke, she rocked me to my core. “So let’s get this over with, shall we? Tell me, Stephania, what did Roger tell you about me?”

  I blinked slowly. Roger? Who the flibber-gibber was Roger?

  For the love of all that was baked and iced, where did a Roger come from, and how was I going to talk my way out of this?

  Chapter 16

  Was Roger a pet name for Win?

  I tried to hide my confusion, because a good mini-spy would never let their arch nemesis know they had no idea what the heck they were talking about, but I wasn’t sure I could pull it off—because I didn’t know what the heck she was talking about.

  However, I was sure going to give it a go. “Yeah,” I said amicably. “He told me all about you. That’s how I knew it was you. From the way he described your hair.”

  The sigh Miranda let escape her lips was one of disappointment. Harsh disappointment, if the glittering, narrowed gaze she gave me was any indication.

  She rolled her stunning green eyes. “Really? My hair? Men are such simple creatures. Did he also tell you how he lef
t me as good as dead, metaphorically speaking anyway, and took all my money with him after we made a deal?”

  Um…what the what? But I nodded my head up and down, my arms still high in the air. Which, by the by, were beginning to really burn while my fingers went numb.

  “Well, he didn’t put it like that…”

  Her luscious lips thinned. “Of course he didn’t,” she replied, her words dripping with sarcasm. “And did that wazzock also tell you I’ve had to hide all this time like some bloody miscreant while he kept all his lovely money?”

  Okay, now I was super lost, but I couldn’t tell her that, could I? I’d give myself away and the longer she talked to me, the better chance I had of finding something to help me escape. So I wagged my fingers at her, my hands still in the air.

  “Question?”

  “Of course,” she offered cordially.

  “If Roger did all this awful stuff to you—and believe me, if he stole my money, I’d be mad, too—why am I the one at gunpoint? Shouldn’t you be mad at him?”

  Miranda tipped her head back, exposing her creamy throat as she laughed. “You’re my bait, naturally. I simply had to wait for the right time to get you alone. I’ve been following the two of you, at a distance, of course, for the last couple of days.”

  “Following us?” I know that sounded stupid, but that’s exactly how I felt. Stupid.

  “Don’t be a dolt. It’s what I do…did. I was, after all, a spy, darling. I tracked people all the time. But worry not. Roger will be at gunpoint soon enough, Stephania. May I use your full name rather than the shortened version? It’s so much more civilized.”

  Following us?

  Wait. Hold the phone, Gertie. Did she think Win was this guy Roger?

  “Well, you do have the gun… Gun holder’s choice.”

  She laughed again and it tinkled around the barn as though on fairy wings. “Point for you.”

  I was still back toying with what I was starting to believe was mistaken identity, deciding I needed some clarification. “So anyway, Miranda, I don’t think I’m getting the bigger picture here. I don’t understand how Roger’s going to be at gunpoint soon.”

  She frowned again, and I gotta tell ya, she even looked perfect frowning. “Are you daft, Stephania? I texted him and told him I’m holding you hostage. I’m sure he’ll be surprised I have his number, but again. I’m a spy. Anyway, you’re his lover, that makes you my leverage. Surely he’s going to come and save his lover?”

  My mind began to race. Once again, I wondered, was Roger a code name for Win? But then if Roger was some pet name for Win, why would Miranda be talking about him keeping all the lovely money?

  I know I was panicked, and maybe under less stressful circumstances, I might be able to put this all together. But right now? Right now, my head was a fuzzy mess of WTF.

  I think my mouth fell open then because seriously, none of this was making a lick of sense. Not a single word coming out of this perfect woman’s mouth made any sense at all.

  But I was sure going to try and make sense of it, because I needed to save myself if we were waiting on some guy named Roger to save me…

  My shoulders were beginning to sag, and I was losing feeling in my arms, so I asked, “Listen. You have a gun, and I have big respect for that. But is it okay if I put my arms down? Because phew, have I ever slacked off on my cardio as of late.”

  She shrugged her shoulders and waved me off. “Please, be my guest.”

  I dropped my arms with a sigh of relief, rubbing my hands together to stimulate circulation.

  “Thank you. Now, about Roger. Why did he take all your money? Because I’m sure you know he probably told me a totally different story than the one you’re going to tell. So in the interest of fairness, I’d like to hear your side, Miranda, and maybe we can work something out.”

  Now her beautiful face went angry, her cheeks growing pink. “He took it because he could, Stephania. The very same way all men take and take. He hired me to do a job, but he had no intention of paying up. None! He double-crossed me. That’s what he did! He used me to get to Crispin, and then tried to get away like the spineless coward he is without paying me!”

  I fought a gasp of disbelief. Roger had used Miranda to get to Win. That must mean Roger, probably the guy in the picture who looked just like Win, killed Win and then tried to kill Miranda to avoid paying up.

  Holy. Shitake. Mushrooms.

  I continued to play along, grateful for the darkness of the barn, and shook my head as though Roger were the biggest double-crosser on the planet. “Oh-ho!” I crowed and shook my finger. “See now, that’s not what Roger told me. He told me you didn’t do the job properly, and because you didn’t do the job properly, he had to do it himself.”

  She gasped, so loud it echoed in the barn, very clearly offended. Then she stomped her foot. “He did not! Oh, Roger, you tosser! Did he tell you how I was caught off guard by my hit? Did he? How was I supposed to know Crispin would show up in the middle of me preparing everything? He wasn’t even supposed to be there! Did he tell you that?”

  I’m pretty sure if Miranda could see my face clearly, she’d have seen me turn green around the gills, but at least now we were getting somewhere and making a little more sense—even if I still didn’t know who the heck Roger was, how he was related to Win, or even why he wanted Win dead.

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I shook my head once more and I mocked another outraged gasp, too. Riling her up could distract her, and that was just what I needed.

  “He most certainly did not. Know what he said?” I asked with a conspiratorial tone, fighting the chatter of my lips.

  Miranda’s eyes narrowed as she sucked in her cheeks. “What?” she hissed.

  “He said you flubbed the job and didn’t deserve the money, and that’s why he kept it. But I was right to be suspicious, huh? I thought, how could a beautiful, empowered, smart-as-the-dickens spy like Miranda mess up something so easy? Stupid Roger. What a jerk!”

  She nodded her head, her eyes wide in outrage. “Indeed! If he’d have simply left things alone, Stephania. I had a gun, for pity’s sake. Crispin was unarmed. I would have won that fight, but no. No, Roger came trampling in like the buffoon he is and shot him! The sheer temerity of that man is off the charts. After all the planning we’d done, after planting that story about an arms deal to ensure Crispin would be removed from his undercover work with Von Krause, so we could get to him with ease—after all we’d done, he had the nerve to steal my thunder!”

  I had to fight a gasp myself at this point. First, Miranda appeared almost disappointed that she hadn’t been the one to kill Win. Second, the arms deal story had been a lie…

  A big, fat lie.

  Win must not have heard the entire conversation. That had to be it. And Miranda hadn’t killed Win, Roger had. So why did Roger want Win dead?

  But I still didn’t know who the heck Roger was.

  So, I let out a disappointed sigh, leaning back against the reindeer stall, more to steady myself than anything else.

  “Men, right?” I sneered. “Such a bunch of liars. Did he tell me the truth about this…Crispin, is it? He told me he was your boyfriend and you were supposed to kill him. He told me this guy ratted you out to your bosses. MI6, right?”

  “That,” she said slyly, her eyes glittering, “is entirely true.”

  ”Phew. At least he didn’t lie about that. But you know what he didn’t tell me?”

  “Oh, I can’t wait to hear this,” she muttered in disgust. “What else didn’t he tell you, Stephania?”

  “He didn’t tell me what happened to you. I mean, this Crispin guy tattled to your superiors, right? In their eyes, you committed treason. That means you had to fake your death, didn’t you? Oh, the horror of living on the lam in disgrace.”

  “Yes!” she seethed. “It wasn’t as though I had a choice, now did I, darling? I had to make a run for it, of course. As you said, I’d committed treason according to MI6. That’
s a crime punishable by death. But I had some money tucked away for a rainy day, the way all smart girl spies do. Not as much as Roger was going to pay me, of course, but enough to live quietly with one of my identities in Nebraska. What a god-awful place that is,” she droned.

  Nebraska. Miranda No Last Name Fabulous had been living in Nebraska? Sheesh. Of all the places to stick a woman like her. That might be a fate worse than death for someone of her ilk.

  “Another question, if I may?” I asked, leaning toward her as though we were old chums.

  Miranda pulled a phone from the pocket of her silky pants and looked down at it, the gun closer to my chest than ever, and I knew if I made a move for it, she’d shoot despite our bonding over Roger the Tosser.

  When she was done, she looked up, her eyes narrower still as she shoved it back into her pants pocket. “Still no answer from that slag, which means we still have some time. Ask away.”

  I swallowed hard, my hands icy and clammy, my feet like bricks. “What made you come after Roger now? Why did you wait all this time?”

  She made a face and wrinkled her pert nose. “Because he’s been abroad in Italy and Paris all this time, no doubt hiding, silly. Haven’t you figured that out? I couldn’t cross the border into a Dollar Store, let alone set foot on foreign soil. Just getting here was a chore. But when I got the word from a trusted contact—one I promised to pay gads of money to give up Roger’s location—that he was here, of all places, with you, I knew it was time to exact my revenge.”

  When she got word he was with me. Sweet Pete and a tricycle, who was Roger? What the heck was I missing? He had to be a cousin, or maybe Anwen had a younger brother? Maybe he was Win’s uncle? But why would they want Win dead? Why would anyone remotely related to Win’s biological family help Miranda murder him?

  And who the bleep was her trusted contact? Someone in Marshmallow Hollow? In tiny little Marshmallow Hollow, the land of all things Christmasy and holiday spirit?